The man in the preacher hat summed up my evening. "Lydia Loveless is up next. I love getting to say that. What a Saturday night!"
It was indeed a Saturday night I won't soon forget.
Back during the halcyon days of summer, I'd bought a $12 ticket to see Lydia at the Southern in Charlottesville and tonight a favorite couple came by to scoop me up and ferry me there.
Our first stop was Public Fish & Oyster, where we encountered a full house and no availability until 9:30 unless we were willing to sit on the patio.
I had only one question and the answer was yes, they had heaters out there, so we joined a growing group of poor planners like ourselves to eat dinner outside on the coldest evening in months.
Cozying up to a heater and with a borrowed blanket from the restaurant that shared the patio (honestly, we thought the blankets were Public's), we managed quite nicely, thank you.
Food-wise, we were in high cotton. From the blackboard offerings of East coast oysters, we had the two saltiest bivalves: PEI's Canada Cups and Rhode Island's Beaver Tails, the former the briniest and thus my fave.
When our affable server Cameron warned us that there were only two orders left of tonight's special, I immediately reserved one because how often does a person get offered wolf fish cheeks with remoulade, vinegary cucumber slices, jalapeno hush puppies and corn on the cob, all on the same plate?
Just to be sure, I also got fried brussels sprouts with a stellar apple slaw (even though brussels had a superfluous apostrophe on the menu and menu mistakes like that grate on this reader's eye), tasted a damn fine clam chowder and politely declined rockfish because I was full (room was found for chocolate torte, but that's a different story).
Over dinner, my hatted friend shared that she'd heard from long-time friends - a couple in Madison County also en route to tonight's show - who'd started today by making a fire, laying in bed and listening to Lydia's new album on vinyl.
If there could be a finer start to a day...well, I'm listening.
By the time we rolled out, the patio was completely full and the temperature had dropped ten degrees. November, you can be unpleasant.
But the Southern was as warm and toasty as the name suggests and we arrived early enough that the doors hadn't yet opened, so when they did, we bolted to claim spaces on the raised seating that surrounds the poles in the room.
It's not my first Southern rodeo by any stretch and I know those structures make fine places to stand once things get crowded.
The musician in our group immediately commented on the '70s-era drum kit onstage (the bass drum had a picture of Paul Lynde on it), the abundance of guitars (Fenders, Gibsons and a Silvertone) and had an epiphany when he spotted the Fender amps ("That's why the guitar tones sound so good on the record!").
We were amazed that the show wasn't sold out or even close to it, although it was at least diverse with everything from UVA students to plenty of Baby Boomers and skewing heavily male. Our collective opinion was that it would've sold out in Richmond.
Opener Aaron Lee Tasjan came out looking like a 21st century Hazel Moates - or at least that was our take after seeing "Wise Blood" last night - in a cream-colored "preacher's hat" over long, straight hair, a dried blood-colored jacket, a black shirt buttoned all the way up and tight pants, accompanied by Brian from Waco, a superb guitar player.
They give you loose gravel and call it rock steady
Explaining that in Omaha, someone had given him a napkin full of acid, he said he'd gone home, taken it and written four folk rock songs, including one called "Little Movies," which didn't have a particularly folk-like bent, but was a solid song anyway. Ditto "Memphis Rain"
One of these days I'm gonna lose my mind
Can't wait to see what that helps me find
His songs were smart and literate (how often do you hear a reference to poet laureate Phillip Levine?) and sometimes just plain clever, like "Twelve Bar Blues" about 12 different bars, comparing their strengths and weaknesses.
When an annoying woman right up front began trying to get his attention, he told her, "Don't start with me. It's been a long week and I smell terrible and you don't want what I got."
Always believe a man in a preacher hat.
Aaron and Brian closed out by rocking hard to "Success" before Aaron rhapsodized about how fortunate we were to be spending Saturday night with Lydia Loveless.
Duly noted.
The stage was reset for the headliners, PBRs were placed at each station and the band came out. Lydia's look said it all: a coonskin hat, a red plaid sweater, fur-lined boots and silvery blue eye shadow and her first words - "Illustrious intro here. Hello!" - said the rest.
"It's hard to feel rock and roll in a sweater, so I opted not to wear pants, just tights because I live in a van." I'm guessing that despite that, she didn't smell as terrible as Aaron claimed he did, but I have no proof of that.
Besides, odor issues aside, her leather guitar strap with her name burned into it was totally badass. And the woman has a voice that rivals Neko Case's for purity, nuance and my willingness to listen to absolutely anything she's singing.
After beginning with the provocative "European," they moved on to the bruised emotions of "To Love Somebody" as the smell of weed permeated the air, making us wonder how that even happens in a public place.
With "Real," she mined the authenticity of her past and the honesty of that hardest of goals - successful relationships - and by that point, there were enough tall people in front of us that it was time to stand on our seats. From that perch, we had a terrific view of Lydia and the four musicians with her, all of whom looked markedly older.
The bassist was a hair flipper, constantly whipping his long, curly hair to and fro and the guitarist on the right was a major showboater with his low-slung guitar and trucker's hat, constantly seeking the spotlight, while the drummer just did his job and other guitarist wowed on 12 string and pedal steel.
