Perfect Amount of Art and Awkward

Just another Friday night that starts with a makeshift disco and ends with strippers.

A photographer friend and I were walking to dinner when he spied some interesting tile work on a building and paused to take a picture.

Next thing we know, the owner of the building, a charming Mexican, comes out and invites us in for a tour of the building he is renovating for his construction company.

I'm sure my mother would disapprove of going into a stranger's building with him, but I figure my sturdy male friend is my insurance against bodily harm.

Inside, the owner tells us that the building was a laundry for 75 years, showing off massive sliding metal doors, huge exhaust fans and an abundance of windows to let out the hot, steamy air.

Everywhere but the front of the building is still a work in progress, with part of the floor torn up in one place and a walkway over the hole.

When we get almost to the back, though, we find an intact floor, finished walls and where, wait for it, he says nonchalantly, "Here is my discotheque," while hitting a switch which starts the mirror ball turning and myriad strobe lights flashing along the roof line.

He says this is where they dance when he holds employee parties. It was about the last thing on earth I'd expected when we'd walked in the building.

That said, if he'd put on some music, I might have tried it out and I bet my friend would have, too.

Neither of us could get over the unexpected invitation followed by a peek inside a building we would otherwise never have seen.

While we were eating dinner afterwards, we caught up with each other's lives, the best part being when I asked how his relationship is going. I'd guessed that since he never has time to get together, it must be going quite well.

He affirmed how happy he was, saying, "She's smart, she likes to talk, she's good company and she used to be a cheerleader so she's flexible."

A man couldn't really ask for much more than that, could he?

The icing on the cake was when he surprised me by saying, "Since I won't be seeing you on Valentine's day, I have a present for you," pulling out a large pink eraser shaped like a diamond ring. "Anyone who doesn't put a ring on it is a dumbass."

Clearly he didn't want to be among that group. It was my first pink eraser diamond ring and although I'm not a jewelry person, I wore it all night.

Our next stop was Glave Kocen gallery to See "Click III," a biannual invitational photography show with the theme "From Mountains to Sea."

We both recognized several of the photographers' names while taking in a fascinating array of photography styles from photo montage to pinhole Polaroids to photo-journalism to abstractions. Our post-gallery discussion involved how the best digital photographs look like they were shot on 35 mm.

We parted ways in the arts district since I had First Fridays artwalking to do and he had other plans.

My first stop was at Black Iris gallery to see "Public Eye: Civil Rights Case Study," a series of photographs and videos shot for surveillance purposes during the '60s and '70s in Richmond.

The mug shots looked like Joe Average people, a comment I made to a woman who responded, "Yea, there's one of my sister."

I'm willing to bet if you're of an age and were in Richmond during the days of protests and demonstrations, you might recognize some young person's mug in the exhibit, too.

Projected on the back wall was a series of film clips, like a 1970 busing protest on Belvidere, a memorial for Martin Luther King at the state capital in 1968 (with women in white gloves and hats), a KKK parade and a Black Panther meeting on Laurel Street.

Of course Laurel Street. Where else but Oregon Hill would you expect to find Black Panthers and anarchists?

A black and white no-frills look at a period in RVA's history I missed, presented without political agenda or bias. As in, just the facts, ma'am. Definitely worth checking out.

From there, it was just a short walk to the Renaissance for WRIR's annual "party for the rest of us" to celebrate their ninth birthday.

I made a point to get there early enough to see River City Taiko, a group that plays traditional Japanese drums, which I have to assume means one person on either side of the drum playing different rhythms because that's what these people were doing, sometimes two at a time and sometimes the entire group at once.

The Colloquial Orchestra was next and while I've seen them many times, that's meaningless because the orchestra is defined as Dave Watkins on dulcitar and anyone else he asks to play with him, so never the same.

It can be a three piece, a six-piece or, like tonight, a 14-piece: two drummers, six guitarists (one acoustic), bass, trumpet, keyboard, violin,and a late-arriving sax player.

Improvising for a half hour, they wove elaborate soundscapes around the bass and drum center, creating what one first-timer described to me as sounding like "bagpipes on acid."

Changing rooms to catch some storytelling courtesy of Secretly Y'All, I heard the inimitable Herschel tell a tale of falling hard for a girl after hearing her laugh because, "it was the best laugh I ever heard."

Now there's a hell of a  compliment.

He accompanied himself on ukulele when he sang a song partially based on their interaction.

Justin's story was about moving from Powhatan and an outdoor-centered life to Church Hill and having to push himself "to get off my ass and go outside," and his song was called "Silver and Diamonds."

