I may have missed the cute boys, but at least I'm back at the business of real life.
A friend wanted to meet for dinner, so she picked me up in her warm car and we took the scenic route to Tio Pablo.
I say scenic because we drove by the work-in-progress Jackson Commons that has the neighbors' panties in a wad.
It pays to stay up on what's going on in the neighborhood.
Further east, we found rock star parking in front of Julep and moseyed down the block for Mexican.
Our purpose was twofold: to enjoy a gluten-free meal (a necessity for her) and to introduce her to the world of tequila.
As it turned out, for the second time in two days, I also introduced her to tongue.
We began with Espolon, my new favorite well-priced tequila, and moved on to tongue tacos, carnitas and an array of sides.
Guacamole, grilled onions, nopales and black beans provided more side dishes than we could finish.
I watched her take a solitary bite of tongue to gauge the taste (our bartender had described it as "pot roast" and that's not far off) before devouring the whole taco.
Another tongue convert. My chest swelled with pride.
The music was awesome, ranging from "What's Going On" to a Spanish version of "Be My Baby," and all played at a volume that, as she said, kept others from overhearing us.
Conversely, I liked that it was loud enough to add to the overall vibe so we didn't have to listen to other people's chatter.
At one point, we were deep in a discussion of the local food scene, how simple men are and how tweeting sucks the life out of a person.
Being a confirmed non-tweeter, I wouldn't know.
Suddenly her eyes widened as someone walked by and before I could formulate a thought, she said, "I think Yoda just walked by."
Not true, although the tiny man did have a certain wizened look.
Once my friend had conquered the nuances of smoky Espolon Reposado, we decided to try a second tequila to further broaden her horizons.
"86 Cazadores," the bartender told the staff moments before I tried to order one for us to share.
We settled for Hornitos Reposado, which my friend found greener and with a livelier mid-palate taste.
I was just pleased that she was finding tequila to be up her alley, although there's no telling where that might lead us in the future.
We concluded our gabfest with tres leches cake because they offered a gluten-free version which thrilled my friend no end.
Me, I was just happy about the icing.
By the time our conversation wound down, it was us and one table by the door and the bartender was bored enough to be going on smoke breaks in between telling us how she liked to alternate good tequila with white zinfandel.
You can't buy that kind of entertainment.
One thing the tequila had done to the first-timer was finish her off for the night, so she deposited me at home and I promptly went out for music.
And thank goodness we're far enough out of the holiday season that music was even an option.
Balliceaux was hosting the Richmanian Ramblers, our local purveyors of Romanian gypsy music, with Allison Self also playing.
I walked in to find a couple of good friends holding court up front, but I moved on to the back for music, sure they'd follow.
There was a stop at the front bar, where the barkeep introduced me to a handsome man with an accent, saying, "I don't know how you two haven't met before."
I guess because I don't force myself on absolutely everyone.
Lead singer Antonia is in the last month of her pregnancy, so I was surprised she was even willing to do a Ramblers show, but there she was, looking fit and fab in a non-maternity dress stretched over her perfect little baby-laden body.
Everyone must have realized that this was our last chance for gypsy music for a while because I found friends and strangers galore in back.
The photographer (using his phone rather than a camera tonight), the favorite musical couple just back from a six-month tour, the horn player switching places with me because the tallest man in the room decided to stand right in front of me, the bluegrass king, assorted Listening Room regulars.
Taking the stage, the band introduced themselves, saying, "We're the Richmanian Ramblers and we're going to play for the next 42 minutes for you."
They kept their word, moving from drinking song to toll bridge song to dowry song.
A guy came up and stood next to me at one point, leaning over to say, "I feel like people should be dancing."
It was true; with tavern music of this caliber, we should all be dancing, but sadly, no one was.
I say sadly because far too many of them were chatting over the sound of Antonia's exquisite voice singing in Romanian.
It was easily the most inattentive Ramblers audience I've yet to experience.
I'm going to cut them some slack and guess that they were just glad that they were out at a show and not still home with relatives.
But that meant they missed when the band did the "sheep love song," which Antonia defended as "not dirty" when it began with a few bars of "Mary Had a Little lamb."
Leader Nate finished by saying that he didn't know when the band could play again because Antonia's bedtime was now 8:45.
Quickly, she corrected him, reminding him that he'd wanted to schedule a show for January 28th, or roughly her due date.
Men, her look seemed to say, are such simple creatures.
During the break, I found my road tripping friend, hearing his stories from their recent tour.
We covered Chincoteague, quirky small towns, sleeping naked and nudist with shoes and socks on, all before Allison Self took the stage.
Wearing a black dress and tan cowboy boots, she proceeded to dominate the room with her big voice.
There were all the usual suspects - Carter Family, "Your Cheatin'Heart," Loretta Lynn, "Don't Come Home A-Drinkin' with Lovin' on Your Mind" as well as original material.
At one point, two thirds of the band Arise, Sweet Donkey! was onstage when Laney of Lobo Marino came up to join her former bandmate Allison for a couple of songs.
"Three years ago, this was your accordion solo," Allison told Laney mid-song.
We did at least get some harmonizing from the two before the set ended, always a real pleasure given how beautiful the two voices sound together.
And maybe that's all I needed, to hear some music to feel like things are finally righting themselves after the holiday.
When I got home, it was to a message from a girlfriend, saying, "I know it's last minute, but I'm having aget-together at Gallery 5 tonight, so come out! It's over by 11, free booze, cute guys. Wear a mini-skirt!"
That's a hell of an invitation, but I was a bit late to consider it.
Although I was already dressed perfectly for it.
Fortunately, the season has restarted, so there'll be other offers.
About damn time.
Showing posts with label allison self. Show all posts
Showing posts with label allison self. Show all posts
Friday, January 4, 2013
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Curated by Karen
Tonight I got my reward for nearly perfect attendance.
It was Listening Room 32 and I have attended 31 of them, missing only July 2010, for which I was called out.
Let's just say I never made that mistake again.
So when I was asked many months ago to curate tonight's event, I agreed with anticipation and not a little trepidation.
If I chose bands that appealed to me, would other people feel the same?
Tonight I was going to find out.
Things got off to a great start with Dixie Donuts and lots of my friends in attendance for support.
Okay, so maybe they'd have been at the Listening Room anyway, but some knew I'd have their heads if they didn't show.
And they did.
Emcee Chris did his usual casual opening speech, anticipating the inevitable arrival of organizer Jonathan to remind him of something.
It's like an old vaudeville routine in its reliability, much like the one light that always fell when the Listening Room was at the Michaux House.
Afterwards, Chris announced that the show had been curated by Karen, raved about my blog and the pressure was on.
I'd chosen locals Sweet Fern because they sound like no one else.
Josh, looking very dapper in a vest and button-down shirt, demonstrated his ability to play guitar, mandolin (played so enthusiastically he broke a string) and banjo, sing and crack wise while Allison's big voice is a singular pleasure.
Calling themselves an itinerant band, they did several Carter Family songs (they are, after all, the bedrock of Sweet Fern) and songs with evocative names like "You're Breaking My Heart" and "Three Night Drunk," an hilarious song that played to Allison's acting and comedic skills.
A couple of songs in, my friend turned to me and whispered excitedly, "I love male and female voices singing together."
I knew what she meant; hearing these two together was making fans of everyone in the room.
Eventually Josh tried passing his guitar to Allison to play, causing her to tell the crowd that it was the two-year anniversary of her playing guitar.
"Are you ever gonna commit to one guitar?" Josh teased her.
"I'm committed to the open road," she shot back.
Their banter was just another highlight of their performance and Josh indicated that they hoped to add some routines to their act.
"Are you guys excited about seeing Nettles?" he asked us. "I've been web-stalking them all afternoon. I'm excited to be on the bill with other plant life."
The very same thing had occurred to me.
Whether doing Doc Watson, Johnny Cash or Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn songs (Allison: "I'll sing Conway's part"), the set list was a peek into another time.
"Now all the Depression-era songs are coming back," Josh said, "What with poverty and debt and all."
I can do without Depression Redux, but as long as Sweet Fern is singing the soundtrack to the thrifty life, I'm good.
During the break, I made the rounds and had first-timers raving to me about what they'd just heard.
The scientist, as usual, slipped me some chocolate when he saw me; the friend who hadn't been to the L.R. since the night she met her good-looking hunk of man-meat (her words, not mine) came and brought her hunk; even the poet showed up after being singled out online.
Hey, whatever works, I say.
While the six-piece Nettles got set up onstage, I went up to meet leader Guion, whom I knew only from our series of e-mails arranging their appearance.
Everything was going according to my plan.
After some technical difficulties with a guitar, the band settled into making some exquisitely beautiful music, part folk, a little Celtic-inspired and in general very poetic.
Since they're from Charlottesville and don't play here, they were a fresh sound for an RVA audience.
Guion made the most of it, saying, "I can reuse all my jokes here."
Favorite line: "You'll be an old woman by the time I come to get you."
"Houses," about a friend who'd caught fire (we were assured said friend is better now) featured flute player Juliana playing saw (always a treat), heart-stopping harmonies of three or four voices and some of the most interesting banjo playing I've ever seen.
I was especially taken with what Sam's synth added to Nettles' sound; it was the element that kept working its way into my ears.
Guion mentioned the poet Frank Stanford as a source of inspiration, specifically his 542-page poem, "The Battlefield Where the Moon says I Love You."
The songs were beautiful, with titles like "Keep, Pt 2" and "It Wasn't a Dream, It Was a Flood" and full of spaces, superb musicianship and the blending of voices.
I felt like we were in the middle of a lyrical poetry reading with instruments.
