Wearing a Pink Heart on My Sleeve

"I didn't think you'd be here, Karen. I thought you'd be out on a hot date tonight."

So said the organizer of the WRIR Black Valentine's Day party at Cous Cous when I walked in last night.

He then stuck a small pink heart on my blazer. You know, for the occasion.

When I inquired what had made him think that, he laughed, saying, "You're a  woman-about-town, so I figured you'd have other plans."

Fact is, I'd already had a hot date by that point (nearly 11:00), so I was ready for some music about love gone bad.

I heard a conversation where a girl told friends that she'd come to the show because, "How many times is it going to be Valentine's Day in my life?"

Um, roughly speaking, annually?

There was a lot of holiday-appropriate garb: a blonde's pretty red lace top, fabulous red pumps on one musician's girlfriend, a red dress at the bar and my own hot pink skirt.

Like any Cous Cous show, it didn't start anywhere close to on time, but who among us had somewhere to be on Valentine's night?

The show of covers of love gone bad began with a favorite of mine, flamenco guitarist Frankzig, both on acoustic and electric guitar, and his drummer.

"The Hunter" was an intense exploration of sexual-sounding themes tailor-made for the occasion.

Along the way, I enjoyed a conversation with a DJ about the difficulty of finding someone who shares your music passion.

We agreed that someone who tells us they only go to three or four live shows a year is a red flag.

Don't need it weekly? He and I call that a deal breaker.

But, as he also pointed out, he's been attracted to girls who shared his music passion and yet they had no other compatibilities.

Also unacceptable. We're going for the whole package here.

Next up was Push Button Reaction, as straight forward a rock band as anyone needs to hear.

I couldn't decide if they hearkened back to classic 70s or just that late 90s period when that kind of rock reared its mainstream head again.

To their credit, they did a Zombies cover, "She's Not There."

I, however, was.

As they wound down, I made a comment to the drummer of the next band, Boney Loner, about having to follow such rock and he assured me they'd have no problem.

"We're sloppy, but we're entertaining," he humorously acknowledged. And they were.

While they got set up, I was introduced by my DJ friend to a local musician who had toured Europe.

He and the DJ had run into each other at a show in Germany years ago. He'd also used to do a show on WRIR called "Screams from the Gutter," a punk show.

Just another reminder that in RVA, you're never more than three degrees of separation from anyone.

As Boney Loner took the stage, he looked over at them and leaned down to tell me, "They keep getting younger, don't they?"

He'd just told me he was 32.

Boney Loner and the Sacred Teachers were all about Stooges covers, making it hilarious when an audience member called out for them to do some Iggy Pop.

Pay attention, people. It's music, not rocket science.

The lead singer was a whirling dervish of intensity, climbing on the wooded half wall that separates the bar area and diving off into the arms of the crowd.

That is, when he wasn't climbing on chairs looming over the crowd and spitting lyrics into his microphone.

And then there were the drummer's fingers, bloody by the end. There's some holiday red for you.

A few songs into their set, I heard "hello" and my Valentine's date had reappeared for the remainder of the show.

I've heard that's how Valentine's Day dates end up with a happily ever after ending.

At least for the evening anyway.

After all, who knows how many more Valentine's Days we have?

Back in the Saddle Again

Not every puppet show ends in death, but you can pretty much count on it with Huckiddy Puppets.

For my first night back, I couldn't have asked for a better way to jump back into things than with a show at Gallery 5. It was puppetry, it was music and it was three blocks from home.

A nice crowd was forming when I arrived and music was being DJ'd courtesy of Sara Gosett, which always guarantees stellar vintage pop. I won't even mention the adorable mod '60s dress she had on.

Among the gems she played were Nancy Sinatra, the Hollies and, my personal favorite, an Indonesian cover of "Dizzy."  Oh, yes she did.

Richmond's best flamenco guitarist Frankzig opened the show with three songs showcasing his flying fingers, evocative singing and rhythmic foot stomping. Even with not a drop of Spanish blood in me, I always love seeing him perform.

When the puppet show began, it was with a group of local talents for musical accompaniment. Ed Trask was on drums, Jessica Blanks on violin, Tom Brickman on bass and Chris Ramming on guitar.

The show, put on by the brother/sister team of Chris Milk Hulbert and Cat Spur Hulbert, was about, what else, a brother and sister.

Tonight's plot centered on the sister trying to find the brother, only to learn that he has run away to escape people.

But a Huckiddy puppet show is not your mother's puppet show. When she finds him hiding out, she demands to know where he's been.

"I bugged the f**k out," he admits.

"That's rude as shit," she admonishes him. "It sounds all hip, but it's really rude and hurtful." The puppet language may be updated, but the sibling sentiment is timeless.

