And There It Goes

Tonight was the calm before the storm.

I have birthday plans for the next few days, every night.

And while I intentionally plan it so my birthday gets celebrated for as long as possible, I know from previous years that it's wise to take a wee rest in the midst of the reveling.

So that was me tonight, sedately having a Tennessee dog (mustard, onions, chili, cole slaw) and chocolate shake at the bar of City Dogs when a panicked-looking guy came in.

"We were just here and my friend's sister left her green cell phone here," he said breathlessly, indicating the bar area immediately adjacent to where I sat.

The guy on the other side of the indicated area looked at me and we shrugged; neither of us had seen a green phone when we'd sat down.

We all checked the floor, the bar stools and nothing.

The bartender had the bright idea of telling the guy to call the girls' phone, but he said he didn't know her number.

That was when the friend and her sister, the one who'd lost the phone in the first place, came rushing in.

Fortunately, she knew her own number and gave it to the bartender to call, hoping to locate the phone that way.

He called, we heard nothing.

Just then an older guy with a backpack comes in the restaurant holding a green phone out in front of him.

Turns out he'd found it in the grass on Main Street, ringing, and brought it into the nearest business.

The girl who'd lost it snatched it out of his hand, saying, "Thanks, crazy guy," and flouncing out of the restaurant with her phone and friends in tow.

The guy two seats away who'd helped me look around for the phone looked at me incredulously.

I'm sure my look was identical.

She could have at least bought the guy a $1 RVA dog, I said to him, still amazed at her rudeness and sense of entitlement.

"You mean instead of calling him "crazy guy" for no good reason?" he asked.

Clearly some people were raised by wolves.

I left that crowd for something more civilized, the Listening Room.

Clearly the planets were still out of alignment, though, because despite arriving at 7:32, someone was already sitting in my seat.

Okay, it's not my seat but it is the one I always sit in.

Plan B, the seat directly in front of my usual.

Also unusual tonight was that there was no set decoration onstage because Firehouse Theater is between shows.

Playing first tonight was man-about-town Prabir, playing songs off his new album, "Once Upon a Breakfast Menu."

It took him no time at all to play the funny guy, asking the crowd, "How're you guys doing?" before putting out his hand to stop us from answering.

After all, there's no talking at the Listening Room.

He did a song called "Clouds" about reaching for a CD ("what an archaic reference") and one called "Sept. 7" with an analogy for the ages.

"I took out a knife and carved up this life."

After multiple exotic tunings, Prabir called a friend up on stage so they could have a bowl of cereal together while we watched.

It was breakfast as performance art, only with Silk because Prabir has apparently recently gone vegan.

He also invited violinist Treesa and bassist Matt up to augment a few songs and promote their show Sunday night.

"We're playing a show with Paul McCartney's son at the Camel Sunday night," Prabir said.

"He has a name, you know," Matt reminded him.

"Yea, ca-ching!" Prabir retorted, grinning.

Fortunately, it's okay to laugh at the Listening Room.

Next MC Chris introduced Mohawk Lodge, a Canadian band with most of the members on their way back to Canada.

The tour that had begun April 29 had the rest of the band members leaving in the band van to return to Canada today while leader Ryder continued solo in a rental car ("It's kind of tough but I couldn't not play a show").

Taking the stage with his electric guitar, he took a moment to listen to the silence and observed, "Wow, this is an amazing room."

There was a lot going on his songs, despite him subbing for an entire band.

Favorite lyric: "I call timber because everyone I know is falling."

He took requests from the audience and played them, to his credit.

"Canadian Girl," was requested, along with "Calm Down," about which he said, "I haven't played this in a really long time."

I'm sure I wasn't the only one touched when he said, "I woke up today and my grandmother died and I'm going to play some songs. This one is for my Dad."

He played a couple of songs that had been written when he was part of a songwriters' conference in Berlin, including a political one despite not being a political person, he said.

"You guys are rad," he said, promising, "I'm coming back to Virginia."

We should be so lucky.

During intermission, I heard a friend's report on the new Mellow Mushroom in Carytown.

He gave it a thumbs up for the extensive beer list and vegan cheese available, neither of which matter one bit to me.

I am curious to see the Plan 9 tribute wall, though.

The last band of the night was My Old Ways, whom I'd seen at the Listening Room last June.

Made up of members from a bunch of local bands, they feature acoustic guitar, pedal steel, bass, drums and backup vocals/shaker.

Playing drums and every kind of percussion he could get his hands on was Willis, the guy who adds immeasurably to any band he plays in.

And he has dimples.

There were sad songs, pirate jokes, a song called "Dance" ("I just want to dance") and one written only two days ago, "And There It Goes."

