Concerts

The Reader’s EIC strikes a pose outside of the Bankers Building (aka the Clark Adams Building). Credit: Enrique Limón

As January inches to a close, it’s a good time to take stock of what this year has been like thus far, and where we stand on those pesky New Year’s resolutions we promised we’d actually stick to this time around. Remember those? Well, smart indoor rowing machine, meet the storage unit; promise to drop ten pounds, meet Carnicería Maribel’s delectable torta de carnitas.

A few weeks back, during our first editorial meeting of the year, I asked editorial staffers to come up with a personal newsroom resolution, and share it in a singular word with no context. It was an interesting experiment that produced terms like a promising “yes,” “collaboration,” “determination,” and a stoically self-explanatory “journalism.”

Mine was “re-energize.” I chose that word because it symbolizes so much of where I’d like for the Reader to head and expand. We’re lucky enough to have a dynamic and resilient team that, with a few battle scars under its belt, remains steadfast in producing quality journalism and shining a light on wrongs that should be corrected, as well as on the people, movements and moments, and very particularly in this issue, the artists and visionaries that make our city such a unique place to call home.

My commitment to what we do was recently reenergized when I found myself during a brisk morning strolling past Clark Street’s Bankers Building. The Burnham Brothers’ 41-story behemoth has held many distinctions since it was first opened in 1927: it’s the city’s tallest all-brick edifice, and its 19th floor once housed the FBI office tasked with taking down notorious bank robber John Dillinger. For a while, it also served as headquarters for Medill’s central Loop newsroom. 

It was there where I arrived as a wide-eyed freelancer in the summer of 2009, to be part of the journalism school’s final Academy for Alternative Journalism, a project the Reader originated in conjunction with Northwestern a decade prior.

I remember the first time I entered through the building’s revolving door, a Chicago staple that’s not as commonplace back in the homeland, and holding onto the brass handlebar as a giddy inner voice said, “That was fun—let’s do it again!”

Going past the skyscraper again, all these years later and with nary anyone else around, I reflected and paused. The structure not only was ground zero for what would be my rip-roaring career in the alt-weekly industry, but it would also double as shelter on more than one occasion. See, I’d pitched the idea that I would experience the real Chicago by crashing at strangers’ homes I’d find on the newishly launched couchsurfing.com. More than a potential story though, it was a way for me to guarantee shelter during my Windy City stint, as I’d arrived in town with something like $60 in my bank account, and the fellowship’s stipend would only go so far.

I would have been too humiliated to share this back then, but lodging plans would sometimes fall through, and money would be extra tight, so without anyone ever knowing, I slept on the newsroom floor on more than one occasion. I developed a system: I’d lay out a couple of sofa cushions under my desk, make sure to set an alarm to go off before the morning cleaning crew arrived, make myself presentable in the newsroom bathroom, and hopefully scrounge up some food from the break room fridge’s communal shelf. Sometimes it was someone else’s leftovers; sometimes I lucked out and it was an intact Yoplait yogurt.

I have no shame in sharing this now. 

Through it all, I somehow managed to never get down on myself. Are you kidding me? I got to call this incredible town home for at least a couple of months. This is where I belonged. I’d also have the opportunity to hone my skills and meet industry leaders who I still consider mentors to this day. 

The winter chill nipping at my nose, I stood there for a minute, took the full circle moment in, and snapped a quick pic as a humble reminder. 

Looking back, I now cherish that hardship, and hold that freelancer’s unabashed perseverance near to my heart, because it all brought me to where I am now. I resolve to honor him and his big, seemingly unattainable dreams, and to let our shared energy carry me into these next 11 months—and beyond.

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Dan O’Conor is best known as the Great Lake Jumper, but he’s also a Chicago-based artist and owns T-shirt company Dtox Designs. Raised in the north suburbs, O’Conor began going to concerts in the city in the early 80s, and his passion for live music led him to a career in the music and media industry. Over the years he’s worked for Spin, Grooveshark, Chris Schuba’s long-running national ad-sales firm, and others. 

