Cranked Up Really High

I always get a kick out of waking up to a request for the pleasure of my company.

Wondering what you are up to tonight. I was thinking of going to Hardywood for the show. I could most certainly dance to a little funky soul this evening.

Best of all, it came from a wine seller friend who'd never suggested a rendezvous before. So with no evening plans until 8, I was more than agreeable to meeting up at the brewery despite no interest in beer.

A breezy evening, another new (to me) thrift store dress so why pass up a chance to see Photosynthesizers, Richmond's exemplars of live soul/rock hip hop?

Hardly surprising was that the Hardywood crowd was far more diverse than usual, a testament to the band's fan base.

Waiting for my friend, I spotted one of RVA's best singers headed toward me, so we chatted about a favorite country band and the fabulous beehive hairdo the lead singer wears.

Not long after, I found my friend along with two others and the party was on. We took up spots near enough the outdoor stage (my first outdoor show at Hardywood) to have a terrific view of the band members.

Not a one of my companions had seen Photosynthesizers (how that's possible, I don't know but I try not to judge) so they were immediately impressed by singer SamSun, a vision with her gorgeous Afro, black midriff top and body-hugging, calf-length, leopard skin skirt.

I think it was during the very first song that the wine rep leaned over and asked, "Would it be wrong to ask her out after the show?" Go for it, honey.

What's unique about Photosynthesizers is that they're a band who focuses on live performances rather than recordings. I think they put out one EP a few years ago, but the songs you hear at any given show are not available for home listening.

Personally, I love that because it only makes their performances that much more compelling knowing it's the only way you can hear it.

With a drummer, guitarist, DJ, rapper and singer, their sound spans genres and makes fans of people sure they don't like hip hop, probably because they've never seen it done with live instruments before.

The only disappointment was that there was no dancing, except in place, but there was plenty of that because it was impossible to stand still while listening to them.

Afterwards, we all chatted, trading "how I met Jimmy Sneed" stories, dating details and comparing notes on the new Metzger.

They were off in search of food when we split up while I left to go meet a friend at River City Classic Bar and Grill to see a couple of music documentaries.

Grabbing my favorite booth (it only took one visit for me to determine which had the best views of both screens), I barely had time to order before my girlfriend, looking adorable as always in a dress and sweater, showed up to join me with her cute photographer husband.

While early music performances played - Gene Vincent, Jerry Lee Lewis, Chuck Berry - the photographer brought up the topic of local music and why it isn't played more in between sets at local clubs and in restaurants. He had a valid point.

Finally, the first short began and the fun was on. "The Cramps at Napa Mental Hospital" was an unlikely free show in 1978 for a bunch of mental patients, an idea which begs the question, who in the world thought this would be a good idea?

The 20-minute film was chaotic with the band's innovative psychobilly (crazy rockabilly) sound inciting the patients to levels of frenzy probably not good for them.

Every time one of the patients tried to dance with singer Lux Interior, he'd shove them back off of the stage roughly. In one case, a patient grabbed the microphone from Lux and began shrieking into it like a, well, crazy person.

Maybe it was the madness on the screens or maybe the crowd at the diner just didn't care, but unlike Tuesday's film, people talked right through this one.

At one point, the old couple next to me got into a loud discussion of how warm she was and how comfortable he was.

"I don't know how you have that sweater on," the large woman wearing a sundress said to her scrap of a date.

"I don't have much meat on my bones," the old guy said, pointing out the obvious, something surely she already knew. "No, you don't!" she sniffed.

After the Cramps, we got the main attraction, "The Punk Rock Movie" from 1978 and shot on Super 8, so black and white mostly and grainy as all get out, only adding to the punk feel of it.

My friend was as excited to see it as I was but for different reasons. "I'm looking for fashion inspiration," she told me, impressed right away by the tie-over-the-t-shirt look we saw.

A lot of the footage was shot at London's punk-focused Roxy Club in 1978 during the mere 100 days that it was open.

Here's one tidbit I'd like to share with every person who wasn't alive in 1978 and thinks they know what punk bands dressed like: you haven't got a clue.

Every band we saw was dressed in button-up shirts, sometimes jackets, often ties and always slacks. The perception of punk bands as always clad in ratty, torn t-shirts is a figment of revisionist history.

We saw show footage of a 23-year old Billy Idol as a member of Generation X, along with backstage footage, including one scene of a band member pulling down his briefs and flashing his junk at the camera. No doubt that was considered punk at the time.

