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The CD Listening Party
Monday Feb 06, 2006.
By Erin Brereton
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Because I really didn't know. Do you sit around someone's basement and play a CD? Is there live music? A sing-along in rounds? With trusty two friends in tow, I headed to Tin Lizzie, 2483 N. Clark St., to find out. It was, after all, free and, I'd been informed, had an open bar. Not that it was the easiest sell for me. For one, I had promised myself I'd take it easy after a three consecutively crazy weekends—one with guests, one with parties and another spent in New York, basking in its Big Apple magic. And I had a concussion, the combined result of my constant klutziness and my poorly constructed leopard print shoes (which have since found themselves a new home down the bottom of my building's garbage chute). But after a couple of weeks gawking at the delightfully terrible "American Idol" auditions, I was in a music mood, so I choked down some Advil and got on the bus. Things were a little bit confusing at first. Nice Peter was tuning up on the stage and about 40 people sat at tables and booths in the back of the bar. But the kindly lad who ushered us to our seats gave us a—"Welcome to Stacy's going away party, Cheers to Stacy!" Who is Stacy? And where the hell is she going? It turns out the event pinch-hitting as a going away party and a Nice Peter showcase, though both groups seemed to merge nicely. Nice Peter (aka Peter Shukoff) is obviously talented: He plays guitar accompanied only by a drummer, but his real draw is his zany songs, ditties such as "50 Cent is a P***y." He's also fond of riffing off what is happening in the room and composed several improv songs about Stacy, the crowd and even my table. His songs are often bawdy—as Jan pointed out "He sure likes the F word!" Yes, Nice Peter's is a different kind of humor. But in the way we all loved to watch William Hung bomb out on "Idol," the crowd loved it. Loving other people's discomfort isn't a new phenomenon—"America's Funniest Home Videos" became a hit by showcasing fuzzy home video footage of people falling on their cans accompanied with zany "boink" sounds. (And as someone who replicated that move last week, I can assure you, the only sound that accompanies a bad fall is a whack and, in my case, a string of swears.)
Nice Peter puts on a good show—we laughed, we listened, we marveled at how quick he was to improvise songs (just like in "8 Mile," only set to music!). Yet by 10 p.m., we were getting restless. Nice Peter's set was winding down (this was obviously more a CD release than listening party, and no CD was actually listened to), Jan had to teach early and we still had idea where the hell Stacy was going. Stacy, twirling around in her Burberry skirt, I found out, was headed to London. Watching Stacy dance, I thought about how exciting it feels to be on the edge of change—even if you know you might be about to fall off, maybe hit your head and have to get a CAT scan. Life's all about taking a closer look. So good luck, Stacy—cheers, indeed. Seacrest out! Want to attend a listening/CD release party? Most are free and some offer free drinks/food. They tend to correspond with album releases, so check your local record stores and performance venues. Some upcoming ones: At HotHouse on 2/25, the Kruno Spisic Caravan with Tamburitza Rroma CD release party; Yakuza Listening Party, Liar's Club, 3/15. To find out more about Nice Peter's upcoming gigs, visit his website.
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They've had 'em for Radiohead. They've had 'em for Weezer. So, when I received an invitation to a listening/CD release party for self-described comedic musician Nice Peter, I figured it was high time I found out what a listening party was. 
But that's what helped Nice Peter, who moved to Chicago to study improv, find his audience. Comedy was fine, he told me, but when he picked up a guitar and combined music with his wisecracks, the crowd went wild. And they were in pretty good spirits the night I saw him play as well. After all, a listening party does draw the most ardent fans, as we found out when my married friend Jan found herself being hugged and sang to by a very hairy, yet very dedicated, fan. (The three-hour open bar, complete with bartenders who encouraged us to get liquor-based drinks, probably helped, too.) 
Erin Brereton is our resident urban cowgirl on a bi-weekly search for life on the cheap.