Tennis at The Vic
Last night I went to the Tennis show. I’d bought tickets to see the husband-and-wife duo back in December of 2019, only to have the pandemic hit, and the show postponed. After two painful years of uncertainty, you can imagine the extent of my anticipation leading into last night’s show.
My interest in this band dates to high school. My nights of angst turned serene as I’d get behind the wheel of my wrangler and cue up Cape Dory, driving aimlessly around the suburbs.
Tennis seemed to follow me, or rather, I followed tennis through some quite formative years. In 2020 came Swimmer, which I recall playing on a walk home from my ex-girlfriend’s apartment. Through the years, Alaina Moore’s voice and Patrick Riley’s guitar playing has become the backdrop to my life.
The show was held at The Vic in Chicago’s Lakeview neighborhood. I arrived 30 minutes after the doors opened. A brief line formed outside the venue. Carhartt jeans, Doc Marten boots, beanies, tattoos, surgical masks, cigarettes and flat-out exhilaration filled the lobby.
I walked to the bar and acquired a 312 tallboy, then entered the room. The Vic is large yet personal in feel. There were about four levels, each descending as I approached the stage. Per my last scene report, I chose the second row. Moore said it best, my emotions are blinding.
Molly Burch opened for Tennis with her two bandmates. She’s a voice I’ve become accustomed to in the more recent years. I can’t say I’ve heard anyone with a similar sound. She also announced that she’d be doing a show in Chicago next Spring. A man behind me looking as though he were a lumberjack yelled, “yeah!”
Which leads me into my observations. The vibe at The Vic was as I imagined. A plethora of couples who gravitate towards hazy beers. Girl groups who wore gingham masks and leather jackets. Super fans who sang along. And me, a fellow fly on the wall.
“I was 31 when I bought these tickets,” said a man in front of me. He stood about six feet tall and kissed his girlfriend voraciously. Here’s my angle, if you’re at a show, it’s both a blessing and a curse to be five foot nine (my height). You’re not obstructing the vision of those behind you; however, your field of vision remains slightly tainted.
Tennis walked on stage to “I’ll Haunt You,” a personal favorite. My skin grew goosebumps and I froze when seeing Moore. Naturally she’s beautiful. She wore a green silk spaghetti string top with a gold sparkling skirt. Even cooler, her sister is a clothier, which I know from the song “Matrimony,” where Moore says, “I’ll wear the dress that my sister made.” I listen intently.
After about two songs Moore came center stage and gave her hello. She announced she’d been taking the steroid Prednisone, as the tour had been going on eight weeks. She finished by saying she’d give Chicago everything she had. She did.
My eyes panned from the band of four to the crowd throughout the show as I attempted ultimate mindfulness. I realized that music, when created well, is transcendent. When done well, the sounds can fill your body to the point of inebriation. This sense of surrender came over me as I watched the four of them creating a world of escapism.
The show ended, and the crowd roared for a few minutes until only the husband and wife came back on stage. Moore said she’d sing us a song that’d tuck us into bed, a lullaby of sorts. She did.
I walked out of The Vic having purchased a Tennis sweater. Chicago’s brisk November air smacked me in the face. It didn’t matter, I was still wrapped up in the warmth of the world I’d just departed.