LOLLAPALOOZA
“Hello Chicago.” -ago…-ago…-ago…
Over the sound of my own panicked breathing, I heard my voice echo out over the park and decay into the distance. I froze for a moment. I was on a vast plain of a stage—as wide and flat as a Midwest prairie. Lollapalooza.
Was this a dream?
I took a moment to get my bearings. A pre-show recording reverberated across the park, pitch-shifting and distorting as the sound engineer adjusted the levels. The faces in the front row were distorted and bored—long with apathy. The collective voice was a long low howl of disdain. They were groaning—booing. They weren’t here for us. They wanted The Temper Trap. I gripped the mic stand; afraid the growing riptide of disapproval would pull me over the monitors and into the sea of neon plastic sunglasses an
