Sometimes speed is of the essence. Other times, not so much.
A while back, a friend e-mailed to ask me to meet him for a drink. He caught me just as I'd stopped working so I told him I'd have to shower and get ready, so it would be about an hour and a half.
He made fun of me for months afterward for my pokiness even when I reminded him that women necessarily take longer because we have legs to shave and hair to dry. I also took his mocking to heart and streamlined my process so I can get it done in 45 minutes when necessary.
As it turned out, tonight was one of those times.
By the time I finished writing and looked at the clock, it was 6:45, not a big deal except I had no plans. A quick look at what was happening tonight and I saw that Banks was at the National, mere blocks away. Bingo! I could make this happen.
At 7:45, I left the house shaved and dry headed, wishing I could let my friend know how efficient I've gotten about getting ready. I bought a ticket and found my usual spot in front of the sound booth just as the lights dimmed for local band Cosby (unfortunate name these days).
A large blue-lit "C" graced the side of the stage as the Richmond trio came out, immediately letting the crowd know they were hometown boys. I'd heard of them but my impression had been that they were pretty mainstream, so I hadn't sought them out.
When one of the Cosby brothers pulled out a key-tar, the crowd started yelling, "Key-tar!" in recognition. "We missed the '80s," the guitarist said. "But we have key-tar!"
Although they said it was their third time playing the National this year, they don't seem to have teh hang of it yet. The lead singer was completely without personality, never smiling at the crowd, in fact rarely looking at us, and cutting off his brother every time he tried to banter with the audience.
Worshipers of the '80s, their sound was anthemic and totally absent anything I hadn't heard a zillion times before. What they did have going for them was how good the brothers' voices sounded together.
Before their last song, the singer took off two of the multiple bracelets on his arm and tossed them out to the crowd. They began the last song twice but technical difficulties reared themselves and they finally yelled, "F*ck it" and started packing up.
They didn't seem to mind any more than we did.
During the break, I looked around the room watching it get fuller but seeing no one I knew. Finally, the lovely Anousheh said hello,expressing the same confusion about why more people weren't at this show. "Banks is huge," she said before leaving to find a spot up front. She said she wanted to study her moves before her own next tour.
Some lame DJ from XL102, the sponsor of the show, took the stage to tell a bad joke. "Why doesn't Stevie Wonder see his friends?" she queried the crowd, who yelled out that he was blind. "No, you judgmental assholes, because he's married!" I'm inclined to think a millennial wrote that joke.
Banks' drummer and guitarist/keyboard player took the stage first and began playing before she danced onstage looking like a British 19th century schoolmarm in a black capelet over a long black skirt. Only her pale face and slender forearms showed outside of the voluminous ensemble as she began singing "Alibi."
Baby, I tied
I promise I'm usually better than this
Under five banners spelling out BANKS hanging from the light rigging, she proceeded to sing her downtempo R & B-laced pop while prowling around the stage pretty much non-stop. Her hands were the most expressive part of her body, floating around like a dancer's in graceful perpetual motion.
She shared that her Dad's side of the family is from Virginia before launching into the title track from her new album. "I think every single woman is a goddess and this song is called "Goddess." The devoted fans down in front sang along.
"I'm so glad my album is out. It felt like those songs have been in a little box for so long. This one is "F*ck Em, Only We Know"
We're just like magnets, baby, hypnotized,
Even addicted to your grumpy face
It was obvious Banks was feeling the powerful thrill of an adoring audience, often sticking the microphone out toward the crowd so she could hear them sing her lyrics. When she instructed, "Every single person in this room, put up your hands," they obeyed and swayed as if under a spell.
As she sang, she'd prance backwards into the shadows between the other two musicians and then sidle forward back into the light. And she wasn't hesitant to touch the hands of people in the front rows. "I love you!" a guy called to her as moved to the keyboard. "Love you back!" she said, no doubt delighting him.
Considering I went to the show having heard only one Banks' song, I was unprepared for the range of emotion and power she could alternate with sweetness and sorrow.
Saying, "You were perfect," she sang the terrific and soulful "Begging for Thread," a song that lays bare a woman hurt by her man and left the stage, saying goodnight.
The devoted crowd chanted till she returned and asked, "Do you guys know Drake? I want to do a cover of a song of his I've been listening to non-stop." It was an interesting choice because "The Motion" sounded like exactly he kind of beat-based R & B slow burner she writes but from the man's point of view.
