Hearing them makes me feel sad and nostalgic for those days, but that's the great thing about memories. They make you hurt, but only because they are so real.
Showing posts with label the midnight shows. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the midnight shows. Show all posts
13.4.09
The Midnight Shows
Before I was riding hundreds of miles a week, I played laid down Motown-esque grooves on a 1976 Fender Jazz in the local band, The Midnight Shows, fronted by my good friend Rudy Gonzalez. Before I had to quit to pursue my riding about this time last year, we went into the studio and recorded three tracks. Rudy has finally posted the initial rough mixes on the band's page, and I encourage you to go and give them a listen. They sound great.
Hearing them makes me feel sad and nostalgic for those days, but that's the great thing about memories. They make you hurt, but only because they are so real.
Hearing them makes me feel sad and nostalgic for those days, but that's the great thing about memories. They make you hurt, but only because they are so real.
1.4.08
A Few Items...
One year ago today, I joined my first bike racing team. Yeah, I noticed the significance of the date, too.
I plopped down a wad of bills for my USCF License online, and then headed over to the Goose Island Brew Pub and dropped even more cash down for my xXx Racing membership, after nervously waiting at the back of the room as all these hard-as-shit badasses gave their race reports from Hillsboro. I immediately began 2nd guessing my decision.
I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
The next day I attended my first ever team function, a sprint clinic given by team coach Randy Warren. It was raining with 15 mile an hour wind and about 40 degrees. Underdressed of course. The very first drill was a 50 meter jump in my 39x23. I nearly crashed and almost knocked over teammates Mark Watkins, Joe Ebenroth, and Jeff Watt after both my wheels seemingly left the ground.
Thank God for second impressions.
The very next day was the Fitness Check Time Trial, a 9.7 mile out and back down the lakefront path from Soldier Field to the 52nd St. overpass. Coming back into maybe a 20mph headwind at around 35 degress, it took me 29 minutes. I almost quit. But I didn't.
So I think I'll have a piece of cake at lunch to celebrate today, and then add an extra interval onto tonight's session. I've earned both.
Quite naturally, as evidenced by the number of links to the lower left you might have noticed whilst perusing this page, I had to start blogging about my experiences. Coming up very soon, is the 1-year anni of this very blog. Stay tuned.
----------------------------
Katy and I got a cat yesterday! (Picture coming soon.) His name is Steve. Steve the cat. He is perhaps the Koolest Kat ever. He is also nocturnal.
I am not.
(Yawn.)
----------------------------
As bike racing grows, it has squeezed out the music in my life, much to my regret.
Saturday April 5th, please, please, please get your post-race/ride nap in, especially if you are racing in Beloit on Sunday...
The Note, 1565 N. Milwaukee, will be the site of my last performance with The Midnight Shows. We do go on fairly late...officially 11:30. In reality? Probably more like 12:30. I am getting my sleep on Thursday and Friday, and of course am headed to bed straight after the gig. So I'll understand if you can't make it, but still...we were a GREAT band. They still will be, minus the little extra of me.
And the only thing I love more than playing for friends is riding with them, so if you can, come on out to The Note this Saturday night and watch me play some of that sweet, sweet soul one last time.
I plopped down a wad of bills for my USCF License online, and then headed over to the Goose Island Brew Pub and dropped even more cash down for my xXx Racing membership, after nervously waiting at the back of the room as all these hard-as-shit badasses gave their race reports from Hillsboro. I immediately began 2nd guessing my decision.
I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
The next day I attended my first ever team function, a sprint clinic given by team coach Randy Warren. It was raining with 15 mile an hour wind and about 40 degrees. Underdressed of course. The very first drill was a 50 meter jump in my 39x23. I nearly crashed and almost knocked over teammates Mark Watkins, Joe Ebenroth, and Jeff Watt after both my wheels seemingly left the ground.
Thank God for second impressions.
The very next day was the Fitness Check Time Trial, a 9.7 mile out and back down the lakefront path from Soldier Field to the 52nd St. overpass. Coming back into maybe a 20mph headwind at around 35 degress, it took me 29 minutes. I almost quit. But I didn't.
So I think I'll have a piece of cake at lunch to celebrate today, and then add an extra interval onto tonight's session. I've earned both.
Quite naturally, as evidenced by the number of links to the lower left you might have noticed whilst perusing this page, I had to start blogging about my experiences. Coming up very soon, is the 1-year anni of this very blog. Stay tuned.
----------------------------
Katy and I got a cat yesterday! (Picture coming soon.) His name is Steve. Steve the cat. He is perhaps the Koolest Kat ever. He is also nocturnal.
I am not.
(Yawn.)
----------------------------
As bike racing grows, it has squeezed out the music in my life, much to my regret.
Saturday April 5th, please, please, please get your post-race/ride nap in, especially if you are racing in Beloit on Sunday...
The Note, 1565 N. Milwaukee, will be the site of my last performance with The Midnight Shows. We do go on fairly late...officially 11:30. In reality? Probably more like 12:30. I am getting my sleep on Thursday and Friday, and of course am headed to bed straight after the gig. So I'll understand if you can't make it, but still...we were a GREAT band. They still will be, minus the little extra of me.
And the only thing I love more than playing for friends is riding with them, so if you can, come on out to The Note this Saturday night and watch me play some of that sweet, sweet soul one last time.
26.3.08
The Lost Weekend
The clock struck Midnight this past weekend on my time with The Midnight Shows...but it was a big ol' clock at least. We got it all done, at least the basic tracks we needed.