As if I hadn't had enough pleasure from the evening, Guion took a moment to thank the Listening Room and saying, "I got to met Karen earlier. She seems like a great woman."
Sigh. And I was worried about what?
Nettles finished with something unexpected, "Leather-Winged Bat," an old song with different birds giving advice on love.
Hi, said the little turtle dove
I'll tell you how to win her love
Court her night and court her day
Never give her time to say oh, nay!
Naturally I was thrilled with a band that ended with an old English folk song, but the prolonged applause at the end was hardly just mine.
They'd like it, they'd really liked it.
And why not?
Once again, the Listening Room had provided a stellar night of (free) music without the annoyance of people blathering over a single note.
And if I got more than a few pats on the back (not to mention the poster with my curating credit on it), well, apparently that's what happens when you do 31 of 32.
As thrilled as I am to have been asked to curate, the biggest satisfaction will be if I made Sweet Fern and/or Nettles fans out of anyone in the audience.
"I told you so," said the delighted curator.
It was Listening Room 32 and I have attended 31 of them, missing only July 2010, for which I was called out.
Let's just say I never made that mistake again.
So when I was asked many months ago to curate tonight's event, I agreed with anticipation and not a little trepidation.
If I chose bands that appealed to me, would other people feel the same?
Tonight I was going to find out.
Things got off to a great start with Dixie Donuts and lots of my friends in attendance for support.
Okay, so maybe they'd have been at the Listening Room anyway, but some knew I'd have their heads if they didn't show.
And they did.
Emcee Chris did his usual casual opening speech, anticipating the inevitable arrival of organizer Jonathan to remind him of something.
It's like an old vaudeville routine in its reliability, much like the one light that always fell when the Listening Room was at the Michaux House.
Afterwards, Chris announced that the show had been curated by Karen, raved about my blog and the pressure was on.
I'd chosen locals Sweet Fern because they sound like no one else.
Josh, looking very dapper in a vest and button-down shirt, demonstrated his ability to play guitar, mandolin (played so enthusiastically he broke a string) and banjo, sing and crack wise while Allison's big voice is a singular pleasure.
Calling themselves an itinerant band, they did several Carter Family songs (they are, after all, the bedrock of Sweet Fern) and songs with evocative names like "You're Breaking My Heart" and "Three Night Drunk," an hilarious song that played to Allison's acting and comedic skills.
A couple of songs in, my friend turned to me and whispered excitedly, "I love male and female voices singing together."
I knew what she meant; hearing these two together was making fans of everyone in the room.
Eventually Josh tried passing his guitar to Allison to play, causing her to tell the crowd that it was the two-year anniversary of her playing guitar.
"Are you ever gonna commit to one guitar?" Josh teased her.
"I'm committed to the open road," she shot back.
Their banter was just another highlight of their performance and Josh indicated that they hoped to add some routines to their act.
"Are you guys excited about seeing Nettles?" he asked us. "I've been web-stalking them all afternoon. I'm excited to be on the bill with other plant life."
The very same thing had occurred to me.
Whether doing Doc Watson, Johnny Cash or Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn songs (Allison: "I'll sing Conway's part"), the set list was a peek into another time.
"Now all the Depression-era songs are coming back," Josh said, "What with poverty and debt and all."
I can do without Depression Redux, but as long as Sweet Fern is singing the soundtrack to the thrifty life, I'm good.
During the break, I made the rounds and had first-timers raving to me about what they'd just heard.
The scientist, as usual, slipped me some chocolate when he saw me; the friend who hadn't been to the L.R. since the night she met her good-looking hunk of man-meat (her words, not mine) came and brought her hunk; even the poet showed up after being singled out online.
Hey, whatever works, I say.
While the six-piece Nettles got set up onstage, I went up to meet leader Guion, whom I knew only from our series of e-mails arranging their appearance.
Everything was going according to my plan.
After some technical difficulties with a guitar, the band settled into making some exquisitely beautiful music, part folk, a little Celtic-inspired and in general very poetic.
Since they're from Charlottesville and don't play here, they were a fresh sound for an RVA audience.
Guion made the most of it, saying, "I can reuse all my jokes here."
Favorite line: "You'll be an old woman by the time I come to get you."
"Houses," about a friend who'd caught fire (we were assured said friend is better now) featured flute player Juliana playing saw (always a treat), heart-stopping harmonies of three or four voices and some of the most interesting banjo playing I've ever seen.
I was especially taken with what Sam's synth added to Nettles' sound; it was the element that kept working its way into my ears.
Guion mentioned the poet Frank Stanford as a source of inspiration, specifically his 542-page poem, "The Battlefield Where the Moon says I Love You."
The songs were beautiful, with titles like "Keep, Pt 2" and "It Wasn't a Dream, It Was a Flood" and full of spaces, superb musicianship and the blending of voices.
I felt like we were in the middle of a lyrical poetry reading with instruments.
As if I hadn't had enough pleasure from the evening, Guion took a moment to thank the Listening Room and saying, "I got to met Karen earlier. She seems like a great woman."
Sigh. And I was worried about what?
Nettles finished with something unexpected, "Leather-Winged Bat," an old song with different birds giving advice on love.
Hi, said the little turtle dove
I'll tell you how to win her love
Court her night and court her day
Never give her time to say oh, nay!
Naturally I was thrilled with a band that ended with an old English folk song, but the prolonged applause at the end was hardly just mine.
They'd like it, they'd really liked it.
And why not?
Once again, the Listening Room had provided a stellar night of (free) music without the annoyance of people blathering over a single note.
And if I got more than a few pats on the back (not to mention the poster with my curating credit on it), well, apparently that's what happens when you do 31 of 32.
As thrilled as I am to have been asked to curate, the biggest satisfaction will be if I made Sweet Fern and/or Nettles fans out of anyone in the audience.
"I told you so," said the delighted curator.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Mexicali Ghosts
The summer officially began for me tonight with the kickoff of Anderson Gallery's Happy Hour series.
I had a ball at it last year, here, so I was more than ready to start it all up again and see what fresh fun they'd concocted.
Answer: dessert and music. It was an ice cream social with two bands playing and two new exhibits to see.
They might as well have called it the Happy Karen Hour series.
When we arrived Sweet Fern was playing, which meant Allison Self's big, beautiful voice and Josh Bearman's guitar and harmonies.
A diverse crowd (a neighbor, the man about town, WRIR folks, the beekeeper) was already in place, all tuned into what was being played.
I always enjoy watching people experience Allison singing for the first time because she just doesn't sound like anyone else in these parts.
Sometimes the songs were innuendo-filled (although I noticed that with young 'uns in the room, she didn't do her most ribald material) and sometimes straight up.
"I'm Just Here to Get my Baby Out of Jail," pretty much lays it out.
Josh used his quick wit to announce the finale, "I'm Leaving You This Lonesome Song."
Then they did just that.
I scored some Bev's Mexicali chocolate ice cream (the ice cream portion of the social) and took advantage of chocolate sauce and peanuts to top it.
When I returned inside to eat it, I had to explain to several confused guys what the "Mexicali" portion of the ice cream's name meant.
To a man, they were shocked when they tasted the heat behind the chocolate ("What is in this ice cream?" one confused looking guy wailed to me).
I also used the break to check out the tiny show "Summer Mixer," a collection of 1920s to 1970s household appliances and ephemera from the Eclectic Electric collection, which I'd seen in a larger form, here.
Call me mid-century modern, but I love those old Cool Spot fans and Havana shakers, all but emblems of happy housewives and glamorous partygoers of another era.
After satisfying my inner domestic goddess (for I don't have much of an outer one), I jumped ship upstairs to see Rosemarie Fiore's "Fireworks."
The large scale works made by setting off fireworks with dyes were unique, but it was her smoke domes that captured my attention.
Smoke bombs are set off inside molten glass for jellyfish looking creations defined by swirls and embellishments.
They really have to be seen to be understood, much less appreciated. But see them.
Back on the ground floor, River City Band was playing and I've seen them enough to know what good pickers they are.
Meanwhile, audience members looked for seats, many holding both a glass of wine and a dish of ice cream.
That's my kind of cocktail hour.
Guitarist Grant began by addressing Josh and Allison about their mutual admiration, saying. "We should have a Carter Family Festival this summer and sing all Carter Family songs. Maybe August?"
Reason number 85296 I love this town. There are people who think that way.
Seamlessly winding their way through the likes of Bill Munroe and the late, great Earl Scruggs, they dazzled with fast pickin' and strong harmonies.
When they finished, we took off for Aziza's and some chow.
The place was lively when we arrived but we were the only ones at the bar.
Catching the end of happy hour, obviously our second of the night, we chose a bottle of Santa Julia Viognier, which hit the spot with our small plate choices.
Sea bean salad was a must since who's ever heard of sea beans (we asked and were assured they grew in the sea)?
Served with marinated shrimp and tarragon vinaigrette, the dish had a briny crunch from the very slender bean stalks that complemented the zesty shrimp.
Roasted mushrooms with asparagus, pea shoots and a sunny side up egg had an underpinning of lemon and overtones of a rich yolk. Yum.
When our server came to check on us, I mentioned how hard it was to hear the music.
"Want me to turn it up?" she genially offered. "What music? 40s, 50s, 60s?"
I chose sixties and while it wouldn't have been my first choice (no reverb! no horns!), now I could at least hear it.
And while I didn't particularly need to hear "Last Train to Clarksville" again, I definitely got a kick out of hearing "Only the String Survive."
I remember my first love affair
Somehow or another the whole darn thing went wrong
My mama had some great advice
So I thought I'd put it into words of this song
The only way to top that was with Three Dog Night's "Old Fashioned Love Song."