Patrick's story was about a girl joining his group traveling Europe and after spending 24 hours with her, knowing he was deeply in love. Two months here went great but six weeks in Berlin made it painfully obvious she'd lost interest. His heartbreaking tribute was called "Waltz to Noel."

No one had mentioned that tonight's theme would be "guys with sad stories."

Milling about between bands, I ran into the DJ who works at WPA and had made all the lovely birthday cakes for tonight's party. I had him give me a rundown on what kind of cake was inside each since they all looked different.

Chocolate coconut and caramel chocolate seemed to hold the most promise for me. I took a swipe of icing just to be sure, alarming a DJ.

That's an annual tradition for me at this party, my friend. Just ask Andrew.

The one band I wanted to make sure I caught tonight was Hypercolor and walking into the ballroom as their set began, I knew in an instant that they were right up my alley.

A ruby-throated female lead singer playing guitar ("She's not your typical lead, she's even doing some finger-picking," the guy behind me whispered to me), two other lush-sounding guitars including one of the guys from Avers whom I'd just seen and the bassist from Fear of Music (also just seen last weekend) who together with the drummer kept everyone from wandering off into psychedelic bliss.

I kept moving closer and closer to the front to watch and listen to the impressive execution and well-written songs. I'll need to see them again soon.

The Silent Music Revival was presenting the avant-garde 1947 film "The Cage" with improvised soundtrack by Snack Truck and their thunderous rock was a fine match for the falling eyeballs, nude women running, leek stealers and other assorted oddities of the silent movie.

I could tell that a lot of people watching had never seen a SMR presentation before as they focused solely on the band and ignored the movie.

Guys, guys, guys.

Back in the main ballroom, the Ar-Kaics had morphed from a trio to a quartet since I'd last seen them at Steady Sounds but hard and fast ear-splitting garage rock was still their metier.

For something completely different, I crossed rooms to hear the RVA Squares, a bluegrass band with a dance caller.

Eight couples took the challenge, including three all girl couples (one of each was given a tie to make her easier to identify as the male) and squared off as Grant Hunnicutt, hat, microphone and all, proceed to call out the square dancing instructions.

Gents go round the outside line
Pass your partner one time by
Pick a new girl on the fly
Swing her round
Step right back and watch her strut
Step back up and bump your butt

I'm not sure those are the same square dancing calls I heard when we square danced in elementary school, but they seemed to elicit much the same results.

It really did look like fun and while I'm sure I would have made a mess of it, I'd have tried square dancing for the first time since elementary school if someone had asked.

But they didn't, so I accepted an invitation from my favorite J-Ward couple to leave for Gallery 5 and the last of their evening of burlesque and boylesque.

The place was packed and we heard major hooting and hollering from outside, so I found a place by the radiator and stood on tip-toe to see the ample Dante the Inferno gyrate and strip down.

"That was just the perfect amount of awkward," host Parker said afterwards while scantily clad women were sweeping up the stripping droppings of Dante.

The lovely and zaftig Ellie "Iron Lady" Quinn was next and her red and gold costume zipped off while she danced provocatively to reveal a gold bikini top and gold thong with tassels .

The crowd ate it up, cheering her on until she removed her bikini top and it was just pasties with tassels, which she then proceeded to twirl like a pro, shimmying wildly.

Buster Britches was introduced as "the cream show Casanova" and Parker instructed us to make a path down the center of the room "cause he's gonna be coming from the back, just the way he likes it."

In a short floral robe and carrying an umbrella, the ample Buster strutted onstage to Billie Holiday's "He's a Tramp," dropped the robe and then spent the rest of the time adding clothes back on.

The night ended with Deanna Danger, not only a burlesque performer but a teacher ("You, too, can be up here taking your clothes off!" Parker said by way of introduction) in a fabulous gold and black dress with a slit skirt that got twirled and swirled overhead before being removed to reveal the tiniest of pasties and leopard briefs.

The audience was practically salivating and clearly disappointed that the evening's stripping was over.

Not me. Despite the fact that I hadn't danced at the discotheque, hadn't square danced, hadn't danced while taking my clothes off and no one's writing a "Waltz to Karen," tonight was a terrific lot of fun.

Not only am I wearing the latest in pink eraser jewelry, but I was told me that I always add laughter to a room.

A woman couldn't really ask for much more than that, could she?

Over Easy

So it seemed like a good evening to go low-key.

Gone all day, all I wanted was an easy meal and an early night.

