*The Decemberists at Millenium park with The Grant Park Orchestra. A Collaborblog* Updated
31 July 2007
Roman = Bud Rodecker
Italic = Lisa Schilling
Bold = Rick Valicenti
A peal of thunder rumbles the Chicago skyline and Colin Meloy strikes a chord...."Holy crap, this is the coolest thing ever." The Decemberists at Millennium Park with the Grant Park Orchestra for the steep price of free ninety free how can you go wrong?! The answer is, YOU CAN'T.
Rather than drive (thus turning free-ninety-free into $25 event parking), Bud suggests we hop the Metra near Thirst. I'm totally on-board (hardy-har-har). The two-decker, locomotive tooted to a halt right on time (whether or not there was an actual toot is irrelevant...). Bud and I hop on board and make our way up to the second deck, where we find ourselves two nice seats offering an ideal vantage point to observe the other riders and passing suburban landscape. Even better: a forgotten can of Icehouse nestled next to my seat. Just my style. Evidence indicated that many of us were bound for the same place: the train was brimming with tight graphic tees, retro-style sundresses, pasty skin, boxy-rimmed glasses, coolers, and lawn chairs.
Bud nudges me: "Don't look now..." [I do, naturally], "but the dude at 2 o'clock is knuckle-deep in his nostril.." Turns out we also have a spectucular view of an elderly gentleman's epic nose-mining and subsequent booger-snacking session. This ride keeps getting better!
Bud teaches me a new game called "I one a monkey." You should ask him to teach you too--endless entertainment. I try to teach Bud a new word game called "Ghost." It causes confusion. Alas. The crazy old nose-picker transitions from his left to his right nostril. He also puts on a pair of old Ray-Bans for added emphasis. Seated across from us is a study in the awkwardness of high school dating, and, in the very back of the car, one poor third-wheel who pretends to play with her cell phone while her friend and her boyfriend very ostentatiously nuzzling.
Upon arriving to the location Lisa and I scanned the mass of people searching for a place, any place to sit down. Stumbling upon a 4.5 square foot patch of still-pristine grass, we wedge ourselves into the patchwork of hipsters and their organic hemp-based homespun blankets. Bud seats himself in a fluid, uneventful motion, as I struggle to navigate my long and slightly movement-constraining dress to the ground, nearly landing a flip flop in our new neighbor's tub of hummus (home-made, natch). The pavilion was filled and spilling out over the bean. I called Rick V to see if he beat us here. Why yes he did, and he claims that he is sitting front and center! Confirmed: Rick Valicenti really IS a rock star. We made our way up to the front stepping over people the whole way. Bud moves like a fearless, agile cat through the mass of hip human beings. I continue to regret my unfortunate choice of attire as I struggle to navigate the mobbed lawn gracefully (or at least not step on anyone's sushi or Treo). As I begin to drift behind Bud, fearing separation and a missed opportunity to meet this Mr. Rick Valicenti I(MR.!?!) about whom I have heard much, I eventually say "screw dainty," hike up my skirt and make a break for it. And sure enough, there he is with the best free seat in the house. 3 feet from the fence and directly centered on the stage. I barely had a quiet minute to get to know Lisa as the band was in full swing by the time my two concert goers arrived within shouting distance of the stage. Had I heard Lisa say 'screw dainty", the DOM (dirty ol' man) in me might have suggested she just utter, "fuck dainty."
That's Mr. Rick Valicenti there on the left. MR.!?!-I suppose I am as olde if not older than Bud's parents and therefore Mr. Is a prefix I might expect my kids to use. Within the walls of the Thirst studio, I usually think the word Mister applies to someone older than I.
The Decemberists sounded great with their accompanying orchestra. I think this combination with some bands would be a clashing one, but they blended well together and enhanced each other. The arrangements complemented and enhanced the music. Lisa even noted that they had a very accomplished oboist among their ranks, to which I poetically said "hell yeah". All of the musicians were incredible, though I really do say, those oboe solos floored me. I wouldn't have pegged the oboe as the perfect instrumental analogue for the Decemberists' shtick, but nothing could be more so: that nasal, artfully percussive articulation, slightly wailing cadence, just the right amount of tonal instability. The whole Grant Park Orchestra was fantastic, especially knowing that their director did all of the arrangements himself, and the players were sight reading on stage behind some notoriously unpredictable rockers. Talk about an adrenaline rush. Gives me chills again to think about. Also makes me wish I had my viola with me in Chicago.
