Pitchfork 2009

July 17 to July 19
Tortoise takes the stage during an off and on again drizzle and announces that it is dedicating its set to a friend who died this morning. This is the worse start I've ever heard to a concert or a festival promising three days of music.

Things improve. All in all the best Pitchfork I've been to, although the weather remains weird. Instead of the usual steambath, the days are sweatshirt cool and threaten rain the entire weekend.

Most repeated line from band.

Some variation on "This is the largest crowd we've played for." Cymbals Eat Guitars, The Antlers, Beirut, and at least one other band that I can't remember now.

Best t-shirt:
Die Emo Die

Most interesting photos of people on top of other people:
















I watched this kid lick his Dad's head for a good half of Cymbals eat guitars.


Highlights include:
The National, who seem to be getting better live. Songs that sound introspective on the album become fully fleshed out rockers in concert. At the end of the show, we're all screaming the lyrics to the final song: "I won't fuck us over; I'm Mr. November! Very cathartic.


The Walkmen
I was curious to see how "You & Me" would translate live. Sometimes I fell into the album and it was like a suite of songs; other times I found myself impatient--not enough variety. I was delighted to see that the album, which made up about half the set, was even more compelling live. The cords on Hamilton Leithauser's neck looked about ready to pop during songs like "in the New Year" and "The Rat."


The Yeasayers had the moment of the concert when the drizzle stopped and the sun came out for "Sunrise."

Pitchfork Notes

Last year's Pitchfork had the narrowest demographics of any concert or public event I can remember. It seemed like the entire crowd was an army of 28-year-old baristas or vegan tattoo artists. Not only were Nan and I oddballs, but my daughters (aged 17 and 14 at the time) also missed the demographic ideal by more than a decade.

This year the crowd seemed more diverse. I saw some older folks, and some young parents brought their kids. One memorable sighting was a young dad carrying two beers while balancing a 15-month old on his arm. The kid was happily plunging his fist into one of the beers, then shaking his hand. Dad looked pained but resigned.

Later, during the middle of the set by Hold Steady, I feel a light pressure on the back on my legs. I turn around and there's a 312 beach ball wedged between my calves and the footrest of the guy's wheelchair behind me. I pick up the ball and it's vibrating. All kinds of ideas flit through my mind--the ball's deflating in a wobbly way; there's something electronic--or a bug??--inside the ball. My puzzlement must have been showing; this woman behind me puts her hand and on the ball. "It's a beach ball," she says in the kind of voice kindergarten teachers use for their behind-the-curve kids. "You throw it." She pantomimes throwing the ball in the air. Just when I decide that the ball is vibrating in response to the bass, she takes the ball from hands with an exasperated expression and slaps it into the air. She really wanted it to be a learning experience for me.

Last Visit to the Berghoff

Yesterday we ate our last meal at the Berghoff, one of the most beloved restaurants in Chicago. When people who had never been to Chicago before would visit, we'd take them to the Art Institute and the Berghoff. Its hard not to fall in love with a city that has both Nighthawks at the Diner and a place that serves great braised lamb shanks with a side of creamed spinach.

The restaurant, which has been in business since 1898 and has the first liquor license issued in Chicago after the repeal of Prohibition, closes at the end of February. A little bit of Chicago history dies then too.

We tried to get to the restaurant at 'tween time to see if we could beat the rush. We got there at 2:30 on a Saturday and we still waited for over an hour. We were lucky enough to get a table on the main floor to see the murals and wooden wall panels one last time. We were also glad to see the Christmas lights were still up.

A table across the room was celebrating a birthday. The waiter presented a woman with a special birthday cake: A rounded pink cake shaped like a skirt with a Barbie doll emerging from the center. The waiter and a busboy started singing "Happy Birthday." The whole room joined in. When the song was over, the room started clapping. The person who had presented the woman the cake held it over his head and the clapping surged and continued.

This isn't just a restaurant with good food. This is a place rich in family traditions and memories. Throughout our meal I saw lots of people asking the people at neighboring tables to take a quick snapshot, a memory of the their last visit to the Berghoff.

Chicago will seem a poorer place without this restaurant.

El Sighting

A guy about sixty, wearing a red T-shirt and jean shorts, gets on the el and sits down on one of those inward-facing seats next to the door. My eye is drawn to something dangling from a leather strap around his neck. It takes me a moment to make it out: a nail clipper. I look to his fingernails: gnawed down about two-thirds past the cuticle. He spends the rest of the trip chewing on one stumpy nail then moving to the next.


There’s a line in William Kennedy’ Ironweed about someone chewing with “insatiable revulsion.” But he doesn’t look revolted, so I guess the revulsion is mine.