So, being a complete fool after packing enough useless garbage to keep me clothed and entertained through a two-week arctic trek, I left my tickets for the 25th anniversary Touch & Go (10th Anniversary Hideout Festival) sitting on my bookshelf. One panicked call to a roommate later, my ticket was en route via FedEx to my friend Vincent’s in Chicago. The next morning after an hour and a half past the designated delivery time I frantically called FedEx only to learn that the plane that carried my precious ticket had never even left Seattle and wouldn’t arrive till Monday.

After some serious sweating, I decided to print out my ticket receipt and throw myself upon the mercy of the door people— hoping that my sob story and out of state I.D. would be accepted but before I could even bust into the whole, “…And the fucking FedEx plane never even left the…” the girl manning the will-call desk said, “Never got your ticket, huh?” And asked for my name, verified it in a master list of sold tickets and I was in without a problem.

Saturday, I arrived just as the Ex started their set and was a bit underwhelmed by the sound— through no fault of the band. They had it together, playing their brand of heavily syncopated world punk but the sound was just terrible. I know, I know, outdoor festival— but throughout the day I was beset with ridiculously loud kick drums, snares that sounded like rubber on plastic, and just terrible mixing in general. Speakers seemed to go out sporadically creating a weird doppler effect and for the most part it just wasn’t loud enough.

Despite this, Negative Approach played a snarling, vicious set that may have been the highlight of the festival. In case you were wondering: yes, John Brannon is still fucking pissed and still has one of the toughest voices in hardcore. Sneering between songs, Brannon delivered an incendiary version of “Ready to Fight,” that still has me in the mood to punch someone in the face. Especially a FedEx person.

Scratch Acid began with a tightly wound “She Said,” before my attention was diverted to search for something edible and not entirely regrettable. The mission was unsuccessful. Big Black sounded fierce, despite a vocal lack of enthusiasm for reuniting. Naturally, a bundle of firecrackers kicked off their set before they broke into “Cables,” followed by “Dead Billy.” Ending the brief reunion with “Racer X,” overall the experience was enjoyable but felt largely perfunctory. Shellac followed and should’ve been louder, louder, louder damn it. Steve Albini’s guitar was the only thing that seemed to saw its way out of the mix all day, grinding and bristling through the audience like an electric eel.

Heard that the Gossip were in town playing a free show after the fest with Erase Erratta, but I've seen both of those bands plenty of times in recent memory so afterwards I headed to the Rodan where Ted Leo was supposed to be DJ'ing. The bar was packed and instead of Ted, some random person who may or may not have been a significant part of the indie scene was spinning Ginuwine and Warren G. Not in the mood to listen to the greatest hits of my 8th grade dances (or to bother Ted Leo again), I headed over to the Dark Room to catch Flosstradamus spin the crowd into a sweaty dancing mess.

Woke up too late on Sunday to catch Pegboy, but showed up in time for Enon to cover a song by the Big Boys and to hear something that resembled a snare drum for the first time all weekend. Enon, constantly referred to as that band with "the other guy/gal" from band ______, delivered an energetic and joyous show despite the cold, pissy Chicago rain. Overall the sound on Sunday was far, far better but the bands themselves were extremely tame in comparison to the ferocity of Sunday.

Speaking of relatively tame, I missed a Monorchid set plagued by technical problems. Reportedly amps were blown, mics didn't work, lights were subsequently smashed and the messy intensity of the Monorchid just became an intense mess. San Diego's Three Mile Pilot who are set to tour and release a new album, sounded great after warming up and settling into their set. Following TMP was Tara Jane O'Neill, whose brief set was another casualty of my appetite. After O'Neill, Seam was set to go. I've always felt like I was a "bad Asian" for not liking Seam, but they've always bored me to tears so I bailed on Touch & Go to prepare to see Smog.

I showed up twenty minutes late to The Old Town School of Music where Smog (aka Bill Callahan) was playing (thanks to a flat bicycle tire, getting lost and not being able to find a cab until the last possible moment). Callahan who finger-picked his guitar with delicate nuance was dressed in a casually matched white shirt and pants and accompanied by Joanna Newsom on keyboard. Newsom looked like an R.Crumb fantasy in high-waisted bellbottom jeans and thick paisley guitar-strap suspenders. The mournful baritone of Callahan was well matched with Newsom's elfin voice as they harmonized and made eyes at each other. Smog's cryptic country-tinged balladry was an excellent end to a weekend plagued by near disasters and frantic attempts to see/hear as much as possible. Despite my complaints (are you listening Bob Weston?) the T&G fest was a great time and I look forward to spending the rest of my week in Chicago relaxing in the most silent and solitary locations possible.