Not a lot to write about tonight besides Folk Fest version 3.
Lafayette Gilchrist and the New Volcanoes doing a tribute to go-go and D.C. Slick, lunch at Croaker's Spot (chicken wing basket with fries and cornbread), Wild Ponies doing a Patsy Cline cover and the heart-wrenching "Truthless."
A guy in the Port-Potty next to me burping big time and then saying "'scuse me" to no one in particular.
Hip-hop artist Supaman in full native American regalia, spouting corny jokes like a comedian in Atlantic City or, worse, a vaudevillian.
The Mayans who came down the pole on ropes (annoying guy behind me as they wound the ropes: "I hope this isn't going to be super-anti-climatic") and the incomparable Debashish Bhattacharya doing a different set than yesterday to a far noisier crowd. A pity.
Not to mention the Holmes Brothers absolutely killing it with effortless blues musicianship and scratchy old vocals, with me dancing all the while they played.
Random hoodies and t-shirts: "Vegan Muscle Team" and "Abs of Ale." I'll leave it to your imagination what the wearers looked like.
Spotted en route: the man about town, the neighbors pushing a stroller, the sax player, the chef and his co-owner.
Best summation of Friday's opening rainy night performances: "It was a private show for the few."
Another year of Folk Fest over, another year of sterling entertainment. A good time was had all three days.
Still, some days 'tis better to under-share. Pity.
Showing posts with label Debashish Bhattacharya. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Debashish Bhattacharya. Show all posts
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Saturday, October 11, 2014
Music Does Intoxicate
Meanwhile, back at the Folk Fest...
What I mean is, of course I went back today, setting out on foot from my house and going down Fifth Street with the throngs of people intent on enjoying music now that the rain had stopped.
I began with Afro-Persian band Ensemble Shanbehzadeh and wasn't there five minutes before running into the former baker and the guitarist/writer, both captured by the activity onstage featuring dancing and large sticks. It was even better when volunteers from the audience joined them, trying to match their movements.
Then it was over to the MWV stage (passing the smart-assed gardener and my J-Ward neighbors) to score a third row seat for Debashish Bhattacharya and family, meaning brother Subhasis, a master tabla player, and daughter Anandi singing.
They're touring behind their new album "Madiera: If Music Could Intoxicate," setting out to prove that we didn't need other substances to get to another place.
I saw Debashish and Subhasis at the Folk Fest back in 2009 (where he'd earned my undying fandom by pronouncing, "Music is a better religious activity than doing anything else") and, like at that show, their timing was so spot on, stopping and starting on a dime simultaneously, that the crowd couldn't help but burst into spontaneous applause throughout the show.
This time, with the addition of Anandi singing so beautifully, it was just as impressive but even more moving.
Explaining that she was going to sing an aggressive song about a king who decided not to marry a courtesan because of the color of her skin, so she "danced like lightening and sang like rain" to show him that his decision would come back to haunt him, she sang like she meant it.
It was a song, she said, that changes with every performance so it can't be written down.
My only complaint with their entire set was ongoing sound problems resulting in ear-bleeding feedback more than a few times. You'd think after ten years of Folk Fests, we'd have sound issues figured out.
After she sang "My Beloved" and her father kissed her on the head, Anandi jumped off the low stage, looking both traditional and contemporary in her pink tunic over black leggings.
Then we were treated to Indian slide guitar and tabla by two brothers who can anticipate each other so superbly that it's like they're a single four-handed musical wizard.
Deebashish told how his mother had been an exceptionally talented singer but that Indian women in the '40s and '50s weren't allowed to perform in public, so she couldn't sing outside the house.
"Now my Mom has a voice in her granddaughter," he said, praising to an already impressed crowd his daughter's talent.
When their set ended, the audience jumped to its feet in a standing ovation much like they'd done that night back in 2009 when I first saw them.
From there, I headed to the Folklife Stage to see the oyster shucking sisters I had interviewed for Style Weekly's Folk Fest issue.
Deborah, decked out in multiple loops of pearls, threw her arms around me and her sister Clementine bragged that they'd seen my piece on them at the hotel last night before they went back to shucking and answering oyster questions.
I spotted two of the local art scene's high priestesses eating lunch from the Goatacado truck and stopped to see what they'd seen so far. They'd attempted the Throwdown on Brown breakdancing competition but it had been mobbed. "The only way we could see anything was in people's phone screens," they reported.
