The Living Rockumentary

Chapter Three:

Chicago. Chicago is a ways away from CLEVEland. It is tall and blue sometimes. Last time. But, this time it is misty and grey and the choppy really great lake is darkish green and looks colder than the North Sea. The road twists and turns along the shoreline, pressed between the city and the sea, and Lesa's playlist churns along with the traffic and waves.

We follow directions and find ourselves on the Loyola Campus. The parking lot for WLUW is right on the coastline. The tall rectangular building we are going into is stretching up into the rain clouds. The vertical lines in the architecture criss-cross with the paths of the sideways rain. We duck and cover and drag our guitars inside.

We are greeted nicely and pack ourselves into a small waiting room / office. We take off coats and pick songs to play. On the other side of the wall, a Canadian band's drums bash and wollop.

Next, we're in another room, this time tuning and standing while microphones go up all around us. We're ready for a short acoustic performance. First the Fawns play, Make Me Sad then School for the Dead plays Disgruntled Lover and Photobooth Curtain. We're not wearing headphones. It feels great to play. Feels like a living room concert.

When we finish, we all scamper into the DJ booth and do a short interview. I answer all the questions. I'm not as funny or engaging as I want to be, but it's not terrible. Hopefully, we'll get a recording.

We're done with appointment number one, now we have nothing until the next day. We have a free night in Chicago. What will we do?

A call comes in. It turns out our good friends touring in Spouse are hanging out in Chicago that night as well and we agree to get dinner together. Ken knows a place. However, the drive to the restaurant destination proves pointless. The grub is locked safely behind saw horses, multiple cops, and streaming throngs of Chicago Cubs fans who are just vacating Wrigley Field.

We make some calls, we find a hot-spot and ken logs-in and find directions to another retaurant of the same owner. When we get there, Spouse is waiting already. "So, you're the Chicago Kevin." I say to Kevin O'Rourke who is playing bass with Spouse. "Yes." He replies.

We get a table for eight in a bustling room full of italian waiters. Everyone enjoys their dinner, but it knocks us out. We discuss where the evening will take us. What does the city have to offer eight touring musicians on a Friday night? I suggest that we break into Wrigley Field and chew Dentine Gum.

The Fawns/SFTD troupe head off to check out our Hotel. It turns out to be in the middle of nowhere. But, it's nice. On the way in, we spot a local bar with Karaoke. Dare we? Turns out, we don't. Instead we spend the evening first at the strange hotel bar and then the Spouse boys come up to one of our suites and we have a little hotel party. We'll have to come back to Chicago again sometime. When it's not cold and rainy.

Stay Tuned for more...