Chicago Reader print issue of January 30, 2025 (Vol. 54, No. 17)

INDIGENOUS ART AT THE BLOCK MUSEUM P. 10

COFFEE SHOP

LABOR, P. 8

PENELOPE

SPHEERIS, P. 20

THIS WEEK

FRONT

04 Reader letters

04 Publisher’s note Where we’re at today

CITY LIFE

05 The To-Do Supporting your neighbors in case of emergency

FOOD & DRINK

06 Feature The ghosts of Chicago restaurants past 07 Galil | Reader Bites The Original Yardstick Pizza at Armand’s Pizzeria

NEWS & POLITICS

08 DMB | Feature Workers at corporate-owned coffee shops join the growing organized labor movement.

ARTS & CULTURE

10 Cover Story | Comic A landmark exhibition at the Block Museum showcases the breadth of Indigenous art.

THEATER

13 Preview A Palestinian American family grapples with mental illness in The Cave, Sadieh Rifai’s playwriting debut.

14 Plays of Note Jaja’s African Hair Braiding, The Mannequins’ Ball, A Slow Air, and more

FILM

16 Caporale | Feature James Hudson presents Hard Done By: Contemporary Irish Trans Films.

18 Moviegoer The people that live

18 Movies of Note Flight Risk pulls an entertaining ride out of a dead-end premise, and Keke Palmer and SZA debut as a sizzling comedic duo in One of Them Days

MUSIC & NIGHTLIFE

20 Feature Penelope Spheeris talks about filmmaking, herding cats, and the ongoing decline.

24 Shows of Note Previews of concerts including the Orchard, Wunderhorse, Billy F Gibbons, and Saye Lune

26 Gossip Wolf The Katalyst Conversation play their first local gig outside the Hegewisch coffee shop, and punk lifer John Mohr celebrates his 60th at Gman Tavern.

27 Public Notice

27 Jobs

27 Services

(Images clockwise from top le ) Randy O. of the band Odin in The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: the Metal Years COURTESY SHOUT! FACTORY Corporate coffee SHIRA FRIEDMAN-PARKS

Still from Terratoma (2024) LIADÁN ROCHE

The former Dinkel’s Bakery at 3329 N. Lincoln SHIRA FRIEDMAN-PARKS

ON THE COVER

Totem, Animal Spirits , a 2021 sculpture by artist Jim Denomie (Lac Courte Oreilles of Lake Superior Ojibwe, 1955–2022). Wood, oil paint, deer antlers, horse hair, found objects, 78 x 32 x 32 inches. Forge Project Collection, traditional lands of the Moh-He-Con-Nuck. © Jim Denomie Estate. Use courtesy Jim Denomie Estate and Bockley Gallery, Minneapolis; image and bio information courtesy the Block Museum of Art. Denomie’s work is featured in “Woven Being: Art for Zhegagoynak/ Chicagoland,” on view at the Block Museum until July 13, 2025.

Denomie grew up in Minneapolis, a er spending a short time in Chicago as a child. Although interested in art throughout his early life, he was discouraged by counselors and authority fi gures. He didn’t return to art until the early 1990s, when the fi nancial stability he found in drywall construction allowed him to enroll at the University of Minnesota. He graduated in 1995 with a bachelor of fi ne arts degree with a minor in American Indian studies. Discussing how his experiences and knowledge of Indigenous history appear in his work, Denomie said, “My art . . . refl ects some of the government campaigns that affected Native culture in Minnesota and around the country,” in addition to “how it ultimately affected me through the assimilation campaign and the Relocation Act.” Denomie married Diane Wilson, a Dakota author and educator, and the two remained engaged in Indigenous activism even as Denomie coped with cancer. During his lifetime, the artist received numerous awards, including the Joan Mitchell Foundation Painters and Sculptors Grant in 2015. The numerous private and public collections that hold his work include Denver Art Museum, Forge Project Collection, Philbrook Museum of Art, Walker Art Center, and Weisman Art Museum, University of Minnesota. v

PUBLISHER AMBER NETTLES

CHIEF OF STAFF ELLEN KAULIG

EDITOR IN CHIEF SALEM COLLO-JULIN

ASSISTANT MANAGING EDITOR

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SENIOR GRAPHIC DESIGNER AMBER HUFF

GRAPHIC DESIGNER & PHOTO RESEARCHER

SHIRA FRIEDMAN-PARKS

THEATER & DANCE EDITOR KERRY REID

MUSIC EDITOR PHILIP MONTORO

CULTURE EDITOR: FILM, MEDIA, FOOD & DRINK TARYN MCFADDEN

CULTURE EDITOR: ART, ARCHITECTURE, BOOKS, LITERARY ARTS KERRY CARDOZA

NEWS EDITOR SHAWN MULCAHY

PROJECTS EDITOR JAMIE LUDWIG

DIGITAL EDITOR TYRA NICOLE TRICHE

SENIOR WRITERS LEOR GALIL, DEANNA ISAACS, BEN JORAVSKY, MIKE SULA

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Reader Letters m

Re: “‘You can rage on stage, you can pour your heart out, you can walk in someone else’s shoes’,” written by Dilpreet Raju and published online on January 23

It’s good that they’re being recognized for what they’re doing today instead of yesterday. Maybe we all can take a step toward healing. —MovingForward2, via X

Re: “The best overlooked Chicago records of 2024,” written by Leor Galil and published in our January 9 issue (volume 54, number 14)

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PUBLISHER’S NOTE

Last Sunday I made my way to Logan Square to meet with a former neighbor, eat some tacos (at Taqueria Moran, a weekly staple when I lived down the street), and catch up. Obviously, the only thing on my mind was the Reader

“I didn’t realize how dire it really was,” my neighbor said.

“Yeah. It’s hard to explain,” I responded.

The past two weeks have been some of the most turbulent days in the Reader ’s 53-plus years. That might sound like an exaggeration, but from everything I’ve been able to uncover, this is as close as we’ve ever been to closure.

When speaking to the board, our funders, and our staff, I say, “If we get another day, we’re more likely to get two. If we get a week, we probably have another. And if we are here for another month, we could make the quarter.”

We got through the past two weeks because of you—our readers who have generously donated. Since our January 14 announcement of layoffs and restructuring, we’ve received an outpouring of support from across Chicago and beyond. As of the moment our January 30 print issue went to press, we’ve raised more than $125,000 in one-time donations, which has helped us steady the ship.

But there’s more to do, and we want to be transparent about how that money is used. Every day we’re operating, we incur costs: for payroll, for vendors, and for interest on our debt.

Does that seem like a lot? The majority of our weekly expense is for payroll. Our sta has banded together to take voluntary pay cuts and furloughs, and even deferred compensation, in order to keep the car running.

On January 1, it took roughly $115,000 per week for us to operate. With the cost-saving measures we’ve taken so far, it now costs us $88,462 per week. By March 17 (coincidentally, my birthday), we’ll have our weekly number down to $76,462.

It costs us only $10,000–$12,000 to print and distribute the newspaper each week (63,000 papers to 1,014 locations). The printed paper is still revenue positive, for now. Maintaining a weekly printing schedule allows us to accept advertising orders and plan for the future.

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Why does the Reader matter? There are a few di erent ways to answer that question, but I’ll stick with the facts.

In 2024, we published:

*311 theater previews and reviews

*202 film and television reviews

*325 music previews and reviews

Additionally, in 2024 we:

*wrote about 206 local small businesses

*wrote about 108 local nonprofit organizations

*listed 1,627 music shows in Early Warnings

*commissioned 1,055 freelance items, from 491 writers and artists

Ultimately, we believe that we, along with all our media colleagues across Chicago, tell you how to live in this city. Reading about your community tells you where to spend your time, what’s worth your money, and how to get things done.

We sometimes are the only review for that new storefront show, or the first ones to tell

you about the dish you should try at the taco place down the street.

What we stand to lose is not just a newspaper. It’s the breadth and depth of knowledge from our music department, who cumulatively have over 45 years of Reader experience covering the sounds of Chicago. It’s the talent of our sta writers and culture critics, and our deep, deep bench of freelancers who are hoping we stick around so we can keep publishing their work (and paying them for it).

I wish we could wave a magic wand and “fix” what’s broken. But the more realistic scenario is that we work, day by day, to get a little further ahead.

So what’s next? We’re working with our partners, funders, advertisers, and supporters to find more opportunities for revenue. And, for the first time in recent history, we’ll reveal the Best of Chicago winners early. We’ll post the results online on Thursday, January 30, and we’re already accepting your advertising orders for the Best of Chicago issue planned for March 6.

Thank you to each donor and for those of you who left us a comment encouraging us to keep going. Thank you to the many, many media organizations in the city (and beyond) who have written about us, o ered help, and shown solidarity. Thank you to the advertisers, partners, and funders, who are sticking by us in uncertain times. When we get through this, we’ll be stronger than ever.

Regardless of the sleepless nights and long hours, it’s a privilege to fight to keep the Reader alive.

To donate, visit chicagoreader.com/donate.

For partnership opportunities, email leadership@chicagoreader.com.

To confirm advertising packages, email advertise@chicagoreader.com. v

—Amber Nettles, publisher m anettles@chicagoreader.com

CITY LIFE

In the city

The To-Do

Supporting our neighbors

By SALEM COLLO-JULIN

It’s been freezing outside, but we’ve been through this kind of weather before. Chicagoans know how to prepare for a little snow, some unforgiving winds, and possible “ICE storms.” Here are two local organizations that are working to ensure that all of our neighbors, new and old, know their rights and are aware of resources available to them.

YOUNG LEADERS IN COMMUNITY: INCREASE THE PEACE CHICAGO

In October 2016, a shooting in Back of the Yards resulted in a teenage girl, Naome Zuber, losing her life. Residents and community leaders, with an outpouring of participation and support from neighborhood youth, responded by organizing an overnight campout near the corner of 46th and Wood. Some participants in the campout later formed Increase the Peace, a youth-led organization that carries the camaraderie and sentiment of that event to a series of trainings, anti-violence actions, food access and mutual aid projects, and more.

Increase the Peace now counts six active chapters (Back of the Yards, Brighton Park, Chicago Lawn, Gage Park, Little Village, and Pilsen). Each group is currently leading efforts in their local areas to let residents and businesses know about their rights in the wake of the ongoing threats of arrests by the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agency.

Increase the Peace organizers had already been reaching out to parents and sta in and around Hamline Elementary at 48th and Bishop before Friday, January 24, when people reported that ICE agents were attempting to enter the school (the agents were later identified as part of the Secret Service). Regardless of the incident’s outcome, families in the Hamline community continue to be concerned about the looming threat of ICE, and Increase the Peace has ramped up its outreach and training opportunities.

Group members have spent each day after the incident (and plan to continue in the coming weeks) distributing Know Your Rights flyers and talking to local families about resources.

How to help

Go to increasethepeacechicago.org for more information and follow their Facebook page (facebook.com/increasethepeacechicago) for continued updates. Southwest- side families and youth can contact the organization to find out about in-person volunteer opportunities. Right now the group needs funds for printer ink. Donations can be made at the URL pledge.to/increase-the-peace-chicago.

Illinois Coalition for Immigrant and REfugee Rights

1-855-435-7693

The Illinois Coalition for Immigrant and Refugee Rights (ICIRR) is a statewide advocacy and direct service organization that was founded in 1986 in response to that year’s Immigration Reform and Control Act. President Ronald Reagan signed the act into law, which introduced civil and criminal penalties to employers who knowingly hired undocumented immigrants or individuals unauthorized to work in the U.S. The coalition runs the ICIRR Family Support Network (FSN), which connects immigrant communities throughout the state with a range of resources from member organizations including legal representation in immigration cases, health-care resources, and support to fi nd someone who may be in ICE custody.

ICIRR runs a 24-hour Family Support Hot line at 1-855-HELP-MY-FAMILY (1-855435-7693), where anyone who believes they are witnessing ICE activity can call in to report.

ICIRR recommends:

If you are a U.S. citizen, think you see ICE actvity, and feel safe to do so:

* Move to a safe indoor space

* Record the activity with your phone and/ or write down any relevant information about what you witness:

How many people are there?

Car license plate numbers?

What badge or identification information do you see?

What time and date is this happening?

Where are you seeing this?

* Always be careful to not interfere or otherwise obstruct the operation

* Do not post unverified information on social media

* Do not put yourself in harm’s way

How to help

Download ICIRR’s Know Your Rights fact sheets at icirr.org/fsn. You can also request a training or presentation for your workplace or community group at the same link.

