It wasn’t until I started writing down dates to take with me to a doctor’s appointment that I realized how long I’d been sick. Weariness and lethargy after Mamby on the Beach. A nasty, lingering cough after the whirling baseball diamond dust storms of Pitchfork. A fever that confined me to bed for days after Lollapalooza. I ended up with a timeline that showed I’d been sick for two straight months.
All summer, I soaked my panties to Jeremih and my sneakers in vast puddles, fueled by funnel cake and free energy drinks. I glared at bros in Camelbaks and visors screaming racial slurs along with rap songs and saw limp teenagers cradling each other through severe serotonin distress on curbs. I got hugs from people I only recognized from Twitter profile photos and made out with a Southside rapper in the Lollapalooza media tent. I even took a nap on the beach while The Black Madonna played me a personal soundtrack of Chicago house.
After establishing itself as a major world player from its Grant Park base in Chicago, Lollapalooza's giant swirling lollypop of music has made its way through Santiago de Chile, São Paulo and Buenos Aires.
With a well-received debut and a growing fan base, Bob Moses soon found themselves performing on the festival circuit all over the globe, from Lollapalooza to Coachella to Europeâs famed Sonar festival.