During lockdown O’Conor rode his bike from Lincoln Square to Lake Michigan and jumped in. It felt so good that he came back and did it again. And again. Eventually, his morning jumps became a local phenomenon, especially as local musicians—among them Jon Langford, Mucca Pazza, and Mute Duo—joined him by the lake to play a song or two, helping raise money for O’Conor’s organization of choice, the Chicago Independent Venue League (CIVL).

Lockdown is long over, but O’Conor is still making daily treks to the lake. He likes to wear the Motörhead shorts he got at a concert years ago, and before he jumps in, he shares bits of music trivia from his enormous record collection. This summer, he’ll reach his third anniversary as the Great Lake Jumper. I caught up with O’Conor between jumps to find out more.

As told to Jamie Ludwig

When I started jumping in the lake during the pandemic, it had nothing to do with music. It was just that I was hungover, and my wife wanted me out of the house. I went to the lake, jumped in, and it felt good. With the politics and protests and the pandemic, it felt like something positive I could do to clear my mind. It just felt good. I could go down to the lake, have a 20-minute ride down there, listen to my music with no commercials, no other static, just me and my bike.

I wasn’t videotaping the jumps at first, because I couldn’t figure out how to record while playing music, so I just chose to play the music. I was wearing the Motörhead shorts I’d gotten at South by Southwest years before. On the SpongeBob soundtrack, there’s a Motörhead song called “You Better Swim,” so I was trying to figure out a way to soundtrack a jump, but I don’t think I’ve ever figured it out. 

My friend tipped off Block Club that this guy from Lincoln Square had been jumping in the lake for 150 straight days. That’s when WGN Radio and reporters started interviewing me, and they’re like, “When are you going to stop this? You can’t possibly go through the winter.” I had no plans to go through the winter. But why not? 

From that January to June, I had four to five artists a week. But I was a moving target. I never knew when I was going to be there, because I was driving a bus at the time. I was driving a limo and juggling whatever stuff I had with the kids. It’s amazing that all of these artists showed up. Weekends were easier, because there were less conflicts. So that’s when I’d try to spread the word on Twitter and Instagram. 

I got mostly positive feedback from the artists, and I think there was a certain amount of, “I’m a musician, and I haven’t performed.” Even if it was in front of 20 people, that’s a buzz. Also around that time, there were several music photographers who started coming out. Ministry’s photographer, Derick Smith, and I became friends during the pandemic because he started shooting me out there. 

[Jumping in the lake] just continues to feel good. I still get that cleansing feeling. It’s a great way to start the day. It did become easier when they opened the lakefront. Now I can drive my car out. I’ve needed a shovel at times to break the ice, though I really haven’t had to use the shovel much this year so far. I also started wearing water shoes, because my feet were all beat up from 800 days of jumping off the cement. My wife got me some foot balm for Christmas, and it’s amazing. I also have a flotation coat that I wear some days, when it’s rough, to keep me afloat. I know that it’s a dangerous situation, especially during the winter. You’ve got to get down there and block everything else out, and get in the water and get back to the ladder. 

I wanted to tie in my albums—just because I think the visual of a big album is way better than a CD. Ninety percent of the time, it’s the day of or the night before, and I’m just googling what happened that day in music and trying to find something that I have some vinyl for, whether it’s my dad’s Frank Sinatra 78s or my older siblings’ Beatles or Stones records. Most of the stuff is not really about me, though I’ve done a few—like I used my Johnny Cash ticket stub as a visual because I’d gotten a guitar pick at the show, and when I flipped the ticket over the guitar pick was on the back. 

I try to keep it short. There were three women who jumped in with me today. They reached out through Instagram, like, “Hey, we’ve been wanting to jump in. Is tomorrow OK?” I’m always all for it. It’s a big lake—you won’t get in my way. It’s always fun to see others have that excitement of that bone-chilling cold and that endorphin rush. 

Music takes you to a time and place. It’s very subjective. Someone’s favorite show might be another person’s worst show. And you can bond with someone over these amazing shows. But to bring it back [to the venues], I think it’s like, “Hey, I was there. I had an incredible time, and I wouldn’t have had that without that venue being open.” So I think people are very supportive of their favorite venues, and for live music fans, I think this is an amazing time.