As a bonus there were two guys dancing in the open area between the fence and the chairs. They put on quite a show, with poorly imitated ballet moves and all. They were at it the whole time, the security guard nearest them didn't know what to do. He just kept shaking his head and making faces of surprise every-time they would twirl or tackle each other. The Decemberists put on a great show, mixing new songs with plenty from their older albums, and even a couple I have never heard before (remind me to look em up). One that neither of us had heard was 'The Tain,'an EP they did in 2004 (Thanks, Wikipedia!). It's an incredible piece of work--one continuous 30-minute vocal narrative of a Celtic myth cycle over some alternately chilling and triumphant melodies. So cool. Their final song came to a clashing end with Colin Meloy falling over and straddling his acoustic guitar, the bassist falling back with his upright bass laying on his chest, and the other guitarist tearing the strings off of his guitar.
It wasn't just any guitar. It was a Rickenbacker twelve string-the same one George Harrison (Beatles) played circa Help. I am particularly fond of Rickenbacker twelves as I still have hold dear my very own vintage blonde version from 1967. It's completely restored and sleeps under my bed. Seeing the Decemberist's Indiana guitar player bounce his Rick off the stage floor was a dard scene in one of those nasty-ass dreams. They couldn't leave it at that though, shortly after disappearing backstage they all came back for an encore... or two. Colin then invited everyone in the back to come up to the front, and all craziness broke out. People started rushing the "barricade" separating them from the paid seats. People were everywhere hopping and moving the fence, and the security guards couldn't keep up. You could see the desperation in their eyes as they tried to do their jobs. The final two songs were really exciting because of the audience reaction, most of which were now dancing. By this time the weather had started to move in and the occasional lighting strikes seemed to be part of the show, adding to the drama and excitement. I could swear that thunder rumbles were not only in-time, but in-tune with "The Mariner's Revenge Song" that closed the show. Colin Meloy had the entire theatrically screaming, wailing, and writhing in unison at his cue, as though we'd all been eaten by a whale.
Lisa and I posing for the cheesy self shot.
So many people! What are you doing Lisa? You know, being shifty.
They were either all on ecstasy or they just really like The Decemberists. Our favorite Interpretive dancers Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum were definitely on ecstasy, or they just really liked each other.
I walked away from this concert feeling a little more in love with the city of Chicago, and I think that Lisa felt the same way. Affirmative. It was an incredible experience, but our adventure didn't end there. On our walk back to the train station we stopped into a Jimmy John's and when we stepped out it was pouring rain. "Pouring" doesn't begin to capture it. We're talking umbrella-inverting; one continuous horizontal pummeling by sheets of water, making slapping noises on contact; wind-howling. We were forced to take the several block walk back to the station through torrential rain and lightning. I used a beach-towel to protect me from the Rain (*note* Towels aren't waterproof, in fact they are quite the opposite. *Note also* This towel depicted large, fluorescent pink and orange lady-fish interspersed with streams of gold-glitter. Bud, You go, Girl!) and Lisa used her tiny umbrella (which is definitely NOT Chicago-proof and spent most of the walk inside-out and blowing away. Very ineffective as an umbrella, but does have a flashlight in the handle that works well...). By the time we made it to the station we were both completely soaked (*note* Floor-length sundress and suede flip-flops in this kind of weather = one continuous wardrobe malfunction). When we stumbled into the dry (but waaaay too air-conditioned) terminal, I begin wringing out my skirt (which now weighs about the same as a gallon of milk). Bud to me: "You look like a drowned rat." Thanks, Bud. We found our train and I went and stood in line to buy some tickets. When the lady behind the counter asked me where I was going, In my cold wet tired stupor I replied "Home"... Quickly realized what a stupid answer that was then sputtered out "Barrington". The train ride was cold and painful and as a final insult as Lisa was exiting the train and muttering something like "I'm walking bowlegged right now" she is hit full force by closing train doors. HA! The rain was Biblical and quite clearly timed by a Decemberist fan for the sky opened after their encore as if a switch was perfectly timed. Damn, if Mayor Daley doesn't have connections at the highest places!
