Just when you thought Snap had died a quiet, lonely death, we come back with the vengeance of a fat kid in line for ice cream on a hot day at Lollapalooza.

Brittney, the other half of Snap, is off on some beach in Mexico for her honeymoon, after a lovely (and genuinely fun) wedding two weekends ago. Me, sullen and lonely for my blogging partner, I trolled Grant Park for three days in the heat with heavy equipment on my shoulders, all to bring you photos from Lollapalooza…

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Inside the Lolla Photo Pit

Just when you thought Snap had died a quiet, lonely death, we come back with the vengeance of a fat kid in line for ice cream on a hot day at Lollapalooza.

Brittney, the other half of Snap, is off on some beach in Mexico for her honeymoon, after a lovely (and genuinely fun) wedding two weekends ago. Me, sullen and lonely for my blogging partner, I trolled Grant Park for three days in the heat with heavy equipment on my shoulders, all to bring you photos from Lollapalooza…


Don’t be fooled—this shot was taken on my tippytoes, with the camera held high over my head.


Just when you thought Snap had died a quiet, lonely death, we come back with the vengeance of a fat kid in line for ice cream on a hot day at Lollapalooza.

Britt, the other half of Snap, is off on some beach in Mexico on her honeymoon after a lovely (and genuinely fun) wedding two weekends ago. Me, sullen and lonely for my blogging partner, I trolled Grant Park for three days in the heat with heavy camera equipment on my shoulders, all to bring you photos from Lollapalooza.

You can read about the best and worst of the festival and see photos in Coda, but I wanted to give you an insider’s look at what it’s like to shoot one the biggest music fests in the country.

First and foremost, the pit is a microcosm of the festival—only smellier and more crowded. There’s some pushing and shoving and stepping on feet, and it’s always great when you’re framing Lupe Fiasco and some photog from, say, John’s Music Blog, sticks his head in your shot and ruins everything. I’m sorry, was that mean? Anyway, fortunately, the pit is usually dominated by larger men, making it one of the few places in the world where being small is a good thing. No one minds that you sneak in front of them when your lens only reaches, say, their armpits.

Which brings us to the smell. These photogs lug heavy equipment up and down Grant Park, often wearing oversized T-shirts, cargo shorts, and sneakers or Teva sandals (is there anything I loathe more than Tevas?)—all of which are drenched in sweat. While other concertgoers can go shirtless and cool off, photogs have to keep their clothes on, which makes for some horrible b.o. And if they brush up against you trying to get yet another shot of Cee-Lo shaking his microphone violently for no reason? Forget about it. My O.C.D. tendencies went haywire a couple times.

Finally, there are the drunken, belligerent teens who demand that you take a picture of them. Because I’m not one of those large men who can fend for themselves, I usually oblige—and end up with a lot of shots of obnoxious idiots.

Aside from those few negatives, it’s not a bad place to be: best view of the bands (at least for the first three songs), access through almost every entrance of the fest (this is key for avoiding crowds), and downtime in the shaded media tent where you can eye-flirt with the lead singer of DeVotchKa (anyone know if he’s married? Gay?). Sign me up for Lolla 2009!

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Check the gallery tomorrow for galleries of tattoos and street style.

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