surprise visit

It's morning in Michigan--but barely. It's 11:30 local time but feels like the perpetual cracking of dawn. The sun is nowhere to be seen and yet everywhere, illuminating the high blanket of clouds from behind into a bright, unchanging grey.

Last night, thought, the lights were terrestrial, for I was in Chicago. I made the decision midway through the day though had already been pondering it for a few days. There was a post on some high-profile new-music/composition blog about a group playing in Chicago, describing them as partway between Rock/Pop and Classical. I was intrigued. And, there was a party for Bobby's right before, involving free drinks.

So I went from having Black&Blues on the Right bank of the river to a small hall on the 10th floor of one of the original skyscrapers in Chicago. Unfortunately, by the time I left the bar, I only had 11 minutes to make it from the river to 400 S Michigan. I took lower Columbus, which is my new favorite way to go from Millennium Station to Bobby's. Then, I started running. I'm not much of a runner, so I could only go a few blocks at a time before walking again. I also had on the wrong shoes. Made it to the hall a mere 5 minutes late only to hear them say "let's wait another 5 minutes". Apparently the crowd wasn't what they were expecting. And the concert itself was somewhat short.

Good thing, because I really had to pee.

The concert was just so so. It wasn't exactly Classical-Pop fusion, more just "New Music". And, for me, that's a euphemism for "Who Cares Music". But I saw a friend, Kathryn, whom I met through Twitter, and we had a good talk; I think she's going to join me on my other blog--Beyond Words--in writing reviews.

But then I had an hour to kill. I finally got some food--although strangely, the cheese and crackers had mostly subdued my hunger--and then got lured into a bar by some Siren's song or another. I think it was the Decemberists. They were playing all sorts of good music (from a couple years back), including Sufjan, Wilco, and Spoon.

Then finally the train. And on my way back, Sartre died. And then so did Simone. It was an emotional end to a journey--a whole lifetime. I wasn't quite happy with the way it all ended, but then again, we don't exactly get to choose how we go. By the end, Sartre was totally blind after a series of strokes, and, though he was told to quit drinking, he was supplied with whiskey by one of his many ladyfriends.

I found this video, part of a documentary from '67.