Never Be Ready

Timing trumps all. As life too often demonstrates, it's especially paramount when it comes to romance, but that's a topic for another post.

Particularly when you're talking about restaurants and bands, two things that occupy an inordinate amount of my time, it's a delicate matter to ensure that you experience a good one at just the right moment. A bit too early, and things haven't gelled. A tad too late and you may miss the reason for all the word-of-mouth.

Sunday's goal was a road trip to Charlottesville to attempt a timing two-fer.

Tucked away in the unlikeliest of locations, the Alley Light rewarded our convoluted wanderings with a reservation set up at one of the clubby leather sofas near the open windows and a generously-sized table - easily the largest in a room full of overly petite tables - for all the tapas we kept ordering.

While we're scoping out the wine list, a guy at a nearby two-top swivels around and begins sharing his opinions unasked.

"You like bourbon? And citrus? This is the best drink I ever had! I'd like to steal their bartender for my restaurant. Not really, but kind of." He smirks like we care.

Within minutes, he's calling a buddy to say - in what is clearly his "outside" voice - that he just had the best small plate of his life. When a server comes over later, he makes suggestions about what the chef could do to further enhance the dish he's now eating.

Some people would call a guy like this a tool. (See: "Green's Dictionary of Slang" for tool: stupid, useless or socially inept person).

In a stroke of luck, he and his bimbo-looking girlfriend soon move to a larger table and we're able to go back to enjoying ourselves trying to decide what to order.

As it happened, the real challenge was finding a wine that was in stock since our first two were not. The server passed the buck to the owner, claiming he buys wine for all his restaurants and hadn't restocked, but an excuse is an excuse. A substitute was offered and liquid finally hit glass.

My first vote for eats was for a cheese plate with Mimolette, Comte and Bijou with Armagnac-marinated cherry puree, frisee and nuts. Relaxing and nibbling in the dimly-lighted room with a view of the crowd, our plump leather perch was practically perfect.

To die for French green beans under a fluffy pile of shaved frozen foie gras in a pool of almond shallot vinaigrette set the bar high from the start. Veal sweetbreads in anchovy sauce registered as decadent in texture as in flavor. Pork rilettes shone with a hint of rosemary, the accompanying pickled carrots supplying a jolt of piquancy.

After that romp through the land, we ended on a sea note with cured salmon plated around beet and oranges, clean on the palate and very different than the richness that preceded it.

I admit, my favorite time to visit a new restaurant is before it gets reviewed. Yet, despite the recent glowing words of a top-notch hired mouth, everything was spot on- it wasn't unpleasantly mobbed, the staff didn't seem panicked (other than the girl who couldn't produce a single wine we asked for) and every dish sang with flavor.

Beautifully timed, in other words. Nailed it.

From there, we ambled the downtown mall to the Pavilion to catch Mat Kearney's show on a cool, fall night.

Last time I'd seen Mat Kearney, it had been with my buddy Andrew at a seated show at the Canal Club back in July 2010.

Not only was he without a band - although he had a guitarist doing some backing vocals - but his sole means of percussion was an old Samsonite suitcase with a microphone inside. Tap it with your foot and voila! Instant drum!

And in what had to be one of the most endearing moves of all time, when his set had ended, instead of leaving the stage (because there's really nowhere "backstage" to go at the CC), Mat just squatted down for 30 seconds, then popped back up for the encore.

 He scored even more points after inviting an audience member onstage to play suitcase drum for a cover of "Dancing in the Dark." It was all very DIY and totally earnest. I'd loved everything about the whole evening.

Well, clearly Mat's come up in the world, meaning he had a full band with him this time as well as fancy light projections. My first thought was this is great, since the songs on "City of Black and White," my favorite of his albums, deserve more than two guys, two guitars and a suitcase can deliver.

But here's the problem: even with another five years of success, Mat Kearney's sound is till far better suited to a smaller venue. The Pavilion, with its sides that open onto the mall and the bridge were just too massive for his earnest stylings.

Which is not to say I wasn't thrilled to hear full-band versions of songs such as "Closer to Love," his "Fire and Rain" and "New York to California" but for god's sake, man, how could you not do "Runaway Car"?

No, really, explain that, will you?

The crowd was all over the place: the barely legal girls dressed identically, the color of their tops the only difference; the clutches of middle-aged women on a boisterous girls' night out and the absolute best, two stoic husbands who sat, arms crossed and staring straight ahead, as their wives first danced in their seats and then stood to shake it with all their might as the men ignored them.

At one point, Mat even leaped down into the crowd to sing and move around, a surefire way to make die-hard fans out of anyone on the fence, not that I think the crowd wasn't mostly fervent already (the only exceptions being the dates who'd been dragged along).

