We’re still working on the best way to archive and present these events. Recordings of various quality are made, but until a strategy is worked out, the best I have to offer is short YouTube clips of varying degrees of decipherability, recorded on a low-quality digital camera with too little memory to record even a sample of each performer in an evening.
While the inside, full-on proper show later in the night provided the focus of the night’s festivities, the patio at Dan’s Silverleaf provided the more immediate and ephemeral experience.
That’s just how it happens, and I was in the mood that night to fill my memory card with this despite the amazing performances of our headlining acts. After all, anyone who has seen them knows the power of Warren Jackson Hearne or Pinebox Serenade in concert, and they’re already heavily represented on YouTube.
Presented here are four clips, with three of the four focused on the outside, unmiked portion of the evening.
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Chicago’s street art fails to inspire as much as Iran’s. At least in the downtown area, where I saw surprisingly little of it in my short stay. Maybe I was just unobservant.
The only tag I found that seemed to have any point at all is reproduced below. If anyone knows what mp means here, let me know.
After the cut is the silliest street art I saw. I think it was drawn by someone who saw me coming and wanted to make me angry. The two drawings were, at least, immediately opposite each other in a walkway, so one can imagine them in a sort of dialogue.
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Tales from the Slushfiles #3: Keep ‘em Coming!
NOTE: The previous Tales from the Slushfiles post originated from these two LiveJournal entries: selfavowedgeek.livejournal.com/104576.html and selfavowedgeek.livejournal.com/107466.html .
Given the ups and downs of markets lately—whether closing temporarily or closing altogether—the Old Man just wanted me to remind everyone that the basement is still open to submissions. That’s mighty convenient and classy of him since he never does much more than open the door to the basement and heckles me about reading slush. Recently, he said, “How goes the slush reading?” I said, “They’re pretty good, but it’s hard reading them in bad lighting.” He said something about building character in an assistant editor and candles. I riposted about John Milton’s daughters as anamneses. He grumbled. I giggled and thought how clever I was and that I had won. Then he slammed the basement door, and that blew out the candles.
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