It was an all day affair, given the perfect weather and company.
Take a drive out 250 and stop where we want to.
There was Keswick Vineyards under an umbrella on an impossibly beautiful afternoon.
After tasting through eight wines and discussing our pourer's beagles, Molly and Tuck, we settled in for glasses of the 2012 Viognier, acidic with great length on the palate and layers of pear and apricot.
Dogs were everywhere at the winery, including a sad-faced hound from the Fluvanna SPCA, to whom I gave much love and hopes for a loving family.
I had to laugh at the woman telling her dog, "Remember what you promised!"
To be honest, he didn't look like he'd promised anything.
There was the Barbecue Exchange for brisket, pulled pork, hushpuppies and fries, where I met the man in charge of the 'cue, Van.
"You like tofu?" he asked after our discussion of his pig and cow. Do I look like I like tofu?
His meat was enjoyed at a table on the porch of the Exchange Hotel.
It wasn't my first time at the Exchange, although last time was inside to meet the resident ghost and today was solely for shade during lunch.
Yes, the same hotel where women used to sell fried chicken to the soldiers on the trains passing through Gordonsville.
And, yes, a train passed by and, no, I had no fried chicken to sell.
At Barboursville Vineyard, it was an oversized orange beach towel under a shady tree for a bottle of Vermentino Reserve 2012, dry and with a nice minerality.
Around us, people boringly discussed politics, a couple looked at their phones rather than each other and children rolled down the hill, one landing against my wine glass, which fortunately, I was holding tight.
The endless parade of new arrivals provided more than enough fodder for conversation as we sipped.
Really, platform shoes for winery hopping?
There was a stroll on the downtown mall to decide on a dinner location with Petit Pois the winner because they had outdoor tables and moules.
Add to the mussels a bottle of Virginia Fizz, a plate of fromage and tartare de boeuf, and you've got a recipe for several hours' pleasure.
Dogs slept while tables filled up and we marveled at the briskness of a Sunday night's business on the mall.
Couldn't help hoping that Richmond restaurants were just as busy tonight.
I ran into the delightful musician Guion of the Nettles, on his turf for a change, and heard about his recent adventures with outdoor pizza.
Then there was a stroll through a nearby neighborhood, admiring elaborate porches, hidden gardens and running into a familiar face from Richmond, out walking his dog.
Twelve hours and some mighty fine conversation later, I'd start all over and do it again.
Ready when my ride is.
Showing posts with label guion pratt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guion pratt. Show all posts
Monday, August 5, 2013
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
South by North
I couldn't ask for a better town to be a music-lover in.
As a former Richmonder named Ben who now lives in Nashville told me tonight, "Richmond is this great, undiscovered scene that's still manageable."
He was comparing it to Nashville's well-hyped scene and we were coming out on top.
I broke form by starting my evening on the southside at BK Music for an in-store by Surfer Blood, where I ran into exactly one person I knew (who said, "I wondered if you'd come this far, even though the music is right up your alley").
Maybe it had something to do with the XL-102 van in the parking lot.
At precisely 6:00, an employee got up and introduced Surfer Blood, who walked to the front of the store from all the way in the back, to great applause.
"Dramatic, just like we like it," said lead singer JP.
The occasion for the in-store was today's release of their new album "Pythons," posters of which were plastered everywhere in the store.
Even so they began with an older song, then stopped and restarted. Twice.
"Just so you know, this is day 50," said guitarist Thomas of their tour with Foals, from which they had a night off.
Fair enough.
After exhorting the good-sized crowd to come closer ("That's better already"), they followed the old with four songs off the new album, all power chords, chiming guitars and enough hooks to thrill the crowd dancing in place.
BK is a big store and the sound mix was perfect, so every note was crystal clear.
When their mini-set ended, an immediate line formed to get the new album signed by the band members.
I told my friend I was returning to where I felt more comfortable and high-tailed it back to the city.
After a stop at a restaurant that shall not be named to eat for a living, I pointed the car north, this time for a house show.
Arriving in a stranger's backyard, I was greeted by the hostess who presumed I was a neighbor.
In fact, I'd gotten the invitation from Guion, leader of Nettles, one of the bands playing tonight.
He soon spotted me and came over to say hello, remembering me from the Listening Room I'd curated last summer when I'd chosen Nettles to play.
Besides tubs of beer and bottles of wine, Guion had brought some of his home-brewed Belgian Red beer with rose hips as well as his homemade kombucha with nasturtiums.
