The Hideout Is a Hidden Gem That Offers The Best Underground Concerts in Chicago
Not even a block north of Goose Island, tucked away in a little nook of the Chicago River you’ll find The Hideout. This place is incredibly aptly named. Juxtaposed by windowless manufacturing plants, cracked sidewalks lined by barbed wired chain link fences, and across the street from a soccer field, you’ll find it waiting for you patiently and unobtrusively.
Like a warm glow of your friend’s campfire deep in a dark forest, it’s an inviting atmosphere. It’s carved out a perimeter for itself with modest landscaping and wooden posts that support the stringed Edison style bulbs, which reaches out all along the perimeter of the front yard, draping above my head, and lining the fascia of the bar and music venue.
It radiates a playful atmosphere, much like when you would build forts in the living room as a kid – couch cushions and sheets that somehow transport you from Mom’s outdated interior design to a land of imagination’s expanse.
As I heaved my body over the oversized front steps (which double as wooden benches for a Summer’s night on the patio) and towards the quiet green door, I was met with a sign in no uncertain terms, “Do not leave any valuables in your car. They will be stolen”. I looked back out to the dim street, suspicious of how oxymoronic this place is. It warmly embraces you, shielding you from the surrounding dark neighborhood. But, this is the city. Fairy lights and trees can only do so much to protect you from assholes and fascists.
After a quick pat down of my pockets, I entered the quaint establishment.
I was immediately met with a calming glow of amber lighting and wood paneling that encumbered the bar. The mixture of tans and browns subdued me. Before my eyes could adjust, the bartenders and I were already making jokes. I never got their names.
I did however ask one of them what she liked most about this place.
“I’ve worked here for 16 years and it’s the only place that lets me be mentally ill,” She seemed comfortable and calm, expertly maneuvering through her shift. She spoke gently and warmly, yet loud enough I could hear over the crowd.
The Hideout Honors Their Longstanding Past and Embraces The Future of Art
After she served my beer, I shifted my focus to the room. I felt like I was in someone’s basement. It felt familial and like a safe space for community to blossom. I could almost feel my shoulders rub against the ghost of patrons past as I scooted into a booth. They were happy to have me.
I could see their faces on the wall. Black and white photos from what seemed to be the early 60’s lined the walls. Smiles, libations, men, women, and others.
The picture frames lead toward a display case, housing funeral cards of recently deceased patrons, Abraham Lincoln in 3 stages of his life, and a plaque that read, “Winner of the 2007 Best Dive Bar”
This is a place that honors their past, welcomes the future with anticipation, and celebrates the present. It’s a community third space which bolsters the arts and people of all colors. It’s a place you could bring your dad or your estranged queer cousin.
My drink is empty and they finished soundcheck. It’s time to hang out in the venue.
The windows were open and a cool, sweet draft wafted through the open space as Facing took stage. When they approached their synthesizers and guitar pedals, they began futzing with the knobs before them.
Facing Tows The Line Between Melody and Dissonance With Their Performance at The Hideout in Chicago
Without warning, I was wrapped in a warping blanket of sin waves and a droning wail. Claudia, the frontwoman’s indecipherable vocals became indistinguishable from the hypnotic waves of sound, which soon seemed to turn to water as it cascaded from her mouth, filling the venue in a sea of pure angelic noise. I found myself submerged in a tranquil saltwater ocean.
Artificial kick drums created a sensation of large bubbles being produced from within my heart which floated up my body, tickling my face and staying for just a moment in the pits of my tear ducts – resting in a comfortable nook of my clamped eyes. I opened them to watch as the bubbles floated up to the surface, filling the room.
I remained buoyant and still, but my body was rocking with the waves. I allowed my lungs to expand and fill with the sweet and salty sound of the band. Without warning, a jarring sawtooth bass drone tore through me, ripping my soul in two. My ego dissipated and I allowed Facing to tow my body from behind their boat.
The band took small breaks between songs, but the music did not. Arpeggiated riffs and discordant, squelching guitars manipulated by algorithms remained a constant throughout their set. It was a strange marriage between melodic and dissonance.
You can’t experience this through a recording. Facing is one you have to see live. They’ll have you wondering what’s rehearsed and what’s improvised. Nate never looked up from his synths, even as sweat dripped from his furrowed brow and Kirk never took his hands off the ever twisting tuning pegs of his guitar. Nothing but a focused flow state and pure submersion in their music.
You can find Facing on Instagram @facing.wav and listen to their music here.
Holy fuck. What a set. It held me ’til the very end despite how strange it was. They were never not engaged and in full control of their music.
Ange1Grr1’s Sound Is Way Too Big For Such a Small Venue
After a quick refill, Ange1Grr1 took the stage. I was pretty skeptical as I watched her place a laptop on a foldout table and click “play” on a music file. She danced along to an instrumental as she sang karaoke style to her own vocals and backing track. It took me a minute to catch my bearings. I was taken aback, almost offended, as I watched a glorified karaoke performance. A true juxtaposition from the last set.
Through a raised eyebrow and crossed arms, I watched as a scene girl with long and characteristically asymmetrical blonde hair danced bubbly in the magenta back lighting. Electronica dance music rhythmically bumped through the speakers. At least the sound system carried the music well. And the songs were very well mixed.
But very soon, something strange happened. My head started nodding. And almost immediately my shoulders followed suit. I felt her music in my heart. The fast paced music coursed through my veins as my blood pumped to the excited rhythms. My DNA began restructuring as I grew an increasing interest in her music. Ange1Grr1 transformed the scoffing critic from within into an excited fanatic.
I looked around to see a growing attendance form within the pit. The bass cut through my chest and this sort of bubblegum EDM music possessed everyone in the crowd.
