It's never too late to figure out how you want to live your life.
I have friends who just this week shed their worker bee existences to explore minimalism - health, deep relationships and giving back - travel and seek out unique experiences.
Today on his first non-corporate Monday, I have no idea what she did, but he tried pickleball ("like playing tennis except on a smaller court and in slow motion"), with the result that he "beat up on a bunch of 60-some year olds." I guess this beats the office grind.
Today, on my 430th non-corporate Monday, I walked the pipeline, which is not uncommon for me, but the river was so high and furious that I couldn't even get to the pipeline walkway from the edge of Brown's Island, so I took the canal walk to the other end, walked it to the part where the James was higher than the pipeline, turned around and came back.
Granted, unlike my friend, it didn't earn me the hashtag #rogerfedererofpickleball, but to each of us our own way of starting the work week.
With such lofty goals announced to the world, I'll be curious to see how they choose to spend their time once the novelty wears off.
Will they be like me and devote their free time to the pursuit of culture, companionship and fun? Will they go to shows at the Camel on a Monday night and stay for all four bands?
Would they marvel at the beauty of Ben Shepherd's songs and chuckle when he has to use a cheat sheet taped to a microphone stand for the lyrics to a new song? Take as much delight in South Carolina band Those Lavender Whales' comparisons of their riverwalk and ours (theirs has a chicken factory, so ours won out)? Get their '90s on with the female-fronted, whiskey-sipping Hey Baby?
I can only hope they'd stay until Doll Baby played because seeing someone as low-key and soft-spoken as lead singer Julie take that fabulous voice of hers and turn it into angst and energy really needs to be experienced.
But then don't most things?
Today, on their 8th anniversary of dating, a favorite couple who also happen to be musicians, got married. It's not like they didn't already live together and own a house together, but they wanted the traditional trappings of marriage. Their excitement about their change in status was adorable.
I'd be the first to admit that sometimes it takes a while to decide how you want to live your life. Although I have no desire to beat up on 60-somethings, I'm wide open to travel and unique experiences.
Among other things.
Showing posts with label ben shepherd. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ben shepherd. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
Monday, March 6, 2017
Am I in Tune?
It finally hit me: surely I didn't become this way. I must have always been.
While at my parents' house last week, Mom asked my evening's plans. I told her I was going to the Symphony, then to a festival kick-off party and then to a comedy show. She looked aghast. "All in one night?"
Only then did it occur to me to ask her about who I am. Namely, did I always have to move?
My question produced an immediate smile. "Yes, you did. You came out that way. I think it's why you never liked TV." This is the opposite of her and explains why she's always suggesting we sit down and "gather our forces" when I'm ready to keep going.
So it would seem that I don't just go out every night because I need company and conversation or because I'm in search of culture. I move because it's programmed into my DNA to move, to do things, to always be on the go.
Like yesterday. My walk took me across the T Pot bridge, along the floodwall, back via the pipeline and up through downtown, and everywhere I went, I was surprised at how few people were outside.
Not to mention that the ones who were out were "Sunday walkers," a group I have little tolerance for when I get behind them. One especially slow walking husband accused me of sneaking up on him, although a toddler could have done the same given the glacier pace at which he moved.
Back at home, I threw down lunch, glanced at the paper and walked to the Bijou for a thoroughly entertaining movie, arriving home with less than an hour to get ready to go out.
We decided to get a jumpstart on Black Restaurant Week by heading to Sweet Tea's in the Bottom for dinner. I hadn't been in since they'd relocated from their original (and far smaller) location, though I knew the space well. It was where I'd seen my first (okay, only) tofu-eating contest, notable because one contestant had thrown up tofu into her hand and eaten it in order to avoid being disqualified.
But I digress.
Beginning with Sweet Tea's tea du jour - mango lemonade - I ate through chicken and waffles, a crabcake sandwich, collards and cabbage while listening to a travelogue from my companion's recent foray to the ends of the earth.
Not sure I can get behind beaches covered in black rocks, but to each his own.
By the time we'd finished eating, drinking and discussing whether the standards for the Pulitzer Prize in literature have been noticeably dumbed down (hint: yes), Sweet Tea's staff had begun putting chairs on top of tables in hopes of leaving soon.
Okay, okay, we get it.
Then it was on to the Camel for a show that began with the always-stellar and unqeustionably literate Ben Shepherd, a man who never met a story that couldn't be shaped into a song and these days, songs with much commentary in them.
Next up was Mike Dunn and his band, a group who'd clearly taken a page from the Bo Deans' masterfully-written book on roots rock and followed it into the 21st century.
Headlining was Alex Dezen, who made sure we knew that he'd been with the Damnwells for years but that was over. Finis. He only sounded mildly bitter, but he also wasn't above playing Damnwells' songs, so he may still have been sorting through some mixed emotions.
And aren't we all?
Midway through his set, Alex told the crowd to ruminate on questions ("No song requests!") while he tuned his guitar. Amid a question about French fries and steak sauce and an admission that one of the back-up singers was his main squeeze, one tall guy raised his hand and asked Alex squarely, "Do you think Trump is a Fascist?"
Fair enough.
Alex hemmed and hawed, eventually concluding that 45 is many unpleasant -isms and -ists, but that Alex just didn't know enough about fascism to make the call. You have to appreciate a man who admits to not knowing.
The show wound down at a reasonable enough hour to contemplate a nightcap and while Saison Market was just battening down the hatches, Saison (bless their hearts) had two hours and change left on the meter. We arrived just as the bar turned over entirely, saw it through a slow period and watched it begin to fill back up.
All without moving much at all. Except for the hour, Mom would have been proud.
While at my parents' house last week, Mom asked my evening's plans. I told her I was going to the Symphony, then to a festival kick-off party and then to a comedy show. She looked aghast. "All in one night?"
Only then did it occur to me to ask her about who I am. Namely, did I always have to move?
My question produced an immediate smile. "Yes, you did. You came out that way. I think it's why you never liked TV." This is the opposite of her and explains why she's always suggesting we sit down and "gather our forces" when I'm ready to keep going.
So it would seem that I don't just go out every night because I need company and conversation or because I'm in search of culture. I move because it's programmed into my DNA to move, to do things, to always be on the go.
Like yesterday. My walk took me across the T Pot bridge, along the floodwall, back via the pipeline and up through downtown, and everywhere I went, I was surprised at how few people were outside.
Not to mention that the ones who were out were "Sunday walkers," a group I have little tolerance for when I get behind them. One especially slow walking husband accused me of sneaking up on him, although a toddler could have done the same given the glacier pace at which he moved.
Back at home, I threw down lunch, glanced at the paper and walked to the Bijou for a thoroughly entertaining movie, arriving home with less than an hour to get ready to go out.
We decided to get a jumpstart on Black Restaurant Week by heading to Sweet Tea's in the Bottom for dinner. I hadn't been in since they'd relocated from their original (and far smaller) location, though I knew the space well. It was where I'd seen my first (okay, only) tofu-eating contest, notable because one contestant had thrown up tofu into her hand and eaten it in order to avoid being disqualified.
But I digress.
Beginning with Sweet Tea's tea du jour - mango lemonade - I ate through chicken and waffles, a crabcake sandwich, collards and cabbage while listening to a travelogue from my companion's recent foray to the ends of the earth.
Not sure I can get behind beaches covered in black rocks, but to each his own.
By the time we'd finished eating, drinking and discussing whether the standards for the Pulitzer Prize in literature have been noticeably dumbed down (hint: yes), Sweet Tea's staff had begun putting chairs on top of tables in hopes of leaving soon.
Okay, okay, we get it.
Then it was on to the Camel for a show that began with the always-stellar and unqeustionably literate Ben Shepherd, a man who never met a story that couldn't be shaped into a song and these days, songs with much commentary in them.
Next up was Mike Dunn and his band, a group who'd clearly taken a page from the Bo Deans' masterfully-written book on roots rock and followed it into the 21st century.
Headlining was Alex Dezen, who made sure we knew that he'd been with the Damnwells for years but that was over. Finis. He only sounded mildly bitter, but he also wasn't above playing Damnwells' songs, so he may still have been sorting through some mixed emotions.
And aren't we all?
Midway through his set, Alex told the crowd to ruminate on questions ("No song requests!") while he tuned his guitar. Amid a question about French fries and steak sauce and an admission that one of the back-up singers was his main squeeze, one tall guy raised his hand and asked Alex squarely, "Do you think Trump is a Fascist?"
Fair enough.
Alex hemmed and hawed, eventually concluding that 45 is many unpleasant -isms and -ists, but that Alex just didn't know enough about fascism to make the call. You have to appreciate a man who admits to not knowing.
The show wound down at a reasonable enough hour to contemplate a nightcap and while Saison Market was just battening down the hatches, Saison (bless their hearts) had two hours and change left on the meter. We arrived just as the bar turned over entirely, saw it through a slow period and watched it begin to fill back up.
All without moving much at all. Except for the hour, Mom would have been proud.
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Boundless Southern Sounds
Zen archery, I didn't know that was a thing.
Ah, the pleasures of being out and eavesdropping in Richmond again.
I almost didn't go to Gallery 5 for music because it was 19 degrees, but I would have missed so much if I'd been a weather wimp.
