"We'll be bringing the heavy."
What that meant was that Glows in the Dark was going to be playing in front of a projection of Ingmar Bergman's favorite of his films, 1962's "Winterlight."
What better place than Balliceaux to see my first Bergman film and with stellar musical accompaniment?
And who better to provide that score than the most cinematic jazz outfit in town?
They started strong with "Gary Glitter" as scenes of the Swedish countryside unfolded behind them.
Sometimes I could read the subtitles, mainly when saxophonist John Lilly had no part and moved over by the door, and the rest of the time I watched somber black and white figures and tried to feel their pain.
"Manhunt" took us even further into the claustrophobic story of a very unhappy looking man and then it was back to business with the epic "Beach of the War Gods."
"The next set of songs are all based on Ingmar Bergman movies," bandleader and guitarist Scott Burton announced.
Now we were getting somewhere.
I was stoked to hear "Through a Glass Darkly" because it was the first song I ever saw them do live years ago and they band's only gotten tighter since.
He introduced the next song as, "Winter Light," and appropriately, it was during that song that we saw the noted 6-minute take of a woman reading a letter that the film is known for.
But it's Bergman, so besides epic takes, there was also existentialism and crises of Christianity.
Same old same old in Sweden, it seems.
And you know when you see a line about, "Your peculiar indifference to Jesus Christ," you are definitely in a Bergman movie.
Ditto for this exchange:
Have you considered taking your own life?
I'm not sure.
Who answers that question that way? I'm not sure?
"Silence" was anything but and was followed by "Ex-Musicians," a song that found the musicians sounding like they were running out of steam toward the end, a brilliant but deliberate way to finish out the piece.
Ex-musicians, indeed.
No question, part of the entertainment was watching trombonist Bryan Hooten who was sitting in front of me, get caught up in Glows' music, too, sometimes raising his hand as if to conduct a note higher and sometimes just keeping time madly in his lap.
They finished with "Up and Down," and everyone in the audience leaned in hard, knowing that they and Bergman were racing for the finish.
And just for the record, things didn't end especially well for the Swedes.
The Marcus Tenney Trio came next playing songs from their upcoming album, which Marcus qualified by saying, "It's gonna come out soon. We just don't know when."
You see, you have to stay loose in jazz.
This set's entertainer was Reggie Pace from Glows, who was bobbing his head and grooving hard throughout the trio's set.
When I went to leave, Reggie said hi, asking me if I'd seen the Bergman movie before.
Alas, I had to admit that I hadn't, although now my interest is piqued.
But who else besides Glows in the Dark is going to show that movie for me to see?
And if they show it, they will play music and, once again, I will get too wrapped up in watching Cameron tear up his bass.
Or Scott make his guitar sound almost like a piano.
Or Reggie bend notes on his trombone.
Or John sputter and wail on his sax.
Or Scott look like a blur as his hands move so fast on the drums I can't keep up.
Yep, I've got no chance of ever fully paying attention to the interesting films Glows in the Dark shows behind their killer soundscapes.
When they bring the heavy, I like to hang on for every note.
That I'm sure of.
Showing posts with label glows in the dark. Show all posts
Showing posts with label glows in the dark. Show all posts
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Go Hard or Go Home
As romantic gestures go, it was pretty wonderful.
Not that I went to Richmond Comedy Coalition's "Richmond Famous" night for romance.
No, I went, as I always do, to see a local celebrity tell some personal stories and then be skewered for them by a talented bunch of improv comedians.
Tonight's willing victim was Marc Cheatham, he who does the popular "Cheat's Movement" blog.
That is, when he's not working his day job as Tim Kaine's scheduler.
"You're the first audience I can tell my Tim Kaine stories to," he laughed, explaining that he'd refrained until the election was over.
Good way to keep your job, Cheats.
He said that if Kaine hadn't had political aspirations that he'd have made a great DJ.
Marc mentioned some of the senator's favorite bands, like Gorillaz, and De La Soul, to which somebody in the crowd said, "What?"
When he mentioned "Gnarls Barkley, especially CeLo Green." another person shouted, "Awesome."
Apparently some people are surprised when politicians turn out to be real people with decent musical taste.
Cheatham's first story involved all the famous people he and Kaine had met traveling together over the years.
Well, that opened the door for Richmond Comedy Coalition to riff on Applebees ("Where you can get, like, five entrees for five dollars"), self-promotion ("I'll TMZ all over you"), sexual humor ("Please let two men be men") and hosting a talk show in your basement with your mother yelling at your guests ("Tell DJ Shadow those Bagel Bites aren't free!").
Marc told of "not being ashamed of wasting a ridiculous amount of time watching bad reality TV" with his girlfriend, of whom he also said, "And I'm not ashamed we met on an online dating site, Match.com."
Then he got sentimental on us, saying, "Sometimes you really do find the love of your life," before pulling out a ring box and calling his girlfriend to the stage.
There, he dropped to one knee and proposed and she said yes.
Naturally, the room went wild applauding at having been a party to the moment.
The RCC looked just as stunned, and yet they now were expected to make comedy out of that.
Kaine stood up from his seat in the front row, pointed at them and yelled, "Top that!"
It was impossible, although the moment when one of the comedians, David, grabbed his comedian girlfriend, Katie, and dropped to one knee was amusing for what he proposed.
"Will you scratch my itch?" he asked sincerely, pointing to somewhere between his legs.
They recovered enough to have a Match.com HQ skit with a guy complaining that he had signed up looking for an arsonist and had no luck finding one, despite years of looking at profiles.
They ended after one of the improv guys inquired of Marc's new fiancee, "Aren't you worried at all that you're marrying a guy whose last name is Cheats?"
It was a fine and funny way to end the comedic portion of the evening.
Then it was time for us to fold up our chairs and stack them to the side, "So we can get our grind on," as comedian David so eloquently put it.
I heard during the break that Cheats had actually proposed before the show after his Mom had warned him that springing a proposal on a woman in public is never a good idea.
But it didn't detract from the tableaux we'd seen since both were clearly still feeling the newness of it all.
And then it was music time.
Up first was Just Plain Sounds, with an emphasis on the Hon. Sleaze.
They got points for taking suggestions from the audience for words to rap with.
"Sasquatch" and "cigarettes" were chosen and damned if they didn't manage to rap using both repeatedly.
Favorite line: "When I'm in a pickle, I just relish it."
Now that's good stuff.
Playing second was one of my long-time favorite bands, Glows in the Dark and, as always, they never fail to impress.
The guy behind me was prepping the girls with him by telling them, "Nothing sounds like an electric hollow body. Just wait until you hear this."
And Scott Burton's guitar playing is a delight to hear, but so is Reggie's trombone and flawless percussion, the incredibly tight rhythm section of Cameron and Scott and John's wailing sax.
Add to that cinematic songs that seem to be scoring an imaginary film (or maybe just the life I'm living) and I'm in heaven.
As I'd reminded a music buddy of mine earlier in the evening, I fell in love with this band five years ago when several friends were telling me they just didn't "get" Glows.
Their loss if they're just now seeing the talent, but better late than never.
Glows finished with a couple of John Carpenter songs, no surprise to me since I've seen them do all-Carpenter sets on a couple of occasions and always marveled at Scott's mastery at turning keyboard-based music into a score for his keyboard-less jazz band.
Cheats had saved Photosynthesizers for last, a shame only because the crowd had thinned.
But the crowd that was left reveled in their live multi-instrumental hip-hop (minus one regular) and high energy set.
As as they like to do, they finished with "We go hard," as true a lyric as was ever sung/rapped.
Because going out for comedy and music and having a U.S. senator in the front row and a proposal on stage followed by three bands is about as hard as I need to go on this Saturday night.
But talk about relishing.
Not that I went to Richmond Comedy Coalition's "Richmond Famous" night for romance.
No, I went, as I always do, to see a local celebrity tell some personal stories and then be skewered for them by a talented bunch of improv comedians.
Tonight's willing victim was Marc Cheatham, he who does the popular "Cheat's Movement" blog.
That is, when he's not working his day job as Tim Kaine's scheduler.
"You're the first audience I can tell my Tim Kaine stories to," he laughed, explaining that he'd refrained until the election was over.
Good way to keep your job, Cheats.
He said that if Kaine hadn't had political aspirations that he'd have made a great DJ.
Marc mentioned some of the senator's favorite bands, like Gorillaz, and De La Soul, to which somebody in the crowd said, "What?"
When he mentioned "Gnarls Barkley, especially CeLo Green." another person shouted, "Awesome."
Apparently some people are surprised when politicians turn out to be real people with decent musical taste.
Cheatham's first story involved all the famous people he and Kaine had met traveling together over the years.
Well, that opened the door for Richmond Comedy Coalition to riff on Applebees ("Where you can get, like, five entrees for five dollars"), self-promotion ("I'll TMZ all over you"), sexual humor ("Please let two men be men") and hosting a talk show in your basement with your mother yelling at your guests ("Tell DJ Shadow those Bagel Bites aren't free!").
Marc told of "not being ashamed of wasting a ridiculous amount of time watching bad reality TV" with his girlfriend, of whom he also said, "And I'm not ashamed we met on an online dating site, Match.com."
Then he got sentimental on us, saying, "Sometimes you really do find the love of your life," before pulling out a ring box and calling his girlfriend to the stage.
There, he dropped to one knee and proposed and she said yes.
Naturally, the room went wild applauding at having been a party to the moment.
The RCC looked just as stunned, and yet they now were expected to make comedy out of that.
Kaine stood up from his seat in the front row, pointed at them and yelled, "Top that!"
It was impossible, although the moment when one of the comedians, David, grabbed his comedian girlfriend, Katie, and dropped to one knee was amusing for what he proposed.
"Will you scratch my itch?" he asked sincerely, pointing to somewhere between his legs.
They recovered enough to have a Match.com HQ skit with a guy complaining that he had signed up looking for an arsonist and had no luck finding one, despite years of looking at profiles.
They ended after one of the improv guys inquired of Marc's new fiancee, "Aren't you worried at all that you're marrying a guy whose last name is Cheats?"
It was a fine and funny way to end the comedic portion of the evening.
Then it was time for us to fold up our chairs and stack them to the side, "So we can get our grind on," as comedian David so eloquently put it.
I heard during the break that Cheats had actually proposed before the show after his Mom had warned him that springing a proposal on a woman in public is never a good idea.
But it didn't detract from the tableaux we'd seen since both were clearly still feeling the newness of it all.
And then it was music time.
Up first was Just Plain Sounds, with an emphasis on the Hon. Sleaze.
They got points for taking suggestions from the audience for words to rap with.
"Sasquatch" and "cigarettes" were chosen and damned if they didn't manage to rap using both repeatedly.
Favorite line: "When I'm in a pickle, I just relish it."
Now that's good stuff.
Playing second was one of my long-time favorite bands, Glows in the Dark and, as always, they never fail to impress.
The guy behind me was prepping the girls with him by telling them, "Nothing sounds like an electric hollow body. Just wait until you hear this."
And Scott Burton's guitar playing is a delight to hear, but so is Reggie's trombone and flawless percussion, the incredibly tight rhythm section of Cameron and Scott and John's wailing sax.
