4.16.2004
wounded bear
I'd love to tell you all about Mark's misadventures in the town of Detroit, but I'm also in the middle of planning an upgrade. It's gonna take a while, though.
So that means MORE LATER. Get it?
So that means MORE LATER. Get it?
4.11.2004
Chicago to DeKalb, Part ONE
Just came back from a lovely Eastertime walk in my ‘hood of Tremont. According to my Yahoo! weather, it’s in the low 40s; however, it seemed to be rather warm from all the sun. The streets were quiet—it’s Easter, after all, and folks are out visiting family and friends—so a pleasant time was had.
I needed the exercise, however. CV got in from our weekend trip ‘round 7 or 8 am. After unloading the rental van, Frank and I headed back to Tremont where I promptly sacked out until 3 pm or thereabouts. I’m still at this point rather groggy and discombobulated. Even though John usually makes the overnight drives, I seldom find myself able to really catch a good snooze on those trips. I think that deep down inside I’m afraid something might happen to the van and that I should keep a vigil of sorts to insure that no accidents happen. Either that, or the van ride is so bumpy that I can’t really relax.
This past weekend we played both Chicago and Dekalb, IL, with Local H, with whom we’ll be touring next week for about 10 days. I must add at this point that the Metro was lovely. I usually expect nothing but full-on simian behavior from the types that run gigantic rock clubs. But from the first interaction to the last-—from managers all the way down to the security guards—everyone at the Metro was 100% professional and friendly to boot. Even though running a place of that size can be a real hassle, it was nice to see a place where folks enjoyed one another’s work company as well as the work at hand. Hats off to the Metro for being so kind. I can’t wait to play there again!
Even though we tried to hustle in order to make soundcheck, traffic on the Dan Ryan Expressway heading directly into Chicago stumped our efforts. No matter. The Metro gig was going to be a hurry-up affair. Everyone there apologized for the rush. Our gig was to be an early all-ages gig with a set by electronic artist Squarepusher around 10 pm. The whole Local H show would start round 7 pm and conclude at 9:30, so it was pretty important that everyone and everything run on time. Consequently we didn’t get a soundcheck. I think all of in CV figured that was okay. Cisco Pike, the opener (featuring Scott from Local H on rhythm guitar) did a quick check which gave me time to rap a bit with Pat and Randy, both of whom I remember from Chicago power-pop outfit the Cells. In the ancient days of the early 90s, the Conservatives and Viva Caramel, I believe, both played with the Cells in both Chicago and Cleveland. Those were good times. It’s nice to see that Randy and Pat are still playing and having fun; their band’s sounding fine and will hopefully net them what they deserve.
By the time the show kicked off, the place was jammed with kids (I mean, real kids under 21) and a young, “alternative rock” crowd thrilled to be waiting for their local heroes, Local H. The place was sold out, you see, which means we’re talking almost 1,000 folks stuffed even up to the balcony of the Metro. Cisco Pike rocked out their short set, and before we knew it, we were on. Our friend Thax the poet did a quick reading commemorating Cobra Verde (editor’s note: Thax is a shaggy-haired Whitmanesque character who often goes to shows and recites poems at the commencement of gigs saluting headlining bands he likes. Thax is a fairly eccentric fellow, but since he’s so nice, enthusiastic and gentle, you simply can’t say no. Furthermore, he’s a fixture in hipster Chicago, so people actually do like him when he reads). We strapped on our instruments, and as soon as he was done, off we went into our usual opener, “Underpants”. I couldn’t hear a bloody thing. I was using Local H’s big-ass 8x10 cabinet and my GK head, which should have been more than audible, but no luck. I don’t know if Tim was too loud or that my ears were shot or simply that the battery in my bass was dying. See, at the last CV gig I popped the low E on my Fender big bass. The week at work was fairly busy, so I didn’t have time to slap a new one on. In a hurry, I grabbed the Fernandes J copy—the one with the EMG pickups that sound ‘funny’ to my ears at times—and used that for the gig. All I heard onstage was a rumble. No definition, no nothing, which meant I couldn’t lock quite the way I want to with Mark’s drumming. Both Local H and Cisco had a lot of gear onstage as well, which meant much less room for rocking out and much more room for discomfort. Furthermore, the crowd was there solely for Local H. During our short set there was a great deal of apathy and a few boos and catcalls. There’s nothing like having your energy drained by a house full of people who aren’t really interested in hearing you. By the end of it all, I was more tired than usual. Not so much discouraged—I mean, what can you do if people don’t like you? Gotta buck up—but just drained from trying to keep the energy level high.
Subsequently I spent a good chunk of the aftershow talking to old friends like Mike Hodgkiss (of the Gaza Strippers and Urge Overkill, who slung guitar with us for a couple of shows), and CV fan Mark (who was kind enough to loan us crash space at the end of the night). I must add that Mark stuck out wildly—he’s a tall spindly guy who that night was wearing a funky jacket, leopard-print pants, and punk rock creepers—which was a contrast to the large and bewildering “DUDE” presence at the Local H show. Call it ‘frathouse rock’. It’s weird—hanging out with Scott and Brian from the H, you wouldn’t think they’d have anything to do with barrel-chested bullies. But for whatever reason, a visible chunk of the crowd was composed of these “human fireplugs”. Only twice I had to make my way through that particular crowd in order to obtain a Jameson on the rocks. Fortunately a lovely and friendly bartender by the name of Kelly made the journey through Testosteroneville worthwhile.
