What Lack of Love Does

Somehow I must have seemed like a good sipping partner.

Wine date #1: Cafe Caturra with a glass of Santa Julia Torrontes, a friend and her Baltimore beau and a roaring fire despite the open door and 50-degree temperature outside.

Suggested soundtrack: Animal Collective ("Walking around in our summertime clothes, nowhere to go while our bodies glow").

Wine date #2: The Belvidere at Broad with a glass of Prosecco, hordes of people headed to see "The Lion King" and a DJ telling me about his glorious walk in today's sunshine.

Suggested soundtrack: The XX ("Wanna find myself by the sea, in another's company").

Wine date #3: Ipanema with a glass of Analissa Primitivo, a friend in the cutest earrings and a discussion of being an independent woman when given no other choice.

Suggested soundtrack: The Helio Sequence ("Lately, I don't think of you at all, or wonder what you're up to or how you're getting on").

The evening concludes at Strange Matter for music and a light show.

The crowd is good-sized but not packed, probably because there are several other good shows going on tonight.

First up is Airstrip out of North Carolina and when I ask a musician friend what they sound like, he responds, "You know that North Carolina indie band sound? Yea, that's what they sound like."

Damn if he wasn't right on. The Chapel Hill foursome's music covered the 80s and the 90s despite issues with broken guitar strings and being out of tune.

During the break, Matt of Snowy Owls asked me to help him carry shots to the stage and the imbibing of those shots began their set.

They covered Superdrag (a nod to Matt's Knoxville roots) and fuzzed out hard while continuing to win the crowd away from their drinking and talking.

The Cinnamon Band played last and they had a bunch of drunken die hard fans in the room singing along to almost every song.

They covered Nick Lowe's "What Lack of Love Has Done" as well as doing both the A and B sides of their upcoming single.

"Easy does it doesn't cut it when you want someone."

Hey, they said it, not me.

After their set, I chatted with friends, one of whom inquired what I thought of the Cinnamon Band.

"Her answer has nudity in it," my girlfriend said to much laughter.

Because I first saw the Cinnamon Band unplugged, I still get a kick out of hearing them full-on electric and I said so.

I did not so much as mention naked anything.

There was some discussion of which instrument can win a person's heart; I heard a case for pedal steel guitar and I know someone else who would say sax.

I'd be inclined to go with the vox as the irresistible instrument for me.

Words. It always comes down to words.

Bantering with the Best

One poet, three chefs, one scientist, nine musicians, one illustrator and one skateboarder with a cane.

After a day trip to the Rappahannock, I met up with one of my favorite people for, as she put it, "a glass of wine and unloading."

It turned into a couple of glasses at Six Burner, where I ran into two friends taking a break from drywall hanging and wineglass-breaking hounds.

My friend had had the day from Hell with her evil boss, she was missing her beloved who is out of town for another month and she was trying to decide what to do about a toxic friend.

If that kind of day doesn't deserve food and wine, what kind does?

We did a balancing act with a red and yellow tomato, feta and pine nut salad dressed with the lightest possible lemon juice and olive oil vinaigrette and a plate of fried oysters.

It's been proven that fried foods make everything all better, just like a mother's hug.

I don't know if we solved all her problems, but as usual, we had some great conversation and major laughter going on.

She's that rare person I can discuss both the Peacock Room and dangling love letters with.

Once she felt better, I drove over to the Firehouse Theater for The Listening Room, a musical highlight of every month and this month curated by Matt Klimas of Snowy Owls, one of my very favorite music geeks.

My seat had been saved for me between two friends, the charmingly loopy one and the one who likes to talk about people with me.

Clint Maul went on first, doing old and new material, including several short songs (his words) like "Ohio" and "Tilden Street."

Short and winding, it's the ideal street to memorialize in song.

He's only been songwriting since 2006, but you'd never know it by his material, which had an assured air to it.

Favorite line: "The girl's easy on the eyes but she's hell on the heart."

He was followed by Stolen Sheep, a trio from  Knoxville.

I'd met lead singer/guitarist George when I'd arrived and my love of reverb had come up.

'"We'll do some extra reverb for you," he generously assured me. "How do you feel about delay?"

For someone like me, the more pedal effects, the better, especially at the LR, where pedals are not typically part of the performances.

George said he'd had writer's block for three years and then sang the first song he'd written afterwards.

