Feeling our age: Part I

Last Friday night J and I went to a concert in a small theater venue near the Belmont stop. My music tastes, as anyone who has seen my iTunes will verify, are best described as catholic. (Nanci Griffiths, Fleetwood Mac, Bryan Adams, Aerosmith, Death Cab for Cutie or Handel anyone?) Musical instruction comes from my friends and family. (Dad, Mum, best childhood friend, husband, sister) I also believe that live music offers a great event no matter what the genre. So when friends offered us tickets to a small venue gig for a British indie artist, I said yes before I even listened to her music. It was live, it was a relatively cheap Friday night out, and it could be our next musical love.

I failed to remember that the last time I’d even been interested in actually going to a live, small venue gig I was at school. Sixteen. Over a decade ago. Now we listen to CDs or catch John Mayer in the park on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Sometimes we even get as far as discussing the wisdom of spending $100 on tickets to see The Police at a huge, comfortable arena. (Didn’t get any further. Conclusion: $200 is not a cheap Friday night out)

We arrived early, as we didn’t want to highlight our ignorance amongst the crush of bodies on the main floor. We wanted a good vantage point, and preferably somewhere to rest our ancient limbs. The rest of the patrons did not have that worry. For a long period of time, everyone we could see was at least a decade younger. A lot of them were not old enough to buy the $6 beer. Then some folks our age turned up. They’d brought their two kids along. On the other hand, waitress service while you wait for some live music - still a good night out.

To say that the warm-up act was bizarre is to totally and utterly miss the mark. The world’s only “indie-vaudeville conceptual art-rock pop band” has to be the one and only, because there just is not room for two bands of this kind in the universe. They are a family group, whose 14 year old daughter, Rachel, first joined them on stage at six, playing the harmonica. Their unique selling point is that their songs are written to describe slide-shows. They buy slides from estate sales or flea markets and proceed to project the slides on stage while they sing about them.

From our vantage point, they didn’t really seem to be holding the crowd too well. As a grumpy old person, I thought they were fascinating. And then they sang another song about a slide-show. And another. And they all sounded a bit similar. In 2006 Time Out New York described them as impossibly twee. Their reviewer was ultimately converted, but the poor Trachtenburg Family Slide-show Players* were thwarted in their attempts to win me over by the bathroom ceiling leaking on me towards the end of their set.

I know it’s not fair, but that’s the way it is. When the ceiling leaks unidentified liquid substance on me in a bathroom where none of the stall doors close and the door of the one I’m using is too far away to use my foot, as an OAP, I’m going to find you twee and annoying. Sorry. Maybe some other time, in a sunny park. As I remarked on my return; I am either too old, or not drunk enough to be at intimate music concerts on a Friday night. Tonight I’m going to Symphony Hall, to hear the CSO. I do not expect to be leaked upon. I will be among my peers: potentially grumpy grown-up folks.

Coming up in Part II, read how we meet the most annoying audience members in the city. Also, there’s a chance I’ll try and defend our reputation as fun people by saying how much we love going to Buddy Guy’s Legends. Although, I do fall asleep almost every time.

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* I’m not linking to their website because it really upsets my Firefox and keeps shrinking it as it opens. Google them. You’ll not be sorry. Although really, the shrinking is just one more nail in the coffin. I’m never going to love you people now.

Trainspotting

For the first couple of years of living here, most of my more sentimental thoughts have been of what I miss from home. I am constantly reminded of things I love that are no longer easily accessible. There are foods, people, and places that bring on a bout of homesickness and for which I feel the occasional rush of nostalgia.

Recently, it has occurred to me that there are things I will miss when Chicago is no longer where we live. Unexpectedly, I have grown to love things, food, people and places in this new home. There may be no deep ties holding us here, but I feel as though I have started to put some roots down.

Things that I found ugly and frightening when I first visited are now familiar and even beloved. For the past few weeks, I’ve been waiting for a good day to go out and take photos of one of those ugly, loved things. I went once last week, but took the wrong lens with me. The thing I really wanted to photograph is a view of the rickety old elevated train lines that can be found all around Chicago. It’s become part of our scenery, as we can see one of the stations from our windows and every time I walk home from the gym I walk underneath the tracks.

I still can’t figure out why the El should appeal to anyone. It’s noisy, looks decidedly dangerous, and is an unavoidably ugly part of the urban landscape. However, I think I’ll feel really, really homesick for the old thing when it’s not part of my surroundings any more and finally getting round to taking its photograph seems the least I can do.

This post wishes you Happy Love Thursday, a group feature hosted by ShutterSisters.

A Spring Walk

The weather seems to have finally turned a corner. The trees are budding, we’ve been going out without down jackets, and the sun is shining.

Don’t get me wrong; it’s still a city and there’s plenty of concrete to see.

But mostly, there’s green shoots and no need for a heavy sweater.

Cinco de Mayo

A public holiday in the UK, a regional holiday in Mexico and a perfect excuse for Steak fajitas and Mexican beer with limes in Chicago.

Almost makes up for such a beautiful sunny day not being a holiday in the US.

Salud!

Love and Marriage

Yesterday morning, early for me, I received a phone call. Would I, could I, possibly take some photographs at a friend’s afternoon marriage ceremony? I had the camera batteries on charge before I was even showered and dressed. It was a beautiful day and I arrived early enough to take some photographs downtown. I don’t often feel brave enough to take the full camera kit into the center of Chicago. I’m just intimidated by all the people. I’m not sure if I’m scared of someone running off with an expensive lens, or of people laughing at me while I change aforementioned lens in the middle of oncoming traffic.

Anyway, my friends were late, so I got to play. I took pictures of the El, of the buildings, of the newly planted displays in the middle of the sidewalk. I found street signs and building corners to amuse myself until the legal bit began.

Like all weddings, it was over too fast to capture properly, and once all the legal business was carefully accomplished, camera, lenses and Mr & Mrs headed over to Navy Pier for a few photographs. I surprised myself by how much I enjoyed the experience, not just being the only person to witness such a happy event, but hopefully capturing a moment in a day, for a lifetime. Beforehand I had been nervous at the responsibility, but love and happiness are infectious. The bride was beautiful, the groom was handsome and there were many smiles. Of course, most of my favorite shots of the afternoon turned out to be the ones they didn’t know I was taking. My very favorite didn’t even have the happy couple in the frame. It did, however, remind me of the feeling of craziness and absurdity I felt on my own wedding day; high as kite, briefly removed from reality and spinning fast through the air.

Happy 2nd Love Thursday!

If you like photos of Tulips and ceilings and trains, some of the other shots are at http://www.flickr.com/photos/livinginchicago/