I have to admire a band willing to debut something so new, although the lead singer acknowledged, "This last song we're going to play may be a disaster."

Favorite lyric: "Can we just go back to 2003?"

As evocative a lyric as that is, I don't really want to.

I've already carved up the last ten years and that knife is a tad dull at the moment.

Maybe I'll call timber instead.

Plein Air Richmond

My pink tank top gave me away.

I wore pink because it was "highly encouraged" for the annual Carytown rose crawl, always a highlight of June.

Festivities began at C Street where I found a pierced and bearded friend serving and opted for the Muga Rose, which tasted of strawberry and rhubarb, much like the pie I'd had on Father's Day.

Sitting on the patio, my friend and I were a tad warm, but the rose went down easily and we chatted up strangers for entertainment.

Before we knew it, we were herded to Amour for stop number two. Wisely, my friend and I were in the first wave, ensuring that we got prime bar seats at Amour.

It was a wise decision. Not only did they have pink menus (nice touch!) but flights and "perfect food pairings."

That would be business as usual at Amour.

Why settle for single pours when you can get three pours, we wondered, ordering two flights and two pairings.

Bieler Pere et Fills had pale color and a crisp finish, Domaine du Pere Caboche was bigger with flavors of strawberry (my friend's favorite of the flight) and Chateau de Valcombe was a beautifully balanced pink.

While we shared stories of high school and mothers, we noshed on bleu cheese melted on baguettes with apple slices (divine) and smoked salmon mousse on cucumber (silky, smokey mouthfeel).

When we finally moved on from Amour to head to Secco, we were delayed by artists painting en plein air along Cary Street.

I'd seen several more on Monument Avenue yesterday and I'm excited to see painters working outdoors everywhere I go.

Walking into Secco, we were easily the last rose crawlers to arrive.

Slow and steady wins the race, my friends.

No matter because we found a spot near the back door and ordered Domaine Brazilier Coteaux du Ventomois, a lovely orange wine which my friend nailed as smelling like peanuts.

There were so many people to talk to: the friend who'd recently seen the Lumineres, the one who'd challenged the guard at the Naval Observatory, the couple who gave me top prize for wearing pink top to bottom.

I'm not certain if it was the array of conversational partners or the endless rose, but all of a sudden I asked the time and realized I had places to be.

An hour ago.

Good thing Richmond's a small town.

Moments later, I was at the Firehouse for the Listening Room, sliding into my seat in time to hear Up the Chain.

Cupid, don't lay down your weary bones.

"This song is called "Something New" and it's just that," the lead singer told us.

We'll stick around and see it through.

I especially liked what the keyboard added to their Philly folk sound.

After their set, I made the rounds to say hello, taking a few moments to score some Dixie Donuts since there were so many laid out for the crowd.

That German chocolate doughnut is worth whatever it does to my body for the dense, rich chocolate cake and icing under the coconut and nut topping.

I teased the photographer, usually late to any music event, who reminded me that he has to be on time for the Listening Room, unlike some of us.

My Old Ways was a Richmond super group of sorts, comprised of member of various bands I've seen.

I need a sign.

Pedal steel looked to be from David Schultz and the Skyline, the singer from Palominos and the drummer, well, I'll just quote the singer about Will, the drummer.

"Raise your hand if you've ever played in a band with Willis," he laughed.

Hands were raised. Lots of hands.

So far, the band had played only one show, at the Ghost of Pop back in December, but tonight was their CD release show.

"This is a song about Jesus," the singer said. "The cool one, not the one who makes everyone feel shitty."

Ohhh, that Jesus.

We got love, but you got logic.

The lead singer was waxing poetic about Richmond, saying, "I recently moved from here," resulting in a few boos for his questionable choice.

"What a wonderful city this is. I hope you're enjoying It, riding your bike in the Fan and drinking a beer on someone's porch. And make sure you go out and see some live music."

It's always satisfying to hear someone remind us how good we've got it. I never forget, but I know some people lose sight of that fact.

I just want to dance.

After their brief set, a girlfriend came over with an "a-ha!" look on her face.

"I know where you've been!" she said, pointing. "You were at the rose crawl!"

Drat! How had she known?

"Your pink top," she said with the satisfaction of a super sleuth.

I admitted as much and asked what especially great things I'd missed with my tardiness.

"Brad Hinton yodeled," she said, knowing how jealous I'd be. "Twice! It was so awesome."

So that about summed it up.

I sold out yodeling for rose.

On the plus side, the pinks were outstanding, the company clever and companionable and the painting en plein air an unexpected pleasure.

But as advised, I always make sure I go out and see some live music.

It's just my (old) way.