Add to that cinematic songs that seem to be scoring an imaginary film (or maybe just the life I'm living) and I'm in heaven.
As I'd reminded a music buddy of mine earlier in the evening, I fell in love with this band five years ago when several friends were telling me they just didn't "get" Glows.
Their loss if they're just now seeing the talent, but better late than never.
Glows finished with a couple of John Carpenter songs, no surprise to me since I've seen them do all-Carpenter sets on a couple of occasions and always marveled at Scott's mastery at turning keyboard-based music into a score for his keyboard-less jazz band.
Cheats had saved Photosynthesizers for last, a shame only because the crowd had thinned.
But the crowd that was left reveled in their live multi-instrumental hip-hop (minus one regular) and high energy set.
As as they like to do, they finished with "We go hard," as true a lyric as was ever sung/rapped.
Because going out for comedy and music and having a U.S. senator in the front row and a proposal on stage followed by three bands is about as hard as I need to go on this Saturday night.
But talk about relishing.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Soundtrack 23
Every life needs a soundtrack.
Whatever mine was tonight, it got kind of quirky at the end.
It would have begun with a lively tune when I met a friend and two of his project partners at Bistro 27.
We got there mad early in order to talk about their project and do some brainstorming.
My pink drinking habit was quite happy with a glass of Briccodi-dei-Tati Rose, which while it resembled strawberry Kool-aid in color, was actually 100% Barbera Rose.
Can't say I'd ever had a Barbera Rose. Cue curious music.
Friend's partners arrived feeling like they knew me, mainly from having been instructed to read the blog before they met me.
Turns out one had started a list from ideas she'd gotten reading it. I saw it as a major compliment.
Over discussion of Russian resettlement, love of potatoes and the benefits of living downtown, we managed to taste a few small plates.
Beef carpaccio, fried calamari, potato croquettes and a chickpea cake made with onions, peppers and eggplant provided something for omnivores and vegetarians alike.
One girl explained that she didn't eat anything she could imagine as a cartoon, so after one bite of calamari, she pushed the plate away saying it reminded her of Ursula in "The Little Mermaid."
Luckily, I haven't seen many cartoons.
The highlight was a southern-fried quail with blackberry demi-glace over grits; the sweet and salty contrast was irresistible.
Music came later courtesy of Glows in the Dark playing at Balliceaux.
Tonight's hook, as if their movie-driven music wasn't enough (and it is), was a movie.
Behind the band was showing Werner Herzog's "Agierre: Wrath of God," a 1972 film about a crazy man leading an expedition into the Amazon.
It was only my third Herzog movie after "Heart of Glass" and "Grizzly Man" but I knew it was worth seeing because guitarist Scott Burton, a movie fanatic, was showing it.
I saw sixteenth century men in suits of armor, swollen rivers challenging them and a lone man in a field blowing a pan flute as the band played.
A man was hung and on the ground beneath his dangling legs sat a soldier rolling a cigarette.
It was especially great when the flute playing aligned with the real sax and trombone playing.
At times, I could read a subtitle on bassist Cam's forearm, but that was about it. It wasn't about following the movie exactly.
Instead we were treated to the kind of cinematic music that felt like it could describe a scene. Many scenes.
Sometimes it worked with the movie, and sometimes it was just incredibly well-played music with a movie playing behind.
I've been hearing these guys play literally for years (four, five?) and they just continue getting tighter and better.
In a perfect world, they'd be doing the soundtrack to my life, swelling here and chasing there.
During intermission, I asked Scott about the choice of movie and he told me that it was the movie that led him to Herzog.
He was young, he saw it for sale and, being a boy, was sucked in by the cool cover (men in armor fighting) and its gold box.
Guys and shiny things, a natural attraction I've been told.
The point is he'd been so impressed with the film once he saw it that it led to seeking out other Herzog films.
And kindly now showing it to people like me who probably need to see far more Herzog.
The band played songs called "Revolver" and "Gary Glitter," but for their last song reached back to 1977 for "Strawberry Letter 23," executing terrifically.
My favorite number is 23, so I feel like this belongs on my soundtrack.
Between songs, a blond guy walks up to the band and asks their name. "Glows in the Dark," they tell him.
"Yes, you do," the guys says, pointing his finger at them as he exits stage left.
Wah-wah.
To sustain us, we got a bowl of pistachio gelato, so thick it coated our tongues like nut paste and almost more savory than sweet.
It makes me happy that ice cream season is upon us. Bring it on.
And bring on more nights with a five-piece as good as Glows in the Dark and vintage movies by vaunted directors.
So as the story of my evening winds down, the satisfied soundtrack plays over me walking out into the warm May air, full of gelato and with my ears ringing with pleasure.
Fade out...but wait.
Arriving home, I find a phone message from an old friend waiting for me.
"Sorry I missed you. I was in town. Getting ready to head out to Tillamook, Oregon. Be back in May 2013," says the man from Williamsburg with the Surry County accent.
Gulp. Music turns sad, almost maudlin.
My friend has left for a year and I missed saying goodbye.
I sit down at my computer, finding an e-mail from a Boston friend.
"St. John's bread and wine...London. Offal restaurant. It was amazing. Saw it on Anthony Bourdain. Had the bone marrow. Hope you are well and having lots of dates. You got me thinking about offal."
I can almost imagine him saying it in his distinctive Boston accent.
Wow. A friend I haven't seen in over a year is eating in London tonight and thinks of me.
Soundtrack takes on a lilting note, replacing previous minor key.
Roll credits. Karen...as herself. Wardrobe by...Diversity Thrift.
Soundtrack by...Glows in the Dark. I wish.
Whatever mine was tonight, it got kind of quirky at the end.
It would have begun with a lively tune when I met a friend and two of his project partners at Bistro 27.
We got there mad early in order to talk about their project and do some brainstorming.
My pink drinking habit was quite happy with a glass of Briccodi-dei-Tati Rose, which while it resembled strawberry Kool-aid in color, was actually 100% Barbera Rose.
Can't say I'd ever had a Barbera Rose. Cue curious music.
Friend's partners arrived feeling like they knew me, mainly from having been instructed to read the blog before they met me.
Turns out one had started a list from ideas she'd gotten reading it. I saw it as a major compliment.
Over discussion of Russian resettlement, love of potatoes and the benefits of living downtown, we managed to taste a few small plates.
Beef carpaccio, fried calamari, potato croquettes and a chickpea cake made with onions, peppers and eggplant provided something for omnivores and vegetarians alike.
One girl explained that she didn't eat anything she could imagine as a cartoon, so after one bite of calamari, she pushed the plate away saying it reminded her of Ursula in "The Little Mermaid."
Luckily, I haven't seen many cartoons.
The highlight was a southern-fried quail with blackberry demi-glace over grits; the sweet and salty contrast was irresistible.
Music came later courtesy of Glows in the Dark playing at Balliceaux.
Tonight's hook, as if their movie-driven music wasn't enough (and it is), was a movie.
Behind the band was showing Werner Herzog's "Agierre: Wrath of God," a 1972 film about a crazy man leading an expedition into the Amazon.
It was only my third Herzog movie after "Heart of Glass" and "Grizzly Man" but I knew it was worth seeing because guitarist Scott Burton, a movie fanatic, was showing it.
I saw sixteenth century men in suits of armor, swollen rivers challenging them and a lone man in a field blowing a pan flute as the band played.
A man was hung and on the ground beneath his dangling legs sat a soldier rolling a cigarette.
It was especially great when the flute playing aligned with the real sax and trombone playing.
At times, I could read a subtitle on bassist Cam's forearm, but that was about it. It wasn't about following the movie exactly.
Instead we were treated to the kind of cinematic music that felt like it could describe a scene. Many scenes.
Sometimes it worked with the movie, and sometimes it was just incredibly well-played music with a movie playing behind.
I've been hearing these guys play literally for years (four, five?) and they just continue getting tighter and better.
In a perfect world, they'd be doing the soundtrack to my life, swelling here and chasing there.
During intermission, I asked Scott about the choice of movie and he told me that it was the movie that led him to Herzog.
He was young, he saw it for sale and, being a boy, was sucked in by the cool cover (men in armor fighting) and its gold box.
Guys and shiny things, a natural attraction I've been told.
The point is he'd been so impressed with the film once he saw it that it led to seeking out other Herzog films.
And kindly now showing it to people like me who probably need to see far more Herzog.
The band played songs called "Revolver" and "Gary Glitter," but for their last song reached back to 1977 for "Strawberry Letter 23," executing terrifically.
My favorite number is 23, so I feel like this belongs on my soundtrack.
Between songs, a blond guy walks up to the band and asks their name. "Glows in the Dark," they tell him.
"Yes, you do," the guys says, pointing his finger at them as he exits stage left.
Wah-wah.
To sustain us, we got a bowl of pistachio gelato, so thick it coated our tongues like nut paste and almost more savory than sweet.
It makes me happy that ice cream season is upon us. Bring it on.
And bring on more nights with a five-piece as good as Glows in the Dark and vintage movies by vaunted directors.
So as the story of my evening winds down, the satisfied soundtrack plays over me walking out into the warm May air, full of gelato and with my ears ringing with pleasure.
Fade out...but wait.
Arriving home, I find a phone message from an old friend waiting for me.
"Sorry I missed you. I was in town. Getting ready to head out to Tillamook, Oregon. Be back in May 2013," says the man from Williamsburg with the Surry County accent.
Gulp. Music turns sad, almost maudlin.
My friend has left for a year and I missed saying goodbye.
I sit down at my computer, finding an e-mail from a Boston friend.
"St. John's bread and wine...London. Offal restaurant. It was amazing. Saw it on Anthony Bourdain. Had the bone marrow. Hope you are well and having lots of dates. You got me thinking about offal."
I can almost imagine him saying it in his distinctive Boston accent.
Wow. A friend I haven't seen in over a year is eating in London tonight and thinks of me.
Soundtrack takes on a lilting note, replacing previous minor key.
Roll credits. Karen...as herself. Wardrobe by...Diversity Thrift.
Soundtrack by...Glows in the Dark. I wish.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Rainy Nights and Wednesdays
To quote a bad '80s song, I love a rainy night (or day for that matter). You just have to have a plan, a blueprint, if you will.
Trusty sidekick suggested udon at Akida and I suggested free jazz at Balliceaux. Next thing you know, we had a plan.
Clearly we weren't the only people craving Japanese because when we walked in, there was only one open table.
The chatter around us was noisy; next to us it was low-key and all in Chinese and behind us, it was girl talk ("So after a couple of drinks, he asked me to go to Puerto Rico with him and, like, that would have been so cool, but I just met him, so how could I?").
Sidekick had been correct; the damp weather was perfect for soup. He went with the seafood variety and I did yard bird, slurping noodles shamelessly.
Once the place began to clear out, we realized it was probably getting close to show time and headed over to Ballcieaux.
We needn't have concerned ourselves. As I've learned, jazz musicians work on jazz time, which has no relevance to actual time.
Our timely arrival did garner us the couch and with a couple of glasses of Monferrato "Bricco del Conte" we got comfortable with our liquid Italian and did some people watching.
