Walk This Way

Today was like a day in Italy.

The weather was beautiful and I spent the day walking everywhere.

The only thing missing was the overly-forward men leering and saying inappropriate things.

Ah, Italian men.

First there was the hilly walk to the Bottom in search of lunch, a challenge after 2:00 we discovered.

Eventually we found settled in at Globehopper for sandwiches in the sunny room surrounded by people on laptops.

The walk back up the hill was far shadier, but still temperate enough to convince me I wanted an evening of the same.

Playing tourist, we stopped to admire the public art along Main Street, notable mainly for how inoffensive and uninteresting it was.

Really, in the city with the number one sculpture school in the country we can't find better large scale  sculpture?

After cleaning up and a change into evening attire, it was soon time to set out for Balliceaux and Classical Incarnations with members of the Richmond Symphony playing in small chamber group iterations.

The music began with a duo who morphed into a trio.

Next up was a guy on upright bass with a looping pedal, so I saw the equivalent of Dave Watkins done classically.

Very cool.

Next came a guy on guitar doing a Steve Reich composition with 16 guitar parts. As he explained it, it had been written in the 1980s and to do it all himself, he'd had to record all 16 tracks individually.

Tonight, he'd recorded all but one, saying, "Now I'm doing it with a laptop."

The New Age sounding piece was a dense layering of guitars.

We went on to hear a duo do a piece they said demonstrated Prokofiev's beautiful harmonies and did it ever.

Then came a favorite, a Brahms horn trio for piano, violin and French horn.

The horn player called it, "The quintessential chamber music for horn players."

I knew two of the three.

 Russell Wilson, the Symphony's pianist tore it up, even turning up the volume on his keyboard early on.

Treesa Gold's blond hair was flying as she got into her part and the horn player looked blissed out.

After intermission, they did a Brahms sonata that came about after another violinist and Russell had been jamming (i.e., sight-reading at a practice) on it last week.

It was a mashup of lullaby and lively.

Singer Lisa did two songs ("In English!") to Russell's accompaniment while the guy next to me noted, "This is chick music."

There were so many things I could have said, but why ruin a lovely Italian day?

My hands-down favorite piece was by Hayden and affectionately called "The Rider" for its galloping rhythms on two violins, viola and cello.

 A demented waltz by Shostakovitch was a killer finish as I looked around to see a roomful of  classical nerds smiling broadly at this madcap ending.

From classical music, we set out again, this time for Live at Ipanema and dessert.

Double chocolate cake and Franco Serra Dolcetta d'Alba took care of the last course of the day as the band set up.

Ocean vs. Daughter was playing so while we still had keyboards, it was quite a change from what we'd just heard.

More Tori Amos, less long hair music.

And definitely more D.I.Y., with photographer P.J. Sykes saving the day by finding a piece of cinder block for the cellist to prop his instrument against.

There were friends to talk to- musicians, a teacher out too late, and restaurant types - all out looking for music to end their weekend.

Lead singer Flanna began solo but soon we got the benefit of Kevin's drums (and background vocals) and the cello.

Her material done alone was of the confessional girl sort, but it was the louder songs that won over the crowd.

Or maybe that was just me.

They did a song they'd never played out before ("We'll see what happens") and nailed it.

And then it was over and time to head out into the still decidedly un-December like weather.

In other words, it was a lovely walk home.

Unlike in Italy, though, we passed no gelaterias or pastry shops open late along the way.

Still, a midnight walk is always to be appreciated, whether here or in the land of the leer.

Rebuilding the Bionic Woman

Never make plans because they are always subject to change. But set goals anyway.

I began at Amuse because it was a favorite bartender's last night and far be it for me not to worship at his bar one last time.

The vibe was low key when I arrived and escalated to full-on busy before it was all over.

Even better, a dedicated admirer joined me before long, making for an even better way to enjoy my evening.

We started with the Boxwood Rose despite the plethora of happy hour choices. As if that weren't surprise enough, there was a new prix fixe menu.

