Blow Out the Candles

The thing is, you can't not go.

How can anyone in this town justify not supporting a WRIR fundraiser? Where is there a better deal for the money than eight bands, comedy and assorted DJs for only 15 bucks? Why would I skip a party barely four blocks from home? Who doesn't love multiple kinds of birthday cake?

Walking over to WRIR's 11th annual Party for the Rest of Us, I ran into the photographer/printmaker I'd seen already twice this week. She attributed it to my presence at everything. "We need to make you a shirt that says EG - Everything Girl."

Once at the Renaissance, I was one of the early ones, meaning I could hear the DJ by the buffet and it was still full of food. As a favorite DJ put it, "I realized I'm here in time for the cheese cubes!" Her excitement was palpable.

The party's organizer walked by, enthusing, "Oh, my god, Karen, your tights!" I'd pulled out the Barcelona tights for the occasion, always an attention-getter.

Music began with Half Bascule, the quasi metal improv project of Dave and Nathaniel that always kicks ass. No surprise given Dave's massive pedal board and Nathaniel's exuberant drumming (his flannel shirt came off after the first song), but the two demonstrate remarkable compatibility considering how infrequently they play or rehearse.

From an improvised duo of two, I moved over to the ballroom for Brunswick, a 13-piece complete with jazz training, music stands and the inimitable (and noticeably slimmer) Reggie on percussion. For many, it was their first time seeing the band and they were clearly impressed, asking strangers who they were.

Lucy Dacus and her coat-clad band (sparkly t-shirts were revealed once they got hot enough to doff the coats) were next and seeing as Rolling Stone recently dubbed them a band to watch in 2016, the room filled up quickly.

I'd already run into Lucy in the loo, telling her I recall the first time I saw her play (long before the band stage) at Ghost Light Afterparty, where her acoustic cover of Prince's "I Would Die 4 U" made me weak in the knees. Now she's talking about the band soon making music full-time.

They grow up so fast, don't they?

Checking out the comedy showcase, I head a woman talking about her West Virginia/Muslim roots and somehow turning it into humor ("I moved to Richmond so now I drink craft beer and have cats tattooed on my back") before heading out for birthday cake.

With four kinds of cake, I chose chocolate chocolate, but had to cool my heels with other cake lovers until forks were brought out to eat it with. You want to eat with dignity when you're scarfing cake in front of hundreds of people.

Back in the ballroom, the all-female band Christi won my ears with a combination of girl group and punk influences, although as more than one friend pointed out, the incredibly high ceiling in that room compromised the sound quality ("They sound much better at Strange Matter," Paul told me and he would know) somewhat.

But their energy was terrific, the songs were all three minutes or less and lyrics resonated for those of us with girl parts. Besides, it's just such a treat to see an all female lineup, especially rocking that hard. You go, girls.

Night Idea played to a selection of silent movies behind them and their familiar math rock/proggy sound was well-suited to the black and white classics. "I think Richmond has more prog bands than metal bands these days," the film lover whispered to me.

I think Richmond has more independent radio fans than anything else and I can always count on seeing them at this birthday party.

From the dance party king just back from a shoot in Tidewater to the scooter queen recently back from a trip to Costa Rica to the literate guitarist with whom I discussed Elvis Costello's autobiography and Donald Fagen's charisma to the Australian I'd last met in a borrowed suit to the Gen X birthday boy whose party I have to miss Sunday to the former neighbor dapper in polka dots and boots to the various DJs I've come to know to the smiling friends I only saw in passing, it's a guaranteed get-together of just the kind of people you'd want at your own party, aka the rest of us.

You can count Everything Girl as happily part of that rest.

Exit Waves, Enter Music

I miss the sound of the ocean, but at least there was music.

After endless post-vacation chores (laundry and bills and plants, oh, my!), I took my first indoor shower in a week (missing the sky overhead as I wash already) to remove the last layer of sunscreen, sweat and sand from my person.

After wearing a bathing suit all day, every day for a week, I settled on the loosest dress I could find and made my way to Live at Ipanema.

I realized I'd been out of the loop when I heard live music as I approached Ips.

Since it was barely 9:45 and the music doesn't usually start until 10:30ish, I sensed I'd missed the memo about an early start time.

The crowd was already out the door.

Squeezing in behind the violinist who organizes Classical Incarnations, all I could see where the backs of people taller than me.

I heard a few songs by Night Idea, part math rock sounding, part progressive jazz sounding and then an announcement.

"Because we're recording this tonight and there was a glitch, the band is going to do the first and second song over again."

How very convenient for those of us late to the party as well as those who needed a smoke break.

After they repeated and absent the smokers, I made my way into the room to find friends.

After a week out of town, it was good to see the cute photographer, the filmmaker (tired of editing after an all-day session), a couple of musicians from a favorite band, the newly-appointed digital content director (I'm sure my reference sealed that deal), my favorite thrifter/cultural observer out late on a school night and the talented woman who taught me to drink (and brought me a documentary to watch).

It was a fine homecoming.

While the room had been mobbed during Night Idea, it was slightly less so for Floodwall, although they clearly had some rabid fans of their own.

Present for both sets was a woman with a large, pleather purse, clearly under the influence of god-knows-what but surely more than just alcohol, but eager to sing along to the band and sway uncontrollably as people nearby alternately looked aghast or giggled in amusement.

Floodwall had an interesting sound, although as one girlfriend noted, "I'd like them better if I were hearing them someplace besides around this crowd."

It was true; many of the people in attendance may have been friends or fans of the band, but that didn't stop them from bro-hugging, talking and flipping hair throughout their set.

Another friend complained that "the music doesn't go anywhere," but changed his tune late in their set when an urgent, more post-rock soundscape accompanied the interesting and emotive vocals.

The night's biggest laugh came courtesy of the bartender who, after the first few notes of a song, leaned in and said, "I thought they were going to do an Offspring cover and that would have been amazing."

When their effects-laden set ended, a friend looked at me and said, "Welcome to 1991. Now that was some shoegaze. I need to make a video for these guys."

Have at it, man. Hopefully you won't have to explain what shoegaze is to them.

I lived through it the first time, so I certainly know, despite having been carded at the door on the way in.

Damn, I guess hearing the ocean non-stop for a week works wonders on the complexion.

And the attitude.