My Final Offer

I love an offer I can't refuse.

Like when a worthwhile band slips into town on a Monday night.

That was Mates of State. On the  fifth day of their eastern tour which began last Thursday. At the Canal Club.

With far too few people to do the band justice and just the right amount for an appreciative audience.

It was a good show start to finish, with Canary, Oh, Canary leading the charge.

I find lead singer Michael absolutely charismatic and no matter how often I hear them build a song's intesnity or lock into a groove, I am spellbound.

They encored with "Over the Underground,"  a middle finger to that most holy of hipster idols, Lou Reed.

The crowd for them was decent but not what it should have been. Come on, guys, what else is going on at 8:00 on a Monday/holiday?

Sean Bones followed with his guitar, his beats, his keyboard, and his hat with a chin strap.

"I used to have a band," he explained. "But we couldn't figure out a name for them, Sean Bones and the...so they said, 'Screw you. Go out on your own."

And here he was.

His jangly guitar over beats was as sunny as a day at the beach.

Midway through his set, he noticed some newcomers and said, "I'm Sean Bones Cougar Mellencamp if you just arrived. I have a gift shop over there and if you have any private questions, I'll be over there."

While he played his exuberant set, a girl sat against a column near me playing online Scrabble and never once looking up at Sean Bones.

Tragic, really.

By the time Mates of Sate began their set, the crowd had grown considerably, although a musician friend and I discussed how many more people were at the National show when they played there.

The band's loss, no doubt, but tonight's fans' gain.

Mates of State grab me with their fast tempos, high energy and unexpected song structures.

They hit the ground running, sliding in "My Final Offer" early and saving "Palomino" for last.

No MoS song ever goes the way you expect the first time you hear it.

Which is a good thing for some and not so much for others. Me, I just think it's poppy yet different enough.

You know, I don't always need my hooks handed to me on a silver platter.

But my shows? I'll take them any way I can get them.

And on a Monday night after black bean nachos at 821, I'll take what's offered with great delight.

Matt & Kim Shaking the Floorboards

Fact: Matt and Kim will always be hipster-skinny because of the amount of energy they expend on stage.

Fact #2: They're adorable for how much they love what they do and how grateful they are for their fans.

A friend had invited me to join him on the guest list for tonight's show at the Canal Club and who am I to turn down a free show?

Our dilemma was where to park once and party twice and eventually we settled on Cafe Gutenberg due to proximity.

I was (lecture) late and he was (got off work) early, so I arrived to find him perusing Style and drinking a beer.

I was starving, so I went with the Banh Mi (braised pork, cucumbers, carrots, mint, mayo and chili-ginger madness), which was exactly what he'd already decided on.

Our sandwiches arrived in no time and we were tearing into them when our server came over and told us that the kitchen thought that our fries had been oversalted, so they were sending out more.

My friend had the very stereotypical male reaction, along the lines of oversalted? Really? Oh, boy, more fries!

And they do have excellent fries, which I know from having enjoyed them as a salty snack when meeting my friend Scott there for drinks.

Our goal was to be at the Canal Club by 7 because they were going to play the new Matt & Kim album before the opening act.

After waiting in line to get in, we waited some more before the album was started.

As we stood there, the crowd got denser by the minute.

The opening act caused my friend to say to me, "I can't wait to see your blog tomorrow about these guys."

Yes, well. It's not that I dislike hiphop because I was at a hiphop show just this past Saturday night (Photosynthesizers were amazing).

Let's just say this wasn't to my taste...or that of a third of the crowd, all of whom went downstairs for the set.

But then punk/dance duo and partners Matt and Kim came out and all was right with the world.

I had mentioned to my friend that they hadn't played here since that show at the bike lot during Slaughterama, what three years ago?

I'd had tickets to their show a while back and it had been cancelled when Matt threw his back out.

They were overdue in RVA.

And they began by acknowledging just that.

Matt said their last two shows here had been the bike show and a house show at someplace called the Bone Zone, where he recalled shots being poured down his throat as he played.