"Enough of the rock and roll shenanigans. It gets a little out of control," Lydia announced, stating the obvious. "Let's just play some nice peaceful songs." That's how we got to hear the more low key "Midwestern Guys."
The band exited so we could experience just Lydia and her guitar and, in many ways, it was the truest and most captivating way to hear songs such as "Out on Love" and "Verlaine Shot Rimbaud." Apparently being home-schooled makes you capable of such literary lyric-writing.
When she did "More Like Them," my thoughts naturally went to the couple whose day had started with a roaring fire and vinyl. In Lydia's words, why can't I be more like them?
She wasn't a big talker between songs, but late in the set, she shared that two months in a van with four guys and too much testosterone was wearing on her, along with "electing a misogynist this week so there's a black cloud around us all..." and then some idiot yelled out a song request and she finished by saying, "...and people telling you what song to sing in the middle of a sentence."
The band returned and she sarcastically said they were going to do "the hit single from our smash record," to which the less annoying guitarist asked, "Which one?"
"The one that bought your house, your second house," she said, launching into the melancholy "Longer," in which her voice may or may not sound like vintage Shelby Lynne (a reference only Baby Boomers will get), bending almost to the point of breaking before soaring again.
The brief encore was just Lydia and her guitar and our dream evening bubble popped.
I scrambled onstage and snagged the set list as a souvenir. All three of us walked out of there enthralled with what we'd just heard, amazed at what $12 had bought us and sorry that Lydia hadn't gotten the full house she deserved.
We, on the other hand, got the best Saturday night imaginable. Amen, preacher man.
Showing posts with label the southern. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the southern. Show all posts
Sunday, November 13, 2016
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Suddenly I Can See Blue Skies
Never turn down an invitation for a road trip.
Do I want to go to a show? Probably. Do I want to go to a show in another town? Always.
Donning my finest rainy day attire - hot pink raincoat, green and pink floral rubber boots - we set off for Charlottesville, making our way through a traffic jam and skittish drivers despite the rain being over. Why must people overuse their brakes when pavement gets wet?
En route we decided to make our way to Belmont rather than the downtown mall for dinner, choosing the Local's inviting, dark ambiance once we were there (and obviously seduced by their adjacent wine room with its old outside sign saying "Betty's Beauty Salon" overhead).
Inside, we were asked if we were with the such and such party (meaning the unruly cluster of men in sports coats at the bar) and when we demurred, led upstairs to the charming (and well-heated) patio space enclosed by windows.
Because a night away feels like an occasion, we began with crisp, citrusy Cap Classique Colmant Brut Reserve (a nod to trips to South Africa of yore) and a cheese plate generously laid out with five cheeses - goat, cheddar, bleu, Brie and Swiss - including three from Virginia (they are called The Local, after all). While we worked that lovely combination down, the group of salesmen-looking sports coats from the bar arrived upstairs and settled at the table behind us.
Much ordering of Cabernet Sauvignon and hushed phone calls about the day's business ensued. Almost all of them wore wedding rings and almost all of them seemed to be overdoing it on a night out. They were a cliche, in other words.
We ignored them, choosing our entrees which seemed to arrive in a twinkling of an eye. A special of lamb shanks with potatoes and green beans went to my fellow road tripper and I'd chosen the buttermilk Tabasco-braised local chicken with mashed potatoes and horseradish poppy seed slaw. Braised and crispy, yes, please.
Each of us thought we'd made the right choice but if you ask me, how can can you beat a crispy thigh, drumstick and wing? Impossible.
By then, the patio space had begun to fill up with all sorts of Monday night revelers: a four top of a certain age who never stopped conversing and laughing, a couple of 20-somethings where she kept pulling out her phone for fear of missing out, a lively table of friends enjoying each other loudly - making us just another table of people happy to be out at the start of the week.
Keeping the bubbly thread going since we had an hour to kill, we stayed local with Veritas' creamy "Scintilla" to accompany a banana split for dessert. Not typically a split fan, I was seduced by the caramelized bananas, the three distinctive flavors of house-made ice cream (blackberry, blueberry and peanut butter with chocolate chip) under a blanket of chocolate sauce and whipped cream.
Not your average banana split, am I right?
Between the split and the local bubbles delaying us, by the time we got to the Southern, T. Hardy Morris and his band were already playing. Much as I hate to miss an opening act, we'd been having too much fun to get there sooner, although I was glad to catch part of their set with its lovely pedal steel.
During the break, I headed out to wait in line for the bathroom. A guy joined me, asking if there were lines for men and women. Before I could answer, a bathroom door opened and I looked at him.
"No, you go ahead first," he said gallantly. "You're beautiful-er." That's the kind of man I want to wait in a bathroom line with.
Jessica Lea Mayfield - a waif with a guitar -came out joined by a bassist and a drummer, looking wan (surely she never sees the sun) with the blondest bob and briefest bangs.
She didn't have a lot of stage presence (she is only 25, after all), but after the second song, she inquired of an audience member, "What are you talking about? Tell me the secret!"
You can't handle the secret, honey.
Her set was an amalgamation of her earlier acoustic, confessional stuff and songs from her latest album, which sounds like it came directly from the Nirvana era with gloriously grungey guitar sounds.