Hey, I couldn't blame anyone but myself. I'd said yes to the sixties.
When she returned later to see if we wanted dessert, all of a sudden the music returned to 40s and then 50s music as we all looked dumbfounded.
After checking to make sure the other server hadn't changed the station, she shrugged it off as, "We have ghosts here."
In buildings that old that have seen that much? I'm not surprised in the least.
Putting aside paranormal activity, we declined a cream puff since we'd begun with Bev's at the Anderson hours ago.
And speaking of early ice cream, I think they should serve Bev's at that Carter Family Festival later this summer.
It'll be the perfect bookend to tonight's start of the season.
And reason 85297.
I had a ball at it last year, here, so I was more than ready to start it all up again and see what fresh fun they'd concocted.
Answer: dessert and music. It was an ice cream social with two bands playing and two new exhibits to see.
They might as well have called it the Happy Karen Hour series.
When we arrived Sweet Fern was playing, which meant Allison Self's big, beautiful voice and Josh Bearman's guitar and harmonies.
A diverse crowd (a neighbor, the man about town, WRIR folks, the beekeeper) was already in place, all tuned into what was being played.
I always enjoy watching people experience Allison singing for the first time because she just doesn't sound like anyone else in these parts.
Sometimes the songs were innuendo-filled (although I noticed that with young 'uns in the room, she didn't do her most ribald material) and sometimes straight up.
"I'm Just Here to Get my Baby Out of Jail," pretty much lays it out.
Josh used his quick wit to announce the finale, "I'm Leaving You This Lonesome Song."
Then they did just that.
I scored some Bev's Mexicali chocolate ice cream (the ice cream portion of the social) and took advantage of chocolate sauce and peanuts to top it.
When I returned inside to eat it, I had to explain to several confused guys what the "Mexicali" portion of the ice cream's name meant.
To a man, they were shocked when they tasted the heat behind the chocolate ("What is in this ice cream?" one confused looking guy wailed to me).
I also used the break to check out the tiny show "Summer Mixer," a collection of 1920s to 1970s household appliances and ephemera from the Eclectic Electric collection, which I'd seen in a larger form, here.
Call me mid-century modern, but I love those old Cool Spot fans and Havana shakers, all but emblems of happy housewives and glamorous partygoers of another era.
After satisfying my inner domestic goddess (for I don't have much of an outer one), I jumped ship upstairs to see Rosemarie Fiore's "Fireworks."
The large scale works made by setting off fireworks with dyes were unique, but it was her smoke domes that captured my attention.
Smoke bombs are set off inside molten glass for jellyfish looking creations defined by swirls and embellishments.
They really have to be seen to be understood, much less appreciated. But see them.
Back on the ground floor, River City Band was playing and I've seen them enough to know what good pickers they are.
Meanwhile, audience members looked for seats, many holding both a glass of wine and a dish of ice cream.
That's my kind of cocktail hour.
Guitarist Grant began by addressing Josh and Allison about their mutual admiration, saying. "We should have a Carter Family Festival this summer and sing all Carter Family songs. Maybe August?"
Reason number 85296 I love this town. There are people who think that way.
Seamlessly winding their way through the likes of Bill Munroe and the late, great Earl Scruggs, they dazzled with fast pickin' and strong harmonies.
When they finished, we took off for Aziza's and some chow.
The place was lively when we arrived but we were the only ones at the bar.
Catching the end of happy hour, obviously our second of the night, we chose a bottle of Santa Julia Viognier, which hit the spot with our small plate choices.
Sea bean salad was a must since who's ever heard of sea beans (we asked and were assured they grew in the sea)?
Served with marinated shrimp and tarragon vinaigrette, the dish had a briny crunch from the very slender bean stalks that complemented the zesty shrimp.
Roasted mushrooms with asparagus, pea shoots and a sunny side up egg had an underpinning of lemon and overtones of a rich yolk. Yum.
When our server came to check on us, I mentioned how hard it was to hear the music.
"Want me to turn it up?" she genially offered. "What music? 40s, 50s, 60s?"
I chose sixties and while it wouldn't have been my first choice (no reverb! no horns!), now I could at least hear it.
And while I didn't particularly need to hear "Last Train to Clarksville" again, I definitely got a kick out of hearing "Only the String Survive."
I remember my first love affair
Somehow or another the whole darn thing went wrong
My mama had some great advice
So I thought I'd put it into words of this song
The only way to top that was with Three Dog Night's "Old Fashioned Love Song."
Hey, I couldn't blame anyone but myself. I'd said yes to the sixties.
When she returned later to see if we wanted dessert, all of a sudden the music returned to 40s and then 50s music as we all looked dumbfounded.
After checking to make sure the other server hadn't changed the station, she shrugged it off as, "We have ghosts here."
In buildings that old that have seen that much? I'm not surprised in the least.
Putting aside paranormal activity, we declined a cream puff since we'd begun with Bev's at the Anderson hours ago.
And speaking of early ice cream, I think they should serve Bev's at that Carter Family Festival later this summer.
It'll be the perfect bookend to tonight's start of the season.
And reason 85297.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Sing Single Girl
It doesn't take much to find a simple way to savor the end of the weekend.
When you walk into Avalon twenty minutes after it opens on a Sunday, it's a safe bet that there will already be some regulars in place.
And the bartender who's been there forever will greet me like a regular even though my frequency there is slight compared to an actual regular.
It helps that I am meeting a true regular, someone whose default after-work bar is Avalon.
Because he has already chosen a brown drink, I do the same, sidestepping wine to order Hornitos and we proceed to cover as much conversational territory as possible in the short time we have.
We talk about my Scottish friend wanting me to come visit and the charm/inevitability of livestock on the roads when you drive in Scotland.
I know it's true because it's happened to me.
Because I know it will crack him up, I tell him my recent oyster story and he tells me that only I could take a walk on a shell bar in the river and have a guy approach me.
I'm quite sure I'm not the only one.
After our limited time together, I head out to collect a willing music lover and spend the evening at Commercial Taphouse listening to a couple of my favorite local performers.
Songbird Allison Self has Grant Hunnicutt of River City Band playing with her tonight and his mandolin and voice are a terrific addition to her big voice.
With a Ploughman's platter of cheeses, pickles,bread, tomato and lettuce to sustain us, we sit in the back most booth because it's the only one free when we walk in.
There's something quite civilized about listening to old bluegrass and Americana, stuff like Carter Family tunes, a favorite of Allison's, and "Single Girl, Married Girl" on a Sunday night.
The crowd was even mostly paying attention, which was appreciated given how good the two sounded in the small restaurant.
It wasn't an earth-shattering kind of evening, but everyone at my table seemed to be having a great time.
But then, we're regulars at having a good time wherever we end up.
When you walk into Avalon twenty minutes after it opens on a Sunday, it's a safe bet that there will already be some regulars in place.
And the bartender who's been there forever will greet me like a regular even though my frequency there is slight compared to an actual regular.
It helps that I am meeting a true regular, someone whose default after-work bar is Avalon.
Because he has already chosen a brown drink, I do the same, sidestepping wine to order Hornitos and we proceed to cover as much conversational territory as possible in the short time we have.
We talk about my Scottish friend wanting me to come visit and the charm/inevitability of livestock on the roads when you drive in Scotland.
I know it's true because it's happened to me.
Because I know it will crack him up, I tell him my recent oyster story and he tells me that only I could take a walk on a shell bar in the river and have a guy approach me.
I'm quite sure I'm not the only one.
After our limited time together, I head out to collect a willing music lover and spend the evening at Commercial Taphouse listening to a couple of my favorite local performers.
Songbird Allison Self has Grant Hunnicutt of River City Band playing with her tonight and his mandolin and voice are a terrific addition to her big voice.
With a Ploughman's platter of cheeses, pickles,bread, tomato and lettuce to sustain us, we sit in the back most booth because it's the only one free when we walk in.
There's something quite civilized about listening to old bluegrass and Americana, stuff like Carter Family tunes, a favorite of Allison's, and "Single Girl, Married Girl" on a Sunday night.
The crowd was even mostly paying attention, which was appreciated given how good the two sounded in the small restaurant.
It wasn't an earth-shattering kind of evening, but everyone at my table seemed to be having a great time.
But then, we're regulars at having a good time wherever we end up.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Under the Milky Way Tonight
Today was Galileo's birthday and somehow that must be worth noting.
Surely the Italian who discovered the phases of Venus (love struck, lovesick, smitten) and the Galilean moons deserves some sort of acknowledgment, even if he was doubted in his own time.
I decided to go with music. The way I see it, how better to celebrate science than with the arts?
Because celebrating a scientist with science sounds duller than watching paint dry, at least to me.
Besides, I was going anyhow. I even had a willing accomplice for the show, a guy with nothing better to do.
Balliceaux was hosting a double bill of Allison Self and Ariel Rubin, making for two Venuses with ukuleles.
Allison, who needs no introduction (or mic), did one of her usual strong sets, choosing music by Loretta Lynn
("Don't Come Home A-Drinking"), the Carter Family and a song about gin by Bessie Smith, as well as her own original material.
She alternated her two ukuleles, promising the small but enthusiastic crowd that Ariel would also have two ukes.
When she mentioned having CDs for sale, she allowed that they were also available "If you want to do something for me."
Pause. "Come on guys," she laughed. "Like sweep my floor."
Oh, that.
Allison was opening for Boston's Ariel Rubin who brought with her a stellar guitarist (and plenty of effects) to augment her folk pop sound.
