Into the Groove

Fig and Pig.

I've decided that'll be the name of my autobiography. Pretty catchy, huh?

Don't be impressed. It's not original.

Nor did I know when I asked a friend to meet me at the food truck court at the Historical Society what a lot of food three people could consume.

After walking the parking lot to scope out our choices, I decided on Pizza Tonight, as did my friend's friend.

I augmented the white pizza (white sauce and Irish cheddar, which added a certain tang) with sausage while she insisted on the fig and pig, a special of Gorgonzola, prosciutto and fig preserves.

Sweet and salty: absolutely divine.

About to place my order, the girl said to me, "Hey, Karen! I always see you at shows. I've never actually seen you in daylight."

I hope I didn't disappoint.

Meanwhile, my friend scored a softshell sandwich and we got three Asian tacos from the Boka truck: beef, pork and chicken.

We took our feast to the furthermost picnic table spot under the shade of magnolia trees dropping petals and near a clump of four-foot orange lilies.

Then we dove in.

"I forgot what a hearty appetite you have," friend observed as I inhaled.

Just as we were finishing, we noticed the Mr. Softee truck had arrived, but were too full to attempt it.

Instead I shared with my friends some of the chocolate cookies with caramel topping I'd baked for the Listening Room and said my goodbyes.

"Tap your foot a couple of times for me," I was instructed as my friends left for a meeting.

Glad to.

At the Firehouse, I added my cookies to the dessert table where they didn't have a chance of being the star.

Front and center was a plate of pre-release Dixie Donuts.

Hot damn!

These were cake doughnuts (my favorite kind) of the German chocolate variety with a dark chocolate icing and a coconut and nut mixture atop each one.

A discussion ensued about the desirability of a doughnut over a cookie; for me, that's no contest. I'll take doughnuts every time.

All the guys said that cookies rated higher, so maybe it's a gender thing.

I chatted with the Man About Town who refused to believe I had been spotted at RVA Beer Fest in shorts because there was no photographic documentation.

I brought in a Beer Betty as a witness to corroborate.

Tonight's Listening Room was curated by Antonia and was all jazz, making for a change from the usual folkier sounding bands.

The stage benefited from the set for "Dessa Rose," currently playing at Firehouse.

Loosely-woven burlap draped the stairs, hung from the ceiling and gave a rustic vibe to everything.

When long-absent/recently married emcee Chris got up to do the introduction of Near Earth Objects, he mentioned that the drummer was also in a band he's in.

"I don't know how I feel about that," he observed wryly. "I'm not going to say they're better than us."

The three-piece (bass, drums, keyboard) added in a guitarist and flutist (the only female) for several songs, including some from their album "Manual for Self Hypnosis."

I especially liked one furious flute solo, all bent legs and arched back, where she channeled Ian Anderson.

After the break, we were treated to a drum-off with Scotts.

Near Earth Object's drummer Scott began by winding up a music box, leading into trading licks with Scott #2 of the Scott Clark 4-Tet, the next band up.

They challenged each other, they teased each other and afterwards, Scott Clark said, "Thanks for bearing with us on that. It's not often you get two drum sets up on stage."

It was the ideal lead-in for the Scott Clark 4-Tet, although I'm biased because Scott is my favorite local jazz drummer.

They played old (Fred Anderson's "Little Fox Run") as well as new.

"Clockwise," was introduced as "The hit. The radio-friendly version. For any of you who watch early morning TV, this is the song we sang on Channel 6 Tuesday."

They closed with three short pieces, part of a work-in-progress, a suite based on "Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee."

Both the drums and bass had a definite Native American sound to them and the piece swelled with horns.

When they finished, a friend noted, "In the parlance, that was epic."

Agreed.

Gathering up my plate, now completely devoid of cookies (no doubt due to those with Y chromosomes), I left to meet a friend for a drink.

I found him waiting in the warm rain at a closed Fanhouse, so we walked over to Avalon.

