Posted by: Ryan Allen on September 29, 2008 at 1:34 pm

On the morning of Saturday, September 27, I awoke feeling as if I was dropped out of an airplane, only to fall through the roof of my own house and into my own bed. The night before, my band had played our CD release show, and because it was more or less a “celebration” of sorts, I partook in possibly one too many helpings of a certain gold-colored beverage known to impair judgment from time to time, and needless to say, I was “feeling it” the next day.

But no matter — it was time to get up and shake it off. Because today was a day that I had been waiting for ever since I was a 16-year-old scruff in an oversized Sloan t-shirt marveling at the sonic mastery that is Loveless –- indeed, today, I was going to drive to Chicago to see My Bloody Valentine play live; and not only for the first time ever in my life, but for essentially what was only their fifth show in the US in over 15 years.

After a quick trip to Chipotle — McDonald’s Taco Bell! — to stuff a burrito in my alcohol-beaten body, my crew and I were off to Chi-City, cruising down I-94, jamming Archers of Loaf’s White Trash Heroes as if it were 1998 all over again. And soon, it was about to be 1991. And soon after that, 1988. Looks like our little Acura can convert into a time machine after all.

Once we completed the four-ish hour drive, we pulled into the city only to find that the street where our hotel was located was under some sort of construction. There were plastic coverings, loud machinery clack-clunking, and enough dirt, debris, and rubble to make me wonder aloud: “Where the fuck are we? Iraq?” Also, the hotel was essentially hidden under an “L” train rail, so, of course, being from Michigan, we were completely thrown off by the mere existence of an alternative mode of transportation in our midst. Soon enough, though, we found our destination (that iPhone Maps thing really is pretty dope), paid the Read more

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