The classic rock station's paraphernalia reigned: an estimated two of every five people sported T-shirts or temporary tattoos. With all the radio station music festival hype (Live 105's BFD, Kamp KOME and KMEL Summer Jam), Lollapalooza '96 could easily have passed as a KSJO-sponsored event. Lollapalooza '96 was a real Lollapaloser, dominated by ignorance, excessive slam-dance violence, fashion faux pas and mediocre music. Other political booths on site were overshadowed by band merchandise or drowned out by loud, raucous noise from the second or third stages.
The "Brain Trough," a tiny tent of political organizations, seemed to attract attention only because shade and free Trojan condoms were available. The irony of the Shaolin Monk demonstration was no isolated event Lollapalooza '96 was not the mind-opening, politically correct festival that it has been in the past. Metroactive's exclusive Lollapalooza photo essay. "Yeeeaaah, monks!" hollered the tattooed character seated in front of me, drowning out the narration on inner peace that accompanied the dazzling moves. Roars of appreciation came during fighting sequences, which to some resembled a Street Fighter video game.
Basic Zen principles were also explained to the audience during the exhibition, but such enlightened ideas flew right over the headbanging heads of Lollapalooza '96 attenders. 'FIFTEEN SHAVEN-headed Chinamen in orange robes" (as the Shaolin Kungfu of China are described in the festival's program) took Lollapalooza's main stage between Rancid and Screaming Trees to demonstrate feats of flexibility, strength and discipline. Photographs by George Sakkestad text by Nicky Baxter and Bernice Yeung