Next stop: Dekalb, IL.
I needed the exercise, however. CV got in from our weekend trip ‘round 7 or 8 am. After unloading the rental van, Frank and I headed back to Tremont where I promptly sacked out until 3 pm or thereabouts. I’m still at this point rather groggy and discombobulated. Even though John usually makes the overnight drives, I seldom find myself able to really catch a good snooze on those trips. I think that deep down inside I’m afraid something might happen to the van and that I should keep a vigil of sorts to insure that no accidents happen. Either that, or the van ride is so bumpy that I can’t really relax.
This past weekend we played both Chicago and Dekalb, IL, with Local H, with whom we’ll be touring next week for about 10 days. I must add at this point that the Metro was lovely. I usually expect nothing but full-on simian behavior from the types that run gigantic rock clubs. But from the first interaction to the last-—from managers all the way down to the security guards—everyone at the Metro was 100% professional and friendly to boot. Even though running a place of that size can be a real hassle, it was nice to see a place where folks enjoyed one another’s work company as well as the work at hand. Hats off to the Metro for being so kind. I can’t wait to play there again!
Even though we tried to hustle in order to make soundcheck, traffic on the Dan Ryan Expressway heading directly into Chicago stumped our efforts. No matter. The Metro gig was going to be a hurry-up affair. Everyone there apologized for the rush. Our gig was to be an early all-ages gig with a set by electronic artist Squarepusher around 10 pm. The whole Local H show would start round 7 pm and conclude at 9:30, so it was pretty important that everyone and everything run on time. Consequently we didn’t get a soundcheck. I think all of in CV figured that was okay. Cisco Pike, the opener (featuring Scott from Local H on rhythm guitar) did a quick check which gave me time to rap a bit with Pat and Randy, both of whom I remember from Chicago power-pop outfit the Cells. In the ancient days of the early 90s, the Conservatives and Viva Caramel, I believe, both played with the Cells in both Chicago and Cleveland. Those were good times. It’s nice to see that Randy and Pat are still playing and having fun; their band’s sounding fine and will hopefully net them what they deserve.
By the time the show kicked off, the place was jammed with kids (I mean, real kids under 21) and a young, “alternative rock” crowd thrilled to be waiting for their local heroes, Local H. The place was sold out, you see, which means we’re talking almost 1,000 folks stuffed even up to the balcony of the Metro. Cisco Pike rocked out their short set, and before we knew it, we were on. Our friend Thax the poet did a quick reading commemorating Cobra Verde (editor’s note: Thax is a shaggy-haired Whitmanesque character who often goes to shows and recites poems at the commencement of gigs saluting headlining bands he likes. Thax is a fairly eccentric fellow, but since he’s so nice, enthusiastic and gentle, you simply can’t say no. Furthermore, he’s a fixture in hipster Chicago, so people actually do like him when he reads). We strapped on our instruments, and as soon as he was done, off we went into our usual opener, “Underpants”. I couldn’t hear a bloody thing. I was using Local H’s big-ass 8x10 cabinet and my GK head, which should have been more than audible, but no luck. I don’t know if Tim was too loud or that my ears were shot or simply that the battery in my bass was dying. See, at the last CV gig I popped the low E on my Fender big bass. The week at work was fairly busy, so I didn’t have time to slap a new one on. In a hurry, I grabbed the Fernandes J copy—the one with the EMG pickups that sound ‘funny’ to my ears at times—and used that for the gig. All I heard onstage was a rumble. No definition, no nothing, which meant I couldn’t lock quite the way I want to with Mark’s drumming. Both Local H and Cisco had a lot of gear onstage as well, which meant much less room for rocking out and much more room for discomfort. Furthermore, the crowd was there solely for Local H. During our short set there was a great deal of apathy and a few boos and catcalls. There’s nothing like having your energy drained by a house full of people who aren’t really interested in hearing you. By the end of it all, I was more tired than usual. Not so much discouraged—I mean, what can you do if people don’t like you? Gotta buck up—but just drained from trying to keep the energy level high.
Subsequently I spent a good chunk of the aftershow talking to old friends like Mike Hodgkiss (of the Gaza Strippers and Urge Overkill, who slung guitar with us for a couple of shows), and CV fan Mark (who was kind enough to loan us crash space at the end of the night). I must add that Mark stuck out wildly—he’s a tall spindly guy who that night was wearing a funky jacket, leopard-print pants, and punk rock creepers—which was a contrast to the large and bewildering “DUDE” presence at the Local H show. Call it ‘frathouse rock’. It’s weird—hanging out with Scott and Brian from the H, you wouldn’t think they’d have anything to do with barrel-chested bullies. But for whatever reason, a visible chunk of the crowd was composed of these “human fireplugs”. Only twice I had to make my way through that particular crowd in order to obtain a Jameson on the rocks. Fortunately a lovely and friendly bartender by the name of Kelly made the journey through Testosteroneville worthwhile.
Next stop: Dekalb, IL.
