Boy Bar/Girl Bar

You won't often find me at Penny Lane Pub, soured as I was by a night of watching really bad karaoke there last fall. And then there's that male-only crowd that sits on the patio assessing each new customer as if they were grading meat.

But Prabir and company were having an All Access Blog Launch party for the Richmond Symphony and the intersection of the two was too compelling to pass up. That and I was sure Prabir would give me crap if I didn't show.

Based on what was being shown at the party, the new website will definitely be a step forward in attracting viewers. It looks like there will be interviews and offbeat stories about the musicians and staff (like Prabir) and it'll be updated at least twice a week, making for some interesting reading and viewing for RSO fans and even the mildly interested. Hey, symphony musicians are people, too, or so I was told.

Prabir introduced me to a local show poster designer with great musical taste, so I enjoyed myself talking to him about my poster collection, why opening bands matter and how Shepard Fairey came through town without either of us being aware, despite our mutual rabid interest in seeing him. I love meeting new people who share my interests and like to talk.

When I left the pub, I went straight to the VMFA for a showing of the documentary Amandla! A Revolution in Four-Part Harmony, a tie-in to the South African photography exhibit I saw last week. The film was powerful, depicting the chronology of the South African liberation struggle for blacks in music and protests.

I was fascinated by the way the people used song to unite themselves and share their struggles with one another during those bleak years that their townships and lives were being destroyed. Ten years in the making, the combination of interviews and performances (some as casual as back yard a capella) encompassed countless musicians, activists and exiles to tell the story.

The audience was absolutely silent throughout, probably because of the need to listen to heavily accented voices in some cases and also because of the poignancy of the stories people shared. The combination of news footage and present-day interviews seamlessly told a story in which we all knew the ending, but were nonetheless drawn in.

Images of protesters being beaten and even shot were difficult to watch but a necessary part of the story. And throughout, the music was uplifting and inspiring and shared by the masses. As one former exile said, for black South Africans, the good times have just begun.

After the screening, I headed right up to the Best Cafe because I knew Hotel X was playing. The cafe was positively frigid, so I found a chair on the outside deck and settled in with a piece of chocolate torte for some world music-inspired jazz. I knew from seeing the band last winter that I would not be disappointed with their wide-ranging sound.

Even better, the weather put on a visual show while Hotel X provided the musical accompaniment. Facing west, I was surrounded by the reflecting pool with a view of the sculpture garden and the Pauley Center. Lightening lit up the sky over the trees and occasional thunder rumbled in the distance. It was perfect late summer night weather.

A light rain fell too quietly to hear, but I could see the drops hitting the pool in the dim light. Overhead, the deck of Amuse shielded me from getting wet while I enjoyed the balmy night air. The only jarring note was when someone inadvertently left the cafe door open and a blast of arctic air hit me. Although the dancing crowd would probably have disagreed, I really did feel like I had the best seat in the house.

When their last set ended, I decided to finish the night at nearby Secco. By some miracle, it was not mobbed, although every single barstool was taken. Julia surrendered her spot at the bar, closed her laptop and suggested we share a couch and catch up.

There was rose, there was cheese (Midnight Moon) and loveliest of all, there were even pink bubbles (Manoir de la Tete "Tete a Claques" sparkling rose), all necessary fortification for the tales of obtuse fathers, audacious young men and observation of overly botoxed customers ("Wait till she turns around. She looks like the Joker!" She did, too).

And that's not even counting the street theater that is the corner of Sheppard and Cary Streets, a magnet for colorful characters and unexpected behavior the later in the evening it gets ("Did he just...?" Yes, he did).

Julia mentioned the irony of a tomboy, which she most certainly is, ending up with a wine bar that attracts a majority female clientele. It's definitey not a place to go if a girl is hoping to meet someone of the opposite sex; the few men in attendance are inevitably with a female.

It's sort of the anti-Penny Lane Pub. Tonight I was one of those females who can go either way...or both.