Don't get me started, I'd replied, because the thought of people too busy filming for the future to be present in the moment is the curse of the 21st century.
A stop at the Benevolent Burrito got me a black bean quesadilla with guacamole, pickled slaw and sour cream and as I stood there devouring it, a couple walked up to me and inquired what it was and where I'd gotten it. I like to think I looked like I was enjoying my lunch.
Thus fortified, I showed my colors as the groupie I am, making a beeline for the dancing pavilion to see William Bell. Again.
Okay, yes, I'd seen him last night, although just an hour of his 90-minute performance and I wanted more.
This time I stood rather than sitting, starting out maybe eight people back from the stage and winding up in the third row by the time his set ended.
The emcee told the crowd, "If you aren't with your sweetheart now, you'll wish you were by the end of William Bell's show."
Tell me something I didn't already know.
Immediately, he got everyone moving and grooving to "Easy Coming Out, Hard Going In" (how he got away with that title in 1977, I have no idea) and just kept it up as more and more people kept arriving.
Sure, I heard some of the songs I'd heard last night and absolutely, I enjoyed hearing them live again.
During "You Don't Miss Your Water," a woman in a pink hat in the front row kept making heart signs in Bell's direction until he finally acknowledged her. "I love you, too!"
Because the crowd was so much bigger than last night's there was even more slow dancing going on all around me, but who can resist the soul stylings of William Bell?
"Can I testify a little bit, y'all?" he called out and the audience roared back their assent. Me, I just kept dancing by myself, occasionally getting knocked into my women with big purses or couples caught up in each other.
I stayed for the whole set because I knew it was my last chance to see him and if that makes me a groupie, then so be it.
Even so, I was able to catch the last few songs of duo Kostas Fetfatsidis and Evan Karapanagiotides playing traditional Pontic Greek music that sounded like it came from high on a hill from a sheepherder's lonely perch.
Walking back up to Second Street when they finished, I came upon Supaman, the Indian hip-hop performer, in his full headdress and regalia, waiting to be picked up after his recent performance.
As I walked up the rest of the hill, the wind making me cold, the van with Supaman in it drove beside me. As it should be.I'm just the rabid fan, the groupie, if you will.
I'm all for the talent saving their strength to perform for people like us. I'll even testify to that.
What I mean is, of course I went back today, setting out on foot from my house and going down Fifth Street with the throngs of people intent on enjoying music now that the rain had stopped.
I began with Afro-Persian band Ensemble Shanbehzadeh and wasn't there five minutes before running into the former baker and the guitarist/writer, both captured by the activity onstage featuring dancing and large sticks. It was even better when volunteers from the audience joined them, trying to match their movements.
Then it was over to the MWV stage (passing the smart-assed gardener and my J-Ward neighbors) to score a third row seat for Debashish Bhattacharya and family, meaning brother Subhasis, a master tabla player, and daughter Anandi singing.
They're touring behind their new album "Madiera: If Music Could Intoxicate," setting out to prove that we didn't need other substances to get to another place.
I saw Debashish and Subhasis at the Folk Fest back in 2009 (where he'd earned my undying fandom by pronouncing, "Music is a better religious activity than doing anything else") and, like at that show, their timing was so spot on, stopping and starting on a dime simultaneously, that the crowd couldn't help but burst into spontaneous applause throughout the show.
This time, with the addition of Anandi singing so beautifully, it was just as impressive but even more moving.
Explaining that she was going to sing an aggressive song about a king who decided not to marry a courtesan because of the color of her skin, so she "danced like lightening and sang like rain" to show him that his decision would come back to haunt him, she sang like she meant it.
It was a song, she said, that changes with every performance so it can't be written down.
My only complaint with their entire set was ongoing sound problems resulting in ear-bleeding feedback more than a few times. You'd think after ten years of Folk Fests, we'd have sound issues figured out.
After she sang "My Beloved" and her father kissed her on the head, Anandi jumped off the low stage, looking both traditional and contemporary in her pink tunic over black leggings.
Then we were treated to Indian slide guitar and tabla by two brothers who can anticipate each other so superbly that it's like they're a single four-handed musical wizard.
Deebashish told how his mother had been an exceptionally talented singer but that Indian women in the '40s and '50s weren't allowed to perform in public, so she couldn't sing outside the house.