"Are you guys having fun?" she asked of the unfortunately small crowd. "Cause this next song is called 'No Fun." Some might say her voice is no fun, bordering on a monotone with just enough edge to keep it interesting. And always, plenty of soul-baring in the lyrics.
"This is a song about having to do the dishes, do the laundry and kill yourself before your husband gets home." An amusing take on a song, even more so when she introduced the bass player Jessie as her husband ("He legally agreed to love me forever").
She was clearly getting off on the newer material, channeling her inner grunge ("I'm an awkward girl"- join the club, my dear) with raucous guitar and occasionally 12-string (be still, my heart). Some songs shimmered, others raged, but every one shone with her distinctive voice.
For the encore, she came back alone, sitting on the lip of the stage and singing, "You've got a stranglehold on my heart." Could I hope to hear anything more romantic?
Husband Jessie came out for the last song, playing guitar for her and singing along, just the two of them on the edge of the stage with the small crowd gathered around. Their voices melded beautifully to close out the night.
Sure, then we were looking at an hour's drive home, but there was so much to talk about. Jessica Lea. All that grunge. A fabulous meal. The clarity of the stars in the sky. The loss of clarity as we approached Richmond.
Even an awkward girl couldn't have asked for a beautiful-er evening.
Do I want to go to a show? Probably. Do I want to go to a show in another town? Always.
Donning my finest rainy day attire - hot pink raincoat, green and pink floral rubber boots - we set off for Charlottesville, making our way through a traffic jam and skittish drivers despite the rain being over. Why must people overuse their brakes when pavement gets wet?
En route we decided to make our way to Belmont rather than the downtown mall for dinner, choosing the Local's inviting, dark ambiance once we were there (and obviously seduced by their adjacent wine room with its old outside sign saying "Betty's Beauty Salon" overhead).
Inside, we were asked if we were with the such and such party (meaning the unruly cluster of men in sports coats at the bar) and when we demurred, led upstairs to the charming (and well-heated) patio space enclosed by windows.
Because a night away feels like an occasion, we began with crisp, citrusy Cap Classique Colmant Brut Reserve (a nod to trips to South Africa of yore) and a cheese plate generously laid out with five cheeses - goat, cheddar, bleu, Brie and Swiss - including three from Virginia (they are called The Local, after all). While we worked that lovely combination down, the group of salesmen-looking sports coats from the bar arrived upstairs and settled at the table behind us.
Much ordering of Cabernet Sauvignon and hushed phone calls about the day's business ensued. Almost all of them wore wedding rings and almost all of them seemed to be overdoing it on a night out. They were a cliche, in other words.
We ignored them, choosing our entrees which seemed to arrive in a twinkling of an eye. A special of lamb shanks with potatoes and green beans went to my fellow road tripper and I'd chosen the buttermilk Tabasco-braised local chicken with mashed potatoes and horseradish poppy seed slaw. Braised and crispy, yes, please.
Each of us thought we'd made the right choice but if you ask me, how can can you beat a crispy thigh, drumstick and wing? Impossible.
By then, the patio space had begun to fill up with all sorts of Monday night revelers: a four top of a certain age who never stopped conversing and laughing, a couple of 20-somethings where she kept pulling out her phone for fear of missing out, a lively table of friends enjoying each other loudly - making us just another table of people happy to be out at the start of the week.
Keeping the bubbly thread going since we had an hour to kill, we stayed local with Veritas' creamy "Scintilla" to accompany a banana split for dessert. Not typically a split fan, I was seduced by the caramelized bananas, the three distinctive flavors of house-made ice cream (blackberry, blueberry and peanut butter with chocolate chip) under a blanket of chocolate sauce and whipped cream.
Not your average banana split, am I right?
Between the split and the local bubbles delaying us, by the time we got to the Southern, T. Hardy Morris and his band were already playing. Much as I hate to miss an opening act, we'd been having too much fun to get there sooner, although I was glad to catch part of their set with its lovely pedal steel.
During the break, I headed out to wait in line for the bathroom. A guy joined me, asking if there were lines for men and women. Before I could answer, a bathroom door opened and I looked at him.
"No, you go ahead first," he said gallantly. "You're beautiful-er." That's the kind of man I want to wait in a bathroom line with.
Jessica Lea Mayfield - a waif with a guitar -came out joined by a bassist and a drummer, looking wan (surely she never sees the sun) with the blondest bob and briefest bangs.
She didn't have a lot of stage presence (she is only 25, after all), but after the second song, she inquired of an audience member, "What are you talking about? Tell me the secret!"
You can't handle the secret, honey.
Her set was an amalgamation of her earlier acoustic, confessional stuff and songs from her latest album, which sounds like it came directly from the Nirvana era with gloriously grungey guitar sounds.
"Are you guys having fun?" she asked of the unfortunately small crowd. "Cause this next song is called 'No Fun." Some might say her voice is no fun, bordering on a monotone with just enough edge to keep it interesting. And always, plenty of soul-baring in the lyrics.
"This is a song about having to do the dishes, do the laundry and kill yourself before your husband gets home." An amusing take on a song, even more so when she introduced the bass player Jessie as her husband ("He legally agreed to love me forever").