Enter Olio, where a Springtime salad of mixed greens, roasted red peppers, walnuts, dried cranberries, red onion, Parmesan cheese and apple slices in balsamic vinaigrette was delivered to my outside table by a server who acknowledged, "That looks so good I'm gonna have to have one of those myself today."

Go for it, man.

Eating at one of the little tables in front of Olio provided some stellar street theater to distract us from the cars tearing up Main Street at way more than the posted 25 miles per hour.

I love seeing old guys on bikes with radios attached to their handlebars.

With Olio's door propped wide open, I noticed that everyone who went in came out looking much happier, no doubt a tribute to the tasty and economical meal they'd just had.

Properly fortified, it was time to return the car to Jackson Ward and wander over to Gallery 5 for some music.

Not sure how long I'd want to stay, I knew I needed to get there in time for the first band, the Colloquial Orchestra, a group I first saw in February 2010 at the Listening Room.

Little did I know at that time what this project was about.

That night it had been a three-piece and over the past three years, I've seen it as grow to as many as eleven.

And it's different every single time.

The constant is the remarkable Dave Watkins and tonight he had assembled nine others to join him in epic music-making.

Let's see, there were four drummers, two bassists (and one of them, P.J., also playing things like a bell and megaphone), two guitarists, two saxophones, a harmonium player and, ta-da, Dave on electric dulcitar and drums.

Dave begins playing, others join in and before long, it's a dense layering of musical sounds creating a soundscape so magical, so complex, that it's hard to believe it's improvised.

Except it is.

Tonight was unique for me because of the addition of the two saxes, adding a whole new dimension to the music, not to mention having Jameson and Laney of Lobo Marino back in town to add their wailing, whistling and chanting to the mix.

There were a lot of new faces in the audience at tonight's show, so I just sat back listening to the Colloquial Orchestra and watching first-timers' minds being blown.

Which, I happen to know, is exactly what Dave sets out to do every time he puts an eclectic bunch together.

By the time their set (one long piece) finished, the room felt like it was 95 degrees in there and I wasn't even doing anything.

Luckily for the musicians who were doing a lot, the air conditioning seemed to kick in during the break.

Next up was Gainesville's Peace Arrow, a guy named Mitch, who had video projections going behind him.

Good start.

Saying, "The Colloquial Orchestra was amazing and there's no way I can follow nine musicians, but I'll try," he did just that.

He began by bowing a banjo and worked his way through songs comprised of pre-recorded music, over which he played banjo, guitar, melodica and sang.

His lyrics were revelatory with bits of melody underneath and an emotional delivery that made it seem a bit like we were in his bedroom listening to his innermost thoughts.

Saying he was thrilled to be part of the tour and grateful to Gallery 5 for having him perform, he said he had CDs for free and t-shirts he'd made himself available for donation.

In other words, he was the best kind of DIY artist, sincere, hard-working and appreciative of every opportunity he was given.

I always enjoy hearing musicians when they're still early on enough to savor the experience of being out on tour and not going through the motions of touring because as a necessary evil.

It was a fine ending for an abbreviated night and walking out outside afterwards, the rush of still-75-degree weather felt like an unexpected Spring gift.

And the perfect reason to go sit on my porch and enjoy it.

One Way Streets and 3-Cornered Parks

It was an evening of samplers.

Arriving at the VMFA, the two security guards both welcomed me in. "How are you?" one inquired.

So cold, I said. It's freezing out there. But I just passed another girl in tights, so we're both crazy.

"Thank you!" the other guard said.

Gratitude is appreciated given the sacrifice in this weather.

I kicked off the weekend at Amuse where I arrived just as the window shades were being raised.

The hostess said they'd had a steady line all day, no doubt Johnny-come-latelies to the Chihuly exhibit, which closes next weekend.

When a stool emptied, the hostess led me over, mentioning that it was right next to the absinthe drip.

I took that as a sign from the green fairy and ordered one despite the sun not yet being down.

No need to judge.

The bartender, always witty and never more so than when she smiled and informed me that she was expecting to be handed her ass on a platter tonight after the afternoon they'd had, was nonetheless efficient, personable and genial.

She got me a dish of mussels and Surry ham in no time at all while all around me, the tables filled up as if by magic.

When I was down to nothing but broth, she kindly inquired if I needed more bread, but I was worried about the time.

Hearing that I had eight minutes to spare, I took more bread for the broth and still made it downstairs in time for the poetry reading.

Laura Minning, perhaps nervous, read her poetry like it was all one piece, barely taking a breath between the last word of a poem and saying, "The name of my next poem is..."

One of her poems had been commissioned by a man for his wife on the occasion of their 20th anniversary.

