Music festivals are like the sickest buffet one could imagine consuming. There’s too much going on, you want it all, and if you don’t pace yourself you’re going to get hurt. Lollapalooza, with its summer heat, hundreds of bands and eight stages turns some fans into yearly pilgrims and others into victims in the name of music. I made it through three days in Chicago’s Grant Park with some sensible footwear, a giant water bottle and a desire to pump my fists, and I only said “I’m getting too old for this shit,” (the rallying cry of the over-25-and-still-attending-concerts set) aloud a handful of times.
I knew I wouldn’t get to see all the bands I’d hoped to, but one simply can’t. Here’s a timeline of what I encountered this year, from Lady Gaga’s mental problems to Japanese explosions. Should you make it down next year, take a swig of No Regrets first and let the buzz lead the way.