Brunch Punch

You never know what chef and sous chefs you'll run into at brunch.

Especially on the first day a restaurant opens for brunch.

Despite a recent dinner visit, I was sucked in by the Roosevelt's brand-new brunch debuting today, so that's where I landed after my morning walk.

The dining room was half full, the music was local (Homemade Knives) and the vibe was "just woke up and need good food" casual.

All of that worked for me.

I'd brought the new Washington Post Fall Dining Guide in case I didn't find good conversation but I immediately ran into restaurant types enjoying a day off.

A four-top of them told me that they'd covered the menu and loved it all, so I had their seal of approval to try anything.

In a related note, I noticed that you could add foie gras to any menu item.

Starting with a glass of Virginia Fizz, I ordered the three breakfast sausage corn dogs with maple syrup that promised (and delivered) the tantalizing combo of sweet and salty.

Each taste of the fat Sausagecraft sage breakfast links covered in corn batter and dunked in syrup provided breakfast in a  bite.

I watched as bourbon tea punches were dispatched from the bar with little umbrellas in them. For some reason, I found that charming.

While I ate, a customer came up to the bartender and inquired about the music.

Since the barkeep was the wife of the singer being asked about, the customer left with not only the band and song name but an e-mail address to get the CD.

It's all about the details.

When the same bartender mistakenly made a mimosa instead of a Bloody Mary, I was the recipient of the mistake and lapped up the pulp-filled beverage that is sure to annoy the dishwasher with its bits of fruit clinging to the glass long after the beverage is gone.

Undecided between coffee cake and a biscuit with maple butter, I went with the latter, sure that Chef Lee would deliver a biscuit worthy of my Richmond grandmother, who made fresh biscuits three times a week for us growing up.

Bessie would have been proud.

Amazingly, there was even a little butter left after I inhaled the biscuit, a highly unusual state of affairs for this butter lover.

I ran into an artist whose work hangs in my living room, a musician I've heard many times (and continue to enjoy) and a good friend with whom I shared my recent horoscope ("I got chills when I read it," she said. Don't I know it?).

A local chef arrived and took up residence next to me, providing stellar conversation and company for the rest of my stay.

With my peach Bellini delivering its intoxicating aroma with every sip, we discussed the newest restaurants (including his own), the problems associated with burning bridges and who's becoming the new Cabo's (an insult if ever there was one).

I left with lunch plans on Tuesday, dinner plans on Wednesday and bar plans a week from Thursday.

Oh, yes, and plans to return to the Roosevelt for brunch and the fried chicken biscuit as soon as possible.

Like Sugar on My Tongue

You'd think that people who had been naked for a week wouldn't get nervous about much.

Butt tonight's Lobo Marino Homecoming show dispelled that theory.

The Firehouse Theater played host to a show of three Richmond favorites, all with wildly divergent sounds: Allison Self, Homemade Knives and the returning heroes, Lobo Marino.

The house was slow to fill up and the show didn't start on time, but once chanteuse Allison Self opened her mouth to sing, all that was forgotten.

If you haven't heard Allison before, it's a shock when you first hear this twenty-something's voice, because it sounds like a vintage 20s or 30s record, maybe something from Lucille Bogan's era.

Although she did a couple of original songs, Allison leans toward covering classic Americana and did so tonight with excellent choices by Loretta Lynn, Gillian Welch and the Memphis Jug Band while accompanying herself on ukulele.

During the break, I was talking with friends about the next band, Homemade Knives. A story was told about a  friend who brought tissues to their show because, she said, "Their songs make me weepy."

There is something heart-breaking and sad about HK's lyrics as well as Will Loyal's earnest and low-key vocals, especially with Anousheh and Jonathan's beautiful harmonies behind him.

Will commented that he took up the guitar late and didn't seem to be getting any better at it.

"Are we in tune?" he asked Jonathan, who answered affirmatively.

"He's the one who knows," Will acknowledged.

Late in the set while Jonathan was playing guitar and harmonica, his holder suddenly slipped.

Without missing a beat, he caught it and returned it to the upright position in time to play the next note.

Afterwards he asked rhetorically, "How was that for a harmonica save?" Pretty damn impressive, actually.

Favorite lyric: "I will hold you like sugar on my tongue."

Both Jameson and Laney of Lobo Marino had mentioned during the break how nervous they were, which seemed odd considering how many times I've seen them play out and how many friends they had in the audience.