ICIRR also runs the Court Watch Volunteer Program, which was founded in 2007 to provide trained observers to bear witness at detained immigrants’ hearings in Chicago. Volunteers attend hearings (which are mainly conducted online via Webex) and report back to ICIRR’s legal partners who step in to assist, especially in cases where unrepresented detainees need legal help. For more information and to volunteer for the program, email icirrcourtwatch@gmail.com. v

m scollojulin@chicagoreader.com

Chicago has been a self-proclaimed sanctuary city for more than 38 years. KATIE MOUM/UNSPLASH

FOOD & DRINK

ghosts of Chicago restaurants past

Abandoned storefronts are prevalent across the city and o en remain vacant for years a er a restaurant closes.

By JONAH NINK

For more than a hundred years, Dinkel’s Bakery was the hookup for baked goods in Lakeview and Roscoe Village; its iconic sign served as a beacon for everyday carb-seekers and musicians loitering at the Chicago Music Exchange across the street.

Dinkel’s closed its doors in 2022. Look through the storefront windows today and you’ll see a mess of old equipment, garbage, and other wayward debris. Less than a block away, what was once McGuigan’s Irish Pub still has dusty beer bottles visible through its windows.

what keeps the buildings vacant long after the tenant moves out?

Allan Perales, chief operating officer of commercial real estate firm Goldstreet Partners, says food service spaces can remain vacant for years for reasons ranging from immovably high rent to stalled redevelopment plans to pending legal disputes. It’s also not uncommon for prospective tenants to avoid certain buildings due to stigma, or for spaces to remain empty for years simply due to poor marketing on the landlord’s part.

“Challenges with landlords, such as reputational issues or di culty during negotiations, can also prolong vacancies,” says Perales. “A landlord–tenant relationship is similar to a partnership. It works well when things are going smoothly, but difficulties arise when challenges like late payments occur.”

Just one of these issues can keep a tenantless storefront vacant for years at a time—a neighborhood haunt turned into a neighborhood specter.

only tell so much of the story.

A space will sometimes be leased but still sit inactive for years. In July 2023, developer PCR Group submitted plans for the Dinkel’s space to be redeveloped into a 66,000-square-foot mixed-use building.

Nicole Alexander, founder and principal designer of Siren Betty Design, says empty restaurant and food-service spaces can be especially prone to poor aging.

“Moisture is the most immediate threat when a space is vacant,” says Alexander. “Damage can show up after a couple months or even weeks of being empty. Also rodents. I’ve never known a restaurant to do a deep clean before they close permanently.”

Food waste is another major issue, especially in cases where a business is forced to close abruptly. When all Foxtrot stores simultaneously closed last April, Eater Chicago reported many stores still contained unsold inventory as late as October of that same year.

A neighborhood haunt turned into a brick-and-mortar specter haunting its neighborhood

Whether it’s Pick Me Up Cafe’s old Lakeview location, Leona’s in Rogers Park, or Marcello’s Father & Son in Logan Square, it seems like one is never more than a Malört bottle’s throw from a shuttered restaurant, cafe, or bar. Restaurants close for a variety of reasons, but

Owners of storefronts that sit vacant for more than 30 days are required by the city to register the property and to follow insurance and maintenance guidelines laid out by the Chicago Department of Buildings. City data shows 37,088 vacant and abandoned buildings have been reported to Chicago’s nonemergency 311 call center since 2010. Additionally, 5,004 vacant building violations have been reported since 2011.

The Loop saw its all-time highest retail vacancy rate in 2023, at over 30 percent; it was the culmination of a four-year trend beginning in 2019 and largely attributed to the pandemic. The city does not track data on the specific number of restaurant and building vacancies, and violations reported by citizens

“After five years, the bar could be rotted, the drywall moldy, the doors and shelving warped, toilets and sinks stained, HVAC and pipes rusty, leather upholstery dried and cracked. After ten years, you probably need a whole new everything,” says Alexander.

She says extensive renovations can cost roughly $250–$450 per square foot.

“Surface damage is easy to see and also relatively easy to fix. It’s what’s hiding underneath that can really make or break a budget.”

“We’ve also worked on projects where our client is so excited about the space and the location,” she says. “But then we get in there and realize that there’s massive damage from a burst pipe, or the sewer lines are a disaster, or some other huge, expensive fix.”

It’s all a very roundabout way of saying: yes, space left to rot for a decade will suck to renovate.

Restaurateur Mike Chen, who also manages Kyuramen in River North, worked with Perales to purchase a space in River North that had sat

The former Dinkel’s Bakery at 3329 N. Lincoln SHIRA FRIEDMAN-PARKS

vacant for more than a decade.

“I don’t know why [the building] was vacant for that long,” says Chen. “Maybe there were other interested parties, and they couldn’t come to the right terms. It’s a good space with a corner spot, very high visibility on LaSalle and Hubbard. . . . I knew there had been several changes of ownership.”

Chen says that the two-level space, formerly a restaurant called Vinyl, was well maintained by the landlord at the time it was purchased.

“Sadly, that’s not typically the case,” says Alexander. “In Chicago, landlords tend to own multiple properties, so they’re not always diligent about maintaining them in between tenants.”

As Chen prepares for renovation, he says his biggest expense will be the removal of a large

General contracting company Vero Design + Build cofounder Josh Veselsky notes that regardless of what shape it might be in, working with a space meant for food service is always preferable to converting a building into something food-service friendly.

“Oftentimes a vacant restaurant will have outdated construction that needs to be brought up to current code compliance or supplement with new technology, but a vacant restaurant usually ticks a lot more boxes than, say, a vacant currency exchange,” says Veselsky. “We’ve renovated banks, o ce spaces, retail stores, lofts, and even boats and churches into restaurant spaces, and the e orts and costs are always greater to bring restaurant-specific systems into a building that a restaurant did not previously inhabit.”

iron hood left behind by the previous tenant. “Yes, it’s very common for equipment to be left behind,” Alexander says. “Typically cooktops, hoods, and some bar equipment can be serviced and salvaged. But many times the equipment that has been left isn’t what the new tenant is looking for.”

Even if a space is maintained well enough to ward o decay, shifting building codes can still require prohibitively expensive renovations.

“For example,” says Perales, “restaurants built in the 1990s might need to replace exhaust systems to meet current codes, and these costs can skyrocket, particularly in highrise buildings.”

Like any Chicagoan with a brain and heart, I get unnecessarily defensive about our pizza. I’m the type of Chicagoan who will simultaneously defend deep-dish while also distancing myself from it. I won’t eat deep-dish regularly, which comes second to tavern-style pizza, the thin-crust pie cut up into tiny square slices that’s preferred by true Chicago ’zza fanatics. But deep-dish does have one advantage over tavern-style: it can easily satiate a small crowd and incapacitate a crew of east coasters.

FOOD & DRINK

great job keeping track of how many slices fit between the pizza’s long ends. It arrived at my home in a long cardboard box with a delightful yardstick design on top. I can’t remember the last time I carried a takeout order that resembled a piece of furniture in its dimension and weight quite like the Yardstick Pizza.

The Cook County Land Bank Authority (CCLBA) was created in 2013 to actively purchase vacant properties. Though abandoned restaurant spaces aren’t the organization’s primary focus, 2024 saw soul food and Jamaican restaurant Jerk Soule, originally a food truck, open inside an abandoned building in Ashburn, purchased through the CCLBA in 2021.

Jerk Soule’s founder Judith Smith opened the restaurant as a tribute to her late father, and the restaurant quickly became a welcome addition to the Ashburn food scene.

CCLBA executive director Jessica Caffrey told ABC7, “In the past, buildings like this

This is where tavernstyle doesn’t quite live up to the character of its other name, “the party cut.” The smol slices are a work of wonder when done well—with all the layers of cheese and sauce and crust stacked up tidy, they are absolutely easy to share with a group in a low-lit bar. But the way these pies are divided up makes the meal appear to be more of a tray of hors d’oeuvres; it’s something to tide you over, not to subsist on. That’s OK, but if I’m eating pizza at a party, I don’t want to go hungry because I have to fight o five people for the tiniest and crispiest corner slice.

Enter: Armand’s Original Yardstick Pizza. It’s a rectangular (rounded corners notwithstanding) behemoth that measures 12 inches by 36 inches. That’s four slices wide, and . . . well, let’s just say I didn’t do a

would have sat vacant for ten or 15 years, but now with visionaries like Judith, it’s now a community asset.”

There’s no better space for a new restaurant than an old restaurant, and organizations like the CCLBA demonstrate that building upcycling programs can be e ective.

This massive pie is the invention of Armand’s Pizzeria, an Elmwood Park spot that opened in 1956. Armand’s now has four locations, including one on Western in North Center. The Armand’s menu recommends its Yardstick Pizza for parties of eight to 12 people, and I can definitively say that would be a great call . . . not because I ordered the pizza for such a large party, but because I ordered it for two, and we’ve managed to subsist on its leftovers for several weeks. I’ve eaten other things since then: I’m not a total freak for pizza! But I’ve often craved those architecturally even Armand’s slices, with its lightly crunchy crust, thin veneer of cheese, and understated tomato sauce holding everything together. Unlike most other tavern-cut pies, which sometimes produce soggy middle slices and burnt edges, the width and length help ensure the whole pie is evenly heated and firm. Now that’s something I can bring to a party . . . if I don’t claim the whole pie for myself, again. —LEOR GALIL ARMAND’S PIZZERIA 4159 N. Western, $38+, 773-4635200, armandspizzeria.com v

Reader Bites celebrates dishes, drinks, and atmospheres from the Chicagoland food scene. Have you had a recent food or drink experience that you can’t stop thinking about? Share it with us at fooddrink@ chicagoreader.com.

Not every aspiring restaurateur has the money to save an existing space, but if all of our friends can name at least one abandoned restaurant in their neighborhood, isn’t that a problem? v

m letters@chicagoreader.com

The former McGuigan’s Irish Pub at 3358 N. Ashland SHIRA FRIEDMAN-PARKS

The Original Yardstick Pizza at Armand’s Pizzeria

NEWS & POLITICS

LABOR

Life as a barista in Chicago

Baristas, like most service workers, face long hours and low wages. Some are organizing for better conditions.

By DMB (DEVYN-MARSHALL BROWN)

L“We weren’t aware of how damaging the job was. . . . [We thought], ‘Of course, it’s shitty. Going to work is bad. People are going to treat you poorly. You’ll have good days and bad days, and that’s just the way it is,’” Ho man says. “But when we started going down that path of unionizing, it became clear that it didn’t have to be that way.” And if it did, “we had a lot more say in how we could keep ourselves safe.”

with that?” Guerrin asks. “Not even a cup of co ee? It was ridiculous.”

Guerrin spent eight hours on December 23 picketing in 30-degree weather outside the Starbucks on the corner of Clark and Ridge, where she works as a barista. It was part of a five-day strike against the company for failing to bargain in good faith with workers.

The sta of another national co ee chain— La Colombe—watched as Starbucks baristas, Amazon workers in New York City, and autoworkers joined the growing organized labor movement and felt inspired to join the push themselves. La Colombe has locations in every major U.S. city, including five in Chicago.

Workers at La Colombe’s West Loop store, a high-volume and historically close-knit cafe,

iving in a city as sprawling, progressive, and queer as Chicago means that, for every handful of young adults you meet, chances are one of them is a barista or has peddled espresso at some point in their work history. Service jobs like those at co ee shops are not just temporary gigs for college students. Corporate coffee shops in recent years have seen a wave of unionization, paired with an increase in job benefits, that have not hit independent spots with the same fervor. In the past two months, unionized workers at Chicagoarea Starbucks and La Colombe stores ran into public friction with their employers, pushing back against low wages and firings. Whether they’re at a large corporate co ee shop or a small indie one, many baristas are creatives who take advantage of the consistent and early work schedule. At corporate-owned shops with longer hours and benefits like health insurance or a free college degree, you’re more likely to find longtime employees with children who also appreciate schedule flexibility. Workers at any shop may juggle multiple jobs while sparring with rising costs of living and some of the neediest customers in the world.

Alison Guerrin, who has worked at Starbucks for 25 years, loves many parts of her job. But she resents the rising cost of quality health insurance and their sta ng shrinks at odds with expectations for speedy service. Guerrin has three teenage sons who depend on her income and health insurance, and they all survive “by a wing and a prayer.”

Since February 2024, Starbucks Workers United (SWU) has been bargaining a new contract with the company and has made headway in establishing a fair disciplinary procedure. The parties have also agreed on processes for attendance and dress code. But the company won’t budge on more than a 1.5 percent raise, which the union says would amount to only 20 cents more in every worker’s pockets at the end of a work week. “What am I going to get

The rash of unionization across Starbucks, Guerrin says, is a result of workers witnessing the billion-dollar coffee chain oscillate between doing right by its people and doing historic wrong. It all came to a head in 2021, when the company began pulling back worker protections while the coronavirus spread was still severe. Workers felt vulnerable.