Glows in the Dark was a new experience for him, although he'd heard me rave about their Mondo Italia Dance Party nights.
Tonight's set wasn't drawn from Italian crime movies, but, as always with this band, movie music reared its head with some arrangements from John Carpenter movies.
Our plush seat turned out to be a liability when Reggie Pace was doing the percussion thing since he had his back to us.
That may not seem like a big deal, but seeing that guy play triangle is a treat.
For most ear-catching tonight, I'd have to go with Scott Burton's guitar on "Manhunt," which you'd have had to have heard since my musical vocabulary is insufficient to describe why I liked it so much.
Full disclosure: during the break, I inadvertently scrambled Sidekick's brain with a little nothing of a statement.
Headlining was HighLife, a band that described itself as "coming from New York or Ohio," except that then someone yelled out "Or Waynesboro!" which was apparently where the lead singer was from.
What was most interesting was that before they began playing, they rolled out "blueprints" which supposedly provide the flow of the music and the band takes it from there, improvising along.
HighLife did a full-on audio assault, playing without stopping for a good 45 minutes making discordant sounds, beautiful music and everything in between with non-stop drumming, trumpet, sax, bass and guitar.
After an introductory part full of noise (no other way to put it), they moved into a groove, best signified by the bobbing heads of the Glows musicians watching them.
It wasn't hard to tell that they liked the direction the band was going in.
When the audio onslaught ended all at once, I had t assume that they'd finished every stage of the blueprint.
Once again, Sidekick admitted to some brain scrambling, this time from the music.
Udon, funky free jazz and scrambled brains. If that's not a recipe for a rainy night, I don't know what is.
Trusty sidekick suggested udon at Akida and I suggested free jazz at Balliceaux. Next thing you know, we had a plan.
Clearly we weren't the only people craving Japanese because when we walked in, there was only one open table.
The chatter around us was noisy; next to us it was low-key and all in Chinese and behind us, it was girl talk ("So after a couple of drinks, he asked me to go to Puerto Rico with him and, like, that would have been so cool, but I just met him, so how could I?").
Sidekick had been correct; the damp weather was perfect for soup. He went with the seafood variety and I did yard bird, slurping noodles shamelessly.
Once the place began to clear out, we realized it was probably getting close to show time and headed over to Ballcieaux.
We needn't have concerned ourselves. As I've learned, jazz musicians work on jazz time, which has no relevance to actual time.
Our timely arrival did garner us the couch and with a couple of glasses of Monferrato "Bricco del Conte" we got comfortable with our liquid Italian and did some people watching.
Glows in the Dark was a new experience for him, although he'd heard me rave about their Mondo Italia Dance Party nights.
Tonight's set wasn't drawn from Italian crime movies, but, as always with this band, movie music reared its head with some arrangements from John Carpenter movies.
Our plush seat turned out to be a liability when Reggie Pace was doing the percussion thing since he had his back to us.
That may not seem like a big deal, but seeing that guy play triangle is a treat.
For most ear-catching tonight, I'd have to go with Scott Burton's guitar on "Manhunt," which you'd have had to have heard since my musical vocabulary is insufficient to describe why I liked it so much.
Full disclosure: during the break, I inadvertently scrambled Sidekick's brain with a little nothing of a statement.
Headlining was HighLife, a band that described itself as "coming from New York or Ohio," except that then someone yelled out "Or Waynesboro!" which was apparently where the lead singer was from.
What was most interesting was that before they began playing, they rolled out "blueprints" which supposedly provide the flow of the music and the band takes it from there, improvising along.
HighLife did a full-on audio assault, playing without stopping for a good 45 minutes making discordant sounds, beautiful music and everything in between with non-stop drumming, trumpet, sax, bass and guitar.
After an introductory part full of noise (no other way to put it), they moved into a groove, best signified by the bobbing heads of the Glows musicians watching them.
It wasn't hard to tell that they liked the direction the band was going in.
When the audio onslaught ended all at once, I had t assume that they'd finished every stage of the blueprint.
Once again, Sidekick admitted to some brain scrambling, this time from the music.
Udon, funky free jazz and scrambled brains. If that's not a recipe for a rainy night, I don't know what is.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Laughter is the Drug
We're getting down to just the stay-heres.
As the city continues to empty out for the holiday, it's an easy time to meet up with friends because no place is especially crowded.
I started at Avalon to meet a friend for a drink and we were two of five people at the mostly empty bar.
As the friend who'd recently given me tights from Vienna, he was disappointed I hadn't worn them.
Next time, I promised.
He told me what was wrong with a restaurant we'd recently visited and we plotted about where our next dinner out would be while an '80s soundtrack played.
I'm telling you, neither the Smiths nor the Cure could have guessed their staying power back then.
After a couple hours' worth of chatting, I stopped by to pick up a girlfriend for company the rest of the evening.
She plied me with turtles while she finished dressing (cute! cute! cute!) and we were off (like a dirty shirt, as she likes to say) to Six Burner
Actually, it was for a bite to eat.
The place was livelier than I expected, with several large groups and lots of conversation in the air. The soundtrack was vintage (Cat Stevens, Scott McKenzie) and muted.
The bartender is also an actor.
He immediately told me that he'd seen me at the Richmond Shakespeare reading last week when he'd been part of the cast.
I'd seen him, he'd seen me. It was a match made in heaven.
I began with the South African "Left Bank," a red blend accompanied by a satisfying bowl of bucatini a la carbonara with a 63.5-degree duck egg, bacon and Parmesan-Reggiano.
The perfectly cooked al dente pasta became a decadent delight once I broke the egg over it. Bacon and eggs with pasta, what's not to love?
We joined in conversation with the group of guys who sat down next to us. They shared stories of gas siphoning, shotguns and wedding valets.
The bartender started a new tap, the Flying Dog Oyster Stout, and asked if it appealed to any of them.
"Oyster stout, it kind of creeps me out," one guy said. My friend, however, found its slightly briny finish nicely done.
That led to talk of Chetti's Cow and Clam and its infamous oyster shooters. I was surprised to find my friend knew the place even better than I had.
Walking outside into mid-sixties temperatures and rain-slicked streets, she commented on how New York the moment felt (except cleaner).
I won't lie; I'm reveling in this unseasonable weather and if I can have my windows wide open tomorrow like I did today, I'll be thrilled.
As it is, my windows will be open when I go to sleep tonight.
We finally left Six Burner behind for Balliceaux and the Mondo Italia Dance party.
My friend had never been but I'm a huge fan of Glows in the Dark playing music from Italian cinema while a '60s Italian movie plays on the wall behind them.
There are always lots of breasts, shoot-outs and car chases, not to mention porn mustaches, and it's great fun.
We got there, got a comfy couch to sit on and the music began. The only thing was, there was no visual.
So the band played and the music was awesome with the addition of Bob Miller on trumpet and Lauren Serpa on flute, but still no film.
I found our during the break that the DVD player was broken and thus we were without moving pictures tonight.
Pity.
It was a little disappointing but understandable, so we instead focused on the music, especially when Eddie Pendergrass came up and joined the band to do vocals for a few songs.
My friend and I agreed that we love a) men with soulful voices, b) guys who remind us of Elvis Costello and c) men who move rhythmically and unselfconsciously.
In other words, we had a visual after all.
We used the break to people-watch (impossible to resist at Balliceaux) when we weren't giving each other advice (who is the student and who is the master?) and sharing stories about our firsts, resulting in an awful lot of laugh attacks.
My name is Karen and I am becoming addicted to all this laughter.
As the city continues to empty out for the holiday, it's an easy time to meet up with friends because no place is especially crowded.
I started at Avalon to meet a friend for a drink and we were two of five people at the mostly empty bar.
As the friend who'd recently given me tights from Vienna, he was disappointed I hadn't worn them.
Next time, I promised.
He told me what was wrong with a restaurant we'd recently visited and we plotted about where our next dinner out would be while an '80s soundtrack played.
I'm telling you, neither the Smiths nor the Cure could have guessed their staying power back then.
After a couple hours' worth of chatting, I stopped by to pick up a girlfriend for company the rest of the evening.
She plied me with turtles while she finished dressing (cute! cute! cute!) and we were off (like a dirty shirt, as she likes to say) to Six Burner
Actually, it was for a bite to eat.
The place was livelier than I expected, with several large groups and lots of conversation in the air. The soundtrack was vintage (Cat Stevens, Scott McKenzie) and muted.
The bartender is also an actor.
He immediately told me that he'd seen me at the Richmond Shakespeare reading last week when he'd been part of the cast.
I'd seen him, he'd seen me. It was a match made in heaven.
I began with the South African "Left Bank," a red blend accompanied by a satisfying bowl of bucatini a la carbonara with a 63.5-degree duck egg, bacon and Parmesan-Reggiano.
The perfectly cooked al dente pasta became a decadent delight once I broke the egg over it. Bacon and eggs with pasta, what's not to love?
We joined in conversation with the group of guys who sat down next to us. They shared stories of gas siphoning, shotguns and wedding valets.
The bartender started a new tap, the Flying Dog Oyster Stout, and asked if it appealed to any of them.
"Oyster stout, it kind of creeps me out," one guy said. My friend, however, found its slightly briny finish nicely done.
That led to talk of Chetti's Cow and Clam and its infamous oyster shooters. I was surprised to find my friend knew the place even better than I had.
Walking outside into mid-sixties temperatures and rain-slicked streets, she commented on how New York the moment felt (except cleaner).
I won't lie; I'm reveling in this unseasonable weather and if I can have my windows wide open tomorrow like I did today, I'll be thrilled.
As it is, my windows will be open when I go to sleep tonight.
We finally left Six Burner behind for Balliceaux and the Mondo Italia Dance party.
My friend had never been but I'm a huge fan of Glows in the Dark playing music from Italian cinema while a '60s Italian movie plays on the wall behind them.
There are always lots of breasts, shoot-outs and car chases, not to mention porn mustaches, and it's great fun.
We got there, got a comfy couch to sit on and the music began. The only thing was, there was no visual.
So the band played and the music was awesome with the addition of Bob Miller on trumpet and Lauren Serpa on flute, but still no film.
I found our during the break that the DVD player was broken and thus we were without moving pictures tonight.
Pity.
It was a little disappointing but understandable, so we instead focused on the music, especially when Eddie Pendergrass came up and joined the band to do vocals for a few songs.
My friend and I agreed that we love a) men with soulful voices, b) guys who remind us of Elvis Costello and c) men who move rhythmically and unselfconsciously.
In other words, we had a visual after all.
We used the break to people-watch (impossible to resist at Balliceaux) when we weren't giving each other advice (who is the student and who is the master?) and sharing stories about our firsts, resulting in an awful lot of laugh attacks.
My name is Karen and I am becoming addicted to all this laughter.
Friday, July 15, 2011
A European Romp
As a trip, it would have been stellar. As an evening, it was still awfully good.
I went from Britain to France to Italy in a distance of less than a few miles.
First stop was the Library of Virginia for a lecture on "A World on Fire: Britain's Crucial Role in the American Civil War" by Amanda Foreman.
Foreman was an outstanding storyteller, sharing lively anecdotes about two British men who served the South in a casually informative manner that was light years removed from your typical stale history lecture (her British accent didn't hurt).
