Day Five: Chicago
delsBack to another back stage parking lot. This one with military levels of security; buses and the trucks checked with mirrors as they enter, metal detectors at the entrances to the lot, a second security ring and another metal detector to get to and from the Prevost, and a third level of security and a third metal detector to get on to the stage. Something to do with the levels of gun violence in Chicago. At least they take it seriously here, even if no one seems to care that everyone passing through the detectors has something on their person that sets them off.
In some states it seems like a given that there are people with weapons around. Ed has story about asking before going on stage at a show in the Midwest if anyone had something to cut a loose thread from his clothes just before he went on stage and half-a-dozen blades instantaneously appeared around him produced from the belts and pockets of the local crew. I don’t doubt for a second that a few handguns would have been produced from the same company if considered necessary. A moment’s research reveals the amazing statistic that on average, someone is killed with a gun every 6 hours in Illinois. So maybe it’s all necessary.
In a separate compound a selection of upmarket patio furniture and outdoor games was arranged on an astro-turf lawn and encircled by Portakabins kitted out as dressing rooms. One of the venue staff who was purposefully arranging cushions on the raffia sofas approached me as I entered (setting off another metal detector, obviously) and introduced themselves to me as the back stage experience coordinator. Fair enough, but a hell of a job description.
Our Portakabin was indeed coordinated. Not just the furnishings which included a record player and a selection of vinyl that you might want to play. Attention had been paid to the arrangement of the fruit: apples, bananas and clementines arranged in a rotating sequence on a rectangular platter. (I was relieved that the ordering on the platter was not alphabetical—that would have been just too weird: the sequence started with a banana. But maybe noticing this was even weirder.)
The Northerly Island Pavilion (sponsored that week by the Huntingdon Bank) is ostensibly down town but in reality it is a couple of miles from the site to anywhere worth visiting. After being attacked by some unidentified territorial nesting birds on a sojourn to the !2th Street Beach on the east of the island I opted to return to the coordinated ambience of our designated Portakabin and chill out to the Mavis Staples album I had spotted there. This proved to be a useful choice—it started pissing down just as I got back. And everyone else seemed to have been tempted to head for the city so, with the place to myself I was able to shut the door, close the curtains and catch up on some sleep before the business of the day began.
The Pavilion consists of an ad-hoc stage of the kind of dimensions you might expect in a football stadium with a similarly ad-hoc arrangement of seating, VIP areas and the standard array of Live Nation Inc. concessions. Anything but intimate. But the people of Chicago have always been on board with our band and a few hundred aficionados scattered around the seven thousand sparsely populated seats did their level best to make us feel appreciated.
It was cold and grey when we came off stage but the seats were starting to fill up a bit. By the time Semisonic got to their sing-along finale it was starting to feel a little bit like a concert. As the Ladies took the stage, darkness descended and that always creates a bit of spectacle from out front. But from back stage in these kinds of places there isn’t really much to see (or to even to hear in these days of in-ear monitors).
I ventured out into the bleachers for a bit and sure enough the ticket holding Chicagoans seemed to be enjoying themselves. But the drizzle drove me back to the shelter of the backstage compound. The fire pit sat damp and unlit and the cushions had gone. There was nothing for it but to retire to the safety of the bus and the sanctuary of a few glasses of whisky before trying to get some sleep before the short drive to Milwaukee. I have had better days in Chicago.