She, too, had two ukuleles, baritone and tenor, both amplified, but it was her voice that grabbed the room and held fast.
A song about crazy eyes was hauntingly beautiful, leaving listeners stunned when it finished.
"Mama, I'm Leaving" told the story, she said, of packing up and moving from western Canada to Boston. Mom was less than enthused about the move, it seemed.
Favorite lyric: "You wanna do right, but not right now."
She continued with one beautifully sung song after another before thanking the crowd and thanking Allison for making it possible.
And we fans were turned out into the night to finish up our evening under Galileo's moons.
Forget science, I'm convinced I not only want to do it right, I also want to do it right now. Maybe even sweep the floor, too.
Doubters, take note.
Surely the Italian who discovered the phases of Venus (love struck, lovesick, smitten) and the Galilean moons deserves some sort of acknowledgment, even if he was doubted in his own time.
I decided to go with music. The way I see it, how better to celebrate science than with the arts?
Because celebrating a scientist with science sounds duller than watching paint dry, at least to me.
Besides, I was going anyhow. I even had a willing accomplice for the show, a guy with nothing better to do.
Balliceaux was hosting a double bill of Allison Self and Ariel Rubin, making for two Venuses with ukuleles.
Allison, who needs no introduction (or mic), did one of her usual strong sets, choosing music by Loretta Lynn
("Don't Come Home A-Drinking"), the Carter Family and a song about gin by Bessie Smith, as well as her own original material.
She alternated her two ukuleles, promising the small but enthusiastic crowd that Ariel would also have two ukes.
When she mentioned having CDs for sale, she allowed that they were also available "If you want to do something for me."
Pause. "Come on guys," she laughed. "Like sweep my floor."
Oh, that.
Allison was opening for Boston's Ariel Rubin who brought with her a stellar guitarist (and plenty of effects) to augment her folk pop sound.
She, too, had two ukuleles, baritone and tenor, both amplified, but it was her voice that grabbed the room and held fast.
A song about crazy eyes was hauntingly beautiful, leaving listeners stunned when it finished.
"Mama, I'm Leaving" told the story, she said, of packing up and moving from western Canada to Boston. Mom was less than enthused about the move, it seemed.
Favorite lyric: "You wanna do right, but not right now."
She continued with one beautifully sung song after another before thanking the crowd and thanking Allison for making it possible.
And we fans were turned out into the night to finish up our evening under Galileo's moons.
Forget science, I'm convinced I not only want to do it right, I also want to do it right now. Maybe even sweep the floor, too.
Doubters, take note.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Baby Help Me Remember It All
I am one of the rest of us and quite proud of it.
So when WRIR throws itself and the rest of us a birthday party, I go.
No, not always; I've been to five and this was their seventh.
I go because it's a great way to support Richmond's independent radio station.
Ten dollars is a small price to pay for multiple rooms of diverse music, storytelling, comedy and burlesque.
I go because practically everyone I know goes to it. And some I didn't know until tonight.
You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a DJ. Music lovers of every ilk are there.
A woman walks up and says, "Hi, Karen" and says something about being "Anonymous" on my blog.
She guessed who I was by my (40 Euro) tights and tells me she reads it to get ideas of what to do.
I admit it; I love the compliment.
The pretty people come (Michael and Matt) and say wildly flattering things to me in the first five minutes I'm there.
The homebodies come in their adorable vintage shoes.
The prickly one comes not only smiling but looking dapper.
The long-time music buddy comes with tales of a predictably madcap show I missed.
I go because they serve birthday cake and it's chocolate with white icing, a favorite of mine.
It will surprise no one who knows me but I am one of the first people to get a piece.
I grab a corner (more icing!) with no black decoration since we all learned last year that it turns your teeth black in a most unattractive manner.
I go to hear music any way it's presented. And, I'll be honest, without earplugs.
I hear a drum circle from three feet away and I feel like the drum rhythms have me rooted in place unable to move away, despite the volume, until the drums stop.
Sweet Fern, aka Allison Self and Josh Bearman, play un-amplified in the main hallway next to the food table.
Only the small circle of us who surround them from two feet away are able to hear their Carter Family and Johnny Cash covers over the din of the crowd.
Allison finished with what she called a dirty song, Lucille Bogen's "Shave Em Dry," throwing out the f-bomb and sex references to the rapt group surrounding her.
I loved watching people hear her do it for the first time.
I go to hear Baby Help Me Forget's last show, knowing lead singer and showman extraordinaire Jamie will end up shirtless and on the floor.
It's emotional because it's the end for the band. "It's been a good run," Jamie says. It has.
Their set the last night Sprout was open will go down in the annals of great Richmond shows.
I go to see the awesome light show Dave Watkins puts on behind the bands. The groovy factor is high.
I go to hear White Laces demonstrate for the second time in two weeks why their continuing musical evolution is an amazing thing to behold.
Just when your body starts moving and you expect to get locked in a groove, the tempo changes up and you know you are being challenged.
And you like it a lot.
As if all that weren't enough, I am told I was thanked. And I see the proof.
Why wouldn't I pull out the cute tights for a party that good?
So when WRIR throws itself and the rest of us a birthday party, I go.
No, not always; I've been to five and this was their seventh.
I go because it's a great way to support Richmond's independent radio station.
Ten dollars is a small price to pay for multiple rooms of diverse music, storytelling, comedy and burlesque.
I go because practically everyone I know goes to it. And some I didn't know until tonight.
You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a DJ. Music lovers of every ilk are there.
A woman walks up and says, "Hi, Karen" and says something about being "Anonymous" on my blog.
She guessed who I was by my (40 Euro) tights and tells me she reads it to get ideas of what to do.
I admit it; I love the compliment.
The pretty people come (Michael and Matt) and say wildly flattering things to me in the first five minutes I'm there.
The homebodies come in their adorable vintage shoes.
The prickly one comes not only smiling but looking dapper.
The long-time music buddy comes with tales of a predictably madcap show I missed.
I go because they serve birthday cake and it's chocolate with white icing, a favorite of mine.
It will surprise no one who knows me but I am one of the first people to get a piece.
I grab a corner (more icing!) with no black decoration since we all learned last year that it turns your teeth black in a most unattractive manner.
I go to hear music any way it's presented. And, I'll be honest, without earplugs.
I hear a drum circle from three feet away and I feel like the drum rhythms have me rooted in place unable to move away, despite the volume, until the drums stop.
Sweet Fern, aka Allison Self and Josh Bearman, play un-amplified in the main hallway next to the food table.
Only the small circle of us who surround them from two feet away are able to hear their Carter Family and Johnny Cash covers over the din of the crowd.
Allison finished with what she called a dirty song, Lucille Bogen's "Shave Em Dry," throwing out the f-bomb and sex references to the rapt group surrounding her.
I loved watching people hear her do it for the first time.
I go to hear Baby Help Me Forget's last show, knowing lead singer and showman extraordinaire Jamie will end up shirtless and on the floor.
It's emotional because it's the end for the band. "It's been a good run," Jamie says. It has.
Their set the last night Sprout was open will go down in the annals of great Richmond shows.
I go to see the awesome light show Dave Watkins puts on behind the bands. The groovy factor is high.
I go to hear White Laces demonstrate for the second time in two weeks why their continuing musical evolution is an amazing thing to behold.
Just when your body starts moving and you expect to get locked in a groove, the tempo changes up and you know you are being challenged.
And you like it a lot.
As if all that weren't enough, I am told I was thanked. And I see the proof.
Why wouldn't I pull out the cute tights for a party that good?
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Pickin' and Grinnin' to Sangiovese
You can try keeping me in by inviting me to dinner, but that doesn't mean I won't suggest going out at some point.
Which is to say that after the veal and the bottle of Mulderbosch Rose were savored near an open window (yes, on a fine January evening), I made a case for adjourning to Carytown Bistro for a little bluegrass.
I've been told that I can make a very convincing argument when I want to.
Since it was my first time there for music since it changed from Bin 22, I didn't know how much of a crowd to expect.
The place turned out to be nearly full with a lot of people standing to hear Tara Mills (Charlottesville) and Chloe Edmonstone (Asheville) play their bluegrass.
They'd rounded up a local bass player and part-time RVA mandolin player to round out the sound and shoehorned themselves into the alcove up front.
The reluctant contingent and I got glasses of the Tuscan Il Bastardo and managed to grab a couple of recently available seats in a community booth right up front.
The set featured the violinist Chloe and the bass player Zach each singing lead vocals for a song, changing up their sound considerably.
Chloe's voice reminded me a bit of Allison's, always a good thing.
Josh Bearman of the Hot Seats arrived during the break, convenient because he was on next.
In his defense, he'd just finished his shift on WRIR, so it wasn't like he'd been dawdling.
But he and band mate Allison Self, who've dubbed themselves Sweet Fern, know exactly what they're doing and the two launched onto their set effortlessly.
Josh is a master at stage banter, one very funny and superbly talented guy.
Allison's big, beautiful voice was made for "old timey" music and between her ukulele and his guitar/mandolin, they pulled off a stellar performance, only resorting to a lyric sheet for the encore demanded by the audience.
With a Carter Family cover, songs about tried and true love as well as one about being a single gal, there was a little something to make everyone happy.
Which was a good thing considering I'd dragged the dinner party with me out into a balmy sixty-degree night to partake of a little mountain music.
Doesn't sound like much of a sacrifice to me.
Fortunate are those I can convince to join me. Dessert can always wait.
Which is to say that after the veal and the bottle of Mulderbosch Rose were savored near an open window (yes, on a fine January evening), I made a case for adjourning to Carytown Bistro for a little bluegrass.