But just to prove that he's still the same old Mat of 2010, you better believe he pulled out "Dancing in the Dark" for his final song of the night.

Now you know. Seeing Mat Kearney wasn't all it could have been this time. Don't get me wrong, it was still a fabulous meal followed by live music sung by a man whose voice and lyrics ("If you're still there, then you're still all I want") I very much enjoy hearing.

Don't sweat it, Mat, our timing was just off. It happens sometimes with men. Get back to me in four or five years and I'll reconsider.

But know that bigger isn't always better.

Let's Stay Together

From river to mountain today, it has been a Sunday of road trips. As far as musical entertainment for the evening went, I had a choice of 70s (Reverend Al Green at Charlottesville Pavilion) or 80s (Tears for Fears at the National) and the road trip took it.

Since I'd seen TfF in 1994 at Chrysler Hall in Norfolk (backstage pass even so, yes, I have a picture of Roland and me), the Reverend Al Green won out. Besides, at 64, I don't know how much longer Al intends to tour and I did want to hear that voice live. As the man himself asked rhetorically at the show, "Does he still have it?"

Arriving on the mall in Charlottesville, it was mobbed. Part beautiful non-humid weather, part eager concert going fans, both the places I'd been recommended for a quick bite were closed, as were many others. And every open restaurant was mobbed.

With a will call ticket still to be picked up and doors opening at 6 for general admission seats, I went the old-school route out of necessity.

The Nook has been in C-ville since 1951; that's five years fewer than the Reverend has been on the planet. The outside seating was completely taken, so I went in and shared the mostly empty bar with one couple drinking Coronas and waiting for the doors to open, too.

They were amazed at how busy the mall was; despite both working at nearby UVA, neither had ever been to the mall. They live in Buckingham County and apparently that's where they hang.

I ordered the lemon and dill chicken salad, figuring it was already made, so how long could it take? Given the stressed out bartender who soon disappeared into the basement, the perpetually in-the-way assistant manager who was clearly no help to anyone and the crazed looks on the staff's faces (one warned another that the cook "had his hat on backwards which always means he's in a bad mood"), it took quite awhile.

When it finally did come, I paid, gulped it down (it did have a nice non-traditional flavor I will say) and high-tailed it out of there. The general admission (read: cheap) seats entitled the buyer to a seat in the upper orchestra (behind the $90 box seats) or lawn seats.

I was not about to sit on the lawn. Nor did I have to, scoring a front row seat - front row in the cheap seats, but still a terrific view and dead center so Al was in my direct line of sight. He started with shoutouts to Richmond (twice), Hampton, Roanoke and Virginia Beach and said it was his first time coming here. "Thank you for inviting us," he said to great applause.

Besides the usual, he had a horn section, two male dancers, two drummers and his three daughters provided back-up vocals. He dove right in, quickly getting to "Let's Stay Together," causing a dance party in the aisles. A few songs in he said, "This boy's singing his pants off," pulling up his trousers as he said it.

He did quite few covers, some in full like Roy Orbison's "Pretty Woman" and the BeeGees' "How do you mend a broken heart," a song in which he left out a section, saying, "I forgot that part, so I have to go back and get it" and indeed picked up from the la-las with the crowd right behind him.

He talked about the music "we" were raised on being different than today's and launched into short versions of 3 or 4 Motown hits, causing a massive singalong. The Stylistics' "You are Everything (and everything is you)" seemed to get the biggest reaction, probably because it isn't covered nearly as much as "My Girl."

After multiple fans called out for it, there was a long buildup/tease to "Tired of Being Alone" and when he finally sang it, he didn't miss a note. In fact, his voice was in perfect form the entire performance. When he said, "Let's go back to 1976," it was as if his voice had not changed since then.

"I'm Still in Love with You" got a lot of the couples in the audience dancing and singing to each other and there were a lot of couples in the audience. This was clearly date night for a lot of people, but even the very single among us could appreciate the lyrics to classics like those.

My only regret was that he did nothing off his 2003 album "I Can't Stop," a personal favorite that found him reunited with his former producer Willie Mitchell and proving that Al still had it thirty years later. It was also his first completely secular album since the 70s (Essential tracks: I Can't Stop, You, Not Tonight, Million to One). That's a CD I was given back in 2003 and still listen to with great pleasure.

But that's not a complaint, just an observation. Anyone who's been making music since 1967 is going to have to omit somebody's favorite songs. It was good enough to hear the man sing, watch his still-smooth dance moves and take in his love for the audience.

I left with no doubt that he appreciates his fans just as much as they appreciate him. The Reverend himself said it best: "We gonna make it do what it do."

Amen.