Start with a good story and end on the swings.
My favorite wine geek/musician wanted to meet up at the Roosevelt.
Until we saw they were closed for a private party. And it wasn't for us.
We switched the plans to Lemaire and at the last minute he asked if I wanted to meet him south of the river.
I declined with enough defiance and humor to make him realize there was a good story there.
So after scoring a bottle of L'Enclos des Bories Minervois, I spun my tale, saving the punch line for the end.
No way, he insisted.
Way.
Over the next couple of hours, I heard all the good winery stories before we moved on to music, Tori Amos and the urgency of competition.
I was sorry when I had to leave for my next engagement.
It also involved wine, a Fratelli Urciuolo 2010 Fiano di Avellino, scored at last week's River City Cellars tasting.
Crisp with rich undertones and the perfect way to ease into the upcoming evening, it was our aperitif before heading to City Dogs.
And, yes, that's a joke.
To my companion's horror (and fear for his stomach) I was in the mood for a dog dinner, a Tennessee slaw dog for me and Carolina dog for him, although why someone concerned about eating dogs gets pork on pork is beyond me.
When I insisted on a chocolate shake for dessert, he grimaced like I'd suggested the most outlandish thing in the world.
What, who doesn't need a sweet after all that salty?
And, for the record, he consumed fully half of that chocolate shake.
Then it was on to Balliceaux for what I knew was going to be an outstanding evening of music.
The crowd was regrettably small but wildly enthusiastic for the talent we saw.
Robin Bacior played first with a band behind her, including a cello, an instrument I find irresistible for the evocative sounds it can call forth.
I was especially fond of the songs she played on piano, hearkening back to my earlier discussion with friend #1 about the simple pleasures of a confessional girl and keyboards.
She thanked Richmond for being so welcoming, "You guys are so nice to offer your homes, your bed, your medications."
The scientist, sitting next to me, leaned over, saying, "There's a story there."
He would be the same scientist who always shows up with chocolate, although tonight's offering was sub-par.
Some kind of protein bar, he shared a piece with the warning, "It's chocolate, but it tastes a lot like chalk."
Wes Swing from Charlottesville was next and here I heard all kinds of Andrew Bird likenesses, with the upright bass, cello and his literate lyrics.
When Wes switched to playing guitar, I got more of a Nick Drake vibe.
Favorite lyric: "When you're away, my heart comes undone, like a ball of yarn."
A close second was, "I won't take you in until you pay for your sins." In the next verse, "until" became "if" for a variation on a theme.
The star of the evening was Dave Watkins and his new electric dulcitar, a thing of beauty in blue and completely handmade by Dave.
You really have to see this guy to believe the layers of sound he can create with looping and playing, knocking on and blowing into his instrument.
And no, that's not a euphemism.
Toward the end, someone in the audience called out for "Pangea's Revenge," one of the few songs Dave sings on. He tried to demur.
"How often do you get requests at a show?" the fan called out.
Pretty often, he said, before playing it anyway.
By the time the set ended, Dave was sweaty, the audience was totally caught up in his soundscapes and it was practically 2 a.m. on a school night.
But not a soul had been willing to give up such a stellar show to go home and get some sleep.
Some people even followed that with recess on a balmy night.
A person's got to seize an extra day when you have the chance...or wait four long years to exercise your Leap Day privileges.
I wasn't willing to wait.
Showing posts with label american city southern place. Show all posts
Showing posts with label american city southern place. Show all posts
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Of Language and Love Songs
It's a rare night when I can sandwich in Tennessee between Romania and Prague.
Things got rolling at the Grace Street Theater where the VCU Cinematheque series restarted for the semester with a Cannes double award winner, "Police, Adjective."
I've stated for the record that I'm a huge fan of this (free) film series which shows independent foreign films that never quite made it to Richmond.
Tonight's gem played to a nearly full house and given that it was Romanian New Wave, deservedly so.
The movie about an undercover cop who is tailing a high school kid suspected of selling hash had less to do with cops and crime and everything to do with language.
When his superior insists that he initiate a sting operation to arrest the kid, the hero resists because he doesn't want to ruin the kid's life merely for being irresponsible.
