That’s Maggie playing with Heavy Times. She’s also in Magic Milk. The photo was taken during a show at Emporium on Tuesday featuring Uh Bones, Heavy Times, and Twin Peaks.
I really like your podcasts
An ex took this photo of my arm on our last date. Those were good times.
I’ve been working on an ongoing list since spring called Lessons Learned From My Latest Breakup. These are not meant to be tales of woe.
Here’s a sneak peek.
Retail therapy works. Go buy some stuff. You look great in denim. Everyone looks great in denim. Think of someone beautiful. They are denim.
Infiltrating The Peekaboos was pretty easy.
I first saw them at the Summer Slammer and bought a CD because they put on a killer show and I listen to CDs now. Their album, Stay Positive, is fantastic. I got a lot of play out of it this summer and still put it on for people who are curious about Chicago punx. You may have caught their song ‘Let’s Talk About Your Big Butt' as the outro on Suburban Secrets episode 4.
I kept going to Peekaboos shows, taking photos and trying not to get hurt when their bassist Rob jumps into the crowd or swings a microwave around. One time I was at The Empty Bottle and I recognized Rob sitting at the bar with Dale from Prom Night, so I introduced myself as a fan and Rob goes, “Wait, aren’t you Medium Gallery?” I was so excited by his brand awareness that I didn’t even notice Dale’s British accent.
A week later, we’re all Facebook pals and I go to The Peekaboos’ gig at Township with Prom Night and Today’s Hits. They drugged me in their van that night.
In August, I caught them at a Bucktown eviction party with Bad Dads and She Speaks In Tongues. That’s when they destroyed a kitchen. Not rock lingo. There were holes in the wall. A refrigerator was broken. The girl I was dating at the time dumped me after that. What a night.
Last Sunday, the band filmed a video for ‘Heaven’s Gate' and asked me to be an extra. I'm not sure when that video will premier but it's going to be a jammer. Till then, enjoy these shots from the shoot.
I’ve put more effort into showing an interest for the things my friends care about, even if that means watching a ton of professional wrestling.
Daniel recently got into professional wrestling in a big way. It’s all he talks about. He’s shown me a bunch of classic pay-per-view fights and a documentary about ECW. He started wearing a heavyweight champion belt. He keeps telling me to “suck it.”
On Sunday, Daniel called to ask if I would join him for some lucha libre in Villa Park. The match is 30 minutes away and held in the back warehouse of a mall. We walked in on someone getting a flying kick to the head by a voodoo tag team.
Now I’m just trying to look busy until Wrestlemania XXX in April.
I went to Tel Aviv for my second cousin, Anton’s, wedding. A 28-year-old DJ and sound designer who I met for the first time but had an instant connection with. We talked about Chicago’s house scene, dating hijinks, drugs, liquor, real hoodrat shit.
I also met a Annabelle and her son Matt, who came in for the wedding from Moscow. He’s 6 and the photo above was taken on a trip we took to the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem.
Recently returned from a week in Tel Aviv. What a jam. The amount of graffiti in that city is out of this world.
People kept telling me how dirty Tel Aviv is, but compared to New York and Paris, it’s actually fine. Except for the fact that the town is covered head to toe in street art. A lot of it is beautiful. A lot of it is not.
This is a pillar that supports an underpass that was just outside my hotel. I knew I wanted a motorcycle in my shot, so I stood in the same position for about 15 minutes until one passed by.
I’ve spent the last year or so exploring Chicago’s local music community and DIY spaces. Because of personal preference, I find myself at more punk and folk shows than anything else, hence all the photos from Animal Kingdom, The Observatory and Young Camelot (formally Gahye House).
On Halloween, The Observatory invited me to a secret Toro Y Moi and Jimmy Whispers show. It was unreal.
Erin Gutknecht, future folky.