You know the paradox: you first look to rock and roll to find something you can call your own, and to feel the thrill of being swept up in a mass audience, of realizing that your private tastes are shared by hundreds -- or millions. In rock and roll, the urge toward community is as strong as the urge toward individuality. Maybe that's why it's such a quintessentially American form. Elvis was the good ol' country boy who loved his Mama and ate his peanut-butter-and-bacon sandwiches and never left Memphis. And he was the rock-and-roll bad-ass who did the nasty in Hollywood and New York.

The idea that the Lollapalooza tour was supposed to represent some apogee of the alternative "community" has been on the slide almost since the first show five years ago. And I'm way too polite to criticize an audience instead of a performance. But imagine my dread, driving along the winding western extremes of Route 2 in a 12-car cluster of 35 mph traffic on the way to Pownal, Vermont, and watching the big Ford in front of me, stuffed with five thick-necked buddies, a crushed beer can popping out the window every couple of miles, as the car bounced once, then twice, off the guardrail, and the boys continued on their merry way.

Well, it's a long way from the one day of peace and love that Lollapalooza originally came to represent after it was first delivered by Perry Farrell in 1991. A few Lollapaloozas ago, even the bonfires on the Great Woods lawn, surrounded by whorls of circling dancers, had the majesty of some pagan rite. Now the fear of testosterone overload has been on the rise -- and why would this Metallica Lollapalooza lead you to expect anything else? "You two guys -- yeah, you two -- are the worst dancers I've ever seen," said Girls Against Boys bassist/keyboard man Eli Janney midway through the band's second stage set. He was pointing at two baseball-capped, smoking, shirtless, muscle-sculpted lads whose aggressive arm thrashing effectively cleared the tiny mosh pit into a empty circle -- empty except for themselves.

Sarah Coleman, a 16-year-old from Charlotte, Vermont, identified the mosh pit as the worst thing about the event. She was wearing a purple Sam Black Church T-shirt, and she's a regular at all-ages shows at Club Toast and 242 Main St. in Burlington, where she can see SBC, Earth Crisis, and other local hardcore bands. So she oughta know the pit. "They don't know what they're doing here," she said with a bewildered smile. "They're running around in circles, jumping up and down." One of her male buddies chimed in, "It's not very friendly. It's more malicious, more angry. It's not supposed to be angry."

This sixth Lollapalooza was the annual tour's third attempt at an alternative venue in New England. Just like Quonset Point (where the New England version of the event was held in '93 and '94), it was a big field, no comforting amphitheater. Green Mountain Racetrack (formerly for horses, then dogs) hasn't been used for years, but the roofed grandstand is still there, providing shade and a bit of shelter during a 10-minute late-afternoon downpour (the upper bleachers were closed). And the setting was beautiful -- a green valley, surrounded by tall hills. The fenced-off centerfield pond was marked DANGER: HAZARDOUS CHEMICALS, but that didn't seem to dampen any spirits -- and it certainly prevented a drowning or two.

But whenever the event is held in a field, it loses any semblance of a concert. The main stage is at one end, the second stage and "indie stage" at the other, at the end of the "midway." The sheer geographic distance and the concentrated schedule, the dense crowds on the midway, and the lack of seats demanded that you keep moving. (It was a lot easier to get around the relatively compact grounds at Great Woods, and even the sprawl of Quonset.) Musically, the second and indie stages were the best bets, not only because they presented the most "alternative" music, but because they got the best mix. On the main stage, beefcake bass resonated off the glassed, hollow grandstand and, it seemed, off the mountains themselves, massacring the detailed textures of Soundgarden's work from their new Down on the Upside (A&M) and turning Screaming Trees into an overbearing caterwaul despite the appeal of Mark Lanegan's grainy baritone.

Second-stage openers You Am I actually projected quite well into the adjacent parking lot -- clean bass lines, good hooks, strong vocals. I still don't get the double-bass set-up of Girls Against Boys, since, to my ears, the subtle differences in their patterns are lost in the overall sonic density. All the same, their set came across on the second stage, and it was a relief when Janney filled in with keyboard riffs instead of bass. He and lead singer Scott McCloud also work their anguished duo vocals to good effect.

Other second-stage standouts were Cornershop, whose UK/Punjabi take on American rock and folk had a consistent groove, dressed with traditional sitar and tambura, as well as a strong trap drum backbeat and singer/songwriter Tjinder Singh's acoustic-guitar strumming and nasal polyglot -- with a bit of a sarcastic edge. Leslie Rankine, taking her Ruby "project" on the road, proved even more incongruous live with a conventional rock band than on disc with her electronic tricks and noises. She sings beautifully: clear and supple in all registers, a diva in a rugby shirt and purple hair, digging her teeth into lyrics spiked with sexual tension. And the mystery woman, Beth Hart, was a Janis Joplin disciple, playing blues rock with Joplin's testifying lyric repetitions, but none of the songs.