Taking the stage, Laney noticed a lot of new faces in the crowd and introduced themselves, saying they were just back from tour.

"We've played all over the country. I've never been as nervous as tonight," she laughed. Playing in front of strangers carries no stress compared to playing for friends apparently.

In between playing songs like "Pope's Nose" and "Animal Hands," they told stories of their travels.

Describing the creepiest place they'd slept brought on stories of a bar in Florida near the lake where the alligators were relocated when Disney Land was built.

Adorned with decapitated baby dolls and zombies on the ceiling, a woman in the bar told them that the place used to have a spirit living there, but that she'd cleared it out. Laney said she'd slept just fine.

She also acknowledged LM's third member, multi-instrumentalist Nathaniel (banjo, drum, trumpet, to name just three) who had joined them for part of the tour before returning to Virginia.

Addressing her remarks to Nathaniel's girlfriend, she said, "Thank you for loaning us Nathanael. He missed you so much. It was pathetic."

Who doesn't want to hear that they were missed? Certainly not me.

For us long-time LM fans, it was a thrill to be treated to a new song written while the band was in California with no clothes on.

For a week they were staying at a clothing-optional commune, which had nothing to do with optional, as Jameson explained. "That means no clothes."

There among the giant redwoods and the nudity, a new song was written. Tonight was its debut.

"That proves we were productive on tour," Jameson said afterwards about the beautiful song.

The next time I'm struggling with low productivity, I think I'll strip down and see what it does for my creative juices.

Let's just say I've been inspired by the Homecoming King and Queen of Lobo Marino.

The Power of Moving Pictures, Pie and Piano

The beauty of the quarterly James River Filmmakers Forum is the variety of unexpected scenarios you'll get to see in the local shorts screened. Tuck your cocktails under your seats and fasten your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen. It's going to be a colorful ride.

Let's see, tonight at Balliceaux that included a tea party on Church Hill with the devil, a Muslim woman working on her Ph.D while suffering through bad matchmaking attempts and a couple of local restaurant owners emerging naked from the river covered in fake blood. It's hard to overstate the pleasures of that kind of entertainment.

Five filmmakers were showing tonight and their work ranged across the spectrum. Daniel Lowe's time lapse films in high def were pure eye candy, the treetops looking almost nervous in their movements and the racing stars resembling a planetarium show.

Or as he put it, "There's not much to think about with my work. It's just meant to be pretty." From behind me, man-about-town Harry Kollatz piped up, "Kind of like me." True that, Harry.

Christine Stoddard's "Tea Party with Death" had a female death figure holding a very proper tea party with miniature cups and saucers, but be on your best behavior; use improper etiquette and you're dead.

The nudes emerging from the river, "Harbinger," were the work of Harrison Moenich, who commented, "It's really hard to find people willing to come out of the water naked in cold weather." He considered the piece to be a horror movie stripped down to its most basic level.

"Menna," by Ashley Zahorian addressed the duality of a typical young American woman with traditional Muslim beliefs. Typical, that is, if you're getting your Ph.D in electrical engineering and your aunts are shoving one loser Muslim man after another at you.

Made from Super 8 home movies, "Expecting to Fly" was Ethan Bullard's experimental sci-fi film about a military unit trying to locate heaven. After the space race, there was apparently a faith race. Who knew?

The footage was from the 60s and shot in Alaska, which subbed for Pluto, and Virginia. The unit had a Deadly Garbage Accelerator that threw garbage onto the dark side of the moon. One dedicated man stayed behind to search for heaven and ended up back on earth. High drama indeed.

The humor of the simply-told story was matched only by the very cool vintage 8 mm footage Bullard used. I love the look of Super 8 films and the soundtrack, which included two songs by Explosions in the Sky, echoed the vastness of the landscape with enormous soundscapes.

During the panel discussion with the filmmakers afterwards, the audience got the chance to find out the how and why of the films. It's such a great way to get inside the creative heads of those compelled to make movies, assuming that that's a place you want to peer in to.

It was raining lightly when I left Balliceaux for Ipanema and the monthly installment of Live at Ipanema, making it a cozy night for live music.

I arrived to find friends at the bar, so I joined them for a piece of blueberry pie a la mode; one of my friends had the apple blueberry, sparking a discussion of how badly RVA needs a dedicated pie shop. Pies are the new cupcakes, mark my words.