Also, next weekend, at the Note in Wicker Park, will be my last performance ever with these great guys. If you haven't had a chance to see me play, this is it, your last one. Please come out...I love playing for my friends just about as much as I do riding with them. I know a lot of us are racing in Beloit that weekend, and I got you covered. We're on at 10:30. So you will be in bed no later than midnight. And besides, the sleep you need for this race will come on Friday night. So get your ass to the Note next Saturday and send me out in style.
But in the meantime, a look behind the scenes:
Setting the drums (this takes forever, BTW. But it's arguably the most important facet of the entire recording. Even with the three hours of due diligence, you will still be asking, for days after, whether the snare sounds right):
There are lots and lots of mics involved in setting up the drums, at least 8:
The Main Recording Room:
Laying down the basics first (Getting the drums right is followed closely in importance by re-tuning the bass guitar between every...single...take. If your pitch shifts even a few cents here and there, pretty soon you are going to be off. And then when the bass rig is broken down and it's time to lay guitars on top of an out-of-tune rhythm section? You have no idea how pissed everyone is going be at you):
Two Inches!
The Evil Supercomputer of Effects:
Vic Damone? Fuck yeah it's Vic Damone! Ooh, baby.
The cut on my left index finger from the crash in California a weekend ago still hadn't healed all the way (I bleed for my art, what else can I say?):
The guitar trax are going down!
If you've ever spent more than a few hours in a studio of any kind, you know this cookbook very well...hint, its "recipes" are primarily burritos and Kung Pao Chicken.
The Chairman of the Board:
Be sure and take notes:
30 hours out of a possible 72 available on Easter weekend spent recording? What could possibly get me through it?!?
This helped too (and contributed significantly to the fact that the above is possibly the worst picture ever taken of me):
That smooth voice laying down the soul of the weekend:
Also, next weekend, at the Note in Wicker Park, will be my last performance ever with these great guys. If you haven't had a chance to see me play, this is it, your last one. Please come out...I love playing for my friends just about as much as I do riding with them. I know a lot of us are racing in Beloit that weekend, and I got you covered. We're on at 10:30. So you will be in bed no later than midnight. And besides, the sleep you need for this race will come on Friday night. So get your ass to the Note next Saturday and send me out in style.
But in the meantime, a look behind the scenes:
Setting the drums (this takes forever, BTW. But it's arguably the most important facet of the entire recording. Even with the three hours of due diligence, you will still be asking, for days after, whether the snare sounds right):
There are lots and lots of mics involved in setting up the drums, at least 8:
The Main Recording Room:
Laying down the basics first (Getting the drums right is followed closely in importance by re-tuning the bass guitar between every...single...take. If your pitch shifts even a few cents here and there, pretty soon you are going to be off. And then when the bass rig is broken down and it's time to lay guitars on top of an out-of-tune rhythm section? You have no idea how pissed everyone is going be at you):
Two Inches!
The Evil Supercomputer of Effects:
Vic Damone? Fuck yeah it's Vic Damone! Ooh, baby.
The cut on my left index finger from the crash in California a weekend ago still hadn't healed all the way (I bleed for my art, what else can I say?):
The guitar trax are going down!
If you've ever spent more than a few hours in a studio of any kind, you know this cookbook very well...hint, its "recipes" are primarily burritos and Kung Pao Chicken.
The Chairman of the Board:
Be sure and take notes:
30 hours out of a possible 72 available on Easter weekend spent recording? What could possibly get me through it?!?
This helped too (and contributed significantly to the fact that the above is possibly the worst picture ever taken of me):
That smooth voice laying down the soul of the weekend:
14.2.08
All You Need Is...
...meh. You're still getting hate today. Especially today.
Why does Congress feel the need to get involved in matters that don't concern them? Yes, they theoretically might have passed some legislation that makes Roger Clemens' alleged actions illegal, but now the proper course of action is through the courts. This is all just another way for them to posture, sniff, huff, berate, and make grandiose statements for soundbytes, all the while procrastinating their Constitituionally mandated duties to the point that when it's actually time to do their jobs, it's a nothing but a clusterfucked, half-assed effort. Sorta like I'm doing...right...now....hmmmmmmmm. Moving on.
Is there anything more depressing than an innercity McDonald's before 7am? Grumpy old men demanding extra butter. High school dropouts grabbing pre-cooked egg patties out of a warming drawer with plastic tongs? Restrooms only accessible with the manager's key, which she cannot find? (Be glad. Very glad.) So why does their coffee have to be just above mediocre, enough for me to get a cup on my way to the Blue Line and subject myself to that tragedy?
Next, enough with the Goddamn cupcakes, and cookies, and candy on the top of every Goddamn file cabinet. I'm trying to lose some Goddamn weight, already. No. You know what? Check that. Bring it on. Give me some temptation. I'm better than that. Goddammit.
And now to some meat:
Band drama. Enough said. I finally did the deed last night. The Midnight Shows and I are parting ways. It started pretty ugly but, by the end it was a hugfest. These last few weeks, as the magnitude of my training and racing commitment for this summer became obvious, I felt like Cowboy's character from "Full Metal Jacket", after he'd been shot by the sniper just before the climactic scene: "I can hack it! I can hack it!" I can't juggle three balls at one time, so why was I trying to do it with five?! Because it was a very talented group of musicians of which I was an integral part, but I simply had other priorities that were going to come first. There were also chemistry issues, and creativity issues, but the stress I was putting on myself was poisoning the well before I ever had a chance to draw from it.