There's a gift that'd be hard to top.

Anna Claire Hodge's poetry was passionate and focused on what sounded like life experience.

"I only have two mugs in my house," she told us. "One is Tupac Shakur and one is the royal wedding of William and his bride. I feel like that sums everything up."

It did, indeed.

After that, the growing audience was encouraged to take a break and grab some vino at Best Cafe.

"I can tell that there are some people here who could use some wine for the poetry," our hostess Shann said.

The break was followed by the poet I'd come to see, Cynthia Grier Lotze, a friend and teacher.

She began with a poem about "a friend who keeps bees," a man I also know, that referenced "one way streets and three-cornered parks," both familiar to this city resident.

Favorite line: "The step down from the porch into night."

She read several pieces from a book-length poem she's been working on for five years ("I'm going to finish it," she promised) about two people named Peter and Stella.

In "Prayers," we heard about Peter "carrying his silent heart."

A devastating mental image.

"Another Accident" was described as "where I leave Stella, so if you have any ideas what to do with her, I'm all ears."

Just as she read the line, "The scientist, whose notes are precise," I spotted the scientist in the crowd.

Unfortunately, he was too far away to inquire of him if he had any chocolate with him. He almost always does.

I had to smile at the line, "As if life is one big Presbyterian potluck," part of "First Rabbit."

One poem she described as having "the whole cast of characters in my life in it," but it was the evocative language that stuck with me.

How will we winter over in this small apartment?

There are thick books to be read.

It concluded with, "So sit. Let us watch fall come in."

I don't even especially like fall and I was ready to sit.

Last up was Tarfia Faizullah, who opened with a poem dedicated and about her dead grandmother.

She told of going to an Episcopalian private school and how that Anglican experience had caused her to write poetry to exorcise the memories.

That kind of an experience can scar a person for life. She's lucky she was able to be inspired by it.

I hated to be read to and run, but I really needed to get to the WRIR party for the rest of us as soon as I could.

Because, you see, WRIR's birthday party is a sampler of all kinds of my favorite RVA activities.

I'd already missed the Listening Room and David Shultz doing a solo set (that included a John Prine cover) I later heard was stellar.

Soon after, I got permission from a Foundry member not to have it counted against me that I'd missed it.

Michael Murphy was spinning records when I got there and his well-chosen picks were tempting people to dance by the buffet table.

Wolf//Goat had just started their set, so I went in and watched (once again) as kids who have never seen violas and banjos in a ramshackle folk project were sucked in and start dancing wildly.

It's really something to see.

Since I'd just seen them play a few weeks ago, I changed rooms for tonight's installment of Secretly Y'All, Tell Me a Story, which featured musicians.

I try never to miss a Secretly Y'All.

Josh Bearman of the Hot Seats shared how modern country music had devolved to nothing more than nostalgia and cliche.

That said, he also sang an original song he claimed was one of the very few songs he wrote based on feelings and not just thinking it up.

The lovely Julie Karr, looking fetching in a flowered sweater, was next and shared the saga of being tested to see if she could donate a kidney to her brother.

After days of testing and inconvenience, she was found unsuitable but a song was born out of it.

Written in three parts, it was essentially three conversations, one with her family, one with herself and one with her brother.

Her heartfelt voice totally sold what was already a strong song.

Before I even knew who the next musician was, a guy came over and asked if he could stand next to me and film the next band

"They only got one song, but it's worth it," he promised.

Emmanuel told of a guy who tried to pick a fight with him, not because he had a beef with him, but because that's what he went around doing and his friends would film the fight and put it on YouTube.

Can I just say what an unpleasant reminder it was to hear that such people exist?

But the resulting song came out of it, so there's the bright side.

Storytelling over, I moved back into the main room to mingle.

One sure thing about the WRIR party is that everybody comes out of the woodwork for it.

Even people who don't go out much show up for this benefit.

So besides the usual suspects, I saw a long-ago Floyd Avenue neighbor, a former editor, a member of the Foundry, lots of musicians and more deejays than you could shake a stick at.

Canary, Oh Canary played a strong set but seemed small on a stage so big.

I remember seeing them on Sprout's tiny stage what seems like ages ago and now they were commanding this big room.

Reverb and obtuse lyrics will do it every time.

They even played a song they'd written especially for tonight.

After their set, I got down to the business end of the party, meaning I went for birthday cake and got there just as the chocolate cake was being cut.

Everyone was reveling in the cakes not having black icing this year since in the past it's been a tad disconcerting to party with people with black teeth.

I reveled so much I had two pieces.

Judge away.