She spoke of the surprising frequency with which Brits sympathized with and volunteered for the Southern cause. Many blockade runners were British, it turns out.
Back in the motherland, many people jumped aboard the Confederate bandwagon, including students, academics, theater people and journalists. In other words, all the usual liberal suspects.
What was interesting was how, at the end of the war, the London Times apologized for siding with the South. It has been the only time the Times has ever publicly apologized for a stance, she said.
And then I left England for France because it was Bastille Day, which demands celebration.
At Bistro Bobette, the Independence day soiree was in full swing. Luckily, I had a reservation at the bar and soon was surrounded by friends and regulars.
I used a glass of Muscadet as an aperitif while chatting with neighboring barsitters about Mama Zu, Varina and putting out fires (figuratively, not literally).
The point of the evening was the Bastille Day foie gras mania menu, which started with foie gras terrine and port jelly on homemade brioche.
The fortuitous presence of the Wine Consigliere provided a wine recommendation as well as stellar company for most of the evening.
His recommendation of 2005 Chateau Les Grandes Terres Cadillac was spot on. As he explained, it was a Sauternes grown just across the river, so not truly a Sauternes in name (or price).
As a devotee of terrines, I thoroughly enjoyed this first course, although I tasted cherries in the port jelly. One friend tasted orange and another blueberry. Flawed palates, all.
During a break to the ladies' room, I found myself in line with a French girl. We discussed why it was taking the loo's occupant so long when girls wear dresses, making it faster to take care of business.
When the door finally opened, she gestured to let me proceed her. "Go ahead," she generously offered. "Your skirt is shorter." I think that meant that I should be able to finish up more quickly. I think I did.
Back at the bar, the crowd was growing and not everyone had a reservation, making for a large contingent milling around the bar behind us.
My next course was seared foie gras with fig wine sauce, a potato gallette and leek confit. As a friend put it, "This course alone was worth the price of admission."
Paired with my Cadillac, I couldn't have agreed more about the sweetness of the wine complementing the richness of the foie gras. A person could die happy after eating this combination.
The final course was a foie gras ice cream with cassis coulis. My dish was further improved by the Chef coming out to the bar to add additional Creme de cassis to my plate. Sweet over savory, yum.
I saw a familiar face in a red, white and blue bowtie. A favorite ex-bartender came in. I enjoyed talking to one of M Bistro's new staff members. I met another bartender's brother.
Over Cremant de Bourgone, a group of us got into a discussion of people who say stupid things to us and the dream responses we would give if only we were quick enough.
And before I realized, I was late to meet a friend for a drink at Balliceaux and do some editing for him.
As a bonus, it was Mondo Italia night and Glows in the Dark was performing music from '70s Italian sex and crime movies while films played on the wall behind them.
He had suggested meeting so that I could edit a Led Zeppelin bio (don't ask) and we could catch up.
I fear I ended up telling him far too much about my head and heart when he asked, but then he shared quite a bi about his upcoming plans to move in with his girlfriend, including a bit of trepidation.
On that subject, my favorite of his conclusions amounted to, "Better to have been in a f**ked-up relationship than never to have loved at all." Brilliance out of the mouth of a friend slightly nervous about cohabitation.
And the bio left tighter and more concise than when it had arrived, much to his delight.
And, if I'm not mistaken, the jet lag from Muscadet, Sauternes, a taste or two of William Birne pear brandy, Cremant de Bourgogne and Hornitos, will guarantee me a great big greasy breakfast in the morning.
Sadly, no stamps on my passport, but not all foreign experiences provide them.
Tonight's journey was a worthy distraction.
I went from Britain to France to Italy in a distance of less than a few miles.
First stop was the Library of Virginia for a lecture on "A World on Fire: Britain's Crucial Role in the American Civil War" by Amanda Foreman.
Foreman was an outstanding storyteller, sharing lively anecdotes about two British men who served the South in a casually informative manner that was light years removed from your typical stale history lecture (her British accent didn't hurt).
She spoke of the surprising frequency with which Brits sympathized with and volunteered for the Southern cause. Many blockade runners were British, it turns out.
Back in the motherland, many people jumped aboard the Confederate bandwagon, including students, academics, theater people and journalists. In other words, all the usual liberal suspects.
What was interesting was how, at the end of the war, the London Times apologized for siding with the South. It has been the only time the Times has ever publicly apologized for a stance, she said.
And then I left England for France because it was Bastille Day, which demands celebration.
At Bistro Bobette, the Independence day soiree was in full swing. Luckily, I had a reservation at the bar and soon was surrounded by friends and regulars.
I used a glass of Muscadet as an aperitif while chatting with neighboring barsitters about Mama Zu, Varina and putting out fires (figuratively, not literally).
The point of the evening was the Bastille Day foie gras mania menu, which started with foie gras terrine and port jelly on homemade brioche.
The fortuitous presence of the Wine Consigliere provided a wine recommendation as well as stellar company for most of the evening.
His recommendation of 2005 Chateau Les Grandes Terres Cadillac was spot on. As he explained, it was a Sauternes grown just across the river, so not truly a Sauternes in name (or price).
As a devotee of terrines, I thoroughly enjoyed this first course, although I tasted cherries in the port jelly. One friend tasted orange and another blueberry. Flawed palates, all.
During a break to the ladies' room, I found myself in line with a French girl. We discussed why it was taking the loo's occupant so long when girls wear dresses, making it faster to take care of business.
When the door finally opened, she gestured to let me proceed her. "Go ahead," she generously offered. "Your skirt is shorter." I think that meant that I should be able to finish up more quickly. I think I did.
Back at the bar, the crowd was growing and not everyone had a reservation, making for a large contingent milling around the bar behind us.
My next course was seared foie gras with fig wine sauce, a potato gallette and leek confit. As a friend put it, "This course alone was worth the price of admission."
Paired with my Cadillac, I couldn't have agreed more about the sweetness of the wine complementing the richness of the foie gras. A person could die happy after eating this combination.
The final course was a foie gras ice cream with cassis coulis. My dish was further improved by the Chef coming out to the bar to add additional Creme de cassis to my plate. Sweet over savory, yum.
I saw a familiar face in a red, white and blue bowtie. A favorite ex-bartender came in. I enjoyed talking to one of M Bistro's new staff members. I met another bartender's brother.
Over Cremant de Bourgone, a group of us got into a discussion of people who say stupid things to us and the dream responses we would give if only we were quick enough.
And before I realized, I was late to meet a friend for a drink at Balliceaux and do some editing for him.
As a bonus, it was Mondo Italia night and Glows in the Dark was performing music from '70s Italian sex and crime movies while films played on the wall behind them.
He had suggested meeting so that I could edit a Led Zeppelin bio (don't ask) and we could catch up.
I fear I ended up telling him far too much about my head and heart when he asked, but then he shared quite a bi about his upcoming plans to move in with his girlfriend, including a bit of trepidation.
On that subject, my favorite of his conclusions amounted to, "Better to have been in a f**ked-up relationship than never to have loved at all." Brilliance out of the mouth of a friend slightly nervous about cohabitation.
And the bio left tighter and more concise than when it had arrived, much to his delight.
And, if I'm not mistaken, the jet lag from Muscadet, Sauternes, a taste or two of William Birne pear brandy, Cremant de Bourgogne and Hornitos, will guarantee me a great big greasy breakfast in the morning.
Sadly, no stamps on my passport, but not all foreign experiences provide them.
Tonight's journey was a worthy distraction.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Beach of the Food Gods Playing Jazz
"Tonight is not a birthday celebration," was how my smiling friend began the evening.
I was okay with that. Instead, we were meeting for dinner at Aziza's because it was time after a month of not seeing each other. He brought me a gift from NYC of a bialy, a flat and an egg bagel.
And, because he's from NYC, he instructed me on how they should be heated and eaten. Some friends have all the nerve.
But some friends also have compatible food tastes and great conversational skills, so we ordered a bottle of Twin Vines Vino Verde to kick off the non-celebration.
It was Tapas Tuesday at Aziza's, so there were nine amazing choices, none of which I'd ever seen on their menu before. And these were not small tapas.
We began with lamb sweetbreads and pork belly with wild mushrooms, asparagus and soft-boiled egg because, as my friend said, "If we don't eat it now, we'll be too full later." It's hard to argue with that kind of twisted logic.
The sweetbreads had the creamiest texture, the oozing egg made a rich dish richer, and who doesn't love pork belly?
I suggested we switch gears to something a trifle lighter for the next course by choosing lump crab and white anchovy salad with Manakintowne radishes, turnips and basil sauce.
A circular mound of crabmeat had thin-sliced radish and turnips between layers of the greenless salad with the anchovies on top. The Long Island guy loved it as much as I did, although he ribbed me about eating "light."
I can't seem to stop eating softshelled crabs lately, and the ones on this menu were no exception. The accompanying corn, haricot vert, fava bean and Parmesan sauce was a decadent take on succotash we both agreed, and perfect with the crispy fried softshell.
Tucking into my plate, my ladylike appetite and I finished way before my friend did. Laughing, he told me how much he loves my enthusiasm for eating (that and my forthrightness).
This friend likes to be my personal life coach, so he wanted to hear about my meager dating attempts and advise me on the nature of me.
Mostly I wanted to laugh as he politely told me I don't have a chance of meeting someone right for me because I'm soodd uniquely different. It takes a good friend to throw the cold water in your face.
We tried to do the traditional Aziza thing and finish with a cream puff, but barely made a dent in it after our outstanding meal.
As my friend said near the end of the night, "That's the best meal I've had in a while." Amen, brother and I've been wined and dined a lot of late.
Then my evening moved from the Bottom west to the Camel for Glows in the Dark's CD release party and show.
Opening were New York's Zaha, an experimental jazz group on a five-city tour who we managed to snag as they come south. Jazz lovers were everywhere in the crowd.
It was fascinating to watch because one member of the band used sound-painting, which is a universal sign language for live composition. Sometimes he played keyboards, but mostly he shaped the music in front of our eyes.
So he stood facing the musicians, gesturing with his hands, head and body to create music as we watched. I'd never seen anything like it, but it took the music to a whole different level, especially visually.
Headliner Glows in the Dark was playing music from their new album "Beach of the War Gods," comprised of songs inspired by movies and no one riffs on movie music quite as well as Glows in the Dark.
At one point group leader and composer Scott Burton asked how many people had phones with Internet capability.
Although it was only four or five, which surprised me, he instructed them to look up "Gary Glitter Glows in the Dark" so they could watch a video of the song while it was being played live.
Absence of phone aside, I had no desire to watch a video when I could be watching five of RVA's best jazz musicians play new music.
For that, you could call me old-fashioned. And as my friend pointed out, you could call me uniquely different. Just please call me to eat.
I was okay with that. Instead, we were meeting for dinner at Aziza's because it was time after a month of not seeing each other. He brought me a gift from NYC of a bialy, a flat and an egg bagel.
And, because he's from NYC, he instructed me on how they should be heated and eaten. Some friends have all the nerve.
But some friends also have compatible food tastes and great conversational skills, so we ordered a bottle of Twin Vines Vino Verde to kick off the non-celebration.