On the main stage, Psychotica's glam routine was at least attention-getting, with leader Patrick Briggs in silver bodysuit. Rancid's ska/Clash routine translated well (they're this generation's Sha Na Na). The Ramones played their usual several-thousand-song set and even the departed Dee Dee Ramone's "Chinese Rocks" with, possibly, the worst, murkiest sound of the day. (Is it Joey's little joke on Johnny that on the band's last tour the guitar is just about inaudible?) Metallica triumphed because they had the lights (the only band to play after dark), the sound (bold, sculpted unison riffs that stood up well against the mountain-fed bass resonance), and the crowd.

Metallica's set provided the only moment when the crowd came together and created a concert. There was nothing cohesive about this Lollapalooza. It's not that we all have to believe in the same beautiful things, or believe that we're Alternative Nation. But the scene at Lollapalooza '96 was caught somewhere between being a concert and being a state fair. (There was even a "freak" show that included a "hermaphrodite" on the midway.) The event had no identity -- not even the polymorphous, nonsensical joy of Lollapaloozas past. The mix of ethnic foods has been overwhelmed by fried-dough stands and sausage subs. The alternative politics are now confined to their own dark little tent ("The Brain Trough"), a place to get some shade and, frankly, the only place that lifted my spirits in the early part of the day. There was stunt bicycling and even, I heard, some live animals. But it was basically a bummer.

Not that I don't understand the appeal. When you're 15 or 16, anything beats the Stop & Shop parking lot as a hangout. So a hang it was. Because of hassles with their liability insurance, Wu Tang Clan didn't play, which proved to be the biggest bummer of all for some fans I talked to. The Wu Tang fans named hardcore bands I'd never heard of (not a difficult thing to do) as their favorites. And one fan, Mitch White of Williamstown, a 22-year-old veteran of Lollapaloozas I, II, and IV, said this was the worst: "The bands suck." What else? He held up a bottle of water. "Two dollars for a bottle of water. Water was only a dollar the first year." And he smiled at his own joke.

Because calling Lollapalooza "too commercial" (as almost every kid I talked to did) is the biggest joke of all. The first Lollapaloozas gave non-mainstream music a commercial presentation. If you went to see Jane's Addiction, you also got to see some stuff you never heard of (maybe your first exposure to Henry Rollins). And a group of bands could collectively sell out a 20,000-seat venue that they couldn't hold as headliners on their own. Last year the complaint was that the headliners, Sonic Youth, weren't new or unknown enough. But how many in that audience (who might have come to see Hole) had ever seen Sonic Youth, or other main-stage acts like Pavement or the Jesus Lizard? The audiences at those shows declared themselves alternative by their willingness to try something they'd never heard of. At Lollapalooza '96, the second/indie-stage areas were the alternative ghetto, and one of the few pleasures to be had was seeing the '90s version of flower children, in their baggy pants and soccer shirts, dancing to a pissed-off Punjabi from London.

Otherwise, main-stage male headbanging ruled, and it was ironic that Metallica's lockstep rhythms and shout-along choruses were what it took to galvanize the audience and stamp them as a crowd of rock-and-roll individuals, and a community. At 9:10, James Hetfield went into his patented crouch at the mike and led the chant of "So What." Kirk Hammett strutted about, spinning barely audible leads, and drummer Lars Ulrich provided the band with their peculiar brand of swing (is Ulrich the only hard-rock drummer who can drive a band by marking strong beats with cymbal splashes?). No one seemed to mind that the new Load (Elektra) isn't Kill 'Em All. And the loudest screamers in front of me were two 16-year-old girls, scotching the testosterone theory.

For alterna-kids who, as Eric Weisbard wrote in his intro to the Spin Alternative Record Guide, are by definition uncomfortable with "massified and commodified culture," the old Lollapalooza felt like home: What the hell is that? Beats me, let's check it out. (Chances were, it was Jesus Lizard's David Yow.) The Ramones' venerable shtick (hey, this thing wouldn't have existed if it weren't for them), Soundgarden's Zep moves, Metallica playing "One" with flashpots and explosions, though all admirable, were known quantities. Maybe next year the quirkier acts will move back to the main stage. In the meantime, we can wait for Perry Farrell's next concoction, the ENIT fest (due at Great Woods on August 20, and, Farrell concedes, financed by his part-ownership of Lollapalooza), and wonder whether the next Lollapalooza headliners will be Aerosmith.