Next came Richmond Comedy Coalition riffing on Richmond Famous, another of my mainstays.

Tonight's "famous" guinea pigs were WRIR deejays Shannon Cleary and Mike Rutz.

Shannon told of band practice for a band called 27 based on rock stars who'd died at 27.

Recalling the band practicing for the Monster Mashquerade party at the Garber building, his main memory was Paul Ivy yelling, "Goddammit!" all the time.

He revealed for the fist time that the way the band knew to begin playing was when Lindsey struck a certain pose.

Let's just say it was fertile material for the comedians to work with.

Mike told of planning the party for the rest of us for seven years, including 2010 when it began snowing at noon on the day of the party.

After anguishing about whether to cancel, his decision was made when Heks Orkest's singer managed to fly down from NYC in time for the show.

Mike figured if he'd made it down, Richmond could manage a little white powder.

As it turned out, the snow turned to rain at 7:00 and stayed that way until midnight.

I remember because I was one of the ones who braved the soggy weather to come to that party.

The comedy troupe made the most of Mike's story, starting by dealing with the burden of carrying around a seven-year old child.

Back into the main room for Samson Trinh and the Upper East Side Big Band, whom I hadn't seen since summer 2011.

They were in full swing when I arrived but it wasn't long until they moved into their Abbey Road project, doing big band takes on the seminal album.

From a down and dirty "Oh! Darling," that had No BS's Reggie Pace standing in front of me with his hands to the ceiling grooving hard, they took it up a notch.

"This is the part of the show where we blow your mind," Samson said and he should know given the knockout red suit and black vest he was wearing.

He's the most energetic conductor a big band has ever seen, dancing and highstepping non-stop as he led his band, several of whom I recognized from the RVA big band.

A funked-up version of "Back in the USSR" had half the room dancing or, if you were like me and near the front, bopping hard in place.

There's a song I've danced to more times than I care to count.

That segued into "Dear Prudence" before a rousing number that had many in the crowd doing "jazz hands" as the female singer testified the song to a close.

Hallelujah.

During the mingle period, a friend went looking for cake only to find none cut. I found a server and asked and she rushed off for a knife.

"I just needed to get a clean knife, honey," she assured me.

I wasn't the one who needed cake, that was my friends, both too timid to ask for the cake they wanted.

"Karen always knows how to make things happen, " one said as the other nodded.

Yea, I ask.

Back to the other room for the Colloquial Orchestra, also known as Dave Watkins and whomever he chooses to play with on any given night.

Tonight there were a record eleven musicians onstage and the sound was enormous.

Let's see, there were three drummers, two violinists, a keyboard player, a guitar player, Dave on his electric dulcitar, a sax, a trumpet, a jack-of-all-trades (PJ)  and Nelly Kate on vocals and knobs.

At one point, five of them were crouched and turning knobs to get effects out of their instruments.

I saw drummer Brandon (Snowy Owls) playing a maraca with his right hand, using it to hit the cymbal and holding his beer in his left.

Not long after, Jimmy (White Laces) took his beer from the windowsill and enjoyed a long drink while letting the other drummers have a moment.

PJ played a giant plastic harmonica through a megaphone, that is, when he wasn't hitting a metal bowl.

Midway through the epic improvised piece they were creating, drummer Nathaniel picked up one of his drums, carried it to the front of the stage and began banging with a frenzy.

PJ wasted not a moment taking over his remaining drums, so now we had four drummers.

Nelly sat on the floor, out of the way, but making her distinctive sounds into the mic to add to the overall mix.

Usually Dave blows into his dulcitar and tonight he was joined by Joon blowing into his violin.

As many times as I've seen the Colloquial Orchestra, tonight's huge cast made for a particularly grand performance, both in intensity and sheer variety of sound.

Last up was Dead Fame and by the time I got in there, the crowd was way into them.

Balloons were everywhere, being batted about and all at once, there were two Dead Fame beach balls being thrown into the mix.

We have a band in Richmond with beach balls. Who knew?

"Does it have to be so f*cking bright in this room?" the lead singer asked before things got a bit dimmer.

The bouncing balloons and balls got old when both me and my girlfriend got beaned by them from behind, but that problem was partially solved when one of them landed in the crystal chandelier high above our heads.

Meanwhile, the band played on, all black-clad and '80s intensity as the party wound down.

When I went to find my coat in the coat check room, it appeared that a bomb had gone off, but I eventually located my scarf and coat, both absolutely necessary for the walk home.

As I walked, quickly, very quickly, it was with the satisfaction that I'd packed a month's worth of Richmond happenings into one short seven-hour period.