Read More

Dan O’Conor is best known as the Great Lake Jumper, but he’s also a Chicago-based artist and owns T-shirt company Dtox Designs. Raised in the north suburbs, O’Conor began going to concerts in the city in the early 80s, and his passion for live music led him to a career in the music and media industry. Over the years he’s worked for Spin, Grooveshark, Chris Schuba’s long-running national ad-sales firm, and others. 

During lockdown O’Conor rode his bike from Lincoln Square to Lake Michigan and jumped in. It felt so good that he came back and did it again. And again. Eventually, his morning jumps became a local phenomenon, especially as local musicians—among them Jon Langford, Mucca Pazza, and Mute Duo—joined him by the lake to play a song or two, helping raise money for O’Conor’s organization of choice, the Chicago Independent Venue League (CIVL).

Lockdown is long over, but O’Conor is still making daily treks to the lake. He likes to wear the Motörhead shorts he got at a concert years ago, and before he jumps in, he shares bits of music trivia from his enormous record collection. This summer, he’ll reach his third anniversary as the Great Lake Jumper. I caught up with O’Conor between jumps to find out more.

As told to Jamie Ludwig

When I started jumping in the lake during the pandemic, it had nothing to do with music. It was just that I was hungover, and my wife wanted me out of the house. I went to the lake, jumped in, and it felt good. With the politics and protests and the pandemic, it felt like something positive I could do to clear my mind. It just felt good. I could go down to the lake, have a 20-minute ride down there, listen to my music with no commercials, no other static, just me and my bike.

I wasn’t videotaping the jumps at first, because I couldn’t figure out how to record while playing music, so I just chose to play the music. I was wearing the Motörhead shorts I’d gotten at South by Southwest years before. On the SpongeBob soundtrack, there’s a Motörhead song called “You Better Swim,” so I was trying to figure out a way to soundtrack a jump, but I don’t think I’ve ever figured it out. 

My friend tipped off Block Club that this guy from Lincoln Square had been jumping in the lake for 150 straight days. That’s when WGN Radio and reporters started interviewing me, and they’re like, “When are you going to stop this? You can’t possibly go through the winter.” I had no plans to go through the winter. But why not? 

From that January to June, I had four to five artists a week. But I was a moving target. I never knew when I was going to be there, because I was driving a bus at the time. I was driving a limo and juggling whatever stuff I had with the kids. It’s amazing that all of these artists showed up. Weekends were easier, because there were less conflicts. So that’s when I’d try to spread the word on Twitter and Instagram. 

I got mostly positive feedback from the artists, and I think there was a certain amount of, “I’m a musician, and I haven’t performed.” Even if it was in front of 20 people, that’s a buzz. Also around that time, there were several music photographers who started coming out. Ministry’s photographer, Derick Smith, and I became friends during the pandemic because he started shooting me out there. 

[Jumping in the lake] just continues to feel good. I still get that cleansing feeling. It’s a great way to start the day. It did become easier when they opened the lakefront. Now I can drive my car out. I’ve needed a shovel at times to break the ice, though I really haven’t had to use the shovel much this year so far. I also started wearing water shoes, because my feet were all beat up from 800 days of jumping off the cement. My wife got me some foot balm for Christmas, and it’s amazing. I also have a flotation coat that I wear some days, when it’s rough, to keep me afloat. I know that it’s a dangerous situation, especially during the winter. You’ve got to get down there and block everything else out, and get in the water and get back to the ladder. 

I wanted to tie in my albums—just because I think the visual of a big album is way better than a CD. Ninety percent of the time, it’s the day of or the night before, and I’m just googling what happened that day in music and trying to find something that I have some vinyl for, whether it’s my dad’s Frank Sinatra 78s or my older siblings’ Beatles or Stones records. Most of the stuff is not really about me, though I’ve done a few—like I used my Johnny Cash ticket stub as a visual because I’d gotten a guitar pick at the show, and when I flipped the ticket over the guitar pick was on the back. 

I try to keep it short. There were three women who jumped in with me today. They reached out through Instagram, like, “Hey, we’ve been wanting to jump in. Is tomorrow OK?” I’m always all for it. It’s a big lake—you won’t get in my way. It’s always fun to see others have that excitement of that bone-chilling cold and that endorphin rush. 