He remembered Richmond as a town that "loves to get wild" and tonight's very young crowd (most had an underage X on their hand) cheered him wildly for it.

Kim said that she remembered that even on a Monday night, people here were ready to party.

Drums and keyboards and lots of enthusiasm make up a Matt & Kim show.

Kim stood on her drums to announce that she had cousins in the audience, so "there better be crowd surfing before the night's over!"

She need not have worried about that, although more than a few people got dropped.

Kim herself stood on people's hands to do a booty dance, her drum-sculpted arms waving in the air.

Matt played keys with one leg up in the air behind his back.

The floor shook like I've never felt it shake at the Canal Club and I've been to a lot of shows there.

Matt called it a "Thursday night Richmond, Virginia dance party" and he wasn't far off.

There was even some pogoing going on, not that anyone who was doing it had any idea what pogoing was.

Introducing their last song, Daylight, Matt said, "If you've had a bad night, or a bad week, or even a bad year, use the next three and a half minutes to shake it out of your fingertips...or your ass and just feel better."

Final fact: Amidst the pounding rhythms and overall enthusiasm of their signature song, every single one of us did.

Men, Men Everywhere

"Ruin your Thursday @ the VCA" the invitation read and I had every intention of doing just that. Tonight was the opening of American Ruins, a collection of almost 50 black and white images of ruins from the east coast to the west, showing at the Virginia Center for Architecture.

Arthur Drooker's photographs were artistic beauties, with crumbling walls and roofless columns framed by bare branches and leafy trees. I was shocked to learn that some of the ruins had been destroyed as recently as the last forty years; for some reason, I had presumed that these were long-time ruins, but then we're barely a long-time country. In most cases, fire was the culprit.

The Virginia ruins site represented on the walls was Barboursville and their winery was pouring tonight, but the exhibit is worth checking out even without a touch of the grape. It's up through the end of November. I even took the time to stroll the back garden of the Branch House for the first time tonight. It's a lovely, tranquil place.

As always, the opening was mainly male (architecture being male-dominated, I suppose). Of note was that I only ran into one person I knew (and fortunately I wasn't wearing black), but he knows me well enough to ask what the rest of my evening held. Telling him reminded him that he had also intended to be at my next stop (I'm as good as a calendar reminder sometimes).

That stop was The Empress for the Richmond Business Alliance champagne reception to celebrate the launch of the city's online directory of LGBT-friendly businesses. The Empress was being publicly designated as such tonight and the room was full of other LGBT business people. For the most part, it was a room full of attractive well-dressed men well-versed on all kinds of interesting topics.

I talked theater with actors and directors, restaurants with a real estate agent, and local bands with a writer. I loaned a book about coffee to a fellow blogger. I ate some of Chef Carly's delicious appetizers and sipped bubbles from bottom-heavy glasses. I like to think I was an asset to the party (Kevin, correct me if I'm wrong here).

Everyone wanted to know my connection since I don't own a business, so I shared my ties to the sponsor. My only regret was that I didn't get to stay for the cake, but happily I did satisfy my sweet tooth with a taste of the frosting and it was to die for. That's all I'm saying.

I had to cut out early and leave such charming company and such a culturally significant event in RVA to catch the opening band at the Canal Club, Marionette. These locals have been on a roll this summer, opening for The National, the Whigs and now Tortoise. It's the kind of resume-building a local band dreams of.

For the first time in years, the show was held upstairs instead of on the downstairs stage and no one seemed to know why. The show had originally been scheduled for the National, but a NASCAR-related corporate event had trumped Tortoise and they'd been moved to the smaller venue. Driving down to the show, I'd seen a lit-up race car in front of the National and a line of people down the block.

And given the size of the crowd, the Canal Club was big enough. Despite Tortoise's 20-year music-making history, the crowd was surprisingly small. Two different people said to me, "I'm disappointed in Richmond," referring to the low attendance.