And what mother would approve of a puppet of a male body part who keeps suggesting lewd things?

A long intermission followed the first act and then two members of Zac Hryciak and the Jungle Beat took the stage.

Zac, looking sharp in a Spinal Tap t-shirt, and Jessica, minus her violin, said they were going to play a bunch of new songs and then immediately qualified it by saying, "Oh, but we've actually played this one before."

It didn't matter. When you've got a voice as impressive as Zac's and backing vocals as pretty as Jessica's, it's all good, old or new.

The audience responded with great enthusiasm, making me wonder if some people might be hearing them for the first time.

After yet another intermission, Frankzig came back and the crowd welcomed him warmly, now knowing what to expect.

Finally, the feuding brother and sister's antics resumed.  Turns out that the reason Huckle, the brother, had escaped was because he was an agoraphobic hobo, a phrase which got used to great hilarity several times.

As things were winding down, sister F'funia explained family dynamics to her thick-headed brother.

"That's what families are about. You love each other until you can't stand it anymore. Then you go away.Then you come back and do it again."

That's wisdom out of the mouths of big-lipped puppets.

Despite sharing sibling wisdom, Huckle ends up dead after a loud bang because of fireworks. So all ends normally for a Huckiddy puppet show.

And for me, life returns to normal with an evening of music, humor, art and universal truths.

Absent ocean soundtrack aside, it's good to be back.

Avalon Advice

Nothing says happy hour quite like death (you can quote me on that). At least that must have been what the Gallery 5 folks were thinking when they planned tonight's Gallery 5 After 5 event, "Viva La Muerte."

My favorite local flamenco guitarist Frankzig was the musical entertainment (even greeting me at the door, but then I'm a longtime fan), VCU's Andrew Chestnut was speaking on "The Cult of Saint Death," and as a bonus, they were showing a short film, "Death."

Throw in free hors d'oeuvres and who could resist such a deadly start to their Wednesday evening? Tonight's crowd was even bigger than the last two months, so word must be getting around about the lure of drink specials and short, compelling lectures.

More than a few people took the time to check out the mixed-media exhibition upstairs as well as the altar downstairs, which was covered in offerings. Some of us just mingled, made new friends and watched Frankzig's flying fingers.

After Chestnut told us about Latin America's most popular folk saint and the way Catholicism and death worshiping are peacefully co-existing, I had to leave to meet a friend for dinner. I didn't want to miss the film screening, but had no choice but to honor my social obligation.

Naturally I came home to a message from a friend saying, "The movie was great!" He was the same one who gave me a hard time when I said I had to go, saying, "Well you could just call your friend and tell him you're going to be late...oh, wait, you don't have a cell phone." He's so funny.

My dinner partner was the borrowed husband I raved about here, and he was already (and given my tardiness, thankfully) into his heavily bruised martini when I arrived.

He too teased me about my inability to let him know I was running late (clearly I choose my friends for the hard time they give me) and we settled in to catch up for the first time since Labor Day.

Silly us, we thought we could chat over drinks for an hour before ordering. Wrong. When we asked for menus at 8:10, we were told the kitchen had just closed. At 8:10? Seriously?

Never ones to be discouraged, we just walked up to the next block and took stools at Avalon. Jason was more than happy to be of service and you know with Avalon that they're in it for the long haul.

We began with the butter-poached salmon and Gruyere pate with parsnip flatbread. It was a good-sized serving, rich from both the butter and the cheese, and contrasted well with the crisp and flavorful flatbread.

Try as we might, we couldn't make the two come out evenly, so Jason slipped us some extra flatbread so we could finish it down to the last creamy bite. We were getting surprisingly full off of this course (and that excellent crusty focaccia with the mystery spices) so we jumped right into the next one before we could change our minds.

Sweet potato and butternut squash gnocchi with cinnamon sage cream sauce was listed under the vegetable portion of the tapas menu, but let's be honest, this was a plate of dessert.

Between the natural sweetness of the potatoes, the spicy cinnamon and all that cream enveloping everything, what it boiled down to was a whole lot of sweet tooth satisfaction, not that we were complaining.

The gnocchi was light as a feather; it was all that cream that made it so decadent, but we soldiered on because we're troopers about stuff like that. You know, eating.

My friend told me that he no longer has to check in with his wife while we're out because I have been deemed a nice person (read: safe). I told him I'd decided to get over the hump that has been my personal life.

"Thank god!" he said with no sarcasm. "It was getting old." Just like me, apparently. "You're not going to have all these choices forever," he warned ominously.

Clearly I pick my friends to give me a hard time and to be blunt. They're smiling hugely when they say this stuff, but I know they mean every word.

I hear you, guys. I don't know how you've held your tongues for this long.