I'm now taking a delay from doing any sort of homework -- despite a weekend out of town and an approaching time of finals -- to try and write a diary entry about something actually worthy of reading about: this Friday's Dirty Three concert in Chicago.

Let's just start out with two words: hell yea. I was extremely lucky to have gone (I had three friends who--although none of them had ever heard of the Dirty Three outside of talking to me and although the Dirty Three weren't even actually their style--were game enough to go with me and make sure I didn't get tragically lost in Chicago and gave me a place to stay) in the first place, and, with tickets only going at 15 dollars, it was also an extremely affordable venture. Staying at E's home in Illinois all this weekend, we took an hour-long train ride to Chicago to get there (after, of course, having the hour's drive from campus to her house) and, from union station, had to walk quite a bit to get on some (rather seedy) public transport which ate our money (fare was 1.50, and, no matter what bills you use, you CAN NOT GET CHANGE. Remember this, folks visiting Chicago. Also remember you really don't look midwestern to anyone, so a fair amount of folk will let you know if you're going for the wrong train or not) and then walk another long way to the Metro. Not that I'm complaining--we often joked on the way that sometimes, after one has been travelling long enough, it's easy to forget that there is a destination at all, and that the reason we went out this weekend was to ride trains about. Also, it's the first time I've seen a great deal of the city (I did go a bit last year for the Pansy Division concert, but I was with someone with a car that go, so saw less) so that, too, was a good time.

Back to the concert--doors opened at 8, so, with a bit of time to drift about, we stood in a record shop to keep out of the cold (this weekend was determined to serve us crap for weather) and hunt for taxi numbers for after the concert. Even when the doors opened, too, there was still an hour before the concert actually started--so, once we got into the Metro, I went to their tiny merchandise stand and picked up the Dirty Three's tour-only CDEP, A Strange Holiday, and checked my desire to buy the LP of She Has No Strings Apollo (although I'm a sucker for picking up records with good cover art, I told myself it would barely survive the night and I didn't want to hold it) and/or anything else. Which was splendid, after all--I really expected to spend 40 bucks and all I did was 8.

After, my friends and I decided to stake a spot in the Metro's balcony, right up against the guardrail--in the Metro, this is one of the best views. You can actually see drummers. Which may or may not be a boon, depending on how you look at the world. When we got there, it was still a 30-odd minute wait for the bands to start up. The entire night was overshadowed with urgency: we had to leave the Metro at 11:45, hell, high water, or Warren Ellis doin' a jig, to catch the last train out of town at 12:25.

Which may not have done wonders for our perception of opener act Scott Tuma. Now, he, out of any of the night's acts (also on the playlist was Bonnie Prince Billy) was the only one I could not find out any information on--and my friends say it's no wonder why. I'd like to be kinder and reserve my judgement on the man's music--which can be aptly described as the soundtrack to a man dying of cancer in Arkansas--and just say that his stage presence needed a LOT of work. His line-up was essentially himself on guitar and harmonica, someone on banjo, and someone else on (orchestral) bass. And his entire 45 minutes seemed to be all one song, with only two whined lyrics: "I don't care if it keeps raining" and "I don't care if she leaves me." Now, I listen to a LOT of avant-garde shit in this world. Hence why I'm wary to say "that was crap." However, I didn't like it at the time. That's all I've got on him for now.

There was quite a bit of time in between him and Bonnie Prince Billy for set-up, every moment of which was perfectly agonizing due to the train issue. When he came on, however, much of the crowd got really excitable--I think that as much of the crowd was there for him as were for the Dirty Three. And it's understandable why--he's an extremely talented folk singer with a great voice. I'd downloaded some of his music prior to the concert to know what I was getting into. He played much of the crowd's requests, only one of which I'd heard before myself. A soloist who accompanies his great voice with as-talented guitar work, he's got a decent stage presence, although much of it was merely amusing old-man dancing. His last song also featured a Dirty Three's Mick Turner on guitar.

This time between sets--that between Bonnie Prince Billy and the Dirty Three--was probably the most excruciating I'd experienced. We kept on urging on those roadies with our minds.

Finally, however, out came Mick, Warren, drummer Jim White, and the Amazing Nameless Bassist. Yea, someone'll get me on that one, but I can't, for the life of me, figure out who he was. For those who don't know, the Dirty Three are an instumental band, and usually only feature guitar, drums, and violin. Warren and Jim have amazing stage presence--Jim seeming practically boneless with his motions when drumming, usually grinning, and always seeming to egg Warren on, and Warren... Warren's always jumping about the stage, rarely facing the audience as he plays, often nearly going into doing the splits and he's not afraid to chuck his violin bow across the stage if he decides he doesn't need it. Warren also introduces each song with a rambling story (a small collection of which you can get here) which really gets everyone going. Mick Turner is surprisingly calm, standing almost in the sidelines as he plays powerfully. The Nameless Bassist remained usually out of the light, but jumped around when the music got going.

We could only stay there for three songs, the first of which I can't find the title of (although I remember all of the song intro: "This is a song about girls who wear Birkenhocks (sic). This is a song about... how great those girls are. This is a song about how great girls are." Usually the intro format dictates that the last line is the song title, but I'm being too slow tonight to find such a song title) the second was Sue's Last Ride, and the last we heard was Hope. The sheer energy was amazing, and I wish I could have stayed the duration.

But, in the end, I don't resent at all we had to leave early--this is how these things happen, after all. And as I rode the train back, I was just glad for the experience.

The only other problem? The Metro security doesn't allow photos. Hence, this is my only photographic contribution. Warren's even bending over, so as to make you feel as if you're there, not being able to see his face and all.

Have a nice night, kids. I'm down.