She was clearly getting off on the newer material, channeling her inner grunge ("I'm an awkward girl"- join the club, my dear) with raucous guitar and occasionally 12-string (be still, my heart). Some songs shimmered, others raged, but every one shone with her distinctive voice.
For the encore, she came back alone, sitting on the lip of the stage and singing, "You've got a stranglehold on my heart." Could I hope to hear anything more romantic?
Husband Jessie came out for the last song, playing guitar for her and singing along, just the two of them on the edge of the stage with the small crowd gathered around. Their voices melded beautifully to close out the night.
Sure, then we were looking at an hour's drive home, but there was so much to talk about. Jessica Lea. All that grunge. A fabulous meal. The clarity of the stars in the sky. The loss of clarity as we approached Richmond.
Even an awkward girl couldn't have asked for a beautiful-er evening.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Reflections After Karen
From the ocean to the mountains in a matter of hours.
I may have had to leave the beach, but I had a good time awaiting me at home.
Well, not immediately, since I needed to scrape the layers of beach gunk off my body and hair, but once cleaned up, I had a date to go to Charlottesville for dinner and a show.
If I'm going to give up surf and sand, that's the way to do it.
A few weeks ago I'd seen that the Clientele was playing the Southern and been intrigued by both their sound (reverb-drenched, art and literature-based lyrics) and their story (formed in '97, broke up in '11, back together because Merge re-released their debut album).
I'd invited a date to join me, bought tickets and been looking forward to it ever since.
After failure to find a park (don't ask), we wound up at the C & O for dinner, only to be informed that it was restaurant week. Not our first choice, but not disastrous, either.
To get things started well, we had flutes of Virginia Fizz in the downstairs bar (with the rustically uneven wooden bar surface) where couples were already eating the three-course menu.
If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
In a fine display of date cooperation while drinking Rose, we would each eat half of what was on our plates and then swap so as to taste two dishes for each course.
That's how marinated heirloom tomatoes with mesclun and pesto complemented by the creamiest burrata atop creamed corn was traded for beef sirloin carpaccio with truffle aioli, arugula and hashed potatoes.
Roasted halibut with ciopinno sauce, saffron rouille and summer herbs got switched with pork saltimbocca with sage and Fontina over a summer panzanella salad.
There was less sharing when dessert came, probably because I scarfed my chocolate gateaux with salted caramel and frozen peanut nougat while he lingered over his cheese plate.
My appetite has been called many things, but seldom ladylike.
Walking out of the restaurant, as if on cue, fat raindrops began falling so we ducked into an alcove to stay dry. After waiting for about ten minutes for the driving rain to stop, we wised up and went inside what turned out to be the Melting Pot.
Since it only made sense to drink something once we sat down at the bar, we did, killing time until the rain stopped and we could make it to the show.
We'd missed part of Borrowed Beams of Light's opening set, but caught enough to hear a definite '70s influence.
Then it was the Clientele, taking the stage in that low-key British way to play music, including a lot of songs from that first album - really a compilation of singles - that's now being celebrated with Merge Records' reissue of it.
The songs are gorgeous (I'd been listening to it all the way to and from the beach) in that smart, yet melancholy way where you love the sound but if you listen closely, it's a tad sad. And very smart.
I don't know about the rest of the room, but I know I was happy when they played "Reflections After Jane," an ode to a woman loved and lost.
Actually, I was happy with the entire evening. It had been a long day, for sure, and driving back from the beach only to hit the road for the mountains may have been a bit ambitious (my date generously let me sleep on the way back), but I had such a terrific time anyway.
Dare I say it? I'm happy to be back.
I may have had to leave the beach, but I had a good time awaiting me at home.
Well, not immediately, since I needed to scrape the layers of beach gunk off my body and hair, but once cleaned up, I had a date to go to Charlottesville for dinner and a show.
If I'm going to give up surf and sand, that's the way to do it.
A few weeks ago I'd seen that the Clientele was playing the Southern and been intrigued by both their sound (reverb-drenched, art and literature-based lyrics) and their story (formed in '97, broke up in '11, back together because Merge re-released their debut album).
I'd invited a date to join me, bought tickets and been looking forward to it ever since.
After failure to find a park (don't ask), we wound up at the C & O for dinner, only to be informed that it was restaurant week. Not our first choice, but not disastrous, either.
To get things started well, we had flutes of Virginia Fizz in the downstairs bar (with the rustically uneven wooden bar surface) where couples were already eating the three-course menu.
If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
In a fine display of date cooperation while drinking Rose, we would each eat half of what was on our plates and then swap so as to taste two dishes for each course.
That's how marinated heirloom tomatoes with mesclun and pesto complemented by the creamiest burrata atop creamed corn was traded for beef sirloin carpaccio with truffle aioli, arugula and hashed potatoes.
Roasted halibut with ciopinno sauce, saffron rouille and summer herbs got switched with pork saltimbocca with sage and Fontina over a summer panzanella salad.
There was less sharing when dessert came, probably because I scarfed my chocolate gateaux with salted caramel and frozen peanut nougat while he lingered over his cheese plate.
My appetite has been called many things, but seldom ladylike.
Walking out of the restaurant, as if on cue, fat raindrops began falling so we ducked into an alcove to stay dry. After waiting for about ten minutes for the driving rain to stop, we wised up and went inside what turned out to be the Melting Pot.
