Honey, You Can Get Lost in the Music

Everything about the evening sang.

Part of it was the superb meal I had at Aziza's, alone at the bar for tapas Tuesday with two servers to talk to until the dining room began to fill up. One looked at the other, observing, "Well, I guess we got our wish."

Clearly that wish had been to for things to get bustling.

Starting with Chincoteague oysters on the half shell with cider vinegar mignonette, I moved on to a salad as colorful as a box of crayons: deep green arugula, bright red pomegranate, deep purple roasted beets and the delicately pastel orange of smoked salmon, all lightly dressed in a citrus vinaigrette.

The music was poking along with James Taylor and 10,000 Maniacs, when all of a sudden it rocketed into the here and now with Boy and Bear's wistful, California rock-wannabe "Southern Sun," not a complaint since I own the album.

But it was surprising to hear after the dated stuff that had preceded it so I asked what the station was.

"Coffeehouse," she replied. "You're the second person who just asked."

I'd been taking my time ordering courses and all of a sudden I realized the time and that I had plans shortly, so I kept up my maritime theme with panzanella fruit de mer, a succulent plate of scallops, shrimp, octopus, marinated bread, tomato, cucumber, lemon, olives and feta.

All I can say is, I have tasted no more beautifully cooked octopus in this town than Chef Philip Denny's and for all those people who think they don't like octopus, you need to taste how this man cooks it.

And if you want to taste it at Aziza's, you better get moving, since he told me tonight that he's leaving in two weeks, moving on to the Hotel John Marshall's pool hall restaurant coming in early May.

When I talked to him, he sounded as excited as a kid about finally getting the chance to open a restaurant, a first for him in his career. Since the HJM is even closer to my house, I think it's a fabulous move for both of us.

I hate to leave Aziza's without a cream puff, but Jonathan Russell of the Head and the Heart was playing a show at Black Iris Gallery and I didn't want to miss a minute of it.

With just enough time to greet a few familiar faces, I found a place along the wall only a couple of people back to watch a man in a somber-looking black hat, coat and pants play mournful songs interspersed by funny, running commentary.

There had been some mention of perhaps closing the bar while he played, but Jonathan was having none of that.

"Everyone knows bar service is not closed when I play," he joked. "Now let me take my phone out and turn it off or my Mom will text me all night long."

He began with the pragmatic "No One to Let You Down" ("When you got no one, there's no one one to let you down") and got sadder from there.

"All these songs are so f*cking heavy," he joked."I wish I knew some Jimmy Buffet songs." No, no, no, the crowd shouted. "I guarantee if I do one, you'll all be singing it in your head. I used to sit in my room and play congas to Buffet, but I also grew up in Florida. There's no taste in Florida."

After doing the sadly longing "Shake," he said, "Let's just 'cheers' and drink for a second. This is what's nice about playing alone. You can do whatever you want." Taking his beer in hand, he leaned back in his chair.

After a short break where I discussed with a stranger whose wife went outside to smoke how unpleasant it is to kiss smokers, chatted with a graphic designer about how it only takes two beers to get her trashed and said hello to The Hat, Jonathan was back and the lights were dimmed ("Could be dimmer," Russell said and they were).

Harry and I agreed we looked fantastic in the low light.

Saying he only knew one cover song, Jonathan began playing Bill Withers' "Ain't No Sunshine," and giving everyone in the room goosebumps in the process. He'd been right, the room needed to be barely lit for that one.

Explaining that the Head and the Heart had been touring for three years and never once played his home state of Florida, it's now on the upcoming tour schedule, so he's planning to add another cover to the set list.

After going out to bars with a Florida cousin, "I wanna learn CCR's 'Cotton Fields' after I saw my cousin do his hick dance to that song in a bar."

It boggles the mind to imagine a whole venue full of Floridians doing a hick dance to that song.

After a drink break with a one minute warning, Jonathan did the title song from the new album, "Let's Be Still," a personal favorite.

You can get lost in the music for hours
Honey, you can get lost in a room
We can play music for hours and hours
But the sun will still be coming up soon

Unsure about the time, he crowd sourced how many more songs he should play and the answers ranged from one to many, so he concluded that that was a bad idea and did one called "Virginia."

Saying, "Okay Justin," he launched into the familiar "Down in the Valley" with its distinctive plea, "Lord, have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways."

"I'm gonna play one more because I'm starting to get drunk. That's very un-rock and roll, but I don't understand how people get shit faced and perform." He paused, clearly pondering the subject.

"Now you can get drunk and write songs all day. That works." I'm sure most poets would agree with him on that.

He concluded with a song about Texas ("Texas is better than you think") and sunsets, observing, "I'm too much of a romantic."

Jonathan, there's no such thing when it comes to men. Romanticize on.

Fact is, it had been romantic just to be in Black Iris' tiny bar with fifty or so people hearing this man's beautiful and emotive voice sing for a hushed crowd.

And speaking of romance, from there I went to Balliceaux to meet a date to see Imarhan Timbuktu, a trio from Mali who promised sinuous guitar lines, hand drumming and mesmerizing rhythms.

Walking in, I found the scientist, a surprise since I haven't seen him out in months, the sax player, lots of guitarists, several WRIR DJs and a crowd of unfamiliar faces drawn out on a cold, Tuesday for world music.

My date soon arrived, a bottle of Vino Verdhe was obtained and we took seats right up front for the spectacle.

Dressed in traditional Mali garb including head dresses but with the lead singer carrying a Fender Stratocaster, they had a different look than most bands you see in the back room.

In French, the singer explained that they were from the desert and that it was very cold here (the rhythm guitarist translated). He had to be freezing, he had on sandals. He also said they were very happy to be here.

The music was fascinating and the fact that it was being sung in a language we didn't understand mattered not at all.

Despite the language and garb, the singer made all the international guitar faces as he wailed on his instrument.

They had a fourth member whose job seemed to be to get the crowd clapping and induce them to dance, two jobs he handled ably.

The female drummer/traditional singer sat on the stage and was difficult to see once the trance-like music got the crowd up and dancing.

Before long it was a full on dance party, even if a lot of people had trouble finding the beat when clapping.

The singer looked to be having as good a time as the dancers, frequently asking, "Are you happy?"

From where I sat, hearing those guitar lines and watching backsides wriggle in front of me, I know I was.

It was a long way from where the evening had begun and all three parts had been especially terrific tonight.

The world's just spinning a little too fast
If things don't slow down soon, we might not last
So just for a moment, let's be still

But just for a moment.