Female British punk band The Slits were shown alternately practicing music and teasing their hair ("I used to do that to my hair," my cute friend shared. "Maybe I'll start doing that again") but it was the drummer Palmolive's hard-hitting energy that was hard to look away from.

The Clash were shown playing and then on a day off, horsing around, on a kid's playground ride, looking young and carefree.

When band Subway Sect came on, my friend and I agreed that lead singer Vic Goddard was positively dreamy and her friend at the bar turned around and gestured the same. Oh, Vic!

Some of the most interesting scenes were of London cops investigating window displays at a punk shop called Sex. Apparently, they'd gotten complaints about the severed finger and plastic ears on display.

"Go home and jerk off and think of me!" yelled the transgender lead singer of Wayne County and the Electric Chairs before a woman leaned over and said, "You may not want to watch this" as the members of Eater bludgeoned a pig's head onstage before tossing it out to the crowd.

I know my friend was tickled pink when Siouxie (of the Banshees) came out in a tie over a jacket, yet another '70s fashion statement.

My only complaint by this time was how loud the diner crowd was, all but shouting over the movie as if it didn't matter because so much of it was music. Friend and I agreed we missed most of the dialogue because of the incessant chatter.

We saw a flier for a Slits show at - of all the unlikely places - a school's great hall at 5 p.m., not an especially punk time of day.

Then there was Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers (with a pink drum set) doing "Born to Lose," the lead singer sporting one long sleeve and one short t-shirt sleeve (plus a tie, natch), as well as them on the tour bus kidding around with Siouxie and the Banshees.

And speaking of, because it was 1978, there was footage of Siouxie backstage drinking vodka and popping pills (after the third vial, she asks, "How many of this one should I take? Oh, what the hell, I'll take two").

But I'll give her credit where credit was due. The woman could put on liquid eyeliner on a moving tour bus, no easy feat.

A film geek friend walked by about then and whispered, "Are you keeping track of all the dead punk rockers? Quite a few!" True that. Not a lifestyle that promotes longevity.

When the Sex Pistols start playing, we saw Debbie Juvenile sum up many people's feelings. "Oh, some decent fucking music at last!"

You could tell the movie had been made in another galaxy far away because gratuitous sexy close-ups were de rigueur. Often the camera lingered on a girl's breasts or the crotch of a girl in fishnets and panties, apropos of nothing.

The Pistols' show footage was notable for two reasons: it was Syd Viscious' first public gig with the band and Johnny Rotten is dapperly dressed in a jacket (granted he removes it early on), shirt and bow tie. Yes, bow tie.

And that, kids, is tonight's history lesson. You think you know what punk was about but you probably have no idea. Go back and do some research, maybe even watch "The Punk Rock Movie" and you'll learn a hell of a lot.

Maybe not how to tease your hair or apply liquid eyeliner on a moving bus, but enough to understand what punk was.

Hard and fast. People pogoing. And the best stage names ever. Drew Blood? Positively brilliant.

Just like my evening.

Go Hard or Go Home

As romantic gestures go, it was pretty wonderful.

Not that I went to Richmond Comedy Coalition's "Richmond Famous" night for romance.

No, I went, as I always do, to see a local celebrity tell some personal stories and then be skewered for them by a talented bunch of improv comedians.

Tonight's willing victim was Marc Cheatham, he who does the popular "Cheat's Movement" blog.

That is, when he's not working his day job as Tim Kaine's scheduler.

"You're the first audience I can tell my Tim Kaine stories to," he laughed, explaining that he'd refrained until the election was over.

Good way to keep your job, Cheats.

He said that if Kaine hadn't had political aspirations that he'd have made a great DJ.

Marc mentioned some of the senator's favorite bands, like Gorillaz, and De La Soul, to which somebody in the crowd said, "What?"

When he mentioned "Gnarls Barkley, especially CeLo Green." another person shouted, "Awesome."

Apparently some people are surprised when politicians turn out to be real people with decent musical taste.

Cheatham's first story involved all the famous people he and Kaine had met traveling together over the years.

Well, that opened the door for Richmond Comedy Coalition to riff on Applebees ("Where you can get, like, five entrees for five dollars"), self-promotion ("I'll TMZ all over you"), sexual humor ("Please let two men be men") and hosting a talk show in your basement with your mother yelling at your guests ("Tell DJ Shadow those Bagel Bites aren't free!").

