Some material in this article may not be suitable for the average music lover...
The tickets were purchased, hotel booked, and bags packed. Five of us packed into a car filled with our bags, 5 grams of weed, a handful of vicodin, 13 liters of wine, 1.75 liters of Sailor Jerry, a bottle of Jameson, and plans for a (very) blurry weekend at the much anticipated Riot Fest in Chicago, IL. Complete with a line-up including GWAR, Elvis Costello, Gogol Bordello, Dropkick Murpheys, The Gaslight Anthem, and many more the weekend was sure to be unforgettable.
We weren’t an hour East before the car’s back seat occupants cut and snorted a few vicodin off the back of a disc golf frisbee; all the while, a police training squadron padded by on foot through the parking lot. Fortunately as the driver, I passed on the drugs but enjoyed settling into the hotel upon arrival with a satisfying twist of the Sailor Jerry bottle cap.
The weekend had just begun. The first day of the festival began with rounds of slapping the bag wine and finding our way from the hotel to the bustling Humboldt park. A quick stop at Flash Taco along the way refueled our rock tanks and we finally made it to the front gates. Our party moved through the bag inspectors and guards easily and we were there; music humming, crowd buzzing, and spirits rising. One mate made a short stop at a portable toilet to unstrap his handy platypus of wine from his duct tape holster under his shirt. Honestly, who expects a handful of college kids to pay $7 a beer?
First on the list? GWAR. GWAR was everything you’d expect them to be; repulsive, vulgar, loud, dirty, and just shitty in general. But that’s a part of the appeal right? Glam rock has never incredibly tasteful but they certainly made an impression on the audience. Their music lacked overall quality. The tunes blended together, the singer’s ridiculous aggression was persistently void of surprise, and the audience seemed to only show real interaction when the stage props were changed or splayed over the crowd. Admittedly, they certainly pushed boundaries when the band aborted Snookie’s two headed demon child on stage, but then again maybe some boundaries just shouldn’t be pushed.
We hurriedly ran from GWAR, amongst the splattered audience, to Gaslight Anthem. I wish I had more on the show, but the overall performance was actually standardly unmemorable. The rock was good, the crowd was evenly enthusiastic and no major hiccups arose throughout. I should probably listen in to one of their albums to get a better feel.
The day was well on its way and we were getting our fill of music, fried food, and things imbibed. The crowds were growing each minute and each stage had an appreciative audience no matter how small. One of the smaller crowds caught my eye while the Florida born rock band, Hot Water Music, played. I stopped on my way to the food alley to listen and watch.
The group has an impressive lead singer with grit in his voice. The four-piece had amazing transitions between songs that flowed smoothly and kept the head-bobbing crowd pleased. Despite 66,000 fans on Facebook and a record label behind them, the group had a solid genuine feel to their presence and music and addressed the crowd with appreciation and enthusiasm that is often seen in the underground scene. This band is definitely one to check out.
Another highlight included seeing Andrew W.K. from afar. By far he had the most enthusiastic audience of the whole weekend. The music was almost entirely upbeat, happy sounding, inspiring tunes with straight-from-an-inspirational-video dialogue between songs. The band was tight and incredibly mobile on stage, but the overall quality of show was simply loud and repetitive (although I suppose that exactly perfect for party music.) The group does an excellent job at fitting the role of uplifting party music.
The day was winding down and the platypus running dry so alas we trekked our way back to the hotel to crash. The following day began similarly; however, we made sure to have more “provisions” along. The group had a full bag of wine strapped under one shirt, the platypus under another, a nifty flask in a pocket and that whole bottle of Jameson I mentioned earlier tucked into someone’s belt. We HAD to be prepared for Gogol Bordello.
The day moved quickly and the music was rather uneventful until midday. Making our way from one stage to another, we caught wind of something... something folk. We turned all ears and eyes to the growing crowd for Larry and His Flask. The six-piece sported a banjoist, two guitars, a drummer, a mandolin player, and a very bearded bassist. The band was a mixture between Marah in The Mainsail, Mumford and Sons, and Trampled by Turtles complete with the showmanship of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra on steroids. The bassist rocked his man-sized instrument like it was attached to his hip as he leaped across the stage. The members jumped to and from their stage boxes switching places like a revolving door all while maintaining impressive harmonies and consistently thrilling songs. Overall, this group was the highlight of the whole weekend for the lesser known bands and deserves wide scale recognition.