I've been told that I can make a very convincing argument when I want to.
Since it was my first time there for music since it changed from Bin 22, I didn't know how much of a crowd to expect.
The place turned out to be nearly full with a lot of people standing to hear Tara Mills (Charlottesville) and Chloe Edmonstone (Asheville) play their bluegrass.
They'd rounded up a local bass player and part-time RVA mandolin player to round out the sound and shoehorned themselves into the alcove up front.
The reluctant contingent and I got glasses of the Tuscan Il Bastardo and managed to grab a couple of recently available seats in a community booth right up front.
The set featured the violinist Chloe and the bass player Zach each singing lead vocals for a song, changing up their sound considerably.
Chloe's voice reminded me a bit of Allison's, always a good thing.
Josh Bearman of the Hot Seats arrived during the break, convenient because he was on next.
In his defense, he'd just finished his shift on WRIR, so it wasn't like he'd been dawdling.
But he and band mate Allison Self, who've dubbed themselves Sweet Fern, know exactly what they're doing and the two launched onto their set effortlessly.
Josh is a master at stage banter, one very funny and superbly talented guy.
Allison's big, beautiful voice was made for "old timey" music and between her ukulele and his guitar/mandolin, they pulled off a stellar performance, only resorting to a lyric sheet for the encore demanded by the audience.
With a Carter Family cover, songs about tried and true love as well as one about being a single gal, there was a little something to make everyone happy.
Which was a good thing considering I'd dragged the dinner party with me out into a balmy sixty-degree night to partake of a little mountain music.
Doesn't sound like much of a sacrifice to me.
Fortunate are those I can convince to join me. Dessert can always wait.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Laugh Attack
My record store is cooler than your record store.
Tonight Steady Sounds played host to comedy in the upstairs loft and while I'd seen bands before in the store, it was a first going for laughs.
It was also my first time at Midnight Suggestion's monthly comedy series and the loft was packed.
First we saw locals Manly Man (two girls and a ukulele) doing their musical comedy
A routine/song about buying a boyfriend of six months a Siamese Snuggie was called "You're In Me" and was double-entendre-hysterical.
Stand-up comic James Paulk was actually a sit-down comic, making his observations laconically and comfortably.
I saw several members of Richmond's Comedy Coalition in the audience, no doubt doing a field trip.
Midnight Suggestion had brought down NYC's James Adomian for the main event and he captured the audience's attention immediately.
His spot-on imitations of Gary Busey, Sam Elliott and Danny DeVito, among others, appeared effortless.
He mentioned that he was gay and made all kinds of witty observations about old gay bars, the Sheriff of Nottingham, gay villains and playing center on his football team.
The couple in front of me were clearly fans and recorded his set while I had never heard of him (what's "Last Comic Standing"?) and just laughed.
All I've got is my memory but it's a good one. A lot of it was laugh-out-loud funny.
Somehow I was fortunate enough to have dinner made for me for the second night in a row before heading off to Balliceaux for music.
Nashville honky-tonk band J.P. Harris and the Tough Choices were already playing to a dancing crowd when we arrived.
You know it's a good sign when people are dancing.
The band said in the two years they've been together, they've traveled 110,000 miles and played 175 dates. They're soon to release their first CD.
It was pretty obvious from how tight they were and how engaged the crowd was that they've mastered the live thing.
I had my best view ever of a guy in a big hat playing lap steel. And the drummer had the best mustache/hat combination ever.
Running into a teacher friend who'd been busy dancing a minute before, I praised her for being out on a school night.
"Honky-tonk here on a Wednesday night! I had to," she exclaimed.
I saw another friend who was there on a first date and he introduced me to her.
"I'm very uncultured," she said sweetly. "Is this hipster country music?"
Not surprisingly, Americana songbird Allison Self was there, appropriately dressed in a red shirt, boots and jeans, looking adorable and two-stepping around the dance floor all night.
You know this was her kind of music.
Aside from wishing the vocals had been higher in the mix, the band played two strong sets and most of the crowd stayed till the end.
Everyone was having too much fun to go anywhere.
The lead singer spoke to us before we left, thanking us for coming. He told a story about doing a public radio interview and being labeled "Americana" by the DJ.
He corrected her that the band was really country, only to render her speechless.
And for the umpteenth time tonight, I had to laugh. Oh, sure, their music is country, no question.
But a DJ rendered speechless?
Some people crack me up. I love it.
Tonight Steady Sounds played host to comedy in the upstairs loft and while I'd seen bands before in the store, it was a first going for laughs.
It was also my first time at Midnight Suggestion's monthly comedy series and the loft was packed.
First we saw locals Manly Man (two girls and a ukulele) doing their musical comedy
A routine/song about buying a boyfriend of six months a Siamese Snuggie was called "You're In Me" and was double-entendre-hysterical.
Stand-up comic James Paulk was actually a sit-down comic, making his observations laconically and comfortably.
I saw several members of Richmond's Comedy Coalition in the audience, no doubt doing a field trip.
Midnight Suggestion had brought down NYC's James Adomian for the main event and he captured the audience's attention immediately.
His spot-on imitations of Gary Busey, Sam Elliott and Danny DeVito, among others, appeared effortless.
He mentioned that he was gay and made all kinds of witty observations about old gay bars, the Sheriff of Nottingham, gay villains and playing center on his football team.
The couple in front of me were clearly fans and recorded his set while I had never heard of him (what's "Last Comic Standing"?) and just laughed.
All I've got is my memory but it's a good one. A lot of it was laugh-out-loud funny.
Somehow I was fortunate enough to have dinner made for me for the second night in a row before heading off to Balliceaux for music.
Nashville honky-tonk band J.P. Harris and the Tough Choices were already playing to a dancing crowd when we arrived.
You know it's a good sign when people are dancing.
The band said in the two years they've been together, they've traveled 110,000 miles and played 175 dates. They're soon to release their first CD.
It was pretty obvious from how tight they were and how engaged the crowd was that they've mastered the live thing.
I had my best view ever of a guy in a big hat playing lap steel. And the drummer had the best mustache/hat combination ever.
Running into a teacher friend who'd been busy dancing a minute before, I praised her for being out on a school night.
"Honky-tonk here on a Wednesday night! I had to," she exclaimed.
I saw another friend who was there on a first date and he introduced me to her.
"I'm very uncultured," she said sweetly. "Is this hipster country music?"
Not surprisingly, Americana songbird Allison Self was there, appropriately dressed in a red shirt, boots and jeans, looking adorable and two-stepping around the dance floor all night.
You know this was her kind of music.
Aside from wishing the vocals had been higher in the mix, the band played two strong sets and most of the crowd stayed till the end.
Everyone was having too much fun to go anywhere.
The lead singer spoke to us before we left, thanking us for coming. He told a story about doing a public radio interview and being labeled "Americana" by the DJ.
He corrected her that the band was really country, only to render her speechless.
And for the umpteenth time tonight, I had to laugh. Oh, sure, their music is country, no question.
But a DJ rendered speechless?
Some people crack me up. I love it.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Leaping into the Jonny Z Fest
Here's the beauty of the annual Jonny Z Fest.
It's a tribute to a guy who gave back to the community.
It's small, only one city block long. It's full of talented folks selling their wares. It's got local music.
And I always run into scads of people I know, inevitably including some I haven't seen in far too long.
Even with two brief bursts of rain, the enthusiasm of the crowd couldn't be dampened.
In fact, most of us agreed that the raindrops felt pretty wonderful.
I bought a bag of fresh figs from City Garden, all but four of which disappeared before I got home.
Fig season is to be savored and I find it hard to use restraint.
Allison Self was providing the big voice that filled the block with her vintage Americana sound accompanied by ukulele.
She said later that she was sweating like mad but it didn't show in her beautiful singing.
There were several vintage clothing booths, including one that had a plaid cotton bathing suit circa 1950, the old-school kind my grandmother wore until her dying day.
To do my part, I bought Art 180 raffle tickets to support their worthwhile cause.
If I should win something, that would just be gravy.
I stopped by the Richmond Zine Fest table to talk to a friend and ended up making a donation (I go to the Zine Fest every year anyway) and walking away with the work of another friend, "Manifesto, Baby: Poems by Liz Canfield."
madam, a pair of silk stockings is not a leap into space
what people did they are going to do
~from "Surrealist Manifesto (Andre Breton, 1924)"
Lamplighter had a cart and I tasted their ginger snap iced tea which honestly tasted just like a ginger snap, pungent and sweet.
Stopping at a vegan cupcake and doughnut table, I was treated to mini- chocolate cake donuts to die for.
They had chocolate icing and chocolate sprinkles.
I'm not going vegan in this lifetime, but those little donuts were damn good.
Maybe the cosmos heard my rant about cake donuts the other day and provided.
I ran into a book store friend and got his thoughts on a book I'd been considering reading for months.
The last time I'd checked with him, he hadn't gotten into it but today he wanted to share his thoughts as a reader.
"Night of the Hunter," here I come.
After three passes through to make sure I saw everything I wanted to and everyone (countless musicians, tons of restaurant people, DJs, gallery people, wine reps, music lovers) I knew, I was finished.
Satisfied, I left, only to run into the Boka Truck tucked away on Hanover Avenue.
What was this?
Seems that they'd been coming back from the St. Stephens Market and happened on the festival. Dumb luck.
They weren't part of the plan, but the organizer invited them to stay after spotting their truck.
But after a busy morning at the market, they were about out of several items, so I was going to be the last customer of the day I was told.
Looking at their brunch menu, my choice was made in a nanosecond: duck egg taco with Chorizo, cheese, onion, cilantro and Sriracha sauce.
