It’s been a long, long time since I danced in public. But if there was ever a time to bust out some of my solid gold moves, the final afternoon of Lollapalooza was it. The day dawned hot and steamy, and not just because of the sizzling heat. Chicago’s own Kid Sister continued what appears to be a growing tradition on the South Stage (despite their sponsorship of the stage, AT&T’s service has gotten half a bar from just about everyone I’ve spoken to, so I’m ignoring their naming rights), following in the heels of fellow Chi-town MC Lupe Fiasco, who killed on those boards on Saturday. (Sunday’s closer will feature the King of Chicago, Kanye West, taking what will now be known as the Home Stage.)
Sister, accompanied by three female dancers in futuristic football gear and face paint, sashayed across the stage in a flirty summer dress and got the crowd bouncing to summer jams like “Pro Nails,” at one point bringing out a seven-piece crew of female backup dancers who were painted gold head-to-toe.
(Check out Kid Sister and her dancers after jump!)
The dancing was a bit lazier and definitely more Euro-flavored for the Brazilian Girls, whose singer, Sabina Sciubba, slinked out in a white cream puff-looking dress and matching white parasol. The band’s ethereal trance dance grooves didn’t quite get me moving, but by the time FNMTV favorites Chromeo cranked up the electrofunk, it was over. Before taking the stage the crowd was chanting, “Chromeo Whoa Oh!” and the combination of the fleshy P-Thuggs talk box crooning and Dave 1’s scratchy guitar and falsetto vocals on “Tenderoni” sent the kids into an undulating spasm of jam band worthy proportions.
The dancing was a bit more sedate over at the adjoining stage, where the Black Kids played what a colleague referred to as music that has the “consistency of a new wave marshmallow.” Part Rick James Mary Jane Girls funk and all “Breakfast Club”-worthy ’80s dance rock, the Kids delivered on the hype. Just because, I also went to check out Eli “Paperboy” Reed & the True Loves, who cooked up some Sam Cooke worthy classic Memphis soul, even if Mr. Reed looked like something out of a 1950s sitcom with his grey slacks and dad sweater. I almost danced a few times, really … almost.