Certainly I would have missed the hours spent standing up against a large radiator behind the merch table, the most wonderfully warm place I'd been all day.
Or running into the transplanted chef, back in town for two days, who regaled me with his New Year's Day antics in NOVA. After a stupidly busy holiday season, he and a coworker decided to spend the first day of 2016 relaxing, sitting on the roof contemplating the Potomac River.
Only problem was that when they climbed back inside the access window, they were spotted by a cop, who soon had the perimeter surrounded, Handcuffs were involved. "That was our New Year's Day," he said ruefully.
Other notables included the artist who'd done the InLight installation at the Confederate Memorial Chapel and my favorite history geek/guitar player.
Tonight's show did not start on time (no surprise there) but no one cared once Ben Shepherd took the stage singing such songs as "Silver Dog" ("Your eyes tell me you're young enough to forget where you came from") and another about the choice of our culture being to be without money or be without time (obviously, the first being my preference).
You could have heard a pin drop, the audience was so respectfully quiet so as not to miss a syllable of Ben's insightful lyrics. It took only until the third song for a girl to come over to the merch table and buy Ben's CD as he sang. Not long after he started his fourth song ("What is the price to keep the muse around?"), a guy came over to buy it.
This is the effect Ben Shepherd has on people when he sings. A friend of mine has long said that he's the best songwriter in Richmond and not too many people would dispute that, certainly not the third person who came over to buy his CD.
The beauty of tonight's show was talent and ease of transition, with singer/songwriter Cal Folger Day taking the stage very shortly after Ben left it. I'd seen her about a year and a half ago when she was still living in Brooklyn, having now relocated to Dublin.
"My plan is to warm you guys up with some songwriter stuff and then play my new opera," she announced, proving that she hadn't lost any of her quirkiness moving across the pond. Tonight is the first night of her two week tour with Ben and I could see why they'd be compatible tour mates since both write such smart lyrics.
Mostly playing keyboard ("Home's a place where I go crazy if I stay"), she also used Ben's guitar ("Your uncle made this, right? It's such a beautiful guitar.") and reminisced about her previous gig at Gallery 5 ("In my mind, it was still a working firehouse with fire poles and everything").
Memory is a tricky thing.
She did a song based on the diary of a Penobscot Indian woman and another about her time spent as a nanny before asking, "Alright you guys, are you ready for some opera? You brought your monocles?"
Oops, left it with my fox stole at home.
Based on Djuna Barnes' 1916 play and set to premiere in Dublin, the story of "The Roots of the Stars" concerned a woman waiting in a basement for years for her child to come home, with a friend to keep her company. "It was performed by the Provincetown Players, you know, Eugene O'Neill and Edna St. Vincent Millay and those cats."
In all likelihood, that was the first time O'Neill and Millay have been referred to as "cats." I love it.
Cal performed both parts (sample lyric: "It's glad I am to be at the roots of the stars") and warned us that it didn't have a happy ending ("She meets a donkey!"). Horrors!
When she finished, it was to pronounce in her lilting voice, "Stay tuned at your local opera house!" And bring your monocle while you're at it.
Last up was Lucy Dacus, which sounds like one person but is really Lucy with a band of guys, although the first song was just her lovely voice and her guitar. She opted not to wear her glasses for the show, saying that the last time she'd worn glasses at a show, they'd fallen off. She must have had the same problem with her pants, which she ritualistically pulled up after every song.
Her voice's timbre demands attention and lyrics about slow dancing at low tide were well suited to it. A song so new it was untitled ("If anyone wants to throw in their pitch") and caused a band member to ask, "Lucy, do we have to?" turned out to be a slow burner that'll undoubtedly become a set list standard.
Of course she did the charming "I Don't Wanna Be Funny Anymore," the song that;'s gotten her some national attention for its honesty and sheer listen-ability, but I was just as fond of lyrics such as, "Honesty is like a kiss on the lips. Come closer and I'll tell you all about it."
In song after song, she basically was telling us about it, about everything that's on her mind, in that strong, husky voice with her solid band backing her up.
The only disappointment of the set was that they didn't do Prince's "I Would Die 4 U," a song I've heard her do a couple of times and one that always impresses me for how sublimely she owns her cover of it.
Other than that, leaning on a deliciously warm radiator to hear three most excellent musical acts was about the best possible way to ease back into real life Richmond-style after my return from the West coast.
The zen of stellar music nearby on a cold night, that's a thing. It's glad I am to have it.
Ah, the pleasures of being out and eavesdropping in Richmond again.
I almost didn't go to Gallery 5 for music because it was 19 degrees, but I would have missed so much if I'd been a weather wimp.
Certainly I would have missed the hours spent standing up against a large radiator behind the merch table, the most wonderfully warm place I'd been all day.
Or running into the transplanted chef, back in town for two days, who regaled me with his New Year's Day antics in NOVA. After a stupidly busy holiday season, he and a coworker decided to spend the first day of 2016 relaxing, sitting on the roof contemplating the Potomac River.
Only problem was that when they climbed back inside the access window, they were spotted by a cop, who soon had the perimeter surrounded, Handcuffs were involved. "That was our New Year's Day," he said ruefully.
Other notables included the artist who'd done the InLight installation at the Confederate Memorial Chapel and my favorite history geek/guitar player.
Tonight's show did not start on time (no surprise there) but no one cared once Ben Shepherd took the stage singing such songs as "Silver Dog" ("Your eyes tell me you're young enough to forget where you came from") and another about the choice of our culture being to be without money or be without time (obviously, the first being my preference).
You could have heard a pin drop, the audience was so respectfully quiet so as not to miss a syllable of Ben's insightful lyrics. It took only until the third song for a girl to come over to the merch table and buy Ben's CD as he sang. Not long after he started his fourth song ("What is the price to keep the muse around?"), a guy came over to buy it.
This is the effect Ben Shepherd has on people when he sings. A friend of mine has long said that he's the best songwriter in Richmond and not too many people would dispute that, certainly not the third person who came over to buy his CD.
The beauty of tonight's show was talent and ease of transition, with singer/songwriter Cal Folger Day taking the stage very shortly after Ben left it. I'd seen her about a year and a half ago when she was still living in Brooklyn, having now relocated to Dublin.
"My plan is to warm you guys up with some songwriter stuff and then play my new opera," she announced, proving that she hadn't lost any of her quirkiness moving across the pond. Tonight is the first night of her two week tour with Ben and I could see why they'd be compatible tour mates since both write such smart lyrics.
Mostly playing keyboard ("Home's a place where I go crazy if I stay"), she also used Ben's guitar ("Your uncle made this, right? It's such a beautiful guitar.") and reminisced about her previous gig at Gallery 5 ("In my mind, it was still a working firehouse with fire poles and everything").
Memory is a tricky thing.
She did a song based on the diary of a Penobscot Indian woman and another about her time spent as a nanny before asking, "Alright you guys, are you ready for some opera? You brought your monocles?"
Oops, left it with my fox stole at home.
Based on Djuna Barnes' 1916 play and set to premiere in Dublin, the story of "The Roots of the Stars" concerned a woman waiting in a basement for years for her child to come home, with a friend to keep her company. "It was performed by the Provincetown Players, you know, Eugene O'Neill and Edna St. Vincent Millay and those cats."
In all likelihood, that was the first time O'Neill and Millay have been referred to as "cats." I love it.
Cal performed both parts (sample lyric: "It's glad I am to be at the roots of the stars") and warned us that it didn't have a happy ending ("She meets a donkey!"). Horrors!
When she finished, it was to pronounce in her lilting voice, "Stay tuned at your local opera house!" And bring your monocle while you're at it.
Last up was Lucy Dacus, which sounds like one person but is really Lucy with a band of guys, although the first song was just her lovely voice and her guitar. She opted not to wear her glasses for the show, saying that the last time she'd worn glasses at a show, they'd fallen off. She must have had the same problem with her pants, which she ritualistically pulled up after every song.
Her voice's timbre demands attention and lyrics about slow dancing at low tide were well suited to it. A song so new it was untitled ("If anyone wants to throw in their pitch") and caused a band member to ask, "Lucy, do we have to?" turned out to be a slow burner that'll undoubtedly become a set list standard.
Of course she did the charming "I Don't Wanna Be Funny Anymore," the song that;'s gotten her some national attention for its honesty and sheer listen-ability, but I was just as fond of lyrics such as, "Honesty is like a kiss on the lips. Come closer and I'll tell you all about it."
In song after song, she basically was telling us about it, about everything that's on her mind, in that strong, husky voice with her solid band backing her up.
The only disappointment of the set was that they didn't do Prince's "I Would Die 4 U," a song I've heard her do a couple of times and one that always impresses me for how sublimely she owns her cover of it.
Other than that, leaning on a deliciously warm radiator to hear three most excellent musical acts was about the best possible way to ease back into real life Richmond-style after my return from the West coast.
The zen of stellar music nearby on a cold night, that's a thing. It's glad I am to have it.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
Captains of Cool
You never know where the dancing or the midnight gifts may come from. Or at least I didn't.
