There is no end to how small a town this can seem.
It happens all the time - I see a gallerist or restaurant person in the grocery story and they're so out of context that it takes me a sec to place them.
How there's never more than a few degrees of separation between anyone in this town.
Case in point: I am meeting a friend at his house and while waiting for his girlfriend to show up, he puts on a cassette tape of a band he was in back in the late '90s.
I spot a familiar face. The woman singing in the band is someone I knew a lifetime ago.
Funny how that happens.
Once his beloved arrived, we strolled over to Pomegranate, a neighborhood restaurant for them but one they'd never been to.
I consider it essential to know about any restaurant that I can easily walk to and from. I was assisting them with research.
On the way, I spotted Bertha, a woman whose backyard had backed up to mine for the 13 years I lived on Floyd Avenue.
Bertha had been old when I'd moved there in 1993 and I knew she'd lost her husband of 70-some years just a couple of years ago.
But there she was, sitting on the porch of the house she'd moved to during WW II.
Even though I moved away eight years ago, she remembered me almost at once and hugged me, eager to chat.
It didn't take long for her to brag about being 93 (she doesn't look a day over 80) and I asked her point blank if she attributed part of her longevity to her long, happy marriage.
She did and admitted she still misses him every day. "I was lost without him," she said.
It was a kind of wonderful flashback talking to Bertha after so long. Our lives had been intertwined for over a dozen years.
She'd lent me her lawn mower before I had one (her husband always reminded me not to cut the lawn in flip-flops), taught me how to make squash fritters with the abundance she grew at the rear of my back yard and was, in general, the neighborhood busybody.
When my friends started ahem-ing to get me off her porch and walking to Pomegranate again, I hugged her goodbye.
"Come back again soon!" she admonished as I re-joined my dinner companions.
You know, I think I will. That's a woman with some great stories and I'd like to be the one to hear them.
When we got to the restaurant, every patio table was taken, but there was plenty of room in the main dining room which was suffering a wilting sonic attack from a group of 30-something women catching up on each other's lives.
Let's just say I heard the words "wedding" and "pregnancy" a lot.
We massed around the end of the bar so as to hear one another talk.
From bread served with salty high quality butter to salad to ravioli, blue fish two ways and twice fried quail over mashed potatoes, my friends were seduced by Pomegranate's food.
At one point, he compared her satisfied food moans to those of Meg Ryan in "When Harry Met Sally," high praise indeed.
The closer was Pomegranate's version of bananas foster and, for the chocoholics among us, chocolate pate with figs and berries.
When our server delivered the chocolate pate, he was quick to point out the locally grown Black Mission figs.
Took them off of somebody's tree, didn't you? I inquired.
"We totally did," he said quickly and honestly.
I'm just happy to eat figs; I don't worry much about whose tree they were plucked from. Call me old school.
The pate tasted as if it had been made with that same decadent high fact butter as we'd been slathering on bread, meaning the rooves of our mouths were soon slick with fat. Mmm.
Friend pointed out that the bananas foster didn't taste as if it had been lit (he's cocky because he'd made four of them in a night once), but was nonetheless exquisite in its rich banana creaminess.
By then, not only the patio had cleared out, but the final trio of the get-together threw in the towel and went home to their pre-fab lives.
We were the last. Walking home down Auburn, I pointed out that a block away, my father had been born.
That was a long time ago in a galaxy far away.
After my friends went home to their beds and early wake-up calls, I made one last stop at Cary Street Cafe to hear Fear of Music.
Josh Small did a couple of songs to finish out the opening set while I joined the people began pouring in.
Spotted a restaurant manager, a bartender, an editor, a banjo player and who knows who else among the expectant looking crowd.
Once the all-Talking Heads extravaganza began, it didn't take long for the room to become a mass of people dancing or at the very least, dancing in place.
All except three I saw, who inexplicably managed to remain stationary while some of the danciest music since Kool & the Gang (whom David Byrne once earnestly cited as the band's main inspiration) tried to wind its way into their body.
I don't understand. When you're hearing "Psycho Killer" or "And She Was" or "Drugs," the human body just wants to move.
Didn't we prove that back in the '70s?
A friend was charmed when a guy began filling the room with hundreds of bubbles raining down on the dancing masses, an effect I might have seen in a couple other decades.
She and I have been saying for ages that we were going to schedule a night out together and here we'd shown up for the same late show on a Tuesday night.
When the town's small enough, you don't even have to make plans. We're just not that big and it's kind of grand.
I'll say it loud and proud...I guess that this must be the place.
