Darling If U Want Me 2

My aura seems to be attracting transplants.

For the second night in a row, I spent an evening listening to music with a stranger new to Richmond and already eager to sing its praises.

It happened over at Crossroads, a place I'd never been until December 1st and which I've now visited twice in barely over a month.

This time it  was for Rattlemouth, those practitioners of world music with the devoted, dancing following.

I first saw them back in 2008 at Art 6 of all places and with no idea what to expect, my companion and I had been hugely impressed with the way they could take, say, an Ethiopian groove and run with it until it became something wholly their own.

Since I'd been to Crossroads at the beginning of December for the mobbed Loversville show (they love their country music on southside...as did I that night), they'd added a patio pavilion with heaters, increasing the number of people they could seat for a show.

Even so, with my thin blood, I had no intention of sitting anywhere but indoors and just for good measure in this ungodly cold, ordered a large hot chocolate, too.

With whipped cream, but only because they didn't offer me marshmallows.

My server made it while singing along to the Stylistics "Betcha By Golly Wow," a song not every man could manage but he was spot on with the high notes.

He also acquitted himself admirably on Prince's "I Would Die 4 U," I happened to notice.

I took my liquid warmth to sit down at the only table inside, a circular six-top, assuming that the other tables had been moved to the patio to accommodate Rattlemouth's girth.

The five piece (guitar, bass, drums, electric cello and sax) takes up a goodly amount of room and anyone who's seen them knows that where they go, dancers follow, so space was essential.

So when a guy approached me asking if he could share my table, I welcomed him in, asking what kind of awful person would deny a stranger a chair.

"I came from New York and people do stuff like that all the time," he said, smiling. Well, this is Virginia, man, and we're a tad more gracious than that.

Ryan sat down and introduced himself, explaining that he was a recent transplant, having visited his mother in Lakeside during Christmas 2012 and been so impressed with our fair city that he'd since moved down here.

It was the usual RVA suspects that got under his skin and won him over: cost of living, quality of life, rarity of snow.

He was just starting to get into the local music scene and had been advised to check out Rattlemouth. I told him that was good advice because their world music sound, dancey in a hypnotic sort of way with its odd time signatures, allows the sizable talent of the band's members to shine.

Waiting for the band to set up, he told me about his work, his music and some upcoming projects he was excited about, one of which involved writing. When he found out what I did, he was almost giddy at all we had to talk about

When another guy joined our table and heard Ryan was a first-timer, he gushed, "You're gonna love 'em," causing Ryan to look at me and grin.

Yea, I told you that already.

Two songs in and everyone in the room was totally into it, heads and shoulders grooving, except maybe the guy who'd made my hot chocolate who was juggling behind the counter.

By the fourth song, the first dancers took the floor, doing the particular dance moves that this music elicits in fans. Part modern dance, part Deadhead butterfly-catching dance, part loose-limbed spastic, there were some serious moves being busted.

When one woman at our table got up to dance, she said over her shoulder, "It draws you out eventually."

Even the musicians weren't immune and when the sax player wasn't playing, he was holding his instrument horizontally and dancing with it side to side, eyes closed.

When a song would build to a pitch, the dancers became almost frenzied echoing the intensity of the music.

After the break ("Take a moment to talk amongst yourselves," we were instructed and you know I did), the band came back strong, barely giving the dancing crowd time to catch their breath between songs.

Hell, even the staff were dancing behind the counter by that point. Irresistible grooves wait for no one.

Ryan got up to leave before the last song, but not before handing me a piece of paper with his e-mail and phone number on it.

"Maybe you can mentor me about Richmond," he said before waving good-bye.

You're going to love it, friend. I'm telling you now.