For anyone looking to sample the kinds of stuff I do day in and day out, tonight was a nice cross-section of it all: storytelling, DJs, Listening Room, bands, comedy, poetry.

Tonight Karen didn't have to make it happen. It was all there for the taking.

A Trouble-Free Evening

We have a new vinyl store four blocks from my house and I decided to start my evening there because they were having a Joanna Newsom listening party.

Walking by the nearby barbershop, the three guys out front bid me good evening, but they weren't looking me in the eye. "You're looking at my tights, aren't you?" I teased them. One grinned and asked, "What kind of trouble you planing to get in to tonight with those on?"

I told him I hadn't decided yet, that the evening was young. I was wearing the Berlin tights, the ones pictured in my blog profile, the ones that always get comments. They sure know how to make tights in Berlin is all I'm saying.

Inside Steady Sounds, I enjoyed an unexpected trip down memory lane by starting with their older vinyl rather than the new stuff I'd actually be listening to.

Some of the records I saw were an absolute blast from the past, reminding me of people and experiences I hadn't thought about since I was listening to that stuff. I grinned, I laughed out loud; I was having a great time listening and looking.

The unexpected pleasure of it all was happening on several albums that will thrill a friend when I present them to him for Christmas. Miles Davis' Birth of the Cool was probably the best find, but several other jazz fusion titles will definitely score points. Thanks, Joanna.

When I passed by the barbershop leaving, one guy tipped his hat and told me, "Be safe tonight." That was my plan.

From there I went down to Sam Miller's, not a place I frequent, to meet a friend, an acquaintance (last night's Native Virginian) and two strangers. The place was mobbed, they had a duo playing live and there wasn't a seat left at the bar so we took a table in the back.

The strangers were associates of the NV so there was much good-natured ribbing among them, but also satisfying talk of Shakespeare (I got asked to an upcoming performance), church-going (thanks, I'd rather not) and, surprise, music. As for food, the table was laden with sliders, mini-crabcakes and 75-cent oysters. Not a bad happy hour sampling.

The music talk paid off because one of the guys had somewhat similar enough taste to mine to make for some good chatting, despite his passion for Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd (I try not to judge but it's difficult).

Best of all, he told me about an upcoming show in an unlikely location that I probably wouldn't have heard about otherwise. And this is why I talk music with strangers.

The male contingent wanted us to join them for dinner, but I had music plans. Sprout was hosting a show called "We, the Bearded" featuring Aquariums (from Tennessee), Nick Woods (of Orioles) and one of my favorite local collectives, the Colloquial Orchestra.

The C.O. billed this show as "100% less amps and 100% more accordion and harmonica"; this was a nod to the inclusion of Jonathan Vassar, the hands and lungs behind those two additions.

Nick played first and he was mid-song with his eyes closed when I took my seat. When he finished that song, he opened his eyes, noticed us newcomers and said, "It got more crowded while my eyes were closed."

Playing a new song, he ended it with, "Where did that come from?" after playing an unplanned C-chord. The audience certainly didn't have any idea. Favorite lyric: "I need a partner in crime." Close second: "I wanted this bridge to sound like Nirvana Unplugged."

Martin of Aquariums played next, explaining that his songs were usually performed with a full band, so we were hearing just the heart of the songs.

He boasted of having recently written two songs before noon and rewarding himself with a Mexican lunch. "Four margaritas and two beers. Then I took a nap." Favorite lyric: "A peck on the lips with a new love, more beautiful yet than your love."

Last up were the multi-talented Dave Watkins and his revolving crew, commonly known as the Colloquial Orchestra. He explained that there is always one practice session for a C.O. show, at which they decide who's playing what instrument and what music they'll play.

Dave then said, "At Sunday's rehearsal, Jonathan had a great song. We're not going to play that." What they did play was dulcitar, psaltery ( a triangular member of the harp/zither family and played with a bow), ukulele, accordion and harmonicas, resulting in beautiful music. Vocals were limited, although Jonathan's dulcet tones did show up during a few of the pieces.

The last time I'd seen the C.O., here, they were loud, electric, huge-sounding and, be still my heart, so post-rock sounding that I gushed to them afterwards in appreciation for the set I'd just heard.

Tonight's set was the complete opposite, quiet, unamplified, but still huge sounding in the acoustic soundscapes they were creating. It would have been dangerously close to acoustic post-rock if such a thing existed. And, yes, I gushed to them afterwards (but not until I'd had a teachable moment on the psaltery), but I think they're used to that.