After a climactic end to Larry and His Flask we trotted through the thoroughfare enjoying women’s arm wrestling, circus entertainers, a myriad of Mohawks, macho wrestling, and even met some new friends. In particular one homeless drunk punk bumming some cigarettes and a kid selling acid (who solicited us four separate times in one day... short memory I suppose).
Finally, the time had come, the crowd was amassing and the platypus was being emptied by friends and strangers closest to us. The Jameson bottle was finally pulled out in the open and was lifted high in the air as Eugene Hutz came to the stage. The three months of planning for this road trip finally came to this epic finale. The show commenced complete with “Start Wearing Purple”, “Wanderlust King”, “Alcohol”, and all the other favorites. Every band member never stopped smiling and the crowd soared. In waves, the mass of people pushed and pulled in all directions; leaping to get closer. As per usual the bottle of wine came out and was tossed across the wanting fans. A marching band style bass drum came out and people went wild. The set never settled, and that’s just the way it should be. By the end my feet were trampled and my group totally scattered. It was honestly the best show I’d ever seen; in quality of performance and crowd experience.
Waddled through the dispersing audience on bruised feet to the group’s meeting place. Alas, all members were there save for one. We waited patiently as we heard Dropkick Murphey’s kick off their set. I would have gone, but we needed to find our last member. Several phone calls and some nervous waiting later, we thought maybe we should walk around to search. Suddenly, it came to me. There, in the red and white circus tent, he sat hunched over with tentative medics hovering. His dazed look snapped to surprise when he saw us entering the tent. The medics were furious, but he got up and we walked him out. We learned he’d been knocked by an elbow, rendered unconscious, unknowingly crowd surfed to the back of the audience, then dropped, and finally dragged and left by the ferris wheel where the medics found him. His head throbbed, but he managed to walk the extra two miles from the festival grounds to find an open liquor store and then see the Gogol Bordello After party at which Eugene hung from some rafters and got shitfaced Dj’ing to a packed house. Another friend was thrown out of the bar for drinking under 21 (oh yeah, have I mentioned the oldest in the group was 20), and walked back to the hotel. Overall, the after party was awesome, but not nearly as awesome as the authentic Gogol Bordello event. It made the festival end with a bang.
We crashed that night completely satisfied with the events of the weekend. We’d make our way home the next day in a daze with hangovers aching and minds full of memories. I wish I could post every act we saw, but the list of groups is far too long. I would only hope this review and story encourages you enough to buy a ticket next year and see for yourself the great music and experiences Riot Fest has to offer.
We weren’t an hour East before the car’s back seat occupants cut and snorted a few vicodin off the back of a disc golf frisbee; all the while, a police training squadron padded by on foot through the parking lot. Fortunately as the driver, I passed on the drugs but enjoyed settling into the hotel upon arrival with a satisfying twist of the Sailor Jerry bottle cap.
The weekend had just begun. The first day of the festival began with rounds of slapping the bag wine and finding our way from the hotel to the bustling Humboldt park. A quick stop at Flash Taco along the way refueled our rock tanks and we finally made it to the front gates. Our party moved through the bag inspectors and guards easily and we were there; music humming, crowd buzzing, and spirits rising. One mate made a short stop at a portable toilet to unstrap his handy platypus of wine from his duct tape holster under his shirt. Honestly, who expects a handful of college kids to pay $7 a beer?
First on the list? GWAR. GWAR was everything you’d expect them to be; repulsive, vulgar, loud, dirty, and just shitty in general. But that’s a part of the appeal right? Glam rock has never incredibly tasteful but they certainly made an impression on the audience. Their music lacked overall quality. The tunes blended together, the singer’s ridiculous aggression was persistently void of surprise, and the audience seemed to only show real interaction when the stage props were changed or splayed over the crowd. Admittedly, they certainly pushed boundaries when the band aborted Snookie’s two headed demon child on stage, but then again maybe some boundaries just shouldn’t be pushed.
We hurriedly ran from GWAR, amongst the splattered audience, to Gaslight Anthem. I wish I had more on the show, but the overall performance was actually standardly unmemorable. The rock was good, the crowd was evenly enthusiastic and no major hiccups arose throughout. I should probably listen in to one of their albums to get a better feel.
The day was well on its way and we were getting our fill of music, fried food, and things imbibed. The crowds were growing each minute and each stage had an appreciative audience no matter how small. One of the smaller crowds caught my eye while the Florida born rock band, Hot Water Music, played. I stopped on my way to the food alley to listen and watch.
