Shiny, Deep and Ears Ringing

A friend had invited me to meet her for drinks and then join her for "The Color Purple" at the Landmark Theater.

That wasn't going to work because I had plans to see a music show at 9:00, but we decided to meet for drinks anyway.

Conveniently for me, she chose the Belvidere at Broad at 5:45. Foolishly, neither of us had considered the number of people who would be there at 5:30 for a pre-theater meal.

It's not like we had a tough time getting bar stools because we didn't, but the hustle and bustle around us was non-stop for the harried staff. On the plus side, they knew it would mostly go away by 7:45.

Except that it didn't. Oh, sure, plenty of people left to make the curtain, including my friend, but even more showed up looking for food and drink on a Saturday night. No one had any idea what the craziness was about.

My friend and I enjoyed the Hahn Cabernet Sauvignon as we chatted about our upcoming trips. In the blink of an eye, it was time for her to leave and I was left with half a glass of wine and no one to talk to. Luckily that didn't last long.

Friends of a friend came in, and took the table behind me, so with a swivel of the hips, I had two friendly faces and eager conversationalists while they ate their burgers and downed their beer flight.

To taunt our mutual friend, we took a picture of me and one of the guys and sent it off to him, saying we were on the way to the Girl Talk show at the National (he detests Girl Talk and would undoubtedly wonder how in the world we ended up together). Simple pleasures.

I enjoyed the Belvidere's house applewood-smoked salmon (they do it so well) after their departure and tried to keep up with the rotating cast of characters in the stools nearest me. They seemed to be the staging area for the next available table.

I was soon joined at the bar by a West End foursome waiting for a table. They asked me if I'd eaten there before, launching a 20-minute discussion of where else in the city they should try.

They apologized for living in Short Pump, but now that they're empty-nesters, they're committed to doing all their dining in the city and broadening their horizons. But they needed help.

They eagerly asked for some of my favorite places and dishes and I happily shared my opinions. "Boy, did we talk to the right person," one of the husbands gushed to his wife. "You're a goldmine of information!" he told me. That's me, shiny and deep.

Once they'd moved tableside, I ordered the dark chocolate brownie with vanilla bean gelato, Bailey's dark chocolate whipped cream and a dark chocolate ganache sauce.

When it arrived, a nearby girl grabbed her husband's arm and asked, "What's that? I need that!" They had just arrived. Down, girl. She watched me eat until I pushed the rest away; you could almost see her wondering why I hadn't finished.

When I left, there were close to ten people waiting for tables at the front and it was going on 9:00. I wished owner Julie luck with that (she was as perplexed by it as I was) and walked home to get my car and head to Gibson's.

Tonight's show there was further complicated because of the Girl Talk show at the National. Walking by to get in Gibson's, I passed a lot of kids in shiny clothes, their underage hands marked with a big "X," all ready for a dance party, which Girl Talk would no doubt deliver.

Down in the bowels of Gibson's it was much more civilized. The show began with Dave Watkins on dulcitar, looping himself for layers of sound. At one point, a friend acknowledged, "Ah, the ever-capable Dave Watkins. He's got three loops going at once!"

Before one song in which he'd also be playing drums, he told the crowd, "I'm going to lose my glasses on this one." Before long, they were sliding down his nose and he finally pulled them off and tossed them to the floor. It was an excellent set.

Lobo Mario played next, putting on their best mic'd show ever (since they frequently play without mics) and infusing their folky songs with an enthusiastic energy that engaged the diverse crowd.

At one point Jameson introduced "Laney on accordion" after a particularly robust accordion piece. "Yea, that was me shredding," she said self-deprecatingly. Their down-tempo cover of Elvis' "Can't Help Falling in Love" brought the house down.

DC's The Orchid headlined and, as a big fan of post-rock, I was thrilled to hear these guys perform. Like all post-rock groups, there was the serious wall of guitar sound (three) plus a drummer, with no vocals playing big, beautiful soundscapes alternately loud and quiet.

Unlike most post-rock groups, however, they had an amplified violin player (he doubled on keyboards), making for quite an interesting addition to their sound.

Unfortunately, during his solos (and between songs) the thumping bass of the Girl Talk show rattled the ceiling of the room. Fortunately, when they were all playing, their bold sound pushed right back.

When their stellar set was over, I said my farewells to my friends and headed over to Sprout, hoping to catch some of the show going on there.

Owner Laurie's band Catnip Dreams was playing and I hadn't seen them since last summer's Jonny Z Fest show where they absolutely shone on Shields Street.

As soon as I walked in the door, a friend came up to tell me I'd miss their terrific set. Drat the luck.

I headed to the back room for Green Hearts to find the room was packed. Finally a guy took pity on my abbreviated stature and gave me his step, where I could at least see lead singer (and WRIR DJ) Paul Ginder and some of the other band members rocking out.

Their sound was pure 60s/70s and most of the band had on skinny ties. They played tambourine, maracas and cowbell in addition to the usual suspects.

Songs were short and high energy and the crowd was moving non-stop during every 3-minute burst. Sadly, I also saw no less than four people with their fingers in their ears. Tragic, kids, absolutely tragic.

When they finished, the audience clamored for one more and Paul begged off, saying "We can't. We're old." The crowd refused to accept such an un-rock and roll sentiment and they played one more.

Afterwards, I went up to Sprout owner Jamie just before he began DJ'ing vintage vinyl, saying, "Sprout, always reliable for revisiting the past."

"Not a problem, is it?" he grinned.

Would I have been there again if it was? Not to mention that there's always the hope of meeting a like-minded soul over a sixties or seventies groove.