But the fans who came were devoted and almost all of them were male. What we can glean from this is that jazz and prog rock-influenced post-rock bands are favored by those with a Y chromosome. A musician friend (a drummer) said that they are a drummer's band as a way of explaining all the guys.

A female attendee said to me, "It's all dudes, which is cool, but they're so into the music they don't want to talk to a chick." I gathered that she was saying that it was not a good place to pick up a guy. Luckily I wasn't there for that.

The band was tight, all excellent musicians and I liked all the percussion. A musician friend was turned off by the extensive use of synthesizers, but loved the vibes. But when it came right down to it, I just didn't possess enough testosterone to fully appreciate Tortoise it seemed. They were good, but they weren't rocking my world.

Walking to my car after the second encore, two guys almost bumped into me coming out of Wonderland. One said, "Don't you love this weather?" to which I said no and placed my cold hand on his arm.

"Damn!" he said. "Where's your wristband from?" I told him the Canal Club. "Aww, man, the Tortoise show? Was it awesome?"

He was a guy. He knew Tortoise was playing even if he hadn't gone to the show. I knew what I had to say.

"Yea, it was awesome," I told him. "Why weren't you there?"

A look of pure male guilt crossed his face. It was the perfectly appropriate ending for my Tortoise experience.

Party of One

Another Saturday night and I ain't got nobody, so it was just me, myself and I for dinner and a show tonight (to paraphrase Joan Armatrading). Luckily, I'm pretty good company, if I do say so myself.

Dinner was at Bistro 27, although another regular was in my stool when I arrived, so I had to sit elsewhere, throwing everybody off. When Dave finally took a moment from waiting tables to say hello, it was with the explanation that he hadn't seen me because I wasn't in my regular seat. Apparently I'm invisible elsewhere. My new location did put me closer to the chef though, who greeted me by kissing my hand, always a charming start to any evening.

When I heard the specials, I knew I didn't need to even look at the menu. I ordered the crispy-fried soft-shell crab with radicchio braised in white balsamic vinegar and beurre blanc. The sweetness of the crab contrasted with the tartness of the radicchio all swimming in that decadent pink sauce made for a little bit of heaven. I finished by sopping sauce with crusty bread and looking at Carlos like he was crazy when he kept asking, "You liked it? It's okay?"

At one point, a woman stopped outside the front window and Ron the bartender threw her a kiss, then looked guiltily at me. "I don't know her well enough to stick out my tongue," he explained, anticipating my comment. "I only use my tongue with people I know really well." Well, I suppose there's some satisfaction in that seeing as how he's stuck out his tongue at me three times in the past 24 hours.

I had enough time before the show for dessert and chose the chocolate mousse when told that it had just been made this afternoon. My usual seat occupant commented on how delicious it looked as he downed his quail, but I don't share my dessert with stool stealers. And it was very good, satisfying my long-neglected chocolate fix but still light enough so I wouldn't feel bogged down at the show.

I was going to the Canal Club to see Marionette and the Whigs, my second Athens, GA band in less than two weeks. The Canal Club is not my favorite venue, but the sound was excellent tonight and that makes a big difference in enjoyment of live music.

Local favorites Marionette played a strong set, intent on making amends for their last Poe's Pub show, which they found lacking (the audience, it should be noted, thought they were great). The crowd was partly fans and the rest became converts, much like what happened when they opened for the National. In fact, leaving the Canal Club, I heard the guy behind me tell his girlfriend, "I liked that second band better than the Whigs. They were amazing."

Oddly enough, the Whigs had played the Canal Club exactly two years ago today, a fact noted by the lead singer. "So meet us back here one year from today," he suggested. At that last show, another excellent local favorite had opened: Mermaid Skeletons. The Whigs have been blessed to have a couple of RVA's best bands prime the audience for them on August 8th.

