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Times-Picayune, The (New Orleans, LA)
September 11, 1992
Section: LAGNIAPPE
Page: L8

LOLLAPALOOZA '92
OF MUD, MUSIC AND MAYHEM
Author: SCOTT AIGES Music writer

It was muddy. It wasn't nearly the carnival and freak show they said it would be. But Lollapalooza '92 idea man Perry Farrell wasn't worried. On hand to play a surprise set with his Latin-influenced new band, Porno For Pyros, a red-eyed and slightly wobbly Farrell passed the time by watching the industrial funk band Shark Bait pound in a rhythmic melee on everything from heavy-gauge iron springs to a real kitchen sink.

As the tribalistic percussion jam raged on for more than 20 minutes, as lithe female dancers gyrated sexily on platforms high above the stage, Farrell happily stripped down to his white cotton briefs and plowed headlong into a big puddle in a grassy field behind the small auxiliary stage. Not a bad way to beat the heat or to warm up for a show. With large mud stains on both cheeks, Farrell changed into a pair of shorts and prepared to take the stage.

But wait - Shark Bait's show went on so long that now Soundgarden was cranking up its Zeppelinesque metal sound on the main stage. Not one to share the spotlight, Farrell retreated to his bus and waited for Soundgarden to finish before treating the crowd to his sexual bravura.

So it went as Lollapalooza '92 turned a soccer field outside the UNO Lakefront Arena into a giant mud-slinging party last Friday. Woodstock circa '92 it wasn't, but Lollapalooza lived up to its reputation as one of the premier concert attractions of the summer.

It's hard to pretend the so-called alternative music festival was really an alternative to mainstream rock when there were 30,000 heads bopping to the beat. But every band I caught put on a great show - even Farrell, who overcame an awful sound mix and lackluster material to strut with an impressive swagger.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers, who closed the day, rocked hard with adrenaline-fueled funk. Ministry ranted with a bone-crushing blitz as frontman Al Jourgensen traipsed around the stage with ironic merriment on his face and a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Pearl Jam played its loose-limbed mix of Hendrix-style blues and Seattle grunge to a crowd of the already-converted, while singer Eddie Vedder cavorted dangerously while climbing the scaffolding some 100 feet above the ground.

But none of those well-known bands could match Los Angeles rapper Ice Cube for charging up the crowd. Maybe it was the quickly fading sunlight or the novelty of rock fans watching a rap show, but Cube had them eating out of his hand as he pulled out one cliched audience-participation routine after another. His show rocked so hard that I passed up the Jim Rose Traveling Sideshow to watch Chili Peppers Anthony Keidis and Flea help Ice Cube pump up the volume.

Exciting as Cube's show was, even he couldn't match the Boo-Yaa Tribe for innovation. The Los Angeles-based rap group was fronted by a massive body builder, backed by a live rhythm section and abetted by four Samoan brothers who must have weighed at least 300 pounds each and sang close soul harmonies better than the Neville Brothers.

Other than that, there was nothing out of the ordinary.