Showing posts with label fear of music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fear of music. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Make It Up as We Go Along
If the measure of a good end to an evening is a sweaty dress, I scored big time.
After a particularly complimentary date invitation, we wound up at Acacia, which was nearly empty, not necessarily a bad thing after my last couple of exceedingly crowded nights there.
Beginning light and bright (Hollerer Gruner Veltliner), the evening unfolded with shared stories while men in business attire clustered awkwardly at the bar to drink before retiring to tables.
The music playing was interesting enough to catch my ear - Fly Golden Eagle was a major highlight - an unexpected plus at a place known for middle eastern trance music.
Eventually bowing to our server's pressure, we decided to go prix fixe, which for me meant a well-executed salad of roasted beets, goat cheese, mixed lettuces and balsamic vinaigrette followed by two tempura-fried softshell crabs over cheddar grits and sauteed kale in a lemon butter sauce while my date went with a buttery petite filet.
In no hurry to rush the evening, we moved on to Mas de la Dame Rose about the same time another couple at the bar did (copycats!) and called them out on it. They took the criticism, smiled and drank the pink wine nonetheless.
My dessert was chocolate cake (which came across more like a brownie, so perhaps it was a cake brownie) with brown sugar ice cream and chocolate almond streusel but I had no compunction about tasting my date's molasses cake with sweet carrot mousse, cream cheese ice cream and candied pecans, a delicious alternative to chocolate, although not quite as wonderful as gingerbread.
After discussion of dive bars on Collington Road, the weather forecast and heads too big to get out of restaurant doors, we finished up with bubbles before ending a mighty fine date.
But I knew that after a stellar 9 1/2 hours of sleep last night, sleep was not forthcoming so I headed to Cary Street Cafe for some cover bands. Judging by the crowd, I wasn't the only one with that idea.
It was my first time hearing Diamond Heist, a Neil Diamond cover band and it didn't take long to make me sorry I'd missed part of their set.
Luckily, I got to hear "I'm a Believer," "Coming to America" and, most importantly, "Sweet Caroline," a song that had the crowd shouting along in unison.
Good times never seemed so good
I feel inclined
to believe they never could
When they came offstage, I told the singer how much I'd enjoyed their set and he responded by saying, "You're Karen from the Times Dispatch, right?"
Wow, that was another lifetime ago, but yes, that would be me.
We talked about Neil Diamond and I was amazed to learn that he hadn't known the songs before the band began. Clearly, he's not as chronologically challenged as me.
People poured in before Fear of Music, a Talking Heads cover band, took the stage. I've seen them before, so I knew to expect hits and deep cuts, all note perfect and that's what they delivered.
I saw lots of familiar faces - the editor, the DJ, the National employee, the man about town- but also lots of people too young to have been alive when this music came out. Surely it was the songs that had sucked them in.
"Life in Wartime," "Take Me to the River, "(Nothing But) Flowers," they nailed song after song and it took no time at all before I was one of the people dancing to every note.
Before long, I marched up to the man about town and told him he needed to join me for dancing and he was agreeable enough to accommodate, bringing his beer to my space in front of the band.
From there, it was a free for all, with wild dancing going on to "Burning Down the House, "Road to Nowhere" and "Wild, Wild Life." There's no other way to react to that music.
Of course, my favorite is "This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)" and you better believe I sang and danced to every word.
I can't tell one from the other
Did I find you or you find me?
There was a time before we were born
If someone asks, this is where I'll be, where I'll be
During the break between sets, the man about town got me water and explained that he could only stay for one or two more songs.
Six songs later, I reminded him of his words and we left not long before their last song.
My dress was as sweaty as his shirt and we agreed that everything on our bodies needed to make a direct line to the washing machine.
Cover up and say good night. Good night.
After a particularly complimentary date invitation, we wound up at Acacia, which was nearly empty, not necessarily a bad thing after my last couple of exceedingly crowded nights there.
Beginning light and bright (Hollerer Gruner Veltliner), the evening unfolded with shared stories while men in business attire clustered awkwardly at the bar to drink before retiring to tables.
The music playing was interesting enough to catch my ear - Fly Golden Eagle was a major highlight - an unexpected plus at a place known for middle eastern trance music.
Eventually bowing to our server's pressure, we decided to go prix fixe, which for me meant a well-executed salad of roasted beets, goat cheese, mixed lettuces and balsamic vinaigrette followed by two tempura-fried softshell crabs over cheddar grits and sauteed kale in a lemon butter sauce while my date went with a buttery petite filet.
In no hurry to rush the evening, we moved on to Mas de la Dame Rose about the same time another couple at the bar did (copycats!) and called them out on it. They took the criticism, smiled and drank the pink wine nonetheless.