"Now my Mom has a voice in her granddaughter," he said, praising to an already impressed crowd his daughter's talent.
When their set ended, the audience jumped to its feet in a standing ovation much like they'd done that night back in 2009 when I first saw them.
From there, I headed to the Folklife Stage to see the oyster shucking sisters I had interviewed for Style Weekly's Folk Fest issue.
Deborah, decked out in multiple loops of pearls, threw her arms around me and her sister Clementine bragged that they'd seen my piece on them at the hotel last night before they went back to shucking and answering oyster questions.
I spotted two of the local art scene's high priestesses eating lunch from the Goatacado truck and stopped to see what they'd seen so far. They'd attempted the Throwdown on Brown breakdancing competition but it had been mobbed. "The only way we could see anything was in people's phone screens," they reported.
Don't get me started, I'd replied, because the thought of people too busy filming for the future to be present in the moment is the curse of the 21st century.
A stop at the Benevolent Burrito got me a black bean quesadilla with guacamole, pickled slaw and sour cream and as I stood there devouring it, a couple walked up to me and inquired what it was and where I'd gotten it. I like to think I looked like I was enjoying my lunch.
Thus fortified, I showed my colors as the groupie I am, making a beeline for the dancing pavilion to see William Bell. Again.
Okay, yes, I'd seen him last night, although just an hour of his 90-minute performance and I wanted more.
This time I stood rather than sitting, starting out maybe eight people back from the stage and winding up in the third row by the time his set ended.
The emcee told the crowd, "If you aren't with your sweetheart now, you'll wish you were by the end of William Bell's show."
Tell me something I didn't already know.
Immediately, he got everyone moving and grooving to "Easy Coming Out, Hard Going In" (how he got away with that title in 1977, I have no idea) and just kept it up as more and more people kept arriving.
Sure, I heard some of the songs I'd heard last night and absolutely, I enjoyed hearing them live again.
During "You Don't Miss Your Water," a woman in a pink hat in the front row kept making heart signs in Bell's direction until he finally acknowledged her. "I love you, too!"
Because the crowd was so much bigger than last night's there was even more slow dancing going on all around me, but who can resist the soul stylings of William Bell?
"Can I testify a little bit, y'all?" he called out and the audience roared back their assent. Me, I just kept dancing by myself, occasionally getting knocked into my women with big purses or couples caught up in each other.
I stayed for the whole set because I knew it was my last chance to see him and if that makes me a groupie, then so be it.
Even so, I was able to catch the last few songs of duo Kostas Fetfatsidis and Evan Karapanagiotides playing traditional Pontic Greek music that sounded like it came from high on a hill from a sheepherder's lonely perch.
Walking back up to Second Street when they finished, I came upon Supaman, the Indian hip-hop performer, in his full headdress and regalia, waiting to be picked up after his recent performance.
As I walked up the rest of the hill, the wind making me cold, the van with Supaman in it drove beside me. As it should be.I'm just the rabid fan, the groupie, if you will.
I'm all for the talent saving their strength to perform for people like us. I'll even testify to that.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Six Burner Follows Poetry
"For so long I wanted my past back," read David Wojahn from his poem "Fetish Value" at tonight's Poetic Principles reading at the Virginia Museum. Wojahn, a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize and a local VCU treasure, regaled the audience with his emotional and relevant style of writing.
One poem, directed at the President of the NRA, invoked both robbery victim Tyler Binstead and Dante's Circles of Hell. Another ranged from placenta soup (exactly what it sounds) to bongs, LPs and spliffs. Several poems were tributes to other poets. "Mix Tape to be Brought to Her in Rehab" was introduced by explaining the mix tape concept to the younger members of the audience and Wojahn saying,"The lore of making a mix tape was so ritualized. It happened in real time." An outstanding reader, Wojahn could make a poetry lover out of the most adamant poetry hater, not that there were any of those present tonight.