She closed with "Stick" while moving along the edge of the stage running her hand up against the fingertips of anyone with outstretched hands, giving us one last chance to experience her vulnerable sound.
Her set lasted just a bit longer than it had taken me to get ready to go see her. Still, you want to look like a goddess when you go to see one.
Showing posts with label anousheh khalili. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anousheh khalili. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Pleasures Remain
I wasn't the only one who needed it.
People and music, that is.
I have to assume that's why all those warm bodies were pressed into Balliceaux tonight after a week of enforced holiday/family events.
The surprising part was that the show had already begun when I arrived.
I was assured that Anousheh was only on her second song, but I hate to miss even one song when it's as good as her band's are.
My trip to Italy had precluded me attending her CD release show back in October, so I felt owed.
Because her set had begun, I could only muscle so far before hitting a wall of people and being in the way of moving barbacks.
That lasted through a couple of songs where people came in and stopped right in front of Anousheh singing and had long, loud conversations that blocked the view and sound of her.
Fine, it's a bar, so talk away, but do you have to do it two feet from the singer/keyboardist?
All I'm saying is that it made it very easy to move in front of people like that and enjoy the rest of the set from the front, unobstructed.
"You might know this," Anousheh said late in their set, "if you're old."
I turned to the guitarist next to me and said, "I'll know it."
It took the crowd a bit before they began to recognize Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence," but I was getting it from the start.
As good as she sounded, she looked just as good in little leather shorts, leggings and booties with a drape-y cream shirt swinging as she sang and danced.
What was interesting was watching her low-key husband (and musician) watch her become a pop goddess in front of a roomful of pretty people.
Well, not just pretty because fans like me and others were there, too.
Lots of bangs, lots of earnest looking metrosexuals.
Coats stuffed into the rafters for lack of anyplace else to put them
A favorite drummer tapped me on the shoulder, the photographer walked in with me, the physicist said hello, the French singer looking brooding, the cute couple, he with his winter look on.
The neighborhood musician who usually just nods his head slyly when he sees me, but tonight spoke.
"It's never a shock to see you out, Karen."But it's always a pleasure."
Blah, blah, blah.
During the break, the DJ played songs like Lionel Richie's "All Night Long" and "Oh, Sheila."
Then came White Laces and by then the room had to have been at capacity.
As is my habit, I'd moved to the back banquette for the best view and I heard a guy comment on how big the crowd was.
I'd attributed that to the bands' avid fan bases, meaning less overlap and more distinctive subgroups.
After a sound check where White Laces' singer Landis inquired of the audience if they sounded too loud, too quiet or okay, we did our best Goldilocks and reassured him that it was just right.
"Thanks to Anousheh for playing that Depeche Mode cover," he said. "Way to stoke my ..."
You get the idea.
I'm a fan of the band and, granted, I was way in the back, but I didn't see nearly the rapt attention I have at other White Laces shows.
Not nearly enough applause from the distracted crowd.
After their set, the DJ chilled out with Washed Out and other more current music, getting a mini dance party going while others made beer runs and pit stops.
Wisely, I stayed put to keep my seat and a guy came up and asked if he could sit next to me.
I must have looked like the keeper of the banquette.
Alright, so I deigned to let him.
The Trillions were last and if anyone had any doubt who they were, they had to have been deaf.
Singer Charlie mentioned it several times in a row and between almost every song.
It was as if he sensed that the crowd wasn't paying attention or (horrors!) was a little too inebriated at this point to remember.
Naturally the four tallest men in the room congregated directly in front of me as I tried to see one of the shortest bands in town.
Meanwhile, the band hit us with their poppy rock assault and midway through the set they had a good-sized crowd of people dancing in the center of the room.
I'd already done my grooving during the first couple sets, but some people were just getting started.
People and music, that's all we needed tonight.
You might have known that if you were old.
People and music, that is.
I have to assume that's why all those warm bodies were pressed into Balliceaux tonight after a week of enforced holiday/family events.
The surprising part was that the show had already begun when I arrived.
I was assured that Anousheh was only on her second song, but I hate to miss even one song when it's as good as her band's are.
My trip to Italy had precluded me attending her CD release show back in October, so I felt owed.
