Library of Inspiration: Roomsound

Track Listing: 1. Trout Silk, 2. Bottles and Bones (Shade & Sympathy), 3. Fisherman’s Wife, 4. Porno Starlet vs. Rodeo Clown, 5. Tayzee Nub, 6. Slow Rt. Hand, 7. St. Augustine (A Belly Full of Swans), 8. Wade in the Water, 9. Rattlesnakes Smell like Split Cucumbers, 10. New Black Tooth

Why can’t they all be just like this?

Seemed like the start of a typical Monday (never too exciting a prospect). Original plan was to take the day off on the heels of a Sunday night at WestFest in Ukrainian Village to catch the Meat Puppets. There was no way to be back in bed at a reasonable hour to be rested enough to face the Monday morning alarm.

Change of plans.

So I skipped the Meat Puppets show in favor of reprising the wildly successful role of Couch Potato. And although watching the Cubs beat the Cardinals in the rubber game of an important series was not a bad consolation, I couldn’t help but feel I’d made the wrong decision, missing the return of Cris Kirkwood to the Puppets lineup. Then I get word from an eyewitness report that they played 5 songs from Meat Puppets II.

Snooze, you lose.

Breaking news. In the cube, ho hum, navigating the beginning of a fairly uneventful day. Trying to figure out how another summer managed to sneak by. But … Breaking News. It arrives via e-mail. Electric Pony Express. Hey, did you know Califone is playing a free show at Millennium Park’s Jay Pritzker Pavilion today at lunch?

Califone at Millennium Park? Free? There would be no hesitation, no second guessing this time.

Ever since the Frank Gehry structure was completed in 2004 (four years prior for those keeping score), I promised myself that I would take in a show at the Pritzker to experience the venue. The city. Outside. The air. That stunning segment of skyline. The smell of the lake. To-do list. To-do. One of these days, one of these days.

Of course, if you’re not careful, the mirage of opportunity has a way of evaporating faster than summer itself. Best laid plans. Somehow, I just never quite managed to check off a Millennium Park concert from my to-do list. Inertia or laziness or just plain life itself had me in its grip.

Not now. Not today. No way.

I go with a coworker. Crazy perfect weather, 74-not-a-cloud-in-the-sky degrees. The universe in alignment, precise as an eclipse gives way to an unexpected date with Tim Rutili and band.

We’re sitting at the center of the pavilion, about 20 rows back. The sound swarms. Sensory massage begins. It was not quick like a fix but something more patient, taking its time and playing by its own rules. You lay down on the table in the parlor as the magic band plays, building slow and steady before the kill, penetrating. Deeper tissue. Freight train coming, coming ’round the bend. A progression of sounds sprawl over the space. Brain soak. Califone sound waves smashing off the Gehry structure in a carefully orchestrated sonic attack. Invisible darts. Distributed sound reinforcement system is a success. The perfect roomsound. Outside.

It occurs on a Monday. My first concert at Pritzker Pavilion, under the shine of an August high noon sun. A chance to see a favorite local band for free. An unexpected start to the week. Banjo, guitars, keyboards. Beefhearty beats. A trumpet and trombone thrown into mix. Vocals decant into a smooth blend of blends.

We walk back to our desks, far more fulfilled than had we ventured into a typical lunchtime destination and stuffed ourselves with a personal pan from Giordano’s or a quickie from Jimmy Johns.

Settling in for the remains of the day, the obvious question lingers: Why, oh why can’t they all be just like this?

-G