What's the point in doing something for ten years if it isn't getting better with every year?
Potentially deep question, but simple answer: absolutely none. Just look at tonight's tenth annual Ghost of Pop show at Gallery 5. Timely start, appropriate set lengths, stellar performances and scads of friends.
Walking over in the pouring rain, I got there right at 8, counting on the fact that a five band bill would necessarily start on time and positioning myself against the radiator hoping for warmth.
None was to be found, as noted by a guy standing nearby.
He was a willing conversational partner, though, who'd been at last year's Ghost of Pop. Excited about tonight's Full Moon Fever set of Tom Petty covers, he shared that he'd seen Petty in concert in 1981 in Memphis.
He had me beat there. And then it was show time.
Adam Eubank and his band were up first and while his name rang no bells for me, his face did. I'd met him just last week at a Sound of Music show when he'd come to snag a beer from a bag stashed near where I was perched and introduced himself.
I was impressed from the opening notes of the band's tight, poppy set with the songwriting and performance they were delivering. How come these guys don't play out more? If they were first, the other bands were going to have to work to keep up.
The organizer of tonight's benefit for Home Again was the inimitable Prabir and he stopped by to chat with me during the first break. When I asked him what he was hoping for from tonight's show, he didn't miss a beat.
"I wanna see a couple making out while we're playing," he said. "Sure it's great that we're helping the homeless, but what I really want is to see some making out. So if we're on our last song and no one's making out, it's your duty to grab a dude and suck face. It's your duty, Karen!"
Curious about why this was required, he explained that at the first Ghost of Pop, a go-go dancer (that's a whole other topic right there) had thrown her arm with abandon and broken his glasses. When she offered to make it up to him, he suggested a make-out session.
Like I've said before, I couldn't make this stuff up.
Next up was Animal Beat, a band I hadn't seen in some time. Turns out this was a reunion show. Lead singer Travis looked like Eric Clapton in his post-drug, cleaned-up period (short hair, attractive glasses sliding down his nose) with just enough reverb on his amazing voice and a killer horn section beside him.
Despite that they hadn't played out together in a couple of years, they'd just finished a new album, "Piece of Cake" (because recording it had been anything but) which was for sale tonight and came with, what else, a piece of cake.
If only I'd brought more than the door price.
Favorite song: "Love In, Love Out," but I couldn't get enough of any notes out of his mouth or the soulful feel the horns added to the songs.
Break time brought more conversation with the guy next to me and his wife (who'd been getting a henna tattoo on her hand when our conversation had begun), namely about his first concert: Humble Pie with Roxy Music opening in 1972.
Said he'd gone in to the show never having heard of Roxy Music and been blown out of his seat by their sound and sky-high platform shoes. She recalled hitchhiking to see the Allman Brothers and getting to go backstage to meet them.
Ah, the good old days.
I was happy to see Long Arms take the stage because leader James is not just a talented musician but a nerd of the highest order (he later showed me a vintage Civil War photograph he is thinking of buying).
The band full-on rocked out, emoting all the way ("This is another song about our feelings") while breaking in a new guitar for James all the while.
"This tent is so cool," he said about the new drape atop the stage with lights above it for a softly lit effect. "You guys wanna have a sleepover in my tent?"
After their set, a WRIR DJ gave me a big hug and his yellow rain slicker wet my face in the process. I met the new squeeze of a long-time music loving friend, who'd shown up late expecting that the show would be running on Richmond time and instead had missed three bands.
As I told him, the sound guy had been extra efficient about how long he let each band play tonight. Too bad that doesn't happen more often.
My new friends were very much looking forward to seeing Andrew Leahy up next because they'd been so impressed with him and his Nashville band last year. This year was a reunion of his original Richmond band, including one of my favorite keyboard players, Ben Willson.
The band's alt-country sound was extremely well-executed but a lot of the comments were about Andrew's distinctive hair. One guy said he'd thought it was a wig, another warned that he frequently flipped it and another observed that if he cut bangs into it, he'd look like any number of '70s rock stars. guys, it's about the music, not the hair.
Several of the songs they did were written in Nashville, no doubt including "Silver Linings" about dealing with men in suits.
More familiar faces showed up while Full Moon Fever set up - the violinist I hadn't seen in months, the ukulele player, the lecture geek - leading the couple beside me to ask how I knew so many people there.