It was Tapas Tuesday at Aziza's, so there were nine amazing choices, none of which I'd ever seen on their menu before. And these were not small tapas.
We began with lamb sweetbreads and pork belly with wild mushrooms, asparagus and soft-boiled egg because, as my friend said, "If we don't eat it now, we'll be too full later." It's hard to argue with that kind of twisted logic.
The sweetbreads had the creamiest texture, the oozing egg made a rich dish richer, and who doesn't love pork belly?
I suggested we switch gears to something a trifle lighter for the next course by choosing lump crab and white anchovy salad with Manakintowne radishes, turnips and basil sauce.
A circular mound of crabmeat had thin-sliced radish and turnips between layers of the greenless salad with the anchovies on top. The Long Island guy loved it as much as I did, although he ribbed me about eating "light."
I can't seem to stop eating softshelled crabs lately, and the ones on this menu were no exception. The accompanying corn, haricot vert, fava bean and Parmesan sauce was a decadent take on succotash we both agreed, and perfect with the crispy fried softshell.
Tucking into my plate, my ladylike appetite and I finished way before my friend did. Laughing, he told me how much he loves my enthusiasm for eating (that and my forthrightness).
This friend likes to be my personal life coach, so he wanted to hear about my meager dating attempts and advise me on the nature of me.
Mostly I wanted to laugh as he politely told me I don't have a chance of meeting someone right for me because I'm so
We tried to do the traditional Aziza thing and finish with a cream puff, but barely made a dent in it after our outstanding meal.
As my friend said near the end of the night, "That's the best meal I've had in a while." Amen, brother and I've been wined and dined a lot of late.
Then my evening moved from the Bottom west to the Camel for Glows in the Dark's CD release party and show.
Opening were New York's Zaha, an experimental jazz group on a five-city tour who we managed to snag as they come south. Jazz lovers were everywhere in the crowd.
It was fascinating to watch because one member of the band used sound-painting, which is a universal sign language for live composition. Sometimes he played keyboards, but mostly he shaped the music in front of our eyes.
So he stood facing the musicians, gesturing with his hands, head and body to create music as we watched. I'd never seen anything like it, but it took the music to a whole different level, especially visually.
Headliner Glows in the Dark was playing music from their new album "Beach of the War Gods," comprised of songs inspired by movies and no one riffs on movie music quite as well as Glows in the Dark.
At one point group leader and composer Scott Burton asked how many people had phones with Internet capability.
Although it was only four or five, which surprised me, he instructed them to look up "Gary Glitter Glows in the Dark" so they could watch a video of the song while it was being played live.
Absence of phone aside, I had no desire to watch a video when I could be watching five of RVA's best jazz musicians play new music.
For that, you could call me old-fashioned. And as my friend pointed out, you could call me uniquely different. Just please call me to eat.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Skating at Bistro Bobette
We're not the same town we were before the VMFA remodeling, I swear.
I can say that because artists like Julian Schnabel didn't used to come here to talk, as he did tonight in a wide-ranging discussion with modern art curator John Ravenal.
Schnabel was funny, talkative and opinionated.
"Paintings are not pictures of something; they are something," he told the audience.
As a painter who has been known for both painting on broken ceramic plates as well as painting on velvet, the man should know of what he speaks.
"I wanted to paint on something particular to me."
The time went by quickly with Schnabel talking about the Picassos he has owned, the passage of time ("People invented time because they couldn't handle infinity") and imagery ("It almost didn't matter what the imagery was").
When Ravenal tried to wrap up the talk, Schnabel was having none of it.
"Anybody want to go home?" he asked of the crowd. "You won't be rude if you leave."
Not a soul moved.
When asked about favorite music, he cited Berlin, Aretha's version of Bacharach's "I Say a Little Prayer" and all of Tom Waits' ballads.
Personally, I found that to be a terrific answer.
Finally the talk turned to Schnabel's films and he spoke of the lack of critical praise for his new film "Miral."
Frustrated, he sent copies to actor and director friends to get input.
"I'm going to play something that will blow your mind," he promised. "And if it doesn't, you can say 'Julian, you're full of shit."
He then held his cell up to the microphone.
It was director Carl Reiner raving about the film and saying that Julian should call him back for more praise.
"Call this number for lauding," Reiner said in his unmistakable voice.
I have to say, the unexpected pleasure of an artist talk at the VMFA is hearing the artist's voicemail messages.
Fact.
When I walked out of the museum, it had obviously just rained but the temperature was lovely for a drive downtown to Bistro Bobette to meet one of my favorite couples for dinner.
With them, it's a pleasure to be a fifth wheel.
I was late, but they were later, so it worked out well.
The bar was full of regulars - the Welshman, the New Yorker- who amused me until my friends arrived.
Mas de la Dame Rose helped, too.
Because we were overdue for a couple date, it was a while before we got around to ordering.
I couldn't resist the special of skate wing with fiddlehead ferns and artichoke bits in a balsamic reduction.
My handsome friend got the moullard duck confit with greens and green peppercorns; his beloved the veal with morels in a brandy cream sauce.
We three never eat together without playing musical plates and tonight was no different.
The texture of the duck was uniquely different, the morels and fiddleheads screamed spring right now and the skate everyone agreed was magnificent.
As much as we talked, discussing theater, Peter Chang's, Richmond Magazine and, of course, the new and upcoming restaurants, we didn't come close to closing the gap on new-to-each-other information.
In fact, when I mentioned my recent visit to the Balkan, the response I got was "WTF?" said just like that for decorum's sake, I guess.
"But you don't ever go to the West End," he said.
Never say never about a lot of things.
Eventually we were the last customers, having outlasted even the other regulars, so we made our way out to Cary Street, satisfied after another superb meal at Bobette.
If the masses ever discover this place (and I hope they will), it will be a squeeze for the regulars because it's just not that big.
As I drove westward, vaguely intending to go home, I remembered it was Mondo Italia night at Balliceaux and detoured there.
Jazz band Glows in the Dark was playing music from 70s Italian films while just such a film showed behind them.
Don't knock the pleasures of Italian movie music from the 70s until you've heard it.
Despite endless sex and violence onscreen (breasts and bloodshed everywhere), the music is terrific and being played by some of RVA's best jazz players.
Tonight they even had a couple of vocalists, Eddie P. from Amazing Ghost and Lydia Ooghe from Lux Vacancy, making for a musically perfect way to end my evening.
Let's take stock here.
A world-renowned artist and director not only speaks at the VMFA, but offers to arrange a screening of his brand-new film there since it may never open in Richmond (and gets an ovation when he says it).
A local restaurant offers morels, fiddleheads and skate wing as casually as some places used to offer fillet Mignon and broccoli.
A jazz band who has scored films for national directors plays a free show of vintage 70s movie music performed by some of RVA's A-list jazz musicians.
Maybe it doesn't have to do with the museum renovation, but clearly we're in the new and improved Richmond, VA.
Funny, I feel right at home.
I can say that because artists like Julian Schnabel didn't used to come here to talk, as he did tonight in a wide-ranging discussion with modern art curator John Ravenal.
Schnabel was funny, talkative and opinionated.
"Paintings are not pictures of something; they are something," he told the audience.
As a painter who has been known for both painting on broken ceramic plates as well as painting on velvet, the man should know of what he speaks.
"I wanted to paint on something particular to me."
The time went by quickly with Schnabel talking about the Picassos he has owned, the passage of time ("People invented time because they couldn't handle infinity") and imagery ("It almost didn't matter what the imagery was").
When Ravenal tried to wrap up the talk, Schnabel was having none of it.
"Anybody want to go home?" he asked of the crowd. "You won't be rude if you leave."
Not a soul moved.
When asked about favorite music, he cited Berlin, Aretha's version of Bacharach's "I Say a Little Prayer" and all of Tom Waits' ballads.
Personally, I found that to be a terrific answer.
Finally the talk turned to Schnabel's films and he spoke of the lack of critical praise for his new film "Miral."
Frustrated, he sent copies to actor and director friends to get input.
"I'm going to play something that will blow your mind," he promised. "And if it doesn't, you can say 'Julian, you're full of shit."
He then held his cell up to the microphone.
It was director Carl Reiner raving about the film and saying that Julian should call him back for more praise.
"Call this number for lauding," Reiner said in his unmistakable voice.
I have to say, the unexpected pleasure of an artist talk at the VMFA is hearing the artist's voicemail messages.
Fact.
When I walked out of the museum, it had obviously just rained but the temperature was lovely for a drive downtown to Bistro Bobette to meet one of my favorite couples for dinner.
With them, it's a pleasure to be a fifth wheel.
I was late, but they were later, so it worked out well.
The bar was full of regulars - the Welshman, the New Yorker- who amused me until my friends arrived.
Mas de la Dame Rose helped, too.
Because we were overdue for a couple date, it was a while before we got around to ordering.
I couldn't resist the special of skate wing with fiddlehead ferns and artichoke bits in a balsamic reduction.
My handsome friend got the moullard duck confit with greens and green peppercorns; his beloved the veal with morels in a brandy cream sauce.
We three never eat together without playing musical plates and tonight was no different.
The texture of the duck was uniquely different, the morels and fiddleheads screamed spring right now and the skate everyone agreed was magnificent.
As much as we talked, discussing theater, Peter Chang's, Richmond Magazine and, of course, the new and upcoming restaurants, we didn't come close to closing the gap on new-to-each-other information.
In fact, when I mentioned my recent visit to the Balkan, the response I got was "WTF?" said just like that for decorum's sake, I guess.
"But you don't ever go to the West End," he said.
Never say never about a lot of things.
Eventually we were the last customers, having outlasted even the other regulars, so we made our way out to Cary Street, satisfied after another superb meal at Bobette.
If the masses ever discover this place (and I hope they will), it will be a squeeze for the regulars because it's just not that big.
As I drove westward, vaguely intending to go home, I remembered it was Mondo Italia night at Balliceaux and detoured there.
Jazz band Glows in the Dark was playing music from 70s Italian films while just such a film showed behind them.
Don't knock the pleasures of Italian movie music from the 70s until you've heard it.
Despite endless sex and violence onscreen (breasts and bloodshed everywhere), the music is terrific and being played by some of RVA's best jazz players.
Tonight they even had a couple of vocalists, Eddie P. from Amazing Ghost and Lydia Ooghe from Lux Vacancy, making for a musically perfect way to end my evening.
Let's take stock here.
A world-renowned artist and director not only speaks at the VMFA, but offers to arrange a screening of his brand-new film there since it may never open in Richmond (and gets an ovation when he says it).
A local restaurant offers morels, fiddleheads and skate wing as casually as some places used to offer fillet Mignon and broccoli.
A jazz band who has scored films for national directors plays a free show of vintage 70s movie music performed by some of RVA's A-list jazz musicians.
Maybe it doesn't have to do with the museum renovation, but clearly we're in the new and improved Richmond, VA.
Funny, I feel right at home.
Friday, February 25, 2011
The Corner of What?
It was a multi-cultural evening beginning in the deep south, stopping briefly in China and and settling into 70s-era Italy for the duration.
