Dave Chamberlain

This marks my final endeavor as Raw Material columnist.

It also happens to mark--almost to the day--the eighth year that I've been lucky enough to have this space. That is in no way relevant, outside of just a morsel of information for those who are statistic oriented.

Over the course of the last eight years, I've tried, and sometimes failed, to bring a critical balance to an almost overwhelming condition that is Chicago's local music scene. Through the years, I came to appreciate what Chicago offers on the local level. Not necessarily unto itself, but more in a comparative sense. Reading and, honestly, attempting to abscond ideas from other city's alternative newspapers, I came to realize that above and beyond the obvious--New York, San Francisco, Austin, Minneapolis, Detroit and Atlanta--this job would straight-up suck in most other cities. But in Chicago, there is an underlying factor that gets overlooked by even some the city's most ardent local audiophiles: primarily, that the city, even in the bleakest of winters, offers some music of quality every single night of the week. That's a blessing for the fan, but for one person attempting to provide a critical overview of every part of Chicago's local music scene, from hip-hop to garage rock to jungle, metal and even reggae, it's a mountain that turns increasingly into a Sisyphean task.

Eventually, I came to a point where I'd already said everything I had to say, seen everything I wanted to see. That point is now. Of the countless bands that I've written about, poked fun at, scolded and even torched, I unfortunately remember very few on account of the sheer magnitude. Some bands, however, made sifting through the mulch worth the effort. I still can't speak highly enough of The Like Young, Bible of the Devil, Pelican, Monkey Paw, The Functional Blackouts, Rise Against and the Tyrades. And I still lament the passing of other bands: The Blacks, abpk, Sterling. I advise everyone to keep an eye on the Dials, one of the sharpest, sexiest bands--on stage--I can remember witnessing in a long while. But right now, the burning inspiration to keep sifting through the hundreds of local records and shows has fizzled, so fairness dictates that it's time I withdraw.

For years I always thought my final column would satirize the one thing I despise about hip-hop: the skit. I wanted to do a written version of the pointless phone call that at one time accompanied every record, something like this:

"Yo JJ, what's up."

"Hey DC, you know, cold chillin'."

"Word?"

"Word."

"Cold life peace. Are you frontin'?"

"You know I can't."

"I heard that."

In the original version, that went on for about 750 words (just like on the records, where it goes on for an eternal two minutes). But that might just have been the back-breaking straw on the back of my editor, Brian Hieggelke, a man who has put up with my mistakes, my personal taunts (though always expressed for humor's sake, never malice), my phone calls to Japan, my deadline pushing, my bridge burning, and my personal--somewhat unfashionable--taste in music.

To Brian goes my largest long-term thanks, but there are others. Gil Kaufman, the last full-time Raw Material author who gave me the chance, alongside former Newcity editors Marc Spiegler and Frank Sennett, who did the same. Then there are the various publicists, too numerous to name, but all of whom dealt with my penchant for doing things at the last minute as if it were normal--you all know who you are. And finally, three people who fall more to the inspirational side of things: Jim DeRogatis, who has more confidence in me than I ever had; Joe Jarvis, who helped me remember the lighter side of things with all the subtlety of a tornado and more venom than a snake charmer; and Allison Hollihan, whose eyes, ears and brain I borrowed and twisted for my own uses on more occasions than she can possibly imagine.

To anyone I've forgotten, I apologize; you likely know me and my ways, so you also know why I forgot. To anyone I've insulted: I'm not in the least bit sorry. To anyone I exalted: I meant it. [For the latter: Keep an eye out for me in this space, however, just not as the Raw Materialist.]

Cheers, people.

(2005-05-17)

Also by Dave Chamberlain

Tip of the Week
Following up 2003's off-the-hook brilliant "Anxiety Always," the two-person grown-up team Adult. comes back with "D.U.M.E.," a six-song EP on local record label Thrill Jockey and a major hint that--unlike so many acts--the best is yet to come
(2005-05-03)

Tip of the Week
Rock `n' roll DJs are notorious for doing the Undertones a grave disservice: consistently playing the Northern Irish band's "Teenage Kicks," while ignoring the lads' extensive, though perhaps less crowd-pleasing, catalog
(2005-04-26)

Talking Dirty
Dizzee Rascal contradicts everything the UK tourist board would lead us to believe
(2005-04-26)

Tip of the Week
I thought Desmond Dekker was dead
(2005-04-19)

Raw Material
(2005-04-19)

Tip of the Week
(2005-04-12)

Tip of the Week
(2005-03-29)

Tip of the Week
(2005-03-22)

Raw Material
(2005-03-15)

Tip of the Week
(2005-03-08)

Tip of the Week
(2005-03-01)

Tip of the Week
(2005-02-22)

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