Urban Walden

Stumbling across the internet, I came across the website of a band I was in for a couple months about a year and a half ago, and had a small pang of nostalgia.  What interested me when examining my feelings was that I wasn't especially nostalgic for any particular memory of adventures we had as a group, but rather for the practice space we rented in a seedy section of west Chicago.  The band had been together for quite a while before I arrived (I was one in a long, long rotating cast of singers the band used - singers for this band are like the drummers in Spinal Tap - I don't think they'll ever find one they like), and their space had several markers of their history.  

Every square inch of the walls was spray-painted.  There were graffiti suggestions for band names various band members and friends had thought of during hang-out/jam sessions.  There was street art, most of it doodles put up out of boredom by band members in between songs or by band members' girlfriends, bored while listening to the songs.  One piece, though, was a gigantic mural that covered most of the wall facing the drumset, and it had been done before a single practice ever took place by Rolando, ultra-fan and eventual "noise guy" for the band (he couldn't play any instruments, but was so enthusiastic about the music that he was drafted to make strange synth noises on something called a Kaos pad and pepper in occasional effects with his large collection of thundersticks, maracas, cowbells, etc.).  

I honestly don't remember many of the details of the piece - there were a number of druggie cliches (large rainbow mushrooms and the like) - only that Rolando was a talented artist and that the mural helped define the character of the room as an artistic haven.  The messiness and creative ideas strewn haphazardly all over the room made me feel excited every time I walked in, as they seemed to announce ART HAPPENS HERE in capital letters.  Just as Thoreau had his cottage on Walden pond to escape and write to, we had this space.

Adding to the haven feel was the fact that the practice space was in a large abandoned-looking brick building, every room of which was taken up by local bands that took their music seriously enough to rent a space.  Surrounding the building on three sides were grey abandoned factories.  I say abandoned, not abandoned-looking like our own building because all the windows were vandalized or boarded up.  This gave the place the allure of danger while at the same time serving as a buffer from the rest of the neighborhood, allowing all the bands to play as loudly as they wanted without worrying about anybody hearing.

I don't want to rejoin that band, but I wouldn't mind using another space like that if my current band gets serious enough to start renting a place.