I was planning on initially getting to rehearsal early to talk to Rudy about it, but I needed a workout on the bike first, and then to have a proper dinner. As I boiled the water for the pasta, I put my winter bibs on. And in between chopping onions I packed my bag with clothes for work the next day, since after rehearsal I was heading to Katy's. My life had turned into a game of Tetris. I finally rolled out for Logan Square at ten to eight. I was literally bursting the seams with dread at how my news would be received, and couldn't wait to get it out of me, as though I were pregnant with some alien seed. When it became clear rehearsal was going to go to 10pm that night, I didn't want to spend another hour on top of that discussing my situation afterwards when all I wanted to do was get some sleep. As we casually moved between songs, dwelling on such topics as the Grammys (I know, horrible - who would think to talk about that at a rehearsal?!?) my impatience and stress started boiling over, making the cracks visible to everyone in the room. I snapped at Charita, and then it was out in the open. I sat on my bass cabinet and spilled my guts, expecting vitriol and anger coming back at me for myself selfishness.
Love and understanding was what poured forth instead. We hugged, and agreed that I would still record with them that weekend in late March, between camp and Hillsboro. It was agreed that I'd contributed too much to The Midnight Shows not to be on this EP. Those songs have me in them. The reason I was so stressed about telling them my plans was that they wouldn't want me on the recording, since I'd be gone afterwards, and then they'd not be able to do it at all. They thanked me for having the character for not just running out and leaving them hanging.
It seems obvious to me, but experience has shown me in life that this is exactly what most people will do to avoid any sort of conflict. But I only wanted to please everyone. To keep experiencing the sunlight, that to me, is what playing music is all about. It shines on your soul, giving it life and power. And speaking the language of music keeps your brain sharp, like a sword, with which to attack all that life can throw at you. I love music. I also love my girlfriend. And my bike. And my team. And my other band.
Starting to make sense?
Well, I guess today will have some love in it, after all.
Why does Congress feel the need to get involved in matters that don't concern them? Yes, they theoretically might have passed some legislation that makes Roger Clemens' alleged actions illegal, but now the proper course of action is through the courts. This is all just another way for them to posture, sniff, huff, berate, and make grandiose statements for soundbytes, all the while procrastinating their Constitituionally mandated duties to the point that when it's actually time to do their jobs, it's a nothing but a clusterfucked, half-assed effort. Sorta like I'm doing...right...now....hmmmmmmmm. Moving on.
Is there anything more depressing than an innercity McDonald's before 7am? Grumpy old men demanding extra butter. High school dropouts grabbing pre-cooked egg patties out of a warming drawer with plastic tongs? Restrooms only accessible with the manager's key, which she cannot find? (Be glad. Very glad.) So why does their coffee have to be just above mediocre, enough for me to get a cup on my way to the Blue Line and subject myself to that tragedy?
Next, enough with the Goddamn cupcakes, and cookies, and candy on the top of every Goddamn file cabinet. I'm trying to lose some Goddamn weight, already. No. You know what? Check that. Bring it on. Give me some temptation. I'm better than that. Goddammit.
And now to some meat:
Band drama. Enough said. I finally did the deed last night. The Midnight Shows and I are parting ways. It started pretty ugly but, by the end it was a hugfest. These last few weeks, as the magnitude of my training and racing commitment for this summer became obvious, I felt like Cowboy's character from "Full Metal Jacket", after he'd been shot by the sniper just before the climactic scene: "I can hack it! I can hack it!" I can't juggle three balls at one time, so why was I trying to do it with five?! Because it was a very talented group of musicians of which I was an integral part, but I simply had other priorities that were going to come first. There were also chemistry issues, and creativity issues, but the stress I was putting on myself was poisoning the well before I ever had a chance to draw from it.
I was planning on initially getting to rehearsal early to talk to Rudy about it, but I needed a workout on the bike first, and then to have a proper dinner. As I boiled the water for the pasta, I put my winter bibs on. And in between chopping onions I packed my bag with clothes for work the next day, since after rehearsal I was heading to Katy's. My life had turned into a game of Tetris. I finally rolled out for Logan Square at ten to eight. I was literally bursting the seams with dread at how my news would be received, and couldn't wait to get it out of me, as though I were pregnant with some alien seed. When it became clear rehearsal was going to go to 10pm that night, I didn't want to spend another hour on top of that discussing my situation afterwards when all I wanted to do was get some sleep. As we casually moved between songs, dwelling on such topics as the Grammys (I know, horrible - who would think to talk about that at a rehearsal?!?) my impatience and stress started boiling over, making the cracks visible to everyone in the room. I snapped at Charita, and then it was out in the open. I sat on my bass cabinet and spilled my guts, expecting vitriol and anger coming back at me for myself selfishness.
Love and understanding was what poured forth instead. We hugged, and agreed that I would still record with them that weekend in late March, between camp and Hillsboro. It was agreed that I'd contributed too much to The Midnight Shows not to be on this EP. Those songs have me in them. The reason I was so stressed about telling them my plans was that they wouldn't want me on the recording, since I'd be gone afterwards, and then they'd not be able to do it at all. They thanked me for having the character for not just running out and leaving them hanging.
It seems obvious to me, but experience has shown me in life that this is exactly what most people will do to avoid any sort of conflict. But I only wanted to please everyone. To keep experiencing the sunlight, that to me, is what playing music is all about. It shines on your soul, giving it life and power. And speaking the language of music keeps your brain sharp, like a sword, with which to attack all that life can throw at you. I love music. I also love my girlfriend. And my bike. And my team. And my other band.
