BD Kickoff: Jaleo and Fleet Foxes

My birthday, which arrives next Monday, has over the years become a pastiche of traditions that make me happy.

I spend a good week celebrating, preferably with as many of my friends as possible, in as many possible ways as we can think of.

And there is always a birthday show, often out of town, involving a band I'm eager to see, even if it requires a splurge.

This year's celebration kicked off today with a solo road trip to Washington for a few of my favorite things: art, food and music.

1. The Art Part

Ever since I'd read the Post's article on "Out-Vermeering Vermeer," I'd been dying to see the Gabriel Metsu show at the National Gallery.

This Dutch master, with whom I had no familiarity, was a gifted visual storyteller with a knack for color and brushstrokes and I spent a good part of my afternoon admiring works I'd never even seen in books.

Skilled at paintings of market scenes, his depictions of sellers and buyers were informative and charming.  "A Baker Blowing His Horn" had one of the most elaborate loaves of bread I've ever seen.

"A Vegetable Market in Amsterdam" showed all kinds of drama: a vendor arguing with a customer, a man hitting on a maid, a dog staring down a rooster.

Have I missed all that at the Byrd House Market?

But my favorite Metsus were the many which depicted a man insinuating himself into a woman's world. "Woman Tuning her Cittern Approached by Man," "The Intruder" showed a man bursting into a lady's bedchamber with two woman showing surprise, "A Hunter Visiting a Woman at her Toilet," ( I overheard a man tell his wife, ""That doesn't mean a toilet, it means she's doing her make-up." Seriously) and "A Man Visiting a Woman Washing Her Hands."

That's a lot of men where they shouldn't have been.

My favorite title was "Woman Composing Music with an Inquisitive Man."

And as he leaned over her chair, the man smiled, clearly showing intent of I can't say what.

Couldn't he see she had music to compose?

I also took in "The Gothic Spirit of John Taylor Arms," a printmaking exhibit of a twentieth-century architect- turned- printmaker who embraced all things Gothic at a time when others were embracing modernity.

His prints of Venice (with every building mirrored perfectly in the canals) and France were breathtaking and while there were a few of New York City, he gave up on Gotham because he "did not love the buildings and couldn't etch what he didn't love."

Now that's a devoted printmaker.

2. The Dinner Part

I left my car parked in front of the NGA and walked up to Jaleo just in time to beat the rain.

A native Washingtonian who lived in the neighborhood sat down next to me and provided company for the next few hours.

She's a regular at Jaleo, so I listened to her recommendations and then ordered what I wanted.

Jaleo does happy hour every day except Saturday, so I enjoyed the Campos de Luz white wine because of its appealing price tag and easy drinkability.

I was high on art anyway by that point.

First I did the endives with goat cheese, oranges and slivered almonds.

My new friend described them as "the perfect first course...or last."

With their clean, crisp flavors, I tended to agree.

Next I had my first sea urchin, mixed with diced peppers, tomatoes and cucumbers and served over ice.

The cilantro-laced oil gave a richness to the urchin I hadn't expected.

Carlos was our bartender and he knew my seatmate well, but it was my glass that received the bonus pour when he got near the end of a bottle.

I asked if it was because I'd driven up from Richmond.

"It's so that you'll come back," he said.

Spicy chorizo wrapped in paper-thin slices of crispy potato arrived and there were six good-sized pieces of sausage, more than I expected. my new friend, concerned about the spiciness, offered up Pepto-Bismol should I need it.

Not likely with my iron gut.

Carlos insisted I try the shrimp sauteed in garlic, butter and guindilla pepper because of its classic nature.

Good, but too rich by that point in the meal.

He also suggested the dark chocolate mousse with cocoa spongecake and hazelnut ice cream and I managed to find room for that, but then I had all that extra wine to finish it with.

Before I left, my friend gave me her number and insisted I return for a night out to celebrate my birthday, even offering a discounted hotel room to entice me further.

"We could have so much fun," she laughed.

3. The Music Part

My choice for birthday band this year was Fleet Foxes because I needed to hear Robin Pecknold's voice live before I die.

Lyrically and harmony-wise, they really have no folk peer at the moment.

The show was at D.A.R. Constitution Hall, always such a civilized place to see a show because it's a seated venue and they require shows be over by 11:00.

Because I hadn't bought my ticket the day they went on sale, I was in the upper tier in Row L.

It was high, but it was on the side of the stage so I had a good view.

Within minutes of sitting down, a girl came over and asked, "Are you alone?"

Seems he wanted to trade one of her mismatched tickets so she could sit nearer her friend, also in the upper tier.

"It's in the orchestra, third row. I don't think your view will be obstructed."

From Row C? No, I guess not.

I graciously exchanged my nosebleed ticket for her third row.

I honestly don't know how these things happen to me.

Seattle's Cave Singers opened the show with beautiful harmonies (well, you'd better if you're opening for harmony virtuosos FF), guitar, drums, washboard, tambourine and harmonica.

The only fly in the ointment was all the talkers during their set.

Not so for Fleet Foxes; the audience was positively worshipful except for shouting out between songs.

 I honestly don't understand how people can think bands want to hear things like "We love you" and "You're perfect!" every night.

At least be creative with your shoutouts, kids.

The best I heard was, "Play what you want!" to which Pecknold replied, "Thank you, sir."

Pecknold was not a big chatter between songs, but it didn't matter given how tight and beautiful the band sounded throughout.

Lots of guitars, drums, mandolin, upright bass, keyboard, tambourine, two flutes and even a bass clarinet made for every complementary sound required.

As a result, much tuning went on and it became a running joke.

"No one understands the meta spectacle thing we're trying to do with the tuning thing," they joked. "So be amazed."

This crowd was more than happy to listen to these guys tune.

In between bands, I struck up a music conversation with the two twenty-somethings next to me in Row C, only to learn that most of the music they listen to is old.

CSNY, Dylan, that sort of thing.

I made my usual case for new music, but they consider their generation a failure at creativity.

Fleet Foxes is one of a very few current bands they tolerate.

Imagine my surprise, when I asked where the one guy lived (the monosyllabic one having returned to looking at his phone) and he said, "Richmond, Grace between Strawberry and Allison."

You mean a block I walk every day of my life?

Small fricking world, isn't it?

I drive two hours up soul-sucking 95 to sit next to  someone who lives less than a mile from me.

It is to laugh.

And the music was to savor.

The haunting lyrics, the multi-part harmonies, the evocation of a sound that will never go out of style all made for the best kind of birthday show.

As any FF fan in the audience could predict, the band did the title track from their new album "Helplessness Blues" as the final encore.

The crowd could no longer contain itself and rose to its feet to listen to the ode to becoming part of something bigger than yourself.

All I can say is, it's a hell of a start to my birthday week celebration.

Keep it coming.