Bring Me Your Shoegaze

When you begin your evening with pheasant ravioli in a sage butter sauce, it surely must mean that wonderful things are ahead for the evening. And they were.

I dropped by my neighborhood joint for wine and then got sucked in by the ravioli du jour, savoring its delicate flavor and rich sauce while enjoying conversation with the staff about how only regular customers have the nerve to show up not long before closing, knowing they will be welcomed, and allowed to linger.

That contingent at Bistro 27 tonight included the Italian four-top, the wine shop owner and his main squeeze, and yours truly once the crowd thinned out, which was just fine with me. I never lack for chatty types in the neighborhood. And then it was music time.

Tonight's Live at Ipanema show featured The Diamond Center and was technically a redo since they'd already played once. But there had been recording issues, so we were graced with their shoegaze presence a second time.

Let me just state for the record that Kirk's twelve-string guitar made my night and I told him so. I'm a huge fan of the twelve-string anyway and too few guitarists use it, so when one does, I become his slave. Or maybe enraptured would be a better description.

The Diamond Center is already doing everything right as far as I'm concerned and I've seen them probably a half dozen times in the year since they relocated to RVA, first from Athens, GA and then Lubbock, TX, absorbing influences along the way.

Noisy guitars, reverb, male and female vocals, psychedelic sounds and 60s-ish pop can only mean one thing to me: music from a cave! If I were any more devoted to this musical genre, I'd have to marry it (and I'm not the marrying kind).

It worked out well, too, because I'd taken my favorite bar stool, situated next to band photographer extraordinaire P.J. Sykes and his honey and we were joined by a couple of superb local musicians I know, providing me with a coterie of music geeks. How do I get so lucky sometimes?

Being near the door put us essentially behind and to the side of the band, making for ideal listening because TDC can be loud and the volume was pitch perfect where we were and we still had a view.

We also had the added benefit of being near the door, allowing cool air to enter the rapidly warming restaurant. With each addition to the crowd, the body heat rose exponentially.

I saw no less than six guys remove their sweaters mid-set, seven if you include the bartender (and why would we not include the charming, musical and artistic Brandon?). Between songs, guitarist Kirk also acknowledged the heat in the band's corner, but I didn't see him remove anything.

After a set that included a song the band had learned only last night, the appreciative crowd clapped their devotion loudly. The usual post-show mingling began and I lucked into a conversation with a musician about the importance of sequencing a band's CD or even a mix tape, a subject near and dear to my heart.

Maybe it's the time I spent working in radio, but I always notice train wrecks; you know, when one song follows the wrong song and your ear tells you that they should never have been placed together.

Tonight I learned that there are other people who feel that way, too. We didn't start a support group or anything, but we may have wallowed a bit in our mutual music obsession. Clearly it was good for both of us, because he requested a hug afterwards.

Considering how I spent most of the day, I couldn't have asked for a better finish to it.

A twelve-string guitar and music from a cave: the panacea for anything that might ail me.

Well, almost anything.