Marc told of "not being ashamed of wasting a ridiculous amount of time watching bad reality TV" with his girlfriend, of whom he also said, "And I'm not ashamed we met on an online dating site, Match.com."

Then he got sentimental on us, saying, "Sometimes you really do find the love of your life," before pulling out a ring box and calling his girlfriend to the stage.

There, he dropped to one knee and proposed and she said yes.

Naturally, the room went wild applauding at having been a party to the moment.

The RCC looked just as stunned, and yet they now were expected to make comedy out of that.

Kaine stood up from his seat in the front row, pointed at them and yelled, "Top that!"

It was impossible, although the moment when one of the comedians, David, grabbed his comedian girlfriend, Katie, and dropped to one knee was amusing for what he proposed.

"Will you scratch my itch?" he asked sincerely, pointing to somewhere between his legs.

They recovered enough to have a Match.com HQ skit with a guy complaining that he had signed up looking for an arsonist and had no luck finding one, despite years of looking at profiles.

They ended after one of the improv guys inquired of Marc's new fiancee, "Aren't you worried at all that you're marrying a guy whose last name is Cheats?"

It was a fine and funny way to end the comedic portion of the evening.

Then it was time for us to fold up our chairs and stack them to the side, "So we can get our grind on," as comedian David so eloquently put it.

I heard during the break that Cheats had actually proposed before the show after his Mom had warned him that springing a proposal on a woman in public is never a good idea.

But it didn't detract from the tableaux we'd seen since both were clearly still feeling the newness of it all.

And then it was music time.

Up first was Just Plain Sounds, with an emphasis on the Hon. Sleaze.

They got points for taking suggestions from the audience for words to rap with.

"Sasquatch" and "cigarettes" were chosen and damned if they didn't manage to rap using both repeatedly.

Favorite line: "When I'm in a pickle, I just relish it."

Now that's good stuff.

Playing second was one of my long-time favorite bands, Glows in the Dark and, as always, they never fail to impress.

The guy behind me was prepping the girls with him by telling them, "Nothing sounds like an electric hollow body. Just wait until you hear this."

And Scott Burton's guitar playing is a delight to hear, but so is Reggie's trombone and flawless percussion, the incredibly tight rhythm section of Cameron and Scott and John's wailing sax.

Add to that cinematic songs that seem to be scoring an imaginary film (or maybe just the life I'm living) and I'm in heaven.

As I'd reminded a music buddy of mine earlier in the evening, I fell in love with this band five years ago when several friends were telling me they just didn't "get" Glows.

Their loss if they're just now seeing the talent, but better late than never.

Glows finished with a couple of John Carpenter songs, no surprise to me since I've seen them do all-Carpenter sets on a couple of occasions and always marveled at Scott's mastery at turning keyboard-based music into a score for his keyboard-less jazz band.

Cheats had saved Photosynthesizers for last, a shame only because the crowd had thinned.

But the crowd that was left reveled in their live multi-instrumental hip-hop (minus one regular) and high energy set.

As as they like to do, they finished with "We go hard," as true a lyric as was ever sung/rapped.

Because going out for comedy and music and having a U.S. senator in the front row and a proposal on stage followed by three bands is about as hard as I need to go on this Saturday night.

But talk about relishing.

Patrick x 4

What an interesting evening of guys this turned out to be.

It began with a man carrying an ax at the Roosevelt.

As in, there was a huge ax handle sticking out of his backpack tucked discretely beneath the bar. Right next to me.

I was only mildly concerned until he informed me that he'd come directly from the hardware store and that he'd also bought a roll of plastic.

Uh huh. Sure.

Upon further conversation, I learned that Patrick, a recent transplant from San Francisco, had just bought a load of wood, all of which was too wide for his Church Hill fireplace.

Wisely, he'd bought an ax to chop it to fit. The plastic was to move and then cover the pile.

Uh huh. Sure.

Like the bartender, he'd been one of the "Lincoln" movie extras before getting bored with the whole process.

"I saw Daniel Day-Lewis do a scene, I saw Spielberg and then I was over it. Anyway, it was more of a bro-friend-fest. It was lots of guys I knew and we talked about music, Richmond and grilling meat."

Sort of sums up mankind, doesn't it?

Actually, a friend and his wife stopped by the bar to say hello and knew Patrick, a photographer with an awesome drooping Civil War mustache, and vouched for him.