Starting to make sense?
Well, I guess today will have some love in it, after all.
25.1.08
Next Gig...
Bump!
The Midnight Shows will be live on Saturday, Feburary 9th at Subterranean, in Chicago's Wicker Park neighborhood. 2011 W. North Avenue, to be exact. 18 and over show, too.
We'll be bringin' our usual all-original Midwest-cum-Motown sound, with a couple other bands we are very excited to be sharing the stage with.
Opening are the Butterfly Assassins (pretty popular with the youngn's I hear...
And another Chicago band, Hot as Hell (my buddy Mat directed these two videos).
The Midnight Shows will be live on Saturday, Feburary 9th at Subterranean, in Chicago's Wicker Park neighborhood. 2011 W. North Avenue, to be exact. 18 and over show, too.
We'll be bringin' our usual all-original Midwest-cum-Motown sound, with a couple other bands we are very excited to be sharing the stage with.
Opening are the Butterfly Assassins (pretty popular with the youngn's I hear...
And another Chicago band, Hot as Hell (my buddy Mat directed these two videos).
10.12.07
This Friday
29.10.07
Mr. Saturday Night
Number One Advice: keeping a number of hobbies keeps life interesting. I started the day holding a line at 34mph. And ended it wearing eyeliner dancing to Michael Jackson.
It was the end of my first rest week since beginning my training program with Randy and it was well deserved. I had been on the bike 15, 16, 13, and 13 hours again the first four weeks of the plan. This week was only 8 hours, on paper. I had a bout with food poisoning on Monday that kept me out of commission until Thursday, so Saturday's ride up to Highland Park was my first real ride in a week. I'd been getting recovery rides to work everyday, but that wasn't much to speak of.
It was a fast pace up, with the colder weather thinning out the pretenders who want to come out and test their legs. We averaged about 22mph into a pretty stiff head wind. People we definitely taking shorter pulls off the front of the paceline. It was gray and blustery, but yellow, red and golden leaves blowing everywhere. I love the contrast of the leaves against the gray sky in fall. It reminded of my first ride back in April, when I spoke with team president Bob Willems about racing at Snake Alley. I smiled and remarked to myself yet again at how much has changed in less than a year.
I got my first flat on a team ride this year, hitting a pothole square on my rear wheel, pinching it. Kevin and Stocky came back to help out. I didn't have any levers with me (wtf?) and I had some pretty cheap chinchers on with a really tough bead. But we got the tire off in short order and replaced the tube. I was also converted to using CO2 in the future. It was so much quicker. Plus it was really cool to see all the ice form on the canister. What causes that, anyways? I got a B in chemistry.
After a hard final pull into the wind, we arrived in Highland Park a little before 10am, and finally saw that the Einstein's Bagels was closed. Good. I'd been using the independent coffee shop across the street for a few weeks anyways. It's only drawback is the single use restroom. Their espresso is ten times better, and you get it much faster. And with the rides starting an hour later for winter, the bike shop next door is open to by time we get there.
The plan was to head to Superdawg with Tami, my drummer from Shrieking Violet, upon returning back to Evanston. Most of the team headed out for a few extra miles, but Kevin, Erik, Jenn, and a few others, plus I, headed back. We had a few good sprints, especially since I'd had really planned on doing them. I was riding my vintage steel Cilo, with downtube shifters and squeaky SPD pedals. I've popped out of them before, plus the bike weighs a ton, so I was nervous about it. But coming into Glenview I found myself on Kevin's wheel after he'd been left out in the open when his draft cracked. I dropped the right shifter all the way to the tube and passed to the left, winning the sprint. Athough Kevin's just gotten back on the bike in the last month after recovering from a broken collarbone from Superweek. Had he been in better shape it would've been a different ending for sure.
We reached Evanston in about 20 minutes - the swift tail wind kept us above 25mph the entire way - and I called Tami. She was about ready to go and would meet me at The Italian Coffee Bar in 15 minutes. I sat and read the paper and ate some cookies with my coffee, as the Judson riders came in, and then Tami arrived. As we were ready to leave, the rest of the xXx-ers came through. We headed off west.
It was just a perfect fall day. A great day to be on a bike. We took Church Street out to Austin, and found the bike path. The new pavement is still immaculate, and the vivid color and cool damp air were absolutely invigorating. And how awesome was it that we were headed the unofficial trail head of the North Branch trail, Superdawg. The line was long, the kitchen was busy, and it was the perfect end to a morning fall ride. I must ride there more often.
We ate, warmed up with some coffee, and headed back. I was home by 1:30, in time to relax on the couch for a bit and watch Psycho before saddling up again to head to Logan Square and load out for our Halloween Show.
Every year for the last 11 Double Door has done a Halloween show. Local band dress up as famous groups and do a half-hour set of cover songs. Last year was a great show, with us (The Midnight Shows) doing Rod Stewart, as well as The Go-Go's, Daft Punk, and KISS on the bill. This year Local H (the previous producer of the last ten year's shows but declining to be a part this year), Pearl Jam, Misfits, MC5, Alice Cooper, and us, playing third, as Culture Club.
Not take anything away from anybody else, but the rest of the line up was a lot of gray, heavy, head-bobbing rock, and we absolutely livened-up the evening with a ton of color and a set of 6 six hits that everyone sang along and danced to. We opened with the lights off and Rudy singing the opening strains to "Do You Really Want to Hurt me" and then Bang-Bang - hit the brights and into the reggae heavy riff. Next was "Time (Clock of the Heart)", and then "Church of the Poison Mind".
