No History of Heartbreaking

Musical appetizer followed by musical entree.

Daniel Bachman was playing an in-store at Steady Sounds so I joined a room full of mostly guys to see the guy NPR described as an American primitive-style acoustic guitarist.

What I liked about him was how he got so into his songs, whether about his new home, Orange County, N.C. or his sister, that he seemed to forget about all the people in the store.

I had just read something about how Carlos Santana calls reaching that zone a "state of grace" and it sure looked to me like that's where Daniel was while surrounded by adoring guitar geeks.

Sure, I admired, but I was not worthy of admiring his talent.

Then, tonight's main event was the Listening Room, holiday edition.

That meant candy canes, hot chocolate and the usual array of baked goods, my contribution being brownies with nuts and caramel.

Given the holiday season, it was no surprise that most of the usual crew was missing in action but the second string took up the slack admirably.

The poet played door person/bouncer, stamping hands and handing out programs while updating me on her love life.

Sounds like she and the man of her dreams will be looking for some country living when he moves here come January.

The scientist who teaches at VCU came in wearing a dapper sweater vest and telling us about the cleaver tie pin (his Dad was a butcher) he intends to wear for finals next week.

I scurried back to my usual seat amongst strangers instead of familiar faces. Sadly.

Molly Parden from Nashville played first, gracing the room with her lovely voice and the beautiful tones of her guitar.

Singing songs about a friend with a messy kitchen, another from Kentucky and her Dad ("The Story of a Man") who lives in the Atlanta suburbs, she even did a Christmas one, "Through the Snow" by Nashville songwriter Nathan Phillips.

"I was a heartbreaker at nineteen," she explained introducing 'Please, Baby, Please,' "and this is the first song I wrote after breaking someone's heart."

I'm ashamed to say that I wrote nothing beyond a journal entry after breaking my first heart, although my defense is my lack of musical ability.

She entreated us to come say hello after her set, saying, "I'd love to meet you and shake your hand and meet your children if they're here."

During the break I ran into a friend who hadn't brought her child and we discoursed on the subject of getting the right ratio of hot chocolate to marshmallow, a goal as worthy as making your last bite of sandwich synch up with the final potato chip.

The second act was Classical Revolution RVA, the group devoted to taking classical music out of the concert hall and putting it in restaurants and bars where people talk over it.

Except not at the Listening Room, of course.

Ellen on violin and Andrew on classical guitar played a tango piece to great silence before telling us about an upcoming Mozart festival in Carytown.

Then there was a dark Shostakovitch piece done by a string quartet that got a partial standing ovation, no doubt partly because it was the first time classical music has ever been played at the Listening Room.

And isn't that the beauty of the Listening Room that you can hear the totally unexpected?

Last up was Timbre, also from Nashville and on a Christmas tour with Molly.

Earlier, Molly had warned us that Molly played the harp and that harps were heavenly. "You're going to hear a slice of heaven," she'd forewarned us.

Right she was as Timbre and her sister, Tetra, who'd just come back from Mozambique, proceeded to wow the crowd.

Beginning with "Silent Night," the audience was mesmerized by her voice and the sound of her harp.

Her set included a 16th century carol, "Coventry Carol," played with Tetra.

When violinist Treesa of Classical Revolutions (and the Richmond Symphony) came onstage to join Timbre, she said the plans were changed because the cellist had to leave so she didn't need any strings now.

"That was an ice-cold way to get her off stage," my seatmate, guitar god Prabir said, commenting on Treesa's abrupt dismissal.

Timbre said she was from a musical family, did annual Christmas shows and went on to sing a song she'd written based on a story about red-breasted birds her parents had read her as a child.

It was perfectly lovely if geographically inaccurate.

"The story is set in Israel and has woods and snow, " she commented, allowing for how an Israeli setting negated both those things.

But she also did "O, Holy Night" and a Sufjan Stevens Christmas song because, as she said, "he writes awesome Christmas songs."

He does, but that's no surprise.  On the other hand, the last thing I expected at the Listening Room was Christmas songs and hot chocolate.

How perfectly festive that both offered themselves up.

Molly was right. It was, indeed, a slice of heaven.