Playing tonight was Anousheh Khalili, she of the beautiful voice and talented piano fingers. Her set went from new to old, she forewarned us, with a stopover in the '80s for a Phil Collins cover she particularly loves, "In the Air Tonight." Oh, yes, she did.

She did some songs from her rare tour EP, including the touching "Suitcase." She was then joined onstage by her husband, musician Will Loyal of Homemade Knives, of which she is also a member, on background vocals.

Her final addition was Jonathan Vassar, also of Homemade Knives, on accordion and guitar (once he borrowed a pick, that is, having misplaced his own) and adding to the richness of Anousheh's already-beautiful sound.

She said she's been listening to a lot of R & B like CeLo Green (and anyone he works with) lately, mostly for structure but also for its pop sensibilities. Combine that with her voice and piano playing and it's a killer combination.

As is an evening of outstanding local film followed by soaring local music in a hushed room.

You may now unfasten your seatbelts. And, please, have some pie.

Forget Comfy. Try Something New.

It was sort of bittersweet; tonight was the last Silent Music Revival put on by my friend Jameson, the genius behind the event.

He and his beloved leave for the West Coast soon and don't expect to be back before fall, so the shows will be managed by other capable hands, although not his.

In a nod to it being his last, he had made an unusual film choice, 1922's Haxan: Witchcraft Through the Ages, a documentary about how superstition and a lack of understanding of mental illness once led to witch hunts.

To further add to the final night mystique, tonight's band, Homemade Knives, had been allowed to not only view but score the film.

This is notable because with every other SMR, the bands had improvised a score to a film they had never laid eyes on.

We didn't see the entire film, only a half hour segment of narrative about a woman being accused of being a witch.

The dramatized sequence had the woman being accused of making a dying man sick and the torture and questioning she faced as a result.

Homemade Knives' score was superb; it followed the narrative perfectly and added a dramatic element to it.

What was unsettling was how the audience laughed at the most inappropriate times, like when a bloody baby was about to be boiled, for instance.

Macabre moments seemed to make people giggle; it was very strange. Several other people noticed and made comments to me, so I wasn't the only one disturbed by it.

I lingered after the show to mingle, talk about the film and music and spend time with friends. Several people asked me what my next stop was and I told them I had nothing further planned.

But I began to feel like I would be a disappointment if I headed home at 9:30 and I wasn't ready to end my evening anyway, so I punted.

I couldn't think of any of my regular hangouts that were calling to me tonight, so I opted for something different, namely Patrick Henry Pub on Church Hill.

The bar only had a couple of empty stools when I arrived, but I snagged one on the corner and settled in to see what might turn up.

Within moments, I was delighted to hear the guys next to me start talking food, servers and Christian warriors (want some Jesus with that ice cream?).

Bingo! I had my conversational partners.

They turned out to be delightful, too.

One manages a Carytown restaurant and the other clerks for a judge and both were foodies with opinions to spare. We got right down to it.

Aside from an hour or more discussing the strengths and weaknesses of various restaurants, we got into a spirited discussion of who doesn't eat what.

It turned out that one eschews oysters because (and this was my favorite line of the evening), "Oysters are like licking the ass crack of the ocean." Come on, that's brilliant.

And, no, I didn't agree with him, but I laughed long and hard at how well he had expressed his feeling.

The other had yet to try foie gras for some vaguely ethical reasons.

I think our gushing descriptions of its taste may have persuaded him to give it a try very soon, perhaps even this week.

One had recently done a stint in DC, so he wanted to talk restaurants there. Like me, he loves Zatinya and Oyamel, although, unlike me, he hadn't tried the grasshopper or tongue tacos at the latter.

Next to my two new friends was a recent come-back to RVA, a guy who had grown up here and just returned after 25 years and living in Chicago, California, and Barcelona in the interim. He was saying what a tough time he was having finding out where to eat here now that he was back.

He was feeling his ignorance particularly keenly because his ex-girlfriend had been a food writer and he'd been the happy sidekick to all her eating adventures.

Now he felt like he was settling for the old and familiar, like a pair of comfortable pajamas (where have I heard that analogy before, hmm?).

Once he overheard our discussion, he joined in, asking me for recommendations on where to find raw oysters and my blog; I accommodated him on both counts.

I was surprised to learn that the disarming duo had not yet eaten at The Empress, despite knowing Carly and Melissa, so we made plans to have a threesome there in the near future and correct that.