"I'm searching for a metaphor...I'm searching for a simile." Language geeks love that kind of lyric.

Last up was the Cinnamon Band and I was one of the few who'd seen this very electric two-piece band play an acoustic show at Ipanema Live last year.

They were unplugged again tonight and as a friend and I agreed, they're damn good either way.

Tonight they added an accordion player to flesh out their songs, adding a welcome folkiness to their sound.

The drummer was in rare form, teasing his bandmate about his lack of audience interaction ("Banter!" he commanded to no avail. "Your mother said you need to talk more.").

Despite having seen this band multiple times, I continue to enjoy seeing them live.

The songs are well written, the musicianship is good and they always seem to enjoy themselves.

Favorite lyric: Everybody needs a target that's easy to love."

The show finished at a civilized hour, so I took the opportunity to go to Secco, where I ran into a friend who broke his foot skateboarding and has been out of commission for weeks.

He's mobile with a cane now, but miserable at his long confinement. He likened it to the last week of summer vacation for a kid.

You've watched endless movies (he did four seasons of "Mad Men" in two days), played endless video games and you want to return to life as you knew it.

Sympathizing, I had a glass of the peppery Chateau de Roquefort Rose "Corail" while we discussed his accident (it wasn't a trick but trying to avoid a kid that landed him on his foot wrong) and a new DJ night at Sprout (third Thursdays).

He wants me to notify him before the next Listening Room. I get so many requests like that, I should hire myself out as a social secretary.

I met a visiting chef and former Richmonder (tattooed with a spoon) and enjoyed hearing about the restaurants in other places he's worked and how much RVA's dining scene has improved.

Everyone needs a restaurant target that's easy to love.

A group was discussing wedding rings and one of the servers suggested the groom-to-be get a ring tattoo, like he had done.

The bride-to-be thought that that was a bad idea.

"Why, because it's forever?" the ring-tattooed server asked pointedly and to great laughter.

"I'm going to divorce him after I finish school," she said.

In case of an easy divorce, it would be hell on the finger getting rid of that thing.

Surely there's a metaphor or simile in that.

The (Not) Unhappy Hours

There are worse ways to start an evening than with an unhappy hour or two.

The Poe Museum was doing their monthly Unhappy Hours social coinciding with the opening of their new exhibit "Price and Poe: A Match Made in Hell." How could I not check that  out?

Arriving just as a friend did, we walked into the walled garden moments after a performance began. A costumed interpreter was speaking and singing as Poe's mother, the actress Eliza Poe.

She told her life story, sang some period songs and did two monologues, one from Romeo and Juliet and another written for Eliza Poe by a fan. Best line: "And female fortitude shall conquer pain." An enduring sentiment, for sure.

After the performance, a devil's food birthday cake (with a photograph of his face iced onto the cake) was cut in honor of tomorrow being the 100th anniversary of Vincent Price being born.

The "Match Made in Hell" exhibit is small, but illuminating. I don't think I realized that Price had starred in eleven adaptations of Poe's work. And I haven't seen a one of them.

And I had certainly never seen a life mask of Price, right down to his moustache hairs, done five years before his death.

A highlight of the evening was running onto one of the nude models from Gallery 5's recent Disrobed exhibit.

"Last time I saw you, you were naked," I said, sidling up to him. His laugh was so loud and hearty that it made heads turn so it was totally worth mentioning.

Leaving the formerly nude behind, I drove to Sprout to meet a friend for dinner to find the place packed. Luckily my friend had already secured a table because people kept coming in, too.

My friend already knew that he was going to get the sliders (and why not considering how amazing they are) but I succumbed to the pizetta of the day.

With Faith Farms Food sausage, Dave and Dee's mushrooms, bechamel sauce and feta/cheddar, it was mind-blowingly good. So good that when I gave another friend a taste, he ordered one for himself. Our server called it the meatzetta for its generous amount of spicy sausage.

Part of the reason for our early arrival was the "surprise" first performance of a new local band, the Blood Vows.

The inaugural set was short, only four songs, but full-on hard and energetic. Fronting the group was band photographer P.J. Sykes who turned out to have a whole different persona with a guitar in his hand rather than a camera.

I said it then and I'll say it now. He was a monster and I mean that in the best possible way. Go hard or go home doesn't begin to cover it.

The Cinnamon band followed and by then the room was packed and getting warm. I felt myself glowing but most of the guys had a full-on sweat going.