Music takes you to a time and place. It’s very subjective. Someone’s favorite show might be another person’s worst show. And you can bond with someone over these amazing shows. But to bring it back [to the venues], I think it’s like, “Hey, I was there. I had an incredible time, and I wouldn’t have had that without that venue being open.” So I think people are very supportive of their favorite venues, and for live music fans, I think this is an amazing time.

Read More

“What could be worse than not finding the right story?”

Lawrence Steger, a Chicago performance artist, stated those words to audiences in his final performance work, Draft (1998). The same sentiment infuses the lively spirit of Gallery 400’s “Reckless Rolodex,”the first comprehensive retrospective of Steger’s massive body of work. Where else could one find a fruit cake, the death of Elizabeth Taylor, and mattresses bent and broken by storms of flesh? Steger’s artistic legacy not only tells these stories but explains how truth tends to live in the corners of life that closely resemble fiction.

The show’s title is both inspired by one of Steger’s performances and a descriptor of the exhibition’s structure; the show features a muscular lineup of artists responding to Steger’s work and impact on late 20th-century art history. The exhibition includes work by Devin T. Mays, John Neff, Betsy Odom, Derrick Woods-Morrow, Cherrie Yu and a performance series.

Betsy Odom, Wusthoff Knives, 2013, carved graphite, fur. 14 x 10 in.Courtesy the artist

Curated by Matthew Goulish, Lin Hixson, and Caroline Picard, “Rolodex” does something extraordinary in its examination of Steger’s brief life, one taken by complications from the AIDS virus. The exhibition imparts urgency and impresses intimacy upon Steger’s legacy and honors the artistic communities that continued in his absence. There is a type of magic that occurs when one is dislocated in time and place. It is in these moments that one can join something bigger than the self. This magic is what “Rolodex” offers viewers. 

“Reckless Rolodex”Through 3/18: Tue-Fri 10 AM-5 PM, Sat noon-5 PM, Gallery 400, 400 S. Peoria, gallery400.uic.edu

Read More

“What could be worse than not finding the right story?”

Lawrence Steger, a Chicago performance artist, stated those words to audiences in his final performance work, Draft (1998). The same sentiment infuses the lively spirit of Gallery 400’s “Reckless Rolodex,”the first comprehensive retrospective of Steger’s massive body of work. Where else could one find a fruit cake, the death of Elizabeth Taylor, and mattresses bent and broken by storms of flesh? Steger’s artistic legacy not only tells these stories but explains how truth tends to live in the corners of life that closely resemble fiction.

The show’s title is both inspired by one of Steger’s performances and a descriptor of the exhibition’s structure; the show features a muscular lineup of artists responding to Steger’s work and impact on late 20th-century art history. The exhibition includes work by Devin T. Mays, John Neff, Betsy Odom, Derrick Woods-Morrow, Cherrie Yu and a performance series.

Betsy Odom, Wusthoff Knives, 2013, carved graphite, fur. 14 x 10 in.Courtesy the artist

Curated by Matthew Goulish, Lin Hixson, and Caroline Picard, “Rolodex” does something extraordinary in its examination of Steger’s brief life, one taken by complications from the AIDS virus. The exhibition imparts urgency and impresses intimacy upon Steger’s legacy and honors the artistic communities that continued in his absence. There is a type of magic that occurs when one is dislocated in time and place. It is in these moments that one can join something bigger than the self. This magic is what “Rolodex” offers viewers. 