The crowd was really moving by "I'll Tumble 4 Ya" and set up for a strike with my personal favorite "Miss Me Blind." When the opening riff of the number #1 hit "Karma Chameleon" began the place went absolutely ape, and all of us on stage had huge smiles on our faces as all of our hard work had truly paid off.
We went off into the night for several parties - keeping the dress up game going. I still had a bit of the eyeliner left for work the next morning. I think it gave me a look of sincerity, because I sold a ton of wine.
It was the end of my first rest week since beginning my training program with Randy and it was well deserved. I had been on the bike 15, 16, 13, and 13 hours again the first four weeks of the plan. This week was only 8 hours, on paper. I had a bout with food poisoning on Monday that kept me out of commission until Thursday, so Saturday's ride up to Highland Park was my first real ride in a week. I'd been getting recovery rides to work everyday, but that wasn't much to speak of.
It was a fast pace up, with the colder weather thinning out the pretenders who want to come out and test their legs. We averaged about 22mph into a pretty stiff head wind. People we definitely taking shorter pulls off the front of the paceline. It was gray and blustery, but yellow, red and golden leaves blowing everywhere. I love the contrast of the leaves against the gray sky in fall. It reminded of my first ride back in April, when I spoke with team president Bob Willems about racing at Snake Alley. I smiled and remarked to myself yet again at how much has changed in less than a year.
I got my first flat on a team ride this year, hitting a pothole square on my rear wheel, pinching it. Kevin and Stocky came back to help out. I didn't have any levers with me (wtf?) and I had some pretty cheap chinchers on with a really tough bead. But we got the tire off in short order and replaced the tube. I was also converted to using CO2 in the future. It was so much quicker. Plus it was really cool to see all the ice form on the canister. What causes that, anyways? I got a B in chemistry.
After a hard final pull into the wind, we arrived in Highland Park a little before 10am, and finally saw that the Einstein's Bagels was closed. Good. I'd been using the independent coffee shop across the street for a few weeks anyways. It's only drawback is the single use restroom. Their espresso is ten times better, and you get it much faster. And with the rides starting an hour later for winter, the bike shop next door is open to by time we get there.
The plan was to head to Superdawg with Tami, my drummer from Shrieking Violet, upon returning back to Evanston. Most of the team headed out for a few extra miles, but Kevin, Erik, Jenn, and a few others, plus I, headed back. We had a few good sprints, especially since I'd had really planned on doing them. I was riding my vintage steel Cilo, with downtube shifters and squeaky SPD pedals. I've popped out of them before, plus the bike weighs a ton, so I was nervous about it. But coming into Glenview I found myself on Kevin's wheel after he'd been left out in the open when his draft cracked. I dropped the right shifter all the way to the tube and passed to the left, winning the sprint. Athough Kevin's just gotten back on the bike in the last month after recovering from a broken collarbone from Superweek. Had he been in better shape it would've been a different ending for sure.
We reached Evanston in about 20 minutes - the swift tail wind kept us above 25mph the entire way - and I called Tami. She was about ready to go and would meet me at The Italian Coffee Bar in 15 minutes. I sat and read the paper and ate some cookies with my coffee, as the Judson riders came in, and then Tami arrived. As we were ready to leave, the rest of the xXx-ers came through. We headed off west.
It was just a perfect fall day. A great day to be on a bike. We took Church Street out to Austin, and found the bike path. The new pavement is still immaculate, and the vivid color and cool damp air were absolutely invigorating. And how awesome was it that we were headed the unofficial trail head of the North Branch trail, Superdawg. The line was long, the kitchen was busy, and it was the perfect end to a morning fall ride. I must ride there more often.
We ate, warmed up with some coffee, and headed back. I was home by 1:30, in time to relax on the couch for a bit and watch Psycho before saddling up again to head to Logan Square and load out for our Halloween Show.
Every year for the last 11 Double Door has done a Halloween show. Local band dress up as famous groups and do a half-hour set of cover songs. Last year was a great show, with us (The Midnight Shows) doing Rod Stewart, as well as The Go-Go's, Daft Punk, and KISS on the bill. This year Local H (the previous producer of the last ten year's shows but declining to be a part this year), Pearl Jam, Misfits, MC5, Alice Cooper, and us, playing third, as Culture Club.
Not take anything away from anybody else, but the rest of the line up was a lot of gray, heavy, head-bobbing rock, and we absolutely livened-up the evening with a ton of color and a set of 6 six hits that everyone sang along and danced to. We opened with the lights off and Rudy singing the opening strains to "Do You Really Want to Hurt me" and then Bang-Bang - hit the brights and into the reggae heavy riff. Next was "Time (Clock of the Heart)", and then "Church of the Poison Mind".
The crowd was really moving by "I'll Tumble 4 Ya" and set up for a strike with my personal favorite "Miss Me Blind." When the opening riff of the number #1 hit "Karma Chameleon" began the place went absolutely ape, and all of us on stage had huge smiles on our faces as all of our hard work had truly paid off.
We went off into the night for several parties - keeping the dress up game going. I still had a bit of the eyeliner left for work the next morning. I think it gave me a look of sincerity, because I sold a ton of wine.
24.10.07
Miss Me Blind?!?
Friends,
I know that I haven't been around much, but at the risk of being a Karma Chameleon, I wanted to let you know that Culture Club will be giving an exclusive, one-night-only performance at Double Door for their annual Halloween Show, this Saturday night, October 27th!!!
