Best of Local The best musical Chicago moments of 2011, according to The A.V. Club

Thinking about big year-end lists, we at The A.V. Club knew two things: Top anything is a little boring and tired, and that, of course, we still wanted to participate. For what it’s worth, we tried to come up with some original ideas — not just the normal “best local records” or “best Aldermen”—which we’ll present for the rest of 2011.

Up next, the best shows The A.V. Club staff and contributors saw this year. As always, we welcome your contributions in the comments.

Amalia Oulahan
My favorite musical event of the year had to be Joe Pug’s special performance at The Burlington in September. Yes, the event was made sweeter by my pre-existing Joe Pug fandom (and the fact that The Burlington is five blocks from my apartment). But, this was the first show ever held in the space and, with only 75 tickets made available for Pug’s one-night-only hometown show, the evening contained all of the excitement of a crowd enjoying two unique opportunities at once. Additionally, a shout-out must go to the Chicago Gay Men’s Chorus for this fall’s Lipstick And Lyrics: Girls’ Night Out revue at Mayne Stage. That was, hands down, the most fun I’ve had listening and/or singing along (okay, mostly singing along) to pop music ... maybe ever.

David Anthony
For quite some time, Cloud Mouth had been my favorite new Chicago band. When it announced its breakup, the band also readied the release of a final EP and organized a few farewell shows. The group’s final club show at Beat Kitchen had strong support from other impressive local acts CSTVT and Grown Ups (who have also announced they are calling it quits). Each band put on an energetic, uplifting performance, proving that Chicago’s emo-revivalists are adding new elements to the somewhat tired genre. Cloud Mouth’s final release—the Keep Well 10-inch EP—captures the band at its peak. With these four angular, Shotmaker-inspired post-hardcore songs, Cloud Mouth proves just how powerful a unit it had become. “Quiet,” Keep Well’s final track, sees the group in its most delicate state, slowly building to a cathartic release that displays just how far the band had come in its short time together.

Alyssa Vitale
Seeing Paul McCartney at Wrigley Field this summer was one of the most amazing experiences in my life. The first night, I got a ticket in a nosebleed section where even the outfield ivy looked like a tiny green dot, but I was so excited that I barely noticed. I was also only able to get one ticket, so I went alone and ended up being “that girl,” sitting alone, clutching my heart, and crying when he played “Maybe I’m Amazed.” Later Paul sang “Hey Jude,” and the thousands of fans in the audience sang along with him, which was, put simply, magical. The second night Paul played, I went with a group of friends to the outside patio of Vines on Clark, where we drank beer and sang along to all the ditties we’d known since we learned to talk. Even though I didn’t leave with a wedding ring from Paul either night (and his recent marriage hasn’t stopped me from trying), I left in a daze that had me reeling and lasted for months.

Tom Whitcomb
Since the band is from my hometown (Beloit, Wisconsin), I was inclined to talk about The Felix Culpa’s last show at Metro in December. However, it was an undeniably awe-inspiring experience to stand on Sheffield with thousands of other Paul McCartney fans who weren’t able to get tickets to the show going on inside Wrigley Field. Everyone knows how intimate it is to sing along with a band, but singing along with a city-block full of people who know all of the words to every song in an artists’ oeuvre, all of whom are equally as psyched as those with tickets, is pretty rock ’n’ roll.

Marah Eakin
I don’t want to be a copycat, but Paul McCartney’s up there for me, too. I went to the show knowing it would be fun, but then once I was there and listening to his stories, the reality kind of sunk in: This is the guy who wrote Beatles songs. He knows the songs because he thought of them. He, like, totally knew John Lennon, man. It might seem silly, but somewhere in the middle of a story he told about hanging out with Hendrix and Clapton, it hit me like a ton of bricks, and I’ve been thinking about that concept ever since. Also, he played “Jet,” and that song is really, really good.

Ivy Gray-Klein
Seeing Thee Oh Sees play for free underneath the Illinois Centennial Memorial in Logan Square this summer was easily one of the most surreal Chicago concert experiences I’ve had. While the group’s performance at the Empty Bottle the night before definitely exceeded expectations, it was underneath the relentless Chicago sun and that giant stone phallus where the band really pulled out all the stops. Usually I find outdoor concerts to be more hype than what they’re worth, but this show really hit the mark. While I’m not sure how great the view was for much of the audience, from my front-row perspective it was incredible to be mere feet from John Dwyer’s technical prowess and charm.

Anna Gross
Way back in January, I was talked into buying a ticket for The Dismemberment Plan’s Metro reunion show. This was before I had really heard the band, and I was forced to memorize the chorus to “The Ice Of Boston” 10 minutes beforehand just in case “rushing” the stage was allowed (it was). Even though I didn’t really know much past Emergency & I, everyone was so friendly and so bad at dancing. Plus, man, The Dismemberment Plan rules.

Matt Byrne
My favorite musical thing this year was an all-requests set by The Mountain Goats, performed in an extremely intimate setting as a part of the Second City Letters To Santa Marathon. The relatively small Second City E.T.C. Theater (the room probably seats 200 folks at most) augmented the emotional wallop inherent to a Mountain Goats show, making for a startlingly affecting experience. John Darnielle exudes a sort of contagious, cheese-free sincerity, implicitly making the case against snark and irony while singing songs about damaged people in troubling situations. The whole thing (which began at the stroke of midnight on my 23rd birthday) hit me like few other things have, leaving me with a lot to think about, specifically about how I don’t listen to The Mountain Goats enough.