The music was loud and varied (The Darkness, Erika Badu, The Cure) and our discussion deviated from food long enough to cover music (the one was amazed that I knew Mumford and Sons) and the Girl Talk show the other had attended last night ("A bunch of amateurs stumbling around by 9:00").

When I looked up and realized the time, I started wrapping things up with my new friends.

They thanked me profusely for my company and I did the same.

None of us had expected to stumble onto so much of shared interest with strangers and we all felt fortunate for having done so on a random Sunday night.

Sometimes punting is the way to go, never more so than when it leads to the potential for scoring.

Walking in the Dark

It's an excellent night musically when I can start with one kind of music at 6:30 and end somewhere else with a completely different kind at 12:30.

It was the recent Folk Fest that landed me at Barrel Thief tonight for the Jason Jenkins Trio. At that mind-blowing Zakir Hussain show, I had sat next to a local drummer who had arrived as ridiculously early for the show as I had, so we'd had plenty of time to talk music, shows and audiences.

He had mentioned then that he was playing a show at Barrel Thief tonight and suggested I come by for some jazz to start my evening. I'll admit I was a little surprised when I arrived around 6:35 to find that most tables were taken and the remaining reserved. Luckily, there was a corner banquette with a low table in front of it with a great view of the band and I was ushered to it.

Taking Virginia Wine month to heart, I chose the Pollak Vineyards Meritage (a stellar blend of Cab Franc, Merlot and Petite Verdot) for my drinking pleasure throughout the evening and started with the olive tapenade, chevre and cucumber bruschetta.

Later, at my server's suggestion, I had the Chef's grilled cheese on rosemary foccacia, an interesting take on the standard, with multiple cheeses and sun-dried tomato spread. I do wish Barrel Thief had a wider menu.

My drumming friend and his cohorts were playing a variety of jazz standards to the obvious delight of the attentive audience, some of whom commented to the band between songs like old friends, or at least neighbors and frequent attendees.

During the break my drummer friend came over to get reacquainted and talk about what else we'd each seen at the Folk Fest after the tabla tour de force. He'd gotten to see Salsa Duro, the one group I'd really wanted to see and didn't, so he got to rub that in, telling me how amazing they were and why.

I left midway through the second set because I wanted to make the Wood & Steel acoustic show at Gallery 5 and I had to make a quick stop at home to exchange cute wine bistro platform shoes for standing-on-cement-for-hours shoes (boots, actually) before walking over; it was a most necessary transition.

I passed a utility repairman doggedly trying to restore power to the unlit street lights and asked him if there would be light by the time I walked home from the show; he assured me that there would be. Always good to hear.

When I arrived, Nick Woods was playing an earnest set, followed by Shannon Cleary, who sang his song about seeing Matt and Kim at the bike lot show and then seeing them Thursday night when the floor felt close to collapsing. Later we talked about the sinking feeling we shared that night about the strength of the Canal Club's flooring versus the enthusiasm of everyone's dancing.

Ophelia was next, but performing as a duo rather than a quartet. The crowd was too noisy as far as my friend and I were concerned, talking and laughing loudly over the heartfelt vocals of David and Jonathan.

My friend, who teaches at VCU, later told me that he could relate to being in front of a room full of people, many of whom were paying no attention to you. Still, it seemed a shame to drown out such beautiful harmonies.

Prabir and the Goldrush were next, doing their usual rock-your-socks-off set. When Prabir went to dedicate a song to a girl, violinist Treesa mentioned that her parents were in the audience, so the song instead went to them. Irreverently, it was followed by a song about smoking weed; no dedication necessary.

The final band was the trio Homemade Knives and they set up on the floor in front of the stage and the remaining members of the audience crowded around them, some sitting on the cold floor (not this girl) and others standing around.

Their haunting set ended with a much-slowed-down cover of Springsteen's Dancing in the Dark, because, according to lead singer Will, "covers are fun." It was an ironic comment considering that the somber and slow version they did of the up-tempo rock standard took the song to a whole new meaningful level and fun had nothing to do with it.

My friend offered to drive me home in case the street lights were still out, but I told him I was willing to go it alone. As I told him, what was going to happen, that I'd die on the streets of J-Ward on a Saturday night under a full moon?

"Worse things could happen," he grinned as he twirled his moustache, knowing I'd be just fine.

Do I have the option of being otherwise?

