Quickening My Humdrum Heart

I am delighted when I light on something different happening.

Tonight, sure, there was the drunken spelling bee at Strange Matter, but there was also Jazz in January at Page Bond gallery.

Promising jazz sketches of Mussorgsky's "Pictures at an Exhibition," works inspired by the "Next" exhibition of emerging artists in the gallery and original works by the band members, I was one of the first six to arrive.

Rows of chairs were laid out in between the walls, inviting listeners in. I took a seat second row center.

Gallery director Page Bond explained that the event had come about because she liked the alliteration of "Jazz in January," but also that one of her favorite recordings was Keith Jarret's "Koln Concert" recording of January 1975, done outside.

"Emerging artists need spaces to show their work or perform their work," she said by way of introduction before the quartet- sax, keys, bass and drums- of VCU jazz students took over.

I took a seat next to a writer I've known for over a decade, a few seats down from a landscape designer for whom I ghostwrite and her husband, a row in front of the former lawyer/restaurateur and his artist wife and settled in to hear music in an artistic setting.

In my element.

From "Pictures at an Exhibition," a work I know better from Emerson, Lake and Palmer's 1971 retelling of it than the original, they began with "Promenade," a piece about moving through the exhibition, sometimes strolling, sometimes briskly.

I know I do both.

Next they did "Il Vecchio Castello," telling the musical story of a troubadour singing outside a castle. It was during this movement that Justin, the upright bass player, began doing the most awkward and impressive bass faces.

The final movement had something to do with clumsily running around without legs, but mostly I was appreciating how into it the pianist was, all turtle necking, shoulders shrugging and mouth moving as he played.

Next came bass player Justin's tribute to all the British hip-hop artists he's been listening to lately, an interesting piece very different than what had come before.

Watching the quartet play against a background of large-scale yellow and green abstract works by emerging artists, I felt sure I'd picked the most interesting thing going on in Richmond tonight.

Drunken spelling bee aside, of course.

They followed that with "A Wink and a Nod," a piece they'd written after touring the "Next" exhibit and a title which reminded me of Faces' 1971 album "A Nod is as Good as a Wink...to a Blind Horse."

Of course, they were all far too young to know that reference.

The prolific bass player Justin had written a ballad called "Meet Me at the Side," a piece that started as a late-night slow dance and segued into something livelier.

Meanwhile, people continued to arrive at the gallery and look for seats or a place to stand and hear the extraordinary music that was happening.

Justin, clearly an emerging composer as well as musician, described his next composition as about biking.

"Nothing is more freeing than biking this city," he said. "When I first came here as a college student, I found I could go anywhere in the confines of the city on my bike This is a piece about freeing yourself."

The music had a traveling sound, sometimes meandering, other times deliberately heading up hills and occasionally just cruising, absolutely carefree.

We heard a re-harmonized version of the Cole Porter classic, "What Is This Thing Called Love?" with sax player Myrick saying he hoped we liked it.

What's not to like when talented musicians are playing Cole Porter live surrounded by art?

Band original "Wizard" followed Myrick's "Stars in Her Eyes" before they closed with "Seize the Joy," an imperative I took as gospel.

After the performance, I joined many others in looking at the "Next" group exhibition, recognizing a couple of artists' names - Alyssa Solomon, Nell  Blaine- and seeing how easy it must have been for the musicians to take inspiration from the works on the walls.

When I got home, it was to a message from Holmes, entreating me to join him and his main squeeze at, wait for it, Lucy's.

Okay, so I'd been there for lunch earlier today, but why would I not go join friends there now?

By the time I arrived minutes later, they'd polished off a cheese and charcuterie plate (raving about the flank steak) and were awaiting entrees.

I sat down next to another J-Ward resident who wanted to convince me that the heart of the neighborhood lies on the other side of I-95.

Sorry, I beg to differ, explaining the parameters of J-Ward, with which he was unfamiliar.

My friends were drinking beer and cocktails, leaving me no choice but Espolon on the rocks as they shared their succulent medium rare Monrovia farms N.Y. strip (a curious naming juxtaposition, no?) with me.

As they gushed about the flavorful meat, I told them about the happy cows I'd met at Monrovia Farms. One follows the other.

The sounds of Edith Piaf and Billie Holliday soon gave way to Alabama Shakes and Of Monsters and Men as I joined them in another round and dessert, a flourless chocolate torte with fresh whipped cream and raspberries.

We got off on the subject of camping (not my thing), brothers who marry the same woman (Holmes can attest to it) and, not surprisingly, "Pictures at an Exhibition."

"Did they play 'Kiev Gates'?" Holmes, the resident classical music expert wanted to know. "Because the only reason anyone plays that other stuff is so that they can get to 'Kiev Gates."

I was pretty sure they hadn't, much to his disdain.

A someone who knows less about classical music than Holmes has forgotten, it didn't matter much to me.

I'd enjoyed every minute of the eclectic musical program and it's hard to beat ending a night with friends, happy cow meat and tequila.

Seizing the joy left and right, I am. And just so you know, I could have nailed that drunken spelling bee if I'd wanted to.