As I was walking into the Empty Bottle's "Music Frozen Dancing" event March 1, I couldn't decide if the club was nutty for having it or if I was nuttier for actually going. So far, this has been a Chicago winter that just won't fucking die and for every semi-decent day ( in the mid thirties with a tolerable wind chill ) there is some new hell-spawned arctic blast that erases the thought. Winter Wonderland, my ass—this crap is sick.
Still, the block party line up was killer: Tennessee's Diarrhea Planet and Marnie Stern heading an afternoon that promised to be memorable, if anything.
The openers, Chicago's Heavy Times, kicked things off with a thumping set of leaden rock while instantly locking onto a funky groove that they stayed with for their entire set. My favorite, "She's A Dancer," was sludgy, leaden and shot through with a catchy chorus that made it pretty easy to forget the cool breeze. It did not hurt that the weather was fine at that point ( a negotiable twentysomething degrees despite the damp ) or that the chili, beer and hot cider flowed freely. ( It also didn't hurt that the Bottle was open with members of Rabble Rabble playing slow jams inside, like "If You Want Me to Stay" by Sly Stone amidst a lounge-like vibe. )
The answer to my questions about the sanity of throwing something as contradictory as a block party at the ( hopefully ) end of a nasty winter was pretty much answered here. It was a perfect invitation to break routine, get the hell out of the house and into the great outdoors and shake it with like minded friends.
The shaking started once Diarrhea Planet got onstage and the weather turned progressively brittle. As the flurries started and the temperature dropped, Diarrhea Planet's thrashing four-guitar attack set off a full-blown body-slamming melee ( "music, frozen, dancing?,"...unh-hunh ) and the staid chill factor turned into a hip-shaking free for all. To make matters funnier, Diarrhea Planet seem to love to take the stereotype of the Southern band ( all that hoo-ha about "swamp boogie" and Southern pride ) and slamming it on its ear. If the set lacked twang, which is something these guys don't do, they made up for it in urban thrash with all the subtlety of a chain saw ripping through a stack of phone books. For all the mayhem that they made and inspired in the overflow crowd, they looked pretty damn good-natured about it all.
The closer, Marnie Stern, has the formidable reputation of being called one of the best female guitarists on earth and, after the monster mash before her, the crowd was abuzz at just what this woman could do to follow it. Her answer was to take the stage and rip through an altogether idiosyncratic set of blistering and unique guitar and vocals that sounded like nothing that came before, though it was just as compelling.
By the end of it, I could not deny that I froze my ass off ( for future reference, never go to a winter slam-dancing hoedown in leather or cloth sneakers and wear undies ) but I completely enjoyed hanging out with old friends, introducing them to each other, meeting new ones, getting out of my cozy house and letting my ass have its way. Thank you Empty Bottle for this act of mercy.
As if all that slam-dancing and bad weather weren't enough for one day, later the same night I witnessed White Mystery at Cobra Lounge rip through a celebratory show at the top of a bill of hard-rocking local talent just before its trip to Austin for SXSW. Fresh from a trek to the West Coast for the Grammys, White Mystery was in the mood to make noise and have a blast regardless of what the weather was doing.
At this point, after four albums in as many years, the sibling interplay of Alex ( on guitar ) and Francis ( on drums ) has to be considered "classic" because there is such a bonded, sweet cohesion between them. Francis and Alex project a playfulness that betrays their bama-lama, and a naked joy in tearing it up and having fun. They make the notion of a "traditional family" so attractive that they shame the living shit out of the religious right.
If Stern is considered one of the best guitarists working today, Alex White is on the same level. This women shreds guitar with such fury and fleet skill that it's almost frightening. And Francis, who has a laid-back innocence that is not only instantly comfortable but benign plays with the punch of a 6-year-old who is aware that his tantrums actually move the heavens. White Mystery plays hard alright, but the spirit is so light and frolicsome that they make rock 'n' roll, as an art form, go right back to its roots; rebellion and confrontation may be part of what it is all about, but it is also about having fun and good times.
Dedicating "Birthday" to their mother, who could not be there ( the weather again ), this blow-out was all about kicking out the jams, having fun, and enjoying the moment regardless of what the future, or the weather could bring. By sliding the songs into one another without many introductions or much fanfare, the show felt like a party mix of hard-rock rave ups ( "Good Girl," "Party," "Buttheads from Mars," "Hey Shirley," "People Power" ).
And, yes, there was the hair—long, flowing, stringy mounds of flaming red hair flying back and forth in all directions with the music. And I'm not saying that Alex and Francis' hair is the act or such a part of it that they make a big deal out of it ( no, I don't have envy, as I still have a full head of it ) but White Mytery's untamed locks are just as important as the thunderous sounds that they make. Loud, screaming rock 'n' roll with long beautiful hair flowing and snapping in all directions? Yeah, that is what rock and roll is all about: freedom, spontaneity, expression.The only thing better then hearing White Mystery is seeing White Mystery.
Heads up: Local queer theatrical band Baathhaus dropped its first video last week, for "Cave Song." You can find it at on its Facebook page.