Pulling Back the Curtain

Any way you look at it, tonight was a stellar opportunity to hear music in the capital city. There was Folk Fest, Acme Thunderer Label launch at Gallery 5, Built to Spill at the National, Diamond Center house show in Oregon Hill. And my choice, the Triple Stamp show at the Camel.

Any Triple Stamp show is worth taking in because of the quality of the musicians on their label, but tonight there was the added bonus of a reunion show by the too-long absent Mermaid Skeletons.

Yes, the same Mermaid Skeletons who seared a permanent place in my heart a few summers back with a memorable show in the garden of the Poe Museum on a sticky hot night where fans surrounded the garden to listen to the sold-out show.

They were preceded by the always-excellent Ophelia, minus their drummer and, for a change, Grant on guitar and David on bass and banjo. For several of my friends, it was their first Ophelia show and they were as impressed as I'd assured them they'd be.

Mermaid Skeletons, they of the many members, entrancing music and beautiful/silly lyrics, took the stage to a capacity crowd. When you haven't played for a few years, the devoted gather in droves. Tonight no one had to climb a pointed stone wall to see the band, but the enthusiasm to hear that distinctive sound was just as great.

During Homemade Knives's set, Will got almost four songs in before remembering to acknowledge his stage fright, a rarity for a guy who usually opens their set with panic attack talk. His voice, as ever, was as stirring on older original material as it was on an Otis Redding cover learned for a recent wedding.

Last but certainly not least, was Anousheh Khalili, a member of Homemade Knives, but doing her own thing along with drum and bass. Hers was the loudest set, relatively speaking, and the combination of her keyboards and voice did justice to the 80s-influenced new songs she was playing.

It was a truly mesmerizing show start to finish and the fact that the Camel was just as crowded at the start of the evening as it was at midnight was tribute to the brilliance of the Triple Stamp bill.

An unexpected highlight of the evening was meeting one of my most regular blog commenters who came to the show with a mutual friend. Owing to some music opining I had done for him, he was in my debt for a good tequila, so after the show we went around the corner to Balliceaux to settle up.

Satisfyingly, he turned out to be as big a music geek as I am, and it's always a pleasure to talk to those as obsessed as oneself. He has the added fortune of actually being a musician, so technically he's probably even more obsessed, a fact I almost envy. After discovering our mutual fandom for Beach House, bartender Austin made it so by playing the album.

My only concern is that now that he's met the person behind the curtain, he won't be nearly as fascinated by my ramblings.

And you can imagine how much I'd hate to lose a clever commenter. After all, it's the hope that my writing will engage someone enough to cause them to comment that makes all of this worthwhile in the first place.

Conversation, whether virtual or face-to-face, is always the objective with me. Nothing like stating the obvious.

Show Me the Music

Driving back from the beach today, I had the distinct pleasure of knowing that once home (or, at least, once the beach laundry was done, the luggage unpacked, the plants watered and the apartment tidied), it would only be a matter of hours before it was time for dinner and live music. Alright, there may have been a wee nap in there too, but after two weeks of at-will napping, that may be a tough habit to break right away.

I was headed to Ipanema to meet a friend for dinner and catch up on two weeks worth of goings-on, both hers and mine. As she's fond of saying, "How does so much happen in between seeing each other?" Hell if I know but fortunately we had hours to share it all.

There were new things on Ipanema's menu and I was all about trying them. After the house salad with carrot/ginger vinaigrette, I had to try the Thai corn cakes with mango/pineapple chutney. As a showcase for summer's current star, sweet corn, the cakes were knockouts, full of kernels and fresh flavor; the chutney was sweet perfection on each bite. We shared these tonight, but next time they're all mine.

For dinner I had to try their take on mussels, steamed in a white wine and tomato broth with the creamiest garlic risotto and, wait for it, focaccia croutons. The risotto was an unexpected addition to a mussel dish and, in a way, did the work of the usual bread sopping. The croutons were there for the required bread taste (and, oh, what a wonderful taste!). All in all, a unique take on a classic dish.

Ipanema has a new baker which means I have a whole new variety of desserts to taste and tonight's was banana cake with chocolate icing. The large piece of cake had a moist, dense crumb with a rich banana taste enhanced by all that chocolate frosting. So far, I'd have to give the new baker a gold star.

The signs posted on the door had warned the incoming crowd that the show was being recorded and to refrain from talking and, by god they did. Homemade Knives had chosen to do an all-Springsteen set by some sort of divine intervention and it was truly a thing of beauty.