All that poetry was making me hungry, so I stopped at Six Burner for a bite to eat and some conversation. Dave was quick to suggest the Vilarnau Cava upon my arrival and after Wojahn's references to cheap champagne, I already had bubbles on the brain anyway. To accompany it, I ordered a plate of the house-made charcuterie with homemade pickles. The enormous serving contained duck ham, mortadella and pancetta (the meats were a perfect blend of fat and lean), pickled cuke slices and onions and grilled bread. I finished what I could and shared the rest with Josh. By this time, Josh and I were already knee-deep in conversation about the Debashish Bhattacharya Folk Fest performance. I predict that in years to come, this Folk Fest will be legendary for those shows. No one (T also witnessed it) can get over how impressive it was or how lucky we were to witness it. More cava followed, for discussion purposes, of course.
Just another rainy night in River City, where we're lucky enough to have poets like David Wojahn reading and house made charcuterie for enjoying...in the present, not the past.
One poem, directed at the President of the NRA, invoked both robbery victim Tyler Binstead and Dante's Circles of Hell. Another ranged from placenta soup (exactly what it sounds) to bongs, LPs and spliffs. Several poems were tributes to other poets. "Mix Tape to be Brought to Her in Rehab" was introduced by explaining the mix tape concept to the younger members of the audience and Wojahn saying,"The lore of making a mix tape was so ritualized. It happened in real time." An outstanding reader, Wojahn could make a poetry lover out of the most adamant poetry hater, not that there were any of those present tonight.
All that poetry was making me hungry, so I stopped at Six Burner for a bite to eat and some conversation. Dave was quick to suggest the Vilarnau Cava upon my arrival and after Wojahn's references to cheap champagne, I already had bubbles on the brain anyway. To accompany it, I ordered a plate of the house-made charcuterie with homemade pickles. The enormous serving contained duck ham, mortadella and pancetta (the meats were a perfect blend of fat and lean), pickled cuke slices and onions and grilled bread. I finished what I could and shared the rest with Josh. By this time, Josh and I were already knee-deep in conversation about the Debashish Bhattacharya Folk Fest performance. I predict that in years to come, this Folk Fest will be legendary for those shows. No one (T also witnessed it) can get over how impressive it was or how lucky we were to witness it. More cava followed, for discussion purposes, of course.
Just another rainy night in River City, where we're lucky enough to have poets like David Wojahn reading and house made charcuterie for enjoying...in the present, not the past.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Black Sheep Leads to Riot Grrls
I made tonight a walking night because today was the last warm day until at least Thursday so I wanted to take advantage of it, not being a fan of fall weather (unlike practically everyone else).
Seems like the last four or five times I'd been to the Black Sheep had been for lunch, so I sashayed over there for dinner and it turned out to be the perfect choice. Tes was waiting tables and Nate from Gull was eating with a visiting musician, so we got to discuss the Debashish Bhatacharya slide guitar performance we'd all three been mesmerized by Saturday at the Folk Fest; I was gratified to learn that they were both as awestruck as I'd been.
For dinner, I chose the General Tso's sweetbreads: quick fried sweetbreads in sweet sauce with spicy Sezchuan peppers, broccoli and white rice. For drinking: Les Heretiques 2008 Carignan, a bio-dynamic wine with an earthy taste and long finish (and yes, I know I should have gotten the Reisling given my dinner order, but I was curious about the grape and wanted to do the groovy bio-dynamic thing). For dessert: the chocolate creme brulee since I hadn't had it in ten whole days (no, really).
Stuffed and feeling pretty good about it, I headed over to Gallery 5 for the showing of "Don't Need You: The Herstory of Riot Grrrl" about the feminist movement of the early 90s that created a way for women to be part of the hardcore scene and not just "hangers" (girls who held the guys' jackets while they performed, moshed or just participated in punk shows). The documentary revealed how the mainstream media co-opted the term and misrepresented the movement in order to sell it to the public, causing the disenchantment and eventual dissolution of it.
The audience was much larger than typically comes to these monthly screenings and not completely female, either. The discussion afterwards showed that there is real curiosity among younger women about what they can do in today's climate to re-energize the movement. As well they should be; someone's got to move the banner forward. Bikini Kill, Bratmobile and Heavens to Betsy did their part. It seems likely we will form a collective to address some of these issues in rva; it'll be interesting to see what these young women do to further the cause of feminism.
Seems like the last four or five times I'd been to the Black Sheep had been for lunch, so I sashayed over there for dinner and it turned out to be the perfect choice. Tes was waiting tables and Nate from Gull was eating with a visiting musician, so we got to discuss the Debashish Bhatacharya slide guitar performance we'd all three been mesmerized by Saturday at the Folk Fest; I was gratified to learn that they were both as awestruck as I'd been.
