How Deep is My Well

Never let it be said that I can't stop the music.

After stopping at Bellytimber for dinner, we were headed to the Camel for a four-band show.

And while I'm fine with four bands most nights of the week, anyone should know that it's going to be tough to get a crowd to stay until 1 a.m. on Monday eve.

Luckily, that's not an issue for me or my partner in crime for the evening.

Three of the bands were touring and the fourth, while local, was in between returning from Puerto Rico and leaving for their own tour.

The best way to describe the musical variety of the evening would be as an analogy for a pinball game.

In other words, all over the place.

When we got there, the WRIR volunteer party was in full swing, so there were lots of familiar faces slurping up beer after a hard week spent fundraising.

Surprisingly, only a couple of the volunteers stayed for the music. What's up with that?

Once the music started, we moved to that room when we heard Paul Diello's voice and keyboards.

The Englishman in Richmond, he had an Elton John meets Tori Amos thing going on as far as his sound went.

But it was his big voice that carried the music and after he mentioned usually playing with a much larger band, it was easy to imagine that voice with all kinds of backing instruments.

As it was, his keys were a fine accompaniment  for his own songs as well as the Tori Amos cover he did.

He was followed by Murder of One, which was a guy from Florida with a guitar named Charles, who had sort of a punk folk thing going on.

He immediately noted the difference in his hardscrabble voice compared to Paul's, saying, "I wish I'd had voice lessons after listening to Paul."

But his songs were heartfelt and a distinct change from what came before.

Favorite lyric: "The wishing well wasn't deep enough for me."

Naturally given the evening's pattern, his Americana was followed by emo, in the form of Brooklyn's Darling Waste, playing as a three piece, although usually five.

And by emo, I mean scene bangs and tortured lyrics.

While they broke down, Lobo Marino set up in front of the stage and began playing.

They're recently back from old San Juan where they'd had a blast for the most part, including writing some new music.

A lot of it, Jameson said, was about oceans. No surprise there.

They did a few old songs ("Animal Hands" and "The Pope's Nose") and a new song, which they later said they'd screwed up.

Laney has added harmonium to her repertoire, making their sound even more distinctive.

They'd decided to finish their set as the Colloquial Orchestra, which means Dave Watkins on dulcitar and Joon Kim on violin joined them for an epic soundscape that meandered beautifully.

Soaking it all in, I was overcome, not by music but by the open door and the fact that the world is suddenly in bloom (and, no, that's not a metaphor).

I let out an explosive sneeze that, for whatever reason, put the period at the end of the music.

It wasn't intentional, but every pinball game has to end and there was nowhere to go after such a fine final performance.

Except out into the Sunday night calm under the loveliest of moons.

I may not be a musician, but I've been known to add some sound to a Sunday night.

And, yes, that's a metaphor.