Teddy Hoffman, a Starbucks employee of ten years and bargaining delegate for the Clark and Ridge location, calls the work “death by a hundred paper cuts.”

ratified their first union contract in October, which locked in a $4 hourly raise across the board, stipends for work shoes, health care for part-time workers, and a guaranteed 30-hour work week for full-time staff. “We wanted those things in writing,” says one staffer, who asked to remain anonymous for fear of retribution. “We don’t just want to rely on sometimes fleeting and changing opinions of our bosses and the people who own our companies.”

The cafe came under scrutiny in November

when management fired half the sta exactly one month after the store ratified their first union contract. According to Axios, La Colombe says the workers were fired for giving away free drip coffee to unhoused people, a practice even managers participated in. As a result of the sudden reduction in sta , La Colombe cut cafe hours to 7 AM to 2 PM on weekdays, instead of their normal 6:30 AM to 6 PM. Some workers view the firings as a retaliation against their union campaign. The barista I talked to says none of their fired coworkers had a history of disciplinary actions against them. “If there were fireable behaviors or o enses going on, why weren’t those things brought to attention earlier?” they ask. Every barista interviewed for this story spoke to the reality of interacting regularly with their local population of people who experience homelessness, severe mental illnesses, or both. Guerrin and Hoffman explained that many people experiencing homelessness also visit Starbucks, but employees feel powerless to help within the restraints of company policy, which discourages passing out free items.

erless to help within the restraints of company policy, which discourages passing out free

lot of great ways you can make a livelihood and make a living. . . . When it comes to big

“There’s a lot of great things about this job,” says the La Colombe barista. “There’s a lot of great ways you can make a livelihood and make a living. . . . When it comes to big chains versus smaller mom-and-pop type stores, it just changes some of the calculations. When you’re talking about big raises, big benefit increases, depending on who you’re negotiating with, they might just not have those resources to o er those huge raises because maybe their margins that they’re operating on are really tiny.” But, the worker continues, joining a union is not just about the material benefits or the money. It’s about having a voice in your working conditions. “We spend a huge amount of our waking life at work, and we should have an ability to exercise our voice with our coworkers to discuss and negotiate those conditions.”

work, and we should have an ability to exer-

When Ethan Conley-Keck moved to Uptown three years ago, he saw a few local music posters in a coffee shop window and a flyer advertising free food for unhoused people. Intrigued, Conley-Keck sent in an application. He’s worked at Emerald City Co ee, 1224 W. Wilson, ever since.

Conley-Keck, like many of his coworkers, is a comedian. He runs a weekly open mike at the haunt—both for fun and for a $20 stipend per night from his boss. It’s a cozy cafe filled with bookshelves and board games. The store gets es, or both. Guerrin and Hoffman explained

SHIRA FRIEDMAN-PARKS

its co ee beans from a local roaster, but everything else—including syrups, pastries, savory breakfast tacos—are made in-house.

Conley-Keck makes solid tips at Emerald City, but he says the hours aren’t always there. He usually can snag around 30 hours of work a week, but it’s “rarely more, often less.” He’s picked up other jobs like stage managing and substitute teaching in the past. Currently, he relies on photography and live comedy shows to supplement his income. Emerald City, like a large majority of service jobs, does not o er its workers health insurance, so Conley-Keck pays for a plan through the federal health insurance marketplace.

“I can pretty comfortably make rent. Groceries are tight, and then I do have to pick up other [work] for the utilities,” Conley-Keck says. “When those student loans start kicking back, I am looking for other work . . . because I will not be able to a ord those on a co ee shop [wage].”

Like at larger coffee chains, most of his regulars are from the neighborhood, and many are people living off of the street who he gets to know well. The store’s policy of giving out leftover pastries and free cups of coffee to those who can’t a ord it tends to draw those in need.

NEWS & POLITICS

be like, ‘Here’s a really good cup of cappuccino for you.’ It can make [a customer’s] day. It can give them a good start or lift if they’ve already been having a day.”

Basal splits his 50-hour work week between Red June, a community cafe in Bucktown, and one of local chain Dollop’s downtown locations. Customers at Dollop nearly all wear suits and ties, and the atmosphere is calmer since he’s only serving people in the building. Red June, on the other hand, is a bustling local breakfast spot that attracts families, neighborhood regulars, and their dogs, as well as tourists.

Basal is not in a union at either cafe. “To be honest with you,” Basal says, “I didn’t know that baristas can have unions. I thought it was a construction thing.”

At Red June, his boss, Kimberly Blackburn, offers to buy staff lunch.

“We spend a huge amount of our waking life at work, and we should have an ability to exercise our voice with our coworkers to discuss and negotiate those conditions.”

Conley-Keck comes from a pro-union family, but he’s never been in a union himself. He likes his boss at Emerald City, who’s always working alongside sta . He admits the way things are communicated can be difficult and the way his boss distributes hours doesn’t always seem fair. Working for an independent owner, “there doesn’t always seem to be a rhyme or reason to the way things are managed, but things get done.”

He’s into the idea of organizing, but he says, “It’s not like we work for Starbucks where we have a CEO that’s making millions. I know how much my boss makes.” Despite the di erences, Conley-Keck still wouldn’t mind a union. “Just so that we could be a bit more open about talking about sta ng, policies, and hours. But I’m not sure if there’s the energy for that at the moment at the cafe. And, you know, I do like my boss. I don’t want to give him a headache, though, I’m not opposed to it.”

Osama Basal also enjoys working at slowertempo indie cafes. “It’s very nice to be able to

las quincenas de enero.

on the other side it’s cold and not only chicago winters the christmas without tia lolis no mixiotes, ni tamales everything frozen here a water down version but we make the best of it

find the few, turn them to many rebuild until we can call it a family again todavía nos chingamos working from nochebuena till 6 de enero para seguir mandando dinero but in febrero tata and i sing las mañanitas my dad never forgets the flowers para la virgencita

from march till may we don’t speak let las chingas of work season set in make a home in my fathers calluses dreaming of pictured palaces in countries we haven’t seen in ages

At a recent Christmas party, she gifted everyone ugly sweaters. If tips aren’t up to par, Blackburn puts her own money in to make sure everyone is well compensated. “I avoid [corporations] and have religiously since I started working [in] the service business,” Basal says.

He knows corporations might be able to offer health insurance, but almost everyone he knows in the service business doesn’t have health insurance. Basal doesn’t either. He’s from Syria and his asylum application has been pending for seven years. He pays for medical emergencies out of pocket, on top of his car loans, personal loans, insurance, and rent. During the pandemic, while others received unemployment insurance, Basal didn’t.

He adds that he experiences a huge amount of disrespect as a service worker in the U.S., where the “the customer is always right” mantra emboldens many patrons to act aggressive and entitled when dissatisfied.

But Basal thinks a federal holiday for service workers would be nice.

“Labor Day insinuates, like, construction workers, electrician union workers, yes, but I would advocate for service industry appreciation day in America,” he says. “That’s my pitch.” v

m dmbrown@chicagoreader.com

By Diana Gomez

defrost la carne asadas after spring backyard luxury with a lil mezcal mojarras y costillas will beat fancy steaks any day of the year cotorreando till there are tears in our beer fall will come and election year is near set up the altar and pray once a year count the overtime and hope we will once again see las quincenas de enero.

Diana Gomez (she/her/ella) is a Mexican artist and poet who has been awarded the Jean Baptiste Pont DouSable award and the 2023 scholastic gold and silver key for her poetry. She works for multiple nonprofits in the Chicagoland area and was a two year member of Young Chicago Authors youth ambassador cohort. Diana’s body of work speaks on her experience growing up as a Mexican immigrant in the US. Her collection of mixed media paintings, Corazón Hecho En Casa, was featured in multiple galleries in the Chicagoland area. Following her wrap on her apprenticeship as a tattoo artist, she began working with public art and has multiple murals around Chicago and Aurora. Diana is looking forward to creating magical work and sharing it with the world.

Poem curated by Demetrius Amparan. Demetrius is a music artist and poet from the south side of Chicago. He is a nonprofit leader and father to daughters Ella and Addison. His latest work, Hold Me Down, released August 2024.

Opening Hours

Wednesday, Friday, Saturday: 11:00 AM–5:00 PM Thursday: 11:00 AM–6:00 PM

More Light! Exhibition

Chicago design duo Luftwerk’s immersive interpretation of Aram Saroyan’s poem “lighght” transforms the Poetry Foundation gallery into a dynamic lightbox.

Extended through February 15, 2025

Learn more at PoetryFoundation.org

A weekly series curated by the Chicago Reader and sponsored by the Poetry Foundation.

ARTS & CULTURE

R“WOVEN BEING: ART FOR ZHEGAGOYNAK/CHICAGOLAND”

Through 7/ 13 : Wed–Fri noon– 8 PM, Sat–Sun noon– 5 PM, Block Museum of Art, 40 Arts Circle, Evanston, blockmuseum.northwestern.edu, free

ARTS & CULTURE

1/30

50

Excavating family drama in The Cave

Sadieh Rifai explores mental illness and the Palestinian diaspora.

By ROB SILVERMAN ASCHER

The origins of Sadieh Rifai’s play The Cave, premiering at A Red Orchid Theatre on January 30, reflect its writer’s Chicago theater world bona fides. While understudying in the 2007 world premiere of Tracy Letts’s August: Osage County at Steppenwolf Theatre Company, Rifai was taken with Letts’s relationship to the text. “I thought, it’s so strange that I connect to this family of scholars in Oklahoma,” Rifai reflects. “I wanted to write my story at some point in my life. And it only took 17 years to do it!”

Rifai, who is Palestinian American, was raised in Nevada and Ohio by a white mother and a father from Hebron in the West Bank. With The Cave, her playwriting debut, she has dramatized a pivotal moment from her childhood, writing a new family drama invoking the long history of the form and wrestling with the traumas of Palestinians at home and in the diaspora. As the U.S. vocally ignores the existence of Palestinians (evidenced by bipartisan support for Israel’s occupation), The Cave brings one family’s struggle to the stage.

Rifai says, “Without Red Orchid, this wouldn’t have happened.” An ensemble member since 2018, during COVID lockdowns in 2020, she “had talked to Red Orchid about potentially wanting to write a play, and they immediately called me on it.” Her first thought? “Oh, God, that means I have to go from fulltime to part-time” at Trader Joe’s, where she was working while theaters were shuttered. Rifai says that Red Orchid “kept their word, [and] pushed me in the best way” to continue developing the play.

“This play has lived in my head for a very long time,” Rifai says. A Red Orchid’s support “forced me to put it on paper, start writing, and have the courage to hand in something, which I was afraid of doing.” The Cave, set in mid-to-late 1990, is a semi-autobiographical snapshot of a period where a family tragedy, a move from Las Vegas to Columbus, Ohio, the onset of the Gulf war, and her father’s then-undiagnosed schizophrenia pushed Ri-

fai’s family to a breaking point. Travis Knight, associate artistic director of A Red Orchid, succinctly says the play is “about how a tragedy rocks the foundations of a family and fundamentally changes” its dynamic.

“There’s a lot of my life history in it. I allowed my dad to read some of it and he said,

After developmental readings at A Red Orchid, director Alex Mallory came on board. “It was a bit of a surprise,” Mallory admits, since she and Rifai “really had a personal relationship over the past five years” and had only worked together once previously, on a reading of a play by Onion contributor Dianne Nora. For Mallory, who believes that “the universal is in the specific,” the story of The Cave is a means of remembering that catastrophe, “whether local, national, global,” should remind us that “basic assumptions that we make about our lives are ephemeral. And what we have is our love, and hopefully a sense of humor.”

Rifai says, “Humor was always a huge part of breaking down” the barriers that her father put up as a result of his illness. “And that’s what I wanted to include,” she continues. Mallory adds, “A space that is filled with joy

‘You remember everything.’” Rifai says, “But it wasn’t, like, a good thing.” Hewing closely to her lived experience was vital for Rifai in writing The Cave. “I wanted [the family] to be who they were as much as I could,” she says.

As Jamil, the father, begins to deteriorate, the family bands together, particularly 13-yearold Dema and ten-year-old Noor. Rifai is actually the oldest of seven children, but her relationship with her younger brother Adal, today a Chicago-based podcaster and performer, has been distilled into the sisters’ dynamic.

“Having a sibling close in age, it felt like you had a built-in friend, and a built-in enemy as well,” a foundation in times of familial crisis. “Truly, I don’t know if I would have been able to get through that time in my life without my sibling,” Rifai says.

and North African) diaspora and their families. “Here, the American dream fractures in a way that is audacious,” says Mikhaiel.