It was definitely going to be a groovy kind of evening.
I overheard a guy tell a girl he was going to be a country singer.
"Are you going to tuck in your shirt and wear a belt?" she inquired.
"I don't know, but I know I'm not going to wear a black hat," he stated for the record.
The back yard was charmingly set up for the show with chairs, gliders, a wicker couch, tables with candles and even blankets up front for people to sprawl on.
People mingled and drank until fireflies began flickering around and only then did the show begin.
Opening was NYC's Cat Martino, passing through on her way to Bonnaroo, playing with fellow musician Sven.
This is a woman who'd been in Sufjan Stevens' touring band, for goodness' sake.
"I'd like to say hello, but there's a lot of delay," Cat joked referring to the effects pedals on her mic. "This is such an amazing welcome for us out of New York City. They let us out of our cage!"
Meanwhile, a nearby neighborhood dog barked on.
Using a loop pedal, guitar, keyboards, synthesizer and drum pad, the two proceeded to layer her expressive voice and the array of instruments until dense songs wove their way through the waning light of a Tuesday evening.
"This song is called "I Promise" and I do," she said, beginning a haunting song that stopped every conversation in the backyard.
Can we ever go back to the life we had
Can we ever go back to the life we had
When it's over?
She had to stop after a bit to scratch her legs, which were being bitten by bugs (no doubt all that virgin Brooklyn meat of hers) until someone handed her a can of bug spray so she could carry on.
Their set ended all too soon and she thanked us. "This has been an unbelievable pleasure for us."
Mutual, I'm sure, Cat.
While Nettles got set up, people helped themselves to more beer and a few left, but I stayed put in my comfortable deck chair, admiring the stars in the clear night sky.
We have exactly nine days until the days start getting incrementally shorter again and I am enjoying every moment of it until then.
But as soon as Nettles began I was reminded of the reasons I was so originally taken with their sound.
Multiple voice harmonies. Flute. Poetry for lyrics.
They started with an old song Guion said they'd changed just last night and not practiced since.
Not that anyone could have been able to tell.
Tonight is the first night of their tour and they'll be recording an album at the end of the month, so we were the lucky first audience for a bunch of new songs.
"Anyone ever read "A Streetcar Named Desire" or seen the play?" Guion asked before assigning us homework to do so and playing a song based on it.
Maybe because I have read and seen it, I found the song beautifully evocative.
He explained "Rogue Bodies" by saying, "Do you know about rogue planets? They don't have any orbits, they just kind of go. It's kind of like touring."
It was just the kind of song you'd want to hear while sitting under an inky night sky.
My mother is chaos. My Dad's a black hole.
Explaining that he'd brought his beer because he and his wife were about to leave for the beach, he joked, "We don't usually bring our pagan beverages with us when we play."
Next came "The Knot," another exquisite and poetic new song.
Most of us had heard that this show almost didn't happen because of a prolonged tornado warning for the area tonight.
"But it turned out fine. The weather's great. We have beer. The mosquitoes are manageable with poison."
It's all relevant.
After another song about trauma, Guion called out, "Someone who lives here tell me, one more song or two."
From the wicker couch came, "One!"
"Buzz kill!" said a disappointed voice from over by the hedge.
As the last strains of "Pumps" filled the air, I looked around at all the people still sprawled on blankets and chairs looking blissed out.
As I walked past the glider to leave, the Nashville transplant looked at me and said, "Wow, Karen, you were right about Nettles...that flute, those voices. That was amazing!"
Or, to paraphrase Cat, an unbelievable pleasure for a music lover.
As a former Richmonder named Ben who now lives in Nashville told me tonight, "Richmond is this great, undiscovered scene that's still manageable."
He was comparing it to Nashville's well-hyped scene and we were coming out on top.
I broke form by starting my evening on the southside at BK Music for an in-store by Surfer Blood, where I ran into exactly one person I knew (who said, "I wondered if you'd come this far, even though the music is right up your alley").
Maybe it had something to do with the XL-102 van in the parking lot.
At precisely 6:00, an employee got up and introduced Surfer Blood, who walked to the front of the store from all the way in the back, to great applause.
"Dramatic, just like we like it," said lead singer JP.
The occasion for the in-store was today's release of their new album "Pythons," posters of which were plastered everywhere in the store.
Even so they began with an older song, then stopped and restarted. Twice.
"Just so you know, this is day 50," said guitarist Thomas of their tour with Foals, from which they had a night off.
Fair enough.