My dessert was chocolate cake (which came across more like a brownie, so perhaps it was a cake brownie) with brown sugar ice cream and chocolate almond streusel but I had no compunction about tasting my date's molasses cake with sweet carrot mousse, cream cheese ice cream and candied pecans, a delicious alternative to chocolate, although not quite as wonderful as gingerbread.
After discussion of dive bars on Collington Road, the weather forecast and heads too big to get out of restaurant doors, we finished up with bubbles before ending a mighty fine date.
But I knew that after a stellar 9 1/2 hours of sleep last night, sleep was not forthcoming so I headed to Cary Street Cafe for some cover bands. Judging by the crowd, I wasn't the only one with that idea.
It was my first time hearing Diamond Heist, a Neil Diamond cover band and it didn't take long to make me sorry I'd missed part of their set.
Luckily, I got to hear "I'm a Believer," "Coming to America" and, most importantly, "Sweet Caroline," a song that had the crowd shouting along in unison.
Good times never seemed so good
I feel inclined
to believe they never could
When they came offstage, I told the singer how much I'd enjoyed their set and he responded by saying, "You're Karen from the Times Dispatch, right?"
Wow, that was another lifetime ago, but yes, that would be me.
We talked about Neil Diamond and I was amazed to learn that he hadn't known the songs before the band began. Clearly, he's not as chronologically challenged as me.
People poured in before Fear of Music, a Talking Heads cover band, took the stage. I've seen them before, so I knew to expect hits and deep cuts, all note perfect and that's what they delivered.
I saw lots of familiar faces - the editor, the DJ, the National employee, the man about town- but also lots of people too young to have been alive when this music came out. Surely it was the songs that had sucked them in.
"Life in Wartime," "Take Me to the River, "(Nothing But) Flowers," they nailed song after song and it took no time at all before I was one of the people dancing to every note.
Before long, I marched up to the man about town and told him he needed to join me for dancing and he was agreeable enough to accommodate, bringing his beer to my space in front of the band.
From there, it was a free for all, with wild dancing going on to "Burning Down the House, "Road to Nowhere" and "Wild, Wild Life." There's no other way to react to that music.
Of course, my favorite is "This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)" and you better believe I sang and danced to every word.
I can't tell one from the other
Did I find you or you find me?
There was a time before we were born
If someone asks, this is where I'll be, where I'll be
During the break between sets, the man about town got me water and explained that he could only stay for one or two more songs.
Six songs later, I reminded him of his words and we left not long before their last song.
My dress was as sweaty as his shirt and we agreed that everything on our bodies needed to make a direct line to the washing machine.
Cover up and say good night. Good night.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Feet on the Ground, Head in the Sky
Frequency isn't making the heart grow any fonder.
Once again, I gave Hardywood a shot because a band was playing that I've been trying to get to see.
Knowing it was a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon, I anticipated a mega-crowd, knew I'd have to park 3/4 of a mile away, and would be jostled by drunk people.
Check, check and again, check.
I did see some people I knew - several musicians, a photographer, a WRIR DJ, although you can't swing a dead cat at a music show in Richmond without hitting one of those - but very few considering the size of the crowd.
Walking in as the band started their first song, I was caught off guard to see a familiar face onstage.
Bob Miller, who plays trumpet with No BS and the Hi Steps was playing keyboards for Fear of Music, the Talking Heads tribute band I'd come to hear.
With him were a drummer, a percussionist, a female bass player, and two guitarists, one of whom sang lead and looked amazingly like David Byrne.
And may I just say that the bass player wore the cutest red dress, the same exact color as her bass, the ultimate she-musician fashion statement.
The crowd got rocking with "Life During Wartime," with even the baby boomers, or perhaps especially the baby boomers in the crowd, shouting out, "This ain't no party, this ain't no disco" while trying not to spill their cups of beer.
I found a good spot near the stage and as the band tore into "Once in a Lifetime," it occurred to me that the one person I knew who should be there was my former Floyd Avenue neighbor, Matt, a passionate Talking Heads fan.
Then, like I willed him into being, he walked out of the crowd and stood a yard in front of me.
Tapping him on the shoulder and no doubt grinning like a fool, I told him how glad I was to see he wasn't missing this.
"(Nothing But) Flowers" not only had the crowd singing along, but a gaggle of women of all ages dancing down in front of the stage.
And, why not? I once read an interview with David Byrne where he said the band's biggest influence had been Kool and the Gang.
And people dance to Kool and the Gang. Besides, these guys were spot on, nailing every note and playing with energy and what looked like exuberance in being there.