Since it only made sense to drink something once we sat down at the bar, we did, killing time until the rain stopped and we could make it to the show.
We'd missed part of Borrowed Beams of Light's opening set, but caught enough to hear a definite '70s influence.
Then it was the Clientele, taking the stage in that low-key British way to play music, including a lot of songs from that first album - really a compilation of singles - that's now being celebrated with Merge Records' reissue of it.
The songs are gorgeous (I'd been listening to it all the way to and from the beach) in that smart, yet melancholy way where you love the sound but if you listen closely, it's a tad sad. And very smart.
I don't know about the rest of the room, but I know I was happy when they played "Reflections After Jane," an ode to a woman loved and lost.
Actually, I was happy with the entire evening. It had been a long day, for sure, and driving back from the beach only to hit the road for the mountains may have been a bit ambitious (my date generously let me sleep on the way back), but I had such a terrific time anyway.
Dare I say it? I'm happy to be back.
Friday, June 13, 2014
It's Only Dancing
Despite it being National Verdejo day, I drank no Verdejo.
What I did do was accept a date to take a road trip to Charlottesville to see Jeremy Messersmith at the Southern.
The closer to C-ville we got, the more we saw the sun until the gray skies of Richmond were lost in the rear-view mirror.
On the way, we discussed the article "The 30 Places to Eat in Virginia Before You Die," taking issue with some and, at least in my case, eager to try others. More reasons for road trips, yes!
Once arrived, we walked to South Street Brewery for a bite to eat before the show, joining a crowd of beer drinkers at the bar but opting instead for a bottle of local Potter's Craft cider, pale, tart and very dry.
Spotting blue nachos on the menu, I decided to make my dinner of the elevated bar staple. My favorite nachos involve blue chips and black beans, onions (these had both red onions and scallions) and cheese. Black and blues, as one now defunct RVA restaurant used to call them.
They're harder to find than you might think, since few places use blue chips and most pile on lettuce and tomatoes when I want neither, while onions of any kind are missing in action.
So despite having no interest in brews, I had a delightful brewery dinner, including a great view of an unexpected downpour outside the big front windows.
When the rain stopped and the sun returned, we made a dash for the Southern on the downtown mall, joining a suspiciously small group of people there. Maybe the weather was delaying people. Surely more people were coming to the show than this?
Let's put it this way: we walked in and found tall seats with a clear view of the stage to sit in and this is a venue where every time I've been, it's been a standing crowd with tall people blocking my view.
When opener Big Scary, an Australian duo, came out, the audience was only a dozen strong, a pretty pathetic showing, which was too bad because the band's sound was all over the place with something to please everyone.
Through songs such as the garage rock-y "Gladiator" to the more melancholy "Belgian Blues" to "Phil Collins," which used a drum pad to the interplay of Tom and Joanna's vocals over a languidly-paced song structure reminding me of the XX, it was all interesting enough to want to hear what they would do next.
Luckily, more people arrived during the break so when Jeremy Messersmith and his band mates took the stage, the crowd had maybe tripled. Not great, not enough, but a tad better.
You could say Jeremy makes nerd music or you could say he makes smart pop music or you could say his offbeat songwriting topics are his strength. All of that's true.
With a guitarist, bassist, keyboard player and drummer, Jeremy played both acoustic and electric guitar and used his beautiful voice to engage the crowd almost immediately.
The band played through several songs - "Tourniquet" about him being just that for a girl and "Knots" about falling for a girl drummer.
But the song that grabbed me and wouldn't let go was "It's Only Dancing," a charging lament about holding a girl in his arms who doesn't belong to him.
I pull you close, hold my breath
Feel your heartbeat through your summer dress
Shuffle our feet slowly to the stereo
With the band in high gear behind him, the song could have been an outtake from a '90s-era Bo Deans song, all roots rock swagger and energy. Magnificent.
Soon the band left Jeremy onstage alone and he asked for requests from the audience, and while there weren't many of us, there were enough real fans to throw out 7 or 8 suggestions, throwing him off.
"Usually one person makes a request," he admitted. "Because no one knows my songs that well."
The last request shouted out was for "Tatooine," which he explained had been written when he began to wonder if he could ever love someone as much as he'd loved "Star Wars" as a kid. "This song was my way of working through that."
Calling it the best love song he'd written, they did "I Want to be Your One Night Stand," but his sense of humor was just as evident on "I Need a Hit Man for My Heart."
Saying he took the title from a motivational poster he'd seen, "Someday, Someone" was the barn burner of a finale.
Someday someone will love the f*ck out of you
Love your crazy point of view
Love you when you're feeling blue
They'll love everything you do
Someone true
Someday soon
When they finished it, Jeremy said that now was the time that they were supposed to go offstage and wait for 20 minutes but that that was stupid and he wasn't going to do it. "Because I respect your time too much," he said as introduction for the encore.
Nerdy and considerate, a real catch!
Of course they began with the exuberant "Ghost," a song so clever and smart that it's bound to get played more on the radio.
If there's a line I will cross it, no lesson I will learn
Even if I'm standing on it, no bridge that I won't burn
They finished out the encore with the keyboard-driven "Violet," a song that drew from equal parts Beach Boys and Partridge Family, a pop gem with dark but hopeful lyrics sung with the most incredible vocal harmonies sounding so sunny I had to smile just listening.
