The Pretty Girl In The Dive Bar
I Believe In The Church Of Rock And Roll
Emily Trinks
Issue date: 3/8/04 Section: Arts & Entertainment
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My favorite going-out thing to do (besides, of course, TNDC) is to see live music in a dirty little club. I'm not talking about concerts as much as shows-and there is a big difference. I flinch when the ticket prices are more than $12 (don't get me started about Ticketmaster) and I philosophically dislike any place that does not offer a beverage option priced under $3.50. I like to see new bands (whether or not I've actually heard them is irrelevant), drink cheap beer, and dance my little uncoordinated heart out in a dark room where everyone is facing the same way (sometimes with me singing my little can't-carry-a-tune heart out).
I like to think that I on average, I go to a show about once a week. And on average, I might, but the actual distribution of shows-per-week probably shows a lot more leptokurtosis than a standard normal would suggest, as I've had more than a few weeks when I couldn't motivate to head out in the snow to see some band that I've only barely heard. Of course, those snowbound/ recruiting-season/ ennui-filled weeks were countered with other dirty-rock-club weeks. My personal best was six shows in seven days (including a double header one night) and I think I saw maybe eleven bands. This past week, while not exactly one for the record books, was a good one.
This Charming Man
When I mentioned to a friend in New York that I was planning on seeing Bishop Allen in Chicago, he was floored that I even knew who they are since he's only seen them play at parties, but confirmed the word on the street that they are great live. This solidified my plan to catch them at Schuba's (3159 N Southport) on February 28, even if I couldn't find someone that I could drag along with me.
I felt bad for the all the folks who couldn't come out and even worse for not pressing harder on others because the show was that good. It was a night of delightfully catchy pop songs with toe-tapping beats and you couldn't help but have a big stupid smile on your face from the moment they got on stage until they left too soon.
I like to think that I on average, I go to a show about once a week. And on average, I might, but the actual distribution of shows-per-week probably shows a lot more leptokurtosis than a standard normal would suggest, as I've had more than a few weeks when I couldn't motivate to head out in the snow to see some band that I've only barely heard. Of course, those snowbound/ recruiting-season/ ennui-filled weeks were countered with other dirty-rock-club weeks. My personal best was six shows in seven days (including a double header one night) and I think I saw maybe eleven bands. This past week, while not exactly one for the record books, was a good one.
This Charming Man
When I mentioned to a friend in New York that I was planning on seeing Bishop Allen in Chicago, he was floored that I even knew who they are since he's only seen them play at parties, but confirmed the word on the street that they are great live. This solidified my plan to catch them at Schuba's (3159 N Southport) on February 28, even if I couldn't find someone that I could drag along with me.
I felt bad for the all the folks who couldn't come out and even worse for not pressing harder on others because the show was that good. It was a night of delightfully catchy pop songs with toe-tapping beats and you couldn't help but have a big stupid smile on your face from the moment they got on stage until they left too soon.