When I asked, owner Patrick said that the duck eggs were from Tan-A and often came with feathers on them.
That was good enough for me.
We chatted about the people at that market, how incredibly busy they'd been and how much prep he was going to have to do come Monday to make up for selling out of so many things.
And he wasn't kidding about me being the last customer.
Moments before my taco was finished, he started up the truck in order to make a quick getaway after handing off to me.
When he gave me my plate, I thanked him for letting me be the last and started to leave with my impressive-looking plate of food.
"Wait, Karen!" he called. "Take napkins. You're going to need them when that yolk breaks."
He wasn't kidding. That big yolk oozed its rich goodness over everything and provided a dipping sauce for the whole taco (I wanted to say enchilada).
I wanted to lick the plate when I finished, but licking a paper plate isn't aesthetically satisfying.
Not that anyone I knew at the Jonny Z Fest would have judged me for it.
What people did, they are going to do.
Or not do.
It's a tribute to a guy who gave back to the community.
It's small, only one city block long. It's full of talented folks selling their wares. It's got local music.
And I always run into scads of people I know, inevitably including some I haven't seen in far too long.
Even with two brief bursts of rain, the enthusiasm of the crowd couldn't be dampened.
In fact, most of us agreed that the raindrops felt pretty wonderful.
I bought a bag of fresh figs from City Garden, all but four of which disappeared before I got home.
Fig season is to be savored and I find it hard to use restraint.
Allison Self was providing the big voice that filled the block with her vintage Americana sound accompanied by ukulele.
She said later that she was sweating like mad but it didn't show in her beautiful singing.
There were several vintage clothing booths, including one that had a plaid cotton bathing suit circa 1950, the old-school kind my grandmother wore until her dying day.
To do my part, I bought Art 180 raffle tickets to support their worthwhile cause.
If I should win something, that would just be gravy.
I stopped by the Richmond Zine Fest table to talk to a friend and ended up making a donation (I go to the Zine Fest every year anyway) and walking away with the work of another friend, "Manifesto, Baby: Poems by Liz Canfield."
madam, a pair of silk stockings is not a leap into space
what people did they are going to do
~from "Surrealist Manifesto (Andre Breton, 1924)"
Lamplighter had a cart and I tasted their ginger snap iced tea which honestly tasted just like a ginger snap, pungent and sweet.
Stopping at a vegan cupcake and doughnut table, I was treated to mini- chocolate cake donuts to die for.
They had chocolate icing and chocolate sprinkles.
I'm not going vegan in this lifetime, but those little donuts were damn good.
Maybe the cosmos heard my rant about cake donuts the other day and provided.
I ran into a book store friend and got his thoughts on a book I'd been considering reading for months.
The last time I'd checked with him, he hadn't gotten into it but today he wanted to share his thoughts as a reader.
"Night of the Hunter," here I come.
After three passes through to make sure I saw everything I wanted to and everyone (countless musicians, tons of restaurant people, DJs, gallery people, wine reps, music lovers) I knew, I was finished.
Satisfied, I left, only to run into the Boka Truck tucked away on Hanover Avenue.
What was this?
Seems that they'd been coming back from the St. Stephens Market and happened on the festival. Dumb luck.
They weren't part of the plan, but the organizer invited them to stay after spotting their truck.
But after a busy morning at the market, they were about out of several items, so I was going to be the last customer of the day I was told.
Looking at their brunch menu, my choice was made in a nanosecond: duck egg taco with Chorizo, cheese, onion, cilantro and Sriracha sauce.
When I asked, owner Patrick said that the duck eggs were from Tan-A and often came with feathers on them.
That was good enough for me.
We chatted about the people at that market, how incredibly busy they'd been and how much prep he was going to have to do come Monday to make up for selling out of so many things.
And he wasn't kidding about me being the last customer.
Moments before my taco was finished, he started up the truck in order to make a quick getaway after handing off to me.
When he gave me my plate, I thanked him for letting me be the last and started to leave with my impressive-looking plate of food.
"Wait, Karen!" he called. "Take napkins. You're going to need them when that yolk breaks."
He wasn't kidding. That big yolk oozed its rich goodness over everything and provided a dipping sauce for the whole taco (I wanted to say enchilada).
I wanted to lick the plate when I finished, but licking a paper plate isn't aesthetically satisfying.
Not that anyone I knew at the Jonny Z Fest would have judged me for it.
What people did, they are going to do.
Or not do.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Like Sugar on My Tongue
You'd think that people who had been naked for a week wouldn't get nervous about much.
Butt tonight's Lobo Marino Homecoming show dispelled that theory.
The Firehouse Theater played host to a show of three Richmond favorites, all with wildly divergent sounds: Allison Self, Homemade Knives and the returning heroes, Lobo Marino.
The house was slow to fill up and the show didn't start on time, but once chanteuse Allison Self opened her mouth to sing, all that was forgotten.
If you haven't heard Allison before, it's a shock when you first hear this twenty-something's voice, because it sounds like a vintage 20s or 30s record, maybe something from Lucille Bogan's era.
Although she did a couple of original songs, Allison leans toward covering classic Americana and did so tonight with excellent choices by Loretta Lynn, Gillian Welch and the Memphis Jug Band while accompanying herself on ukulele.
During the break, I was talking with friends about the next band, Homemade Knives. A story was told about a friend who brought tissues to their show because, she said, "Their songs make me weepy."
There is something heart-breaking and sad about HK's lyrics as well as Will Loyal's earnest and low-key vocals, especially with Anousheh and Jonathan's beautiful harmonies behind him.
Will commented that he took up the guitar late and didn't seem to be getting any better at it.
"Are we in tune?" he asked Jonathan, who answered affirmatively.
"He's the one who knows," Will acknowledged.
Late in the set while Jonathan was playing guitar and harmonica, his holder suddenly slipped.
Without missing a beat, he caught it and returned it to the upright position in time to play the next note.
Afterwards he asked rhetorically, "How was that for a harmonica save?" Pretty damn impressive, actually.
Favorite lyric: "I will hold you like sugar on my tongue."
Both Jameson and Laney of Lobo Marino had mentioned during the break how nervous they were, which seemed odd considering how many times I've seen them play out and how many friends they had in the audience.
Taking the stage, Laney noticed a lot of new faces in the crowd and introduced themselves, saying they were just back from tour.
"We've played all over the country. I've never been as nervous as tonight," she laughed. Playing in front of strangers carries no stress compared to playing for friends apparently.
In between playing songs like "Pope's Nose" and "Animal Hands," they told stories of their travels.
Describing the creepiest place they'd slept brought on stories of a bar in Florida near the lake where the alligators were relocated when Disney Land was built.
Adorned with decapitated baby dolls and zombies on the ceiling, a woman in the bar told them that the place used to have a spirit living there, but that she'd cleared it out. Laney said she'd slept just fine.
She also acknowledged LM's third member, multi-instrumentalist Nathaniel (banjo, drum, trumpet, to name just three) who had joined them for part of the tour before returning to Virginia.
Addressing her remarks to Nathaniel's girlfriend, she said, "Thank you for loaning us Nathanael. He missed you so much. It was pathetic."
Who doesn't want to hear that they were missed? Certainly not me.
For us long-time LM fans, it was a thrill to be treated to a new song written while the band was in California with no clothes on.
For a week they were staying at a clothing-optional commune, which had nothing to do with optional, as Jameson explained. "That means no clothes."
There among the giant redwoods and the nudity, a new song was written. Tonight was its debut.
"That proves we were productive on tour," Jameson said afterwards about the beautiful song.
The next time I'm struggling with low productivity, I think I'll strip down and see what it does for my creative juices.
Let's just say I've been inspired by the Homecoming King and Queen of Lobo Marino.
Butt tonight's Lobo Marino Homecoming show dispelled that theory.
The Firehouse Theater played host to a show of three Richmond favorites, all with wildly divergent sounds: Allison Self, Homemade Knives and the returning heroes, Lobo Marino.
The house was slow to fill up and the show didn't start on time, but once chanteuse Allison Self opened her mouth to sing, all that was forgotten.
If you haven't heard Allison before, it's a shock when you first hear this twenty-something's voice, because it sounds like a vintage 20s or 30s record, maybe something from Lucille Bogan's era.
Although she did a couple of original songs, Allison leans toward covering classic Americana and did so tonight with excellent choices by Loretta Lynn, Gillian Welch and the Memphis Jug Band while accompanying herself on ukulele.
During the break, I was talking with friends about the next band, Homemade Knives. A story was told about a friend who brought tissues to their show because, she said, "Their songs make me weepy."
There is something heart-breaking and sad about HK's lyrics as well as Will Loyal's earnest and low-key vocals, especially with Anousheh and Jonathan's beautiful harmonies behind him.
Will commented that he took up the guitar late and didn't seem to be getting any better at it.
"Are we in tune?" he asked Jonathan, who answered affirmatively.
"He's the one who knows," Will acknowledged.
Late in the set while Jonathan was playing guitar and harmonica, his holder suddenly slipped.
Without missing a beat, he caught it and returned it to the upright position in time to play the next note.
Afterwards he asked rhetorically, "How was that for a harmonica save?" Pretty damn impressive, actually.
Favorite lyric: "I will hold you like sugar on my tongue."
Both Jameson and Laney of Lobo Marino had mentioned during the break how nervous they were, which seemed odd considering how many times I've seen them play out and how many friends they had in the audience.
Taking the stage, Laney noticed a lot of new faces in the crowd and introduced themselves, saying they were just back from tour.
"We've played all over the country. I've never been as nervous as tonight," she laughed. Playing in front of strangers carries no stress compared to playing for friends apparently.