Walking down Morris Street toward my car, I passed a trio, one of whom said hi and then, "I like your tights! A lot!"

That's the kind of trouble I got into with the Berlin tights tonight. The guys in front of the barbershop had nothing to worry about.

In the Heat of the Night

The humidity's been at around 82% all evening. All my activities tonight involved lots of sweaty bodies. Everyone who hugged me this evening was sticky. And not one of those statements is a complaint (I'll take hot over cold any time).

My Friday night began at the new pizza place Stuzzi, which was packed for its unofficial opening night soiree. The ABC license hadn't arrived until 2:00 this afternoon (whew!), but the choices tonight were limited to wine and liquor (beer is coming, not that I care). They had no change so only cards were being taken in payment for drinks. Food was on the house with comments being actively solicited. And the a/c struggled to keep up with the crowd and the pizza oven cranking out non-stop pies.

I found my spot at the front bar and ordered my wine from a list on a yellow legal pad (how often does that happen twice in one week?) consisting of a Pinot Grigio, a Chardonnay and a blend of Pinot Grigio and Chardonnay. It will be interesting to see what actually ends up on the wine list.

The large staff was rushing about furiously, figuring out their systems as they went along; everyone was friendly, pleasant and glistening. There were five Stuzzi Chini (delicious little things), two salads, the classic Pizze D.O.C., the Margherita, along with five other pizzas and four pastas. Oh, and three desserts for those who care about such things.

I ordered the spring mix with Gorgonzola and the Italian Sausage (Salsiccia) Pizze with San Marzano tomato sauce, housemade Mozzarella, sausage, basil and EVOO. My salad had so much Gorgonzola on it that I actually didn't finish it all (knowing I had a pie on the way) and that's really saying something. The greens were fresh and it was not overdressed so I gave it a thumbs up. Owner Peter teased me about not being able to finish such wonderful cheese from the originating town. Cheese fail, Karen.

The beauty of a pizza oven with stones from Mt. Vesuvius is that a pie is ready in 60 to 90 seconds. The rustic and amorphic pizza was superb and I shared a piece with an old friend and former neighbor who had stopped by ("I should have known I'd find you here.") on his way to a benefit and he agreed that the pie was beautifully done. Since unlike me, he still lives a block away, he's thrilled with their presence in the Museum District.

Leaving, I ran into Tanya of Belmont Butchery, whom I hadn't chatted with since a party a few months back. She wanted to show me the butchery's garden, so we headed around the corner to meet up with the charming Henry and admire the corn. And the lima beans (be still my heart). And the beets and the mesclun and the peppers and the haricots verts. Strolling the back forty with a light breeze was the perfect after-dinner activity; promises of gifts from their bounty only added to my personal enjoyment of it all. Lima lovers "R" us.

I left the old 'hood for the current one to meet up with a friend and do the artwalk (duh, it is First Friday after all). I specifically wanted to see the "Richmond Illustrators Club 4th Annual Juried Show" because it is always one of my favorite (and best) shows of the year. There was such a variety of talent on Ghostprint's walls tonight and many of the prints were extremely reasonably priced. There was more than one that I could happily look at every day on my own walls.

ADA's "Anniversary Affordable Works and Garage Sale" offered up all kinds of delights in practically every medium. I loved Daniel Davidson's symmetrical images; he only draws the left side and then uses a simple process to transfer it to the right side. Shown was a drawing of the Brooklyn Bridge and another of Queen Elizabeth; the detail in both was riveting. And how clever is he? Half the work and a full picture.

Art 6 had a Juneteenth exhibit that shone for its vintage photographs of blacks posing for the camera pre-1900. Another photography standout was "Soul Rebel: An Intimate Portrait of Bob Marley" by David Burnett at Metro Space Gallery, with a local reggae band conveniently playing outside. Lots of blissed out faces, but no suspicious smells.

I knew I wanted to finish in the courtyard because the Colloquial Orchestra was playing and after hearing them once, I wanted to hear them some more. They started playing with no introduction and it took a few minutes for the crowd, or at least those who were there to hear music, to realize it.

They have an amazing sound and I checked and I'm not speaking out of turn by calling them post-rock. Their dynamic sound builds and wraps around the listener's ear in a way that makes the music everything...unless you're talking and then, sadly for you, it's just background.

Talking to the guys in the band afterwards, they acknowledged a lot of improvisation going on in between certain set points in the music. They also said that they ldo isten to a lot of post-rock, too, and laughingly suggested that they're post-post rock.

What they are to me is a collection of talented musicians playing interesting instruments and creating a sound that doesn't fall neatly into 3 or 4 minute songs, but which will totally capture you for the duration. There could have been no better way to wrap up the evening.