Or maybe that was just my reaction to a fabulous quickie getaway evening with words and music by my favorite kind of man: smart and funny.
The kind you want to be so much more than a one night stand because he loves my point of view.
And if he brings Verdejo, all the better.
What I did do was accept a date to take a road trip to Charlottesville to see Jeremy Messersmith at the Southern.
The closer to C-ville we got, the more we saw the sun until the gray skies of Richmond were lost in the rear-view mirror.
On the way, we discussed the article "The 30 Places to Eat in Virginia Before You Die," taking issue with some and, at least in my case, eager to try others. More reasons for road trips, yes!
Once arrived, we walked to South Street Brewery for a bite to eat before the show, joining a crowd of beer drinkers at the bar but opting instead for a bottle of local Potter's Craft cider, pale, tart and very dry.
Spotting blue nachos on the menu, I decided to make my dinner of the elevated bar staple. My favorite nachos involve blue chips and black beans, onions (these had both red onions and scallions) and cheese. Black and blues, as one now defunct RVA restaurant used to call them.
They're harder to find than you might think, since few places use blue chips and most pile on lettuce and tomatoes when I want neither, while onions of any kind are missing in action.
So despite having no interest in brews, I had a delightful brewery dinner, including a great view of an unexpected downpour outside the big front windows.
When the rain stopped and the sun returned, we made a dash for the Southern on the downtown mall, joining a suspiciously small group of people there. Maybe the weather was delaying people. Surely more people were coming to the show than this?
Let's put it this way: we walked in and found tall seats with a clear view of the stage to sit in and this is a venue where every time I've been, it's been a standing crowd with tall people blocking my view.
When opener Big Scary, an Australian duo, came out, the audience was only a dozen strong, a pretty pathetic showing, which was too bad because the band's sound was all over the place with something to please everyone.
Through songs such as the garage rock-y "Gladiator" to the more melancholy "Belgian Blues" to "Phil Collins," which used a drum pad to the interplay of Tom and Joanna's vocals over a languidly-paced song structure reminding me of the XX, it was all interesting enough to want to hear what they would do next.
Luckily, more people arrived during the break so when Jeremy Messersmith and his band mates took the stage, the crowd had maybe tripled. Not great, not enough, but a tad better.
You could say Jeremy makes nerd music or you could say he makes smart pop music or you could say his offbeat songwriting topics are his strength. All of that's true.
With a guitarist, bassist, keyboard player and drummer, Jeremy played both acoustic and electric guitar and used his beautiful voice to engage the crowd almost immediately.
The band played through several songs - "Tourniquet" about him being just that for a girl and "Knots" about falling for a girl drummer.
But the song that grabbed me and wouldn't let go was "It's Only Dancing," a charging lament about holding a girl in his arms who doesn't belong to him.
I pull you close, hold my breath
Feel your heartbeat through your summer dress
Shuffle our feet slowly to the stereo
With the band in high gear behind him, the song could have been an outtake from a '90s-era Bo Deans song, all roots rock swagger and energy. Magnificent.
Soon the band left Jeremy onstage alone and he asked for requests from the audience, and while there weren't many of us, there were enough real fans to throw out 7 or 8 suggestions, throwing him off.
"Usually one person makes a request," he admitted. "Because no one knows my songs that well."
The last request shouted out was for "Tatooine," which he explained had been written when he began to wonder if he could ever love someone as much as he'd loved "Star Wars" as a kid. "This song was my way of working through that."
Calling it the best love song he'd written, they did "I Want to be Your One Night Stand," but his sense of humor was just as evident on "I Need a Hit Man for My Heart."
Saying he took the title from a motivational poster he'd seen, "Someday, Someone" was the barn burner of a finale.
Someday someone will love the f*ck out of you
Love your crazy point of view
Love you when you're feeling blue
They'll love everything you do
Someone true
Someday soon
When they finished it, Jeremy said that now was the time that they were supposed to go offstage and wait for 20 minutes but that that was stupid and he wasn't going to do it. "Because I respect your time too much," he said as introduction for the encore.
Nerdy and considerate, a real catch!
Of course they began with the exuberant "Ghost," a song so clever and smart that it's bound to get played more on the radio.
If there's a line I will cross it, no lesson I will learn
Even if I'm standing on it, no bridge that I won't burn
They finished out the encore with the keyboard-driven "Violet," a song that drew from equal parts Beach Boys and Partridge Family, a pop gem with dark but hopeful lyrics sung with the most incredible vocal harmonies sounding so sunny I had to smile just listening.
Or maybe that was just my reaction to a fabulous quickie getaway evening with words and music by my favorite kind of man: smart and funny.
The kind you want to be so much more than a one night stand because he loves my point of view.
And if he brings Verdejo, all the better.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Bringing Down the Dark Horse
Sometimes you have to sacrifice a gala for a road trip.
In this case, a road trip on a gloriously warm February evening for a drive under a sliver of a yellow moon to Charlottesville to see a swoon-worthy band.
I've been told by someone who should know that my taste in music leans toward the swoon.