It's as simple as going to shows, friends. After a while, people just start talking to you and goodness knows, I never turn away from conversational opportunities.
When Prabir and his FMF crew began with "Listen to Her Heart," the crowd - not quite as big as earlier, but rabid Petty fans - moved closer and by "The Waiting" they were singing along to every word.
A friend came over and shared his opinion that Petty is the best songwriter who ever lived in this country, giving this lyric as proof:
Think of me what you will
I got a little space to fill
Before they closed with "American Girl," Prabir announced, "This song goes out to Erica if you're still here. If you're not, it goes out to the next girl."
I don't know Erica, so I can't say if she was there to hear her dedication or not. What I can say is that I decided against grabbing a dude and making out so Prabir could have his moment of pleasure.
If you want to keep things going after ten years like Ghost of Pop, it better be about feelings and momentary pleasure. Love in, love out, didn't you hear the man?
Showing posts with label animal beat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label animal beat. Show all posts
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Friday, January 11, 2013
Pickin' Up the Pieces
It was a jigsaw puzzle of a night, but I made it work, with only one sacrifice.
Much as I hate to admit it, when it came to dinner, Facebook made me do it.
I'd seen a picture of squid ink bucatini with sea urchin carbonara at Secco online and that was that.
Arriving early enough to get prime bar stools, I chose Filicaja Chianti Superiore for the promise of red fruit and spices and was rewarded for it.
Despite a schizophrenic soundtrack that swung from French cafe to indie to dance, I found it a satisfying pastiche.
The bucatini was as beautiful to look at as it was to eat, rich with assertive pig and delicate urchin.
Not long after our bowl appeared, the guy next to us ordered the same.
Next came squash ravioli with brown butter, sage and crushed amaretti, which caused my seatmate to observe, "It's like eating pumpkin pie!"
The savory ravioli bowed to the sweet amaretti in the most delightful way.
Clearly it looked as good as it tasted, because the two girls next to me immediately ordered the same and weren't shy about admitting that they were copying.
Before long, one turned to me and said, "It's like dessert," and promptly ordered a second plate of ravioli.
Because time was running out, we finished with a plate of Olli wild boar salame (cured with garlic and Sangiovese, the very grape I was drinking), Pentaleo (a cheese tasting of white pepper and lemon) and Sottocenere, ripe with black truffles and an ash rind.
And, just for the record, the housemade apple butter was swoon-worthy, at least for someone like me raised on apple butter.
And then it was off to the movies, specifically the opening of the new Criterion at Movieland.
Walking in to a gaggle of people drinking and schmoozing, I was glad we'd arrived just in time for the remarks portion of the evening before going across the street to see "Not Fade Away."
I knew going in it wasn't going to be a great movie, but its length best fit the rest of my evening, so it kind of won by default.
It didn't hurt that it was a coming of age story set in the '60s with a music soundtrack, either.
The opening black and white scene of Mick and Keith meeting as teens to discuss the records they were listening to soon gave way to color and teens in New Jersey, but the clothes were groovy, some of the period details correct (milk in bottles, everyone smoking everywhere, Archie comic books), but then when was life here as compelling as in swinging London?
I liked the hero's reaction the first time he heard the Beatles on the radio ("What is that?) but wondered if the young audience around me got all the cultural references ("It's a little more McGuinn-ish than we usually do").
I also thought the actor John Magaro was adorable with his thick curly hair and expressive mouth, saying hysterical things like, "They should put more than one of these fat blobs in each can," about pork and beans.
You know the fat blobs he's talking about, or at least I do.
After the movie, I chatted with some theatergoers in the lobby who'd gone into one movie and found it so depressing that they'd changed theaters mid-film.
I admire that kind of determination to make the most of an experience. Why stay put when you can have more fun some place else?
And speaking of, next up was the Camel for music.
Walking in, I got my hand stamped and was immediately greeted by man-about-town Prabir, bundled up in a scarf and knit hat.
"S'up, Karen?" he inquired, as he always does.
We'd get back to that later.
Animal Beat was playing and while I wasn't familiar with them, I certainly knew their keyboard player, Ben Wilson, one of my favorite Richmond musicians.