Because her set had begun, I could only muscle so far before hitting a wall of people and being in the way of moving barbacks.
That lasted through a couple of songs where people came in and stopped right in front of Anousheh singing and had long, loud conversations that blocked the view and sound of her.
Fine, it's a bar, so talk away, but do you have to do it two feet from the singer/keyboardist?
All I'm saying is that it made it very easy to move in front of people like that and enjoy the rest of the set from the front, unobstructed.
"You might know this," Anousheh said late in their set, "if you're old."
I turned to the guitarist next to me and said, "I'll know it."
It took the crowd a bit before they began to recognize Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence," but I was getting it from the start.
As good as she sounded, she looked just as good in little leather shorts, leggings and booties with a drape-y cream shirt swinging as she sang and danced.
What was interesting was watching her low-key husband (and musician) watch her become a pop goddess in front of a roomful of pretty people.
Well, not just pretty because fans like me and others were there, too.
Lots of bangs, lots of earnest looking metrosexuals.
Coats stuffed into the rafters for lack of anyplace else to put them
A favorite drummer tapped me on the shoulder, the photographer walked in with me, the physicist said hello, the French singer looking brooding, the cute couple, he with his winter look on.
The neighborhood musician who usually just nods his head slyly when he sees me, but tonight spoke.
"It's never a shock to see you out, Karen."But it's always a pleasure."
Blah, blah, blah.
During the break, the DJ played songs like Lionel Richie's "All Night Long" and "Oh, Sheila."
Then came White Laces and by then the room had to have been at capacity.
As is my habit, I'd moved to the back banquette for the best view and I heard a guy comment on how big the crowd was.
I'd attributed that to the bands' avid fan bases, meaning less overlap and more distinctive subgroups.
After a sound check where White Laces' singer Landis inquired of the audience if they sounded too loud, too quiet or okay, we did our best Goldilocks and reassured him that it was just right.
"Thanks to Anousheh for playing that Depeche Mode cover," he said. "Way to stoke my ..."
You get the idea.
I'm a fan of the band and, granted, I was way in the back, but I didn't see nearly the rapt attention I have at other White Laces shows.
Not nearly enough applause from the distracted crowd.
After their set, the DJ chilled out with Washed Out and other more current music, getting a mini dance party going while others made beer runs and pit stops.
Wisely, I stayed put to keep my seat and a guy came up and asked if he could sit next to me.
I must have looked like the keeper of the banquette.
Alright, so I deigned to let him.
The Trillions were last and if anyone had any doubt who they were, they had to have been deaf.
Singer Charlie mentioned it several times in a row and between almost every song.
It was as if he sensed that the crowd wasn't paying attention or (horrors!) was a little too inebriated at this point to remember.
Naturally the four tallest men in the room congregated directly in front of me as I tried to see one of the shortest bands in town.
Meanwhile, the band hit us with their poppy rock assault and midway through the set they had a good-sized crowd of people dancing in the center of the room.
I'd already done my grooving during the first couple sets, but some people were just getting started.
People and music, that's all we needed tonight.
You might have known that if you were old.
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.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Drummers Do It with Rhythm
It was a brave, new world at the Listening Room tonight, one that included drums and amps and bongos, oh, my!
Put another way, there were more musicians on the stage for tonight's performance than in your average three Listening Room shows of yore. With a whopping eighteen musicians playing throughout the evening, that's pure fact, not hyperbole.
And it was all very cool, just very different than business as usual. Even the energy in the room felt different; a friend and I tried to figure it out. Were there more new faces? Is it the bar that makes the crowd so much noisier between sets? Is it just not being in a church basement? We couldn't put our fingers on it.
But the bottom line at the Listening Room is hearing talented musicians play to a respectful and silent audience and nothing about that had changed.
Harrisonburg band David Bayard Richard was a septet with two keyboards, drums, guitar, violin, viola and cello. They were introduced by MC Chris Edwards as "indie pop piano ballad chamber pop" and that's probably as succinct a description as could be made for the band.
They came onstage and lead singer Richard responded with, "That's the first time we've been introduced...ever." We are nothing if not well-mannered at the Listening Room.
They had an interesting sound, alternating a more drum/guitar-heavy sound with a more string-focused one and occasionally all coming together. Richard's growl of a voice was very melodic and enhanced by the two keyboards.