The payoff comes when the boss challenges him on why not. The hero doesn't want it on his conscience that he's ruined a kid's life.
It's at that point that the dictionary comes out and the boss has him look up conscience and discuss it. Next comes looking up moral, then police.
Everything comes down to interpretation of language and, frankly, this language geek couldn't have been more amused at a black comedy about the language police enforcing word usage.
As if that wasn't pleasurable enough, I found myself seated next to a former Media General colleague (and his partner) who was also let go in the great recession of 2008.
When I asked what he'd been up to, he regaled me with stories of his travels since he retired/got laid off.
Their last trip had been to Rome, Florence, Sienna and the hill towns of Tuscany.
Telling me a hilarious story about a bus driver who drove them up a mountain in his own car because it was a holiday and the taxis and buses weren't running, he advised, "You have to go to Florence."
I'll get right on that.
Their upcoming trip is to Amsterdam, the Riviera, the Loire Valley and Paris ("because it's on the way," he insisted).
I like his version of being laid off even more than my own.
After bidding the travelers goodnight, I headed over to City Dogs for a Tennessee slaw dog with mustard, onions, chili and cole slaw.
Pig and cabbage was just what I needed to fortify myself before the next portion of the evening.
Meanwhile, a quick stop in the ladies' room provided a wealth of reading material on the chalkboard walls.
My favorite: "Love guys with beards? Become a whiskerina! Visit beardleague.org."
Somehow I wasn't surprised to learn about the Follicles of the James Stache and Beard League. I know I have more bearded male friends than not.
Why shouldn't they have a fan club?
And on that pleasant note, I got myself to Balliceaux for Oceans versus Daughter, which is usually three Americans, one Brit and one Czech who came together in Prague and have been making music ever since.
For the recent past, though, lead singer Flanna has been back in the colonies and touring the northeast with two members of our own indie royalty, Kevin and Marshall of Marionette while her band is back in Prague.
She did the first couple of songs solo, pairing her lovely voice with just keyboards before having Marshall and Kevin join her onstage to fill out her sound.
Telling us she was going to sing a song about poison cake, she called to the guys in the kitchen, asking if they made poison cakes.
Somehow they heard "poison snakes" and there was some back and forth before the song began.
And the songs were exquisite; "Fire" was about being destroyed by a guy ("You hurt me, I hate you. I hope that you die in a fire") while she said "Don't Try" was about listening to that little voice in your head.
Midway through she told the crowd that she had CDs (pay what you will), T-shirts and tote bags.
"This is my QVC moment," she explained before suggesting that Marionette do the same.
"It's over there," Marshall said with his usual understated charm. "Y'all know."
We do.
We were also treated to Flanna joining them for two Marionette songs, including the first track off their upcoming EP, a song called "Shades of Doubt."
It was quite a song. In the over four years that I have been seeing this band, they continue to impress me as they develop musically and lyrically.
Then it was back to OvD and the trio finished up with "Take Care," a fitting close to their set.
When the night is through
The light of the moon awakens you
And the day has come again for you
I'll take care of you
Despite the happy ending, the crowd (me included) called for one more and Flanna alone returned to the stage for "Lips of Justice."
I've been several places
In my heart you've come along
My trailing train
And then the show was over and the room was filled with people raving to each other about what we'd just heard.
A friend summed it up. "When I look back on my twenties, I'm going to think of how lucky I was to have heard shows like this at Balliceaux."
The fact is, at any age a person could look back and remember how lucky they were to have nights like this.
I'll send you a letter
I'll write you a song
Please hold your horses
It won't be too long
Things got rolling at the Grace Street Theater where the VCU Cinematheque series restarted for the semester with a Cannes double award winner, "Police, Adjective."
I've stated for the record that I'm a huge fan of this (free) film series which shows independent foreign films that never quite made it to Richmond.
Tonight's gem played to a nearly full house and given that it was Romanian New Wave, deservedly so.
The movie about an undercover cop who is tailing a high school kid suspected of selling hash had less to do with cops and crime and everything to do with language.
