Last night I attended a pre-Lollapalooza "media party," and whilst it was a lovely time, I'm still not completely sure what any of the attendees (save one) had to do with music. Or media. I can tell you that the cocktails at Violet Hour are delish (in fact I need to take Photogal there since with the fabulous drinks and the no smoking policy this place could be in the running for her new favorite bar in Chicago) and the third salon looks like someones open and airy drawing room. I kept looking around for Colonel Mustard, suspicious.
Then it was off to see Great Northern and The Comas. Since I never seem to be able to get a handle on Subterranean's show schedules, I got there about halfway through Great Northern's set. I live their album and it's airy washes of sound, but they are a completely different band live: they are all brutish walls of noise sans nuance, but since I love that whole shoegaze thing I still thought what I saw was fab.
I'm new to The Comas bandwagon -- they are on, what, their fourth album? -- but they were phenomenal live. One of those shows that blasts through my usually critically jaded veil of ennui to get my ass moving in directions that I'm sure were embarrassing to my friend accompanying me to the show. I almost bought a t-shirt, they were so good.
And I've decided that their guitarist Nicole Gehweiler (along with the gal from Birds Of Avalon) is in the running for the official "Tankboy's Hottest Women in Rock 2007."
Cute
+
a great voice
+
handling lead guitar duties for the majority of the set
=
HOTTT
+
a great voice
+
handling lead guitar duties for the majority of the set
=
HOTTT
Then I made my way to Double Door where I received advice on where to purchase custom-made earplugs (due to my drumming style I realize they have moved from the category of luxury to the category of necessity) and discovered that in Night Of The Living Dead, Barbara should really just run and keep running.
The evening ended with a hot dog and a nightcap at Debonair, prompting the following comment, "We really should spin here, because then maybe they'd have a crowd." This is not to say the kids DJing were bad, although they did seem content to let their laptop playlists do most of the work while they hung with friends, this is merely to say that outside of Thursday - Saturday, Debonair still seems to be having some difficulty finding their niche.
A cab ride in which my partner in crime for the evening and I argued over who lived closer and should therefore be dropped off first, ensued. And then I arrived home (second, having lost the previous battle), cuddled with Photogal / the pups / the kitten ...and went to bed.
The end.
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