Almost ten years ago, I was offered a free ticket to see New Orleans rapper Curren$y and Chicago duo the Cool Kids at Metro. I remember two details from the show: the harrowing experience of having my wheelchair pushed up two flights of stairs to the theater, then lowered back down in a process that was somehow even more grueling and scary, and the fact that Curren$y gave me a T-shirt. I go to lots of concerts, but this one stands out—and not for good reasons. First was the venue, which I’d been assured would be fully equipped to handle a person in a wheelchair, and second was that free shirt, which I promptly lost.
The ADA will turn 30 on July 26, 2020, and during its history tremendous strides have been made for those with disabilities—for an example, look no further than Tammy Duckworth’s service in the Senate. At a micro level, the signs of progress are all around, in the ubiquity of basic access features such as curb cuts and braille signage. It’s getting better every day, but as with all avenues of social progress, the more things improve, the more glaring the remaining failures become. Given that Chicago’s live-music scene is so thoroughly enmeshed with the city’s sociocultural past, present, and future, it’s as good a lens as any through which to examine the remaining gaps in access.
I’ve assessed a few prominent venues in terms of accessibility. I’ll default to legal standards only when necessary—I prefer to simply try to tell you what a night at a show looks like for me. I can only speak to my specific experiences, of course, and how they relate to my specific condition—which means I’ll be talking about mobility and wheelchair accessibility. People with other conditions may find some parallels, as may those without disabilities who are simply affected in their own way by the physical realities of a venue.
Co-Prosperity Sphere
3219 S. Morgan
This Bridgeport gallery, also the home base of Lumpen Radio and Lumpen magazine, hosts occasional concerts, including the annual Windy City Crash Pop Festival (in conjunction with Marz Brewing, another related enterprise). Co-Pro represents a class of hybrid or part-time venues, where you can find some of the most interesting underground or up-and-coming acts. Of course, house and basement shows are great for that sort of thing too, but most DIY venues are outside the scope of this discussion—private residences aren’t covered under the regulations outlined above. Galleries and similar converted spaces are still commercial businesses, though, and thus subject to the code.
The Bottle is older, though, and like many older places, it has small bathrooms that make it prohibitively difficult for wheelchair users to have any privacy. You’ve either got to block the door somehow or use the restroom more or less in the open. While the statute requires bathroom access, changes to make this particular bathroom more accessible would involve at the very least knocking out part of a stall wall, which would be burdensome. Bottle owner Bruce Finkelman says the club plans to improve the accessibility of its women’s room in 2020—possibly both restrooms, if its budget permits. He also stresses that the Bottle is eager to hear ideas from patrons about how it can be better about accessibility in other areas as well. The current situation at the Bottle, as with the location of the Aragon’s restrooms, doesn’t so much exclude disabled people as make things more complicated for them—it’s one of the many challenges that remain in this twilight zone between regulation and reality.
To its credit, the venue understands that this might be a problem. It asks disabled people to get in touch in advance of a show: “Metro is always happy to accommodate patrons with special needs,” says owner and founder Joe Shanahan. “We ask that patrons e-mail with their name, nature of your special need, and date of the show at ask@metrochicago.com. Prior notice is preferable as it helps in preparation and to ensure we have staff ready to assist the patron in the enjoyment of the show.”
