At the Sock Hop

It's hard to top Brazilians in the living room.

So when I learned that a favorite girlfriend had no plans on this, her birthday, I took matters in hand.

We will go out for a celebratory drink and then we will go hear a band at the mid-century modern home of some talented friends.

And not just any band, but a Brazilian one. One fresh off of playing South by Southwest. One playing music that will cross genres and moods.

With a Brazilian chef,  Bistro 27 got the nod for where to toast her natal anniversary and dish about life while sipping Sangiovese.

A couple came in whom she knew and they finally got our attention away from each other.

Like us, they had interesting plans for the evening, theirs being a fundraiser involving drag queens.

Soon I heard a knock on the front window and there I saw some music-loving friends, who came in to say hello.

It was turning into a party right there.

The restaurant was packed, so we felt certain no one would  miss us when we slipped out and headed across the river.

Finding the charming rancher (circa 1957) was a snap given her breadth of knowledge about southside, a good thing given that mine is non-existent.

We walked in to find the band, Marcelo and os Cozinheiros, doing a sound check on the eggshell-colored wall-to-wall carpeting.

That's all it took to know that we were in the right place.

The lead singer of the band came over and introduced himself as Marcelo, a generous gesture.

We found seats to wait for openers the Low Branches to start when suddenly I realized that we were the only people in the room with shoes on.

In our excitement arriving, we'd missed the sign requesting that we remove our shoes.

Done and done.

More people arrived, although not nearly as many as I'd expected, including some favorite music lovers I'd felt sure would want to hear these guys.

Oh, well, you snooze, you lose.

The Low Branches's Christina began by saying, "Welcome to the sock hop!" to the small group spread across the floor, the couch and up against the wall and dining room table.

She explained that their Parisian drummer had a stomach bug so they'd be a string trio tonight

They began their set with the exquisite "100 Years," allowing Christina's beautiful voice to wow the Brazilian boys as they stood transfixed.

It was during their third song that a cat unexpectedly ran into the room, took one look at the group in socks and hightailed it back to the bedroom.

Clearly, Toast was not impressed.

It cracked up Christina, though, and she laughed intermittently throughout the rest of the song.

They closed with Dolly Parton's "Jolene," a song well suited to the band's talents and one that got a huge ovation.

The scientist, sitting near me on the couch, stood up afterwards and, referencing the song, looked at me and said, "Flaming locks of auburn hair."

Hey, I'm no Jolene.

Afterwards, we were back to mingling when a musician friend said that she'd have to leave soon to feed her new baby.

Trying to decide whether to leave before the band started their set or during it, I forced my opinion on her (see my profile, right).

Since I'd heard their sound check and she hadn't, I knew with certainty that she was going to like these guys.

I suggested they stay for at least one song, if only to feed her new-mother soul.

She agreed and took up residence with her two guys up against the wall in front of the band.

Marcelo and os Cazinheiros consisted of a singer, a bass player, two guitarists and a drummer.

Marcelo said that "cazinheiros" meant cooks and it didn't take long to understand the choice of word.

Their music was a savory concoction of Brazilian music like bossa nova and samba, with tango and tropicalia thrown in, along with jazz and pop.

Marcelo was a dynamite front man with an expressive voice, a dramatic delivery and an obvious delight in his enthusiastic audience.

They began with two beautiful, poetic-sounding songs, both with great grooves and then explained what they were about.

The one they'd just sung, Marcelo said, was about relationships. And the first, well, that had been about relationships, too.

I was hardly surprised to find that Brazilian men are in touch with their relationship feelings.

"Now to take the stage away," Marcelo said, indicating the area right in front of the band, "We'll play some Herbie Hancock."

Boy, did things get funky then.

Before long, one of the guests, Bio Ritmo's Giustino (in a stylish red shirt because he'd just come from playing congas with an army band...what?) went out to his car and grabbed his cuica.

I say that not because I recognized it, but because the scientist saw it, nudged me and said, "Cuica."

What fascinated me was how it was played: he took a moistened cloth and rubbed the wooden stick fastened at one end inside the drum, producing high-pitched sounds which he used as accents to t he music.

Soon the band noticed him back by the dining room table and looked at him, all smiling broadly.

After the song's many improvisations ended, the singer looked up and inquired, "Where did that cuica come from?"

With his trademark grin, Giustino deadpanned, "Brazil? I only brought it out because you guys were jamming."

I don't know who looked more thrilled about the addition of cuica, the Brazilians or the stealth cuica player.

Because the had a new album out called "Aion," he explained how all the different concepts of time was central to the album's music.

Aion, in particular, referred to non-measurable amounts of time, like eternity or infinity.

The next song was introduced as being half in Portuguese and half in English, "So you'll know some of the words," the charismatic Marcelo promised.

"Point of View," he explained combined the tropical sounds of Brazil with the subtropical sounds of Uruguay and Argentina and tango and rock.

"Because everyone has been doing the rock since the '80s," he claimed as the song took the temperature up to high.

"That was a very dramatic one," he said, finishing with a flourish.

Unsure of the time, he asked of our host how many more songs they should sing.

When host Josh went to look at his phone to see, Marcelo reminded him, "Better to decide with your ears, not the clock."

Fortunately, that meant we got two more songs, although several of us wanted more like ten.

For the samba they did next, Giustino was called to play cuica in the midst of the band, moving his feet nonstop as he did so.

For the very last song, it was no holds barred and half the group was following Giustino's rhythmic lead in clapping and others were dancing sinuously in the midst of it all.

It was an all-out Brazilian bash in the middle of a '50s living room and the sound was all but perfect.

The birthday girl and I went up to Marcelo to thank him for such a stellar night of music, but all he wanted was to interview us on camera.

So the same camera that had captured the intimacy of a Richmond house show now captured our effusive babbling about our new favorite Brazilian band.

Marcelo's smile grew wider the longer we gushed.

Thank you so much for coming out, he said in farewell.

No, Marcelo, thank you and the boys for making a side trip to this lovely living room on an evening when my friend needed a once-in-a-lifetime birthday treat.

I'd have been there anyway, entranced by your smooth grooves, but I'm pretty sure you made her birthday the best ever.

Or at least the best in aion.