I would not call this song particularly sad—“melancholy” might be the better term, starting with the untimely death of a friend. But full disclosure “God in Chicago” rarely fails to reduce me to wanton sobbing. Maybe that’s because it’s so goddamn beautiful. And it may be a bit of a misnomer to call it a song, though some singing does occur. But not much. Mostly Finn, a principal in the band the Hold Steady with a now-established solo career, is simply talking, storytelling, accompanied by somber piano chords. I don’t know the Hold Steady well enough to compare. The singer / storyteller’s friend has died, and his friend’s sister has discovered “unfinished business” among his effects, “roughly the size of a baseball.” She doesn’t want to just throw it out so she contacts this storyteller, who has a college buddy willing to buy it, “but we’d have to come to him.” The dealer is in Chicago. The sister wants to come with. They start early and spend the time listening to 1999 and Led Zeppelin III on a failing boombox in the backseat. They get there. The deal goes down without incident. Then the sister says, “I've never been to Chicago / I've got nothing going on tomorrow / Maybe we could stay here tonight / Lose ourselves in the glass and light.” And so they do. They get a hotel room, eat and drink at an Italian restaurant. It’s headed exactly where you think. Or, as Finn memorably puts it, “We all want the same things,” which is also the name of the album this track is from. As a sentiment, as a truism, as a platitude, I’m not sure it has ever sounded more right. The song ends on their return: “We drove back all hungover / And all the way to Eau Claire, she played with her hair / Came up on St. Paul and she was sobbing.” So am I. So are you. And that’s it, the end, except for maybe playing it again, to verify the amazing, powerful magic going on here. I’ve since been through Finn’s solo catalog and haven’t found anything close to this searing, haunting tale.
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