In my last post, I didn’t want to overwhelm with my saturated experience, but there was one more thing that I felt I needed to share. In the final days of my time in Chicago, I found the opportunity to stay a little bit outside of downtown in a neighborhood called Logan Square. I was searching Air BnB for something cheap and I was really just looking for fun. I had always planned on staying with family and friends and commute into the city to save money, and that’s what I did for the majority of my time. I soon came across the most magical listing that Air BnB probably has to offer: a Chicago music and art themed hostel that was $15 a night. Talk about perfect. I contacted the hosts and told them of my intentions for the trip and about the research I had been doing over these past couple of weeks and they said that the hostel would be a great fit for me. Come Thursday of last week, I took the Blue Line train from Downtown to Logan Square and found myself in a neighborhood torn between gentrification and local striving businesses. I took the bus to the house and thankfully the stop was two feet from the house. I was greeted by Aksel, a Parisian woman who was also staying at the hostel. She told me that the hosts were not there but to make myself comfortable. I felt immersed in an energy rich home, where there was clear evidence of great memories made. The walls were strewn with photographs and thank you notes from past visitors. There were instruments everywhere you looked and lots of posters from local events as well. I could tell right away that this was not a typical hostel whatsoever. I was immediately treated like a friend and not so much like a guest or a stranger.

Hours later, there was a potluck that started. The host, Rae, had told me that there was a monthly potluck jam held at the house where friends of the hosts would come over and cook and then play music together. I am a major fan of potlucks and playing music with pals, so this sounded like heaven on Earth to me. I was expected a potluck similar to ones that I have been to. Some people bring food, a lot of people don’t bring food and hover around the plates hoping some kind cook will have mercy on them. This was quite a different style than I was used to. Everyone contributed and shared everything, from food to music to words. Nearly 30 people came to the house in the evening hours and produced such incredible, improvised sounds. After weeks of learning the history of Chicago music and listening to recordings from before this century, it was absolutely refreshing to be faced with contemporary artists and music. Since it was a close group of friends, I was pretty easily recognized as a guest and nearly everyone I talked to was incredibly fascinated by my research and was able and willing to tell me about what they think of Chicago music and their personal experience in the scene. It appears that it is similar to Olympia in that it is somewhat clique-y and there are a lot of the same bands at a lot of the same venues.  What is great though, is that the people I was talking to were really referring to the scene just in Logan Square, not just in the whole entire city. That’s when it dawned on me that while there may be some internalized drama  in the neighborhood scenes, the whole city itself provides such a rich, and diverse scene that I don’t think anyone could truly get bored with the music. If someone doesn’t want to see their roommate’s band play for the fourth time this month, then they can hop on the efficient and reliable Chicago public transportation and quickly get to another neighborhood and be exposed to a whole new sound and group of people.  I feel like that concept is the exact opposite of Olympia in a way. There is no escaping whatever the music scene is here. There is some variation, but the groups getting house shows are all white dudes with guitars and drums. There are always outliers, but they are not getting the proper attention they deserve in this small and somewhat exclusive musical city.

My first full week in Chicago and I feel different, indeed. I have been thinking endlessly about my day. Every where I look I am impressed and amazed. I am feeling slightly lonely, but seeing so many faces in the city is helping me out. Most people are very friendly and warm, that niceness of strangers will have to suffice for now.

My first major live encounter with Chicago music was at the Chicago Cultural Center. There, I was welcomed with a free entrance and an abundance of walls and angles to admire. The architecture of the interior was splendid, incredibly reminiscent of the 1920s. This space has clearly been kept up and loved by the community for decades. I came to a hallway of photographs. Featuring an assorted quality and composition style, these photographs depicted the glamorous and not so glamorous sides of the city of Chicago. Mostly, black and white, these photos captured the unseen street corners, and faces of Chicago. It was refreshing to see someone else’s concrete perspective. I knew the music was starting at noon and I needed to get a seat. I wandered around the corner to find a medium sized open air room, with about ten rows of folded chairs. Excitement and anticipation was in the air as the seats slowly filled about quarter to twelve, with a small, but substantial amount of the seats being taken by a rambunctious high school aged German tour group. I grabbed a seat in the first row, I came all the way here and I figured I might as well the best view I can. I did not have any expectations, and if I had any subconscious ones, they were not high at all. This was a free blues event during lunch time on a Tuesday. But to my surprise, the club went up on a Tuesday after all. The event boasted a performance from semi famed blues and soul singer, Chick Rodgers, originally from Tennessee, but made a name for herself in the windy city. She was backed by a four piece band, with all members originating from Chicago. They started without Chick, playing with the traditional blues riff that Chicago native Muddy Waters so famously used. They four piece band played out a cover of “Hoochie Coochie Man” that was so immediately captivating that my face was struck with emotion of pure joy and enjoyment. I normally have a large smile plastered on my face when I hear live music that I love, but I truly had never been so thrilled to hear live music. Do you know that woman who can pop her eyes out of her head for a spectacle? I thought a similar occurrence was about to happen to me, but with my teeth. I was in such pure bliss that two full rows of my teeth were exposed for almost an hour in a jubilant smile. After the first song was over, Ms. Chick Rodgers was introduced to audience, and a petite, stylish, sleek woman in her sixties mosied to the stage with a delicate lace handkerchief clutched in her right hand. No one needed a keen eye to know that there was a goddess among us commoners. She was a blues/soul diva and she was going to give us a show. The first instruments started to play and she shifted from side to side to the beat, with a smug look on her face as if she was going to reveal something to us soon. Finally, the sweet sound of heaven escaped from her full lips. Her voice filled the room with warmth and energy. People started dancing in their seats, nodding their heads, or even jumping up to wiggle. She had a unique quality to her voice, but it also sounded amazingly like Aretha Franklin, someone who you could easily compare to Chick. By the third song, mist was in my eyes, and even escaped from my tear ducts onto my cheeks. I had never witnessed something so profound. Her voice combined with the masterful instrumentation in the background struck me, and awoke me from within. That, and having my moon sign in Cancer which causes me to cry at anything I feel emotionally connected to. By the end of the magical hour, almost nearly every member of the audience was dancing in their seats, had red, raw hands from clapping along to the beat. For the first time in my life, I was not once distracted during a musical performance. I didn’t think about the summer, what food I ate, I didn’t question if I remembered to clean my ears after my shower last night. My mind, body and soul was 100% in the music.

My next endeavor in the large Chicago Cultural Center structure was to the Archibald J. Motley painting exhibit about Chicago’s Jazz Age in the 1930s. I walked up a few flights of stairs to enter another large room. There were dozens of paintings depicting Bronzeville in it’s heyday. The subjects ranged from single portraits of loved ones to Motley, to backstage perspectives of scantily clad dancers preparing for their showcase. One of Motley’s goals was to capture all sides of the African American life, not just the stereotypical one often portrayed in society. There was a true undertone of pushing people to expand their view of Bronzeville in the time. Not only was it filled with talented musicians and dancers, but teachers, mothers, community workers, a whole range of occupations.

From the Cultural Center, I pondered to Millennium Park about two blocks away. I ate some food that I packed in my backpack early that morning, and just observed. I sat in various places where there were lots of people passing by including walkways and at a picnic bench by the Cloud Gate or known to locals as “the bean”. I saw people touring with their friends and family and me seeing those people made me truly realize that I am not lonely. I simply have not been paying attention to the sweet strangers that have surrounded me on the sidewalks and in parks. A certain part of me has come to complete contentment with traveling alone. I am grateful that I am able to experience this, and overcome this lonely tendency.