I can't recall the last time I saw a band where all the members had long hair. The drummer, in particular, swung his hair as he played in his best Dave Grohl-like fashion. It was impressive to watch. Their garage rock sound is already stadium-ready with all three guys using arena moves as they played (next up they're opening for Kings of Leon and the Black Keys; perfect pairings). The audience reacted accordingly with one guy even holding up his lighter old-school style. Luckily it was a Zippo, so the flame lasted a good long while.

After the show, I enjoyed conversation with Marionette's guitarist Adam, always a pleasure to talk to. His studio is nearly complete and he raved about the sound and lighting in the place;I smell a party possibility there in the near future.

But at the end of the evening, I left with the one who brung me, namely myself. With three of my most regular companions recently moving into relationship territory (and another lost to love six months ago), it looks like I'll be my own date even more frequently than in the past. At least there's always the random stranger for occasional conversation.

Good thing I can stand me.

Dying for Some Action

For the second time in just over two weeks, I heard an outstanding cover of Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark." But that came after the sad poetry and the sad love songs.

My evening began at Chop Suey Books for the Dream Horse Press book tour with a SRO crowd of poetry lovers. First up was Kyle McCord from Des Moines reading from his new book Galley of the Beloved in Torment. Beginning with "Necessary Evil" and through a parable that began "A man drank a bottle of bleach" to "Everything is Gathering," the evocative nature of his poems was a thing of beauty.

Saying that he wanted to write a poem about the moon, that most over-used of images, he decided instead to write a conversation with the moon. "Out on the veranda, moon, you fall into another drink." That could be my favorite moon imagery ever, except that an old boyfriend once wrote me a poem invoking the moon as a metaphor for me, so McCord's moon poem will have to come in second in my book.

Keith Montesano read next from his new book Ghost Lights and his firm, strong voice carried his words to the audience, many of whom knew him personally. One poem suggested waking up his lover and wiping the sleep out of her eyes to inquire,"Is everybody in favor of getting romantic?" (Me, raising hand, "Um, yes?").

I was particularly touched by his "Elegy for an Unknown Drummer," a tribute to Ra-Ra Riot's late drummer John Pike. Amazingly, when Keith asked the audience who knew the band, no one else did. Favorite line; "Poetry can never replace a house show."

Following such beautiful spoken word, I went down to the Canal Club to meet Andrew for some sung word. Singer/songwriter Jane Carrey opened the show and was perhaps a bit nervous. "I'm way too Canadian to make a joke," she explained after a failed attempt at humor.

Asking how many death metal fans were in the audience, one person clapped, but then who would expect there to be much overlap between Matt Kearney fans and death metal fans? It was her way of introducing "Sexy Man in a Death Metal Band," surely destined to become a classic.

Matt Kearney was sans band, having only another guitarist/vocalist with him, Tyler.It made a big difference, though, in fleshing out the sound for his heartbreak songs, his lost love songs and his missing you songs. A girl could get sad listening to that kind of stuff for long.

It was a seated show and the intimacy of the room made for a great listening room experience (thanks, Andrew, for inviting me). It was Matt who eventually covered Springsteen, inviting an audience member to come up and "drum," that is, tap his foot on a 70s Samsonite hard suitcase with a mic inside. It was home made percussion at its most creative.

After the show, we decided to stroll over to Rosie Connelly's since neither of us had been there in some time. The bar sitter next to me, clearly a regular with his ponytail, beard and gregarious nature, was welcoming and wanted to know where we'd been. I told him, leading to all kinds of music talk.

He'd just been to see Smashing Pumpkins at the National last week, as had Andrew, so they compared notes. He recommended Zoso, the Led Zeppelin experience band and a personal favorite of his. We'd both been to the Peppermint Lounge and so discussed that venue. He raved about Porcupine Tree's recent show here. You just never know where you'll find good music talk (and, I might add, one of the best selections of high-end tequila in the city).

I can't decide if I am just dancing in the dark or if I just want to be.

I'm dying for some action
I'm sick of sitting 'round here trying to write this book
I need a love reaction
Come on now, baby, give me just one look

Breaking the (Sette) Pizza Rules Again

Q: What do you wear when your evening starts with a Poetic Principles reading at the Virginia Museum and ends with a show at the Canal Club?