Walking over to Gallery 5, I was looking forward to familiar faces and a strong bill of local and national bands. Greeting me when I walked in was a friend, the leader of one of the bands I'd come to see. In typical Richmond fashion, the show wasn't starting on time because not enough people had shown up yet.
Insert roll of eyes here (mine) for punishing the punctual.
I didn't really mind because it gave me time to talk to the always-interesting Paul who, despite assuring me he can be an optimist, somehow always comes across more the pragmatic type. But he's also a word geek like me (eager to correct and judge the grammar-inferior) so I was delighted when he shared some old New York slang for a pretty girl: "bleak mort."
Seems he'd come across the bit of archaic slang at the very moment he was looking for a fitting song title. Kudos to him for making use of it.
Before too long the handsome Ben Shepherd mounted the stage to do what he does best (to my knowledge, anyway): drink red wine, play guitar and play his incredibly smart, melodic songs.
Tonight he did odes to having no money but lots of time (which is exactly the way I roll), keeping the muse around (harder than it sounds) and feeling at home at bars, driving through Texas and counting stars (I'm fine with bars and stars, but the only reason I go to Texas is because my best friend lives there). Great stuff.
Before his last song, he said he has a record, "11 for the Road," on Band Camp and clarified, "If you feel like looking it up." I'm betting lots of people who heard his last song - about cops not always being decent people, name checking Freddy Gray and about how "it hits you in the gut to see someone's last breath" bother looking up his album if they're smart.
It's been years now we've all been saying he's the best songwriter in Richmond and with every new song I hear, he only affirms it.
The beauty of having a singer/songwriter open a show is that when he walks offstage with his guitar, the next band is good to go on. Except Gouda Mayhem (I know, fabulous name, right?) then had to sound check and just as it was feeling endless, leader Paul griped, "Okay, can we start playing music now?"
When the sound guy said yes, the guy standing in front of me promptly put in ear plugs. You'll never earn your rock and roll cred that way, son.
I've seen several of Paul's past bands but GM had the distinction of having not only a female guitarist, Natalie, but a female bassist, Chrissie, making this his coolest band ever. His songs are invariably literate and clever ("They don't know you're choking on your silver spoon") and his Elvis Costello-like delivery gives them an extra punch.
Midway through their set, he announced that it was bass player Chrissie and her husband's anniversary. When he asked how many years, she said eight. "Wow, you guys are serious!" he joked before announcing that his parents - in the audience tonight -had celebrated 54 years.
Saying they were going to play "Nothing but the Beaten Path," Paul clarified, "Make up your own lyrics for now" about the instrumental song. That's Paul humor.
After a T Rex tribute, the band played the magnificently titled "Bleak Mort," their hit (conveniently available at local record stores), "Casual Wayne" and closed with "Crushed Glass Pastry," notable for lyrics such as "You're always there for your friends unless it's not convenient." Like I said, Paul has a way with words.
During the break, a friend came over and asked, "Mind if I tag you on Facebook to get more people to come?" Despite the likelihood of my presence making one iota of difference, I agreed. Anything to keep his thumbs busy.
I used the down time to talk to a friend about Jimmy Carter's appearance at Costco this weekend (I'm not a member so I won't be there), which segued to a discussion of how he's a presidential history buff, even going so far as to have a top 15 presidents of all time list.
He only shared four of them - FDR, Lincoln, Carter and Obama - but also divulged that he has a top three lovers of all time list (let's face it, that's a list every person has in their head if they're truthful) and it includes every woman he's ever slept with. You can't fake that kind of honesty.
All the way from Kansas City, the duo of Schwervon! (who've apparently opened for Belle and Sebastion and the Vaselines) took the stage, Matt on guitar and Nan on drums. It was looking like a very good night for girl power at Gallery 5.
After their first kick-ass song, Matt lamented that the small crowd was massed to the side with not nearly enough people in his sight line. The crowd promptly filled in in front of him. "We eliminate all judgment at our shows," he went on. "Feel free to move or dance or not to."
Chances are by the second song the crowd would have done so anyway because their music was so engaging, so well executed, so danceable. If you closed your eyes, you'd never have guessed it was only two people on stage given how much sound was being produced. And their harmonies were downright amazing, ethereal almost.
During the killer "American Idle," a friend leaned over and compared them to late '80s-era They Might Be Giants, while the people up front near the stage (and those of us on the side by the radiator) began dancing to the irresistible sounds of two people completely musically in sync with each other.
This delighted me no end because I'd had zero expectation of dancing tonight.
When Matt needed to tune his guitar, Nan filled in by telling bad jokes such as, "What did the mayo say to the refrigerator? Close the door, I'm dressing." Ba dum bum. Just as funny was her conclusion, "It's so bad but I feel heroic just the same."
Her effortless-looking drumming, great voice and sunny personality made her my hero, that's for sure.
In what might have been the most unique moment I've yet to see at Gallery 5 (and, let's face it, I've seen bazillions of shows there over the years), Matt announced an intermission of sorts.
"If you're not a fan of poetry or modern dance, this might be a good time for a smoke or to go to the bathroom." Wait, what?
Seems he'd written a poem on the drive down from Washington today and Nan was going to do interpretive dance to it. She disappeared backstage as he explained that this poem was only for tonight's audience, never to be heard again.
He began reading - "Speed-bumping it to the next venue" - while she was nowhere in sight and, lo and behold, she appeared in tap shoes in front of the stage as he continued to read - "Why do you do this, she says. Because it calms me, he says" - and she danced back and forth, pantomiming to the words when she could.
It was magnificent, probably worthy of the finest fringe festival stage.
Then it was back to music, several new songs, older ones such as "truth Teller" from the acclaimed album "Courage" ("a fun song we're dedicating to our new Richmond friend, Lorraine") and another bad joke, this one about pizza, that Nan explained away by saying, "It's nice to surprise each other sometimes when you're around each other all the time." Ain't that the truth?
Before their last song, "Landlocked," which only continued the dancing frenzy, Matt told us it was available on vinyl at the merch table "if you like mementos. We also have t-shirts if you like to wear your mementos."
My regret was having only brought the $5 required to get in the door or I'd have gotten a memento for my ears. I can see why big name bands had been using this duo as an opening act. This'll be a show Richmonders will regret missing once they finally discover Schwervon! and they will because they're that good.
The whole night of music had been outstanding and when I walked out into the hot evening air, I was feeling pretty happy with the world. I didn't get more than a block down when, from the shadows, I heard an unexpected "Hey, lady" and a friend appeared out of nowhere.
He'd been at Heritage and asked where I'd been. "You like chicken?" he inquired, as if that was a normal thing to ask a woman on a dark street at night, and then handed me a to-go container of a wildly flavorful chicken and spinach dish. "I don't eat meat," he shrugged.
Needless to say, he got a hell of hug for that one. "See you around soon," he said before fading into the darkness of Jackson Ward.
Could it be he thinks I'm a bleak mort? Does it matter after an evening as fine as this?
Walking over to Gallery 5, I was looking forward to familiar faces and a strong bill of local and national bands. Greeting me when I walked in was a friend, the leader of one of the bands I'd come to see. In typical Richmond fashion, the show wasn't starting on time because not enough people had shown up yet.
Insert roll of eyes here (mine) for punishing the punctual.
I didn't really mind because it gave me time to talk to the always-interesting Paul who, despite assuring me he can be an optimist, somehow always comes across more the pragmatic type. But he's also a word geek like me (eager to correct and judge the grammar-inferior) so I was delighted when he shared some old New York slang for a pretty girl: "bleak mort."
Seems he'd come across the bit of archaic slang at the very moment he was looking for a fitting song title. Kudos to him for making use of it.
Before too long the handsome Ben Shepherd mounted the stage to do what he does best (to my knowledge, anyway): drink red wine, play guitar and play his incredibly smart, melodic songs.
Tonight he did odes to having no money but lots of time (which is exactly the way I roll), keeping the muse around (harder than it sounds) and feeling at home at bars, driving through Texas and counting stars (I'm fine with bars and stars, but the only reason I go to Texas is because my best friend lives there). Great stuff.
Before his last song, he said he has a record, "11 for the Road," on Band Camp and clarified, "If you feel like looking it up." I'm betting lots of people who heard his last song - about cops not always being decent people, name checking Freddy Gray and about how "it hits you in the gut to see someone's last breath" bother looking up his album if they're smart.
It's been years now we've all been saying he's the best songwriter in Richmond and with every new song I hear, he only affirms it.
The beauty of having a singer/songwriter open a show is that when he walks offstage with his guitar, the next band is good to go on. Except Gouda Mayhem (I know, fabulous name, right?) then had to sound check and just as it was feeling endless, leader Paul griped, "Okay, can we start playing music now?"
When the sound guy said yes, the guy standing in front of me promptly put in ear plugs. You'll never earn your rock and roll cred that way, son.
I've seen several of Paul's past bands but GM had the distinction of having not only a female guitarist, Natalie, but a female bassist, Chrissie, making this his coolest band ever. His songs are invariably literate and clever ("They don't know you're choking on your silver spoon") and his Elvis Costello-like delivery gives them an extra punch.
Midway through their set, he announced that it was bass player Chrissie and her husband's anniversary. When he asked how many years, she said eight. "Wow, you guys are serious!" he joked before announcing that his parents - in the audience tonight -had celebrated 54 years.