According to global studies compiled by the National Institutes of Health, immigrants, particularly darker-skinned ones, are three times more likely to su er psychosis than someone who has never emigrated. This fact, coupled with the dearth of positive representation of Arab men in U.S. culture, is part of what has motivated Rifai to dramatize this moment in her family history. Mikhaiel, who is Iranian American, adds, “As SWANA artists, we are so used to war being the backdrop of our stories,” citing a recent op-ed from American Theatre magazine that reflects their frustrations. But, as the creative team behind The Cave “interrogated what it meant to embrace [Rifai’s] lived experience” against the play’s Gulf war backdrop, the unique frictions of being Arab during a war on Arab states boldly stood out. “It might be a little cliche, but what we found was characters really showing their truths, rather than telling, goes so much farther,” explains Mikhaiel.

and with humor also becomes a space where we get to invite other people into the room to share” the complexities of Rifai’s story. As Rifai sees it, “In our darkest times, we will find humor. I want people to see a fully functional nuanced person and not some dark representation of a very solemn Muslim man.”

Production dramaturg (and Reader contributor) Yasmin Zacaria Mikhaiel says, “The Cave joins a canon of plays depicting American family life, but the perspective is flipped away from the dominant narratives.” The necessity of foregrounding Palestinian identity is not lost on Mikhaiel, as centering a Palestinian American family demands that the creative team unveil complicated truths that specifically challenge the audience’s perceptions of the experiences of the SWANA (Southwest Asian

With The Cave, Rifai hopes that audiences can acknowledge the frustrations of Palestinians both in Palestine and the diaspora, particularly in this fragile postceasefire moment in Gaza. She cites those who “have tried to protest peacefully,” citing the yearlong Great March of Return in 2018-19, which resulted in 223 Palestinians killed and approximately nine thousand injured. This external pressure, coupled with the U.S.’s general antipathy toward Palestinians, creates the conditions for crises like those her family faced in 1990, as encapsulated in the family’s tense interactions with their white neighbor and references to the 1990 Sally Field film Not Without My Daughter, based on the recollections of a Michigan woman who, alongside her daughter, was allegedly held captive by her Iranian husband. She also hopes members of Chicago’s Palestinian community see elements of their own family history in the play. Rifai says with a laugh, “I want people to walk in and say, ‘I know that guy! That’s my dad. We did the same thing.’” And she and Mallory also affirm the universality of this particular family’s drama. Mallory says, “This play is about an American family trying to survive in the face of personal tragedy.” Rifai adds, “No matter what your beliefs are, I hope you see a really loving family who, like a lot of families, deals with mental illness.” v

The ensemble of The Cave at A Red Orchid Theatre JEFF KURYSZ

THEATER

OPENING

RAvaaz offers abundant joy Michael Shayan’s solo tribute to his mother is a heartfelt delight.

Abundance and hope entwined with nostalgia and lingering regret seem to be the common notes of any New Year’s celebration, and that’s true of the Nowruz party where Roya invites us to celebrate the Persian New Year in Michael Shayan’s Avaaz at Chicago Shakespeare. With a stage covered in greenery and a table laden with vessels and dishes (a huge bowl of apples, vases bursting with flowers), it feels at first like you’ve wandered into a Persian version of the Ghost of Christmas Present scene in A Christmas Carol. (Beowulf Boritt designed the set.) But Roya, Shayan’s Jewish Iranian mother (embodied by the writer in this solo show directed by Moritz von Stuelpnagel), is no Scrooge. She’s feisty and direct to a fault, especially about her son’s waistline, but also filled with an unstoppable life force that radiates out from the golden robe (designed by Joshua “Domino” Schwartz) that seems to take on its own presence as she dances and dominates the upstairs studio stage at Navy Pier.

With Jocelyn Bioh’s Jaja’s African Hair Braiding downstairs at the Yard, Chicago Shakespeare is offering a celebration of the immigrant experience that feels particularly timely. Shayan wrote his play a er conducting interviews with his mom about her experiences in Iran during the 1979 revolution, when her father was imprisoned, and later in a loveless arranged marriage to Shayan’s father in “Tehrangeles.” Using the traditional Nowruz Ha -sin table of seven symbolic items (including vinegar, garlic, and lentils) as a loose framework for the story, Shayan as Roya shows us where her son gets his sense of humor (she doesn’t mind that he’s gay, but wishes he could be “less Elton John, more Anderson Cooper”) as well as his powers to endure.

Some of the narrative feels a little pat, but Shayan’s charisma and ability to bring the audience into this story (if you sit near the front, you may be talking to Roya oneon-one) wins us over handily and makes us all feel a part of Roya’s loving world. Explaining the importance of the Iranian custom of taarof (a back-and-forth of pleasantries and deference), Roya says, “We turn each other into kings and queens. If we don’t, who will?” —KERRY REID AVAAZ Through 2/9: Tue–Fri 7:30 PM, Sat 2:30 and 7:30 PM, Sun 2:30 PM; Chicago Shakespeare Theater, 800 E. Grand, 312-595-5600, chicagoshakes. com, $47-$80

RBackyard Hamlet

Fat Ham subverts Shakespeare’s tale of vengeance and duty.

Hamlet never goes out of style, but we seem to have been blessed with an abundance of interpretations over the past year. There was Eddie Izzard’s solo turn at Chicago Shakes last April; Teatro Tariakuri’s Destinos production this fall of El Piélago de las Calamidades by Alejandro Licona, which focused on the hapless traveling players; and Robert Lepage and Guillaume Côté’s dance version at the Harris in November. But for sheer flip-the-script audacity, James Ijames’s Fat Ham (winner of the 2022 Pulitzer Prize for drama) sets the table for one of the funniest and most thought-provoking takes yet.

The story isn’t presented with the same aesthetic and narrative extravagance as Ijames’s historical pas-

tiche, The Most Spectacularly Lamentable Trial of Miz Martha Washington, produced at Steppenwolf in 2022. It unfolds in real time at a backyard barbecue celebrating the nuptials of Tedra (Anji White) and Rev (Ronald L. Conner), the mother and uncle of Juicy (Trumane Alston), a “so ” young Black man in gothic black clothing who is mourning the prison murder of his father, Pap (brother to Rev). Juicy’s weedloving friend Tio (Victor Musoni) doesn’t help by reminding Juicy that his uncle “Stanley Steamered your mom.” And when Pap’s ghost (dressed in a stereotypical sheet at first, also played by Conner) shows up first to Tio and then to Juicy, demanding vengeance, the Shakespearean framework is all in place.

But that’s where Ijames’s script and Tyrone Phillips’s staging blow up the old narratives of inherited trauma and toxic masculinity. (This is a coproduction by the Goodman and Definition Theatre, where Phillips serves as artistic director— Definition has produced two earlier Ijames plays.) Opal (Ireon Roach) is a lesbian with no intention of destroying herself over a man (even if her brassy mother, Rabby, played with go-for-broke gusto by E. Faye Butler, insists she wear a dress to the party). Her brother Larry (Sheldon Brown), a returning Marine in dress uniform, harbors his own “so ness,” which Juicy endeavors to reveal.

(first 2019, then 2013, and finally a coda in 2023), we meet two friends who grew up together in Scranton, Pennsylvania (Peercy’s hometown), and have found different ways of processing childhood grief and disappointment. It falls squarely in the “two people sitting around talking” mode of realism. But Peercy’s gi for small yet telling moments and the raw honesty of the performances makes it a compelling 65 minutes in the theater.

—KERRY REID FAT HAM Through 3/2: Wed

Through karaoke (including Alston’s stunning rendition of Radiohead’s “Creep”), charades, and the usual menu of reminiscences and recriminations, we begin to see that the family relationships here may be as complicated as Shakespeare’s, but that there is also a drive for love (including, perhaps most importantly, self-love) and redemption that abides. Phillips’s 2023 Caribbean-set production of Twel h Night at Chicago Shakespeare found similar notes of forgiveness and acceptance. And as with that production, he’s found the perfect cast here for Ijames’s funny and deceptively simple retelling of the Bard’s tale that centers it in Black experience and history, while suggesting that the power to change the cycles of violence begins with honesty and understanding.

7:30 PM, Thu 2 and 7:30 PM, Fri 7:30 PM, Sat 2 and 7:30 PM, Sun 2 PM; also Sun 2/2-2/9 and Tue 2/25 7:30 PM, no show Wed 2/12; ASL interpretation Fri 1/31, touch tour and audio description Sat 2/1 2 PM (touch tour 12:30 PM), Spanish subtitles Sat 2/1 7 PM, open captions Sun 2/2 2 PM; Goodman Theatre, 170 N. Dearborn, 312-443-3800, goodmantheatre. org, $25-$85

RScranton stories

Greetings provides an honest and stripped-down look at complicated friendships.

Presented as part of Factory Theater’s Overtime series of new works, Zack Peercy’s two-hander, Greetings (directed by Taylor Pasche), is a terrific example of doing a lot with a little. In form, it’s not groundbreaking: Through three scenes set over different time periods

When we first meet Amy (Liz Falstreau), she’s back in Scranton for Thanksgiving, meeting Caroline (Theresa Liebhart) at the diner where they used to hang out. Years earlier in Scranton, Caroline was raised by her aunt a er her parents died. Amy’s brother, Michael, also passed away three years before this reunion. Caroline has moved back to Scranton from Boston a er a breakup with a girlfriend and a failed attempt at an acting career, while Amy is trying to build a life in Chicago as an executive assistant (a job that Caroline puts down). Over “volcano fries,” the two talk about their old imaginary town of “Sadsville” (a game they would play perhaps to displace their actual teenage angst and grief).

But it’s clear that there is an uncomfortable distance between them now. “Will you stop trying to fix me because your life is falling apart?” Amy explodes at one point—a line that hits home with anyone who has an old friend who projects their insecurities onto those around them. The fact that the two also had a brief affair a er being friends for years adds to the complications. Who are they now? Who can they be to each other?

The second scene, a flashback, takes place in the cemetery right a er Michael’s funeral, where we find that he and Caroline had an odd epistolary relationship. (He sent her books without the cover page and with the title blanked out.) It seems like Caroline might be on the verge of spinning out as she talks about how Michael might not be dead at all (memories of watching the Andy Kaufman biopic, Man on the Moon, at a slumber

party with Michael drive her musings). But as the scene progresses, it’s clear that the dynamic between Amy and Caroline has always been both fraught and fierce, as the best friendships o en are. Greetings is a smart, simple, and o en achingly funny portrait of complicated female bonding that also offers a welcome shot of hope. —KERRY REID GREETINGS Through 2/1: Thu-Fri 7 PM, Sat 3:30 and 7 PM; Factory Theater, 1623 W. Howard, thefactorytheater.com, $15

REntwined immigrant lives

Jaja’s African Hair Braiding is hilarious and heartbreaking.

A good hair braider is like a good doctor—essential yet elusive. That’s why Jaja’s African Hair Braiding, a comedic story by Ghanaian American playwright Jocelyn Bioh, is so appealing. It celebrates the Black experience of getting our hair braided while unpacking deeper issues about Africans living in America.

Set in Harlem’s hottest braid shop on a sweltering 99-degree day, the play revolves around Marie (Jordan Rice), Jaja’s college-bound daughter who is managing the shop while Jaja prepares for a wedding that could secure her citizenship. Beneath the humor and vibrant shop chatter lies a poignant immigrant story, brewing just below the surface.

Within the span of 24 hours, we get glimpses of the lives of Jaja’s employees and what they’ve had to go through to keep the shop successful. The backstory of Miriam, played by the charming Bisserat Tseggai, only unravels as she does a service for micro braids, one of the most expensive and time-consuming styles you can get. We discover her marital issues and not-so-shy demeanor through an all-day service, her hands blistered and needing Epsom salt soaks by the end.

The day takes a sobering turn when news breaks of

The Mannequins’ Ball at Trap Door Theatre L: JONATHAN QUIGLE; R: CHRIS POPIO

Jaja being detained by ICE. The grief and fear are palpable, but the shop’s community quickly rallies, leaning on their West African roots and one another for strength.

Jaja’s African Hair Braiding is both hilarious and heartbreaking—a celebration of immigrant contributions and a reminder of the fragility of their lives under shi ing political winds. —CRISTALLE BOWEN JAJA’S AFRICAN HAIR BRAIDING Through 2/2: Wed 1 and 7 PM, Thu–Fri 7 PM, Sat 2 and 7 PM, Sun 2 PM; open captions Wed 1 and 7 PM, ASL interpretation Thu; Chicago Shakespeare Theater, 800 E. Grand, 312595-5600, chicagoshakes.com, $38-$90

RPolitical corruption for dummies

Trap Door’s The Mannequins’ Ball asks “How’s your head?”

In hindsight, it really is remarkable the extent to which Trap Door Theatre’s style of sociopolitical discourse was ahead of the curve in the U.S. When I first started seeing this long-running avant-garde company’s work more than a decade ago, their chaotic, breathless ravings about capitalism and socialism and labor actions and communism and state corruption and sexual currency felt like a historical appreciation or a radical outlier—now, that list could apply to most social media threads.