To kick off VCU's Southern Film Festival this weekend, author Charles Shields was giving a talk ("Let's keep this more of a conversation," he said right off the bat) about his book "Mockingbird: An Intimate Portrait of Harper Lee" at Fountain Books.
Audience members shared their first memory of reading "To Kill a Mockingbird" and they varied widely; some people fell in love with Scout's character while others saw Atticus as the memorable one.
I only first read the book ten years ago and I remember being struck by how very Southern small-town it was, probably because it depicted a world so different from the one in which I was raised.
Shields got some fascinating input for his book, especially about the interpretation of the Scout character.
Harper Lee described Scout, who was based on her own childhood persona, as "Too hard for the girls" and the Truman Capote character of Dill as, "Too soft for the boys," making them both misfits and kindred spirits.
A lesbian fan of the book told Shields that, "Scout is enough to make any girl-loving girl's heart go pitter-patter." That is high praise indeed.
Shields is speaking again Saturday before the screening of "To Kill a Mockingbird" at Grace Street Theater, but I knew it couldn't possibly be as intimate as a Fountain Books talk. There's something about sitting in evangelical church folding wooden chairs to hear about Southern literature that just feels right.
Walking up Cary Street in the rain afterwards, I peeked out from under my red umbrella when I heard the unmistakable sound of accordion playing in front of Bistro Bobette; it was the guy I'd met there recently who plays in the restaurant on occasion singing and playing his heart out.
It was delightful seeing and hearing him on the sidewalk and under a streetlight on a rainy, reflective evening. Don't tell me Richmond has no charm.
I ducked into Peking for some take-out (hot and sour soup, Hunan pork) to bring home and devour while I knocked out a writing assignment before going out again.
My fortune cookie laid it out for me: Love is just around the corner.
Dinner demolished, story submitted, I made my way to Balliceaux for the Mondo Italia dance party with Glows in the Dark. This free jazz group is a long-time favorite of mine, but tonight they were doing something they'd never done before: not improvising.
Like the last time they did something similar, here, there was an Italian film showing behind them, this time 1977's "The Big Racket." But this time, guitarist Scott Burton had actually arranged all this 70s Italian movie music, so there was no noodling.
His musical choices were inspired and the group well-rehearsed. Trombonist Reggie pace also played wah-wah guitar and percussion, Cameron Ralston was on electric bass, John Lily on sax and Scott Clark on drums.
We were even treated to Eddie Prendergast of Amazing Ghost doing lead vocal on one very disco-sounding song and he was a show stopper with his smooth delivery and near-dance moves. The crowd went crazy, but so did the band. It was a highpoint in an evening of stellar moments.
The idea behind not improvising had been to keep the music going for the sake of dancing, but it took a while for people to get started actually dancing and then it was just a few people.
It was a shame because the music was so danceable, so very 70s groovy with big old bass lines that made you move almost involuntarily. Nobody does movie music better than Glows in the Dark.
I had a great vantage point from the settee by the bar and my musician friend Marshall, who'd been with me last night, joined me there again tonight. At one point, trumpeter and funnyman Bob Miller came over to say hello to us.
"Have you guys moved since last night?" he asked, half in jest. Well, we're wearing different clothes so we must have, we told him.
Hell, I'd been through Alabama and China before he found me back on that settee enjoying 70s grooves Italian-style while gunfights and bad moustaches played out on the wall.
There could not have been a more amazing experience going on in RVA tonight. If I wasn't going to turn the corner and find love, Balliceaux was the place to be.
To kick off VCU's Southern Film Festival this weekend, author Charles Shields was giving a talk ("Let's keep this more of a conversation," he said right off the bat) about his book "Mockingbird: An Intimate Portrait of Harper Lee" at Fountain Books.
Audience members shared their first memory of reading "To Kill a Mockingbird" and they varied widely; some people fell in love with Scout's character while others saw Atticus as the memorable one.
I only first read the book ten years ago and I remember being struck by how very Southern small-town it was, probably because it depicted a world so different from the one in which I was raised.
Shields got some fascinating input for his book, especially about the interpretation of the Scout character.
Harper Lee described Scout, who was based on her own childhood persona, as "Too hard for the girls" and the Truman Capote character of Dill as, "Too soft for the boys," making them both misfits and kindred spirits.
A lesbian fan of the book told Shields that, "Scout is enough to make any girl-loving girl's heart go pitter-patter." That is high praise indeed.
Shields is speaking again Saturday before the screening of "To Kill a Mockingbird" at Grace Street Theater, but I knew it couldn't possibly be as intimate as a Fountain Books talk. There's something about sitting in evangelical church folding wooden chairs to hear about Southern literature that just feels right.
Walking up Cary Street in the rain afterwards, I peeked out from under my red umbrella when I heard the unmistakable sound of accordion playing in front of Bistro Bobette; it was the guy I'd met there recently who plays in the restaurant on occasion singing and playing his heart out.
It was delightful seeing and hearing him on the sidewalk and under a streetlight on a rainy, reflective evening. Don't tell me Richmond has no charm.
I ducked into Peking for some take-out (hot and sour soup, Hunan pork) to bring home and devour while I knocked out a writing assignment before going out again.
My fortune cookie laid it out for me: Love is just around the corner.
Dinner demolished, story submitted, I made my way to Balliceaux for the Mondo Italia dance party with Glows in the Dark. This free jazz group is a long-time favorite of mine, but tonight they were doing something they'd never done before: not improvising.
Like the last time they did something similar, here, there was an Italian film showing behind them, this time 1977's "The Big Racket." But this time, guitarist Scott Burton had actually arranged all this 70s Italian movie music, so there was no noodling.
His musical choices were inspired and the group well-rehearsed. Trombonist Reggie pace also played wah-wah guitar and percussion, Cameron Ralston was on electric bass, John Lily on sax and Scott Clark on drums.
We were even treated to Eddie Prendergast of Amazing Ghost doing lead vocal on one very disco-sounding song and he was a show stopper with his smooth delivery and near-dance moves. The crowd went crazy, but so did the band. It was a highpoint in an evening of stellar moments.
The idea behind not improvising had been to keep the music going for the sake of dancing, but it took a while for people to get started actually dancing and then it was just a few people.
It was a shame because the music was so danceable, so very 70s groovy with big old bass lines that made you move almost involuntarily. Nobody does movie music better than Glows in the Dark.
I had a great vantage point from the settee by the bar and my musician friend Marshall, who'd been with me last night, joined me there again tonight. At one point, trumpeter and funnyman Bob Miller came over to say hello to us.
"Have you guys moved since last night?" he asked, half in jest. Well, we're wearing different clothes so we must have, we told him.
Hell, I'd been through Alabama and China before he found me back on that settee enjoying 70s grooves Italian-style while gunfights and bad moustaches played out on the wall.
There could not have been a more amazing experience going on in RVA tonight. If I wasn't going to turn the corner and find love, Balliceaux was the place to be.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Imagining the Bass Line
After such a traditional and wholesome Christmas show this afternoon, wouldn't you just know I'd have to swing completely in the other direction tonight? Come on, you did, right?
Firehouse Theater was presenting Mrs. Bob Cratchit's Wild Christmas Binge as a staged reading and the ten-buck ticket price included an adult beverage. The house was nearly full.
The story, a takeoff on A Christmas Carol was so politically incorrect, so irreverent and so funny that I felt it more than canceled out any sweet, wholesome Christmas vibes I had absorbed earlier today.
The performance had plenty of wicked asides as well as commentary about the play itself (the young Jacob Marley asking, "Why don't I have any lines?" after a long discourse by other characters).
The Ghost of Christmases Past, Present and Future is written for a black women and at one point Scrooge tells her, "I don't think there even were any Negro people in 1842." Ouch.
Mrs. Bob Cratchit turned out to be a miserable woman who hated her life and was always leaving to get drunk and jump off of London Bridge. She belittled her children mercilessly, ignored their requests for food and barely tolerated her sanctimonious husband and his delightfully overboard accent.
In a play full of references to other times, she bemoaned the absence of feminism. "I wish it were 1977 so I'd be admired for my unpleasantness," she wailed. No feminist stereotype there.
But eventually Clarence, the angel from It's A Wonderful Life, came along to help out the ghost and solve both Scrooge's attitude problem as well as Mrs. Cratchit's misery in a novel twist that landed the two of them in, when else, 1977.
After a skewering of Christmas like that, I couldn't resist a little offbeat Christmas music to close out the evening. Commercial Taphouse was hosting Glows in the Dark, RVA's premiere free jazz practitioners, doing their Christmas show.
I generally feel like I have no business in the Taphouse (except to eat ribs) given my lack of appreciation for suds and such. But their beer menu has such wonderfully clever beer descriptions that I make a habit of reading it anyway. And then I always order tequila, which I did again tonight.
Next to me was a beer geek who, as part of a beer collective (how did I not know there were such things?), spends his Sundays, not watching football, but brewing and geeking out about beer. When I asked, he did admit they they occasionally detour into talk of "our ladies and stuff." I thought that was adorable.
He was full of great stories about the mishaps of brewing; today's had to do with the propane tank and sloshing it around. "I saw fire fall," he said, obviously still incredulous. Really? Can't say I've ever seen fire fall myself, but then I don't spend my Sundays in a garage.
I still have fond memories of Glows in the Dark's Halloween show two years ago when they did all music from John Carpenter movies, so there was no way I was missing their Christmas show, especially when I'd heard rumours of music from the Charlie Brown Christmas special.
Scott Burton started off by telling the audience, "We're down a bass player. He's really sick. So you'll have to fill in the bass parts with your mind." A musician friend nearby assured me this was quite doable, but I'm sure Scott also made some modifications in his guitar playing to compensate.
They began with an original non-Christmas piece and then launched into a superb rendition of "Little Drummer Boy," which they topped with Vince Guaraldi's "Linus and Lucy" from A Charlie Brown Christmas. "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing" was next and the crowd was just eating it up.
Christmas music never sounded so good as when played by trombone, saxophone, guitar and drums with the bass line in the crowd's head.
At least that's the way it felt tonight.
Firehouse Theater was presenting Mrs. Bob Cratchit's Wild Christmas Binge as a staged reading and the ten-buck ticket price included an adult beverage. The house was nearly full.
The story, a takeoff on A Christmas Carol was so politically incorrect, so irreverent and so funny that I felt it more than canceled out any sweet, wholesome Christmas vibes I had absorbed earlier today.
The performance had plenty of wicked asides as well as commentary about the play itself (the young Jacob Marley asking, "Why don't I have any lines?" after a long discourse by other characters).
The Ghost of Christmases Past, Present and Future is written for a black women and at one point Scrooge tells her, "I don't think there even were any Negro people in 1842." Ouch.
Mrs. Bob Cratchit turned out to be a miserable woman who hated her life and was always leaving to get drunk and jump off of London Bridge. She belittled her children mercilessly, ignored their requests for food and barely tolerated her sanctimonious husband and his delightfully overboard accent.
In a play full of references to other times, she bemoaned the absence of feminism. "I wish it were 1977 so I'd be admired for my unpleasantness," she wailed. No feminist stereotype there.
But eventually Clarence, the angel from It's A Wonderful Life, came along to help out the ghost and solve both Scrooge's attitude problem as well as Mrs. Cratchit's misery in a novel twist that landed the two of them in, when else, 1977.