In between playing songs like "Pope's Nose" and "Animal Hands," they told stories of their travels.
Describing the creepiest place they'd slept brought on stories of a bar in Florida near the lake where the alligators were relocated when Disney Land was built.
Adorned with decapitated baby dolls and zombies on the ceiling, a woman in the bar told them that the place used to have a spirit living there, but that she'd cleared it out. Laney said she'd slept just fine.
She also acknowledged LM's third member, multi-instrumentalist Nathaniel (banjo, drum, trumpet, to name just three) who had joined them for part of the tour before returning to Virginia.
Addressing her remarks to Nathaniel's girlfriend, she said, "Thank you for loaning us Nathanael. He missed you so much. It was pathetic."
Who doesn't want to hear that they were missed? Certainly not me.
For us long-time LM fans, it was a thrill to be treated to a new song written while the band was in California with no clothes on.
For a week they were staying at a clothing-optional commune, which had nothing to do with optional, as Jameson explained. "That means no clothes."
There among the giant redwoods and the nudity, a new song was written. Tonight was its debut.
"That proves we were productive on tour," Jameson said afterwards about the beautiful song.
The next time I'm struggling with low productivity, I think I'll strip down and see what it does for my creative juices.
Let's just say I've been inspired by the Homecoming King and Queen of Lobo Marino.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
No Blushing Here
"You know who in here I wouldn't want to see naked?" I asked my server at Rowland tonight.
The laugh attack I caused him almost made him choke. "No one has ever asked me that before," he gasped, trying to put his best professional hat back on as he leaned down for the answer. "Who?"
Despite every single table being full when I arrived around 8:30, the bar was a little sparse and while a couple eventually settled on the other end, it remained that way. It worked out fine because the three servers gave me more than enough conversation throughout the evening.
I know you're not supposed to drink alone but with no nearby barsitters, what's a girl to do but order some Anton Bauer Gruner Veltliner and make the best of the situation? My server told me that he can only drink one glass of this grape before the green berry fruits start to wear on him. I don't have that problem and enjoyed a glass before even considering my food choices.
Although the unique butterbean cake is a given at Rowland, I listened to the specials just in case something grabbed me, as it turned out, a wise decision because I was completely taken with the description of one of them. Seared scallops and grilled lobster chunks over savory corn pudding laced with thyme butter sounded too good to pass up, so I didn't.
I was enjoying a piece of crusty bread dipped in their signature garlic-infused olive oil with roasted garlic (presuming that I wasn't likely to be kissing anyone tonight, drat the luck) when the main event arrived. I had so made the right choice.
The dish was decadently rich, from the sweetness of the abundant scallops and lobster to the creamy, butter-drenched corn pudding and the nice acidity of the wine paired beautifully with it. Luckily, the wine police were not watching my consumption tonight, unlike last night.
My check arrived five minutes before the show I was going to see was to start ("Well, it's just not that far," my server grinned by way of explanation) but that's what happens when you tell people what your plans involve.
Over at Sprout, the crowd was forming for the Allison Self and Jail Swerves show. I've seen Allison enough to know not to miss her infrequent performances because she has a huge voice unlike any female singer in Richmond and a knack for choosing the ideal vintage material to showcase it.
She did some standards like "Good Night, Irene" and "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot," utilizing harmonica player Andrew Ali, as talented a player as any who only took up the instrument a year and a half ago. When we spoke during the break, he explained, "I want to be the old guy playing harmonica on the porch."
He's got a long way to go to old, but his talent is as evident as his passion. Allison explained her affection for old music, saying that her grandmother always told her, "The deader they are, the more you like 'em." She admitted as much.
After her well-done set, seriously enhanced by Andrew's accompaniment, they were joined onstage by the Jail Swerves for a song. Covering Lucille Bogen, Allison belted out what she called a dirty song, the classic, "Shave 'Em Dry," originally recorded in 1935.
The extremely X-rated lyrics are more graphic than you can imagine and probably way more so than most of the listeners in the room with the big black X on their hands could have fathomed. Some of their faces were priceless in reaction; many looked stunned.
After a huge ovation, Allison left the stage and the punk hootenanny Jail Swerves kicked into the Clash's "London Calling." It was a major cultural shift.
No voice could have wowed after Allison's raucous, big-voiced set, but the quartet of banjo, fiddle, guitar and upright bass (and occasional accordion) was fun and energetic and also employed Andrew's talent. Periodically throughout their set, they would pass out tambourines to the crowd, always carefully collecting them in a laundry basket after each song.
Minor threats also aided the collection efforts. "If you keep these instruments, you are going to hell," the lead singer told the crowd.
After a rousing cover of "Tainted Love," the band insisted on leading the crowd into the other room to try to engage the bar crowd. Like the Pied Piper, people fell in line and followed for the one-song set near the bar before dutifully returning to the back room.
Proof positive that for some people, it's easier to play "follow the leader" than hear seriously raunchy lyrics. With any luck, they'll grow out of that.
Now if f*ckin' was the thing, that would take me to heaven
I'd be f*ckin' in the studio till the clock strike eleven
And that was by far the least objectionable part of the song. Kudos to Allison for sharing this vintage listener favorite with Richmond on a Saturday night.
It was truly an amazing thing to hear, naughty bits and all. Made me sorry I wasn't getting kissed...or more tonight.
The laugh attack I caused him almost made him choke. "No one has ever asked me that before," he gasped, trying to put his best professional hat back on as he leaned down for the answer. "Who?"
Despite every single table being full when I arrived around 8:30, the bar was a little sparse and while a couple eventually settled on the other end, it remained that way. It worked out fine because the three servers gave me more than enough conversation throughout the evening.
I know you're not supposed to drink alone but with no nearby barsitters, what's a girl to do but order some Anton Bauer Gruner Veltliner and make the best of the situation? My server told me that he can only drink one glass of this grape before the green berry fruits start to wear on him. I don't have that problem and enjoyed a glass before even considering my food choices.
Although the unique butterbean cake is a given at Rowland, I listened to the specials just in case something grabbed me, as it turned out, a wise decision because I was completely taken with the description of one of them. Seared scallops and grilled lobster chunks over savory corn pudding laced with thyme butter sounded too good to pass up, so I didn't.
I was enjoying a piece of crusty bread dipped in their signature garlic-infused olive oil with roasted garlic (presuming that I wasn't likely to be kissing anyone tonight, drat the luck) when the main event arrived. I had so made the right choice.
The dish was decadently rich, from the sweetness of the abundant scallops and lobster to the creamy, butter-drenched corn pudding and the nice acidity of the wine paired beautifully with it. Luckily, the wine police were not watching my consumption tonight, unlike last night.
My check arrived five minutes before the show I was going to see was to start ("Well, it's just not that far," my server grinned by way of explanation) but that's what happens when you tell people what your plans involve.
Over at Sprout, the crowd was forming for the Allison Self and Jail Swerves show. I've seen Allison enough to know not to miss her infrequent performances because she has a huge voice unlike any female singer in Richmond and a knack for choosing the ideal vintage material to showcase it.
She did some standards like "Good Night, Irene" and "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot," utilizing harmonica player Andrew Ali, as talented a player as any who only took up the instrument a year and a half ago. When we spoke during the break, he explained, "I want to be the old guy playing harmonica on the porch."
He's got a long way to go to old, but his talent is as evident as his passion. Allison explained her affection for old music, saying that her grandmother always told her, "The deader they are, the more you like 'em." She admitted as much.
After her well-done set, seriously enhanced by Andrew's accompaniment, they were joined onstage by the Jail Swerves for a song. Covering Lucille Bogen, Allison belted out what she called a dirty song, the classic, "Shave 'Em Dry," originally recorded in 1935.
The extremely X-rated lyrics are more graphic than you can imagine and probably way more so than most of the listeners in the room with the big black X on their hands could have fathomed. Some of their faces were priceless in reaction; many looked stunned.
After a huge ovation, Allison left the stage and the punk hootenanny Jail Swerves kicked into the Clash's "London Calling." It was a major cultural shift.
No voice could have wowed after Allison's raucous, big-voiced set, but the quartet of banjo, fiddle, guitar and upright bass (and occasional accordion) was fun and energetic and also employed Andrew's talent. Periodically throughout their set, they would pass out tambourines to the crowd, always carefully collecting them in a laundry basket after each song.
Minor threats also aided the collection efforts. "If you keep these instruments, you are going to hell," the lead singer told the crowd.
After a rousing cover of "Tainted Love," the band insisted on leading the crowd into the other room to try to engage the bar crowd. Like the Pied Piper, people fell in line and followed for the one-song set near the bar before dutifully returning to the back room.
Proof positive that for some people, it's easier to play "follow the leader" than hear seriously raunchy lyrics. With any luck, they'll grow out of that.
Now if f*ckin' was the thing, that would take me to heaven
I'd be f*ckin' in the studio till the clock strike eleven
And that was by far the least objectionable part of the song. Kudos to Allison for sharing this vintage listener favorite with Richmond on a Saturday night.
It was truly an amazing thing to hear, naughty bits and all. Made me sorry I wasn't getting kissed...or more tonight.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Musical Tuesday: Preachers' Guns and Sons
If I'd set out to have an evening of contrasting musical experiences, I couldn't have accomplished it any better than where I found myself tonight.
It was the end of an era at the Listening Room, with tonight's show being the final one at the Michaux House; after a stellar fifteen-month run there, the monthly event is moving to the Firehouse Theater.
No more will we walk down the outdoor staircase to the basement for a talk-free show, so it was a little bittersweet knowing I'd never again eat a donut or ask a dumb musical question of a musician there.
