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.

Curated by Karen

Tonight I got my reward for nearly perfect attendance.

It was Listening Room 32 and I have  attended 31 of them, missing only July 2010, for which I was called out.

Let's just say I never made that mistake again.

So when I was asked many months ago to curate tonight's event, I agreed with anticipation and not a little trepidation.

If I chose bands that appealed to me, would other people feel the same?

Tonight I was going to find out.

Things got off to a great start with Dixie Donuts and lots of my friends in attendance for support.

Okay, so maybe they'd have been at the Listening Room anyway, but some knew I'd have their heads if they  didn't show.

And they did.

Emcee Chris did his usual casual opening speech, anticipating the inevitable arrival of organizer Jonathan to remind him of something.

It's like an old vaudeville routine in its reliability, much like the one light that always fell when the Listening Room was at the Michaux House.

Afterwards, Chris announced that the show had been curated by Karen, raved about my blog and the pressure was on.

I'd chosen locals Sweet Fern because they sound like no one else.

Josh, looking very dapper in a vest and button-down shirt, demonstrated his ability to play guitar, mandolin (played so enthusiastically he broke a string) and banjo, sing and crack wise while Allison's big voice is a singular pleasure.

Calling themselves an itinerant band, they did several Carter Family songs (they are, after all, the bedrock of Sweet Fern) and songs with evocative names like "You're Breaking My Heart" and "Three Night Drunk," an hilarious song that played to Allison's acting and comedic skills.

A couple of songs in, my friend turned to me and whispered excitedly, "I love male and female voices singing together."

I knew what she meant; hearing these two together was making fans of everyone in the room.

Eventually Josh tried passing his guitar to Allison to play, causing her to tell the crowd that it was the two-year anniversary of her playing guitar.

"Are you ever gonna commit to one guitar?" Josh teased her.

"I'm committed to the open road," she shot back.

Their banter was just another highlight of their performance and Josh indicated that they hoped to add some routines to their act.

"Are you guys excited about seeing Nettles?" he asked us. "I've been web-stalking them all afternoon. I'm excited to be on the bill with other plant life."

The very same thing had occurred to me.

Whether doing Doc Watson, Johnny Cash or Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn songs (Allison: "I'll sing Conway's part"), the set list was a peek into another time.

"Now all the Depression-era songs are coming back," Josh said, "What with poverty and debt and all."

I can do without Depression Redux, but as long as Sweet Fern is singing the soundtrack to the thrifty life, I'm good.

During the break, I made the rounds and had first-timers raving to me about what they'd just heard.

The scientist, as usual, slipped me some chocolate when he saw me; the friend who hadn't been to the L.R. since the night she met her good-looking hunk of man-meat (her words, not mine) came and brought her hunk; even the poet showed up after being singled out online.

Hey, whatever works, I say.

While the six-piece Nettles got set up onstage, I went up to meet leader Guion, whom I knew only from our series of e-mails arranging their appearance.

Everything was going according to my plan.

After some technical difficulties with a guitar, the band settled into making some exquisitely beautiful music, part folk, a little Celtic-inspired and in general very poetic.

Since they're from Charlottesville and don't play here, they were a fresh sound for an RVA audience.

Guion made the most of it, saying, "I can reuse all my jokes here."

Favorite line: "You'll be an old woman by the time I come to get you."

"Houses," about a friend who'd caught fire (we were assured said friend is better now) featured flute player Juliana playing saw (always a treat), heart-stopping harmonies of three or four voices and some of the most interesting banjo playing I've ever seen.

I was especially taken with what Sam's synth added to Nettles' sound; it was the element that kept working its way into my ears.

Guion mentioned the poet Frank Stanford as a source of inspiration, specifically his 542-page poem, "The Battlefield Where the Moon says I Love You."

The songs were beautiful, with titles like "Keep, Pt 2" and "It Wasn't a Dream, It Was a Flood" and full of spaces, superb musicianship and the blending of voices.

I felt like we were in the middle of a lyrical poetry reading with instruments.

As if I hadn't had enough pleasure from the evening, Guion took a moment to thank the Listening Room and saying, "I got to met Karen earlier. She seems like a great woman."

Sigh. And I was worried about what?

Nettles finished with something unexpected, "Leather-Winged Bat," an old song with different birds giving advice on love.

Hi, said the little turtle dove
I'll tell you how to win her love
Court her night and court her day
Never give her time to say oh, nay!

Naturally I was thrilled with a band that ended with an old English folk song, but the prolonged applause at the end was hardly just mine.

They'd like it, they'd really liked it.

And why not?

Once again, the Listening Room had provided a stellar night of (free) music without the annoyance of people blathering over a single note.

And if I got more than a few pats on the back (not to mention the poster with my curating credit on it), well, apparently that's what happens when you do 31 of 32.

As thrilled as I am to have been asked to curate, the biggest satisfaction will be if I made Sweet Fern and/or Nettles fans out of anyone in the audience.

"I told you so," said the delighted curator.