The last song, which featured all seven instruments was beautiful, although the strings were tough to hear over the drums. On an earlier song, my friend had said that there were moments when the strings swelled that she felt close to tears, always part of the pleasure of chamber pop.
Playing next was Anousheh Khalili, she of the sensuous voice and writer of beautiful pop gem songs. Tonight she had a three-piece behind her and it added a whole new dimension to her music.
"I'm playing all new songs," she told the crowd. "So unless you were at my one other show, you haven't heard them." Turning to my seatmate, I told her I had been there. "If anyone had, it would be you," she whispered with a smile.
But as impressive as the new songs had been when she'd played them solo at Ipanema, they were even more so tonight with her band. Guitarist Tyler Crowley was a perfect fit with Anousheh's voice and keyboards, adding texture to her sound and proving that a good thing can sometimes be made even better.
Miramar, another septet, took over from Anousheh (who had used their keyboards to save lugging her own) with guitar/sax, bass, drums, two singer/percussionists and, yes, bongos. And if they were the first bongos at the Listening Room, it was also the first time that boleros were sung.
I've heard Miramar before, so I knew what to expect, but many in the crowd had the unexpected pleasure of songs from Puerto Rico and Greece as well as original material, none of it in English and all of it quite beautiful.
On the one hand, all the bands tonight had a common bond: keyboards, drums, guitars and vocalists; on the other, the musical genres were far-flung: indie, Latin, chamber, dance and pop. Music lovers with wide-ranging tastes, a group that would include me, had many itches scratched this evening.
Except for jazz. But conveniently, Brian Jones was playing at the Camel a few steps away, so once the show ended, I took those steps to scratch one last itch before the night was over.
No matter with whom Jones surrounds himself (tonight it was Parker, Ralston and Kuhl), his masterful playing is always a sight to behold and a treat to hear. And I love watching the young jazz musicians in the audience worship at his altar stage as he plays.
But unlike the Listening Room, there were no bongos. Pity.
Put another way, there were more musicians on the stage for tonight's performance than in your average three Listening Room shows of yore. With a whopping eighteen musicians playing throughout the evening, that's pure fact, not hyperbole.
And it was all very cool, just very different than business as usual. Even the energy in the room felt different; a friend and I tried to figure it out. Were there more new faces? Is it the bar that makes the crowd so much noisier between sets? Is it just not being in a church basement? We couldn't put our fingers on it.
But the bottom line at the Listening Room is hearing talented musicians play to a respectful and silent audience and nothing about that had changed.
Harrisonburg band David Bayard Richard was a septet with two keyboards, drums, guitar, violin, viola and cello. They were introduced by MC Chris Edwards as "indie pop piano ballad chamber pop" and that's probably as succinct a description as could be made for the band.
They came onstage and lead singer Richard responded with, "That's the first time we've been introduced...ever." We are nothing if not well-mannered at the Listening Room.
They had an interesting sound, alternating a more drum/guitar-heavy sound with a more string-focused one and occasionally all coming together. Richard's growl of a voice was very melodic and enhanced by the two keyboards.
The last song, which featured all seven instruments was beautiful, although the strings were tough to hear over the drums. On an earlier song, my friend had said that there were moments when the strings swelled that she felt close to tears, always part of the pleasure of chamber pop.
Playing next was Anousheh Khalili, she of the sensuous voice and writer of beautiful pop gem songs. Tonight she had a three-piece behind her and it added a whole new dimension to her music.
"I'm playing all new songs," she told the crowd. "So unless you were at my one other show, you haven't heard them." Turning to my seatmate, I told her I had been there. "If anyone had, it would be you," she whispered with a smile.
But as impressive as the new songs had been when she'd played them solo at Ipanema, they were even more so tonight with her band. Guitarist Tyler Crowley was a perfect fit with Anousheh's voice and keyboards, adding texture to her sound and proving that a good thing can sometimes be made even better.
Miramar, another septet, took over from Anousheh (who had used their keyboards to save lugging her own) with guitar/sax, bass, drums, two singer/percussionists and, yes, bongos. And if they were the first bongos at the Listening Room, it was also the first time that boleros were sung.
I've heard Miramar before, so I knew what to expect, but many in the crowd had the unexpected pleasure of songs from Puerto Rico and Greece as well as original material, none of it in English and all of it quite beautiful.