Rainy trip home aside, this had to be one of the coolest things I have done so far this summer. Honestly, I think the rainy trip home itself was one of the coolest and most *Chicago* experiences this summer on its own. Windorphins!! I hope you enjoyed my account of it, that's if you read this far.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
**To be updated soon! This post is going to be an experiment in collaborative writing. I am passing this to Lisa who is going to change and add things to it all of which will be noted by being italicized, then when she is done with it we are going to pass it to Rick so he can add his two cents!**
Italic = Lisa Schilling
Bold = Rick Valicenti
A peal of thunder rumbles the Chicago skyline and Colin Meloy strikes a chord...."Holy crap, this is the coolest thing ever." The Decemberists at Millennium Park with the Grant Park Orchestra for the steep price of free ninety free how can you go wrong?! The answer is, YOU CAN'T.
Rather than drive (thus turning free-ninety-free into $25 event parking), Bud suggests we hop the Metra near Thirst. I'm totally on-board (hardy-har-har). The two-decker, locomotive tooted to a halt right on time (whether or not there was an actual toot is irrelevant...). Bud and I hop on board and make our way up to the second deck, where we find ourselves two nice seats offering an ideal vantage point to observe the other riders and passing suburban landscape. Even better: a forgotten can of Icehouse nestled next to my seat. Just my style. Evidence indicated that many of us were bound for the same place: the train was brimming with tight graphic tees, retro-style sundresses, pasty skin, boxy-rimmed glasses, coolers, and lawn chairs.
Bud nudges me: "Don't look now..." [I do, naturally], "but the dude at 2 o'clock is knuckle-deep in his nostril.." Turns out we also have a spectucular view of an elderly gentleman's epic nose-mining and subsequent booger-snacking session. This ride keeps getting better!
Bud teaches me a new game called "I one a monkey." You should ask him to teach you too--endless entertainment. I try to teach Bud a new word game called "Ghost." It causes confusion. Alas. The crazy old nose-picker transitions from his left to his right nostril. He also puts on a pair of old Ray-Bans for added emphasis. Seated across from us is a study in the awkwardness of high school dating, and, in the very back of the car, one poor third-wheel who pretends to play with her cell phone while her friend and her boyfriend very ostentatiously nuzzling.
Upon arriving to the location Lisa and I scanned the mass of people searching for a place, any place to sit down. Stumbling upon a 4.5 square foot patch of still-pristine grass, we wedge ourselves into the patchwork of hipsters and their organic hemp-based homespun blankets. Bud seats himself in a fluid, uneventful motion, as I struggle to navigate my long and slightly movement-constraining dress to the ground, nearly landing a flip flop in our new neighbor's tub of hummus (home-made, natch). The pavilion was filled and spilling out over the bean. I called Rick V to see if he beat us here. Why yes he did, and he claims that he is sitting front and center! Confirmed: Rick Valicenti really IS a rock star. We made our way up to the front stepping over people the whole way. Bud moves like a fearless, agile cat through the mass of hip human beings. I continue to regret my unfortunate choice of attire as I struggle to navigate the mobbed lawn gracefully (or at least not step on anyone's sushi or Treo). As I begin to drift behind Bud, fearing separation and a missed opportunity to meet this Mr. Rick Valicenti I(MR.!?!) about whom I have heard much, I eventually say "screw dainty," hike up my skirt and make a break for it. And sure enough, there he is with the best free seat in the house. 3 feet from the fence and directly centered on the stage. I barely had a quiet minute to get to know Lisa as the band was in full swing by the time my two concert goers arrived within shouting distance of the stage. Had I heard Lisa say 'screw dainty", the DOM (dirty ol' man) in me might have suggested she just utter, "fuck dainty."
That's Mr. Rick Valicenti there on the left. MR.!?!-I suppose I am as olde if not older than Bud's parents and therefore Mr. Is a prefix I might expect my kids to use. Within the walls of the Thirst studio, I usually think the word Mister applies to someone older than I.
The Decemberists sounded great with their accompanying orchestra. I think this combination with some bands would be a clashing one, but they blended well together and enhanced each other. The arrangements complemented and enhanced the music. Lisa even noted that they had a very accomplished oboist among their ranks, to which I poetically said "hell yeah". All of the musicians were incredible, though I really do say, those oboe solos floored me. I wouldn't have pegged the oboe as the perfect instrumental analogue for the Decemberists' shtick, but nothing could be more so: that nasal, artfully percussive articulation, slightly wailing cadence, just the right amount of tonal instability. The whole Grant Park Orchestra was fantastic, especially knowing that their director did all of the arrangements himself, and the players were sight reading on stage behind some notoriously unpredictable rockers. Talk about an adrenaline rush. Gives me chills again to think about. Also makes me wish I had my viola with me in Chicago.