I heard a couple of folk rock songs, noticed that the bass player was playing shoeless before they announced their last song, "Madhouse."
Next up was DC's Alex Vans and the Hide Away, and they took the stage like they owned it.
From the first note, it was power pop heaven and they didn't let up for a moment.
Their frenetic front man was a long, tall drink of water whose lower limbs shot out non-stop as he played guitar and sang.
'Are you having a god time, Richmond?" Alex called out to us. "I've been drinking a lot and I hope you have, too."
The entire band wore Chucks (Alex's were a bright blue) and their relentless assault of great melodies, killer guitars and relentless drumming had me very glad I'd come.
The bass player was almost as energetic as Alex, moving around the stage and making the best bass player faces ever.
They did a new song called "Weekend," because what power pop group doesn't live for the weekend?
And then there was "Wait."
If I got to take my time
And make my first words rhyme
I know I'd make you mine
For a power pop-loving girl, that really is all you'd need. Just sayin'.
I was sorry to see them leave the stage, but took the opportunity to do some mingling and ended up with Prabir again.
That was a little slice of power pop heaven, I told him. Kind of rare in these parts.
He agreed, likening its scarcity to dinosaurs. "Yea, there used to be a lot of power pop around here, but no more. Kind of like the apatosaurus. Used to be a lot of them around here, but no more."
Leave it to Prabir to make a geeky science analogy, albeit one I thought apt.
Exebelle and the Rusted Cavalcade were up next and they'd morphed a bit since I'd last seen them.
Gone were the banjo, upright bass and mandolin, although the pedal steel remained.
Fortunately, so did Ben Wilson and his keyboard.
It was funny, though because while Ben is my favorite part of E&tRC, his music sensibility is, to my ear, poppier than the others and it comes through in his songwriting and voice.
Tonight it also showed in his wardrobe; he was the sole knit shirt on stage with four plaid shirts.
But luckily the band has four vocalists and all four write songs, so I got to hear some of Ben's stuff, including classics like "Spilt Coffee."
The band is rehearsing for a three hour set at Hardywood, so they'd been working on some covers and we heard the Eagles' "One of These Nights."
I'm inclined to think I was the only one in the room alive when that song came out, but the crowd was incredibly into it, dancing like it was the seventies again.
For the rousing song "Kings, Queens, Princes and Thieves," we were instructed, "If you're ready to punch someone, do it during this song," but instead the crowd danced.
In fact, despite the show stretching on till 1 a.m., the crowd hung in, getting louder and insisting the band keep playing, even after they said goodnight.
Maybe, like me, they'd worked it out just so and wanted to make sure they eked out every last minute of pleasure they could from putting the puzzle together.
Oh, but it's so satisfying when it all comes together.
Much as I hate to admit it, when it came to dinner, Facebook made me do it.
I'd seen a picture of squid ink bucatini with sea urchin carbonara at Secco online and that was that.
Arriving early enough to get prime bar stools, I chose Filicaja Chianti Superiore for the promise of red fruit and spices and was rewarded for it.
Despite a schizophrenic soundtrack that swung from French cafe to indie to dance, I found it a satisfying pastiche.
The bucatini was as beautiful to look at as it was to eat, rich with assertive pig and delicate urchin.
Not long after our bowl appeared, the guy next to us ordered the same.
Next came squash ravioli with brown butter, sage and crushed amaretti, which caused my seatmate to observe, "It's like eating pumpkin pie!"
The savory ravioli bowed to the sweet amaretti in the most delightful way.
Clearly it looked as good as it tasted, because the two girls next to me immediately ordered the same and weren't shy about admitting that they were copying.
Before long, one turned to me and said, "It's like dessert," and promptly ordered a second plate of ravioli.
Because time was running out, we finished with a plate of Olli wild boar salame (cured with garlic and Sangiovese, the very grape I was drinking), Pentaleo (a cheese tasting of white pepper and lemon) and Sottocenere, ripe with black truffles and an ash rind.
And, just for the record, the housemade apple butter was swoon-worthy, at least for someone like me raised on apple butter.
And then it was off to the movies, specifically the opening of the new Criterion at Movieland.
Walking in to a gaggle of people drinking and schmoozing, I was glad we'd arrived just in time for the remarks portion of the evening before going across the street to see "Not Fade Away."