Written by 20th-century Polish Futurist and communist activist Bruno Jasieński—who was imprisoned and executed in the Soviet Union during the Great Purge—The Mannequins’ Ball imagines a reformist labor leader (James Wheeler) getting his head forcibly “borrowed” by a factory mannequin (Shail Modi) ahead of a strike. When the mannequin infiltrates a ball of elite party leaders across the ideological spectrum, he witnesses a world of self-interest, self-dealing, hypocrisy, and bribery. If only these darned humans could achieve the stoic perfection of the dress forms—minus those troublesome brains.

Directors Nicole Wiesner and Miguel Long lean heavily into the ball aspect of Jasieński’s one-act piece (translated to English by Daniel Gerould), which features a lot of expressionist choreography and some cheeky original musical interludes (original songs by Danny Rockett). It o en feels like a bit of a reach for this large ensemble, with the exception of masterfully weird Marzena Bukowska, out of whose mouth the most abstract diatribes seem to make perfect sense.

—DAN JAKES THE MANNEQUINS’ BALL Through 3/1: Thu–Sat 8 PM, Trap Door Theatre, 1655 W. Cortland, 773-384-0494, trapdoortheatre.com, $31 (2-for-1 Thu)

R Corporate competition

The Promotion explores gender and race in the workplace.

Joseph Giovannetti’s one-act seems like it was created just for this moment, when the heat around DEI and white men’s revenge is taking center stage in our political narratives. But truthfully, it could have been written ten years ago, or possibly ten years from now, and it would feel as honest. Directed for MPAACT by Lauren “LL” Lundy, The Promotion follows the competition between two insurance sales agents: Trish (Ariya Hawkins), a single Black woman struggling to keep up with the bills for home aides for her mother, who apparently has dementia, and Josh (Gavin Rhys), who has a toddler son and a stay-at-home sculptor wife with an expensive MFA to pay off. Though they both think their unseen boss, Brent, is an idiot, they struggle with staying friends

THEATER

while both desperately wanting the same thing. Does it turn ugly? Of course it does. But not always in the ways you might expect. Giovannetti has a good ear for how coworkers walk the line between banter and mind games. Josh is far less obvious in his biases than the men in Theresa Rebeck’s 1992 workplacediscrimination drama, What We’re Up Against. And that’s what makes the growing ugliness between him and Trish—exacerbated when the latter finds out that Josh has been handed a lead by Brent for a big company and family foundation account headed by Buchanan (Casey Freund)—so very painful. (At one point, Trish says, “Nobody is threatened because I’m smart. They’re threatened because they know nothing will be handed to me”—about as apt an encapsulation of white anger at “affirmative action” as I’ve ever heard.)

Their mutual sense of living on thin ice despite seemingly successful careers mirrors what a lot of middle-class folks with expensive family debts are looking at. When Buchanan shows up with a literal dog-eatdog story, it’s also clear that their competition isn’t each other: it’s the entire corporate structure that doesn’t give a damn about the cogs in the machine. Alexandria Crawford’s Lois, Brent’s assistant and a reluctant HR fill-in, adds home truths and comic relief to this taut and engaging story. —KERRY REID THE PROMOTION

Through 3/2: Thu–Sat 8 PM, Sun 3 PM; Greenhouse Theater Center, 2257 N. Lincoln, 773-404-7336, mpaact.org, $42

RExpressive melodies

Steep’s A Slow Air is a quietly affecting sibling story.

In the director’s note for the latest Steep Theatre production, Robin Witt defines “a slow air” as “a kind of musical composition usually associated with traditional Scottish or Irish music” and “known for its changeable rhythm, expressive melody, and emotional depth.” It’s easy to see why Scottish playwright David Harrower chose this title for his 2011 play, with its unconventional structure, gentle pace, and melancholy tone.

Steep artistic director Peter Moore and ensemble member Kendra Thulin star as middle-aged siblings Athol and Morna in the play’s Chicago premiere. Estranged for the past 14 years, the two Scots reflect on what’s driven them apart in alternating monologues, never making eye contact or directly addressing each other—an effective staging choice that underscores the distance between them.

Living in a suburb of Glasgow, Athol wrestles with conflicted feelings a er the 2007 bombing at Glasgow Airport, an incident that brought his neighborhood together but still haunts him. Morna, a single mother who works as a cleaner, struggles to connect with her young adult son. As the family’s messy backstory unfolds, brother and sister discover a tentative path toward reconciliation.

A Slow Air follows in the tradition of quiet, characterdriven work that Steep does so well. For me, it wasn’t the most moving show in this genre, and I found it strange that a significant subplot about an offstage character’s Islamophobia went unresolved. However, fans of playwrights like Simon Stephens and Samuel D Hunter should find this Scottish play worth their time —EMILY MCCLANATHAN A SLOW AIR Through 3/1: Thu–Sat 7:30 PM, Sun 3 PM; audio description Sun 2/2, open captions Sat 2/8 7:30 PM and Sun 2/9; the Edge Off Broadway, 1133 W. Catalpa, 773-6493186, steeptheatre.com, $35 general admission, $4 5 reserved, $20 access tickets v

James Hudson presents

The upcoming Facets event is “a feel-bad block of programming designed for queer catharsis.”

By MICCO CAPORALE

Somewhere amid the rolling foothills and Georgian facades of Dublin, Ireland, James Hudson is watching a lot of gay movies. For five years, the 28-year-old has worked for the GAZE Film Festival, Ireland’s largest LGBTQ+ film festival—first as a programming intern and now as the assistant programmer. Since 2022, he’s also been running a monthly grassroots screening series called the Small Trans Film Club, and in April, he’s launching Ireland’s first trans film festival, Trans Image/Trans Experience (TITE). Now he’s bringing his unique taste and expertise to Chicago.

On Friday, February 7, Hudson is screening eight short films by Irish trans filmmakers at Facets, followed by a Q&A with filmmaker Henry Hanson. Called Hard Done By, the program speaks to the existential dread facing trans people throughout the Western world using the artistic language and cultural anxieties specific to Ireland. One movie shows a person wrestling to cut their rapist’s dick o when it appears in a glory hole, while another tells the story of a wellknown trans comedian’s experiences being assaulted. There are other narrative films as well as bizarre animations and a music video. It’s a feel-bad block of programming designed for queer catharsis, and Hudson can’t imagine a better city for it.

RHARD DONE BY: CONTEMPORARY IRISH TRANS FILMS

Fri 2/7, doors open 7 PM, shorts program 7:30 PM, postscreening discussion 9 PM, Facets, 1517 W. Fullerton, $12 general admission, 15 percent discount for Facets members facets.org/programs/hard-done-by-contemporary-irish-trans-films

Hard Done By: Contemporary Irish Trans Films

Micco Caporale: Why is the series called Hard Done By?

James Hudson: I was looking for a phrase that felt Irish. “Hard done by” kind of means neglected. It means you have not gotten—or the feeling of not getting—what you deserve. The films are contemporary Irish shorts, but also they’re kind of either feel-bad shorts or shorts that have an element where the main characters go through something really hard or traumatic. They’re all kind of centered on dealing with the gritty reality of moving through the world. I like the term “feel-bad” films because it’s a little bit confrontational—but in a kind of fun way. A lot of the time the films have a really unresolved feeling. That’s something that I like in Irish film in general. A lot of Irish films just sort of end. There’s no easy way out. I think that’s part of what characterizes a lot of queer films, too, especially trans films.

Why screen shorts?

It’s just become the thing that I love doing most for audiences and filmmakers. I started out at GAZE helping to watch [festival] submissions. I’ve been there five years now, and every year I’ve gotten to do a little more of the shorts programming. I like seeing the themes that emerge. You get to see what’s happening in queer film by seeing all of these different submissions from di erent places. Plus, with my own screenings, it’s much easier to just contact a short filmmaker and say, “Hey, I loved your film. Can I screen it?” And they say yes or no versus going through a feature film distributor and figuring out rights and

stu . Short film screenings happen on a more person-to-person level, which makes it so much easier, especially when you’re not getting paid to organize something.

How do you approach programming?

At GAZE I learned what it means to review submissions. What are the criteria you should look for? It’s not enough to be a good film. If you have, like, 80 brilliant films but you can only screen 30, how should you factor in themes? Is there under- or overrepresentation of di erent films? How can you approach programming blocks to make sure there is something for everybody at the festival? All of that

(Clockwise from top L) Stills from Overtone (2024); Glory, Hole (2023); Daisy: Prophet of the Apocalypse (2023); There’s a Light (2024); and das-y’a huerta (2024)

HIRAM HARRINGTON; HIRAM HARRINGTON; VENUS PATEL; ELISA BORRELLI; L. CRONLY

kind of stu goes into programming. I was on the job . . . I think, two weeks? And we had a submission of a film called Mes Chéris —one of my favorite short films of all time, just [an] absolutely incredible film to see two weeks into a programming internship. But I had to send an email to the festival director, like, “Hey, Sean, getting along really great. Also, are we allowed to show, like, unsimulated full penetration?” And he was like, “Of course, it’s fine.” In the last couple years, I’ve been getting a lot of queries from people saying, “Hey, we have an erotic or porno film. Are you open to that?” I was like, “Oh, my god, I’m so sad that you have to ask that! Yes, I love that, please.”

What is the sociocultural landscape in Ireland right now? Many Americans are familiar with the rising transphobia in the UK. Is Ireland experiencing something similar? And how is that shaping the art?

Ireland has had some really big legislative advances in the last few years, like the Gender Recognition Act, which makes it really easy to get your gender legally changed.

then all these sort of progressive things have happened in politics since the 2000s or something, so people tend to act like we’re past our oppressive Catholic era. That is at odds with the lived experience of many, many people in Ireland!

I think there isn’t as much widespread transphobia in Ireland as there is in the UK, but there is a huge amount of antiimmigrant rhetoric and violence. The big thing for trans people is that we have something called the National Gender Service, which is a separate health-care path for trans people. It can take eight to ten years to get your first appointment—not to get hormones or whatever, just your first appointment, at which point you’ll get questions like, “How do you have sex?”, “How do you masturbate?”, “How do your parents feel about this?” Just a horrible, invasive psychiatric assessment, and that’s the only public health-care path you can take.

Almost everybody I know is DIY because of this. We have an incredible harm reduction and support community for people who are self-medicating for hormones in Ireland, which has added so much to the community

There was also the Marriage Referendum, which granted marriage equality for samesex couples, and the repeal of the Eighth Amendment, which legalized abortion. So Ireland has kind of been getting spun as this progressive haven. We were under control of the Catholic Church and had all these backwards ideas. Until very recent memory, there were real atrocities happening, especially against women and children, like the Magdalene Laundries [violent church-led asylums that primarily confined unwed mothers, sex workers, and their children]. It’s something that is still being reckoned with in Ireland. But

really aggravating because we’re right there! It really starts to chip away at you to be so close to all this cool, interesting queer and trans art but never be in the country where there is, like, a cool Q&A. That was a big reason I wanted to make stu like this happen in Dublin. This is a place that people should look to for new and cool trans art; we’re not just a flyover country on the way to the UK.

Why did you want to bring this to Chicago?

Chicago is, like, the only U.S. city that I’ve ever wanted to go to, and that’s because of two people: Henry [Hanson] and Carmilla Mary Morrell, a trans comic artist who’s written some academic papers. I first saw her work years ago, when she made a comic called Safety Eject . I was editing a free anthology that I posted on itch.io [digital open marketplace] about the mixed relationships people have with the Internet and being terminally online. I reached out about including her, and we got to talking from there. Henry and Carmilla are some of the coolest people I know. Plus, everything at the Music Box . . . Chicago’s just so cool.

A lot of Irish films just sort of end. There’s no easy way out. I think that’s part of what characterizes a lot of queer films, too, especially trans films.

that has formed around trans art. A lot of this art is about that frustration and the horrors that everyone is dealing with. That’s what I wanted to foreground.

Ireland, like many places, also has an extremely severe housing crisis. It’s the number one issue in every conversation—like, in national politics and when you’re just hanging out with your friends. Everybody is leaving, nobody can a ord anywhere to live, everybody’s broke. And on top of that—as a queer person in general but specifically as a trans person—there can be a feeling that a lot of cool queer and trans stuff happens in the UK that just doesn’t come to Ireland. And it’s

How did you connect with Henry Hanson?

Henry and I had been chatting on and o since around 2022 because I started doing the film club, and I saw [online] that he had done stu like this with his own programming. I knew how to program in a festival context, but I was still kind of feeling out, like, how does this happen outside of that? So I started asking him for pointers. I DM’d Henry like, “Hey, just curious. Where do you, like, screen stu ?” And he was like, “Oh, just go to any of the independent cinemas in your city.” And I was like, “ Any? There’s two! Chicago is, like, ten times the size of Ireland.” But he’s been nothing but patient

in helping me, and eventually, we decided to work on something together.

How did your monthly film series help you refine your programming sensibilities?

