A multidisciplinary collective in which a cast of twentysomethings share a commercial loft roughly 4,000 square feet in size and host events ranging from DJ-fronted dance parties to folk shows to poetry readings might find itself in an occasional kerfuffle. Too many cooks spoil the broth: it’s usually a decent idiom to live by.
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But this north-side collective—which I won’t be referring to by name, in order to protect its underground status—has an open-jam vibe about it. When I enter the space, a musical-improv session is taking form between Sean and Leli (roomates one and two) as a boa constrictor, draped over the shoulder of Hannah (roommate three), plays the role of the audience. It’s eerie how laid-back it all is.
Lounging on the lot of mismatched, scavenged furniture, the five roommates—the sixth is absent, the regularly rotating seventh moved out—finish one another’s sentences about the communal mission of the collective.