I knew going in it wasn't going to be a great movie, but its length best fit the rest of my evening, so it kind of won by default.
It didn't hurt that it was a coming of age story set in the '60s with a music soundtrack, either.
The opening black and white scene of Mick and Keith meeting as teens to discuss the records they were listening to soon gave way to color and teens in New Jersey, but the clothes were groovy, some of the period details correct (milk in bottles, everyone smoking everywhere, Archie comic books), but then when was life here as compelling as in swinging London?
I liked the hero's reaction the first time he heard the Beatles on the radio ("What is that?) but wondered if the young audience around me got all the cultural references ("It's a little more McGuinn-ish than we usually do").
I also thought the actor John Magaro was adorable with his thick curly hair and expressive mouth, saying hysterical things like, "They should put more than one of these fat blobs in each can," about pork and beans.
You know the fat blobs he's talking about, or at least I do.
After the movie, I chatted with some theatergoers in the lobby who'd gone into one movie and found it so depressing that they'd changed theaters mid-film.
I admire that kind of determination to make the most of an experience. Why stay put when you can have more fun some place else?
And speaking of, next up was the Camel for music.
Walking in, I got my hand stamped and was immediately greeted by man-about-town Prabir, bundled up in a scarf and knit hat.
"S'up, Karen?" he inquired, as he always does.
We'd get back to that later.
Animal Beat was playing and while I wasn't familiar with them, I certainly knew their keyboard player, Ben Wilson, one of my favorite Richmond musicians.
I heard a couple of folk rock songs, noticed that the bass player was playing shoeless before they announced their last song, "Madhouse."
Next up was DC's Alex Vans and the Hide Away, and they took the stage like they owned it.
From the first note, it was power pop heaven and they didn't let up for a moment.
Their frenetic front man was a long, tall drink of water whose lower limbs shot out non-stop as he played guitar and sang.
'Are you having a god time, Richmond?" Alex called out to us. "I've been drinking a lot and I hope you have, too."
The entire band wore Chucks (Alex's were a bright blue) and their relentless assault of great melodies, killer guitars and relentless drumming had me very glad I'd come.
The bass player was almost as energetic as Alex, moving around the stage and making the best bass player faces ever.
They did a new song called "Weekend," because what power pop group doesn't live for the weekend?
And then there was "Wait."
If I got to take my time
And make my first words rhyme
I know I'd make you mine
For a power pop-loving girl, that really is all you'd need. Just sayin'.
I was sorry to see them leave the stage, but took the opportunity to do some mingling and ended up with Prabir again.
That was a little slice of power pop heaven, I told him. Kind of rare in these parts.
He agreed, likening its scarcity to dinosaurs. "Yea, there used to be a lot of power pop around here, but no more. Kind of like the apatosaurus. Used to be a lot of them around here, but no more."
Leave it to Prabir to make a geeky science analogy, albeit one I thought apt.
Exebelle and the Rusted Cavalcade were up next and they'd morphed a bit since I'd last seen them.
Gone were the banjo, upright bass and mandolin, although the pedal steel remained.
Fortunately, so did Ben Wilson and his keyboard.
It was funny, though because while Ben is my favorite part of E&tRC, his music sensibility is, to my ear, poppier than the others and it comes through in his songwriting and voice.
Tonight it also showed in his wardrobe; he was the sole knit shirt on stage with four plaid shirts.
But luckily the band has four vocalists and all four write songs, so I got to hear some of Ben's stuff, including classics like "Spilt Coffee."
The band is rehearsing for a three hour set at Hardywood, so they'd been working on some covers and we heard the Eagles' "One of These Nights."
I'm inclined to think I was the only one in the room alive when that song came out, but the crowd was incredibly into it, dancing like it was the seventies again.
For the rousing song "Kings, Queens, Princes and Thieves," we were instructed, "If you're ready to punch someone, do it during this song," but instead the crowd danced.
In fact, despite the show stretching on till 1 a.m., the crowd hung in, getting louder and insisting the band keep playing, even after they said goodnight.
Maybe, like me, they'd worked it out just so and wanted to make sure they eked out every last minute of pleasure they could from putting the puzzle together.
Oh, but it's so satisfying when it all comes together.
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