It was probably three songs in, when they launched into "Dancing in the dark" with an arrangement so unlike the original as to be a completely different song, that the audience realized what an amazing set they were hearing. I said as much to my friend, who commented, "I know, right? I didn't once think of Courtney Cox." She gave me bonus points for getting the reference, but come on.

"I'm on fire" was just as striking for a version even more haunting than the original. Preparing to do their one original song for a closer, Will said, "Thank you guys for being so quiet. I know we're in a bar, but it doesn't feel like it."

I'd have to agree that it was probably the most respectful audience ever at a Live at Ipanema show, but I also know that a good portion of the audience was there specifically to hear Homemade Knives and for many, it was their first time hearing them since the band's recent reunion. I'd been fortunate enough to hear them at the Listening Room not long ago, so I knew to expect wonderful things and they delivered.

You can come back from vacation and wish you were still gone or you can come back and dive right back into everything you love about home. It's good to be back.

Upping the Ante at the Listening Room

What if we took the Listening Room concept to the next level? What if we tried to make Richmond a place that became known for attentive audiences who did not shout or party at top volume during a show? What if I discovered that I wasn't the only person who had this fantasy?

Well, damn if I'm not. During a conversation with band photographer extraordinaire PJ Sykes at tonight's Listening Room performance, we talked about the recent Spoon show at the National. Like me, he'd been appalled at the rude and unruly crowd. Since then, he said several people had brought up the same subject to him and an idea had begun to foment.

What if a grass-roots movement started to encourage listening rather than talking at places like the National? PJ suggested carrying small cards which would be politely and silently handed to talkers at shows. They'd say something along the lines of "Here in Richmond, we like to hear our shows. Please, no talking during the performance." Then there'd be a website address should the cardholder want to learn more about the movement.

As he pointed out, bands would spread the word that rva was a great listening town. Hell, they spread the word about the backstage facilities and bands have admitted to booking here for that reason alone. Imagine how popular we could become among the earnest musician set. And as someone who's had my fair share of being surrounded by partiers with no interest in listening, I wouldn't hesitate to hand a stranger a card that paraphrased "Shut the fuck up."

But I digress. It was another stellar, in fact, possibly Top Two Ever show at the Listening Room this evening. It was most certainly the biggest crowd so far at the Michaux House and while I was quite comfy (having no blood or circulation) many around me were fanning themselves. The poor musicians, under the lights, looked downright shiny and hot.

First up was Brown Bird from Rhode Island. The last time they played here was five years ago at the now-defunct Nonesuch and they were a duo then. Tonight's trio put on a show to be remembered, rootsy and folky; it's not often you hear a sea chantey as a finale. Or see a guy playing guitar with his hands, drums with both feet and singing lead.

With dobro, guitar, cello, fiddle and drum, they had an unusual sound, far more driving than your typical Americana band. And such a drum: upside down and open on top to allow the addition of bells and whatever, it made for a hard-driving element throughout. The audience reacted with moving heads, feet and shoulders. Favorite lyric, "I haven't quite thrown enough of me away." Brown Bird got the most extended applause of any band I've seen at the Listening Room and I've been to every one.

The headliner was local band Homemade Knives, who hadn't played a show in three years. Lead singer Will told us right up front that he'd prefer to play for us, "ten at a time" and asked that the rest of the audience step out of the room for a bit. No one budged. "I couldn't be more nervous," he admitted.

They're a five-piece (accordion, keys, guitars and cello), who've also been around for a while, but on hiatus after the death of a member. Their harmonies are beautiful and their acoustic folk sound a thing of beauty, and tonight put them back in the spotlight in front of an adoring crowd.

When Jonathan took a minute to change instruments and grab his harmonica, the band prepared to start without him. "Wait for me!" he implored. "I'm just trying to get through this," Will lamented. The did a Tom Waits cover and an "old song done new" from an early EP, Industrial Parks. Favorite lyric, "If you would only run, I could chase you."

Their set was short and ended with Will telling us that "that's all the songs we know." As a musician friend said to me at that point, "I could have listened to another 25 minutes of that." Me, too.

And the beauty of that statement is that we were listening. The only voices were the ones on stage. Maybe it has something to do with the program cards which are on every seat when the audience arrives. "Please, no talking during the performance."

Hmm, sounds like the basis of a grass-roots idea. Count me in.