Black Keys and Slangin' Keys

I know, I know, a Saturday post--it's almost unheard of. But the ladies are out shopping, and I'm sitting in Ari's apartment with the dog, watching some football, so I figured I would do some bloggin'. Jester, NaviKate, Harley, and I made it Chicago from Sunny D in less than 5 hours last night, which is always a welcome surprise. Pretty much as soon as we got here, I had to head to the Metro to meet Greg "Roamin'"Bohmann to see the Black Keys.

So I hop on the Brown Line, head up to the Belmont stop, where I had to switch to the Red Line. Apparently I just missed a Red Line train because there was a "talker" on the platform. For the entire 15 minutes that it took for the next Red Line train to get there, the guy talked to this girl he didn't know, who was too nice to tell him to shut the fuck up and leave her alone. He was pretty much harmless, but he was also one of those guys who doesn't quite have enough social skills to realize that he didn't need to talk to complete strangers for extended periods of time. He also liked to inform people as they walked up the stairs just exactly how many minutes by which they had missed the previous Red Line (i.e., "You waitin' for the Red Line? Yeah, me too. You just missed one by about [4, 7, 12] minutes." And then he would half-heartedly chuckle and say something like, "Ain't that just how it always goes?" Then I would envision what it would be like to strangle a complete stranger to deafening applause.)

Then when I finally got on the train, I happened to be standing by a homeless man with less than the appropriate number of teeth who was laughing uncontrollably for the entire ride. I had to look down because if made eye contact with anyone, I would have been laughing right along with that dude. I almost did it anyway, but I wasn't sure if he would welcome a fellow laugher or try to eat my heart. Luckily, my stop was only one away. When the train stopped, he was leaning with his back against the doors, so he fell backwards out of the train when the doors opened, barely keeping himself from completely falling. He must have found his near fall to be hilarious because he kept right on laughing the whole time. As I walked past him, I assume the odd smoky smell emanating from him was the sweet aroma of crack cocaine.

So then I walked past that fortress of failure, Wrigley Field, on my way to the Metro. If you've never been to a show at the Metro (like me, until last night), it's a great little place to see a band. It's all general admission, and there is a balcony that give an excellent view of the stage. In addition, there are several bars stationed conveniently throughout the club. Greg and I positioned ourselves along the railing of the balcony, where we had an unimpeded view of the stage. On a random note, I saw Pat Gemkow, brother of Chris "Gemkeezi" Gemkow, at the show.

The opening "band" was Nathaniel Mayer, who apparently had some Top 40 hits back in the early '60s. Mayer, shown here eating a hot dog outside the Dakota in New York, had one of the most grizzled speaking voices I've ever heard. If you put the voices of Howlin' Wolf and Louis Armstrong in a bag, and mixed in somewhere around 367,000 cigarettes, several tons of gravel, and an a few hundred shards of glass, then you would be close to Mayer's speaking voice. Singing, he was fine. Speaking, couldn't understand a word.

His backing band was one of the creepier I've ever seen. First off, it was hilarious because Mayer was wearing a dark-colored western-style button-down shirt with white fringes, along with white pants and white patent leather shoes. The rest of his band was wearing identical Nathaniel Mayer t-shirts. The drummer was normal enough, sporting an Adam Sandler-esque white man's fro. The bassist, in addition to the t-shirt, had on a long, multi-colored scarf, as you might expect. He looked like an older version of Jeremy Piven that owned a van with no windows, into which he lured young children for purposes of inappropriate touching. But he was no match for the guitarist. This dude looked like Riff Raff from the Rocky Horror Picture Show, with a handlebar mustache. He was balding, but had long hair, including a patch on his forehead that most people would just shave off, but his patch was equally as long as the rest of his hair (8 inches or so). He appeared to be someone with whom I would not be able to maintain a normal conversation. Despite the creepiness, it was one of the better opening bands I've had the pleasure to see. Mayer really got the crowd into it.

Anyway, so then the Black Keys went on, and rocked the hizzie. I highly recommend seeing them when they come to a city near you. If you don't know who they are, buy one of their albums (Rubber Factory is my personal favorite). They are a duo (only a guitarist and a drummer) from that flaming pile of shit in Northeastern Ohio known as Akron, and they play blues/fuzz/garage rock. I saw them at Lollapalooza this past summer, and they were even better last night. Patrick Carney, the drummer, beats the shit out of the drums like few drummers I've ever seen, while Dan Auerbach, the guitarist/singer, hops around the stage with his Telecaster pumpin'. Here are some pictures I got (after some bouncers made me delete some other ones I had taken):


After the show, we met up with the ladies at the greatest neighborhood bar in Chicago, the Burwood Tap. Who do I see there? None other than Andy "Balko" Palko. I hadn't seen that SOB in years. He's still a ball of fire.

After the Burwood closed, the ladies headed home and Greg and I made the customary trip to LaBamba, which is only a block from the Burwood. Some drunk chick in there tried to start up Illinois's call-and-response chant "I-L-L...I-N-I." Her foolish attempt was soon thwarted by some dude who explained to her that Illinois sucks. "Oh yeah, well where did you go?," she innocently asked. He responded calmly and confidently, "Indiana." At that point, it became apparent that there were many other Hoosiers in the crowd because he got a rousing reception, culminating in several of us saying "IU 5, Illinois 0," and then a couple hot chicks (that's what IU brings to the table) singing the IU fight song. For you Illini fans out there, here's what NCAA basketball championship banners look like:

So tonight, we're heading to the hizzie of Jeremy "Uter" and Kristin "Butto" Widenhofer for a holiday party. Should be a great time. I'll let you know how it goes.