|
ramping up to reported 107 F weather. there were boobs and flesh
everywhere as indicated in the background. |
|
| the
very berry smoothie and the orange smoothie. cheers, baby. |
|
| helen
and her i-zone skillz. |
|
| cooling
out in the gobi tent waiting for the first act, supernatural. people
were like pillbugs, curled under any sliver of shade they could
find. |
|
| supernatural
the freestyle emcee made us love hip hop again. |
|
|
'anything': had the front rows hold up any object they had and he
romped around, rhyming about each one. dope to say the least. poet
name life as dj in back. |
|
| section
quartet covering radiohead, jeff buckley with their soaring
strings. |
|
| antibalas
afrobeat orchestra from brooklyn rocked our asses. side to side
and front to back. |
|
| saul
williams delivering that a piece from slam. 'i am not
the son of sha-clack-clack / i am before that / i am before, before
...' |
|
| good
lord, it's donald glaude, the hypest black man ever. spinning
wicked house to a very moist room [check the wetness in the air].
boogie time! |
|
| helen
cruising the bike carousel in the bicycle rodeo. |
|
| the
lawnmower bike was the best. check the double-decker bike with mag
wheels in the back. some dude fell off that later on. he was ok. |
|
| with
wacky wobbles the bike. |
|
| atmosphere
in the outdoor stage. they guested with the living legends the night
before. |
|
| sage
francis was tight in his hooded franciscan monk outfit. he started
out singing about johnny cash and mixed it up with spoken word and
politics. eye-opening. |
|
| check
the bush skull-and-crossbones shirt. |
|
| mmm.
sunset. nearing the golden hour and the crowd is just getting started.
|
|
| yea,
it was pretty tiring walking around all day. why don't you take
a load off? [where's waldo extra: helen with a white and green beachball] |
|
| where's
waldo ii: lydia in a tangerine shirt and hannah in her bandanna.
|
|
| belle
and sebastian entrancing the crowd at sunset. |
|
| cool
red thing. people just congregated around these art installations
like worshippers. |
|
| mike
and helen cheesing japanese style on their way to getting smoothies. |
|
| peacesu!
sorry, didn't mean to poke your breast, helen. |
|
| watching
air at a distance. it was very frenchy and floaty. |
|
| wedged
in the crowd for the flaming lips. animals on lsd of course.
|
|
| oh
god, just ridiculously brilliant. wayne coyne, the lips frontman,
crowd surfing inside a giant bubble. |
|
| he
said he had this dream of arriving onstage in a huge bubble from outer
space. and so we were helping him fulfill his fantasy. just a fucking
riot. |
|
| colored
balls danced over the audience and everyone 'awwww'ed when the enormous
white one popped. |
|
| wayne
and the scary nun puppet leading the sing-a-long. 'oh yoshimi, they
don't believe me / but you won't let those robots eat me ...' |
|
| finally
getting to see robert smith and the cure. i was a bit sad.
|
|
| in
the beginning, not as emotional and epic as i expected, but i was
so excited they performed 'lullaby'. |
|
| chubby
and sweaty but still xoxo. he sounded great. |
|
|
loosened up by the end and the crowd was crazy. encore: 'close to
me' [mm], 'the lovecats' [m-mm!], 'why can't i be you', 'boys don't
cry', 'play for today' and 'a forest' |
|
| robert
in center played a guitar solo for the last song. |
|
| mass
exodus. sleepyheads hitting the freeways. |
|
|