Amuse, you've gotten so hip lately.

We couldn't resist the regular menu, though, choosing  the country style duck pate with quince whole grain mustard, pistachios and toasted crostini.

At the bartender's recommendation, we let it sit for a while to warm up, releasing the flavors.

Just as compelling were the house-cured sardines and roasted piquillo peppers with arugula, olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

It was just short of an Italian's wet dream.

Last, but certainly not least, was the grilled polenta with a saute of local mushrooms and creamy sherry with chives.

Meanwhile, we had been greeted by WRIR folk, the bartender's parents ("Didn't we meet in an alley?") and a couple who clarified that they were not engaged.

Because it was the bartender's last night. It seemed only appropriate that he make my last absinthe drip at Amuse.

Okay, maybe not my last, but the last he  prepared for me.

A nearby bar sitter marveled at the process, never having seen it before.

You have to love absinthe virgins.

Because of the later light and the magnificent view, we lingered over absinthe while admiring the fading March light over the sculpture garden.

By then I'd missed the Black Maria Film Fest I'd intended to make.

Eventually, we marshaled our forces and went to see "Visions of France: Three Postwar Photographers," a beguiling show of people kissing, cafe scenes and assorted denizens of Paris' streets.

We were taken with Doisneau's "Kiss by the Hotel de Ville" mainly because of the girl's arm.

Yes, he is holding her shoulder and kissing her hard, but it is the surrender in her right arm that captivated us.

Clearly, she was completely helpless once he started kissing her.

Now, that's street art.

Stopping on the second floor landing, we paused to admire the host of couples tangoing on the lower level.

Every third Friday, they do Tango after Work and watching these couples dance was a beautiful entertainment.

I am probably far too uncoordinated to attempt tangoing, but I couldn't help but admire the beauty of the joined bodies.

And I've got the wardrobe; all the women wore skirts or dresses.

We all need something to aspire to.

Next up, I went to Strange Matter for music because how else do you follow absinthe, street kissing and tango?

In this case, with leg compliments from a girl, libido questions from a guy, a man in the ladies' room and three excellent sets.

Marionette started on time, a rarity at Strange Matter, and played an incredibly tight set of new music.

It's fantastic when old fans get rewarded with new material.

During one song the drummer's girlfriend came up to me and said, "This song sounds like sex, doesn't it?"

When I mentioned her comment to the guitarist later, he said, "I thought it sounded more like victory...or maybe that's the same."

Ocean versus Daughter was next, and while I'd seen them once before, I hadn't known the full back story then.

Hearing her sing "You hurt me. I hate you. I hope you die in a fire" takes on a whole new meaning when I learn that the guy she wrote it about is in the room.

While I liked her voice and keyboards, even better was when she had two members of Marionette backing her up.

During a trip to the bathroom, I came out of my stall to find the singer cornered near the sink by a guy who wanted her to listen to his band.

But really, following her into the ladies' room to make his pitch?

I can't decide if that's very rock and roll or just skeevy.

Last up was Canary, oh Canary and while the vocals weren't quite high enough in the mix, they did their usual superb job with reverb and obtuse lyrics.

So while I'd traded off film for music, I can't come close to matching the record of WRIR's Galaxy Girl, who was there tonight. She's now seen fifteen shows this month and it's March 16th.

I bowed at her feet for such awesomeness.

The best I got tonight was having a musician friend tell me he'd been driving through my neighborhood and was admiring some great legs in shorts when he realized it was me.

We're going to call that metaphorical bowing at my legs for semi-awesomeness.

I know it's not much, but it's hard to compete with a record like fifteen out of sixteen.

Truth is, when it comes to some things, I'd be happy with one out of three.

As long as it's the right one.

Of Language and Love Songs

It's a rare night when I can sandwich in Tennessee between Romania and Prague.

Things got rolling at the Grace Street Theater where the VCU Cinematheque series restarted for the semester with a Cannes double award winner, "Police, Adjective."

