This is how I ended up swaying on a Lake Shore Drive bus Friday morning, Aug. 1, attempting not to unload the night's excesses onto unsuspecting tourists. I arrived at the Hard Rock Hotel around 11, just in time for "media gifting," another strange phenomenon - why give reporters 50-pound bags of shampoos, cosmetics, electronics, and espresso bricks at the start of a weekend long festival? Again the setting for the Music Lounge, the Hard Rock is ground central for artist sightings (the Cook Kids were playing Wii bowling when I arrived), VIP primping (I admit, I got my hair did), free booze (love that Newcastle), and a new addition this year - the Eastsport Café, a makeshift restaurant catered by the China Grill. The Eastsport's Spin stage was hosting artists throughout the weekend, but more on that later.

After pulling myself together, I headed to Grant Park (an easy stroll from the Lounge), catching the frenetic energy of the Go! Team on the way. My destination was Yeasayer, at the southern end of the park. The Brooklyn group had all the appeal of good ole boys: stringy hair, fuzzy tunes, and festival-ready folk rock. Melding elements of Middle Eastern and African traditions with a measured dose of electro, this experimental set was one of the highlights of the morning.

Next up was Welsh sensation, Duffy, playing oh-so-inconveniently at the other end of the park. There was an impressive crowd for the sassy and soulful crooner, and she knew how to work it. Decked out in a retro-romper, Duffy looked every inch like Dusty Springfield, pandering to her newfound adoring fans by twirling the mic around by the cable, strutting across the stage, and generally being as cute as a button. "How you doin', Chicago? I've never said that before in my life, it feels good - how you doin', Chicago?" Adorable. It's wasn't all show for this kittenish crooner, though: girly can sing.

The only thing off-putting about Duffy's set was her choice of deeply sorrowful, bluesy standards - songs her modest life experience doesn't allow her to embrace. Blues is a genre that demands a well-worn vocalist, and Duffy's just not there yet. Sticking to lighter subject matter would have let her hit this one out of the park.

Gogol Bordello delivered a frenzied assault on unsuspecting Lolla attendees (most of whom had bought tickets to see Radiohead, and were merely filling in the lawn to pass the time). Gypsy dancers clad in neon-green, spastic strobe lights, and the blitz and oomp of the fiddle and accordion, respectively, filled in for one of the day's most exciting sets. Not unlike Iggy Pop's '07 showing, Gogol Bordello proved that old dudes rock harder. Back to the other end of the park (this is about a mile walking through the sweaty mob forming for Radiohead's uncontested closing performance), it was time to see how Chan Marshall, aka Cat Power, was faring under the pressure of her plum spot in tonight's schedule.

Per usual, Marshall was in bluesy, brooding form, but managed to crack smile throughout her set: clearly, the beloved indie chanteuse was having a time. Typically rife with covers - "Amazing Grace" won over just about everyone in earshot - Marshall's set culminated in a version of "Fortunate Son" so moving that Fogerty might as well quit playing the hit. It's Cat Power's song now. Decked in an off-the-shoulder orange T-shirt and her trademark ponytail, Marshall was on her feel, slinking about the stage throughout her 45 minutes, working with an energy so palpable that even the sign-language translator couldn't help but dance.

Time to head back over to the southern end of the park to prepare for Radiohead's much-anticipated closing set. The kind folks at Blackstone invited us into the Lolla Lounge for dinner, booze, and a great view of the AT&T stage. Although I'm not a fan of rolling VIP when you have to pay for it (Lollapalooza hosts what is perhaps the largest price gap between general admission and VIP tickets of any major festival), I must admit that air-conditioned modular washrooms make port-o-potties look like, well, shitcans. We grabbed some vino and yummy Whole Foods grub before parking it on the lawn to watch the rest of Bloc Party. I've never been much of a fan, and was secretly devastated to be missing the Raconteurs' set at the opposite end of the park, but Bloc Party actually turned out better than I expected. Perhaps it was the energy of 75,000 people bracing themselves for Thom Yorke, or all that vino, but the bouncy sounds emanating from the stage almost had me dancing. Almost.

When Radiohead hit the stage - in the group's first Chicago experience since the Middle Ages - the crowd went insane, then quickly hushed up for the set, which was heavy on material from OK Computer and the recent, In Rainbows. The production seemed modest, but was actually quite intricate, with steel pipes running from roof to deck, acting at once as backdrop, mirrors, and happy-time-fun-surfaces for the lighting designer. The set leaned toward docile, a sentiment quickly blown to bits when "The Bends" came to an end just as fireworks from the nearby Soldier Field busted through the sky. The hiss-boom-bang was a bit distracting, but when the finale peaked just as the band did on "Fake Plastic Trees," the distraction became an integral part of
the show. During the set, Yorke kept the stage banter to a woeful minimum, but that didn't stop 75,000 camera flashes from strobing through the evening.

After Radiohead wrapped it up, we waited until most of the crowd had left to survey the damage: a layer of debris lined the grass of Grant Park, plastic cups and beer bottles shimmering in the end-of-the-night flood lights.

Back to the Hard Rock for the after-party, which featured a stellar showing from Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings. If there's a band working today that's half as tight and talented as the almighty Dap Kings, I haven't seen them. Jones was in proper form, sass and sequins to spare, ushering in the waves of complimentary vodka Red Bulls and corndogs with a high-wattage performance. The diva periodically pulled unsuspecting men up onto the tiny stage, serenading them with the wail of a woman who knows what she wants (and how to get it). How her Lolla set this weekend can top her Hard Rock showing is a mystery, but I'm sure she'll figure it out.