Proof in the Pudding

Apparently some people have a crises of music.

As in, a friend mentioned how his friend wanted to meet up to discuss his latest issue.

The problem? Not job woes. Not a relationship faux pas. No alarming diagnosis.

His friend is convinced that Richmond's music scene is dying.

"Go out with me for one night and I'll prove you wrong," my friend told the disillusioned one.

And tonight would have been a perfect example of the diversity of local music there for the taking.

First up, the Listening Room, where cardigan-wearing Jonathan did emcee duties, rambled a bit and then said, "Here they come and here I go."

Corny, maybe but as a friend observed as he walked off, "Jonathan may be about to become a father but he has all the makings of a grandfather."

The "they" he'd mentioned were the Black Brothers, as in Black like the VCU music building, and a quartet of guitar, drums, bass and trumpet.

Their sound was southern, bluesy and, unlike most Listening Room sets, fully electric with drums.

We don't often get drummer face-making at the Listening Room, but we did tonight, except when he had a drumstick in his mouth.

For that matter, we don't often see a pair of loafers or an argyle sweater on the Listening Room stage, either.

As if that weren't different enough, the room was darkened and there were two turntables on stage, both with lights under glass spinning on them for the grooviest of light shows.

We heard "80 Grams," a song about Heath Ledger, "Holding Back," a new song they'd never played live and a dedication to the guitarist's mom on her birthday.

Just when I'd been lulled into listening to them like another indie band, the horn would come in or the drummer would start playing around and I'd remember, oh, yea, there are jazz nerds present.

When they finished, they said they had t-shirts and one CD for sale ("It's $100," the guitarist teased).

So, Exhibit A -southern blues with horn.

At the start of the second set, host Jonathan broke the bad news: he and wife Antonia will be less involved with the Listening Room for a while because of their upcoming spawn's arrival.

I think I saw Antonia tear up when he said it and, frankly, I felt the same.

But even misty, the mom-to-be looked fabulous with a red scarf in her hair, dangling red earrings and a beautiful blue flouncy skirt that qualified her for the queen of the gypsies.

Those two have been the bedrock of the L.R. evenings and their presence will be missed, even if it's only temporary.

And then for something completely different, the Richmanian Ramblers played.

The good people who bring us Romanian gypsy music for two violins, clarinet, upright bass, accordion and acoustic guitar came to sing about drinking, sheep and dancing.

"The next song is a dance song," bassist Nate warned us. "But you guys are sitting, so that won't work."

Vocalist Antonia piped up with, "But it's the Listening Room, so you can't talk, but you can dance. Quietly."

For the record, I saw no dancing, despite the song's call to move our bodies.

And here's another thing I never expected to hear at the L.R. "Here's a song about a terrible dowry."

After having seen them multiple times, I know my favorite tune is what's affectionately called "the sheep love song."

In it, a shepherdess and her shepherd boyfriend call to each other across the hills and I love their emotive call and response (not that I understand Romanian, but I get their intent).

I knew there were a lot of first-timers at the L.R. tonight and I love what a diverse program they experienced on their initial visit.

Okay, Exhibit B - Romanian gypsy music.

After the Listening Room, I headed to the Nile to meet a friend for the Malhombre show.

Why more music after two interesting bands?

Because Malhombre's melancholy rock with occasional forays into French pop is too irresistible not to introduce to a musician friend.

And more stylish than you can imagine, with the singer in cream-colored boots and the drummer in amazing plaid pants.

The duo began by saying, "How do you like our projections? It's our honeymoon pictures from Paris and Rome."

All kidding aside, the views projected showed ruins, Citroens and a definite sense of places other than Laurel Street.

Tonight's set was particularly civilized, with the twenty or so people there seated in chairs and raptly paying attention to singer/guitarist Blasco and his partner Giustino, working up a righteous sweat on the drums.

There was a song in French, a momentous song ("I wanna be in tune for this song cause it's important") and lots of major chords ("He plays all major chords," my musician friend observed. "Just when I think he's going to go all sad, he sounds happy.").

Naturally with the French involved, there was a song about being drunk and in love.

"At the same time!" interjected Giustino.

"I don't know if I've ever been love sober," cracked Blasco.

He passed his hat, telling the audience, "If any of you want to contribute to our life, you can."  We did.

When they tried to end, the crowd called for more.

To top off a fine set, they played a "relationship song from the man's point of view."

Who knew there was such a thing?

Alright, Exhibit C - melancholy French pop/rock.

The music scene here has dried up? Seriously?

I'd say the crises is among those sitting at home while horns blow, sheep make love and major chords abound.

Call me crises-less.