But, Time (Clock of Double Door's sales) is ticking fast and this show will sell out before the weekend...so please get your virtual ass to doubledoor.com and get some tickets. This is a night not to be missed! I would hate for you to miss it! Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?
The full line up:
The Last Vegas
(as Alice Cooper)
Catfish Haven
(as The Misfits)
Thunderwing w/ Mike O'Connell
(as The MC5)
The Midnight Shows
(as Boy George & Culture Club)
The Sleepers
(as Pearl Jam)
Blackbox
(as Local H)
The Double Door is at 1572 N. Milwaukee Ave, in Wicker Park, with the entrance on Damen Ave, just under the El tracks. The doors open at 8, music starts at 9, and each band will play approximately 30 minutes, with a 10 minute set change in between.
So come and relive the best (or worst) days of your life, dancing to the 80's pop alone in your room as you struggled to figure out life as an 11 year old, or as queen of sophomore year, your oversprayed claw in full bloom, supporting your ironic top hat as you Molly Ringwalded it down the hallway...wherever your Church of the Poison Mind was, we'll bring it all back on Saturday Night, center stage.
I'll Tumble 4 Ya...love,
Brian
I know that I haven't been around much, but at the risk of being a Karma Chameleon, I wanted to let you know that Culture Club will be giving an exclusive, one-night-only performance at Double Door for their annual Halloween Show, this Saturday night, October 27th!!!
But, Time (Clock of Double Door's sales) is ticking fast and this show will sell out before the weekend...so please get your virtual ass to doubledoor.com and get some tickets. This is a night not to be missed! I would hate for you to miss it! Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?
The full line up:
The Last Vegas
(as Alice Cooper)
Catfish Haven
(as The Misfits)
Thunderwing w/ Mike O'Connell
(as The MC5)
The Midnight Shows
(as Boy George & Culture Club)
The Sleepers
(as Pearl Jam)
Blackbox
(as Local H)
The Double Door is at 1572 N. Milwaukee Ave, in Wicker Park, with the entrance on Damen Ave, just under the El tracks. The doors open at 8, music starts at 9, and each band will play approximately 30 minutes, with a 10 minute set change in between.
So come and relive the best (or worst) days of your life, dancing to the 80's pop alone in your room as you struggled to figure out life as an 11 year old, or as queen of sophomore year, your oversprayed claw in full bloom, supporting your ironic top hat as you Molly Ringwalded it down the hallway...wherever your Church of the Poison Mind was, we'll bring it all back on Saturday Night, center stage.
I'll Tumble 4 Ya...love,
Brian
11.10.07
Tomorrow Night!
My band, The Midnight Shows, is live at Dark Room, 2210 W. Chicago Ave.
A sexy, dancable mix of soul and rock, you will groove your ass off and I guarantee you will make out with someone! Might be your wife or husband, or boyfriend or whatever...but if you're single, you gotta like the odds.
We go on at 9:30...so plenty of room to get home in time for bed...(yeah, right).
A sexy, dancable mix of soul and rock, you will groove your ass off and I guarantee you will make out with someone! Might be your wife or husband, or boyfriend or whatever...but if you're single, you gotta like the odds.
We go on at 9:30...so plenty of room to get home in time for bed...(yeah, right).
6.8.07
The Orphanage
The clouds were giant white stacks, contrasted by the orangish haze of early sunset, moving like silent leviathans above us through the mugginess and humidity.
The sweat was already rolling down the small of my back and we'd only begun to move the first piece of equipment. The heavy stuff is always better first. The keyboard. The amplifier cabinets. Their corners are hard on the joints of your fingers. Your blood pools in the tips, behind your fingerprints as you try to keep your knuckles from scraping against the door jambs. The worst is going up or down the stairs. Backwards or forwards. The weight of the Fender Rhodes is either pushing you off your feet or seconds away from slipping out of your hands and crashing down on to the steps. Meanwhile, a single bead of sweat leaves your hairline, tickling it's way down your forehead, to be momentarily stopped by an eyebrow, yet inevitably run into your eye.
Once the big pieces have occupied their proclaimed space in the back of Rudy's Suburban, everything else knows it's exact place. It fills up like perfectly, like one of those 3-D jigsaw puzzles. The small places left over are the perfect size for the small things left waiting. Each piece goes just where it went the last time. Keeping that kind of order makes it easier to see what's missing. You always do an idiot check after loading, but if you don't have a system, you'll miss something if in a hurry.
The evening was probably the stickiest we'd had all summer. The heat wasn't so bad, but it was like walking through soup. Rudy's truck is about the biggest monstrosity on four wheels in the city, not something I'd want my bicycle-friends to see me riding in. But, with it's soft cloth seats and cool A/C, it was exactly where I wanted I to be, about as perfect a place for me at the nook the crate full of chords and tuning pedals was sitting in behind me. We were on our way to Bridgeport.
We got off the expressway at 18th street, and then turned left on Halsted by the Skylark. A few more blocks though the sleepy neighborhood and we were pulling up in front of the First Trinity Church Community Center. We all arrived at the same time, trying to figure out how to get into the place. I found the right door and was dismayed to find out we'd need to unload all the gear up 3 flights of stairs. Un-air-conditioned stairs. But, if you keep talking, and keep moving, and have little moments of laughter thrown in, it goes by pretty quickly.
Such as, once Charley and I got to the top of the stairs and the door that said, "Welcome to the Orphanage." Charley opened it, and immediately closed it after a quick, "Oops! Sorry."
"What was that?" I asked, laughing. "Was somebody naked in there?"
