A Series of Vignettes: The Stagger Inn Again

There was a time when I’d heard of the Stagger Inn Again, but hadn’t taken the time to, you know, actually go in and experience the place for myself. This time period lasted for over 20 years, but a few visits over the last couple years have started to make up the difference.

Mostly, those visits have specifically revolved around live music. The place is about 35 minutes from my front door, with no traffic, so it’s just enough of a commitment to not flit over to Edwardsville without a specific goal in mind. Not that the bar district of Edwardsville isn’t without charms, with locations that cater to college students and townsfolk alike. The Stagger, it appears, bends both ways, with an audience that ranges from 20s on up to 50s.

It’s a music club, yes, but one that also caters to the casual drinker and that can provide a bit of culture clash on a given night. Take last Saturday, for example, when a visit to hear the Great Crusades (Duo) was characterized by folks there for just the music, and those who were on hand for the party. To be on the borderline of the two camps was a puzzling place to float. Behind us roared the bros, their conversation overly loud despite their standing just feet apart; and a group of young women stood near them, resplendent in winter boots and piles of scarves, their phones providing a calm, blue glow to the entire seating deck.

Ahead of us danced a woman in the late summer of life. Asking around if she was a regular, we were told that “she comes around,” which was believable. Her comfort level in front of this audience was complete. The Great Crusades (Duo)— vocalist and guitarist Brian Krumm, guitarist, pianist and vocalist Brian Leach, and guest cellist Jake Brookman—wouldn’t usually be confused with a dance band, though it’s not as if their sounds drill your feet to the floor, either.

But our dancer, who we’ll call Arielle (thanks to her looking just like an Arielle), wasn’t going to let the music get in the way of her need to move; this need varied through every style imaginable. Swaying gave way to deep bends and sweeps of her arms, which relented to eyes-closed shuffles, pirouettes and a few slow dances with a companion. If it was possible to see the without the presence of their dancer, that bliss was broken by a track in which Krumm asked the audience to sing along, a simple request.

Seeing Arielle in the front, singing with gusto, he unwound his microphone from its stand and handed it to her. She wasn’t content to sing the two-syllable, call-and-response; this was a star turn, and she belted out the requested notes, then added some additional vocals, before scatting for a bit and ending with what felt like a form of freestyle rap. It was “amazing,” filtered with “mortifying,” which was the collective expression of the band; they wore smiles, but worried ones.

Gosh.

If the night was going to be topped, it would have to happen outside the doors. Our traveling party of three was worn out, fatigued, beat, down. There was that epic, 35-minute trip back across the river. And the Stagger’s $3 plate of world-class French fries had been wiped out a quarter before the end of the GC’s set.

In the alley, everyone else packed into the car, I noticed the lanky guitarist Henry Frayne, the only constant member of the Champagne/Urbana act Lanterna. Active under that name since the 1990s, Frayne’s Lanterna is an act mostly known in small corner pockets of the indie rock scene. With vast sound that combines shoegaze and spaghetti western, Frayne’s instrumental, post-rock is a beautiful one, the kind around which you want to write painfully off analogies and comparisons.

Anyway, we’ll pass on those.

Henry was out in the alley, and I yelled “Henry.” He stopped and we chatted. And, in doing so, we created the kind of incident that would’ve occurred with regularity in the 1990s, way back when Lanterna might’ve had a chance at regular radio play.

I asked if the Lanterna site was the best place to buy music, as I’d not been buying any from the group in a good, long while. He told me that it was easier to just buy some discs right there. I told him I had $7. He told me that was OK, and handed me one, then two, then three discs; by the time I had the third, I was somewhat sure that I’d owned one of them, but how to figure this out under the streetlamps behind the Stagger Inn? He told me not to worry about the payment, that I could simply send him cash to—GET THIS—his Post Office Box. He added that he didn’t get a lot of mail these days, and that the note would be fun to receive that way. I hesitated, and he insisted. I walked with three CDs, which I can only currently listen to through my computer, which have might have other outlets for listening to said music.

But in those forms of listening, I wouldn’t be exchanging discs-for-promises in an Edwardsville ally/parking lot. I like to think that we used to do this sorta thing all the time, negotiating and passing cash-for-product in offbeat settings, a free sticker or patch coming with the purchase of an album or seven-inch.

For whatever reason, the Stagger Inn this past Saturday night was a lovely slice of rock ‘n’ roll, run through a certain kind of dated prism. Everyone was represented: the folks who didn’t care and the folks who hung on every word, the dancer who couldn’t stop moving in those sparkly shoes, the soundman checking out levels on his iPad and the doorman in the cravat and, or course, the slightly hermetic songwriter dishing out his CDs in the alley with a handshake.

Gotta get that cash in the mail tomorrow. Gotta get back to The Stagger Inn Again soon.

Where to find the Stagger Inn Again? Why, it’s at 104 E Vandalia in Edwardsville; you can find more info about bands, daily specials, and the bar’s history on its Facebook page, located right here.