It didn't much matter at that point since I was 45 minutes into our conversation by then and had decided to take my chances on talking to an ax murderer on my own.

My reassurance came when he told me he was going to the Drive By Truckers show at the 9:30 Club tomorrow night and borrowing his brother's Cadillac Escalade to make the trip.

He promised to wear his helmet in the Escalade, making the entire conversation worthwhile.

Once Patrick climbed aboard his motorcycle and took off, I turned to my right-hand neighbors and began chatting with the three guys on that side.

Somehow, they were all Patricks, too.

Luckily, by that time I'd finished my Gabrielle Rausse Vin de Gris and moved on to the Blenheim Cab Franc.

One can't face her second, third and fourth Patricks for the night without a bit of fortification.

And the Patricks varied widely. One was a P.E. teacher, one wanted to discuss restaurants and the third engaged me in a discussion of spirituality after death.

While entertaining them, a quartet came up behind us and tried to order the Barboursville Octagon, which the Roosevelt was out of.

The bartender's recommendation was to sub the Linden Hardscrabble Red and I took the opportunity to second that opinion.

Sharing my tale of a recent evening devoted to the Hardscrabble, I heartily recommended that they set their sights on Linden and convinced them to do so.

Meanwhile, I savored the roasted fennel and oyster stew with smoked bacon, fennel pollen and lemon oil. Divine and obscenely rich.

They were an eating out bunch, the Patricks, so once the conversation turned to how La Grotta had the best steak in town (no doubt much to the disgust of the vegan Patrick, also a fan of German hip-hop), I ordered the crostini with local beets and ricotta.

The crostini was a thing of beauty with thinly sliced yellow beets atop a thick layer of ricotta perfectly salted.

Eventually two of the Patricks departed, leaving me with the Philly Patrick who assured me that I'd love Cape May (I'd heard the same from multiple people before) and that he'd be at the Balliceaux show I'd soon be attending.

But only because I told him about it.

Even better, the Hardscrabble group stopped by to rave about the wine I'd chosen for them and left me aglow in heir gratitude.

Then it was on to Balliceaux and a most diverse crowd.

Long before I ran into Patrick #4, I saw several familiar faces: one of the members of Photosynthesizers, the band I'd come to see, who'd friended me after our first meeting ("I've been reading your blog, too" he told me) a guy who wished me Happy New Year "and all that pagan stuff" and a handsome gay friend who kissed me not once but four times on the lips ("Why don't you ever ask anything about the real me?").

I have to assume my pheromones were in full effect tonight.

A guy walked up behind me to get a drink and leaned in, taking a deep breath. "Mmmm" he said, "your hair smells so good. So do you."

For the record, I wear no scent.

Turns out he'd just come from the Republic (the smelliest place in town) so, in comparison, I'm sure I did smell pretty good since I didn't reek of cigarette smoke.

A  guy who'd been hired by the band to perform magic tricks approached me and made balls appear and disappear, stuck his finger through a non-existent hole in my hot pink scarf and even made the three of clubs dance after I'd chosen it from the deck, before leaving me to entertain the masses.

A charming guy (who turned out to be in the band) guessed me for a Leo (I'm a Gemini) but had high praise for my legs and their potential.

When he challenged me on not having seen the band before, I retaliated with specific shows and venues and he was forced to acknowledge his error in misjudging me.

Well, except for my legs and their potential.

He also told me straight up that I wasn't from Richmond or the West Coast. His guess? Boston or D.C.

Points were awarded for accuracy.

Photosynthesizers played an outstanding set, necessitating much dancing amongst the crowd. Hip-hop fan or not, there is a singular pleasure to live hip-hop done as well as they do it.

The magician returned and changed into a high school English teacher and I was rewarded with someone with whom I could discuss Shakespeare, the Iliad and punctuation.

I don't often meet a guy to whom I can recommend "Eats Shoots and Leaves" but he was one.

During the last song, the hair smeller returned, questioning the force field the gay friend had thrown around me.

Since when am I so interesting?

It was probably a good thing that the lights came up.

Mom always said that it's best to take raging pheromones home at a reasonable hour.

Okay, she didn't really, but she could should have.

And Now for Something Completely Different

"And, on a different note, here's some new shit," announced Barcodez of Photosynthesizers from the stage after acknowledging the creative journey the band has taken to get to where they are today.

