It really is hard to make the good things last.

Last weekend went by not like the rickety but effective trains that linked me from the airport to my hotel room to Douglass Park, home of the beloved Riot Festival. In hindsight, my time in Chicago feels like it passed me with the speed of a Japanese bullet train. Finally, life felt almost like it did before COVID-19 grounded planes and ravaged the live music industry. Simultaneously I was granted a rare time to let loose and release all my adolescent urges. I had been needing to do so for a while.

The zeitgeist was in full effect as we made our way inside the festival’s grounds on Saturday. Signs pointed towards COVID testing sites. I flashed my vaccination card alongside my ID to be let in. The first band of the day, Man On Man, was formed over lockdown by Faith No More’s keyboardist and his boyfriend out of quarantine boredom; it was their second live show. FNM would have been hitting the stage later that day had their seemingly impenetrable frontman not cancelled their tour to deal with a mental health crisis.

It quickly became evident that everyone was more than happy to be back. I try to socially distance myself from GWAR as much as possible due to cleanliness concerns, but I couldn’t help but spy on their performance. I ended up getting a clear view of their assorted liquids arcing over the heads of the hooded rain poncho clad security guards and into the untamed audience. (My friend Kati walked out with green stains splattered across her starch white mask and tote bag.) Later, as Les Savy Fav played, it was impossible to socially distance from frontman Tim Harrington, who frequently retreated into the crowd for a variety of antics. He rode an audience member down the aisle like a toddler receiving a pony ride from his dad; he took and wore on his head many pairs of sunglasses before redistributing the Ray-Ban wealth to an entirely different section of the crowd; he rolled out a roll of tarp across everyone’s heads, got on top of it, bore a hole in it, and reemerged among everyone else. It was truly a sight to behold.

The next day, I stood on my feet for over five hours. The first band I witnessed during this test of leg strength was Body Count. From the safety of the VIP section, I was protected from the mosh pit happening not very far away from me. Ice-T didn’t refrain from giving his commentary on the pit, which he found unsatisfactory. It even once transformed into my eyeballs’ first wall of death at Ice’s behest. If Ice-T tells you what to do, you do it. The band was tight and talented, and the songs were topical and pretty infectious. Add a hefty dose of Ice-T being extremely Ice-T and you’ve got one unforgettable performance. “I PLAY ONE ON TV!” the Law & Order actor reminded us as the band closed their set with “Cop Killer.” You love to see it!

After Body Count left the stage, I spent the next two and a half hours standing in front of the rail waiting for my main attraction, DEVO. I had been there for their final pre-COVID performance almost two years prior, and it seemed unbelievable that the wait was finally over. Their set began with a 70s film of the band tussling with their fictionalized pushover manager, Rod Rooter. It was followed by a recently shot clip of the same guy riding an exercise bike and wearing a tiger print tracksuit. Disappointed that the band he once managed wasn’t doing stadiums “like Kid Rock,” he sardonically reintroduced the band to the audience. (They aren’t your everyday boy band.) It was a reminder that, as much as you may want them to go away, DEVO never truly will. Even with two frontmen having recovered from COVID-19, the spud boys still carry force, talent, and an electrifying presence. In fact, they incited such a frenzy that I spent a good amount of the show ducking crowd surfers who got dangerously close to crushing me. Security guards cradled them like Booji Boy babies as they passed one by one over the rails before being shooed to the back of the crowd. Later I overheard that their forceful performance of “Secret Agent Man” incited a fist fight farther back in the mass of de-evolving dregs. If a mini-militia of costume changing, whip-smart punk scientists in or nearing their seventies can still hold it, don’t listen to Rod: they still shoot straight. See DEVO while you still can.

“Freedom of Choice” completed the band’s set; the group had apparently been under threat of getting the cord pulled due to going over their time limit, which would have been blasphemy. The next thing I knew I was sprinting across the sunset lit field as the Flaming Lips’ set opener—“Race For The Prize,” of all songs—echoed across the darkening park. I was able to blend into the crowd as the happy-sad hymn to medical progress came to a close. How else would they open a post-vax concert? I spent the majority of their awe inducing performance in a haze fueled by exhaustion, awe, and second hand smoke. Slightly hypnotized by the neon psychedelic video backdrop, assimilating with the seizure inducing swirl seemed much more preferable to walking to the train station.

Eventually, the lights on the Roots stage dimmed and Wayne Coyne’s virus proof giant bubble deflated for the last time. We worked our way through the darkness to reorient ourselves and ended up catching a portion of the night’s closing performance, the Slipknot spectacle, from afar. We reunited with a friend we had chatted with earlier in the day and took the opportunity to rib on the group. We all agreed that, while they were obviously dedicated to their presentation, their musical content couldn’t live up to it. At another stage out of our range, Machine Gun Kelly, the creepy rapper turned equally creepy pop punk poser, was also playing. Another example of when immaculately crafted style outweighs substance. Interesting that the two bands immediately behind them on the billing—the Lips and the VOs—were the ones who actually hit a successful combination of the two. Life is not fair.

But the pain of Machine Gun Kelly’s existence did not ruin the weekend, as weird as it was to witness such a large crowd once more. It was a time of strange euphoria and semi-reluctant indulgence. It was relieving that the long stretch of boredom that had made up life up until that point was finally interrupted by a brief blip of in person camaraderie. There’s no wonder why stepping out of those gates for the last time and taking that final train ride felt as if something was being lost. If only the fun could last forever.