Friday, 30 December 2011
Monday, 19 December 2011
Scary Christmas with CREEPY BAND and KILLER MOON @ The Subterranean, 8:30 pm, 21+, $8
Good friends of mine, Creepy Band, are headlining a huge lineup of rock bands (also including KILLER MOON, Fort Wilson Riot, and No Hay Banda) all celebrating a wonderful cause: the birth of Zombie Jesus. Described playfully and sincerely (by a crazy woman) as "a combination of a demented undead Jim Morrison and a demon possessed Dazig fornicating in the depths of hell," Creepy Band was born as a Halloween act, intended to scare and wail simultaneously. However after discovering their love for the eerie, dissonant rock tones, they kept the creepiness going full time, scaring and skeeving us out all year round (really, they creep me out. They're creepy, just look at that drummer.)
Also a band that you should have your legs broken for missing, KILLER MOON. This psychedelic rock trio (sometimes quartet, sometimes cadre), is a fucking atom bomb of heavy, trippy riffs, pounding drums, and a constant march of bass that goes inside your head and makes you fuckin' groove. Their constant onslaught of sights and sounds create an entire experience for at least four of the five senses (though I do encourage you to taste any of the members as well). These motherfuckers play hard, and if you ain't seen them destroying venues all over Chicago, you should get on it. Also, it doesn't hurt that everyone in the band is super attractive.
OH! AND I PLAY IN THE BAND SOMETIMES TOO! NOW YOU OBVIOUSLY WANT TO GO EVEN MORE! LOOK AT ME SHAKING THAT TAMBOURINE I LOOK SO COOL!
So even though I said you should have your legs broken for not going to the SubT (AT LEAST have your legs broken, sheesh), there IS a way to get out of it! The only acceptable reason to not get creepy and killed at the Subterranean is THE GREAT SOCIETY MIND DESTROYER'S RECORD RELEASE SHOW @ The Empty Bottle, 9:00 pm, 21+, $8 (free with RSVP)The Great Society Mind Destroyers (accompanied by Rodeo, Velocicopter, and T'Bone) have long since been one of the main authorities of psychedelic rock and roll in the city of Chicago. They play with conviction, spewing out jam after jam of eclectic 60's psych sounds that have been dragged through the dirt and mud to create a whole different sound, new to both that era and the one we live in now. A Great Society Mind Destroyer show starts with you in one place, and ends with you in a completely different place altogether, one that normally feels like you were taken to by way of spaceship.
And with the release of their new LP SPIRIT SMOKE, featuring favorites like Divinorum and Kamsara Drag (haha), all the bullshit I said can be proven when you take it home and listen to it. The Empty Bottle is practically a second home to the Destroyers, and if you are guaranteed to see them play a fucking great live show anywhere, this is it.
I cannot tell you what show to go see tomorrow. I don't want that responsibility. What if you go to the SubT and your significant other runs into a former lover (one with way better abs than you), sparks fly, and she dumps your sorry ass for him (or her, gender equality, respek)and you are left broken-hearted, crying into your overpriced gin and tonic while KILLER MOON shreds explosions of Sabbath-like noise over your head. I'd feel terrible. I'D FEEL TERRIBLE IF SHE LEFT YOU. But on the other side of the same coin, what if you go to The Empty Bottle and are sexually harassed by someone like this guy? Once again, I'd feel just horrible. So make your own decision. You can't go wrong with either show.
Saturday, 10 December 2011
Fuck You, Cat: A Eulogy
We stand here today in the memory of a feline whose very presence left a palpable discomfort in the air. His angular, robot-esque face, his creamsicle coloring, his vacant, unnerving stare…there are so many reasons to celebrate his demise adoption.
It all started during the great move of 2011; hippies shifting from house to house, gathering up their collections of psychedelic posters, marijuana paraphernalia, paisley scarves and hole-riddled socks, excited at the prospect of a new home, a fresh start, a commune to end all communes. In the midst of packing, an affectionate cat wandered his way into a Humboldt Park slumhouse and wormed his way into our hearts. Lasagna, we called him, was mild, playful, even adorable. Little did we know that he would later trade in his friendly façade for something far more devious.
Here we are, six months later, wiping up the last of Lasagna’s misplaced urine, and I am not ashamed to admit that my body is tingling in anticipation; soon, very soon, I will never have to look at this fucking creeper again. No more falling asleep on the couch only to be molested by a cat with no boundaries. No more piss-soaked books or backpacks. No more yowling at 4:00 AM directly outside of my door. Now Sadie, the feline bitch queen of the house, can reclaim her throne. Now Rudy, our mildly retarded canine, can eat Sadie’s shit straight from the litter-box in peace. We can all let go a sigh of relief; we are safe.
It’s dawned on me that we may miss Lasagna at some point. After all, he is affectionate, still, and he does like to bat things around in the standard cute cat fashion. We’ve given him many nicknames and fictionalized his antics, from the hard-drinking loose-cannon cop Detective Chaz Meowmers to the wealthy, carousing bureaucrat Chancellor Meowmers. Sometimes we even fed him. But I ask, “Does that make it okay? Can cuteness absolve the sins of the past?” The answer, brothers and sisters, is a resounding “NO.”
Lasagna, I hope that in your next life you find comfort. I hope that the hipster girl who is liberating you from your opulent palace of a prison can show you the sort of unconditional love that you need. I hope she’s okay with all of her things being soaked in urine, and I hope she’s comfortable with your lack of respect for personal space. I hope you do well, cat, but from the bottom of my heart, you can go fuck yourself.