Saying they were going to play "Nothing but the Beaten Path," Paul clarified, "Make up your own lyrics for now" about the instrumental song. That's Paul humor.
After a T Rex tribute, the band played the magnificently titled "Bleak Mort," their hit (conveniently available at local record stores), "Casual Wayne" and closed with "Crushed Glass Pastry," notable for lyrics such as "You're always there for your friends unless it's not convenient." Like I said, Paul has a way with words.
During the break, a friend came over and asked, "Mind if I tag you on Facebook to get more people to come?" Despite the likelihood of my presence making one iota of difference, I agreed. Anything to keep his thumbs busy.
I used the down time to talk to a friend about Jimmy Carter's appearance at Costco this weekend (I'm not a member so I won't be there), which segued to a discussion of how he's a presidential history buff, even going so far as to have a top 15 presidents of all time list.
He only shared four of them - FDR, Lincoln, Carter and Obama - but also divulged that he has a top three lovers of all time list (let's face it, that's a list every person has in their head if they're truthful) and it includes every woman he's ever slept with. You can't fake that kind of honesty.
All the way from Kansas City, the duo of Schwervon! (who've apparently opened for Belle and Sebastion and the Vaselines) took the stage, Matt on guitar and Nan on drums. It was looking like a very good night for girl power at Gallery 5.
After their first kick-ass song, Matt lamented that the small crowd was massed to the side with not nearly enough people in his sight line. The crowd promptly filled in in front of him. "We eliminate all judgment at our shows," he went on. "Feel free to move or dance or not to."
Chances are by the second song the crowd would have done so anyway because their music was so engaging, so well executed, so danceable. If you closed your eyes, you'd never have guessed it was only two people on stage given how much sound was being produced. And their harmonies were downright amazing, ethereal almost.
During the killer "American Idle," a friend leaned over and compared them to late '80s-era They Might Be Giants, while the people up front near the stage (and those of us on the side by the radiator) began dancing to the irresistible sounds of two people completely musically in sync with each other.
This delighted me no end because I'd had zero expectation of dancing tonight.
When Matt needed to tune his guitar, Nan filled in by telling bad jokes such as, "What did the mayo say to the refrigerator? Close the door, I'm dressing." Ba dum bum. Just as funny was her conclusion, "It's so bad but I feel heroic just the same."
Her effortless-looking drumming, great voice and sunny personality made her my hero, that's for sure.
In what might have been the most unique moment I've yet to see at Gallery 5 (and, let's face it, I've seen bazillions of shows there over the years), Matt announced an intermission of sorts.
"If you're not a fan of poetry or modern dance, this might be a good time for a smoke or to go to the bathroom." Wait, what?
Seems he'd written a poem on the drive down from Washington today and Nan was going to do interpretive dance to it. She disappeared backstage as he explained that this poem was only for tonight's audience, never to be heard again.
He began reading - "Speed-bumping it to the next venue" - while she was nowhere in sight and, lo and behold, she appeared in tap shoes in front of the stage as he continued to read - "Why do you do this, she says. Because it calms me, he says" - and she danced back and forth, pantomiming to the words when she could.
It was magnificent, probably worthy of the finest fringe festival stage.
Then it was back to music, several new songs, older ones such as "truth Teller" from the acclaimed album "Courage" ("a fun song we're dedicating to our new Richmond friend, Lorraine") and another bad joke, this one about pizza, that Nan explained away by saying, "It's nice to surprise each other sometimes when you're around each other all the time." Ain't that the truth?
Before their last song, "Landlocked," which only continued the dancing frenzy, Matt told us it was available on vinyl at the merch table "if you like mementos. We also have t-shirts if you like to wear your mementos."
My regret was having only brought the $5 required to get in the door or I'd have gotten a memento for my ears. I can see why big name bands had been using this duo as an opening act. This'll be a show Richmonders will regret missing once they finally discover Schwervon! and they will because they're that good.
The whole night of music had been outstanding and when I walked out into the hot evening air, I was feeling pretty happy with the world. I didn't get more than a block down when, from the shadows, I heard an unexpected "Hey, lady" and a friend appeared out of nowhere.
He'd been at Heritage and asked where I'd been. "You like chicken?" he inquired, as if that was a normal thing to ask a woman on a dark street at night, and then handed me a to-go container of a wildly flavorful chicken and spinach dish. "I don't eat meat," he shrugged.
Needless to say, he got a hell of hug for that one. "See you around soon," he said before fading into the darkness of Jackson Ward.
Could it be he thinks I'm a bleak mort? Does it matter after an evening as fine as this?
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Enter Rap and Doughnut Holes
So I'm just another archivist out on on a rainy night.
I'm getting tired of hearing/reading all the complaints about the wet weather (you don't hear the Seattleites whining, do you?) so I picked my dinner partner based on his sunny attitude.
"Hey, everyone, don't hate me, but I am loving this rain," he wrote earlier today and I immediately e-mailed him asking if he was free for dinner.
I, too, was loving this weather and I wanted to be with someone who felt the same.
His only stipulation for eating out was frugality, making City Dogs a shoe-in.
Tuesdays Richmond dogs (mustard, chili, onions) are only a buck and what could be cheaper than that?
So we met at the Fan location where every seat except four bar stools were taken.
Apparently cheap dogs and rain (oh, and $4 PBR tall boys) are a marriage made in heaven in this town.
We coordinated on our sides, me ordering onion rings and him cole slaw, him telling our server he was looking for a healthy side.
"Yea, we don't really do healthy here," he grinned.
Nor was that why we were there.
In fact, we both loaded our chili-laden dogs with slaw and then shared the rings.
I even ordered a chocolate milk shake, ensuring, as my Richmond grandmother would have said, that I was headed to hell in a hand basket.
The thing is, they bring you the silver milkshake blending cup with the extra in it along with your shake so even when you finish, you still have all that extra shake to replenish your empty glass.
Grandma was right.
We split up after that, he to a meeting and me to the Listening Room for music.
Tonight's show was curated by WRIR DJ Shannon Cleary, who had asked some of his favorite musicians to play acoustic.
It was also the first Listening Room without Jonathan Vassar and his lovely wife, Antonia, because their stork visit is imminent.
Their absence made for all kinds of adaptation; Rob's hand-stamping skills were suspect and Chris forgot to notify Dixie Donuts, so we missed out on everyone's favorite treats, making do with doughnut holes from god knows where.
But we soldiered on.
I greeted organizer and emcee Chris, who introduced me to the bartender, saying, "Karen has been to more of the Listening Rooms than I have."
It was high praise, but then I have been to 35 of the 37 and one of the ones I missed was because I was in another country.
Okay, so I'm bragging.
My usual Listening Room pals were notably absent but fortunately, my favorite seat was free and I made eyes at a standing friend and the seat next to me until he got the hint and came over.
Introducing Ben Shepherd, Shannon observed, "It's safe to say that the characters in Ben's songs are troubled," and went on to list what ails them.
I've heard Ben many times and admire his insightful and literate lyrics and beautiful voice but for a lot of people, it was their first time experiencing him.
He's a long, tall drink of water clad in an army jacket and old brown lace-up boots that caused the scientist sitting next to me to nudge me and say, "Cool boots."
Ben dedicated a poignant song to anyone who'd ever lost a friend to dope, did a sweet song called "Silver Dog" and cracked wise.
"Shannon described about half the songs I'm going to play, but that's okay. I wouldn't have done it, but it's okay."
Ben took a swig from his PBR between every song, a slight variation on one of my favorite Sprout shows where he took a long pull on a bottle of red wine between songs.
Favorite lyric:
I can't fathom or really understand
The world that existed before I was born
After the break, Shannon brought up two of his favorites, Matt Seymour (from Pedals on Our Pirate Ships) and Harris Mendell (of Sundials) to trade songs for us.
It was especially interesting hearing these two play acoustic, not their usual format.
And they were as funny as a comedy duo, with Harris waving his arms over his head as Matt sang and Matt playing and picking silently, doing the exact same thing Matt was playing but without sound.
Shannon had asked them to do a few of his personal favorites, so Matt did "Peter Pan Syndrome," with the terrific lyric, "Will you be my Wendy? Will you be my Tinkerbell? Don't be silly, you can be my Tiger Lily still."
Harris sang a song, "Completely Broken," about coming down Harrison and turning east on Clay into oncoming car headlights.
"It's a song about letting something bad happen to you," he explained about an area mere blocks from my house.
One song Matt began singing in more typical Pedals on Our Pirate Ships fashion (loud and brash) before saying, "Sorry, guys," and taking it down to singer/songwriter mode.
He even inserted a guitar solo ("This is the funky part") and finished by turning to Harris and boasting, "Beat that!"
Harris rose to the challenge with a song about going to community college and an Archers of Loaf cover that Matt lip-synced to.
"This is the first time I ever heard Ben Shepherd," Harris said. "He's really good."
And that's the best part of a show like tonight's. I'm sure a lot of people heard musicians they'd never heard or never would have heard otherwise.
And, let's face it, this town could use some some cross-pollination when it comes to various music scenes.
