Next up for the Abiding Assistant and I was Dizzee Rascal, and it was back to the Connector Stage. We took the shortcut through the VIP area, where it seemed like other music critics had figured out a way to review the festival from park benches without actually seeing any bands. Man, I wish I were that good.

At first it seemed like the sightlines from backstage sucked, a major disappointment considering this was last year's sweet spot to see everything onstage and get a great view of audience reaction. This year, bright blue tents protecting sound equipment from the elements hindered most of the view, but the ever resourceful Abiding Assistant managed to find the one sliver of space where the view was perfect.

Dizzee's set started off with a siren, and was initially plagued by a boatload of sound difficulties. At first it seemed like Rascal was about to lose his cool, but the sound peeps got it together just in time. "You may not understand a word I'm saying up here, but by the end of the day you're gonna know my name," he promised. It didn't even take that long, as he paused periodically throughout his set to ask the crowd, "What's my fucking name?" and was greeted each time with a resounding, "Dizzee Rascal."

The Abiding Assistant and I went to cash in our "free burrito" cards at the VIP area's Chipotle, but I won't go into detail as the horrible sludge-in-tortilla will no doubt offend San Francisco's delicate burrito-eating sensibilities.

We stopped by the Aluminum stage to check out Vampire Weekend. A band with that much buzz has a lot of living up to do, particularly since their live shows usually fall short. They played it safe with a set that sounded exactly like the album, sliding by on technical know-how. No flourishes to set it apart, but no glaring mistakes, either. Altogether forgettable.

Next up on the Connector stage was !!!. Pitchfork MC Damon Locks had to take care of a public service announcement regarding the recycling station, explaining to people that it was located, "Next to the lost and found, but we're not responsible if you lose your mind. That being said, get ready to lose your mind - Chk. Chk. Chk!"

At first I was a bit worried, as enormous stages typically spell doom for the spastic Brooklyn dance ensemble that thrives on audience interaction (see last year's poor showing at Lollapalooza), but frontman Nic Offer quickly realized that he could stand on the barricades, the amps, and a series of blocks in the photo pit and touch his audience. He really likes to touch, despite the fact that many people in the front row were covered from head to toe in park mud.

Sassy as ever, Offer was clearly having fun, once stopping to ask, "Could you bring the sun down a little bit? Just a little bit?" The set was composed almost entirely of new songs, a major disappointment for folks who prefer the group's debut and subsequent Louden Up Now, but the energy was palpable.

We checked out the Hold Steady, and were rewarded with our first Julia Stiles sighting of the weekend. Craig Finn led his cohorts in a typical Hold Steady set - fun, high-energy, crowd-pleasing - but it was nothing to write home about. So I won't.

AA and I huffed it back to the Connector Stage again for Jarvis Cocker: easily one of the most anticipated acts of the weekend. The crowd was packed so tight, I wondered if anyone was even over at the Balance stage to catch Atlas Sound and No Age. Cocker, in his navy blazer, velvet jeans, skinny tie, and horned glasses, looked every inch the Brit-rocker. He stormed though his solo catalog with the energy of a seasoned pro, but it was obvious that I wasn't the only one waiting for a Pulp song.

His accent was so heavy his stage banter was mostly indecipherable, but he did manage to recite the better part of Chicago's Wikipedia entry, which he printed out and kept on stage with him. The highpoint of the set was without out a doubt the rock 'n' roll "Black Magic," which he delivered with urgency, climbing amps and falling down after the song was through. He ended the set in true Chicago style: with a cover of "Face it" by Master C & J, Chi-town house hero of the '80s. Had Cocker given us only one Pulp song, this set would have been a ringer for best of fest.

Time for Animal Collective, the evening headliners delivered big on production, with an LED light show that bounced through the descending darkness of Union Park. The Baltimore noise-rockers liberally employed the use of audience blinders, which seems to be counterintuitive to promoting that psychedelic groove zone, but it went off without a hitch.

AA and I got a prime view of the stage and audience from the side of the stage, where the obviously fubar dude next to me was busy making a fool out of himself by attempting to scale the fence (the big one that separates the general audience from back stage) to dance on top of it. How you dance on top of a chain link fence is beyond me, but security decided to come set him straight, and dude (who might be the biggest Animal Collective fan on the planet) would have been fine, had he not tried to grab the security officer's walkie talkie. Keep in mind that security mostly comprised off-duty Chicago police. Enter a lengthy tangle of security and drunk guy - how these security guys kept taking kicks in the face without roughing this guy up, I'll never know - that culminates in the drunk guy going into the back of a police cruiser, with a smile on his face the whole time.

Since we missed Jay Reatard's early set, Abiding Assistant and I decided to check out his show at the Bottom Lounge, the official after-party headquarters for Pitchfork. The place was packed to the brim, and Reatard delivered a balls-out set of the most pristine punk rock I've ever heard.

AA and decided to head over to the Venus zine (full disclosure: I'm the music review editor) after-party at Sonotheque. Filled to capacity, the evening boasted an AV display of photos from the fest. AA and I decided that hot dogs were in order, but the bouncer explained that no one was to enter or leave, since a murder had just taken place outside. Twenty minutes later, we managed to get away, down a couple Zeppelins from Rockstar Dogs, wait for the bus directly across from the crime scene, and fall into bed to prepare for another day at the park.