Every time I see this duo play again, I am more impressed with how melodic they are, what good songwriters they are and just how good they are at harmonizing, non-stop crashing drumming and shifting dynamics. Very compelling stuff, all.

Silversmiths were next and the crowd thinned noticeably, but it was 11:30 by then and a school night, so to speak, so perhaps it was understandable.

Last but by no means least were Snowy Owls, a group with somewhat hushed vocals but big fuzzy guitar, bass and drums.

For a lover of soundscapes like yours truly, their borderline shoegaze effects are the stuff of sonic dreams.

A good-sized crowd stayed for their set, confident that this was the best place to be for music in Richmond this Thursday night (okay, Friday morning by now).

A talented musician who had been up north for a while was happily back tonight, a friend cut loose and got uncharacteristically loopy on a school night, and just before the last song of the evening, a semi-drunk guy stepped down hard on my sandaled foot (and spent the rest of the show apologizing for it).

There are worse ways to end an evening than with throbbing toes. Fortunately I'd been lulled into a musical euphoria, so I barely felt it at all.

I can try beginning my night with unhappy hours all I want, but I never quite get the hang of not enjoying myself when friends and good music are involved.

And sausage. One can never underestimate the happiness quotient of a good pig product. Fact.

Something Old, Something New

I pressed the "repeat" button tonight to get my evening rolling. I went to Amuse for drinks, even though I'd been there yesterday. I saw the "Celebration of Print" show at VMFA for the third time this week.

But repeating myself was more than worth it because I was meeting up with a recently-engaged friend  (now wearing a carat and three quarters on her left hand and, holy cow, that's a lot of ice) who told me all the details of her proposal. I love that he asked her by saying, "So what are you doing for the next twenty years?"

Our libation of choice was the Montand sparkling rose (redundant, I know, but at $5 a glass, impossible to pass up), enjoyed with an amuse bouche of smoked duck on rye with allspice creme fraiche and pomegranate gastrique. Divine.

We followed that with tonight's special, lamb/pork/beef meatballs in Romesco sauce with turnip puree and fresh peas. My friend declared them "little meatloaves," and said they made her crave exactly that. Knowing her, she'll make meatloaf this weekend.

Since she's an illustrator, I insisted that we take in the print show before we left because I knew how impressed she'd be. And she was, oohing and ahhing over the big names, the unknowns and the three prints of cats.

It was so enjoyable to go back over the show with someone so familiar with all the printing processes, my own little expert, so to speak. Once more, I saw the show with fresh eyes.

Afterwards, she went home to her man and I met another friend for dinner at the Cellar Door; it was his first time and my fourth and we enjoyed it equally.

Despite him arriving a half hour before me and scanning the menu endlessly while he waited for me, he'd somehow missed their Peruvian chicken specialty and ended up ordering the Jackson Ward sandwich, probably because it's where we live.

Not me. I had the Mansion salad, loaded with that chicken and their spicy Peruvian ranch dressing. I traded a bite of mine for a bite of his marinated beef sandwich and jicama fries, so everybody was happy, but I guarantee you he'll get the chicken next time.

He had updates on his love life to share as well as tales of gardening and rug binding. Sometimes he's as good as a girlfriend for girl talk (and I mean that in the most complimentary way). If only he hadn't been too full for dessert.

Then we were off to different shows. I ditched my car at home and walked over to Gallery 5 for a superb night of fresh-sounding music. When I arrived, not a soul was outside except for the two headliners, heads bent together in the glow of the street lights. It would have made a great photograph.

The Cinnamon Band had just begun and it took me only seconds to recall how much I'd liked them when I first heard them at Live at Ipanema, here.

This time they were back in their usual electric mode, but no less impressive. And this time I got to hear the shimmering chords and explosive drumming that had been toned down at Ipanema. Happily, the audience was attentively into them, and the energy in the room was terrific.

All the way from Montreal came Handsome Furs, although somehow there were only two of them instead of the usual dozen or so that comprise a Canadian band. I don't know how they get away with that in a country that boasts bands bigger than sports teams.

A guy behind me noted, "Damn, they're short!" and another said, "Skinny, too!" Between them, maybe 200 pounds, but their sound belied their size.

The raw energy of Handsome Furs was complemented by Alexei's exuberant synth and drum machine playing and  Dan's excellent guitar playing and vocals. Plus they're married and in love, so they kiss between songs sometimes. You don't see that much.

