Chicago's Around The Coyote Not So Ugly After All

By: Carrie J Sullivan

Monday October 02, 2006

Around The Coyote covered their bases stylistically, but needed more art infused with the music, something that will surely develop & evolve as the festival grows.
Photos By Patrick Sinco

Immediately upon arriving at the Around The Coyote headquarters on North Avenue in Chicago Friday evening, I encountered friendly folks and acoustic country music among walls of art on display for a silent auction. Although ATC has been around for over 15 years, the addition of an onslaught of bands (over 75) and venues (6) for promoting local music was new. I picked up my press kit with nary a hitch except they had me down as Sully Sinco. Ok, Sully I can see, but Sinco? That's my photographer's last name and while I'm fond of him, we've never exchanged nuptials. That I know of. Anyways, with my mistaken identity solved, I took a cursory lap around the perimeter of the room to check out all the pieces before heading down and over to the Double Door. The vibe was festive and cool and I was pleased see visuals incorporated with music right off the bat.

Once inside Double Door's darkness, I plopped down at the bar - I figured, why fight the inevitable - and set about trying to take notes without looking like a pretentious ass. The bands were between sets so I took a moment to observe the Coyote influence: two different film set-ups populated the main area - one across from the bar, the other next to it - with a third arranged to project on the stage behind and off to the side of the band. The crowd was thin since it was early yet but I couldn't help but notice lots of hair on young boyish faces; the novelty beard is apparently making a come back. Or maybe it never left; I haven't hung around down in Bucktown for awhile. Maybe the pride of finally being able to grow in the whole damn thing as an assertion of manhood never goes out of style.

The first act took the stage promptly at 8 and as it turned out, they were my favorite of the whole fest: This Is Me Smiling. Their first three songs launched right into each other with barely a break in between, a live performance strategy that I love. Vocals and pitch were spot on, transitions and accents crisp and tight, the songwriting creative and accessible. Confident command of stops, starts, silences and tempo changes had me completely sold by the end of the set. They were good. Really good.

By the time they were done I was definitely not smiling as I shelled out another $4.50 for a bottle of Old Style (what?). I broke down on principle for my next round and busted into my first of many cans of Busch Light. Let it never be said that I'm a precious girl.

The second band, Public Four (there were five of them, naturally), were much more ethereal/new wave rock, employing layers of texture and tone. Although they were more than adequate as musicians, I was turned off by their stage presence; there was a lot of staring at the back wall above the crowd's head as if transfixed by something more important. (Hypnotic German porn maybe?) From what I could tell, it was just a blank wall. Something smug about them made me not give a shit so I put in my ear plugs, not because they were loud, but because I wanted to hear less of them.

Keyboard anchored NYCO commandeered the stage next and pumped out some solid Ben Folds-y/Stevie Wonder-y rock/pop. Unfortunately for them, the lead sounded almost exactly like that douche lead singer guy from Matchbox twenty and while I know that's not his fault, it was still hard to bear, especially after a six pack of Busch. The bassist also incongruously looked like he should be jamming out to "The Nookie" with his high-peaked trucker hat cocked down low over his chin goat-tee but...whatever. A slow mid-set tune killed the momentum and my beer buzz gave out. They announced a song titled "It's Not You, It's Me" and I knew then it wasn't me, it was them. It was time to leave.

Club Lucky, Saturday, 4:30 pm

Saturday's water broke and birthed a screaming hangover, demon-child of the pitcher of Cosmos I'd chosen as a night cap after vacating Double Door the night before. I slalomed through traffic on my trusty Schwinn, avoiding side mirrors by the slightest of margins, using my wooziness to my advantage. Pulling up in front of Club Lucky, I was greeted by a surly artist whose collapsible chair was blocking the last precious space on the bike rack. I smiled, sheepish yet expectant that he would gladly acquiesce and shove over; after all, I was being environmentally responsible, riding instead of driving. He eyed me dolefully for a moment before reluctantly yanking his canvas chair to the other side of his display, apologetically grumbling, "so much for paying for the space." I guess refabricated hubcap art wasn't selling so well this year.

The outdoor venue created by Club Lucky ran adjacent to the building and was quite nice: a standard temporary stage stood at the far end with cocktail tables flanking the length. Before settling in for any music, I hit the indoor bar and ordered a chicken sandwich the size of an infant, figuring I'd need the fuel to make it through the rest of the day. Two glasses of wine later I was ready for my first band, Orange Alert. They turned out to be a Jazz quintet - a vintage Rhodes (cool!), 5-string electric bass, electric guitar, a woodwind/saxophone guy and an impressively compact jazz kit. Orange intriguingly employed the use of wah-wah, delay and distortion pedals on the Rhodes, vocals, and, most impressively, saxophone. Such blatant electronic manipulation can be hard to assimilate with jazz but they kept it interesting by limiting usage to occasional and tasteful moments. Only a few rays of sunshine could've made their set any more enjoyable. But that fiery orb, little bitch that it can be in September, insisted on obstinately not cooperating and ignored not only this set, but the rest of the afternoon.