On the one hand, all the bands tonight had a common bond: keyboards, drums, guitars and vocalists; on the other, the musical genres were far-flung: indie, Latin, chamber, dance and pop. Music lovers with wide-ranging tastes, a group that would include me, had many itches scratched this evening.
Except for jazz. But conveniently, Brian Jones was playing at the Camel a few steps away, so once the show ended, I took those steps to scratch one last itch before the night was over.
No matter with whom Jones surrounds himself (tonight it was Parker, Ralston and Kuhl), his masterful playing is always a sight to behold and a treat to hear. And I love watching the young jazz musicians in the audience worship at his altar stage as he plays.
But unlike the Listening Room, there were no bongos. Pity.
Monday, March 7, 2011
The Power of Moving Pictures, Pie and Piano
The beauty of the quarterly James River Filmmakers Forum is the variety of unexpected scenarios you'll get to see in the local shorts screened. Tuck your cocktails under your seats and fasten your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen. It's going to be a colorful ride.
Let's see, tonight at Balliceaux that included a tea party on Church Hill with the devil, a Muslim woman working on her Ph.D while suffering through bad matchmaking attempts and a couple of local restaurant owners emerging naked from the river covered in fake blood. It's hard to overstate the pleasures of that kind of entertainment.
Five filmmakers were showing tonight and their work ranged across the spectrum. Daniel Lowe's time lapse films in high def were pure eye candy, the treetops looking almost nervous in their movements and the racing stars resembling a planetarium show.
Or as he put it, "There's not much to think about with my work. It's just meant to be pretty." From behind me, man-about-town Harry Kollatz piped up, "Kind of like me." True that, Harry.
Christine Stoddard's "Tea Party with Death" had a female death figure holding a very proper tea party with miniature cups and saucers, but be on your best behavior; use improper etiquette and you're dead.
The nudes emerging from the river, "Harbinger," were the work of Harrison Moenich, who commented, "It's really hard to find people willing to come out of the water naked in cold weather." He considered the piece to be a horror movie stripped down to its most basic level.
"Menna," by Ashley Zahorian addressed the duality of a typical young American woman with traditional Muslim beliefs. Typical, that is, if you're getting your Ph.D in electrical engineering and your aunts are shoving one loser Muslim man after another at you.
Made from Super 8 home movies, "Expecting to Fly" was Ethan Bullard's experimental sci-fi film about a military unit trying to locate heaven. After the space race, there was apparently a faith race. Who knew?
The footage was from the 60s and shot in Alaska, which subbed for Pluto, and Virginia. The unit had a Deadly Garbage Accelerator that threw garbage onto the dark side of the moon. One dedicated man stayed behind to search for heaven and ended up back on earth. High drama indeed.
The humor of the simply-told story was matched only by the very cool vintage 8 mm footage Bullard used. I love the look of Super 8 films and the soundtrack, which included two songs by Explosions in the Sky, echoed the vastness of the landscape with enormous soundscapes.
During the panel discussion with the filmmakers afterwards, the audience got the chance to find out the how and why of the films. It's such a great way to get inside the creative heads of those compelled to make movies, assuming that that's a place you want to peer in to.
It was raining lightly when I left Balliceaux for Ipanema and the monthly installment of Live at Ipanema, making it a cozy night for live music.
I arrived to find friends at the bar, so I joined them for a piece of blueberry pie a la mode; one of my friends had the apple blueberry, sparking a discussion of how badly RVA needs a dedicated pie shop. Pies are the new cupcakes, mark my words.
Playing tonight was Anousheh Khalili, she of the beautiful voice and talented piano fingers. Her set went from new to old, she forewarned us, with a stopover in the '80s for a Phil Collins cover she particularly loves, "In the Air Tonight." Oh, yes, she did.
She did some songs from her rare tour EP, including the touching "Suitcase." She was then joined onstage by her husband, musician Will Loyal of Homemade Knives, of which she is also a member, on background vocals.
Her final addition was Jonathan Vassar, also of Homemade Knives, on accordion and guitar (once he borrowed a pick, that is, having misplaced his own) and adding to the richness of Anousheh's already-beautiful sound.
She said she's been listening to a lot of R & B like CeLo Green (and anyone he works with) lately, mostly for structure but also for its pop sensibilities. Combine that with her voice and piano playing and it's a killer combination.
