Tonight I went to see Liars at the Bottom Lounge; it was a pretty terrific show, but I went alone, after hanging out in the house all day. The Bottom Lounge is about 3 blocks from Union Park, where the first day of Pitchforkfest had literally just wrapped up. I've never been in that part of Chicago before, and at one point mistook a cheesy dance club for the Bottom Lounge. The overdressed security guards and velvet rope made me think something was off, so I just stood next to the wall and tried to suss it out without actually asking anybody if this was in fact the Bottom Lounge. As I stood there, I pretended to text, but in truth I just wrote down the random shit the bajillions of people leaving Modest Mouse's headlining set were saying to one another as they passed me. A sampling:
"She probably had a Groupon."
"Hello, fine sir!"*
"You don't want to be the guy going 'HRUH!'"
"I don't know why I'm carrying this; I don't know what it is."**
"Someone's wearing too much perfume."***
"Robyn's in there."
"I thought you were cool, man!" ****
"Did someone say 'The Bodeans'?"
"Think Frogger."
"I remember we passed a strip club."
At that point I realized I was a block away and rejoined the river of people, leading me right to the Bottom Lounge, which was an overflowing afterparty, as it turned out, for Pitchforkfest. The room where the bands were playing, however, had a reasonable amount of people in it.
* From a random young girl who just walked up to me and drunkenly shook my hand. She caught me so off-guard that I jumped and exclaimed, "Jesus Christ!" in response, while shaking her hand. She didn't linger.
** Moments later that metal water bottle in her hand clattered against the wall to my right.
*** True.
**** Three shirtless, doughy white teens were trying to get into the dance club.
