Philip Montoro

Forevertron About 35 miles from Madison, Wisconsin, along U.S. Highway 12 between Baraboo and Sauk City, the membrane between parallel universes thins to nothing. Pull off the road at the big steel sphere, and you can walk into a world powered by “level seven love energy” and populated by extraterrestrials, colossal bugs, and an orchestra of birds.

How many improvising tubaists does Chicago even have? Is this the compliment I mean it to be? I’ll tell you what makes Beth McDonald such a fun person to have in our improvised-music scene, and you can decide. First off, banish the oompah shit from your head. This is not that kind of tuba. McDonald also doesn’t play like a bassist in a jazz band—no matter the ensemble, she creates a unique role for herself. Part of this comes from the way she uses amplification.

Vietnamese and Vietnamese-adjacent people don’t need me to tell them about bánh chưng, not any more than my fellow white folks need me to explain that fruitcake exists. But maybe, like me, you’ve been shamefully slow to try all the glossy green leaf-wrapped packets sold at bakeries, restaurants, and grocery stores in Uptown’s Asian enclave.