When his superior insists that he initiate a sting operation to arrest the kid, the hero resists because he doesn't want to ruin the kid's life merely for being irresponsible.
The payoff comes when the boss challenges him on why not. The hero doesn't want it on his conscience that he's ruined a kid's life.
It's at that point that the dictionary comes out and the boss has him look up conscience and discuss it. Next comes looking up moral, then police.
Everything comes down to interpretation of language and, frankly, this language geek couldn't have been more amused at a black comedy about the language police enforcing word usage.
As if that wasn't pleasurable enough, I found myself seated next to a former Media General colleague (and his partner) who was also let go in the great recession of 2008.
When I asked what he'd been up to, he regaled me with stories of his travels since he retired/got laid off.
Their last trip had been to Rome, Florence, Sienna and the hill towns of Tuscany.
Telling me a hilarious story about a bus driver who drove them up a mountain in his own car because it was a holiday and the taxis and buses weren't running, he advised, "You have to go to Florence."
I'll get right on that.
Their upcoming trip is to Amsterdam, the Riviera, the Loire Valley and Paris ("because it's on the way," he insisted).
I like his version of being laid off even more than my own.
After bidding the travelers goodnight, I headed over to City Dogs for a Tennessee slaw dog with mustard, onions, chili and cole slaw.
Pig and cabbage was just what I needed to fortify myself before the next portion of the evening.
Meanwhile, a quick stop in the ladies' room provided a wealth of reading material on the chalkboard walls.
My favorite: "Love guys with beards? Become a whiskerina! Visit beardleague.org."
Somehow I wasn't surprised to learn about the Follicles of the James Stache and Beard League. I know I have more bearded male friends than not.
Why shouldn't they have a fan club?
And on that pleasant note, I got myself to Balliceaux for Oceans versus Daughter, which is usually three Americans, one Brit and one Czech who came together in Prague and have been making music ever since.
For the recent past, though, lead singer Flanna has been back in the colonies and touring the northeast with two members of our own indie royalty, Kevin and Marshall of Marionette while her band is back in Prague.
She did the first couple of songs solo, pairing her lovely voice with just keyboards before having Marshall and Kevin join her onstage to fill out her sound.
Telling us she was going to sing a song about poison cake, she called to the guys in the kitchen, asking if they made poison cakes.
Somehow they heard "poison snakes" and there was some back and forth before the song began.
And the songs were exquisite; "Fire" was about being destroyed by a guy ("You hurt me, I hate you. I hope that you die in a fire") while she said "Don't Try" was about listening to that little voice in your head.
Midway through she told the crowd that she had CDs (pay what you will), T-shirts and tote bags.
"This is my QVC moment," she explained before suggesting that Marionette do the same.
"It's over there," Marshall said with his usual understated charm. "Y'all know."
We do.
We were also treated to Flanna joining them for two Marionette songs, including the first track off their upcoming EP, a song called "Shades of Doubt."
It was quite a song. In the over four years that I have been seeing this band, they continue to impress me as they develop musically and lyrically.
Then it was back to OvD and the trio finished up with "Take Care," a fitting close to their set.
When the night is through
The light of the moon awakens you
And the day has come again for you
I'll take care of you
Despite the happy ending, the crowd (me included) called for one more and Flanna alone returned to the stage for "Lips of Justice."
I've been several places
In my heart you've come along
My trailing train
And then the show was over and the room was filled with people raving to each other about what we'd just heard.
A friend summed it up. "When I look back on my twenties, I'm going to think of how lucky I was to have heard shows like this at Balliceaux."
The fact is, at any age a person could look back and remember how lucky they were to have nights like this.
I'll send you a letter
I'll write you a song
Please hold your horses
It won't be too long
Thursday, March 10, 2011
RVA: American City, Southern Place
All lectures should be cultural history lectures and you know why? Because attendees at a lecture don't fall asleep when the speaker is talking about people and not just historical fact.
That bit of wisdom came to me courtesy of today's Banner Lecture at the Virginia Historical Society. Gregg Kimball of the Library of Virginia (these museums are almost as incestuous as the restaurants are, but in an educational way) was giving a talk on "American City, Southern Place: Richmond in the 1850s." Of note was that I didn't see a single snorer.