“Reckless Rolodex”Through 3/18: Tue-Fri 10 AM-5 PM, Sat noon-5 PM, Gallery 400, 400 S. Peoria, gallery400.uic.edu

Read More

Chicago rapper Mugen! the Human grew up in Prince George’s County, Maryland, but on the new “Wanted” he raps with the speed and rhythmic fluency of someone who spent his youth in Chatham watching footwork dancers face off at Battlegrounds. The track kicks off his new self-released EP, For Her Consideration, with a live-wire flow that Mugen adapts to the instrumental’s odd pulse. He shifts the speed of his rapping like he’s leaping carefully through an interlocking nest of rotating fire bars in Super Mario Bros., so that his words slide between and tie together a hiccuping vocal sample and a palpitating bass thump. Mugen, born Armand Rome, moved to Chicago in 2016 to study guitar at Columbia College, and he’s since found a community here. He’s a member of Mp3dotcom, a hip-hop collective formed in late 2021 whose dozen or so members include rising MCs such as Aubry of Stranded Civilians. Mugen has a dry, husky voice and a love for the kind of sample-based underground hip-hop whose spacious instrumental architecture requires an MC with a strong personality—a love that comes through on his brief 2021 album, Ghost. The deluxe version of his bubbly new EP adds songs that emphasize Mugen’s range on the mike and adaptable ear for melody. His woebegone, syllable-smearing rap-singing on “Okay!” brings a bittersweet feel to the groaning, murmuring synths in its bass-heavy backing track—the instrumental reminds me of Lil Yachty’s viral “Poland,” but Mugen’s delivery makes the song’s dystopian melody distinctively his own.

Mugen! the Human Heavy Crownz headlines, Mugen! the Human, Neph & Nigel, and Aero Austaire open. Tue 1/31, 8:30 PM, Golden Dagger, 2447 N. Halsted, $12. 21+

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Chicago rapper Mugen! the Human grew up in Prince George’s County, Maryland, but on the new “Wanted” he raps with the speed and rhythmic fluency of someone who spent his youth in Chatham watching footwork dancers face off at Battlegrounds. The track kicks off his new self-released EP, For Her Consideration, with a live-wire flow that Mugen adapts to the instrumental’s odd pulse. He shifts the speed of his rapping like he’s leaping carefully through an interlocking nest of rotating fire bars in Super Mario Bros., so that his words slide between and tie together a hiccuping vocal sample and a palpitating bass thump. Mugen, born Armand Rome, moved to Chicago in 2016 to study guitar at Columbia College, and he’s since found a community here. He’s a member of Mp3dotcom, a hip-hop collective formed in late 2021 whose dozen or so members include rising MCs such as Aubry of Stranded Civilians. Mugen has a dry, husky voice and a love for the kind of sample-based underground hip-hop whose spacious instrumental architecture requires an MC with a strong personality—a love that comes through on his brief 2021 album, Ghost. The deluxe version of his bubbly new EP adds songs that emphasize Mugen’s range on the mike and adaptable ear for melody. His woebegone, syllable-smearing rap-singing on “Okay!” brings a bittersweet feel to the groaning, murmuring synths in its bass-heavy backing track—the instrumental reminds me of Lil Yachty’s viral “Poland,” but Mugen’s delivery makes the song’s dystopian melody distinctively his own.

Mugen! the Human Heavy Crownz headlines, Mugen! the Human, Neph & Nigel, and Aero Austaire open. Tue 1/31, 8:30 PM, Golden Dagger, 2447 N. Halsted, $12. 21+

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Never miss a copy! Paid print subscriptions are available for 12 issues, 26 issues, and for 52 issues from the Reader Store.

Chicago Reader print issue dates

The Chicago Reader is published in print every other week. Issues are dated Thursday. Distribution usually happens Wednesday morning through Thursday night of the issue date. Upcoming print issue dates through through June 2023 are:

2/9/2023
2/23/2023
3/9/2023
3/23/2023
4/6/2023
4/20/2023
5/4/2023
5/18/2023
6/1/2023
6/15/2023
6/29/2023

See our information page for advertising opportunities and editorial calendars of upcoming issues.

Read More

Never miss a copy! Paid print subscriptions are available for 12 issues, 26 issues, and for 52 issues from the Reader Store.

Chicago Reader print issue dates

The Chicago Reader is published in print every other week. Issues are dated Thursday. Distribution usually happens Wednesday morning through Thursday night of the issue date. Upcoming print issue dates through through June 2023 are:

2/9/2023
2/23/2023
3/9/2023
3/23/2023
4/6/2023
4/20/2023
5/4/2023
5/18/2023
6/1/2023
6/15/2023
6/29/2023

See our information page for advertising opportunities and editorial calendars of upcoming issues.

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