After a skewering of Christmas like that, I couldn't resist a little offbeat Christmas music to close out the evening. Commercial Taphouse was hosting Glows in the Dark, RVA's premiere free jazz practitioners, doing their Christmas show.
I generally feel like I have no business in the Taphouse (except to eat ribs) given my lack of appreciation for suds and such. But their beer menu has such wonderfully clever beer descriptions that I make a habit of reading it anyway. And then I always order tequila, which I did again tonight.
Next to me was a beer geek who, as part of a beer collective (how did I not know there were such things?), spends his Sundays, not watching football, but brewing and geeking out about beer. When I asked, he did admit they they occasionally detour into talk of "our ladies and stuff." I thought that was adorable.
He was full of great stories about the mishaps of brewing; today's had to do with the propane tank and sloshing it around. "I saw fire fall," he said, obviously still incredulous. Really? Can't say I've ever seen fire fall myself, but then I don't spend my Sundays in a garage.
I still have fond memories of Glows in the Dark's Halloween show two years ago when they did all music from John Carpenter movies, so there was no way I was missing their Christmas show, especially when I'd heard rumours of music from the Charlie Brown Christmas special.
Scott Burton started off by telling the audience, "We're down a bass player. He's really sick. So you'll have to fill in the bass parts with your mind." A musician friend nearby assured me this was quite doable, but I'm sure Scott also made some modifications in his guitar playing to compensate.
They began with an original non-Christmas piece and then launched into a superb rendition of "Little Drummer Boy," which they topped with Vince Guaraldi's "Linus and Lucy" from A Charlie Brown Christmas. "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing" was next and the crowd was just eating it up.
Christmas music never sounded so good as when played by trombone, saxophone, guitar and drums with the bass line in the crowd's head.
At least that's the way it felt tonight.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Richmond's Dark Side: Music and Books
With creepy season in full swing, there's no shortage of ways to indulge an All Hallows' Eve urge.
Tonight's was Chop Suey's Halloween celebration, "The Dark Side of Richmond" at (where else?) the site of the former Richmond Gallows, none other than G5.
The evening began with one of my favorite Halloween traditions, local band Glows in the Dark, performing music inspired by and taken from John Carpenter movies.
Yes, The Fog, The Thing and of course Halloween came to life with a lot of improvisation in between at the hands of these free jazz masters.
And as you may recall (I didn't and had to be told), Carpenter's movie music was written mainly for keyboards, necessitating a lot of work to bring it around to guitar, upright bass, sax, trombone and drums, but once gain GitD pulled it off in the eeriest possible way.
I first saw them do this music a couple of years ago at Commercial Taphouse and tonight's audience was even more into it.
Word must have gotten around about what an audio treat it was.
A seasonably-suitable reading followed, featuring two of the writers from Richmond Noir, the short story collection where each features a different Richmond neighborhood.
Nothing says Halloween season quite like death, so Tom de Haven read the "money scene" from his story based in Manchester (three-way sex and shots fired on southside) and Dennis Danvers read his tale of Texas Beach (a dead dog and a dead illegal immigrant).
Beth Brown, author of Wicked Richmond, a book about RVA's dark underbelly, read the chapter on old Richmond's boy gangs, apparently quite a force from the time of the Civil War and for some 50 years afterwards.
Rocks, slingshots and eventually pistols were the weapons of choice for boys (some as young as four!) to stake out their territory in this town.
Thumbing through Brown's book, it looks to be a catalog of the debauchery that defined our fair city's history; clearly it wasn't all moonlight and magnolias.
Billed as the spookiest reading of the season (and I know of no other Halloween readings, so it undoubtedly was), the audience of music and book lovers geeked out afterwards talking about the intricacies of the music and the macabre nature of the stories.
Before long, conversation moved on to clever costumes and upcoming parties.
And just for the record, I've never seen a John Carpenter movie.
There, I said it.
Still enjoyed the hell out of it.
Tonight's was Chop Suey's Halloween celebration, "The Dark Side of Richmond" at (where else?) the site of the former Richmond Gallows, none other than G5.
The evening began with one of my favorite Halloween traditions, local band Glows in the Dark, performing music inspired by and taken from John Carpenter movies.
Yes, The Fog, The Thing and of course Halloween came to life with a lot of improvisation in between at the hands of these free jazz masters.
And as you may recall (I didn't and had to be told), Carpenter's movie music was written mainly for keyboards, necessitating a lot of work to bring it around to guitar, upright bass, sax, trombone and drums, but once gain GitD pulled it off in the eeriest possible way.
I first saw them do this music a couple of years ago at Commercial Taphouse and tonight's audience was even more into it.
Word must have gotten around about what an audio treat it was.
A seasonably-suitable reading followed, featuring two of the writers from Richmond Noir, the short story collection where each features a different Richmond neighborhood.
Nothing says Halloween season quite like death, so Tom de Haven read the "money scene" from his story based in Manchester (three-way sex and shots fired on southside) and Dennis Danvers read his tale of Texas Beach (a dead dog and a dead illegal immigrant).
Beth Brown, author of Wicked Richmond, a book about RVA's dark underbelly, read the chapter on old Richmond's boy gangs, apparently quite a force from the time of the Civil War and for some 50 years afterwards.
Rocks, slingshots and eventually pistols were the weapons of choice for boys (some as young as four!) to stake out their territory in this town.
Thumbing through Brown's book, it looks to be a catalog of the debauchery that defined our fair city's history; clearly it wasn't all moonlight and magnolias.
Billed as the spookiest reading of the season (and I know of no other Halloween readings, so it undoubtedly was), the audience of music and book lovers geeked out afterwards talking about the intricacies of the music and the macabre nature of the stories.
Before long, conversation moved on to clever costumes and upcoming parties.
And just for the record, I've never seen a John Carpenter movie.
There, I said it.
Still enjoyed the hell out of it.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Sex and Crime at Balliceaux
The Violent Professional. The Executioner. How to Kill a Judge. Loaded Guns. The Last Round. Italian cinema, sexy and crime-ridden, was the inspiration for the music played by Glows in the Dark at Balliceaux tonight. Perfect music for a full moon and perfectly done by a band with a penchant for movie music.
With the screen behind them showing clips of those movies and more, GitD's guitar/trombone/sax/drums/electric bass combo provided the coolest, the most vicious soundtrack to a montage of bare breasts, shaggy-haired men, car chases, aviator shades, struggling scantily-clad women and bad moustaches the 70s ever saw in Italy. It was completely awesome.
Using the original music as a launching point, the group romped through featured horns, sinuous bass lines and kinetic drumming that galloped along with the endless shoot-outs and sex. It was all they could do to keep up with the non-stop on-screen action.
And speaking of action (or maybe the full moon), I ran into a local photographer who wanted to rant about my former employer, Media General ("Tom Silvestri and Glen Proctor need to go!"), a Uruguayan who came to RVA via San Francisco, Denver and Chicago ("Richmond is the friendliest place I've ever seen") and another of the laid off masses ("A friend suggested stripping in the interim and it's paying the bills for now"), all of whom were eager to chat (at the very least).
My beverage of choice tonight was iced Corazon and I splurged on dessert (coconut cake key lime trifle) as a means of escaping conversation with a nearby and overly friendly bar sitter in a pink polo shirt. One of their new offerings, the dessert was the closest thing to a true trifle I've seen in a while and it got several admiring comments.
I told the Uruguayan that he was actually the second of his countrymen I'd met in RVA, having made the acquaintance of a charming winemaker last fall with whom I correspond, here. Without sharing his name, my new friend guessed not only which grape had impressed me, but which winemaker as well. We both got a good chuckle out of that ("We only have 13 wineries," he explained).
As for the charming guy I met as I was paying my bill, he complimented my haircut, asked probing questions about my job status and told me about what goes on in a place where guys, not girls, are removing their clothes to admiring comments and cold hard cash. We moved outside as our conversation continued, him asking for the best way to contact me for future conversation.
"You smell good, " he said.
"I don't wear any smell," I told him.
"Well, you've got something," he insisted.
I don't think it's me, so it must have been the effects of the full moon. That or he got all riled up watching so much sexy and violent Italian cinema with such magnificent music.
Let's just say it was that.
With the screen behind them showing clips of those movies and more, GitD's guitar/trombone/sax/drums/electric bass combo provided the coolest, the most vicious soundtrack to a montage of bare breasts, shaggy-haired men, car chases, aviator shades, struggling scantily-clad women and bad moustaches the 70s ever saw in Italy. It was completely awesome.
Using the original music as a launching point, the group romped through featured horns, sinuous bass lines and kinetic drumming that galloped along with the endless shoot-outs and sex. It was all they could do to keep up with the non-stop on-screen action.
And speaking of action (or maybe the full moon), I ran into a local photographer who wanted to rant about my former employer, Media General ("Tom Silvestri and Glen Proctor need to go!"), a Uruguayan who came to RVA via San Francisco, Denver and Chicago ("Richmond is the friendliest place I've ever seen") and another of the laid off masses ("A friend suggested stripping in the interim and it's paying the bills for now"), all of whom were eager to chat (at the very least).
My beverage of choice tonight was iced Corazon and I splurged on dessert (coconut cake key lime trifle) as a means of escaping conversation with a nearby and overly friendly bar sitter in a pink polo shirt. One of their new offerings, the dessert was the closest thing to a true trifle I've seen in a while and it got several admiring comments.
I told the Uruguayan that he was actually the second of his countrymen I'd met in RVA, having made the acquaintance of a charming winemaker last fall with whom I correspond, here. Without sharing his name, my new friend guessed not only which grape had impressed me, but which winemaker as well. We both got a good chuckle out of that ("We only have 13 wineries," he explained).
As for the charming guy I met as I was paying my bill, he complimented my haircut, asked probing questions about my job status and told me about what goes on in a place where guys, not girls, are removing their clothes to admiring comments and cold hard cash. We moved outside as our conversation continued, him asking for the best way to contact me for future conversation.
"You smell good, " he said.
"I don't wear any smell," I told him.
"Well, you've got something," he insisted.
I don't think it's me, so it must have been the effects of the full moon. That or he got all riled up watching so much sexy and violent Italian cinema with such magnificent music.
Let's just say it was that.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Scoring My Life, Glows in the Dark-Style
You gotta love the Camel for their Sunday night shows; when nothing's happening at other venues, they frequently have music with which to end the weekend. Tonight it was Lux Vacancy and Glows in the Dark, two bands I knew were worth seeing again.
Last time I saw Lydia Ooghe was at the Listening Room, here, and tonight she'd added Cameron Ralston on bass, a worthy addition to the band's sound. Her quirky lyrics ("You make my timbers shiver" was a personal favorite) on topics such as falling in love with a rat or Dad being a waffle cone and Mom being a scoop of strawberry ice cream are ear-catching, especially given her unique voice.
Introducing a cover, she said it was "...a Bill withers song. You've probably heard it," and handed off her guitar, crossed her legs, clutched the chair seat and launched into "Ain't' No Sunshine." It was brilliant. Closing with the song "Jam, Baby," she sang, "I quit you, but you stuck to my shoe." In her little girl voice, it was a charming finish to a fine set.
