Captains of Cool

You never know where the dancing or the midnight gifts may come from. Or at least I didn't.

Walking over to Gallery 5, I was looking forward to familiar faces and a strong bill of local and national bands. Greeting me when I walked in was a friend, the leader of one of the bands I'd come to see. In typical Richmond fashion, the show wasn't starting on time because not enough people had shown up yet.

Insert roll of eyes here (mine) for punishing the punctual.

I didn't really mind because it gave me time to talk to the always-interesting Paul who, despite assuring me he can be an optimist, somehow always comes across more the pragmatic type. But he's also a word geek like me (eager to correct and judge the grammar-inferior) so I was delighted when he shared some old New York slang for a pretty girl: "bleak mort."

Seems he'd come across the bit of archaic slang at the very moment he was looking for a fitting song title. Kudos to him for making use of it.

Before too long the handsome Ben Shepherd mounted the stage to do what he does best (to my knowledge, anyway): drink red wine, play guitar and play his incredibly smart, melodic songs.

Tonight he did odes to having no money but lots of time (which is exactly the way I roll), keeping the muse around (harder than it sounds) and feeling at home at bars, driving through Texas and counting stars (I'm fine with bars and stars, but the only reason I go to Texas is because my best friend lives there). Great stuff.

Before his last song, he said he has a record, "11 for the Road," on Band Camp and clarified, "If you feel like looking it up." I'm betting lots of people who heard his last song - about cops not always being decent people, name checking Freddy Gray and about how "it hits you in the gut to see someone's last breath" bother looking up his album if they're smart.

It's been years now we've all been saying he's the best songwriter in Richmond and with every new song I hear, he only affirms it.

The beauty of having a singer/songwriter open a show is that when he walks offstage with his guitar, the next band is good to go on. Except Gouda Mayhem (I know, fabulous name, right?) then had to sound check and just as it was feeling endless, leader Paul griped, "Okay, can we start playing music now?"

When the sound guy said yes, the guy standing in front of me promptly put in ear plugs. You'll never earn your rock and roll cred that way, son.

I've seen several of Paul's past bands but GM had the distinction of having not only a female guitarist, Natalie, but a female bassist, Chrissie, making this his coolest band ever. His songs are invariably literate and clever ("They don't know you're choking on your silver spoon") and his Elvis Costello-like delivery gives them an extra punch.

Midway through their set, he announced that it was bass player Chrissie and her husband's anniversary. When he asked how many years, she said eight. "Wow, you guys are serious!" he joked before announcing that his parents - in the audience tonight -had celebrated 54 years.

Saying they were going to play "Nothing but the Beaten Path," Paul clarified, "Make up your own lyrics for now" about the instrumental song. That's Paul humor.

After a T Rex tribute, the band played the magnificently titled "Bleak Mort," their hit (conveniently available at local record stores), "Casual Wayne" and closed with "Crushed Glass Pastry," notable for lyrics such as "You're always there for your friends unless it's not convenient." Like I said, Paul has a way with words.

During the break, a friend came over and asked, "Mind if I tag you on Facebook to get more people to come?" Despite the likelihood of my presence making one iota of difference, I agreed. Anything to keep his thumbs busy.

I used the down time to talk to a friend about Jimmy Carter's appearance at Costco this weekend (I'm not a member so I won't be there), which segued to a discussion of how he's a presidential history buff, even going so far as to have a top 15 presidents of all time list.

He only shared four of them - FDR, Lincoln, Carter and Obama - but also divulged that he has a top three lovers of all time list (let's face it, that's a list every person has in their head if they're truthful) and it includes every woman he's ever slept with. You can't fake that kind of honesty.

All the way from Kansas City, the duo of Schwervon! (who've apparently opened for Belle and Sebastion and the Vaselines) took the stage, Matt on guitar and Nan on drums. It was looking like a very good night for girl power at Gallery 5.

After their first kick-ass song, Matt lamented that the small crowd was massed to the side with not nearly enough people in his sight line. The crowd promptly filled in in front of him. "We eliminate all judgment at our shows," he went on. "Feel free to move or dance or not to."

Chances are by the second song the crowd would have done so anyway because their music was so engaging, so well executed, so danceable. If you closed your eyes, you'd never have guessed it was only two people on stage given how much sound was being produced. And their harmonies were downright amazing, ethereal almost.

During the killer "American Idle," a friend leaned over and compared them to late '80s-era They Might Be Giants, while the people up front near the stage (and those of us on the side by the radiator) began dancing to the irresistible sounds of two people completely musically in sync with each other.

This delighted me no end because I'd had zero expectation of dancing tonight.

When Matt needed to tune his guitar, Nan filled in by telling bad jokes such as, "What did the mayo say to the refrigerator? Close the door, I'm dressing." Ba dum bum.  Just as funny was her conclusion, "It's so bad but I feel heroic just the same."

Her effortless-looking drumming, great voice and sunny personality made her my hero, that's for sure.

In what might have been the most unique moment I've yet to see at Gallery 5 (and, let's face it, I've seen bazillions of shows there over the years), Matt announced an intermission of sorts.

"If you're not a fan of poetry or modern dance, this might be a good time for a smoke or to go to the bathroom." Wait, what?

Seems he'd written a poem on the drive down from Washington today and Nan was going to do interpretive dance to it. She disappeared backstage as he explained that this poem was only for tonight's audience, never to be heard again.

He began reading - "Speed-bumping it to the next venue" - while she was nowhere in sight and, lo and behold, she appeared in tap shoes in front of the stage as he continued to read - "Why do you do this, she says. Because it calms me, he says" - and she danced back and forth, pantomiming to the words when she could.

It was magnificent, probably worthy of the finest fringe festival stage.

Then it was back to music, several new songs, older ones such as "truth Teller" from the acclaimed album "Courage" ("a fun song we're dedicating to our new Richmond friend, Lorraine") and another bad joke, this one about pizza, that Nan explained away by saying, "It's nice to surprise each other sometimes when you're around each other all the time." Ain't that the truth?

Before their last song, "Landlocked," which only continued the dancing frenzy, Matt told us it was available on vinyl at the merch table "if you like mementos. We also have t-shirts if you like to wear your mementos."

My regret was having only brought the $5 required to get in the door or I'd have gotten a memento for my ears. I can see why big name bands had been using this duo as an opening act. This'll be a show Richmonders will regret missing once they finally discover Schwervon! and they will because they're that good.

The whole night of music had been outstanding and when I walked out into the hot evening air, I was feeling pretty happy with the world. I didn't get more than a block down when, from the shadows, I heard an unexpected "Hey, lady" and a friend appeared out of nowhere.

He'd been at Heritage and asked where I'd been. "You like chicken?" he inquired, as if that was a normal thing to ask a woman on a dark street at night, and then handed me a to-go container of a wildly flavorful chicken and spinach dish. "I don't eat meat," he shrugged.

Needless to say, he got a hell of hug for that one. "See you around soon," he said before fading into the darkness of Jackson Ward.

Could it be he thinks I'm a bleak mort? Does it matter after an evening as fine as this?