A: Something that makes the guard at the museum say to you, "You look mighty nice for a poetry reading," when what he really means is, "That's not how folks usually dress to come here, miss."

And actually it wasn't a poetry reading because Christine Schutt is no longer writing poetry; her latest book is "All Souls," a novel set in an all-girls' school.

As she read selections from it, though, her poetic roots became obvious. Her cadences were completely poetic.

Every sentence came across as a phrase in a poem; it was lovely. Reading about a group of feckless girls, she referenced their "wayward society swagger;" it's practically a poem title itself.

Tonight was the last of this year's Poetic Principles, a series that will restart in October.

Then I headed east to meet a friend at Sette Pizza before the music portion of the evening.

I began with a half Sette Chopped Salad (lettuce, tomato, Gorgonzola and bacon with a balsamic vinaigrette) because I was starving and couldn't wait for my friend any longer.

When he did arrive, we decided (SPOILER ALERT: Pizza purists, stop reading now) on the Florentine (white sauce, baby spinach, and goat cheese) and, with all the nerve in the world, we had them put bacon on it.

The bartender grinned at me and said, "Bacon is gooood," which supports my argument that bacon makes everything better.

The pizza was delicious, gooey with the two cheeses and amply sprinkled with the tiniest bacon bits.

When we got to the Canal Club, The Dig was midway through their set; I'd seen this NYC group before and was sorry to have missed all of their set.

Next up was Port O'Brien and I can see why people like M. Ward are calling them their favorite new band.

Their combination of folk and indie rock, drawing as much from the 60s as from 80s bands like the Replacements, is pure ear candy.

In talking to the audience, they asked if Richmond had lots of good things to do.

Someone shouted out GWAR and the lead singer said, "Really? GWAR is from here? That just made my day!"

Toward the end of their set, a box of sound was distributed to the audience, including pots, pans and spoons for us to make noise with.

They closed by saying, "Goodnight Richmond, home of GWAR!"

And then it was something completely different, the headliner, Portugal the Man.

Whereas Port O'Brien pulled from 60s and 80s pop, PtM is much more experimental and psychedelic.

There were even elements of prog rock; at one point, my friend said that the sound reminded him of early Yes and Genesis, extremely complex.

To complement such complexity, lead singer John Gourley even adopted a sideways stance throughout the show, facing stage left and his backup singer rather than the audience.

The crowd wasn't huge; it was St. Patrick's Day after all and plenty of people had green beer to drink, but the people who were there were clearly fans, singing along to almost every song and cheering the band raucously.

An audience of true fans is always the best kind anyway for their contagious enthusiasm.

Let's just say we all left completely satisfied, even the friend I ran into who cut out a bit early (she knows who she is).

Most importantly, the designated duds did a seamless job of taking me from the literary to prog rock.

Not that anyone was looking.

Treble in Trouble

Punk rock? Indie rock?

However you label the music of Ted Leo and the Pharmacists, no one can deny that it's smart music, topical and toe-tapping.

Last night's show at the Canal Club didn't have the amazing vibe that last years' show at Gallery 5 did, but it was definitely a good show nonetheless.

Leo told us right up front that it would be a show of mostly B sides and new stuff and then launched into an A-side, igniting the crowd's enthusiasm and not really letting go of it.

Local openers Prabir and the Substitutes did their usual melodic and poppy brand of rock and roll that they do so well.

The Washington Post's event listing has singled out these guys as a "Don't miss" performance several times now when they have played in Northern Virginia (inevitably mentioning their hipster haircuts), so word is out that they put on a great show.

And those of us who made a point to arrive early enough weren't disappointed last night (except in that Prabir has trimmed his magnificent mutton chops way back) either.

Now on to tonight's musical choices: TV on the Radio at The National, Band of Horses at The Norva or David Byrne at Charlottesville Pavilion?

Somehow I'll just have to choose...