Can't we all just listen to each other?
While the crowd had been thinner than usual to start the evening, the satisfying part was that people continued to arrive so there was still a good crowd when Shannon got up to introduce Isaac Ramsey.
"First I want to thank some of the people off the top of my head who take the time to archive some of the music shows that happen here, like tonight," and went on to mention assorted groups (The Listening Room, RVA Magazine) and bloggers, like yours truly.
It was a very generous thing to do and a reminder that if someone doesn't record all these show memories, eventually they'll be lost.
But enough patting myself on the back.
Isaac began by saying, "I don't know how I'm going to follow the comedy of Matt and Harris," no small feat.
But I laughed immediately when he introduced his rap, "85 Bears," saying, "It's not necessarily about the team. It's about winning...and white flight."
I'd seen Issac before, both rapping as Swordplay and as part of the band Double Rainbow and his songwriting and rhyming skills are exceptional.
Isaac was undoubtedly the Listening Room's first rapper, albeit a very melodic one with a fine voice who played guitar (as well as percussion on his guitar).
He dedicated "Song for the Dead," with the tantalizing lyric, "Existence is a human assumption,"to "Anyone who lost someone last year."
Then he snuck in new material.
"This is a Double Rainbow song so new we haven't played it out yet," Isaac said by way of introduction. "So if you see Jamie, don't tell him."
If I saw Jamie, not that I know Jamie, I would tell him what a great song it was.
Isaac said, "This song is called "Mr. Rosenberg" and I'm pretty sure the story behind it is better than the song."
He proceeded to tell the story, which was disturbing and true, but the song was a worthy counterpoint, no matter what he said.
At first he called "Lay Down" another song about death, but changed that and called it a song about life.
Then he got up as if to leave, instead going backstage for another guitar.
"I did something I never do," he explained. "I brought two guitars so I wouldn't have to tune in front of you. I did that partly for me, but mostly for you. Okay, I have to tune a little."
He needn't have worried about not being funny with lines like that.
But it was his last comment that best summed up the evening.
"Based on how awesome this night was, I think I probably don't come to the Listening Room enough.
But then, who does, other than little miss 35 of 37?
Given tonight's genre-bending show, I bet a lot more people will be more assiduous about putting it in their calendar.
After all, why fathom or try to understand a world that existed before the Listening Room?
Like the Dixie Donuts that usually accompany the music, it's there every month for the taking.
I'm getting tired of hearing/reading all the complaints about the wet weather (you don't hear the Seattleites whining, do you?) so I picked my dinner partner based on his sunny attitude.
"Hey, everyone, don't hate me, but I am loving this rain," he wrote earlier today and I immediately e-mailed him asking if he was free for dinner.
I, too, was loving this weather and I wanted to be with someone who felt the same.
His only stipulation for eating out was frugality, making City Dogs a shoe-in.
Tuesdays Richmond dogs (mustard, chili, onions) are only a buck and what could be cheaper than that?
So we met at the Fan location where every seat except four bar stools were taken.
Apparently cheap dogs and rain (oh, and $4 PBR tall boys) are a marriage made in heaven in this town.
We coordinated on our sides, me ordering onion rings and him cole slaw, him telling our server he was looking for a healthy side.
"Yea, we don't really do healthy here," he grinned.
Nor was that why we were there.
In fact, we both loaded our chili-laden dogs with slaw and then shared the rings.
I even ordered a chocolate milk shake, ensuring, as my Richmond grandmother would have said, that I was headed to hell in a hand basket.
The thing is, they bring you the silver milkshake blending cup with the extra in it along with your shake so even when you finish, you still have all that extra shake to replenish your empty glass.
Grandma was right.
We split up after that, he to a meeting and me to the Listening Room for music.
Tonight's show was curated by WRIR DJ Shannon Cleary, who had asked some of his favorite musicians to play acoustic.
It was also the first Listening Room without Jonathan Vassar and his lovely wife, Antonia, because their stork visit is imminent.
Their absence made for all kinds of adaptation; Rob's hand-stamping skills were suspect and Chris forgot to notify Dixie Donuts, so we missed out on everyone's favorite treats, making do with doughnut holes from god knows where.
But we soldiered on.
I greeted organizer and emcee Chris, who introduced me to the bartender, saying, "Karen has been to more of the Listening Rooms than I have."
It was high praise, but then I have been to 35 of the 37 and one of the ones I missed was because I was in another country.
Okay, so I'm bragging.
My usual Listening Room pals were notably absent but fortunately, my favorite seat was free and I made eyes at a standing friend and the seat next to me until he got the hint and came over.
Introducing Ben Shepherd, Shannon observed, "It's safe to say that the characters in Ben's songs are troubled," and went on to list what ails them.
I've heard Ben many times and admire his insightful and literate lyrics and beautiful voice but for a lot of people, it was their first time experiencing him.
He's a long, tall drink of water clad in an army jacket and old brown lace-up boots that caused the scientist sitting next to me to nudge me and say, "Cool boots."
Ben dedicated a poignant song to anyone who'd ever lost a friend to dope, did a sweet song called "Silver Dog" and cracked wise.
"Shannon described about half the songs I'm going to play, but that's okay. I wouldn't have done it, but it's okay."
Ben took a swig from his PBR between every song, a slight variation on one of my favorite Sprout shows where he took a long pull on a bottle of red wine between songs.
Favorite lyric:
I can't fathom or really understand
The world that existed before I was born
After the break, Shannon brought up two of his favorites, Matt Seymour (from Pedals on Our Pirate Ships) and Harris Mendell (of Sundials) to trade songs for us.
It was especially interesting hearing these two play acoustic, not their usual format.
And they were as funny as a comedy duo, with Harris waving his arms over his head as Matt sang and Matt playing and picking silently, doing the exact same thing Matt was playing but without sound.
Shannon had asked them to do a few of his personal favorites, so Matt did "Peter Pan Syndrome," with the terrific lyric, "Will you be my Wendy? Will you be my Tinkerbell? Don't be silly, you can be my Tiger Lily still."
Harris sang a song, "Completely Broken," about coming down Harrison and turning east on Clay into oncoming car headlights.
"It's a song about letting something bad happen to you," he explained about an area mere blocks from my house.
One song Matt began singing in more typical Pedals on Our Pirate Ships fashion (loud and brash) before saying, "Sorry, guys," and taking it down to singer/songwriter mode.
He even inserted a guitar solo ("This is the funky part") and finished by turning to Harris and boasting, "Beat that!"
Harris rose to the challenge with a song about going to community college and an Archers of Loaf cover that Matt lip-synced to.
"This is the first time I ever heard Ben Shepherd," Harris said. "He's really good."
And that's the best part of a show like tonight's. I'm sure a lot of people heard musicians they'd never heard or never would have heard otherwise.
And, let's face it, this town could use some some cross-pollination when it comes to various music scenes.
Can't we all just listen to each other?
While the crowd had been thinner than usual to start the evening, the satisfying part was that people continued to arrive so there was still a good crowd when Shannon got up to introduce Isaac Ramsey.
"First I want to thank some of the people off the top of my head who take the time to archive some of the music shows that happen here, like tonight," and went on to mention assorted groups (The Listening Room, RVA Magazine) and bloggers, like yours truly.
It was a very generous thing to do and a reminder that if someone doesn't record all these show memories, eventually they'll be lost.
But enough patting myself on the back.
Isaac began by saying, "I don't know how I'm going to follow the comedy of Matt and Harris," no small feat.
But I laughed immediately when he introduced his rap, "85 Bears," saying, "It's not necessarily about the team. It's about winning...and white flight."
I'd seen Issac before, both rapping as Swordplay and as part of the band Double Rainbow and his songwriting and rhyming skills are exceptional.
Isaac was undoubtedly the Listening Room's first rapper, albeit a very melodic one with a fine voice who played guitar (as well as percussion on his guitar).
He dedicated "Song for the Dead," with the tantalizing lyric, "Existence is a human assumption,"to "Anyone who lost someone last year."
Then he snuck in new material.
"This is a Double Rainbow song so new we haven't played it out yet," Isaac said by way of introduction. "So if you see Jamie, don't tell him."
If I saw Jamie, not that I know Jamie, I would tell him what a great song it was.
Isaac said, "This song is called "Mr. Rosenberg" and I'm pretty sure the story behind it is better than the song."
He proceeded to tell the story, which was disturbing and true, but the song was a worthy counterpoint, no matter what he said.
At first he called "Lay Down" another song about death, but changed that and called it a song about life.
Then he got up as if to leave, instead going backstage for another guitar.
"I did something I never do," he explained. "I brought two guitars so I wouldn't have to tune in front of you. I did that partly for me, but mostly for you. Okay, I have to tune a little."
He needn't have worried about not being funny with lines like that.
But it was his last comment that best summed up the evening.
"Based on how awesome this night was, I think I probably don't come to the Listening Room enough.
But then, who does, other than little miss 35 of 37?
Given tonight's genre-bending show, I bet a lot more people will be more assiduous about putting it in their calendar.
After all, why fathom or try to understand a world that existed before the Listening Room?
Like the Dixie Donuts that usually accompany the music, it's there every month for the taking.
