The pictures were scarce, but the fun abounded.
Nicole and I enjoyed a long weekend in Chicago to celebrate the arrival of 2010. With a mixture of frozen exploration, brunches, shopping, talking and gathering over food and drink; we got a chance to experience Chicago from an entirely new perspective: the west.
The West Side of Chicago is foreign to me. I've spent years Metra'ing from Cumberland to the Loop and not stopping in between in order to get to the Brown and Red Lines. But the Blue Line neighborhoods hold a lot of charm and really allowed both of us to see the city from a different angle (literally).
Logan Square
This neighborhood has always been a bit of a mystery to me (well, not as much as Forest Park) but the diversity of commercial establishments made me enthralled enough to find out more. Enjoying lunches at upscale neighborhood brunch spots (Dunlays on the Square) and a quick walk afterward to an achingly-hip coffee house (New Wave Coffee for a quick internet browse and a latte makes for a pretty rockin' introduction. Without any time spent going out on the town in LS (obligations still center on Lincoln Park, unfortunately) I don't know that we got a solid read on the night life, but I think we're both excited to give it a shot.
Worth Returning For:
Lula Cafe: brunch is supposed to be amazing
The Whistler": hand made cocktails and live music
Wicker Park
I should have saved "achingly hip" for the descriptor of this neighborhood. With boutiques ranging from hand-made pseudo-goth shoe stores to curated resale to an Urban Outfitters, WP likely sustains brands like Super, and Casio's Old-Ass Watch Division. But damn it, I fell hook line and sinker. Though The Violet Hours's conspicuously inconspicuous facade beckoned and we heeded, it was to no avail. This windowless hipster haven was buttoned up early in the afternoon and wouldn't let us in. It's too hard to deny the intentional quirkiness of WP. It sort of lingers with you even after you've left. I'd steer clear if you pride yourself on how ironic you are. You'll be crushed. Unless of course, that's the irony you're looking for.
Worth Returning For:
Crocodile: bar and restaurant
Chaise Lounge: new American eatery
Both neighborhoods captured another facet of Chicago which keeps me wanting to explore my home metropolis with a partner in crime.
Other Places Visited
Gloria's Cafe: cuban and latin american litte cafe (BYOB)
Casbah Cafe: small middle-eastern restuarant (BYOB)
Story and photos: Nicole Buntsis and Brian Gloede
As I dodged second crowd surfer passing over my head on his way toward the stage, I thought to myself, “they could drag him onto the stage and attempt to perform sacrificial rituals on him and we would all just go with it.” Maybe the 24-ouncer was wearing off and the paranoia was setting in. Maybe it was the contact high from the 4 joints that the group of kids next to me smoked in the first 20 minutes. Maybe it was just the general vibe at Of Montreal’s performance.
When the band entered the stage donning garb looking like it was hand-sewn by elves and completed with accessories and make-up reminiscent of a first-class artist colony costume party, I knew a good show was in store. They warmed up with an instrumental number and transitioned to “Nonpareil of Flavor.”
Before too long I was anxiously darting my camera from the display to the stage trying to create reasoning for the 3 female priestesses saying prayers over a Hispanic choir boy, standing behind a cardinal with a phoenix tail perched on a, a… well, I would be a fool to attempt to decipher what. All the while “The Past is a Grotesque Animal” was playing. It must have been a give and take with depth levels of the animation that accompanied most songs, as it was much easier to find meaning in the animated seductive sailors groping defenseless women during “Id Engager.”
As the dancing started to heat up, a series of events, including an unnamed guest performing a cover of the David Bowie’s “Moonage Daydream” joined the stage. They released balloons into the horizon, threw confetti into the crowd and changed in and out of costumes. The crowd was on fire, screaming and dancing and singing along. As more people left, horrified by the oddities of the performance, the rest of us inched forward, excited at the prospect of seeing more.
All in all, there were appearances from gas-masked humans in red robes, amongst the fluid and casual persona of band members that gave the impression that the theatrics of the entire performance were based around a compilation of dreams and acid trips from each of the band members. Note: I have absolutely no reason to believe that any of Of Montreal drops acid and the fantastical nature of their performances isn’t entirely a product of futuristic genius, too complex for many of us to understand.
The foundation of the performance seemed to be stale dreams cloaked in double entendre, still lingering in flashes of memory, finally brought to life on a stage in front of thousands of people and the out came Kevin Barnes as his alter ego, Georgie Fruit.
I’m fairly certain he was Georgie at this time because he was no longer wearing a wild costume, but instead leggings, white boots and a top that looked like it was bought from Bebe 5 seasons ago.
Then finally it happened. I believe that they were crucifying one woman, possibly Nina Twin and a man dressed as a woman, both in underwear, trying to escape during “She’s a Rejecter”.
And they did escape. They broke away from the wood and shackles and rode into the crowd on a raft with a dolphin swimming at their side. See exhibit H. Thus, we knew the end was approaching. The fantastical, mind-twisting performance art of Of Montreal was reaching its dénouement. So, we shook our hips a little harder, threw our arms up a little higher and closed our eyes a little tighter, for no other reason than to imprint it all on our brains in the hope that if we ever go crazy, maybe we can turn it into stage art, too.
Nicole Buntsis is a Louisville native working as an ad exec, wishing she was a starving artist, living like a journalist, and acting like a pimptress... For this weekend anyway...