Next up was Treologic, a jazz, funk, hip-hop, rap, rock-type group. Here is where Coyote scores bonus points for variation although the genre is not my cup of meat. Being a writer it seems logical that I should appreciate the wordsmiths of rap but... I don't. I found their choice of forgoing a bass in favor of low-end keys note-worthy but aside from that I couldn't stay interested. Good-ass DJ though. Midway through their set I adjourned to the inside bar for more wine and a warm-up. It was around this time that I met this drunk Irish dude (go figure) at the bar. He casually turned to me and slurred "what've you been up to lately?" as if I'd been sitting there the whole time and we were a couple chums grabbing a drink on a Saturday afternoon. I bit and indulged him, effectively missing the rest of the Treo set and the beginning of the next.

I convinced Irish to go outside with me for at least part of the next band, a pop/punk quartet, The Handcuffs. The sight of a couple chicks - finally - was welcome and certainly past due for the weekend. Sadly, tube tops and short skirts could not compensate for an overall lack of balance and confidence. There just wasn't enough oomph and intensity from the lead, nor solid skills from the bassist (which she admitted to after the set when I had opportunity to chat with her). The drummer, however, was really freaking good. I made a mental note to keep an eye on them...

My final band at the Club Lucky venue was Calvin Marty, an unexceptional pop/rock group, suffering from what I like to call "Linda McCartney Syndrome" (R.I.P.) - a girlfriend/wife band member (usually of the lead singer) with passable skills as a musician, jabbing at a keyboard, or getting her egg shaker on from song to song. The lead singer, obviously singing about her, indicated her on-stage mid-song. Ok, we know you're singing about her, we know you're in love, congrat-a-fucking-lations, let's please move on.

By this time I realized that I'd better head over to Double Door if I was going to catch the Bon Mots. Irish was still pretty good company; kind of a jackass - I saw his casual, mid-conversational approach for meeting new people used on several more women - but entertaining enough. We grabbed our respective bikes and as he fearlessly wove his way through traffic at the six-way Milwaukee intersection I began to think that I may have more trouble on my hands than I signed up for.

The Bon Mots represented with a solid set of full pop/rock that I was pleased I'd braved traffic to catch. By the end of their set, Irish had reigned in yet another unsuspecting bystander, a self-proclaimed "recovering designer" named Jessica. She turned out to be infinitely more interesting than the now completely-plowed Irish, who excused himself to grab some food shortly thereafter. I can't say I cried. I also can't say I answered my phone when he kept calling me later that night. Fun was fun but I saw an out and what can I say? I took it.

I was a little disappointed to see that the films being shown were the same three from the previous evening, except the two by the bar swapped locations. The piece that was previously on the stage was now on the wall across from the bar, making it easier to watch, which was nice considering that it contained an incredibly creepy pre-anorexic Mary Kate and Ashly Olsen Barbie commercial.

O'Neill & Wean bombarded the stage next, as only a twosome can do; Wean armed with only an acoustic guitar and O'Neill with crazy Christopher Lloyd hair. It's unfortunate that Tenacious D has the market on acoustic, clever, two-man-band music cornered but...they do. I thoroughly enjoyed their set nonetheless. They had rock moves to spare, comfortable and amusing stage banter and referenced all types of shit without coming off as elitist. By the time they were done, I wanted to have a beer with O'Neill to see if he was as much fun off stage as on.

Power trio Matthew got on stage next and kicked the crap out of some rock. My new friend Jessica aptly commented, "I hope you find a way to mock their faux-hawks," and well...it is unfortunate that they insisted upon sporting them. But by the end of their set, all was forgiven. Maybe it was because they were juxtaposed next to a quieter acoustic set, but for a three-piece their sound was simply huge. Matthew are a rocker's rock band. There wasn't a shred of pop-infused, hook-friendly hooey to cater to an ADD generation. I couldn't help but notice that the crowd was still small for the Door on Saturday night. Matthew started snarling "What ever happened to America?" and I thought it a shame there weren't more people in attendance to hear that. Whatever happened indeed.

Post-Matthew I did a quick sweep through the basement and initiated a drive-by shot of Jameson with the bartender and a couple other random people. Back upstairs Cracklin' Moth fired up their steel guitar and finished the evening off with some solid country rock, effectively ticking another genre of music off the list of what was represented. I rode home simultaneously satiated and over-stimulated, all the while checking my back for a renegade Irish dude. You never know with those guys.

Overall, Around The Coyote provided a fantastic platform for a plethora of impressive musicians. Not every band was a hit but since I only had to endure a 45 minute set before the next thing, it was almost always worth it to stick around. The only element that was in any way lacking was the presence of a large crowd to appreciate everyone's collective hard work. ATC covered their bases stylistically, were very well organized and set changes appeared to go off with out a hitch. I would have liked to have seen more art infused with the music - maybe different films each night at the Double Door and don't loop them - but that will certainly constantly develop and evolve as the festival grows. For their first year out of the gate instigating a new twist, ATC represented, rocked and arted. Hopefully next year will bring more sun and a few less drunk Irish guys.