Monday, September 5, 2011
So Long, Farewell
Once you've touched the lead singer's sweaty chest, it's hard to go back in the hot room.
Tonight was the going away party for Sprout, the restaurant/venue that went out of business yesterday.
For their last hurrah, they invited something like fourteen bands to perform beginning at 5:00. And in true RVA fashion, the first band didn't start till after 6:00.
Not that it mattered.
The late start gave us early arrivals time to mingle and remember the many shows we'd seen at Sprout.
A good part of the restaurant's CD collection was available for the taking.
Band photographer PJ Sykes pulled a half dozen out of the pile and handed them to me. "You need these," he said. I believed him.
When the music finally started, the small crowd all moved into the back room to hear Miss Bliss (apparently a TV reference, so I didn't get it).
The duo of guitarist/singer Allison Apperson and drummer Noell Alexander played psychedelic surf pop with, wait for it, kazoo solos.
They closed with a cover of the Drifters' "Up on the Roof," dedicating it to Spout and the Fourth of July.
During the break, I wandered out and ran into Coffee Guy and helped owner Laurie remove tea lights from punch cups.
Shannon Cleary played next with violinist Joon Kim backing him up on violin, making for a fuller sound than usual.
Shannon covered an Itchy Hearts song as well as doing a particularly lovely "On the Way Home" by the late Nathan Joyce.
Taking the stage quickly, Ben Shepherd placed his bottle of Beaujolais to the side, strapped on his guitar and jumped right in.
Ben's a strong songwriter; for the first song, my friend jumped up announcing, "I have to give my full attention to this song. It's so well done, written from two points of view."
He's got a strong, clear voice, too, and his pulls on the Beaujolais bottle didn't seem to affect that.
An audience member called out for "Silver Dog" and he closed with it.
The set up for the next band was going to take a few minutes, so everyone moved into the main dining room where Josh Bearman of the Hot Seats did an acoustic set.
I was smart enough to return to the back room and stake out my territory for Snowy Owls' set next.
Feel free to call me a Snowy Owls groupie; I love their reverb-soaked sound, distinctive bass lines and Matt's nu-gaze vocals.
I planted myself on the back of one of the benches so I was higher than everyone in the room despite being in the back.
It's a rare treat for someone 5'5" to look down at a crowd, so I savored it, letting the sound of music from a cave wash over me.
A definite highlight besides the music was hearing a musician friend acknowledge that Snowy Owls rocked way more than he remembered.
He'd been under the impression that since leader Matt is also in the folky Low Branches that Snowy Owls was similar. Now he knows better.
Just as I knew better than to leave my perch when the next band up was Baby Help Me Forget. The crowd began to migrate from the outside and other room and I held fast atop the bench.
No matter how many times I see these guys, I'm always eager to see them again.
The band is high energy and lead singer (and Sprout co-owner) Jamie is the best showman in town.
He joined the band tonight by jumping down from atop the pallet wall that separates the kitchen to the floor in front of the stage.
Laurie sat atop the wall moving and grooving, silhouetted from behind.
Dressed in tight white pants, a patterned shirt, chain belt and velveteen blazer, Jamie looked every inch the part as he danced, gyrated, dropped to his knees and generally tore it up.
The blazer came off after the first few songs.
His non-stop movements, jumping from the stage to the floor, singing on his knees and dancing amongst the crowd whipped up everyone in the room to a frenzy.
Jamie tried to say a few words about the occasion, but summed it up with, "F**king Sprout! That's all I'm going to say!" It was enough.
The shirt came off after a few more songs, tossed into the audience.
Everyone was moving non-stop and the room heated up quickly. But the energy was amazing.
When the band finished, the crowd applauded and demanded more. Despite cords already wound and instruments half put away, the band obliged.
No one tonight, no how, no way, was going to top what we had just experienced. I said as much to the girl sitting next to me.
The mass of humanity that was the audience began to exit the room then, looking for air to breathe although out in front was a cloud of cigarette smoke.
Chatting as I waited to get outside, Jamie came by, his shirt now back on. He greeted me and I teased him by asking if I could touch his sweat.
I asked for the sake of giving him a hard time about his exuberant performance, but he just grinned and said, "Gross!" as I touched him.
Standing outside talking to people, I heard the list of bands for the rest of the evening. Four more (three of which I've seen) followed by four noise bands.
The band that was about to start was an hour and a half behind schedule with seven more after them.
And I'd given up my prime real estate in the back room by coming outside.
Nothing was going to exceed the emotional peak I'd just witnessed. I wasn't going to touch anyone else's sweaty chest tonight.
Sprout, you will be missed.
Tonight was the going away party for Sprout, the restaurant/venue that went out of business yesterday.
For their last hurrah, they invited something like fourteen bands to perform beginning at 5:00. And in true RVA fashion, the first band didn't start till after 6:00.
Not that it mattered.
The late start gave us early arrivals time to mingle and remember the many shows we'd seen at Sprout.
A good part of the restaurant's CD collection was available for the taking.
Band photographer PJ Sykes pulled a half dozen out of the pile and handed them to me. "You need these," he said. I believed him.
When the music finally started, the small crowd all moved into the back room to hear Miss Bliss (apparently a TV reference, so I didn't get it).
The duo of guitarist/singer Allison Apperson and drummer Noell Alexander played psychedelic surf pop with, wait for it, kazoo solos.
They closed with a cover of the Drifters' "Up on the Roof," dedicating it to Spout and the Fourth of July.
During the break, I wandered out and ran into Coffee Guy and helped owner Laurie remove tea lights from punch cups.
Shannon Cleary played next with violinist Joon Kim backing him up on violin, making for a fuller sound than usual.
Shannon covered an Itchy Hearts song as well as doing a particularly lovely "On the Way Home" by the late Nathan Joyce.
Taking the stage quickly, Ben Shepherd placed his bottle of Beaujolais to the side, strapped on his guitar and jumped right in.
Ben's a strong songwriter; for the first song, my friend jumped up announcing, "I have to give my full attention to this song. It's so well done, written from two points of view."
He's got a strong, clear voice, too, and his pulls on the Beaujolais bottle didn't seem to affect that.
An audience member called out for "Silver Dog" and he closed with it.
The set up for the next band was going to take a few minutes, so everyone moved into the main dining room where Josh Bearman of the Hot Seats did an acoustic set.
I was smart enough to return to the back room and stake out my territory for Snowy Owls' set next.
Feel free to call me a Snowy Owls groupie; I love their reverb-soaked sound, distinctive bass lines and Matt's nu-gaze vocals.
I planted myself on the back of one of the benches so I was higher than everyone in the room despite being in the back.
It's a rare treat for someone 5'5" to look down at a crowd, so I savored it, letting the sound of music from a cave wash over me.
A definite highlight besides the music was hearing a musician friend acknowledge that Snowy Owls rocked way more than he remembered.
He'd been under the impression that since leader Matt is also in the folky Low Branches that Snowy Owls was similar. Now he knows better.
Just as I knew better than to leave my perch when the next band up was Baby Help Me Forget. The crowd began to migrate from the outside and other room and I held fast atop the bench.
No matter how many times I see these guys, I'm always eager to see them again.
The band is high energy and lead singer (and Sprout co-owner) Jamie is the best showman in town.
He joined the band tonight by jumping down from atop the pallet wall that separates the kitchen to the floor in front of the stage.
Laurie sat atop the wall moving and grooving, silhouetted from behind.
Dressed in tight white pants, a patterned shirt, chain belt and velveteen blazer, Jamie looked every inch the part as he danced, gyrated, dropped to his knees and generally tore it up.
The blazer came off after the first few songs.
His non-stop movements, jumping from the stage to the floor, singing on his knees and dancing amongst the crowd whipped up everyone in the room to a frenzy.
Jamie tried to say a few words about the occasion, but summed it up with, "F**king Sprout! That's all I'm going to say!" It was enough.
The shirt came off after a few more songs, tossed into the audience.
Everyone was moving non-stop and the room heated up quickly. But the energy was amazing.
When the band finished, the crowd applauded and demanded more. Despite cords already wound and instruments half put away, the band obliged.
No one tonight, no how, no way, was going to top what we had just experienced. I said as much to the girl sitting next to me.
The mass of humanity that was the audience began to exit the room then, looking for air to breathe although out in front was a cloud of cigarette smoke.
Chatting as I waited to get outside, Jamie came by, his shirt now back on. He greeted me and I teased him by asking if I could touch his sweat.
I asked for the sake of giving him a hard time about his exuberant performance, but he just grinned and said, "Gross!" as I touched him.
Standing outside talking to people, I heard the list of bands for the rest of the evening. Four more (three of which I've seen) followed by four noise bands.
The band that was about to start was an hour and a half behind schedule with seven more after them.
And I'd given up my prime real estate in the back room by coming outside.
Nothing was going to exceed the emotional peak I'd just witnessed. I wasn't going to touch anyone else's sweaty chest tonight.
Sprout, you will be missed.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Wishing for Music and Sausage
Here's my restaurant wish for Richmond: more places near Center Stage where people can park once and party twice.
I had a couple date to go to the symphony and we made a reservation for 9 North Fourth beforehand. Perfect plan, right? Well, it was until they called and said they'd be closed tonight for "mechanical problems." Rats.