Then it was on to Glows in the Dark, a band I love for many reasons. First, the beauty of their music is that any song sounds like it could have been lifted from an atmospheric scene in a movie. If I ever want the story of my life scored, they're doing the soundtrack.
Also, with song titles like "Gary Glitter" and "Europe" the listener is inevitably surprised at how the music develops, given the improvisational quality of it. There were plenty of musicians in the audience, all nodding in appreciation as the melodies took off on various tangents.
And then there was dancing guy, the one who planted himself front and center while the rest of the audience sat. The problem being that free jazz is a bit tough to dance and clap to, what with musicians improvising all over the place and ever-changing time signatures, not that this guy didn't try anyway.
You could see the smiles and murmured conversations around the room from his first shout-out to the band through his ever-twitching dance moves. I have no doubt that he thought he was one with the music and he did provide some stellar entertainment, sometimes dropping to the ground, other times just shaking his head so hard you thought his neck would snap.
Not that I'm making fun of dancing guy; he was obviously a music lover and was demonstrating that with his body. It wasn't that the audience was embarrassed for him, but he got to be a little distracting after the first few minutes.
And you don't really want distractions when Glows in the Dark is playing. Their music is an aural trip on its own, taking the listener wherever his or her head wants to go.
I like to just sit back and imagine which episode in my life each song is describing...or perhaps even predicting. No visuals needed.
Last time I saw Lydia Ooghe was at the Listening Room, here, and tonight she'd added Cameron Ralston on bass, a worthy addition to the band's sound. Her quirky lyrics ("You make my timbers shiver" was a personal favorite) on topics such as falling in love with a rat or Dad being a waffle cone and Mom being a scoop of strawberry ice cream are ear-catching, especially given her unique voice.
Introducing a cover, she said it was "...a Bill withers song. You've probably heard it," and handed off her guitar, crossed her legs, clutched the chair seat and launched into "Ain't' No Sunshine." It was brilliant. Closing with the song "Jam, Baby," she sang, "I quit you, but you stuck to my shoe." In her little girl voice, it was a charming finish to a fine set.
Then it was on to Glows in the Dark, a band I love for many reasons. First, the beauty of their music is that any song sounds like it could have been lifted from an atmospheric scene in a movie. If I ever want the story of my life scored, they're doing the soundtrack.
Also, with song titles like "Gary Glitter" and "Europe" the listener is inevitably surprised at how the music develops, given the improvisational quality of it. There were plenty of musicians in the audience, all nodding in appreciation as the melodies took off on various tangents.
And then there was dancing guy, the one who planted himself front and center while the rest of the audience sat. The problem being that free jazz is a bit tough to dance and clap to, what with musicians improvising all over the place and ever-changing time signatures, not that this guy didn't try anyway.
You could see the smiles and murmured conversations around the room from his first shout-out to the band through his ever-twitching dance moves. I have no doubt that he thought he was one with the music and he did provide some stellar entertainment, sometimes dropping to the ground, other times just shaking his head so hard you thought his neck would snap.
Not that I'm making fun of dancing guy; he was obviously a music lover and was demonstrating that with his body. It wasn't that the audience was embarrassed for him, but he got to be a little distracting after the first few minutes.
And you don't really want distractions when Glows in the Dark is playing. Their music is an aural trip on its own, taking the listener wherever his or her head wants to go.
I like to just sit back and imagine which episode in my life each song is describing...or perhaps even predicting. No visuals needed.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Defining a Hot Bartender at Balliceaux
The local rag Brick provided a list of The Top Five Spots to Ditch a Lame Date and Find a New One, not something I was looking to do, but the explanation cracked me up. "Balliceaux: Skip to the back room bar...Flirt with hot bartender."
So instead, I found a girlfriend, we went to Balliceaux for Sunday supper and we sat at the front bar so I could tease my friend Austin about whether or not he qualifies as the hot bartender.
The real reason for my visit tonight was to hear Glows in the Dark, the only free jazz musicians I actually know and possibly the only ones in the area.
A lot of their music is based on movies and not everyone "gets" free jazz, but if you do, they're definitely worth checking out.
I hadn't seen them since last fall at Commercial Taphouse, not an ideal venue.
As I waited for my friend to arrive, the guy at the bar next to me asked what I was going to drink.
He told me I didn't want what he had (straight vodka, chilled) and I told him he was right; if I was going to have something straight up and chilled, it was going to be good tequila.
He promptly bought me a Corazon, which was as smooth as silk and defied every cliche about tequila I continue to hear from non-tequila drinkers.
Friend came and we perused the wine list where I was thrilled to see one of my absolute favorite wineries represented, K. Vintners out of Walla, Walla.
We ordered the 2008 Viognier, described as jasmine blossoms, wet stone and white peach aromas; it was heavenly.
Winemaker Charles Smith looks like a wild man and makes the most amazing wines.
I only wish they showed up on local wine lists more often. Kudos to Balliceaux for doing so.
For me, the options were limited for dinner because it was Sunday Supper and everything is large portions, designed for multiple people and my friend had already eaten.
I had a bowl of the spicy crab and coconut soup with tomato, red pepper and cilantro.
My friend tasted it and promptly ordered some for herself; it was that good.
I floated some bread chunks in it and ate it to the bottom.
Balliceaux is one of those places with an excellent dessert menu and after much deliberation, I chose the chocolate coconut tart, keeping the coconut theme going.
It was so dense, it could barely be penetrated with a fork.
The slivers of coconut meat atop it added a rich dimension to the very dark chocolate.
Only the chocolate cookie crust provided true sweetness; otherwise is was just the intensity of the flavors.
With Glows in the Dark wailing at the perfect volume for where we were sitting, we enjoyed being guinea pigs for Austin's mixology.
I'd never tasted St. Germaine, a cordial made of elderflower and with the most gorgeous, for lack of a better word, aroma and taste.
It was like drinking flower juice.
He also offered us a taste of a Negroni, made with Campari, gin and the French aperitif, Lillet, promising us a refreshing absence of sweetness and that's just what we got.
Meanwhile, I continued to tease him about his "hot" status.
In between Glows in the Dark's sets, Austin played music of his choice off his computer, which always works out well for me because our tastes are so similar.
As usual, we exchanged recent music find recommendations and discussed shows.
At one point when we were really enjoying an obscure song, a customer came up and asked him to lower the volume.
We both acknowledged that in our entire lives, we had never once made that request of anyone.
Now that I think about it, that must be what makes Austin such a hot bartender.
The rag was right.
So instead, I found a girlfriend, we went to Balliceaux for Sunday supper and we sat at the front bar so I could tease my friend Austin about whether or not he qualifies as the hot bartender.
The real reason for my visit tonight was to hear Glows in the Dark, the only free jazz musicians I actually know and possibly the only ones in the area.
A lot of their music is based on movies and not everyone "gets" free jazz, but if you do, they're definitely worth checking out.
I hadn't seen them since last fall at Commercial Taphouse, not an ideal venue.
As I waited for my friend to arrive, the guy at the bar next to me asked what I was going to drink.
He told me I didn't want what he had (straight vodka, chilled) and I told him he was right; if I was going to have something straight up and chilled, it was going to be good tequila.
He promptly bought me a Corazon, which was as smooth as silk and defied every cliche about tequila I continue to hear from non-tequila drinkers.
Friend came and we perused the wine list where I was thrilled to see one of my absolute favorite wineries represented, K. Vintners out of Walla, Walla.
We ordered the 2008 Viognier, described as jasmine blossoms, wet stone and white peach aromas; it was heavenly.
Winemaker Charles Smith looks like a wild man and makes the most amazing wines.
I only wish they showed up on local wine lists more often. Kudos to Balliceaux for doing so.
For me, the options were limited for dinner because it was Sunday Supper and everything is large portions, designed for multiple people and my friend had already eaten.
I had a bowl of the spicy crab and coconut soup with tomato, red pepper and cilantro.
My friend tasted it and promptly ordered some for herself; it was that good.
I floated some bread chunks in it and ate it to the bottom.
Balliceaux is one of those places with an excellent dessert menu and after much deliberation, I chose the chocolate coconut tart, keeping the coconut theme going.
It was so dense, it could barely be penetrated with a fork.
The slivers of coconut meat atop it added a rich dimension to the very dark chocolate.
Only the chocolate cookie crust provided true sweetness; otherwise is was just the intensity of the flavors.
With Glows in the Dark wailing at the perfect volume for where we were sitting, we enjoyed being guinea pigs for Austin's mixology.
I'd never tasted St. Germaine, a cordial made of elderflower and with the most gorgeous, for lack of a better word, aroma and taste.
It was like drinking flower juice.
He also offered us a taste of a Negroni, made with Campari, gin and the French aperitif, Lillet, promising us a refreshing absence of sweetness and that's just what we got.
Meanwhile, I continued to tease him about his "hot" status.
In between Glows in the Dark's sets, Austin played music of his choice off his computer, which always works out well for me because our tastes are so similar.
As usual, we exchanged recent music find recommendations and discussed shows.
At one point when we were really enjoying an obscure song, a customer came up and asked him to lower the volume.
We both acknowledged that in our entire lives, we had never once made that request of anyone.
Now that I think about it, that must be what makes Austin such a hot bartender.
The rag was right.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
RVA Jazz Fest: A Treat for the Ears & Eyes
I am so lucky to live in Richmond where an event like last night's Jazz Fest at the Camel offered so much talent and music for a mere ten bucks.
Not only that, but we arrived around 745 and were able to score a couple of sets in the second row.
Only here does that kind of luck happen.
There were excellent sets from Glows in the Dark, Boots of Leather and Fight the Big Bull.
And even though I've seen all three groups perform before, they all continue to bring something new to every performance.
The crowd was a jazz-loving bunch and really into the musical meanderings of the performers.
Clearly this was a destination performance: the two guys seated next to me had driven in from Charlottesville for the show.
One highlight of the evening was watching a woman open a bathroom door to find Matt White, leader of FTBB, inside.
The look on her face made me laugh.
Now, he claimed the door didn't lock properly, but of course, he is a performer...
Although this was the first RVA Jazz Fest, we were told last night that it won't be the last.
I think it may be necessary to find a larger venue next year, though; we took up every available space in the Camel last night.
Here's to RVA's thriving jazz scene.
Not only that, but we arrived around 745 and were able to score a couple of sets in the second row.
Only here does that kind of luck happen.
There were excellent sets from Glows in the Dark, Boots of Leather and Fight the Big Bull.
And even though I've seen all three groups perform before, they all continue to bring something new to every performance.
The crowd was a jazz-loving bunch and really into the musical meanderings of the performers.
Clearly this was a destination performance: the two guys seated next to me had driven in from Charlottesville for the show.
One highlight of the evening was watching a woman open a bathroom door to find Matt White, leader of FTBB, inside.
The look on her face made me laugh.
Now, he claimed the door didn't lock properly, but of course, he is a performer...
Although this was the first RVA Jazz Fest, we were told last night that it won't be the last.
I think it may be necessary to find a larger venue next year, though; we took up every available space in the Camel last night.
Here's to RVA's thriving jazz scene.
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