Two years ago, I got the idea for a trans film festival in Dublin. But I didn’t feel like I had built an audience or the community trust of people who would see a trans film festival. Yes, I work at GAZE, but the average trans person doesn’t know who’s programming there. I had been working with a community group in Dublin called the Small Trans Library for a while. They’re an arts and culture group that puts on ad hoc, fun events for trans people in Dublin. They also have a mutual aid fund and a catalog of actual books.

In November 2022, I got approached by the Transgender Equality Network Ireland (TENI), which is Ireland’s main trans advocacy group. Trans Day of Visibility was coming up, and they said, “Hey, we’d like to put on something fun—maybe a film screening. Would you be interested in putting that together?” And I was like, this is my on-ramp to doing a film festival. That was the first screening of the Small Trans Film Club, which has been going for just over two years, since November 2022. That’s something that currently is just programmed by me, and that has been a mix of new short films, archival short films, new releases, and feature retrospectives. We had a bunch of really cool, kind of mixed-media screenings, like a screening with live scoring by a trans musician. Sean Dorsey, the dancer and choreographer, came to Dublin, and we screened his dance film based on the diaries of Lou Sullivan.

Tell me more about TITE.

Currently, there’s only, like, ten trans film festivals in the world. We might be 11? The festival is organized by myself and three other Irish trans programmers: Lee Isac, Olivia O’Ríada, and Caleb J. Roberts. Half of us are in Dublin, and half of us are in Belfast. TITE has everything from romance, comedy, drama, experimental stu , horror—it genuinely feels like there’s something for everyone, which is crazy. I really thought, “What if all trans people are making the same stu ?” They are not . [ Laughs. ] They’re making a wide range of films. And honestly, if anybody flew over from the U.S. for it, I would give them a festival pass, because that’s just kind of crazy. v m

mcaporale@chicagoreader.com

Stills from Terratoma (2024) and Punch Line (2022) LIADÁN ROCHE; BECKY CHEATLE

Get showtimes and see reviews of everything playing this week at

“We’re the people that live,” exclaims Ma Joad at the end of John Ford’s masterful adaptation of John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath (1940). “They can’t wipe us out; they can’t lick us. We’ll go on forever . . . ’cause we’re the people.”

Watching The Grapes of Wrath , presented by the Chicago Film Society at Northeastern Illinois University on Wednesday, I had tears in my eyes as the Joad family matriarch (played by Jane Darwell, whose performance is astounding) said the above words to Pa. They feel all too relevant nowadays—words of daunting inspiration, a reminder of a person’s resilience in the face of great upheaval. Not having seen the film since college, I was reminded of how amazing Gregg Toland’s cinematography is; the interplay between dark and light complements the gravitas of the story, evoking its inherent sadness but also illuminating the beauty of both the film and life itself, often in spite of its hurdles.

I also saw the new film by Walter Salles, I’m Still Here (2024), based on the true story of a Brazilian woman whose husband was disappeared by the state during the military dictatorship in the 70s. It’s a solid, serious drama, and Fernanda Torres’s performance, for which she is nominated for an Oscar, is indeed exemplary. I found myself thinking of Ma Joad in relation to Torres’s Eunice Paiva, two strong women who shoulder the burden of a family’s pain. “Well, Pa, a woman can change better’n a man,” theorizes Ma Joad at the end of The Grapes of Wrath, after which Pa says he’s no longer the family’s leader. “A man lives sorta—well, in jerks. Baby’s born or somebody dies, and that’s a jerk. He gets a farm or loses it, and that’s a jerk. With a woman, it’s all in one flow, like a stream—little eddies and waterfalls—but the river, it goes right on. Woman looks at it that-a way.”

Feeling as if we’re in an eddy right now, I identify with this sentiment, experiencing no jerks but rather a flow that continues on, bumpy just as when it’s smooth, on and on. This is also at the heart of Frederick Wiseman’s films, of which I’ve seen five this past week, four at the Gene Siskel Film Center: Deaf (1986), Blind (1986), High School (1968), and High School II (1994). The former are also the first two in a tetralogy of films set at the Alabama Institute for the Deaf and Blind (the other two are 1986’s Adjustment & Work and Multi-Handicapped ); almost right at the beginning of Blind, a little boy who’s blind awes in his recently developed ability to find his way around the school, including going up and down stairs by himself. It’s an incredible moment that reflects what might be Wiseman’s ultimate optimism: that even though institutions and the people who inhabit them are flawed, they are also tenacious and resilient, and life will continue on no matter what happens.

It’s almost the end of January, so in my next column I’ll be providing an update on my resolution (to see a movie in theaters every day, even if just on average). It hasn’t been easy, per se, but it’s been an enjoyable challenge, something to focus on as society seems to crumble around us. Wiseman maybe said it best (as quoted by Shawn Glinis of Wiseman Podcast in his introduction before Deaf): “Life doesn’t come in this neat little package where there is an ultimate triumph or failure. Most of life just keeps going, and that’s what I’m trying to show. If you can sum it up in 25 words or less, you should read those 25 words, not make a movie about it.”

Until next time, moviegoers. —KAT SACHS v

The Moviegoer is the diary of a local film bu , collecting the best of what Chicago’s independent and underground film scene has to o er. A still from The Grapes of Wrath (1940)

NOW PLAYING

Flight Risk

Flight Risk, directed by Mel Gibson, is a B movie that stretches its plot to the limit and manages to pull a mostly entertaining ride out of a seemingly deadend premise.

The film opens with what appears to be an AIgenerated moose scaring the daylights out of an on-therun mob accountant, Winston (Topher Grace), in what appears to be an AI-generated motel in the Alaskan wilderness. Winston is soon captured by U.S. Marshal Madolyn Harris (Michelle Dockery) and turns informant to save himself from a lengthy jail stint. Because Winston needs to make it back to New York to testify, Madolyn takes him on a charter flight piloted by Daryl (Mark Wahlberg) through the Alaskan wilderness toward Anchorage. Not everything is as it seems—Daryl turns out to be a hit man working for the mob.

For a film with not a ton of mystery around it, one question remains: Why did Mel Gibson direct this movie? What did he find engaging about this simple B-movie plot? One word of advice: Seeing Flight Risk in 4DX improves the experience immensely. There’s nothing quite like a gyrating theater seat and popcorn flying in the air as a prop plane skims the tops of the Alaskan mountains. The relatively crowded theater I was in had an absolute blast as the seats shook and gusts of air blew by. And for its pretty preposterous plot, the flight plan doesn’t overdo it, running at a tight 91 minutes. —ADAM MULLINS-KHATIB R, 91 min. Wide release in theaters

ROne of Them Days

How many Black women buddy comedies can you count? There’s 1997’s B.A.P.S., as well as some comedy ensemble movies, like Girl’s Trip (2017) or Waiting to Exhale (1995). But until now, no Black women duos have been given the chance to run the show in something comparable to 1990’s House Party or 1995’s Friday Keke Palmer and SZA (in her feature film debut) have changed that in One of Them Days

Dreux (Keke Palmer) and Alyssa (SZA) are two longtime best friends and roommates forced to quest around Los Angeles to find money for rent a er Alyssa’s boyfriend, Keshawn, spends all they had. The film chronicles their day as they attempt to get a loan from a credit union, donate blood, sell a pair of old Jordans, and more. The storyline is reminiscent of Friday, which stars Ice Cube and Chris Tucker dealing with the madness of their south central LA neighborhood while trying to figure out how to pay back a drug dealer before the end of the day. (One of Them Days pays homage to its predecessor through things like costuming—Palmer wears a blue plaid flannel like Ice Cube wore in Friday.) Still, One of Them Days stands on its own, as Palmer and SZA have undeniable chemistry onscreen and officially claim their place as a modern-day buddy duo. Though the film is filled to the brim with details for all to enjoy, this movie functions as a love letter to Black culture, embracing the transitions of Black girl friendship and sisterhood into adulthood. —LAYLA BROWN-CLARK R, 97 min. Wide release in theaters v

One of Them Days ANNE MARIE FOX/SONY PICTURES

MUSIC Penelope Spheeris talks about filmmaking, herding cats, and the ongoing decline

THE DECLINE OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION AND THE DECLINE OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION PART II: THE METAL YEARS

This Reader fundraiser combines a Penelope Spheeris double feature with a pop-up market, photo booth, music videos by local artists, and more. Sun 2/23, 4 PM (movies at 5 PM and 8 PM), Thalia Hall, 1807 S. Allport, $20–$30, 17+

American filmmaker Penelope Spheeris (b. 1945) grew up in the carnival—her father was a strongman and her mother was a ticket taker. This itinerant lifestyle, which often required her to take care of her siblings, helped her feel equipped to make movies. She was comfortable directing many people at once, and her early familiarity with bold outsiders meant she felt at home among punks. In the late 1970s, while working in a tech office at the University of California, Los Angeles, she regularly checked out equipment so she could film local punk bands. The result was the documentary The Decline of Western Civilization (1981), Spheeris’s first feature-length directorial effort, which captures some of southern California’s most iconic bands, including the Circle Jerks, Black Flag, and X. Seven years later she would release its follow-up, The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years (1988), which features the likes

The first two films in the veteran director’s Decline of Western Civilization trilogy are screening at Thalia Hall.

By JOSHUA MINSOO KIM

of Motörhead front man Lemmy Kilmister, Ozzy Osbourne, and Megadeth. Her early works were initially criticized, but they’ve gone on to become cult classics. Spheeris would later make films in Hollywood, including the massively successful Wayne’s World (1992).

Thalia Hall will screen the first two films in the Decline trilogy on Sunday, February 23, as part of a double-feature extravaganza that will also include giveaways, a pop-up market, a GlitterGuts photo booth, and music videos by local artists.

Attendees are encouraged to wear their most “decline” outfits—the two best-dressed people will win tickets to the Thalia Hall show of their choice. This one-day event, organized by Chicago Reader staff writer Micco Caporale, will also serve as a fundraiser for the Reader, which recently announced layoffs and restructuring and urgently needs operating funds.

Joshua Minsoo Kim interviewed Spheeris via Zoom. They talked about the crush that led her to filmmaking, her early student films depicting trans romance, her opinions on Hollywood, and more. This interview has been edited for length and clarity, and a longer version appears at chicagoreader.com.

Joshua Minsoo Kim: When we corresponded via email, I mentioned that I was a science

teacher, and you responded that you wished that you’d stayed in that field. I know that you studied psycho biology. Why do you wish you had stuck with science?

Penelope Spheeris: It would have been easier and more gratifying than being in the film industry. To have gone through 50 years of dealing with di cult people . . . and there are a lot of other adjectives I could use, but I won’t. [ Laughs. ] I took entomology, and I learned so much from it—I use what I learned from my science studies every day. For example, I’m an avid gardener now, and I know that certain plants will take up herbicide if they’re broadleaf. Medical stu too, because I studied anatomy and chemistry. Honestly, I wasted my whole life spending it making movies. I mean, I made some films that people like, and that’s cool. But if I had to do it over again, I wouldn’t choose it.

I wanted to ask about growing up in New Orleans. What sort of things come to mind?

I am just finishing a book with a journalist from New York named Simon Abrams about my movie career—it was his idea to do this. After that gets published, I’m going to write a book about my early life, when I was born near New Orleans. I always felt comfortable making documentaries with unusual people, because I was always comfortable with them—I was born on a carnival, and it’s a collection of unusual people! I didn’t stay in any place for more than a week. My mom was a great mom in many ways, and at times she didn’t know where we were. I was the one who had to “herd the cats,” which was cool because it gave me a good background and finesse about being a director, you know? I was in charge of all the

kids, and on set I’m in charge of all the kids. And believe me, they’re all kids. [Laughs.]

Why did you decide to take care of all these people in your life? Some people would have chosen to just leave.

I am inextricable from that responsibility, and I know why after studying psychobiology. When I was growing up, if I didn’t perform my duty well—if I didn’t take care of the kids and get them back in school when they ditched—I got the shit beat out of me. Back in those days, you didn’t go to jail if you hit your kids, and I’ve got scars on me. When you have something so deep in your psyche, it’s hard to break that habit. Now, I take care of everybody—my daughter, her three kids, my six dogs, my six cats, my tortoise that my foster daughter gave me, and my boyfriend of 26 years. Though he also takes care of me.

You went to UCLA to study film. What sparked the change to go from the sciences to film?

I was talking to this guy named Bill Norton, who I thought was cute. He said he was going to leave Irvine and go to school at UCLA to study film. I couldn’t believe there was a place where you could go and study movies—that was a new concept back in 1966 or so. I thought, I’m gonna follow Bill to film school, and I did. And then I met his girlfriend. [ Laughs. ] So that didn’t happen, but film school did happen. I stayed in film school way too long because I knew that if I left, I would not be able to make movies. Back then, women couldn’t make movies. You were an editor, a script supervisor, a caterer, an animal wrangler—I should’ve done that.