Midway through their set, the garage door next to the stage was rolled halfway up, probably to provide air and cool down the room, which was solidly packed.
They did "Stay Up Late" and then dove deeper, with lead singer Nate saying afterwards, "There's a reason that song's called 'Drugs.' It's a beautiful, weird one."
Saying, "We need some house,", they played my favorite Talking Heads song, "This Must Be the Place," giving Bob his chance to shine since his playing made that song.
Hi, yo, I got plenty of time
Hi, you, you got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money, always for love
Cover up and say goodnight, say goodnight
Naturally, the crowd wasn't nearly as into that as some others, but that wasn't my problem. Besides, "Wild, Wild Life" and "Girlfriend is Better" came next and everybody started singing and dancing again and forgot about my sweet, little favorite.
Introducing the band members after their set, Nate was introduced by the bass player Chrissie, who turned out to be his wife, appropriate since he'd introduced her as the "most attractive member of band."
Turning to introduce him, she joked, "Is that a Stratocaster or are you just happy to see me?"
Both, actually.
Hell, I was happy enough to see them to brave the port-a-pottie crowd and small children on their drunken fathers' shoulders.
Hi, yo, we drift in and out
Hi, you, sing into my mouth
Out of all those kinds of people
You got a face with a view
I'm just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two
And then get the hell out of Hardywood without getting beer spilled on me.
Once again, I gave Hardywood a shot because a band was playing that I've been trying to get to see.
Knowing it was a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon, I anticipated a mega-crowd, knew I'd have to park 3/4 of a mile away, and would be jostled by drunk people.
Check, check and again, check.
I did see some people I knew - several musicians, a photographer, a WRIR DJ, although you can't swing a dead cat at a music show in Richmond without hitting one of those - but very few considering the size of the crowd.
Walking in as the band started their first song, I was caught off guard to see a familiar face onstage.
Bob Miller, who plays trumpet with No BS and the Hi Steps was playing keyboards for Fear of Music, the Talking Heads tribute band I'd come to hear.
With him were a drummer, a percussionist, a female bass player, and two guitarists, one of whom sang lead and looked amazingly like David Byrne.
And may I just say that the bass player wore the cutest red dress, the same exact color as her bass, the ultimate she-musician fashion statement.
The crowd got rocking with "Life During Wartime," with even the baby boomers, or perhaps especially the baby boomers in the crowd, shouting out, "This ain't no party, this ain't no disco" while trying not to spill their cups of beer.
I found a good spot near the stage and as the band tore into "Once in a Lifetime," it occurred to me that the one person I knew who should be there was my former Floyd Avenue neighbor, Matt, a passionate Talking Heads fan.
Then, like I willed him into being, he walked out of the crowd and stood a yard in front of me.
Tapping him on the shoulder and no doubt grinning like a fool, I told him how glad I was to see he wasn't missing this.
"(Nothing But) Flowers" not only had the crowd singing along, but a gaggle of women of all ages dancing down in front of the stage.
And, why not? I once read an interview with David Byrne where he said the band's biggest influence had been Kool and the Gang.
And people dance to Kool and the Gang. Besides, these guys were spot on, nailing every note and playing with energy and what looked like exuberance in being there.
Midway through their set, the garage door next to the stage was rolled halfway up, probably to provide air and cool down the room, which was solidly packed.
They did "Stay Up Late" and then dove deeper, with lead singer Nate saying afterwards, "There's a reason that song's called 'Drugs.' It's a beautiful, weird one."
Saying, "We need some house,", they played my favorite Talking Heads song, "This Must Be the Place," giving Bob his chance to shine since his playing made that song.
Hi, yo, I got plenty of time
Hi, you, you got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money, always for love
Cover up and say goodnight, say goodnight
Naturally, the crowd wasn't nearly as into that as some others, but that wasn't my problem. Besides, "Wild, Wild Life" and "Girlfriend is Better" came next and everybody started singing and dancing again and forgot about my sweet, little favorite.
Introducing the band members after their set, Nate was introduced by the bass player Chrissie, who turned out to be his wife, appropriate since he'd introduced her as the "most attractive member of band."
Turning to introduce him, she joked, "Is that a Stratocaster or are you just happy to see me?"
Both, actually.
Hell, I was happy enough to see them to brave the port-a-pottie crowd and small children on their drunken fathers' shoulders.
Hi, yo, we drift in and out
Hi, you, sing into my mouth
Out of all those kinds of people
You got a face with a view
I'm just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two
And then get the hell out of Hardywood without getting beer spilled on me.
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