Tonight's show was a strong one, making for the appropriate sendoff for the turning of the venue page. Singer-songwriter Knox Hubard was introduced with the words, "I have seen grown women swoon at the sound of his voice."
I know for sure that he was the first LR performer ever to wear a corduroy blazer or have his lyrics/set list taped to his guitar.
He did have a beautiful voice, showcased with well-written songs and impeccable delivery. He sang about trains, a song he'd written after a trip with his son, and about finding the love of your life, with assistance from Mark of Louisiana Territory (whom he'd written it for on the occasion of his marriage) and Chris and Antonia of the Speckled Bird.
Up second was Allison Self, a long-time favorite of mine who'd been traveling so much the past year that she hadn't been playing out much.
Tonight's near-capacity crowd (the baked goods were completely gone by the end of the first set) was treated to her classic Americana big voice and enthusiastic ukulele playing.
The buzz after her set was incredible; apparently a lot of people were hearing her for the first time and being blown away. She played music from her new EP "Self-Titled," (get it?), which she had for sale for $1 to $500, buyer's choice a la Radiohead.
She also covered vintage country, blues and folk, including Leadbelly's "Good Night Irene," Loretta Lynn and "St. Louis Blues." Lyric: "If it weren't for powder and store-bought hair, That man of mine wouldn't have gone nowhere." Classic stuff.
Tyler Crowley played last and he also had a new EP to play. Before he even got started, the string of lights that falls nearly every LR show fell, causing him to note, "I was at the very first Listening Room show and watched the lights fall."
As was I; now it's practically guaranteed to happen every time. Regulars laugh; newbies are just surprised.
Tyler had brought the crew with whom he'd recorded, including Lance Koehler, Marcus Tenney, and Reggie Chapman (all of No BS) and Jonathan Vassar and Antonia (JV & the Speckled Bird), making for the biggest band ever for the LR stage and a very full sound.
Tyler's songs were all taken from slices of his life, including "Preacher and his Gun," a song he described as, "Imagine if Clint Eastwood and Jimmy Swaggert morphed into one man."
My favorite was the lush "Restless Feeling," full of warm horns and indie swagger. He said it sounded even better on the CD than it had live, but I don't see how that's possible.
He closed with a cover of his favorite song, Radiohead's "Let Down." I went to compliment him on the set after the show and before I could, he asked if I'd been at the Symphony Sunday because he thought he'd seen me. "You are at every kind of show," he laughed.
It was appropriate because Tyler and I first met at the Camel when he came up to me and said, "I see you at every show I go to. Who are you?"
After saying good-bye to the Micheaux House for the last time, a couple of friends and I took the short drive to the Republic for a very different sort of musical event.
Prabir and Treesa, half of Prabir and the Goldrush, were playing music from movies. It's part of their themed series at Republic; last time it was all about sex.
They were finishing up their first set when we got there and during the break, Treesa came up to hug me and thank me for coming because, she said, "I know you hate this venue."
It's the smoke I hate and the reeking afterwards actually, but, even so, I told her, I wouldn't have missed seeing what the set list was.
Besides, 48 hours ago, I had been listening to Treesa play violin with the Richmond Symphony performing Pucini and Verdi; how could I resist hearing something so different from her tonight?
And there were some doozies. They opened with the theme from Star Wars and Jaws before cutting loose on "Gangsta's Paradise."
Imagine a white girl from Kansas playing violin and rapping while using her phone for the lyrics. It really needed to be seen and heard to be believed. The crowd roared their approval and her husband taped the entire thing for posterity (or blackmail, I don't know which).
There was an exuberant (read: drunk and loud) crowd at Republic for the show and much enthusiasm as they launched into music from Pulp Fiction, including "Son of a Preacher Man."
The theme to Aladdin, "A Whole New World" was familiar enough to Treesa that she didn't even need her phone, nor did the singalong crowd. Who knew there were so many Aladdin fans at the Republic on a Tuesday night?
For "Ghostbusters," they turned on the fog machine and really got the crowd going. Afterwards, Treesa pouted, "I don't want to stop using the fog machine." Not a complaint you hear every day.
But she did because it wasn't needed for the cheesiest possible one-two punch closer ever imagined, a medley of "Wind Beneath My Wings" and "Everything I Do (I Do for You)." Some of the girls in the crowd were clearly in rapture mode as they belted out the lyrics with the band.
If Prabir hadn't set out to pick two of the absolute corniest songs ever written, he'd inadvertently shown cornball genius.
Or, as Treesa's husband Matt summed it up for the ages, "This is really a comedy show." Musical comedy, but comedy for sure.
That's fine. From earnest early on to laughing later on, I'll take my music every way I can get it.
It was the end of an era at the Listening Room, with tonight's show being the final one at the Michaux House; after a stellar fifteen-month run there, the monthly event is moving to the Firehouse Theater.
No more will we walk down the outdoor staircase to the basement for a talk-free show, so it was a little bittersweet knowing I'd never again eat a donut or ask a dumb musical question of a musician there.
Tonight's show was a strong one, making for the appropriate sendoff for the turning of the venue page. Singer-songwriter Knox Hubard was introduced with the words, "I have seen grown women swoon at the sound of his voice."
I know for sure that he was the first LR performer ever to wear a corduroy blazer or have his lyrics/set list taped to his guitar.
He did have a beautiful voice, showcased with well-written songs and impeccable delivery. He sang about trains, a song he'd written after a trip with his son, and about finding the love of your life, with assistance from Mark of Louisiana Territory (whom he'd written it for on the occasion of his marriage) and Chris and Antonia of the Speckled Bird.
Up second was Allison Self, a long-time favorite of mine who'd been traveling so much the past year that she hadn't been playing out much.
Tonight's near-capacity crowd (the baked goods were completely gone by the end of the first set) was treated to her classic Americana big voice and enthusiastic ukulele playing.
The buzz after her set was incredible; apparently a lot of people were hearing her for the first time and being blown away. She played music from her new EP "Self-Titled," (get it?), which she had for sale for $1 to $500, buyer's choice a la Radiohead.
She also covered vintage country, blues and folk, including Leadbelly's "Good Night Irene," Loretta Lynn and "St. Louis Blues." Lyric: "If it weren't for powder and store-bought hair, That man of mine wouldn't have gone nowhere." Classic stuff.
Tyler Crowley played last and he also had a new EP to play. Before he even got started, the string of lights that falls nearly every LR show fell, causing him to note, "I was at the very first Listening Room show and watched the lights fall."
As was I; now it's practically guaranteed to happen every time. Regulars laugh; newbies are just surprised.
Tyler had brought the crew with whom he'd recorded, including Lance Koehler, Marcus Tenney, and Reggie Chapman (all of No BS) and Jonathan Vassar and Antonia (JV & the Speckled Bird), making for the biggest band ever for the LR stage and a very full sound.
Tyler's songs were all taken from slices of his life, including "Preacher and his Gun," a song he described as, "Imagine if Clint Eastwood and Jimmy Swaggert morphed into one man."
My favorite was the lush "Restless Feeling," full of warm horns and indie swagger. He said it sounded even better on the CD than it had live, but I don't see how that's possible.
He closed with a cover of his favorite song, Radiohead's "Let Down." I went to compliment him on the set after the show and before I could, he asked if I'd been at the Symphony Sunday because he thought he'd seen me. "You are at every kind of show," he laughed.
It was appropriate because Tyler and I first met at the Camel when he came up to me and said, "I see you at every show I go to. Who are you?"
After saying good-bye to the Micheaux House for the last time, a couple of friends and I took the short drive to the Republic for a very different sort of musical event.
Prabir and Treesa, half of Prabir and the Goldrush, were playing music from movies. It's part of their themed series at Republic; last time it was all about sex.
They were finishing up their first set when we got there and during the break, Treesa came up to hug me and thank me for coming because, she said, "I know you hate this venue."
It's the smoke I hate and the reeking afterwards actually, but, even so, I told her, I wouldn't have missed seeing what the set list was.
Besides, 48 hours ago, I had been listening to Treesa play violin with the Richmond Symphony performing Pucini and Verdi; how could I resist hearing something so different from her tonight?
And there were some doozies. They opened with the theme from Star Wars and Jaws before cutting loose on "Gangsta's Paradise."
Imagine a white girl from Kansas playing violin and rapping while using her phone for the lyrics. It really needed to be seen and heard to be believed. The crowd roared their approval and her husband taped the entire thing for posterity (or blackmail, I don't know which).
There was an exuberant (read: drunk and loud) crowd at Republic for the show and much enthusiasm as they launched into music from Pulp Fiction, including "Son of a Preacher Man."
The theme to Aladdin, "A Whole New World" was familiar enough to Treesa that she didn't even need her phone, nor did the singalong crowd. Who knew there were so many Aladdin fans at the Republic on a Tuesday night?
For "Ghostbusters," they turned on the fog machine and really got the crowd going. Afterwards, Treesa pouted, "I don't want to stop using the fog machine." Not a complaint you hear every day.
But she did because it wasn't needed for the cheesiest possible one-two punch closer ever imagined, a medley of "Wind Beneath My Wings" and "Everything I Do (I Do for You)." Some of the girls in the crowd were clearly in rapture mode as they belted out the lyrics with the band.
If Prabir hadn't set out to pick two of the absolute corniest songs ever written, he'd inadvertently shown cornball genius.
Or, as Treesa's husband Matt summed it up for the ages, "This is really a comedy show." Musical comedy, but comedy for sure.
That's fine. From earnest early on to laughing later on, I'll take my music every way I can get it.
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