"This dancing thing. This rhythm thing. This moving thing. It comes from my ancestors. I just can't seem to help myself" - all of this before putting her earring and shoes back on and launching into another soulful track to the accompaniment of the peerless Dap Kings.

As Jones wrapped up and we prepared for Wilco to take the Bud Light stage, it became clear that the other end of the park must be chaos. Of 75,000 people, there were maybe 3,000 (this is being generous) on the northern lawn. This likely due to the fact that Chicagoans figure that they can see Wilco anytime and that nostalgic streak that crawls us your neck when a Rage song comes onto the radio. We decided that we'd stay for half of Tweedy and company, then high-tail it to the southern end of the park to get a glimpse of the sweaty, crowd-surfing, stuck-in-the-'90s masses.

Got your Tweedy goggles on?

When Wilco took the stage, the noise from the crowd seemed that of 10,000 people: a response prompted by the rhinestoned country-western suits Tweedy and band were clad in. The ensembles dripped of pure Nudie style - with some tongue-and-cheek embellishments (Tweedy's was adorned with several maneki neko, those little waving cats you see in sushi restaurants). After opening with "Misunderstood" (ending, of course, with an endless series of shrieks "nothing, nothing, nothing"), Tweedy explained, "We've been doing a lot of sewing these past few months preparing for this show."

This line of banter continues throughout the set, "You saw Radiohead last night? They were great but they didn't look like they'd done any sewing," and "We spun the cloth to make these things. We churned some butter while we were at it." Every word from the stage seemed to be part of an intimate conversation, something easier to pull off with only a few thousand fans. Despite the dismal turnout, Wilco did their hometown proud - delivering a set that was at times rockin' and at times heartbreaking, but always on the A-game.

We made the mad dash across the park (15-minute walk) to catch the tail end of Rage. Fortunately, the press area overlooks the main southern stage and we'd be able to duck in without have to shove through the masses. We arrived just in time for "Guerilla Radio," taking our place against a chain-link fence overlooking the crowd. (Press aren't given much access at Lollapalooza, instead, we're all crammed into a bin that's view is mostly blocked by a row of luxury "cabanas" that people pay top dollar for. A fact which is both frustrating, but also a bit grounding, as even seasoned reporters must head into the crowd if they want to experience the event. Although some had figured out how to cover the whole thing from a computer inside of a tent. Curious)

Rage had to stop the set on three separate occasions because people were being crushed against the front-of-stage barricades. This seemed to really confuse most of the enormous crowd, as de la Rocha tells fans to cut it out, take a few steps back, "Save that shit for the streets," between reciting diatribes about the government and spitting out incendiary lyrics. Just after we arrived in the press tent, the most riot-like action of the night occurred - although it was blown out of proportion by many news outlets the next day.

Basically, here's what happened: Lollapalooza keeps several CTA bussed on festival grounds with their engines idling. These act as air-conditioned cooling stations for people teetering close to heat stroke. Halfway through the Rage set, the CTA decided to open the gate to let a bus out. This, despite the fact that the seasoned security manning this particular gate (which was the closest to the AT&T stage, right next to the press tent) protested strongly that it would not be a good idea to open such a large gate with several thousand people watching from outside the park, right across the closed portion of Columbus Avenue.

The CTA opened the gate anyway and, as the security guard predicted, a few hundred people formed a mob and rushed the gate. Several news outlets reported number as high as 2,000, but the word from the man at the gate was that about 150 people managed to get through before it was closed. Chicago police on horseback came galloping to the rescue and formed a line to keep the rest of the non-ticket-holders in check (apparently, Rage Against the Machine fans are afraid of horses). No one was hurt, but a bunch of people got in for free. Which might be the closest thing to "revolution" that Rage fans have ever accomplished.

The set was actually incredibly well-performed with lights strobing, energy peaking, and people crowd-surfing, In the media tent, we were waiting for a riot of some kind, as the notion of out-of-control teetered dangerously close at the peak of every song. When the set closed out with "Killing in the Name Of," most of us were sure this would be the time. But in the grand tradition of Rage's suburban fan base, no riot occurred. Bummer.

Other highlights of the day included the always-impressive Jamie Lidell, who had a full band in tow this time around; an incredible cover of "Sloop John B." by Okkervil River; the Canadian Serena Ryder who strums the line between Bonnie Raitt and Cat Power; and Perry Farrell's surprise guests in the DJ area: Sam Ronson and Slash.

Getting into the Hard Rock for the after party was nearly impossible, since Lindsay Lohan was in attendance as part of Sam Ronson's entourage. Inside, the scene was pretty boring. In her 45-minute set, I saw Ronson touch exactly one record: she spent the majority of the her stage time off stage, talking up LiLo, who looked just as bored as the rest of the crowd. Thank goodness for SpankRock, whose DJs swooped in after Ronson to actually, um, DJ. The group brought the energy back up and saved the party, just in time for me to decide to get some shut-eye before tomorrow's festivities.