And tonight was Photosynthesizers' record release show at Gallery 5 for the new album Speakers in Black Holes. When I got there around 10, the show was already behind because the band G.D.A.C. were stuck in traffic driving down from Philly (and no doubt having their souls sucked out by the merciless I-95).

But once the female-fronted Afro-punk band took the stage, they were all about some music (and hair, lots of excellent hair). Their music crosses genres, mixing elements of rock, punk, girl groups and anything else they care to throw in.

The Philly girls' stage banter was especially colorful ("Are we talking about oral sex here?") and the crowd responded enthusiastically.

They broke down quickly afterwards and then it was Photosynthesizers' turn to rock the room. With no fanfare, they began to play and the crowd of devoted fans was right there with them.

And it was a diverse crowd, too. A guy in a monogrammed sweater vest, plaid shirt and khakis danced next to a a guy in a monster t-shirt, baggy jeans and hat. There were a lot of dreadlocks in the room.

The set list was a mixture, too, giving the crowd both familiar and new material ("This is the first time we've done this song live.").

Given the unique quality of their sound, which they like to call Tronic Soul School Hip Hop, it's not surprising that they appeal to so many different kinds of music lovers. I became an instant fan the very first time I heard them at WRIR's birthday bash.

I would never call myself a hip hop fan, but when you've got an excellent live band fronted by both a male and female vocalist trading/sharing vocals and with plenty of soul woven in, I'm a fan of whatever you call it.

Because it was the record release show, the band had agreed beforehand to dress up and Barcodez was looking especially fine in a three-piece suit and colorful scarf.

Vocalist Samsun made it clear that, "Dresses are not for onstage," even though she'd worn one and looked great in it (of course, I am partial to dresses myself).

Just before they played their last song, Barcodez announced that the six-piece band's after-party would be at the Cellar Door, no doubt the smallest basement bar in RVA. I can only imagine how fast that place will fill up.

I decided against going, but I've no doubt that there's a sweaty, dancing good time happening right about now.

Because after all, new shit needs to be celebrated.

Earth Day Hip Hop

Okay, I admit it; I went to the Earth Day Festival for music BUT before you judge me too harshly, know that I did take in a lot of the festival too. I am a gardener, I do compost and recycle (including clothing; I never buy new), and I bike and walk whenever possible. So I'm not anti-earth by any means.

But, yes, I went because I wanted to hear Photosyntheizers play outside; I saw them first at WRIR's birthday bash, but in a too-small room, so I wanted to hear what live hip hop could sound like in the great outdoors. The answer: amazing. There was so much room for that sound and the audience kept growing throughout their set.

At one point, the track the DJ was playing was a live one so it ended with clapping. "See, we bring our own applause in case you guys aren't feeling it," Barcodez joked, not that appreciation was a problem. Their other vocalist, Samsun brought her smooth soul vocals to his and the audience ate it up.

After my music jones was satisfied, I walked the festival, running into people and stopping at what interested me. I picked up a sweet pea seedling while a couple of girls next to me argued over whether or not it's too late to be planting. Ladies, it's April 25th, I think we're safe to still plant. Maybe the early warmth has fooled people into thinking we're already to summer but that's just not the case.

I signed up to join the local chapter of the Slow Food Movement and discussed its recent formation with a volunteer. I'm excited to be in on the early stages of this group's arrival in rva. They had a plate of Belmont Butchery's country pate on bread and it was so good it made my eyes close in enjoyment as I ate it. Mmm, slow food good.

I picked up handfuls of seed bombs, the better to improve some of the uglier vacant lots in J-Ward and fired them off on my way home. I've been a big proponent of seed bombs for a couple of years now, as a couple of my friends can attest. ("He's so BAD at this," is all I'm going to say, guys.). So easy and so effective.

I even ventured out onto the Mayo Bridge where they had equipment for the rod-less to try fishing. As many times as I've seen the regular fisherman on that bridge, it was really cool to be one of them for the first time. And no, I didn't catch anything, but now I know what the view looks like and how it feels to be one of the guys wiling away an afternoon on the bridge. My dad was the type who kept our family supplied with a freezer full of rockfish and bluefish year round (Irish Catholics; fish every Friday, don't you know?), so I know he'll be so proud, even with no catch to boast about.

It was the first year for beer at the festival, not that I drink beer, but it seemed to make a lot of people more earth-enthusiastic, so I say, hey, whatever it takes.

For me, it was music, but then who out there is really the least bit surprised about that?