Bowing to the Sunday Monkey God

And Sunday nights just got better.

Dinner had to be quick because the new music series at Helen's was supposed to begin around seven-ish.

That turned out to be an optimistic estimate, but you have to plan for the earliest.

Don't Look Back won by default, despite knowing that the multiple screens would be tuned to the big game, about which I cared not a whit.

And while I'm fond of their nachos, I'd like to respectfully suggest to the kitchen staff that drowning the plate in salsa inevitably leads to seriously soggy, might I even say drowned, chips by the time you're halfway through.

Fortunately, our sweet server noticed the dilemma, offering to bring additional chips with which to capture the beans, cheese, lettuce and tomatoes remaining on waterlogged chips.

The situation was salvaged.

From there, it was on to Helen's for their relatively new Sunday night music series.

The place was still decorated in full-on holiday mode, right down to the plastic light-up wise men and sheep looking down over the open kitchen.

Waiting for the bands to set up, I indulged in mocha mousse with frozen hazelnut custard and hazelnut crumbles.

Mousse, sure, we've all had that, but the frozen hazelnut custard was out of this world, more substantial than whipped cream and not so common as gelato.

It was an unexpected dessert score.

First up was Adam Weatherford, a singer/songwriter who'd been billed as having an "Oh-so beautiful drifting voice and sound that takes you through the forest to the sea."

Hyperbolic as it sounds, it wasn't far off.

In addition to his own beautiful songs, many of which were written in 2007 in Central America, he did some superb covers.

He did one by Virginia native Mark Linkous of Sparklehorse, "a cover by my man, Beck," and Gram Parsons' "Return of the Grievous Angel."

Oh, and I remember something you once told me
And I'll be damned if it did not come true
20,000 roads I went down, down, down
And they all led me straight home to you

He also did a song he'd written yesterday, saying, "I'm going to play a new one I never played before. You guys are my crash test dummies."

So new it necessitated him clipping the words to the mic.

After his set, he admitted to messing up a couple lines, but from where I sat, it sounded beautiful.

Burlington, Vermont's Hello Shark, a quartet, played next, taking up all the room in the front alcove and using a vintage amp that fascinated the music geeks in the room.

They'd been billed as, "dreamy indie with lulling vocals and a killer backbeat" and delivered on all that, plus poetic lyrics about things like fireflies, backpacks and Hamlet.

Sample lyric: The sky was a tie dye t-shirt today.

Midway through their set a group of drunk-looking football fans arrived wearing Patriots jerseys and the Vermonters took notice.

"I didn't think there were any pro football fans in the south," the lead singer said. "We're New England fans."

You'd think fans who got that kind of a welcome could have shut up for the band, but they didn't.

Their last song, "The Rolling Stones," was definitely not about how much they liked the aging rockers, but showed a sense of humor.

Globehoppers Lobo Marino finished up the show with their tribal drumming, chanting and room-filling songs.

It was interesting watching the guys in Hello Shark stop in their tracks and focus on the sounds Lobo Marino was making.

Or maybe they just don't get to hear a harmonium or see someone drumming on a vase all that often.

"Celebrate" got not only the touring band's attention, but that of the whole room who finally mostly quieted down to listen.

As many times as I've heard them, tonight was the first time I heard their Hindu chant, which Laney introduced by saying, "We're gonna vibe on it" before singing a tribute to the monkey god.

You could practically smell the incense burning.

But then, it always gets groovy when Lobo Marino plays.

By the time they finished, I was reminded how lucky we are that while they're gone a lot, they always come back to share with their friends and fans.

So we'd been through the forest to the sea with lulling vocals and a killer backbeat leading to Laney and Jameson screaming themselves to enlightenment.

You know, just another Sunday night music series in Richmond.

Luckily it didn't take me going down, down, down 20,000 roads to get there.