Let's see, tonight at Balliceaux that included a tea party on Church Hill with the devil, a Muslim woman working on her Ph.D while suffering through bad matchmaking attempts and a couple of local restaurant owners emerging naked from the river covered in fake blood. It's hard to overstate the pleasures of that kind of entertainment.
Five filmmakers were showing tonight and their work ranged across the spectrum. Daniel Lowe's time lapse films in high def were pure eye candy, the treetops looking almost nervous in their movements and the racing stars resembling a planetarium show.
Or as he put it, "There's not much to think about with my work. It's just meant to be pretty." From behind me, man-about-town Harry Kollatz piped up, "Kind of like me." True that, Harry.
Christine Stoddard's "Tea Party with Death" had a female death figure holding a very proper tea party with miniature cups and saucers, but be on your best behavior; use improper etiquette and you're dead.
The nudes emerging from the river, "Harbinger," were the work of Harrison Moenich, who commented, "It's really hard to find people willing to come out of the water naked in cold weather." He considered the piece to be a horror movie stripped down to its most basic level.
"Menna," by Ashley Zahorian addressed the duality of a typical young American woman with traditional Muslim beliefs. Typical, that is, if you're getting your Ph.D in electrical engineering and your aunts are shoving one loser Muslim man after another at you.
Made from Super 8 home movies, "Expecting to Fly" was Ethan Bullard's experimental sci-fi film about a military unit trying to locate heaven. After the space race, there was apparently a faith race. Who knew?
The footage was from the 60s and shot in Alaska, which subbed for Pluto, and Virginia. The unit had a Deadly Garbage Accelerator that threw garbage onto the dark side of the moon. One dedicated man stayed behind to search for heaven and ended up back on earth. High drama indeed.
The humor of the simply-told story was matched only by the very cool vintage 8 mm footage Bullard used. I love the look of Super 8 films and the soundtrack, which included two songs by Explosions in the Sky, echoed the vastness of the landscape with enormous soundscapes.
During the panel discussion with the filmmakers afterwards, the audience got the chance to find out the how and why of the films. It's such a great way to get inside the creative heads of those compelled to make movies, assuming that that's a place you want to peer in to.
It was raining lightly when I left Balliceaux for Ipanema and the monthly installment of Live at Ipanema, making it a cozy night for live music.
I arrived to find friends at the bar, so I joined them for a piece of blueberry pie a la mode; one of my friends had the apple blueberry, sparking a discussion of how badly RVA needs a dedicated pie shop. Pies are the new cupcakes, mark my words.
Playing tonight was Anousheh Khalili, she of the beautiful voice and talented piano fingers. Her set went from new to old, she forewarned us, with a stopover in the '80s for a Phil Collins cover she particularly loves, "In the Air Tonight." Oh, yes, she did.
She did some songs from her rare tour EP, including the touching "Suitcase." She was then joined onstage by her husband, musician Will Loyal of Homemade Knives, of which she is also a member, on background vocals.
Her final addition was Jonathan Vassar, also of Homemade Knives, on accordion and guitar (once he borrowed a pick, that is, having misplaced his own) and adding to the richness of Anousheh's already-beautiful sound.
She said she's been listening to a lot of R & B like CeLo Green (and anyone he works with) lately, mostly for structure but also for its pop sensibilities. Combine that with her voice and piano playing and it's a killer combination.
As is an evening of outstanding local film followed by soaring local music in a hushed room.
You may now unfasten your seatbelts. And, please, have some pie.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Pulling Back the Curtain
Any way you look at it, tonight was a stellar opportunity to hear music in the capital city. There was Folk Fest, Acme Thunderer Label launch at Gallery 5, Built to Spill at the National, Diamond Center house show in Oregon Hill. And my choice, the Triple Stamp show at the Camel.
Any Triple Stamp show is worth taking in because of the quality of the musicians on their label, but tonight there was the added bonus of a reunion show by the too-long absent Mermaid Skeletons.
Yes, the same Mermaid Skeletons who seared a permanent place in my heart a few summers back with a memorable show in the garden of the Poe Museum on a sticky hot night where fans surrounded the garden to listen to the sold-out show.
They were preceded by the always-excellent Ophelia, minus their drummer and, for a change, Grant on guitar and David on bass and banjo. For several of my friends, it was their first Ophelia show and they were as impressed as I'd assured them they'd be.
