Tom Lynch

Quick count: are there more stubbed-out cigarette butts outside Cicero Stadium, or more sleeve-tattoos inside?

The gymnasium, full up on plastic cups of beer and sausage-and-cheese slices, with stands packed from floor to ceiling, has reached an uncomfortable temperature. The Windy City Rollers season is nearing the playoffs—the undefeated Hell’s Belles are set to take on the reigning champions The Double Crossers, and in the first bout, The Fury fight the heavy underdog Manic Attackers. Elastica’s "Stutter" tumbles through the gym’s speakers. Then Metallica. Then Veruca Salt. It’s a mid-nineties meltdown until "Hey Ya" shakes the Polaroid.

"Are you ready to talk derby?" growls one of the two suited MCs, both standing on a balcony near the DJ, armed with mics to call the games’ action. The crowd is a mixed breed, but mostly cheering families and friends, howling for loved ones as they dart across the track. (Photos snapped, high-fives slapped.) All-star players make their presence known almost immediately once the matches begin. For The Fury it’s Eva Dead and Yvette YourMaker. For the Manic Attackers, Beth Amphetamine ("I need another hit of Beth," the MC croaks) and Gigantor (she’s really small). Hell’s Belles has got Varla Vendetta, who seems to dominate the entire evening, and Shocka Conduit. The Double Crossers seemingly have no one, as the team’s completely housed by the Hell’s Belles.

At halftime, the MC insists on a dance-off in the stands. An entire group in the Northeast corner indulges. A lone hipster shakes his ass like a goof near the front. A girl with a handkerchief giggles and wins the competition. Lone hipster’s pissed; he waves off what he thinks was a great injustice. Then he moves for another slice.

(2008-04-22)

Also by Tom Lynch

On Almost Any Wednesday Evening
Amidst the late-day upheaval that is Michigan Avenue at 5pm on a Wednesday, the Apple Store, bombarded with mid-nineties alt-rock thrill-seekers, has a distinct voice clamoring from its upstairs theater area, that of Adam Duritz
(2008-04-15)

Scout's Honor
Emma Louise Niblett—or, Scout—has always found a fascinating way to unleash her demons, even through sparse instrumentation that’s often only included a single instrument and her voice. The English songwriter—who resides in Portland—has crafted a bundle of records in the last five years, including her kind-of breakout, 2005’s "Kidnapped by Neptune," and, most recently, last year’s "This Fool Can Die Now"
(2008-04-15)

Soundcheck
Last fall’s "All Hour Cymbals," Brooklyn newcomer Yeasayer’s debut record, rode on the strength of the single "2080," a guess-what?-we’re-fucked look into a future just over seventy years from now. The real grabber, though, was the sound—blending folk with a Middle Eastern space-rock freak-out, Yeasayer mashed sounds that, before this, shouldn’t have ever been dumped into the same pot
(2008-04-08)

Soundcheck
Local pop group Head of Femur (whose members are Nebraskans in origin) went through a bit of a reinvention a couple years ago when the band decided to strip down the elements it was most known for—the endless barrage of instruments on stage, horns to strings to whatever else—and go with the bare essentials, finally fastening itself as a five-piece
(2008-04-08)

Tip of the Week
(2008-04-08)

Lucky You
(2008-04-01)

Tip of the Week
(2008-04-01)

Death Knell
(2008-03-25)

Tip of the Week
(2008-03-25)

Garbage Man
(2008-03-18)

Tip of the Week
(2008-03-18)

The Turn of the Century
(2008-03-18)

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