That left us with exactly one choice, Capital Ale House, which was fine because they're beer fans and all three of us are fans of food in casings. Done and done, as my friend Scott is fond of saying.
And while the two of them stuck to the menu, he with kielbasa and pierogies and she with knockwurst and bratwurst, I was special of the day all the way.
There was no resisting the pork belly sausage banh mi with pickled carrots, onions, cilantro, spicy aioli and fries. Or if there was, I didn't know how to do it. And might I mention that the star of the dish was courtesy of Sausagecraft? Enough said.
Oh, was it good. A baguette barely contained the sausage (which our server described as "pork belly in skin"), cut into fat slices.
The fatty richness of the sausage married beautifully with the crunch of the pickled toppings and heat of the sauce; it was banh mi heaven (Kevin, eat your heart out). I was so glad I'd suggested Cap Ale as Plan B.
After an enormous and shared piece of chocolate cake a la mode, we moseyed up to Center Stage for some Weber, Schuman and Brahms.
Guest conducting tonight was Victor Yampolsky, impressive with his mane of white hair and dapper in his tails. I remarked to my friend that he had a certain Leonard Bernstein-quality, only to later read in the program that he worked under Bernstein.
I especially loved his dramatic bowing style, which involved throwing his head back before dipping forward into a bow. Perhaps it was to better showcase that shock of thick hair.
After intermission came the highlight of the evening, the guest artist Awadagin Pratt, originally from Pittsburgh.
He took the stage in black shirt and pants and I think I'm safe in saying that it was undoubtedly the first time a man with mid-back-length dreadlocks had sat down at the grand piano with the RSO. And who better to play Brahms' Concerto No. 1 in D Minor for Piano, Opus 15?
I loved the way he wiped the sweat from his face between movements, undoubtedly caused by his enthusiastic playing style which often brought him up off his stool. I was also taken by the way his left foot kept time so hard that it could be heard in between piano notes.
Brahms was followed by Live at Ipanema, switched from its usual Sunday slot because of the Superbowl. That turned out to be an error in judgment for all of us.
Playing was French-born Blasco, a talented singer-songwriter, but a man with a quiet sound unable to compete with the raucous Saturday night crowd.
He began his set by saying, "This is going to be quiet, so if you're going to keep talking, you'll have to whisper. But everything sounds more important when you whisper." The problem was people talked over him saying that.
Accompanied only by his auto harp and crystal-clear whistling, he put on a beautiful performance for the few of us actually listening.
The others tried shouting and making disparaging remarks ("He sounds like Rufus Wainwright and that's a good thing. But not tonight and not here," one idiot said) before eventually leaving.
One very drunk guy said he wanted to leave for the Village. "You either want a milkshake or a nineteen-year old," his friend smirked. "Actually, both," he slurred. Gross. By about half an hour into Blasco's set, most of the truly obnoxious and drunk crowd had left.
Only then did it start to feel like the cozy and intimate affair Live at Ipanema usually is for music lovers who regularly attend.
Better late than never, those of us who stayed till the end agreed. All of us felt fortunate to have heard a rare evening of song accompanied by auto harp playing and whistling.
My last stop was Sprout for their show, which I knew would continue right up until closing.
I arrived in time to hear Charlie Glen of the Trillions play keys and sing his hooky pop songs to an enthusiastic crowd. He finished with the crowd favorite "Bad Potato," attributed to his geeky father and played standing up.
Paul Ivy vs. the Board of Education unexpectedly took the stage next, although they had been slated as the headliner. From the first note, the crowd was into them.
These guys had a garage rock sound (although I'm sure Paul will correct me on that if I mislabeled) led by Paul's excellent guitar playing.
Their set began with a kick-ass version of "Both Sides Now," hardly your typical garage rock band song choice. I was impressed, even as I wondered how many in the crowd knew the song's origins.
The show ended with singer-songwriter Ben Shepherd singing his cryptic and heartfelt lyrics. A heckler marred the vibe in the room, not once, but twice before mercifully disappearing. Ben, a local favorite, ended his set with a song he said had no music: a poem.
After a night like tonight, unlike with the restaurant issue, I can't say I have any music wishes for Richmond.
Just keep it coming.
I had a couple date to go to the symphony and we made a reservation for 9 North Fourth beforehand. Perfect plan, right? Well, it was until they called and said they'd be closed tonight for "mechanical problems." Rats.
That left us with exactly one choice, Capital Ale House, which was fine because they're beer fans and all three of us are fans of food in casings. Done and done, as my friend Scott is fond of saying.
And while the two of them stuck to the menu, he with kielbasa and pierogies and she with knockwurst and bratwurst, I was special of the day all the way.
There was no resisting the pork belly sausage banh mi with pickled carrots, onions, cilantro, spicy aioli and fries. Or if there was, I didn't know how to do it. And might I mention that the star of the dish was courtesy of Sausagecraft? Enough said.
Oh, was it good. A baguette barely contained the sausage (which our server described as "pork belly in skin"), cut into fat slices.
The fatty richness of the sausage married beautifully with the crunch of the pickled toppings and heat of the sauce; it was banh mi heaven (Kevin, eat your heart out). I was so glad I'd suggested Cap Ale as Plan B.
After an enormous and shared piece of chocolate cake a la mode, we moseyed up to Center Stage for some Weber, Schuman and Brahms.
Guest conducting tonight was Victor Yampolsky, impressive with his mane of white hair and dapper in his tails. I remarked to my friend that he had a certain Leonard Bernstein-quality, only to later read in the program that he worked under Bernstein.
I especially loved his dramatic bowing style, which involved throwing his head back before dipping forward into a bow. Perhaps it was to better showcase that shock of thick hair.
After intermission came the highlight of the evening, the guest artist Awadagin Pratt, originally from Pittsburgh.
He took the stage in black shirt and pants and I think I'm safe in saying that it was undoubtedly the first time a man with mid-back-length dreadlocks had sat down at the grand piano with the RSO. And who better to play Brahms' Concerto No. 1 in D Minor for Piano, Opus 15?
I loved the way he wiped the sweat from his face between movements, undoubtedly caused by his enthusiastic playing style which often brought him up off his stool. I was also taken by the way his left foot kept time so hard that it could be heard in between piano notes.
Brahms was followed by Live at Ipanema, switched from its usual Sunday slot because of the Superbowl. That turned out to be an error in judgment for all of us.
Playing was French-born Blasco, a talented singer-songwriter, but a man with a quiet sound unable to compete with the raucous Saturday night crowd.
He began his set by saying, "This is going to be quiet, so if you're going to keep talking, you'll have to whisper. But everything sounds more important when you whisper." The problem was people talked over him saying that.
Accompanied only by his auto harp and crystal-clear whistling, he put on a beautiful performance for the few of us actually listening.
The others tried shouting and making disparaging remarks ("He sounds like Rufus Wainwright and that's a good thing. But not tonight and not here," one idiot said) before eventually leaving.
One very drunk guy said he wanted to leave for the Village. "You either want a milkshake or a nineteen-year old," his friend smirked. "Actually, both," he slurred. Gross. By about half an hour into Blasco's set, most of the truly obnoxious and drunk crowd had left.
Only then did it start to feel like the cozy and intimate affair Live at Ipanema usually is for music lovers who regularly attend.
Better late than never, those of us who stayed till the end agreed. All of us felt fortunate to have heard a rare evening of song accompanied by auto harp playing and whistling.
My last stop was Sprout for their show, which I knew would continue right up until closing.
I arrived in time to hear Charlie Glen of the Trillions play keys and sing his hooky pop songs to an enthusiastic crowd. He finished with the crowd favorite "Bad Potato," attributed to his geeky father and played standing up.
Paul Ivy vs. the Board of Education unexpectedly took the stage next, although they had been slated as the headliner. From the first note, the crowd was into them.
These guys had a garage rock sound (although I'm sure Paul will correct me on that if I mislabeled) led by Paul's excellent guitar playing.
Their set began with a kick-ass version of "Both Sides Now," hardly your typical garage rock band song choice. I was impressed, even as I wondered how many in the crowd knew the song's origins.
The show ended with singer-songwriter Ben Shepherd singing his cryptic and heartfelt lyrics. A heckler marred the vibe in the room, not once, but twice before mercifully disappearing. Ben, a local favorite, ended his set with a song he said had no music: a poem.
After a night like tonight, unlike with the restaurant issue, I can't say I have any music wishes for Richmond.
Just keep it coming.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Musical Treats at Sprout
I am so glad the holidays are over and things are starting to pick back up again. I was going crazy with so little happening (other than parties) for the past two weeks.
Happily, tonight was a satisfying kick-off to a new year. I started at the Empress to meet a friend for their Tuesday tasting, which, due to it being the first week back, had been scaled back. Not to worry, it was still superb.
Friend arrived first and had already ordered a bottle of the Ferrande Sauvignon Blanc, a surprise upon my first taste because she never goes French (and ended up none too fond of it, but manged to drink it anyway). She'd spent the day addressing body part needs and I heard the stories to prove it.
We were one of only two tables there for the tasting, which offered three pairings instead of the usual four (reducing the price form a very reasonable $15 to a mere $10).