He told me that during a recent discussion of why people drink tequila he'd brought my name up as an example of someone who sips it.

Gasp! I was told that amazement ensured on the part of his friends.

Wisely, I refrained from telling him that I'd even been known to sip it in daylight.

The bartender, who likes to refer to himself as my longest running stalker, greeted us, supplied the Hornitos and kept the music going.

Delightfully, all the music came from cassette tapes tonight because he was tired of the bar's CDs.

What that means is that we had the distinct pleasure of hearing "Like a Virgin" and "Seven and the Ragged Tiger" on cassette tonight.

Not to mention the pleasure of watching him have to turn the tape over halfway through.

As my charming friend noted, "Music used to be so much more interactive with tapes and records."

He schooled me on gramophones, his new passion for '20s-era singers and why his breakfast cereal has to be kept in "the hidden cabinet."

We talked a lot about making the expected choices versus doing what feeds your soul. About Led Zeppelin and pop music. About knowing what you want.

During a discussion of indulging yourself, he pointed out, "You eat whatever you want, though."

I do. And what I frequently want is pig (what my third sister calls "the magical beast").

Hence the title-to-be.

Look for it at your local bookstore.

I promise there'll be bacon at the in-store readings.

My Other Life of an Evening

"Just when I think I need to move back to Brooklyn, I find out about something like this and I can't leave Richmond."


"This" was one of those perfect storms where you just had to be there.

Take a band called Other Lives who was supposed to play a three-band bill tonight, but the headliner got asked to do Letterman and they were left gig-less.

Put them in a music studio that's about to change locations and wanted an excuse for a farewell party.

Attached to the studio was a bricked-in patio area with vines covering the walls, fairly lights everywhere and a fire pit roaring in the middle of a circle of chairs.

Invite Pizza Tonight to bake endless pizzas in their mobile brick oven (I had potato rosemary and pepperoni) to accompany the beer and wine provided.

And it was all free.

The evening began on the patio under the stars with libations and mingling.

Amazingly at that point, I only recognized two people despite the crowd being bearded and plaid-shirted.

As pizzas began coming out of the oven, people helped themselves repeatedly.

I did four slices but only after a new acquaintance insisted we go up together and act nonchalant about getting our fourth.

Gluttony strength in numbers.

While chatting afterwards with an engaging guy from Pittsburgh, someone came out and said, "I hear E-Minor!"

Knowing that to be a song from Other Lives' first album, I excused myself from a very interesting conversation and went into the recoding studio for the show.

There were maybe fifty of us for this magical show.

The perfect acoustics of Black Iris Music made for a rapt audience and exquisite sound.

A latecomer told me after the show that when he walked in, he wasn't sure if he was hearing a recording or live music.

Other Lives make beautifully lush music using guitar, cello, piano, bass and drums that had the audience silent with awe for what we were hearing.

As shows go, it was audio perfection.

Lead singer Jesse's voice was deep and rich and the arrangements highlighted the ensemble-ness of the group; they were so much more than just a band.

Asking if the small crowd knew the Ramones' "Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue," Jesse said, "This won't be like that. I love Burt Bacharach and I wish we had a trumpet for this."

Joey may be rolling over in his grave but their version of the punk song would have done Burt proud (Jesse noted when in the song the trumpet would have played).

After the song, he said, "We need to add that to all our sets." He had my full vote on that.

He also acknowledged that it was his first time drinking during a show due to the casual atmosphere of the event. "This is not like a real rock show and I really like it," he said.

Since they had been opening for Bon Iver on the West Coast, he knows of what he speaks.

After the mesmerizing set ended, people milled about marveling at what we'd just seen. Many people had arrived late after getting texts from early attendees about what was going on.

Now there were people I knew: members of Zep Repplica and Denali, a Listening Room photographer, a music blogger and not one but two Gallery 5 bartenders who came up and introduced themselves, saying they recognized me.