Penelope Spheeris SUZANNE ALLISON

I love that story. And that’s how life goes sometimes—you have a crush on someone, and then it leads you down unexpected paths.

Yeah! I always say, “Watch the signs in the road,” and the sign at that point was that I could combine my love of science and the arts. Film is a science because it’s technical, and I took photography class so I knew everything involved with that.

I’m curious about these early films that you made. There’s Bath (1969), and I’m curious if you had specific goals with this film. It’s so intimate.

I wanted to make a little short film where I could learn how to shoot di erent angles and put them together in a way that flowed. That’s a tricky thing to do. We all lived in a house called Big White, named after the Band’s album Music From Big Pink. [ Laughs. ] Andy Kaufman and a lot of other great people used to come and visit. But this girl lived with me, and I filmed her naked in the bathtub. It was about learning how to cut different angles together.

You also have the films you made afterward, I Don’t Know (1971) and Hats Off to Hollywood (1972), both with Jennifer Michaels. They’re so beautiful. Had you seen representations of trans people in films prior to making these?

No, it wasn’t something you touched on back then. The fact I made two of my student movies with transgender people . . . they were criticized and laughed at. At UCLA, I took an acting class so I could learn how to direct actors. One of the scenes I worked on was something from Some Like It Hot (1959), and I had my friend Jennifer play Marilyn Monroe. The teacher was outraged. She said, “How dare you have a man play Marilyn Monroe,” and my answer was, “Take a look at Jennifer Michaels! She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen!” But yeah, I was always the weirdo in film school.

How did you meet Jennifer?

My brother Jimmie and my sister Linda are both gay, and they had a lot of gay and trans friends. I met Jennifer and Dana [Reuben] through them. [ Editor’s note: Reuben also appears in I Don’t Know and Hats O to Hollywood ] And honestly, they are such entertain-

ing people. I could sit and talk with them all day long, whereas give me a straight guy and I’m bored as all hell. [Laughs.]

What filmmakers were you specifically inspired by when making your early films?

It was Frederick Wiseman. I loved Titicut Follies (1967), High School (1968), and Basic Training (1971). And really, I like all of them. To me, he’s the quintessential documentarian, and to him I salute. He can document a situation and not put his own stamp on it, and that’s

what I like. It’s just: Turn the camera on, let the audience see it, and let them decide what to think. It’s the opposite of what Michael Moore does, which is: Here you go, guys, think the way I think. I can’t do that! I can’t tell anyone what to think. It’s only respectful to the audience to let them have their own opinion. With the first Decline movie, it was just, here it is—I’m not gonna tell you to like it or dislike it. And back then, Joshua, there were a lot of people who did not like the movie. Like, forget it. I was highly criticized. And it’s in the National Film Registry now! When I first made

it, it was considered trash. I couldn’t get a theater. I was told, “Why do you glorify these heathens?” It was hard to take, honestly. But I guess if you wait long enough, nature works itself out.

Do you feel satisfaction in knowing you were “right” all along?

Not really. That would be egotistical. I just feel grateful that it’s being recognized. My boyfriend [Sin] is really good at keeping the ego out of things, and I’ve learned so much from him. And that’s what is wrong with Hollywood—there’s too much ego involved.

After you made those student films, you had a small part in Norman Yonemoto’s Brothers (1973), the anti–Vietnam war gay porno. Yonemoto went by Jason Sato for that.

I was in that?

You were a character named Penny.

Really?

Yes.

I didn’t even know this—oh my God. I was in like four or five independent movies back then. I wanted to be an actress when I started out, because I didn’t think I could be a director. So I took on these little acting roles.

I want to get into talking about the Decline of Western Civilization films. Were there specific bands you saw play live prior to shooting any footage that really struck you?

Oh yeah. The Germs, the Screamers, the Weirdos, the Plugz, and lots of X shows, though I don’t classify X as a punk band—that’s a whole ’nother argument. [Laughs.] So I went to a lot of shows, and I thought, you know, there’s something going on here that’s really different. I’d always been into rock ’n’ roll, since Chuck Berry and Little Richard. Like, I know rock ’n’ roll really well, but this is very different. I was the first woman in the tech o ce at UCLA, and I had access to the equipment when students didn’t check it out. So I would check it out and shoot whatever bands I could. I started a company called Rock ’n Reel back then, shooting music videos. People will say, “You’re this straight-line Hollywood film director, how did you wiggle your way into the

Faster Pussycat in The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years COURTESY SHOUT! FACTORY

Alice Bag and her band onstage in The Decline of Western Civilization COURTESY SHOUT! FACTORY

MUSIC

continued from p. 21

punk scene?” And I’m like, “No, I was already there.” [Laughs. ] All I had to do was ask my friends if I could shoot them that night.

What was unique about the energy of the LA punk scene to you, compared to the rock music you were familiar with earlier in your life?

Punk was hell-bent on tearing down tradition, on changing things. In Wayne’s World (1992), Garth says, “We fear change.” And that’s the way most people think—they just want to keep the status quo. That’s going against mother nature. You’re a science teacher; you know this. Why can’t we embrace change? That’s what punk rock was doing. No guitar solos, no 4/4 slow beats. That’s why I was interested, though more so from a sociological viewpoint than just the music.

What sort of things do you feel like you learned about yourself after having made the first Decline film?

The most important thing I learned after making the first Decline is that it’s OK to express your anger—as long as nobody gets hurt. Growing up, I was a pissed-o kid, let me tell ya. I had seven stepfathers, and my real father was murdered. When punk happened, the music allowed these kids to get onstage and say “Fuck you!” and things like that. They were honest and let things out as they performed. It meant so much to me. After that, I was much more frank, even if there were repercussions. This attitude that I learned back in the punkrock days is probably what killed my movie career. There was a point at which a producer pissed me off and I used some really nasty language towards him, and I think it fucked me up later. But what are you gonna do? I got a big mouth. [Laughs.]

What was it like to film the second Decline film then, given the machismo on display from these different metal bands?

It was fine for me, because those guys liked young girls. Like, too young. I was older, so I didn’t get treated in the same way. There was one time where I was supposed to do a music video for a band that I don’t remember the name of—they didn’t go anywhere—and I walked into this room and they’re sitting at the soundboard. The woman producer brought me in, and when she told them I was

going to make the music video, they said, “No, a woman is not going to do that.” That’s flatout what they said. But you’ve never heard of this band, so ha ha ha.

I know that you were a big fan of Megadeth and were happy to have them in the film, and you also made music videos for them too, like “Wake Up Dead,” “In My Darkest Hour,” and “No More Mr. Nice Guy.” Do you have any memories of working with Megadeth?

If you look at the visuals for “Wake Up Dead,” everyone copied them after that, but whatever. We were originally gonna end the film with Guns N’ Roses, and then the day before

out of respect for the bands. The bands need to be able to present their music in an uninterrupted way. Twenty-some years ago, I went on the road with Sharon and Ozzy [Osbourne] and made We Sold Our Souls for Rock ’n Roll I did the same thing, where you see like ten bands—ranging from Black Sabbath to Slipknot, Slayer to System of a Down—and I let all of them play their songs all the way through. I do it out of respect for them, but unfortunately Sharon didn’t clear the music, so it’s been sitting on the shelf. We had a screening at the Academy Museum in August [2023], and there were like a thousand people there, and they went crazy for it. Someday, the world will see that movie. That and the Janis Joplin movie were the heartbreaks of my career. I

“I stayed in film school way too long because I knew that if I left, I would not be able to make movies. Back then, women couldn’t make movies. You were an editor, a script supervisor, a caterer, an animal wrangler.”

we were gonna film them, their dickhead manager pulled them out of the shoot. And I was thrilled that I could call up Dave [Mustaine] and ask him to do it. I’d been encouraged to use a lot of the glam, hair, flu y metal bands. I would’ve rather had more hardcore bands, but at least I was able to sneak Megadeth in at the end and get it more serious.

I like that you use the word “serious.”

Megadeth is more serious compared to “I got your number o the bathroom wall!” [Laughs.] I love that Faster Pussycat song, by the way.

Something I like about your films, and this extends beyond just the Decline films, is that you really let the audience see a band play a song. It’s more than just scene setting—you allow people the chance to hear and enjoy the music in full.

Thanks for noticing that. The reason I do it is

their new punk music, but what happened is that I got to know these people and realized that it was about homeless kids. When you make a documentary, you have to let it take you on its path; you can’t just decide what it’s going to be about. It was a very sad and tragic film, and it gave me a new perspective on homelessness.

How so?

When I read things on the Nextdoor app, I see that people are kinder to animals than people. They don’t care that people are homeless and starving. I learned to care. My boyfriend of 26 years was homeless for ten years before I met him. I learned a lot from him about survival. The homeless situation here in Los Angeles is pathetic, and I’m sure it’s true all over the country. I just wish people had more compassion. The third Decline is not very popular because it’s very depressing, but that’s OK for me. It’s my favorite film that I’ve made, besides maybe Sold Our Souls.

You met Sin while making the third Decline. What sort of things do you feel like you’ve learned as a result of knowing him?

used to wake up every morning crying that we couldn’t realize We Sold Our Souls. Someday it will get released, and if I’m dead, I hope y’all enjoy it.

Obviously the third Decline film goes back into the punk scene, though it’s a different generation. You begin the film with the kid saying that he was born after the first Decline film came out. What’s it like making these films and seeing the evolution of all this music that’s about releasing anger in some way?

Phew. I started the third Decline because I saw some kids walking down the street and it looked like the poster for Suburbia (1983). I was thinking, those kids must have seen my movies. I talked with them and said, “I think I’m going to make the third Decline movie,” and they said, “You can’t do that—Penelope has to.” And I go, “I am Penelope!” [Laughs.] That’s how that all started. I was listening to

He drastically changed my life. He’s an egoless person. He’s diagnosed schizophrenic, and I’ve learned so much about homelessness and mental illness. Sin is a genius, and the thing is, a lot of people lying on the sidewalk are geniuses. He’s also never judging. And I do! I have to break that habit. Our relationship has made me realize how worthless Hollywood is. I mean, it’s a nice distraction for people who want to make and watch films. I have all these links and codes to watch all these movies for when we’re voting for the Academy. “Come on, do you wanna watch Gladiator II?” No, I have no interest. “How about the Amy Adams movie where she turns into a dog, Nightbitch ?” Nope. “What about Wicked?” Get out of here. [Laughs.]

There’s a question I end all my interviews with, and I wanted to ask it to you. Do you mind sharing one thing you love about yourself?

My honesty. I like being able to say what I really think, and the older you get, the better it is. If you’re just about ready to kick the bucket, who gives a fuck what you say? [Laughs.] v

m letters@chicagoreader.com

Recommended and notable shows with critics’ insights for the week of January 30

Chicago band the Orchard play rock beautified by time

Sat 2/1, 10 PM, Cole’s Bar, 2338 N. Milwaukee, $13. 21+

ROOTSY, LOOSE-LIMBED Chicago rockers the Orchard can sound elegant one moment and ramshackle the next. In 2019, the five-piece got started as a cover band, practicing in a Batavia barn next to an apple orchard (hence the name). Their self-released 2024 EP, Again, consists entirely of original material, but it definitely sounds like the work of a group of guys who learned how to play together while figuring out songs by the Grateful Dead, the Beatles, and the Velvet Underground. In keeping with the median sound of those inspirations, the Orchard set

the fuzz to low on Again, and the songs feel like floating collections of barely related keyboard and guitar parts, all of them tethered to a sweet, lackadaisical melody that creates an improbably sketchy through line.

On “Get Out of the City,” lilting guitar kicks o a rollicking 60s-style rock jam that quickly starts to feel drowsy and draggy, as though the master tape is sticking to itself. This makes the Orchard sound a bit like expert thrifters, able to appreciate an old sound for the way its meaning has changed as it’s aged.

—LEOR GALIL

FRIDAY31

The Sacred Robe of the Ancient Psychedelic Monks, Numerical Control Society The Sacred Robe of the Ancient Psychedelic Monks headline; Numerical Control Society, Gray Ghost, and Lemonpig open. 8 PM, Burlington Bar, 3425 W. Fullerton, $10. 21+

Sometimes a band is like a relationship that went astray—right people, right groove, wrong time. Chicago-based heavy psych group the Sacred Robe of the Ancient Psychedelic Monks parted ways in 2013, leaving behind barely a shred of an Internet presence. The only music they currently have online is a handful of live videos shot by a fan at a 2011 Mutiny show—but they offer a glimpse of a wild, heavy, playful band that could weave an elastic tapestry of raw and exultant sounds. Sacred Robe’s members went on to other projects, including spacey ambient-pop band Field Assembly; groovy postpunk outfit Weaklung, who recently celebrated the release of the album All Problems No Solutions; and alt-rock group Hand Practices, who have some great song titles, such as “I <3 Drugs” and “Ted Nugent Is a Pussy (Parts 1 and 2).” The four of them recently decided that their schedules aligned enough to revive Sacred Robe. In addition to headlining this show, they’re recording their old songs with the benefit of more than a decade of hindsight, so that they can better share their music with old and new listeners.