After tearing through the first couple of songs, Dan took off his shirt, saying, "Virginia is hot! But the smokes are cheap. I'm such a dirtbag, I love to smoke."

He introduced the song "When I Get Back" by explaining that it was about post-tour resolutions, like not drinking lighter fluid because it was the only alcohol in the house or giving up cigs because they're bad for you. It was pretty funny stuff and the song rocked.

Alexei showed off her flexibility with waist-high leg kicks to match the beat and a flailing arm to balance herself on keyboard on occasion. Her little two-piece midriff and short set with red tights made her a  pogo stick of color as she played, her long, red hair falling in her eyes pretty much all the time since she never stopped moving.

The music had definite 80s undertones (Human League, Devo) but with elements of blues and rockabilly over post-punk. As always, I appreciate the way young artists are able to choose one from column A, one from column B and one from column C and reinterpret it all as new.

Songs were short, fast and energetic and it's clear why they're both so skinny given the physicality of the workout performance they gave. They really looked like they were having a great time up there.

As was I. Nothing wrong with starting with something old (and familiar) especially when I end up with something new (and different).

And you know I can skip the something borrowed and something blue.

Cinnamon Worship

The monthly Live at Ipanema show is a regular event on my calendar and, whenever possible, it's preceded by dinner with a fellow Gemini music-lover. Because it had been a while since we'd gotten together, we added in an extra stop just to have more time to talk before the show.

When I'd suggested Bistro 27 to her for dinner, she wrote back, "Can we have a cocktail at Tarrant's too?" Had she forgotten who she was dealing with? I replied, "We can do it all, honey!"

And it wasn't cocktails we had, either. The bartender, a good friend and one who knows both our habits, had suggested Vino Verde upon our arrival and we allowed him to twist our arms into drinking our favorite summer grape. We took our time sipping and sharing what had been going on since we last met. Let's just say men occupied the bulk of the conversation.

When we asked for our bill, my bartending friend mentioned that a nearby bar sitter, new to the area, had asked him for suggestions on what to do in RVA and he'd recommended my blog (turns out he does this frequently).

It was at that point that the woman introduced herself to me, saying, "You write really well," as she continued to scroll through some recent posts. Glad to be of service and welcome to Richmond, stranger.

Dinner was just down the block at Bistro 27 because my friend is a huge fan of their Ceasar salad and thinks they have the best Italian-style polenta in town (it comes under sauteed calamari). In addition to those two prerequisites, we also shared the Rappahannock oysters gratine and I got the rabbit and veal sausage with Manchego over potato cakes.

My friend declined to share that dish with me because she doesn't eat rabbit. "I'm not as adventurous as you are," she claimed, missing out. Too bad for her because as our server had warned me, "You're going to love that" and I absolutely did. It's new to the menu so it was the first time I'd had it, but it won't be the last.

By the time we'd finished those four taste delights, it was time to make our way to Ipanema for coconut cake and the Cinnamon Band from Staunton. From the second they opened their mouths, the crowd closed theirs. A foursome walked in and one looked at the other and loudly asked, "Why is it so quiet in here?" Well, my friend, perhaps it's because the band is knocking the socks off of every person in the overcrowded room.

Guitarist John led with, "Actually we're electric, but tonight you're privy to something extra-special." That was the colossal understatement of the evening. These guys are known for being loud, all shimmering chords and bone-shaking drums, but that aesthetic was tamed tonight and the result was magical.

My friend thought that of all the talented bands that have played Live at Ipanema, the Cinnamon Band sounded most likely to be the breakthrough act. Their voices blended beautifully and lyrically the songs were stunning, It was easy to lose sight of the fact that all that sound was coming from only two guys, a guitar and drums.

And while their usual M.O. may be loud, tonight's show was a thing of subdued melodic beauty, created by the slow build that defined their songs. I don't know that I've ever seen so many rapt fans at a Live at Ipanema show and I've been to all but one.

Favorite lyric (of many): Easy does it doesn't cut it when you want someone.

We had to sit outside afterwards just to talk to other people about how impressive the show had been. To a person, everyone was blown away.

That's why Live at Ipanema is a non-negotiable entry in my datebook. And yes, I still carry one of those artifacts, those relics of another era. Make fun of me all you like (everyone does when I pull it out) but I don't miss much, now do I?