After exhorting the good-sized crowd to come closer ("That's better already"), they followed the old with four songs off the new album, all power chords, chiming guitars and enough hooks to thrill the crowd dancing in place.
BK is a big store and the sound mix was perfect, so every note was crystal clear.
When their mini-set ended, an immediate line formed to get the new album signed by the band members.
I told my friend I was returning to where I felt more comfortable and high-tailed it back to the city.
After a stop at a restaurant that shall not be named to eat for a living, I pointed the car north, this time for a house show.
Arriving in a stranger's backyard, I was greeted by the hostess who presumed I was a neighbor.
In fact, I'd gotten the invitation from Guion, leader of Nettles, one of the bands playing tonight.
He soon spotted me and came over to say hello, remembering me from the Listening Room I'd curated last summer when I'd chosen Nettles to play.
Besides tubs of beer and bottles of wine, Guion had brought some of his home-brewed Belgian Red beer with rose hips as well as his homemade kombucha with nasturtiums.
It was definitely going to be a groovy kind of evening.
I overheard a guy tell a girl he was going to be a country singer.
"Are you going to tuck in your shirt and wear a belt?" she inquired.
"I don't know, but I know I'm not going to wear a black hat," he stated for the record.
The back yard was charmingly set up for the show with chairs, gliders, a wicker couch, tables with candles and even blankets up front for people to sprawl on.
People mingled and drank until fireflies began flickering around and only then did the show begin.
Opening was NYC's Cat Martino, passing through on her way to Bonnaroo, playing with fellow musician Sven.
This is a woman who'd been in Sufjan Stevens' touring band, for goodness' sake.
"I'd like to say hello, but there's a lot of delay," Cat joked referring to the effects pedals on her mic. "This is such an amazing welcome for us out of New York City. They let us out of our cage!"
Meanwhile, a nearby neighborhood dog barked on.
Using a loop pedal, guitar, keyboards, synthesizer and drum pad, the two proceeded to layer her expressive voice and the array of instruments until dense songs wove their way through the waning light of a Tuesday evening.
"This song is called "I Promise" and I do," she said, beginning a haunting song that stopped every conversation in the backyard.
Can we ever go back to the life we had
Can we ever go back to the life we had
When it's over?
She had to stop after a bit to scratch her legs, which were being bitten by bugs (no doubt all that virgin Brooklyn meat of hers) until someone handed her a can of bug spray so she could carry on.
Their set ended all too soon and she thanked us. "This has been an unbelievable pleasure for us."
Mutual, I'm sure, Cat.
While Nettles got set up, people helped themselves to more beer and a few left, but I stayed put in my comfortable deck chair, admiring the stars in the clear night sky.
We have exactly nine days until the days start getting incrementally shorter again and I am enjoying every moment of it until then.
But as soon as Nettles began I was reminded of the reasons I was so originally taken with their sound.
Multiple voice harmonies. Flute. Poetry for lyrics.
They started with an old song Guion said they'd changed just last night and not practiced since.
Not that anyone could have been able to tell.
Tonight is the first night of their tour and they'll be recording an album at the end of the month, so we were the lucky first audience for a bunch of new songs.
"Anyone ever read "A Streetcar Named Desire" or seen the play?" Guion asked before assigning us homework to do so and playing a song based on it.
Maybe because I have read and seen it, I found the song beautifully evocative.
He explained "Rogue Bodies" by saying, "Do you know about rogue planets? They don't have any orbits, they just kind of go. It's kind of like touring."
It was just the kind of song you'd want to hear while sitting under an inky night sky.
My mother is chaos. My Dad's a black hole.
Explaining that he'd brought his beer because he and his wife were about to leave for the beach, he joked, "We don't usually bring our pagan beverages with us when we play."
Next came "The Knot," another exquisite and poetic new song.
Most of us had heard that this show almost didn't happen because of a prolonged tornado warning for the area tonight.
"But it turned out fine. The weather's great. We have beer. The mosquitoes are manageable with poison."
It's all relevant.
After another song about trauma, Guion called out, "Someone who lives here tell me, one more song or two."
From the wicker couch came, "One!"
"Buzz kill!" said a disappointed voice from over by the hedge.
As the last strains of "Pumps" filled the air, I looked around at all the people still sprawled on blankets and chairs looking blissed out.
As I walked past the glider to leave, the Nashville transplant looked at me and said, "Wow, Karen, you were right about Nettles...that flute, those voices. That was amazing!"
Or, to paraphrase Cat, an unbelievable pleasure for a music lover.
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