Local four-piece Numerical Control Society have blessed us so far with two monumental EPs whose tasty, crunchy, carefully wrought heavy instrumental music pushes the frontiers of prog metal, psychedelia, and doom. The solid songs on 2019’s Circular Reasoning for Squares and last year’s Moonshot rest on imposing rhythmic foundations and spiral up waving branches into outer space; imagine the Monadnock Building slowly stomping toward the lake, banging its top floors like a hesher bangs their head. On Moonshot , the ebb and flow of “Sequoia,” “Astral Hobo,” and “Single Source of Truth” convey a narrative logic without a single word sung or spoken, and the descending flourish of “Three Views of a Regret” sets the stage for a final cathartic push and sweet release. This show is Numerical Control Society’s first since August, when they opened for psych-metal stalwarts Acid King at Reggies. They’re working on their first fulllength album, so come prepared to hear new material.

—MONICA KENDRICK

SATURDAY1

Billy F. Gibbons 7:30 PM, Park West, 322 W. Armitage, $65–$85.  b

Of all the boomer rock dinosaurs, few have settled into bellowing fossilhood with as much tar-pit grace as Billy F. Gibbons. The storied, bearded, raunchy blues-rawk guitarist and vocalist was already a retro traditionalist in the late 1960s, when he formed powerhouse trio ZZ Top—just check out the band’s filthy Texas blues riffs on “Backdoor Love Affair” (from their 1971 debut, ZZ Top’s First Album) or their 1975 live cover of Little Walter’s “Mellow Down Easy.” At

THE ORCHARD, POOL HALL, DOGCATCHER

ANNA GRACE SMITH

75, Gibbons has reached levels of weathered and craggy that rival those of his blues heroes Howlin’ Wolf and T-Bone Walker—which means he arguably makes more sense than ever.

That’s not to say that Gibbons’s most recent album, 2021’s Hardware (Concord), has quite the same kick as anything ZZ Top put out in their prime. None of its songs lope out of the speakers with the feral roar of 1972’s “Just Got Paid” or the chrome synth sweat of 1983’s “Sharp Dressed Man.” But there’s a real pleasure in hearing Gibbons’s sly, gravelly rumble—his already distinctive voice has become even more sly and gravelly over time. He’s still got the die-hard, old-school believer’s willingness to try out new paths to get to that same stanky biker bar. On “Stackin’ Bones,” he festoons his blues licks with girl-group “ooh-la-la” harmonizing provided by his collaborators, rock duo Larkin Poe. The hard-stomping brand-new single “Livin’ It Up in Texas” proves that Gibbons has a lot of slinky lumbering yet to do. At this headlining show at Park West, he’ll dig into a mix of ZZ Top classics, solo tunes, and covers.

—NOAH BERLATSKY

The Orchard See Pick of the Week on page 24. Pool Hall and Dogcatcher open. 10 PM, Cole’s Bar, 2338 N. Milwaukee, $13. 21+

Wunderhorse Deux Visages open. 7:30 PM, Metro, 3730 N. Clark, sold out.  b

In June 2023 at Schubas, I saw Wunderhorse play their first Chicago gig. The UK rock act was starting to grow a buzz in the States, and I wanted to know what all the fuss was about; I didn’t expect that their sold-out hour-long set would still live in my head a year and a half later. Much of Wunderhorse’s staying power comes from charismatic front man Jacob Slater, who performs like a punk stuck inside a troubadour’s body. Watching him transmogrify from so poet to frenetic banshee and back again felt like a nail-biting thriller where it’s anyone’s guess which side will win in the end.

Slater previously fronted teenage London

punk trio Dead Pretties, who burned out just eight months a er they formed in 2017. That band brought him to the attention of film director Danny Boyle (Trainspotting, Slumdog Millionaire), who cast Slater to play Sex Pistols drummer Paul Cook in his limited series Pistol. Slater had moved to Cornwall following Dead Pretties’ split, and by the time the show debuted in May 2022, he was getting ready to unveil Wunderhorse, a band he’d initiated as a solo project in 2020 and expanded into a four-piece the following year.

In October 2022, Wunderhorse dropped their debut LP, Cub . Though the record is a bit less in-your-face than Dead Pretties’ mouthy, explosive chaos, it captures a similar sense of deep despair and urgent fire with its introspective, melody-driven guitar rock, which is peppered with bright bursts of garage, blues, and psychedelia. “Butterflies” recalls the escapism of UK alt-rock greats Catherine Wheel, and “Purple” beats with the passion of Elliott Smith’s heart. Wunderhorse logged tours with fellow rising UK imports such as Sam Fender and Fontaines D.C., and word about the band spread through 2023—especially a er their set at Glastonbury that spring.

This month, Wunderhorse are on their first proper North American headlining jaunt, in support of their second album, August’s Midas. They made the record with producer Craig Silvey (Rolling Stones, Florence & the Machine), who peeled back some of the whimsy of Cub in favor of more straightforward rock that allows Slater’s wordsmithing to take center stage. On the riff-driven title track he takes aim at egocentrics, and on the pensive “Silver” he offers a heartfelt, scathing examination of his own worst traits. Though the songs on Midas will surely wind Slater up onstage, they may also soften his punk side and let the poet take over. —SELENA FRAGASSI

SUNDAY2

Saye Lune Deryk G headlines; Little Church and Saye Lune open. 8 PM, Schubas, 3159 N. Southport, 21+.  F

Emerging Chicago underground pop artist Saye Lune colors outside the lines but stays on the page. He sometimes makes daring choices—on the Octo-

ber single “Maniac (to You),” he lowers his velvety vocals in the mix until he sounds like he’s fighting through a hedge of synth sounds that recall 1980s DIY new age cassettes and Tangerine Dream’s score to the movie Thief. As out-there as his ideas can get, though, he consistently incorporates them into compact songs that go down smoothly. On last March’s self-released Demotape , Saye Lune uses delicate quiet storm guitar and unwinding percussion loops (“What We Lose”), bleary altR&B arrangements propped up only by the breath in his lungs (“Cold Air”), and tightly compressed drums that snap with pent-up aggression (“Daisy Dukes Le in the Dust.mp3”). The tone of his material dri s from romantic longing to existential confusion and back again. In August, Saye Lune uploaded a few extra tracks to YouTube under the rubric Demotape Deluxe , including an early rendition of the November single “Love4U.” The demo (titled “Love 4”) sands off the later version’s polish, slows down its come-hither melody, and stacks various vocal tracks so it sounds like Saye is duetting with a chipmunk. If he keeps swinging for the fences and pushing his aesthetic into new corners, I’ll keep tuning in. —LEOR GALIL v

The Sacred Robe of the Ancient Psychedelic Monks COURTESY THE ARTIST

Billy F. Gibbons ROGER KISBY

Wunderhorse COURTESY THE ARTIST

Saye Lune COURTESY THE ARTIST

Numerical Control Society ROB HABERMAN

GOSSIP WOLF

A furry ear to the ground of the local music scene

IN OCTOBER 2021 , Katalyst Coffee Lounge & Music Gallery hosted the Conversation , a performance by two jazz veterans with deep roots in Chicago’s creative community: saxophonist Ari Brown and percussionist Vincent Davis. Kevin Beauchamp, proprietor of the Hegewisch hot spot, has long relationships with both musicians, but he’d never seen them as a duo. “I thought that that would be an interesting pairing, to see where their dialogue, musically, would lead to,” Beauchamp says.

The Conversation has since become a sporadic series of concerts, which has also lent its name to the band—now expanded to a quartet with the addition of two more locals, reedist Edward Wilkerson Jr. and vibraphonist and marimba player Preyas Roy . So far the fourpiece version of the Conversation have only gigged in Europe (outside the coffee shop, they’re billed as the Katalyst Conversation), but they make their stateside debut at the Promontory on Wednesday, February 5.

Beauchamp, 54, has been involved in music for decades. He started working for Polygram in 1989, where he mentored an intern named John Monopoly, who’d go on to manage Kanye West. In 1993, Beauchamp left Polygram and launched his own label, Katalyst Entertainment , which debuted with a compilation cassette called Welcome to the World of Chicago Hip Hop . (One of the artists included, Main Frame , got a shout-out from Common on his career-defining 1994 single, “I Used to Love H.E.R.”) Beauchamp has since turned his attention to Chicago’s jazz community, developing relationships within the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians and releasing music by esteemed performers such as Corey Wilkes, Kahil El’Zabar, and Kelan Phil Cohran

According to public records, Beauchamp founded Katalyst Coffee Lounge & Music Gal-

lery at 13257 S. Baltimore in 2020. He says he outright bought the building, located on a commercial strip in the southeast-side neighborhood, and that the Hegewisch Business Association encouraged him. (He’s since become HBA copresident.) “I was gonna take my time and just be private, move a lot of my archives that I have in the house,” Beauchamp says. “But they [the HBA] really wanted to push me to open, open, open. I hurried up the process and opened.”

Katalyst sporadically hosted live performances, including the Conversation. Beauchamp didn’t charge admission, so he figured it would be OK that he didn’t have the right kind of license to present shows. “I got a visit by the city,” he says, “and they shut me down.” He says the shop closed in October 2023, in part to address outstanding maintenance issues flagged by the Department of Buildings. He reopened Katalyst this past fall.

By the time the shop temporarily shuttered, the Katalyst Conversation ensemble had yet to perform anywhere else. “[I] shied focus from doing things in the store to taking the show on the road, so to speak, ’cause the music has to live on,” Beauchamp says. “All that city stuff, like, that’s not gonna stop the mission.” In March 2024, the four-piece Conversation lineup debuted in London as part of the Soul on Ice festival; they followed that with a set in Brussels, a recording of which Beauchamp is issuing on his label. He hopes to have physical copies of Live in Brussels at the Promontory show. General admission tickets cost $25, and music starts at 7 PM.

CHICAGO’S PUNK SCENE has lost some important people in recent years, including Steve Albini and Effigies front man John Kezdy. “[I] found myself going to memorials,” says punk lifer John Mohr . “I wish we could celebrate something happy.” Mohr wanted to give people more joyful

reasons to gather, and around Labor Day, he approached Gman Tavern talent buyer Jerry Cowgill with an idea for a show. On Saturday, February 1, Gman hosts John Mohr’s 60th Birthday Celebration. (He was actually born February 2, but he figures he’ll be onstage at midnight.) Long-running Minneapolis punk band Arcwelder headline, with supporting sets from Jawbox front man J. Robbins , Jon Langford & John Szymanski , and Mohr’s group Deep Tunnel Project. “We’re a newish band, Deep Tunnel Project, and sort of paying our dues,” Mohr says. “We’re low on the pecking order.”

Mohr has been in the punk scene since the early 1980s, when he played in a DeKalb hardcore band called Blatant Dissent. That band evolved into Chicago posthardcore group Tar , who broke up in 1995 but have played a few reunion shows. Since then, Mohr has performed mostly in support of other musicians (he’s played in Langford’s band Skull Orchard ), and by 2020 he’d all but stopped writing songs. He changed course during the pandemic, a er Blatant Dissent and Tar started reissuing old material. “I sort of got the bug,” Mohr says, “like, ‘Man, maybe I can write my own stuff.’”

Mohr’s first recruit was Mike Greenlees , drummer from Blatant Dissent and Tar. All Eyes West guitarist Jeff Dean fell in with the band after reaching out to Mohr because he was looking for out-of-print Tar records. To round out the group, Mohr invited Tim Midyett (from Silkworm and Bottomless Pit) to play bass. Deep Tunnel Project began in the summer of 2021. Mohr took an openminded approach to developing the band’s posthardcore aesthetic. “The orientation for me was, like, ‘I don’t really care who or what people think of this,’” he says, “‘I’m playing music for my own pleasure or joy.’”

Comedy Minus One issued Deep Tunnel Project’s self-titled debut in April. On his birthday last year, Mohr got to pick up an advance copy, freshly pressed to vinyl at Smashed Plastic. His big 60th birthday party has sold out, but Deep Tunnel Project have shows booked at the Hideout and Tone Deaf Records —LEOR GALIL

Got a tip? Tweet @Gossip_Wolf or email gossipwolf@chicagoreader.com.

Drummer Vincent Davis and saxophonists Ari Brown and Edward Wilkerson Jr. of the Katalyst Conversation onstage in London, joined by bassist Miles Danso and percussionist Siemy Di of the Miles Danso Ensemble DARREN WILLIAMS

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Wafaa Bilal, Rendering of Thumbsat Model (detail), 2024.

© Wafaa Bilal, courtesy of the artist. Photo: Omar ElGamal.