Then somebody behind the door told it we were OK and to come in. The door opened wide again, and I was walking though a kitchen, with two people at a giant steel counter preparing a meal. Veggies and bread were spread out and bowls of pasta were being filled. The color of the food was matched by the bigger room were walking into.
Decorative trees and rich red tapestries. Wall paintings, sculpture of all kinds, and Christmas lights. Tables and chairs. Sofas and loungers. And immaculately clean. And gorgeous, young woman whirling a hula hoop in the center of the room.
Borrowed from The Orphanage myspace.com page:
A large stage was at one of the of the room. This was the Orphanage. A performance space/art gallery/vegan kitchen in the heart of Bridgeport. And apparently, fairly undiscovered. The Orphanage only opens on Sunday nights, and tonights crowd was sparse, mostly made up of the performing musicians, or the volunteers working there. Yet, it was to be probably the most unique and fun gig I've done with The Midnight Shows ever. A classic night that could only come from within the underground scene, a pre-gentrification wave, of Chicago's Southside.
After we loaded in and had a drink of water, Charley, Tonya, Kelly and I headed up to the Skylark for a drink. I love that place. I've only been going there for the past 18 months or so. I always expect to run into people from my recent past in there, but never do. The vibe is chill, there's always a seat, and the food is great. Yet, we just wanted a drink to unwind and get a little louder music into our brains for a second. The space at The Orphanage was so radically different from what we were accustomed - quiet, smoke free, courteous staff - we needed to immerse ourselves is something a bit more familiar to ease the transition into the evening.
We headed back after an hour, and walked in on a pretty blond woman sitting solo at the piano playing a eclectic set. Rudy, Charita, Heather, and her boyfriend were sitting at the tables, along with the rest of the crowd enjoying the music and eating the vegan fare that came along with the requested $10 donation. She announced in between songs she mainly worked with a children's repertoire, and then went into several funny tracks from Super Mario Brother and the Legend of Zelda. She had a light, yet comforting voice, and even as she finished with a couple of darker tunes about misguided lust and love, we all tapped toes, bobbed heads, and rewarded her with vigorous applause.
It was then announced that Inkbat had apparently forgotten to show, so The Midnight Shows were next. It was simple set up. The room was box, as we say in the biz, which means "live" so no extra amplification was needed. We just plugged in, turned on, and away we went. Initially, most of the crowd (which was about 6 people) stood in front and danced, but halfway through, the lack of a bigger group to keep them there had them back in the seats, eating, lounging, and bobbing their heads. The applause got louder and louder, however, and they really seemed to enjoy the set.
It was roasting up there, as always. It didn't help that Charley needed the fan all to himself and that the nearest A/C unit needed to unplugged to accommodate the equipment. Any stage light, only one, will cause me to sweat profusely. Two songs in I was soaked. But dancing, smiling, and really taking in the sounds of us. A great mix, just like rehearsal. The best performance, musically, athletically, in any idiom, happens when you lose yourself in the moment. You just will it - huge thoughts, beautiful sounds - and your body takes over subconsciously and brings it all to fruition. When you stop thinking about your fingers, the frets, and just listen to everything but yourself, and that is when yourself is fully realized.
Heather played great behind her kit. Her first show, she made very few mistakes and took my cues very professionally for the most part, and brought all the style, bombast, and musicality that we loved so much to have her play with us in the first place.
We were cut off a bit early which was fine, for the school night. Grandpa Know was up next. Just a three piece, of two guitars and and drums (and looking for a bass player.) They gave us a mix of White Stripes and Pixies with a touch of very early uptempo Jesus and Mary Chain. Very treble-y, too loud to hear any of the vocals, it didn't matter. Performance-wise, it was hit or miss. Some songs were very together and others sounded as if they were being written right then and there. But it didn't matter. As the set came to a close it all came together and made complete sense and brought on raucous applause.
A few more people had stopped by for the evening, but the crowd remained very diverse and sparse. None of my northside friends, or southside for that matter had made it down. I would have loved for them to have experienced us in this environment - devoid of the usual falseness and pretension - i.e. meaningless shouting, bad-ass fronting, binge-drinking, (although in many situations this leads to some very genuine behavior!), and soul-sapping unoriginality - and filled with genuine expression and attention to detail and the essence of the presentation.
For this is what The Orphanage is. Originality and the true essence of presentation - qualities that only remain pure in small, handmade batches, and that do not last long once mass-produced.
Go there. Now. It won't be here forever.
The sweat was already rolling down the small of my back and we'd only begun to move the first piece of equipment. The heavy stuff is always better first. The keyboard. The amplifier cabinets. Their corners are hard on the joints of your fingers. Your blood pools in the tips, behind your fingerprints as you try to keep your knuckles from scraping against the door jambs. The worst is going up or down the stairs. Backwards or forwards. The weight of the Fender Rhodes is either pushing you off your feet or seconds away from slipping out of your hands and crashing down on to the steps. Meanwhile, a single bead of sweat leaves your hairline, tickling it's way down your forehead, to be momentarily stopped by an eyebrow, yet inevitably run into your eye.
Once the big pieces have occupied their proclaimed space in the back of Rudy's Suburban, everything else knows it's exact place. It fills up like perfectly, like one of those 3-D jigsaw puzzles. The small places left over are the perfect size for the small things left waiting. Each piece goes just where it went the last time. Keeping that kind of order makes it easier to see what's missing. You always do an idiot check after loading, but if you don't have a system, you'll miss something if in a hurry.