As a bonus there were two guys dancing in the open area between the fence and the chairs. They put on quite a show, with poorly imitated ballet moves and all. They were at it the whole time, the security guard nearest them didn't know what to do. He just kept shaking his head and making faces of surprise every-time they would twirl or tackle each other. The Decemberists put on a great show, mixing new songs with plenty from their older albums, and even a couple I have never heard before (remind me to look em up). One that neither of us had heard was 'The Tain,'an EP they did in 2004 (Thanks, Wikipedia!). It's an incredible piece of work--one continuous 30-minute vocal narrative of a Celtic myth cycle over some alternately chilling and triumphant melodies. So cool. Their final song came to a clashing end with Colin Meloy falling over and straddling his acoustic guitar, the bassist falling back with his upright bass laying on his chest, and the other guitarist tearing the strings off of his guitar.
It wasn't just any guitar. It was a Rickenbacker twelve string-the same one George Harrison (Beatles) played circa Help. I am particularly fond of Rickenbacker twelves as I still have hold dear my very own vintage blonde version from 1967. It's completely restored and sleeps under my bed. Seeing the Decemberist's Indiana guitar player bounce his Rick off the stage floor was a dard scene in one of those nasty-ass dreams. They couldn't leave it at that though, shortly after disappearing backstage they all came back for an encore... or two. Colin then invited everyone in the back to come up to the front, and all craziness broke out. People started rushing the "barricade" separating them from the paid seats. People were everywhere hopping and moving the fence, and the security guards couldn't keep up. You could see the desperation in their eyes as they tried to do their jobs. The final two songs were really exciting because of the audience reaction, most of which were now dancing. By this time the weather had started to move in and the occasional lighting strikes seemed to be part of the show, adding to the drama and excitement. I could swear that thunder rumbles were not only in-time, but in-tune with "The Mariner's Revenge Song" that closed the show. Colin Meloy had the entire theatrically screaming, wailing, and writhing in unison at his cue, as though we'd all been eaten by a whale.
Lisa and I posing for the cheesy self shot.
So many people! What are you doing Lisa? You know, being shifty.
They were either all on ecstasy or they just really like The Decemberists. Our favorite Interpretive dancers Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum were definitely on ecstasy, or they just really liked each other.
I walked away from this concert feeling a little more in love with the city of Chicago, and I think that Lisa felt the same way. Affirmative. It was an incredible experience, but our adventure didn't end there. On our walk back to the train station we stopped into a Jimmy John's and when we stepped out it was pouring rain. "Pouring" doesn't begin to capture it. We're talking umbrella-inverting; one continuous horizontal pummeling by sheets of water, making slapping noises on contact; wind-howling. We were forced to take the several block walk back to the station through torrential rain and lightning. I used a beach-towel to protect me from the Rain (*note* Towels aren't waterproof, in fact they are quite the opposite. *Note also* This towel depicted large, fluorescent pink and orange lady-fish interspersed with streams of gold-glitter. Bud, You go, Girl!) and Lisa used her tiny umbrella (which is definitely NOT Chicago-proof and spent most of the walk inside-out and blowing away. Very ineffective as an umbrella, but does have a flashlight in the handle that works well...). By the time we made it to the station we were both completely soaked (*note* Floor-length sundress and suede flip-flops in this kind of weather = one continuous wardrobe malfunction). When we stumbled into the dry (but waaaay too air-conditioned) terminal, I begin wringing out my skirt (which now weighs about the same as a gallon of milk). Bud to me: "You look like a drowned rat." Thanks, Bud. We found our train and I went and stood in line to buy some tickets. When the lady behind the counter asked me where I was going, In my cold wet tired stupor I replied "Home"... Quickly realized what a stupid answer that was then sputtered out "Barrington". The train ride was cold and painful and as a final insult as Lisa was exiting the train and muttering something like "I'm walking bowlegged right now" she is hit full force by closing train doors. HA! The rain was Biblical and quite clearly timed by a Decemberist fan for the sky opened after their encore as if a switch was perfectly timed. Damn, if Mayor Daley doesn't have connections at the highest places!
Rainy trip home aside, this had to be one of the coolest things I have done so far this summer. Honestly, I think the rainy trip home itself was one of the coolest and most *Chicago* experiences this summer on its own. Windorphins!! I hope you enjoyed my account of it, that's if you read this far.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
**To be updated soon! This post is going to be an experiment in collaborative writing. I am passing this to Lisa who is going to change and add things to it all of which will be noted by being italicized, then when she is done with it we are going to pass it to Rick so he can add his two cents!**
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