I've stated for the record that I'm a huge fan of this (free) film series which shows independent foreign films that never quite made it to Richmond.

Tonight's gem played to a nearly full house and given that it was Romanian New Wave, deservedly so.

The movie about an undercover cop who is tailing a high school kid suspected of selling hash had less to do with cops and crime and everything to do with language.

When his superior insists that he initiate a sting operation to arrest the kid, the hero resists because he doesn't want to ruin the kid's life merely for being irresponsible.

The payoff comes when the boss challenges him on why not. The hero doesn't want it on his conscience that he's ruined a kid's life.

It's at that point that the dictionary comes out and the boss has him look up conscience and discuss it. Next comes looking up moral, then police.

Everything comes down to interpretation of language and, frankly, this language geek couldn't have been more amused at a black comedy about the language police enforcing word usage.

As if that wasn't pleasurable enough, I found myself seated next to a former Media General colleague (and his partner) who was also let go in the great recession of 2008.

When I asked what he'd been up to, he regaled me with stories of his travels since he retired/got laid off.

Their last trip had been to Rome, Florence, Sienna and the hill towns of Tuscany.

Telling me a hilarious story about a bus driver who drove them up a mountain in his own car because it was a holiday and the taxis and buses weren't running, he advised, "You have to go to Florence."

I'll get right on that.

Their upcoming trip is to Amsterdam, the Riviera, the Loire Valley and Paris ("because it's on the way," he insisted).

I like his version of being laid off even more than my own.

After bidding the travelers goodnight, I headed over to City Dogs for a Tennessee slaw dog with mustard, onions, chili and cole slaw.

Pig and cabbage was just what I needed to fortify myself before the next portion of the evening.

Meanwhile, a quick stop in the ladies' room provided a wealth of reading material on the chalkboard walls.

My favorite: "Love guys with beards? Become a whiskerina! Visit beardleague.org."

Somehow I wasn't surprised to learn about the Follicles of the James Stache and Beard League. I know I have more bearded male friends than not.

Why shouldn't they have a fan club?

And on that pleasant note, I got myself to Balliceaux for Oceans versus Daughter, which is usually three Americans, one Brit and one Czech who came together in Prague and have been making music ever since.

For the recent past, though, lead singer Flanna has been back in the colonies and touring the northeast with two members of our own indie royalty, Kevin and Marshall of Marionette while her band is back in Prague.

She did the first couple of songs solo, pairing her lovely voice with just keyboards before having Marshall and Kevin join her onstage to fill out her sound.

Telling us she was going to sing a song about poison cake, she called to the guys in the kitchen, asking if they made poison cakes.

Somehow they heard "poison snakes" and there was some back and forth before the song began.

And the songs were exquisite; "Fire" was about being destroyed by a  guy ("You hurt me, I hate you. I hope that you die in a fire") while she said "Don't Try" was about listening to that little voice in your head.

Midway through she told the crowd that she had CDs (pay what you will), T-shirts and tote bags.

"This is my QVC moment," she explained before suggesting that Marionette do the same.

"It's over there," Marshall said with his usual understated charm. "Y'all know."

We do.

We were also treated to Flanna joining them for two Marionette songs, including the first track off their upcoming EP, a song called "Shades of Doubt."

It was quite a song. In the over four years that I have been seeing this band, they continue to impress me as they develop musically and lyrically.

Then it was back to OvD and the trio finished up  with "Take Care," a fitting close to their set.

When the night is through
The light of the moon awakens you
And the day has come again for you
I'll take care of you

Despite the happy ending, the crowd (me included) called for one more and Flanna alone returned to the stage for "Lips of Justice."

I've been several places
In my heart you've come along
My trailing train

And then the show was over and the room was filled with people raving to each other about what we'd just heard.

A friend summed it up. "When I look back on my twenties, I'm going to think of how lucky I was to have heard shows like this at Balliceaux."

The fact is, at any age a person could look back and remember how lucky they were to have nights like this.

I'll send you a letter
I'll write you a song
Please hold your horses
It won't be too long