Mermaid Skeletons, they of the many members, entrancing music and beautiful/silly lyrics, took the stage to a capacity crowd. When you haven't played for a few years, the devoted gather in droves. Tonight no one had to climb a pointed stone wall to see the band, but the enthusiasm to hear that distinctive sound was just as great.
During Homemade Knives's set, Will got almost four songs in before remembering to acknowledge his stage fright, a rarity for a guy who usually opens their set with panic attack talk. His voice, as ever, was as stirring on older original material as it was on an Otis Redding cover learned for a recent wedding.
Last but certainly not least, was Anousheh Khalili, a member of Homemade Knives, but doing her own thing along with drum and bass. Hers was the loudest set, relatively speaking, and the combination of her keyboards and voice did justice to the 80s-influenced new songs she was playing.
It was a truly mesmerizing show start to finish and the fact that the Camel was just as crowded at the start of the evening as it was at midnight was tribute to the brilliance of the Triple Stamp bill.
An unexpected highlight of the evening was meeting one of my most regular blog commenters who came to the show with a mutual friend. Owing to some music opining I had done for him, he was in my debt for a good tequila, so after the show we went around the corner to Balliceaux to settle up.
Satisfyingly, he turned out to be as big a music geek as I am, and it's always a pleasure to talk to those as obsessed as oneself. He has the added fortune of actually being a musician, so technically he's probably even more obsessed, a fact I almost envy. After discovering our mutual fandom for Beach House, bartender Austin made it so by playing the album.
My only concern is that now that he's met the person behind the curtain, he won't be nearly as fascinated by my ramblings.
And you can imagine how much I'd hate to lose a clever commenter. After all, it's the hope that my writing will engage someone enough to cause them to comment that makes all of this worthwhile in the first place.
Conversation, whether virtual or face-to-face, is always the objective with me. Nothing like stating the obvious.
Any Triple Stamp show is worth taking in because of the quality of the musicians on their label, but tonight there was the added bonus of a reunion show by the too-long absent Mermaid Skeletons.
Yes, the same Mermaid Skeletons who seared a permanent place in my heart a few summers back with a memorable show in the garden of the Poe Museum on a sticky hot night where fans surrounded the garden to listen to the sold-out show.
They were preceded by the always-excellent Ophelia, minus their drummer and, for a change, Grant on guitar and David on bass and banjo. For several of my friends, it was their first Ophelia show and they were as impressed as I'd assured them they'd be.
Mermaid Skeletons, they of the many members, entrancing music and beautiful/silly lyrics, took the stage to a capacity crowd. When you haven't played for a few years, the devoted gather in droves. Tonight no one had to climb a pointed stone wall to see the band, but the enthusiasm to hear that distinctive sound was just as great.
During Homemade Knives's set, Will got almost four songs in before remembering to acknowledge his stage fright, a rarity for a guy who usually opens their set with panic attack talk. His voice, as ever, was as stirring on older original material as it was on an Otis Redding cover learned for a recent wedding.
Last but certainly not least, was Anousheh Khalili, a member of Homemade Knives, but doing her own thing along with drum and bass. Hers was the loudest set, relatively speaking, and the combination of her keyboards and voice did justice to the 80s-influenced new songs she was playing.
It was a truly mesmerizing show start to finish and the fact that the Camel was just as crowded at the start of the evening as it was at midnight was tribute to the brilliance of the Triple Stamp bill.
An unexpected highlight of the evening was meeting one of my most regular blog commenters who came to the show with a mutual friend. Owing to some music opining I had done for him, he was in my debt for a good tequila, so after the show we went around the corner to Balliceaux to settle up.
Satisfyingly, he turned out to be as big a music geek as I am, and it's always a pleasure to talk to those as obsessed as oneself. He has the added fortune of actually being a musician, so technically he's probably even more obsessed, a fact I almost envy. After discovering our mutual fandom for Beach House, bartender Austin made it so by playing the album.
My only concern is that now that he's met the person behind the curtain, he won't be nearly as fascinated by my ramblings.
And you can imagine how much I'd hate to lose a clever commenter. After all, it's the hope that my writing will engage someone enough to cause them to comment that makes all of this worthwhile in the first place.
Conversation, whether virtual or face-to-face, is always the objective with me. Nothing like stating the obvious.
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