So when a friend invited me to the Governor's Cup Gala tonight, I had to decline citing the ticket I bought a month and a half ago to see Other Lives, a band I'd first heard here, at the Southern.
Arriving on the Downtown Mall, I ducked into a Mexican hole-in-the wall for Baja-style fish tacos (lightly breaded tilapia with lime-cumin slaw and pico de gallo), queso and chips and a couple of the most wonderful house made Mexican chocolate icebox cookies imaginable.
At the Southern, I ran into a friend from Richmond who'd also been at the Black Iris show. She and some friends had been smart enough to get a room at a B & B tonight to avoid the drive home.
Note to self: do same for next C-ville show if at all possible.
Australian band Wim was the opener and they couldn't have been a better fit with Other Lives.
"We've come a very long way to entertain you," the lead singer said.
Their glam folk had a layered sound that rose up to meet his big voice (and dramatic hand gestures), but it was the four-part harmonies that won my heart.
That and the way the guitarist used a bow to play his guitar on certain songs.
The singer had a huge key chain on, noting, "It's very jangly, isn't it? I should use it like some kind of percussive instrument."
During the break, people were talking about how interesting and well-done their set had been.
It was then that my friend introduced me to a C-ville friend she'd suggested come to the show.
We ended up chatting for a while about music and Richmond (coincidentally, he used to live on Grace Street and had some great stories about it).
He'd found Wim to be "too frou-frou" for his taste and I had to assume that it was the glam element it had.
Despite our difference in musical opinion, he was kind enough to hold my spot while I ran to the bathroom.
There, the guy in front of me in line asked if I'd decided to come out tonight just to hear music.
No, I explained, I'd come to hear Other Lives. "Oh?" he said, suddenly seeing me in a new light.
He'd seen them open for Delta Spirit a couple of years ago and had liked them so much more than the headliner.
He was thrilled to have found a kindred soul and talked my ear off about the band before disappearing into the loo.
And then Other Lives came out and I was in full swoon mode.
How do I love thee, Other Lives? Let me count the ways.
I love your castanets, your trumpet, your three violins on any given song, your harmonica, your bells, your French horn, your cello.
I love seeing the drummer put his sticks down and play the clarinet.
I love seeing one member with a guitar slung around his body, holding his violin in his left hand and playing the trumpet with his right. And that's when he wasn't playing piano or keyboards.
Sigh. That's practically a music fan's wet dream.
Unlike the last time I'd seen the band, there was no Ramones cover, but we got to hear much more of their new album, "Tamer Animals" to beautiful effect.
They closed out their set with "Desert" before bandleader Jesse came back for one solo song and the band rejoined him.
"We loved playing here for you guys," Jesse said. "It feels real, so intimate. It's important for us to experience this."
No doubt he was thinking of their upcoming gig opening for the first leg of Radiohead's tour, where the crowd won't be two feet from their faces.
But I can't complain. I've now seen them in a room with thirty people and again with maybe a hundred and been blown away both times.
No doubt they had the same effect on Radiohead.
As I drove home under a canopy of stars before I hit the bright lights of RVA, I couldn't help but think about what a stellar night it had been, both musically and with the spectacular scenery of the skies on this unseasonably warm night.
But we're all just an end to a simple thing
And it's all you see, it's all you see
We're just tamer animals
I'm with Jesse. It's important to experience these things.
In this case, a road trip on a gloriously warm February evening for a drive under a sliver of a yellow moon to Charlottesville to see a swoon-worthy band.
I've been told by someone who should know that my taste in music leans toward the swoon.
So when a friend invited me to the Governor's Cup Gala tonight, I had to decline citing the ticket I bought a month and a half ago to see Other Lives, a band I'd first heard here, at the Southern.
Arriving on the Downtown Mall, I ducked into a Mexican hole-in-the wall for Baja-style fish tacos (lightly breaded tilapia with lime-cumin slaw and pico de gallo), queso and chips and a couple of the most wonderful house made Mexican chocolate icebox cookies imaginable.
At the Southern, I ran into a friend from Richmond who'd also been at the Black Iris show. She and some friends had been smart enough to get a room at a B & B tonight to avoid the drive home.
Note to self: do same for next C-ville show if at all possible.
Australian band Wim was the opener and they couldn't have been a better fit with Other Lives.
"We've come a very long way to entertain you," the lead singer said.
Their glam folk had a layered sound that rose up to meet his big voice (and dramatic hand gestures), but it was the four-part harmonies that won my heart.
That and the way the guitarist used a bow to play his guitar on certain songs.
The singer had a huge key chain on, noting, "It's very jangly, isn't it? I should use it like some kind of percussive instrument."
During the break, people were talking about how interesting and well-done their set had been.
It was then that my friend introduced me to a C-ville friend she'd suggested come to the show.
We ended up chatting for a while about music and Richmond (coincidentally, he used to live on Grace Street and had some great stories about it).
He'd found Wim to be "too frou-frou" for his taste and I had to assume that it was the glam element it had.
Despite our difference in musical opinion, he was kind enough to hold my spot while I ran to the bathroom.
There, the guy in front of me in line asked if I'd decided to come out tonight just to hear music.
No, I explained, I'd come to hear Other Lives. "Oh?" he said, suddenly seeing me in a new light.
