Three days is too much.
I wouldn’t want to eat my favorite meal, or do nothing but watch great movies, or even have sex for three days straight. What made me think I’d want to bounce around a park like a pinball slowly losing its momentum and watch bands for that length of time?
Day One, you’re going on excitement and anticipatory adrenaline. By the middle of Day Two, you’re pretty worn out, but food and water are still doing their jobs and you can still get it up, spiritually speaking, thinking about those upcoming acts you’ve never had a chance to see live.
But by Day Three, as a 34-year-old who spends a majority of his waking hours making, listening to and watching others play music anyway, I’m having a hard time looking forward to anything but finding a shaded curb to sit on, and maybe a miraculously clean Port-O-Let where I can retch up some Vitamin Water. At this point, I’m just hoping the clowns and mimes that have thus far (and disappointingly) peacefully coexisted at Lollapalooza finally get into a fight, one that sparks a 60,000-strong brawl.
This article appears in Aug 16-22, 2006.