For dinner, I chose the General Tso's sweetbreads: quick fried sweetbreads in sweet sauce with spicy Sezchuan peppers, broccoli and white rice. For drinking: Les Heretiques 2008 Carignan, a bio-dynamic wine with an earthy taste and long finish (and yes, I know I should have gotten the Reisling given my dinner order, but I was curious about the grape and wanted to do the groovy bio-dynamic thing). For dessert: the chocolate creme brulee since I hadn't had it in ten whole days (no, really).
Stuffed and feeling pretty good about it, I headed over to Gallery 5 for the showing of "Don't Need You: The Herstory of Riot Grrrl" about the feminist movement of the early 90s that created a way for women to be part of the hardcore scene and not just "hangers" (girls who held the guys' jackets while they performed, moshed or just participated in punk shows). The documentary revealed how the mainstream media co-opted the term and misrepresented the movement in order to sell it to the public, causing the disenchantment and eventual dissolution of it.
The audience was much larger than typically comes to these monthly screenings and not completely female, either. The discussion afterwards showed that there is real curiosity among younger women about what they can do in today's climate to re-energize the movement. As well they should be; someone's got to move the banner forward. Bikini Kill, Bratmobile and Heavens to Betsy did their part. It seems likely we will form a collective to address some of these issues in rva; it'll be interesting to see what these young women do to further the cause of feminism.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Found! A Man Who Thinks Like Me.
What's a good rva-ite to do on a dreary Saturday afternoon but head down to the Folk Fest?
The crowds were perhaps a bit smaller than in the past, but in all likelihood that was just because of the on and off rain.
As it should be, I ran into plenty of local musicians I knew, as well as assorted others I recognized from various places, since everyone in town seems to attend this event, Andrew excepted.
The Sophia Bilides Trio was playing Greek tavern music from the 30s and 40s; it wasn't tough to imagine being in a Greek bar sipping ouzo and listening to the songs of love and longing.
The Samba Mapangala & Orchestre Virunga enthusiastically played East African Rumba, engaging the crowd, despite the showers that began when they did.
The absolute highlight was Debashish Bhattacharya and his younger brother Subhasis and the large crowd was well aware of the amazing performance we were witnessing.
Debashish, on the chaturangui, a 22-string guitar he created and his brother, a master tabla player, blew the crowd away with their passion and speed.
Their timing was so spot on, stopping and starting on a dime simultaneously, that the crowd couldn't help but burst into spontaneous applause throughout the show.
They finished with Debashish on the slide ukulele and it brought the house down. I wouldn't have missed that performance for anything, nor, I'm sure, would most in the crowd.
An unusually high percentage of musicians and music geeks were sitting under that canopy to witness such major talent.
I was already in complete fan adoration, but Debashish sealed the deal when, late in the performance, he told the crowd, "Music is a better religious activity than doing anything else."
Amen.
The crowds were perhaps a bit smaller than in the past, but in all likelihood that was just because of the on and off rain.
As it should be, I ran into plenty of local musicians I knew, as well as assorted others I recognized from various places, since everyone in town seems to attend this event, Andrew excepted.
The Sophia Bilides Trio was playing Greek tavern music from the 30s and 40s; it wasn't tough to imagine being in a Greek bar sipping ouzo and listening to the songs of love and longing.
The Samba Mapangala & Orchestre Virunga enthusiastically played East African Rumba, engaging the crowd, despite the showers that began when they did.
The absolute highlight was Debashish Bhattacharya and his younger brother Subhasis and the large crowd was well aware of the amazing performance we were witnessing.
Debashish, on the chaturangui, a 22-string guitar he created and his brother, a master tabla player, blew the crowd away with their passion and speed.
Their timing was so spot on, stopping and starting on a dime simultaneously, that the crowd couldn't help but burst into spontaneous applause throughout the show.
They finished with Debashish on the slide ukulele and it brought the house down. I wouldn't have missed that performance for anything, nor, I'm sure, would most in the crowd.
An unusually high percentage of musicians and music geeks were sitting under that canopy to witness such major talent.
I was already in complete fan adoration, but Debashish sealed the deal when, late in the performance, he told the crowd, "Music is a better religious activity than doing anything else."
Amen.
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