The evening was probably the stickiest we'd had all summer. The heat wasn't so bad, but it was like walking through soup. Rudy's truck is about the biggest monstrosity on four wheels in the city, not something I'd want my bicycle-friends to see me riding in. But, with it's soft cloth seats and cool A/C, it was exactly where I wanted I to be, about as perfect a place for me at the nook the crate full of chords and tuning pedals was sitting in behind me. We were on our way to Bridgeport.
We got off the expressway at 18th street, and then turned left on Halsted by the Skylark. A few more blocks though the sleepy neighborhood and we were pulling up in front of the First Trinity Church Community Center. We all arrived at the same time, trying to figure out how to get into the place. I found the right door and was dismayed to find out we'd need to unload all the gear up 3 flights of stairs. Un-air-conditioned stairs. But, if you keep talking, and keep moving, and have little moments of laughter thrown in, it goes by pretty quickly.
Such as, once Charley and I got to the top of the stairs and the door that said, "Welcome to the Orphanage." Charley opened it, and immediately closed it after a quick, "Oops! Sorry."
"What was that?" I asked, laughing. "Was somebody naked in there?"
Then somebody behind the door told it we were OK and to come in. The door opened wide again, and I was walking though a kitchen, with two people at a giant steel counter preparing a meal. Veggies and bread were spread out and bowls of pasta were being filled. The color of the food was matched by the bigger room were walking into.
Decorative trees and rich red tapestries. Wall paintings, sculpture of all kinds, and Christmas lights. Tables and chairs. Sofas and loungers. And immaculately clean. And gorgeous, young woman whirling a hula hoop in the center of the room.
Borrowed from The Orphanage myspace.com page:
A large stage was at one of the of the room. This was the Orphanage. A performance space/art gallery/vegan kitchen in the heart of Bridgeport. And apparently, fairly undiscovered. The Orphanage only opens on Sunday nights, and tonights crowd was sparse, mostly made up of the performing musicians, or the volunteers working there. Yet, it was to be probably the most unique and fun gig I've done with The Midnight Shows ever. A classic night that could only come from within the underground scene, a pre-gentrification wave, of Chicago's Southside.
After we loaded in and had a drink of water, Charley, Tonya, Kelly and I headed up to the Skylark for a drink. I love that place. I've only been going there for the past 18 months or so. I always expect to run into people from my recent past in there, but never do. The vibe is chill, there's always a seat, and the food is great. Yet, we just wanted a drink to unwind and get a little louder music into our brains for a second. The space at The Orphanage was so radically different from what we were accustomed - quiet, smoke free, courteous staff - we needed to immerse ourselves is something a bit more familiar to ease the transition into the evening.
We headed back after an hour, and walked in on a pretty blond woman sitting solo at the piano playing a eclectic set. Rudy, Charita, Heather, and her boyfriend were sitting at the tables, along with the rest of the crowd enjoying the music and eating the vegan fare that came along with the requested $10 donation. She announced in between songs she mainly worked with a children's repertoire, and then went into several funny tracks from Super Mario Brother and the Legend of Zelda. She had a light, yet comforting voice, and even as she finished with a couple of darker tunes about misguided lust and love, we all tapped toes, bobbed heads, and rewarded her with vigorous applause.
It was then announced that Inkbat had apparently forgotten to show, so The Midnight Shows were next. It was simple set up. The room was box, as we say in the biz, which means "live" so no extra amplification was needed. We just plugged in, turned on, and away we went. Initially, most of the crowd (which was about 6 people) stood in front and danced, but halfway through, the lack of a bigger group to keep them there had them back in the seats, eating, lounging, and bobbing their heads. The applause got louder and louder, however, and they really seemed to enjoy the set.
It was roasting up there, as always. It didn't help that Charley needed the fan all to himself and that the nearest A/C unit needed to unplugged to accommodate the equipment. Any stage light, only one, will cause me to sweat profusely. Two songs in I was soaked. But dancing, smiling, and really taking in the sounds of us. A great mix, just like rehearsal. The best performance, musically, athletically, in any idiom, happens when you lose yourself in the moment. You just will it - huge thoughts, beautiful sounds - and your body takes over subconsciously and brings it all to fruition. When you stop thinking about your fingers, the frets, and just listen to everything but yourself, and that is when yourself is fully realized.
Heather played great behind her kit. Her first show, she made very few mistakes and took my cues very professionally for the most part, and brought all the style, bombast, and musicality that we loved so much to have her play with us in the first place.
We were cut off a bit early which was fine, for the school night. Grandpa Know was up next. Just a three piece, of two guitars and and drums (and looking for a bass player.) They gave us a mix of White Stripes and Pixies with a touch of very early uptempo Jesus and Mary Chain. Very treble-y, too loud to hear any of the vocals, it didn't matter. Performance-wise, it was hit or miss. Some songs were very together and others sounded as if they were being written right then and there. But it didn't matter. As the set came to a close it all came together and made complete sense and brought on raucous applause.
A few more people had stopped by for the evening, but the crowd remained very diverse and sparse. None of my northside friends, or southside for that matter had made it down. I would have loved for them to have experienced us in this environment - devoid of the usual falseness and pretension - i.e. meaningless shouting, bad-ass fronting, binge-drinking, (although in many situations this leads to some very genuine behavior!), and soul-sapping unoriginality - and filled with genuine expression and attention to detail and the essence of the presentation.
For this is what The Orphanage is. Originality and the true essence of presentation - qualities that only remain pure in small, handmade batches, and that do not last long once mass-produced.
Go there. Now. It won't be here forever.
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