I’m serious. It possessed me. After a while, I couldn’t tell what was prerecorded vocals and what was being sung live. It didn’t matter anymore. The room transformed into a carefree dance party. I’m not kidding when I say that this venue is too small for Ange1Grr1, also known as Meg. She has an innate and powerful ability to make people dance.
With the right resources, production, and laser-technics, Meg could sell out a rave club. If you’re into dance / electronica / sounds that go “wub wub” with a heavy overtone of high pitched robotica vocals and raw beat drops, Ange1Grr1 is the one to see. You will NOT be disappointed.
I put my notebook and camera down to live in the moment – the sign of a true artist. I really look forward to seeing her perform again. After her set, I had to fanboy a little bit. I approached her to rave about what I had just witnessed. Words escaped me as all I could say was, “That was incredible, seriously. That was awesome! Seriously dude, that was… That was awesome!” Words couldn’t describe how fulfilling her music felt to me.
Why Don’t Bands Offer Good Merch Anymore? (That’s Because You’re Seeing The Wrong Bands)
Through bashful and excited thanks, she offered me a cigarette and we made our way outside at the foot of the benches. Once conversation took hold, she reminisced of her musically inclined father and sisters, relaying stories of family singalongs. There never seemed to be a quiet moment in her household. I can’t help but wonder how magical it must be to have such a musical childhood.
However, what struck me is that despite how intrinsic music comes to her, she seems to focus a lot more energy toward her merch. She explained how cosplaying and a certain home economics class shaped her relationship to sewing and upcycling.
Growing up poor, she couldn’t afford many clothes. It’s something I definitely take for granted – clothes. But through this challenging past, she’s been able to take hand-me-downs and make it her own.
Now, she regularly attends Chicago’s flea markets and upcycling circles, and has found a way to support herself through this community.
Of course I had to snatch some of her merch. I’m surprised by the quality of her handmade clothing and accessories. It possesses a certain Y2K aesthetic that seems to be coming back into fashion these days. Meg really dives head first into the style; she doesn’t make anything she wouldn’t wear herself, giving it an authentic je ne sais quoi.
What’s best is all of her items are one of one, so to own such unique clothing and accessories from such a genuine artist is a real blessing.
You can keep up with Meg at Ange1Grr1.com and follow her instagram @ange1grr1 . This is an artist to keep an eye out for in the future. But in the meantime, check out one of her favorite songs of her discography here!
Butthole (The Band) Has a Chaotic Stage Presence That Blurs The Line Between Performer and Audience While Playing at The Hideout
After snuffing out our cigarettes, I made it back just in time for Butthole’s set. Immediately, I knew this is what the night was leading up to. I was met with an energetic front woman who wanted to fuckin’ party. Behind her was a barefoot bassist and a ripping drummer with hair that concealed her face. They were here to perform.
One of the most important aspects of a concert is a great stage presence, and Butthole took the assignment and went above and beyond. Helen, the frontwoman, has an innate ability give permission to the audience to let loose, release their inhibitions, and experience an unforgettable night.
Inviting us up to get as close to the stage as possible, the barrier between performer and audience blurred. I felt as integral to the performance as the band; we synergized. Soon, everyone was covered in silly string as Helen doused us with multiple cans. It was a true crowd pleasing moment and something so unique I’ll never forget.
Butthole didn’t take themselves seriously, as the haywire trio shredded a sweet and wholesome garage punk sound, denouncing “fascist scum” in one of their more popular songs of the night. I think the cheers from the audience lasted longer than some of the songs. Interjecting between tunes, Helen bantered with us through a gravely voice and an occasional bad British accent.
In hindsight, I think Butthole is the perfect namesake for the band. It’s uncaring, lighthearted, funny, coarse, and in your face – the exact energy they emanate. The audience couldn’t help but cheer for Butthole. It’s hard not to make jokes and heckle such phrases like, “I love Butthole!” and it made it even harder not to when the band goaded us on through uproarious jesting.
I didn’t think they could get any more unruly, but by the end of their set, they broke out into cathartic chaos. Guided by pure pathos and no more songs to play, Helen dual wielded the band’s guitars, playing them by the neck. Tossing them to the side, the band moshed on stage supported by a rallying audience, who’s spirits have never been higher in the night. Butthole devolved into a blur of ass grabbing and ass slapping. They writhed on the ground to soak up the last fleeting minute of the night.
It was a genuine moment of carefree hootenanny. Rules were out the window; the audience soaked up the riotous blur. I fucking loved it. A cacophony of shredding instruments, irregular crashing and thumping bass percussion, and a riotous audience lined the night.
Overall, the band gifted us an uplifting underground style punk concert through heart stopping drum fills, indie guitar riffs and sweet leads, underscored by smooth, yet chunky basslines. They towed the line between sweet indie rock and raging punk to produce lighthearted, summertime tunes that brings a sort of nostalgia.
To listen to some of Butthole’s tunes, you can catch them at The Burlington on April 3. Buy your tickets here.
I’ll be there, so come say hi to the guy with the notebook (that’s me)!
You can also follow them on instagram @buttholeband and hear them on Spotify.
Overall, the night consisted of 3 vastly different bands, which made the night novel and unexpected. There really is a flavor for everyone at The Hideout.
The Hideout is the only type of place where you can get a night like this. This concert reminded me of the reason I write this blog. Small venues and underground bands offer a unique experience that established venues and stadiums simply cannot even come close to replicating. And so, I will be returning to The Hideout and continue to follow these bands as they progress their careers.
ยฉ All Rights Reserved to Ian Buckner / VibeWaves Underground
VibeWaves Underground