Pirate Mics

I play in two bands. Who doesn't? And last night I sat in with a third. My brother's wacky outfit, The Banana Street Band. They hole up over at the Flat Iron Arts Building in Wicker Park. Third floor. What a show. I plugged in my Telecaster and jammed with these guys. Talk about intensity. My brother is channeling the ghosts of Leadbelly and Allen Ginsburg, their guitar player is channeling some Polish gypsy poet from a century or two ago, and their drummer is channeling some hipster beat master from god knows where. I got to kind of ride the storm, playing lead lines around their torrent of sound. 

My brother's latest obsession is building microphones.  He's assembled these vintage parts from the 40's and 50's and made totally unique mics - he calls them Pirate Mics, (you might find one on Ebay!), they even have a skull and crossbones logo.  We all used these little crappy amps, (you could fit the lot of them in a small closet) and somehow it all sounded exactly right.  I mean this was rough, totally unpolished, pure and spontaneous, all feeling and intensity.  What a trip.  The sounds swirled around that big drafty old building conjuring ghosts and laying down some kind of sonic map.