On the menu: crabcake with Granny Smith apple slaw paired with Dry Creek Chenin Blanc, Manchego and English pea risotto served with Lunetta Prosecco and finally sweet potatoes with a garlic zucchini saute and the Hob Nob Pinot Noir.
When I got there, the music was absent and there was no way I could deal with that, so I asked our server about it. Technical difficulties, she assured me, but they were working on it. At last, David Bowie's "Young Americans" became audible (and later "Rebel, Rebel") but when the CD finished, it came on a second time and a third. Oops. Vintage if you must, but variety essential.
Friend also ordered the decadent white truffle potato soup, a side of English peas (her first ever; she was overcome with the wonder of them), and the dessert trio with a side of English peas to go. I had chocolate/chili pate, always a delightfully spicy way to end a meal there.
Peas became the emblem of the evening when Chef Carly told our server that there was pea in the ladies' room and that she needed to clean it up. She disgustedly walked in to find a single English pea on the floor. That's chef humor for you (full disclosure: we laughed).
After a three-hour meal, we parted ways so I could go to Sprout for a show and she could go home to rest up before returning to work tomorrow after a long break; her dread was palpable.
At Sprout, owner Laurie told me that Victory farms is taking over the market portion of the restaurant, a situation sure to be a win/win for both. It'll begin next month with full market goodness by May.
In the back room, the bands were setting up and the guy responsible for their label, Crafty Records, was designing his merch table. I chatted with some of the musicians while everything got fully formed.
I must have shown my true colors because later Crafty guy asked me, "Want a bookmark?" to which I responded, "What makes you think I read?"
"Cause you're wordy," he said, nailing this stranger. Let's call a spade a spade, shall we?
Crazy and the Brains, from Jersey, got the ball rolling with their high-energy odes to the Ramones and the Clash. Songs were short, hard and full-on (some kid said to his friend, "This is really loud," and I just looked at him in pity).
I was really impressed with the fact that they had a xylophone player, Jeffrey, whose percussion added such an interesting sound to their music, which included a cover of Bow Wow Wow's 1982 cover "I Want Candy." Now when's the last time you heard that gem?
After the volume and energy of C&TB, up came folkie Gabriel Gall of Relatives, but minus his band for the first time tonight. He had a hushed and appealing voice and was accompanied by his brother Jacob on percussion for a few songs.
During one, he said, "In my head, this is where I hear everybody singing along." Measured beat. "Please don't do that." Most interesting lyric: "I am dying to say what's on my mind. I will make a lampshade of my love."
Isaac Gillespie and his improvised band came next and since he'd been one of the musicians I'd talked to before the show, I knew that his sound had been compared to that of the Band, which was right on.
It had a raw-edged Americana feel to it and this time Jeffrey the xylophone player was on drums. Turns out he was a drummer before going to school for percussion, so now he hits anything (well, I might add).
Isaac began by acknowledging, "There's nothing more pathetic than the sound of guitars tuning." A tuner was brought in. He encouraged a singalong for the title track of their new CD, "I Will Wreck Your Life," promising that the wrecking wouldn't be as bad as heroin, but more like booze. Forewarned is forearmed.
They finally got some (limited) dancing going when Isaac said, "We'd like to play a song by the godfather of soul, Steve Miller" and then did a cover of 1976's "Rockin' Me." We were covering some vintage ground tonight, kids.
Headlining was local favorite Ben Shepherd, one of the many who left RVA for NYC and (fortunately) returned. All of the musicians who preceded him acknowledged their respect for his amazing songwriting skills.
He took the stage simply with an acoustic guitar and launched into a song about being mugged. From there, his songs meandered all over the place, always with a compelling storyline. Example: "What I can't fathom or really understand is the world that existed before I was born."
It was unfortunate that so many people didn't stay for the entire show. The first three bands, with their changing players, were a huge treat for the Tuesday night audience that stayed put. Add in that it was a free show and it's even tougher to understand why more music-lovers didn't show up for an excellent show.
Oh, well, their loss, not mine. Of course, as I was discussing with a few of the musicians just before I left, considering that the top-grossing tour of 2010 was Bon Jovi, one has to wonder what's going on in the music appreciation world anyway.
Living on a prayer, indeed. My prayer would be that we continue to be lucky enough to host talent, both traveling and local, for low and no cost in Richmond.
That would keep on rockin' my world.
Happily, tonight was a satisfying kick-off to a new year. I started at the Empress to meet a friend for their Tuesday tasting, which, due to it being the first week back, had been scaled back. Not to worry, it was still superb.
Friend arrived first and had already ordered a bottle of the Ferrande Sauvignon Blanc, a surprise upon my first taste because she never goes French (and ended up none too fond of it, but manged to drink it anyway). She'd spent the day addressing body part needs and I heard the stories to prove it.
We were one of only two tables there for the tasting, which offered three pairings instead of the usual four (reducing the price form a very reasonable $15 to a mere $10).
On the menu: crabcake with Granny Smith apple slaw paired with Dry Creek Chenin Blanc, Manchego and English pea risotto served with Lunetta Prosecco and finally sweet potatoes with a garlic zucchini saute and the Hob Nob Pinot Noir.
When I got there, the music was absent and there was no way I could deal with that, so I asked our server about it. Technical difficulties, she assured me, but they were working on it. At last, David Bowie's "Young Americans" became audible (and later "Rebel, Rebel") but when the CD finished, it came on a second time and a third. Oops. Vintage if you must, but variety essential.
Friend also ordered the decadent white truffle potato soup, a side of English peas (her first ever; she was overcome with the wonder of them), and the dessert trio with a side of English peas to go. I had chocolate/chili pate, always a delightfully spicy way to end a meal there.
Peas became the emblem of the evening when Chef Carly told our server that there was pea in the ladies' room and that she needed to clean it up. She disgustedly walked in to find a single English pea on the floor. That's chef humor for you (full disclosure: we laughed).
After a three-hour meal, we parted ways so I could go to Sprout for a show and she could go home to rest up before returning to work tomorrow after a long break; her dread was palpable.
At Sprout, owner Laurie told me that Victory farms is taking over the market portion of the restaurant, a situation sure to be a win/win for both. It'll begin next month with full market goodness by May.
In the back room, the bands were setting up and the guy responsible for their label, Crafty Records, was designing his merch table. I chatted with some of the musicians while everything got fully formed.
I must have shown my true colors because later Crafty guy asked me, "Want a bookmark?" to which I responded, "What makes you think I read?"
"Cause you're wordy," he said, nailing this stranger. Let's call a spade a spade, shall we?
Crazy and the Brains, from Jersey, got the ball rolling with their high-energy odes to the Ramones and the Clash. Songs were short, hard and full-on (some kid said to his friend, "This is really loud," and I just looked at him in pity).
I was really impressed with the fact that they had a xylophone player, Jeffrey, whose percussion added such an interesting sound to their music, which included a cover of Bow Wow Wow's 1982 cover "I Want Candy." Now when's the last time you heard that gem?
After the volume and energy of C&TB, up came folkie Gabriel Gall of Relatives, but minus his band for the first time tonight. He had a hushed and appealing voice and was accompanied by his brother Jacob on percussion for a few songs.
During one, he said, "In my head, this is where I hear everybody singing along." Measured beat. "Please don't do that." Most interesting lyric: "I am dying to say what's on my mind. I will make a lampshade of my love."
Isaac Gillespie and his improvised band came next and since he'd been one of the musicians I'd talked to before the show, I knew that his sound had been compared to that of the Band, which was right on.
It had a raw-edged Americana feel to it and this time Jeffrey the xylophone player was on drums. Turns out he was a drummer before going to school for percussion, so now he hits anything (well, I might add).
Isaac began by acknowledging, "There's nothing more pathetic than the sound of guitars tuning." A tuner was brought in. He encouraged a singalong for the title track of their new CD, "I Will Wreck Your Life," promising that the wrecking wouldn't be as bad as heroin, but more like booze. Forewarned is forearmed.
They finally got some (limited) dancing going when Isaac said, "We'd like to play a song by the godfather of soul, Steve Miller" and then did a cover of 1976's "Rockin' Me." We were covering some vintage ground tonight, kids.
Headlining was local favorite Ben Shepherd, one of the many who left RVA for NYC and (fortunately) returned. All of the musicians who preceded him acknowledged their respect for his amazing songwriting skills.
He took the stage simply with an acoustic guitar and launched into a song about being mugged. From there, his songs meandered all over the place, always with a compelling storyline. Example: "What I can't fathom or really understand is the world that existed before I was born."
It was unfortunate that so many people didn't stay for the entire show. The first three bands, with their changing players, were a huge treat for the Tuesday night audience that stayed put. Add in that it was a free show and it's even tougher to understand why more music-lovers didn't show up for an excellent show.
Oh, well, their loss, not mine. Of course, as I was discussing with a few of the musicians just before I left, considering that the top-grossing tour of 2010 was Bon Jovi, one has to wonder what's going on in the music appreciation world anyway.
Living on a prayer, indeed. My prayer would be that we continue to be lucky enough to host talent, both traveling and local, for low and no cost in Richmond.
That would keep on rockin' my world.
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