The group has an impressive lead singer with grit in his voice. The four-piece had amazing transitions between songs that flowed smoothly and kept the head-bobbing crowd pleased. Despite 66,000 fans on Facebook and a record label behind them, the group had a solid genuine feel to their presence and music and addressed the crowd with appreciation and enthusiasm that is often seen in the underground scene. This band is definitely one to check out.
Another highlight included seeing Andrew W.K. from afar. By far he had the most enthusiastic audience of the whole weekend. The music was almost entirely upbeat, happy sounding, inspiring tunes with straight-from-an-inspirational-video dialogue between songs. The band was tight and incredibly mobile on stage, but the overall quality of show was simply loud and repetitive (although I suppose that exactly perfect for party music.) The group does an excellent job at fitting the role of uplifting party music.
The day was winding down and the platypus running dry so alas we trekked our way back to the hotel to crash. The following day began similarly; however, we made sure to have more “provisions” along. The group had a full bag of wine strapped under one shirt, the platypus under another, a nifty flask in a pocket and that whole bottle of Jameson I mentioned earlier tucked into someone’s belt. We HAD to be prepared for Gogol Bordello.
The day moved quickly and the music was rather uneventful until midday. Making our way from one stage to another, we caught wind of something... something folk. We turned all ears and eyes to the growing crowd for Larry and His Flask. The six-piece sported a banjoist, two guitars, a drummer, a mandolin player, and a very bearded bassist. The band was a mixture between Marah in The Mainsail, Mumford and Sons, and Trampled by Turtles complete with the showmanship of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra on steroids. The bassist rocked his man-sized instrument like it was attached to his hip as he leaped across the stage. The members jumped to and from their stage boxes switching places like a revolving door all while maintaining impressive harmonies and consistently thrilling songs. Overall, this group was the highlight of the whole weekend for the lesser known bands and deserves wide scale recognition.
After a climactic end to Larry and His Flask we trotted through the thoroughfare enjoying women’s arm wrestling, circus entertainers, a myriad of Mohawks, macho wrestling, and even met some new friends. In particular one homeless drunk punk bumming some cigarettes and a kid selling acid (who solicited us four separate times in one day... short memory I suppose).
Finally, the time had come, the crowd was amassing and the platypus was being emptied by friends and strangers closest to us. The Jameson bottle was finally pulled out in the open and was lifted high in the air as Eugene Hutz came to the stage. The three months of planning for this road trip finally came to this epic finale. The show commenced complete with “Start Wearing Purple”, “Wanderlust King”, “Alcohol”, and all the other favorites. Every band member never stopped smiling and the crowd soared. In waves, the mass of people pushed and pulled in all directions; leaping to get closer. As per usual the bottle of wine came out and was tossed across the wanting fans. A marching band style bass drum came out and people went wild. The set never settled, and that’s just the way it should be. By the end my feet were trampled and my group totally scattered. It was honestly the best show I’d ever seen; in quality of performance and crowd experience.
Waddled through the dispersing audience on bruised feet to the group’s meeting place. Alas, all members were there save for one. We waited patiently as we heard Dropkick Murphey’s kick off their set. I would have gone, but we needed to find our last member. Several phone calls and some nervous waiting later, we thought maybe we should walk around to search. Suddenly, it came to me. There, in the red and white circus tent, he sat hunched over with tentative medics hovering. His dazed look snapped to surprise when he saw us entering the tent. The medics were furious, but he got up and we walked him out. We learned he’d been knocked by an elbow, rendered unconscious, unknowingly crowd surfed to the back of the audience, then dropped, and finally dragged and left by the ferris wheel where the medics found him. His head throbbed, but he managed to walk the extra two miles from the festival grounds to find an open liquor store and then see the Gogol Bordello After party at which Eugene hung from some rafters and got shitfaced Dj’ing to a packed house. Another friend was thrown out of the bar for drinking under 21 (oh yeah, have I mentioned the oldest in the group was 20), and walked back to the hotel. Overall, the after party was awesome, but not nearly as awesome as the authentic Gogol Bordello event. It made the festival end with a bang.
We crashed that night completely satisfied with the events of the weekend. We’d make our way home the next day in a daze with hangovers aching and minds full of memories. I wish I could post every act we saw, but the list of groups is far too long. I would only hope this review and story encourages you enough to buy a ticket next year and see for yourself the great music and experiences Riot Fest has to offer.