Kimball got the audience's attention right off the bat by wryly observing that, "People in the antebellum period didn't know they were in the antebellum period." Bada bing.
He described Richmond on the eve of war as relatively cosmopolitan, with many ties to the north, a fairly advanced industrial culture and deeply tied to the hinterlands (you know, the part of the state west of us that we tend to forget about).
Some of the most interesting of the information he shared concerned the 1850 and 1860 changes in the Virginia census. The foreign-born population here soared while the free black population barely sustained itself. Surely no one was surprised at the latter given the climate of the time.
Letters from Mann Valentine (yes, of that Valentine family) home to his wife from NYC were illuminating for how long-standing the South's lack of comprehension of Northern ways is.
He told her that the place reminded him of ants moving along a busy street and lamented the fact that no one spoke to each other on the street, not even a quick hello. Howe many generations of Southerners have returned from their first trip north to say exactly the same thing?
What else kept the usually drowsy audience wide awake and interested today? Probably Kimball's explanation of the growth of fraternal organizations (newcomers seeking to "belong") and tales of drinking, gambling and prostitution (oh, my!) being lures to the city for country folk.
In another example of the more things change, the more they stay the same, two of Richmond's councilmen at that time were slaveholders. Draw your own conclusions from there.
Undoubtedly part of Kimball's appeal was his stellar slide presentation, full of historic paintings and photographs and augmented by some fascinating maps drawn from census date. Where are the Baptists? Look and see. And the free blacks? There they are. Each map gave a different snapshot of a group of people.
And, let's face it, people are far more interesting than dates and events. It's why of all the newspapers of the time, it was the penny paper, The Daily Dispatch, that provided Kimball a wealth of information about what was actually going on in the streets of Richmond.
People have always wanted to know what the other people are doing. Still do; otherwise, why read a blog, right?
That bit of wisdom came to me courtesy of today's Banner Lecture at the Virginia Historical Society. Gregg Kimball of the Library of Virginia (these museums are almost as incestuous as the restaurants are, but in an educational way) was giving a talk on "American City, Southern Place: Richmond in the 1850s." Of note was that I didn't see a single snorer.
Kimball got the audience's attention right off the bat by wryly observing that, "People in the antebellum period didn't know they were in the antebellum period." Bada bing.
He described Richmond on the eve of war as relatively cosmopolitan, with many ties to the north, a fairly advanced industrial culture and deeply tied to the hinterlands (you know, the part of the state west of us that we tend to forget about).
Some of the most interesting of the information he shared concerned the 1850 and 1860 changes in the Virginia census. The foreign-born population here soared while the free black population barely sustained itself. Surely no one was surprised at the latter given the climate of the time.
Letters from Mann Valentine (yes, of that Valentine family) home to his wife from NYC were illuminating for how long-standing the South's lack of comprehension of Northern ways is.
He told her that the place reminded him of ants moving along a busy street and lamented the fact that no one spoke to each other on the street, not even a quick hello. Howe many generations of Southerners have returned from their first trip north to say exactly the same thing?
What else kept the usually drowsy audience wide awake and interested today? Probably Kimball's explanation of the growth of fraternal organizations (newcomers seeking to "belong") and tales of drinking, gambling and prostitution (oh, my!) being lures to the city for country folk.
In another example of the more things change, the more they stay the same, two of Richmond's councilmen at that time were slaveholders. Draw your own conclusions from there.
Undoubtedly part of Kimball's appeal was his stellar slide presentation, full of historic paintings and photographs and augmented by some fascinating maps drawn from census date. Where are the Baptists? Look and see. And the free blacks? There they are. Each map gave a different snapshot of a group of people.
And, let's face it, people are far more interesting than dates and events. It's why of all the newspapers of the time, it was the penny paper, The Daily Dispatch, that provided Kimball a wealth of information about what was actually going on in the streets of Richmond.
People have always wanted to know what the other people are doing. Still do; otherwise, why read a blog, right?
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