The irony there is that I almost never drink at a G5 show. Bartenders must be people watchers or else I'm in the bathroom line a little too often.

But even if I hadn't known a soul, I would have counted myself fortunate to have see Other Lives perform in such a small space.

I gave the friend who said he'd been thinking about returning to Brooklyn a hard time when he said it.

Something like this happens in RVA more than most people notice.

And there's no Pizza Tonight in Brooklyn.

The Rules of Pizza Club

The first rule of Pizza Club is that the dough must come from local supplier Pizza Tonight. Up until now, that had meant Pizza Tonight at home.

Ipanema changed all that tonight by inaugurating a monthly Pizza Club event featuring a host of vegan and vegetarian pizzas on PT's superior crust.

As someone who had been invited to the original Pizza Club several times and never been able to go, I was finally getting the chance to taste what all the hoopla was about.

Friends were already at the bar when I got there, so it was up to me to dive right in with them. Deciding which pizza to order was the hardest part, so I took care of the easy part by starting with a glass of Cono Sur Viognier.

I was sorely tempted by the pizza with mussels, caramelized onion and garlic but the lack of cheese sent me to the classic instead (tomato, basil, Mozzarella). A friend was in the middle of one and it looked scrumptious.

Ipanema had scratched entrees for the night, so the menu was limited to pizzas, salads and appetizers.

All around me were pizza eaters; a roving photographer snapped these beauties as they were delivered to their eager recipients. My guess would be that they're Facebook-bound, like every other picture taken these days seems to be.

One bite told me why my friends had long tried to get me to Pizza Club the Original; this dough makes a perfect crust, chewy and flavorful and supportive of its toppings. My friend had only been able to finish half of hers but I'm not ashamed to say I devoured all of mine.

Although a person who eats an entire pizza shouldn't need dessert, I was unwilling to pass on tonight's special offering of caramel gelato.

Served at the perfect temperature (not too cold or hard), each bite felt like a chewy caramel melting in my mouth. It was an unexpected and indescribably wonderful finish to my meal.

By about 9:30, the crowd began to dwindle as people left to go home and watch the Academy Awards, telling me that it was time to head over to the Camel for music.

As I walked up the sidewalk, I could hear music from within and a friend approached me, as if to warn me. "It's original, but it's classic rock," he informed me.

The Velvet Marias were mid-set when I walked in and it was true, the music was about as innovative as 1975, but the musicianship was strong and they had a room full of devoted fans enjoying every note, so I was clearly in the minority.

After a long breakdown and set-up, Marionette played, although they had microphone issues throughout their set. It was frustrating to the audience because they usually have such an outstanding sound, so I'm sure it must have frustrated the hell out of the musicians. Still, it's always good to hear them play.

Tonight's headliners were Athens, Georgia's Futurebirds, young but steeped in Southern music of the past. Or put another way, they'd be the perfect band to open for My Morning Jacket and get in front of a lot of likely converts.

My friend and I figured a lot of the audience for Drive-By Truckers fans, which is not a slur on that band but a euphemism for saying it was comprised of hat boys, frat boys and really bad white dancers who appreciate well done Southern rock. You know, the kind who yell out obscenities about guitars.

There was a lot to like about their sound, I have to admit. Three guitars, bass, pedal steel (always a pleasure to hear live), drums and multiple vocalists made for a rich sound that was not just southern but sometimes spiritual and even psychedelic. They had certainly done their homework listening to the music of their region's musical forefathers.

After all that pizza and gelato, I was just grateful that my only assignment was to show up, stand up and soak up the southern psychedelic sound.

Because the second rule of Pizza Club would most certainly be to avoid the couch after eating or you will surely find yourself asleep before you know it.

Dozing off isn't an option when you're surrounded by so much to see and hear. For instance, when you're listening to a glorious song like "Battle for Rome" amidst a room full of people trying desperately to find the beat.

Sleep through that, I dare you.