Walking back past Gallery 5, we saw a bit of a fire performance and some belly dancing as we paused on the sidewalk. It was my friend's first First Friday in over two years, so he was particularly thrilled with the events of the evening. I know because he told me so as he gave me a sweaty hug before leaving J-Ward.

As for me, now that I've finished my nightly over-sharing and it's only 12:45, I plan to take my wine and my sticky self and go sit on my balcony for a while to enjoy the heat.

It's not like anyone will know how sweaty I am...and I kind of like it on a June night.

Garnett's Sets the Tone for Music Done Right

"I feel like I just ate in your kitchen," the departing customer said to Kendra, owner of Garnett's moments after I sat down at the bar. That compliment just about sums up what a comfortable place this months-old restaurant is; as for me, I still haven't tried every single sandwich, so I was back to cross one more off my list. Besides, I knew Mac missed me.

Tonight it was the turkey with Swiss, bacon and coleslaw on rye bread that caught my eye and while it was almost too thick to get my mouth around, I managed. The beauty of this sandwich was the contrast between the sweetness of the cole slaw and the saltiness of the bacon. One of my favorite bearded regulars came in and ordered a BLT with a fried egg...and a side of a grilled cheese. I remember my first time eating at Garnett's a guy had a side of potato salad with his sandwich and then ordered another side of potato salad for dessert. I've also seen people order an extra side of those fabulous pickles; Garnett's has that kind of effect on people.

It's also a place where you're a fool not to order dessert; theirs are better priced than any place else in town, except for perhaps Black Sheep, and they're outstanding. Tonight I had yet another variation: chocolate cake with coffee icing. I don't even drink coffee and I thought it was wonderful; imagine how coffee lovers would swoon.

Like several other customers who came through Garnett's while I was there, I was headed to the Michaux House for this month's installment of the Listening Room. I arrived early enough to secure good seats for me and the two friends who were joining me. The well-trained audience was in their seats and hushed by 7:59.

The Colloquial Orchestra was up first, a local super group of sorts, made up of Chad of The Florentines, Matt of the Low Branches and Louisiana Territory and Dave Watkins ("I'm just Dave Watkins," he told us). Unusual instruments were the highlight here; Chad played the bouzouki, Matt the baritone ukulele and Dave the dulcitar.

The first song, all instrumental, was highlighted by Dave singing into the body of the dulcitar, causing it to resonate. From my vantage point, he appeared to be kissing his instrument, but the sound he produced was almost as good as a kissing sound. Another song, Pangea's Revenge, was introduced as "for all you hopeless romantics out there," and the lyrics were shown on a screen for a group singalong. Or, as Dave put it,"So you can't talk at the Listening Room, but no one said you couldn't sing." Those three stringed instruments playing together was truly a thing of beauty.

Up next was singer/songwriter Dean Fields, who while tuning his guitar, told the audience that "I wrote this song for banjo. This is not one." He entertained us with stories in between songs ("I wrote this in a bar in Raleigh. That paints a picture, doesn't it?") and explanations (about the song Dandelion Rain: "I find humidity inspiring.") He described the Listening Room environment as a reminder of how all the songs were written: simply and with just him and his guitar. Favorite lyric: "You pray the waiting's worth the next in line." So true. He closed with a song called Imitations, describing it as the first song he ever wrote that he didn't think was garbage. Not even close, Dean.

I wasn't at all familiar with local band The Thirds, a four-piece tonight, who began by telling us that they didn't have any good stories to tell, so they were just going to play. With two guitars, bass and keyboard, they also informed us that they were"kind of a rock band most of the time." Their stripped down acoustic sound for the evening may not have been rock (or, more appropriately, indie rock), but those keyboards and synthesized sounds elevated the music to something compelling. My friend found the vocals Death Cab for Cutie-like, which could be a good or bad thing, depending on your perspective; I liked the guy's voice and phrasing. Favorite lyric: "Chemical reactions that I can't explain/I'm way too old for this."

Without going all superlative on you, the Listening Room never disappoints; the organizers continue to bring in talented musicians to an atmosphere that encourages appreciation. Dean wisecracked with, "How you guys doing? Oh, yeah, you guys can't talk," which drew a huge laugh from the attendees. And, as always happens at these shows, midway through, a section of the strung-up lights broke free of their mooring and dropped, to the surprise of the band and delight of the audience. Like respectful silence during the show, it's one of those things you can always count on at the Listening Room. Fortunately, it doesn't make a sound when it happens.