“Did you have a nice weekend? Make any new friends?” Le Bon asked the crowd with a devilish grin. Here’s a man who tasted every delicacy, indulged in every vice and saw every corner of the world in his heyday - and on Sunday night, he still wanted more.
Drummer Danny Wagner launched into a ham-fisted solo after just three songs, which in hindsight was modest compared to guitarist Jake Kiszka’s seven-minute outro solo during “The Weight of Dreams.” It was a sadistic, interminable slog through the pentatonic valley in desperate pursuit of a melody that never materialized, and it served as a fitting microcosm for Greta Van Fleet’s entire set, an embarrassing act of rock and roll cosplay that demonstrated a fundamental misunderstanding of what made their forebears so powerful.Īnd boy, did he perform, skipping, twirling and dancing across the stage with the guileless enthusiasm of a local artist who just landed their first midday festival slot.
Frontman Josh Kiszka pranced around the stage like Frodo Baggins in a pajama onesie, his ear-piercing shrieks reduced to a series of tuneless vowel sounds. Greta Van Fleet embrace the bombast of their heroes without the faintest hint of irony, but they lack the other elements needed to sell that bombast - you know, little things like showmanship, technical prowess and good songs. And indeed, Greta Van Fleet’s bloated, self-indulgent set sank like a lead balloon under a deluge of stadium-rock cliches. The Frankenmuth, Michigan quartet has become one of the most divisive bands in rock since releasing its debut single “Highway Tune” in 2017, with fans heralding them as rock and roll messiahs and critics writing them off as shameless Led Zeppelin clones. before a decade-spanning crowd of tens of thousands of people. The sun had begun its tauntingly slow descent below the treeline by the time Greta Van Fleet took the Lady Bird Stage at 6:30 p.m.
Still, any band capable of summoning three consecutive circle pits in such oppressive heat deserves the highest marks. The band members appeared to still be finding their sea legs a bit on the massive Honda Stage, which makes sense since it dwarfed the club stages they usually headline. What started as a tongue-in-cheek boast has evolved into a satisfaction guarantee, and White Reaper delivered the goods with soaring garage-punk anthems like “Judy French” and “The Stack,” as well as material off their slightly poppier and more polished 2019 album, You Deserve Love. White Reaper rose to indie-rock supremacy with their excellent 2017 sophomore album, The World’s Best American Band. A searing cover of Nirvana’s “Aneurysm” primed the audience for frontman Tony Esposito’s eventual mosh call, and keyboardist Ryan Hater maximized his downtime by powering through an aerobic routine that included jumping jacks and herkies.
as the temperature crept into the 90s, but the quintet made the most of its lot, ripping through a breathless power hour full of Thin Lizzy-style guitar harmonies and fist-pumping choruses. The sunbathed Honda Stage was the least enviable place in the world to be at 2:30 p.m. The first of those three Sunday performances came from Louisville, Kentucky’s White Reaper, who combine Camaro-rock histrionics, sugary power-pop melodies and the irreverent humor of DIY punk.