He'd seen them open for Delta Spirit a couple of years ago and had liked them so much more than the headliner.
He was thrilled to have found a kindred soul and talked my ear off about the band before disappearing into the loo.
And then Other Lives came out and I was in full swoon mode.
How do I love thee, Other Lives? Let me count the ways.
I love your castanets, your trumpet, your three violins on any given song, your harmonica, your bells, your French horn, your cello.
I love seeing the drummer put his sticks down and play the clarinet.
I love seeing one member with a guitar slung around his body, holding his violin in his left hand and playing the trumpet with his right. And that's when he wasn't playing piano or keyboards.
Sigh. That's practically a music fan's wet dream.
Unlike the last time I'd seen the band, there was no Ramones cover, but we got to hear much more of their new album, "Tamer Animals" to beautiful effect.
They closed out their set with "Desert" before bandleader Jesse came back for one solo song and the band rejoined him.
"We loved playing here for you guys," Jesse said. "It feels real, so intimate. It's important for us to experience this."
No doubt he was thinking of their upcoming gig opening for the first leg of Radiohead's tour, where the crowd won't be two feet from their faces.
But I can't complain. I've now seen them in a room with thirty people and again with maybe a hundred and been blown away both times.
No doubt they had the same effect on Radiohead.
As I drove home under a canopy of stars before I hit the bright lights of RVA, I couldn't help but think about what a stellar night it had been, both musically and with the spectacular scenery of the skies on this unseasonably warm night.
But we're all just an end to a simple thing
And it's all you see, it's all you see
We're just tamer animals
I'm with Jesse. It's important to experience these things.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Take the Weather with You
Which meant taking the pouring rain all the way to Charlottesville and back.
And why else would I do that except for a show? Tonight's was Rachael Yamagata with Mike Viola opening at the Southern.
Arriving just in time to drop into Marco & Luca Noodle bar for dumplings and pork steamed buns, I filled my belly before heading around the corner for music.
Two ways I knew I wasn't in Richmond anymore: everyone sat on the stone floor for the show and in the entire crowd, I only saw three beards.
When Mike Viola came out, a few people made a feeble attempt to stand and he said, "It's okay. You can sit down. We can truly do the campfire thing."
He was an engaging performer and songwriter, sharing tidbits of his life through between-song banter and the songs themselves.
Introducing "Strawberry Blond," he said he wanted to write a purely pop song for his "girl," and then corrected that to "wife."
Favorite lyric: You are an optimist, You think everything works out.
I do indeed.
The crowd swelled before Rachael Yamagata came out and she prefaced her set by telling us, "I'm super into being down and depressed and all why doesn't it ever work out?"
I'm a big fan of her throaty voice, made even more so last night because she'd caught a cold and was on Sudafed,
When she introduced "Sunday Afternoon," she said, "This was definitely a soulmate loss story song."
It was during "Be Be Your Love" that a girl who'd been very vocal during the show stood up and in front of Rachael at the keyboards and began singing "I want, want, want to be your love."
Rachael laughed and when she didn't go away, finally said, "You seem to be a little aggressive."
And that was being kind.
After Rachael asked the girl her name, she asked Rachael for a kiss ("I have a cold," she reminded her) and kept on talking to her mid-song.
Finally the bass player started singing, "Please, Samantha, won't you walk away?" and she finally sat down.
She contented herself who whoo-whoos during the next few songs.
There were normal fans there, too, like Sissy Spacek and her handsome husband Jack Fisk (I didn't complain when he seated himself at my feet) and many who knew every word to every song.
"People often mistake the title of this song," Rachael said. "It's not 'Worn Me Down Like a Rug.' It's like a road, people, like a road," and launched into "Worn Me Down" which caused Samantha, the rabid fan, to exhort the audience to stand up and dance.
She was getting on everyone's nerves by this point. The band finished with "one more sad song" as Rachael's cold-ravaged voice began to break up and then it was all over.
Walking outside, I passed by several band members and wasn't surprised to see Samantha in the midst of them.
I heard one say, "Sure you can make out with me if you want to" and another say, "Of course I smoke weed."
I'm guessing all Samantha's dreams came true last night.
The drive home brought more weather with me, this time fog and drizzle, and a dilemma once I finally got home a little after 1:00.
Was it too late to go out after that?
I decided for the right company it was as good a time as any, and since I hadn't had any good conversation all evening, why not?
While I'd been waiting for the show to start, the prerecorded music had been my entertainment. I heard Neil Young "Heart of Gold," MGMT "Kids" and, delightfully surprisingly, Crowded House's "Weather with You."
Hearing it, I could only think of one person who'd appreciate hearing that song like I would. Besides, I knew he'd want to hear about the show.
I was rewarded with Italian wedding cake, my favorite Bloc Party song (among many others) and a couple hours of laughter.
It's not about geography or happenstance
You need to fly and take a chance
You don't need to soar to emptiness
And float on high and forever dance alone
I'm with you on that one, Rachael.
And why else would I do that except for a show? Tonight's was Rachael Yamagata with Mike Viola opening at the Southern.
Arriving just in time to drop into Marco & Luca Noodle bar for dumplings and pork steamed buns, I filled my belly before heading around the corner for music.
Two ways I knew I wasn't in Richmond anymore: everyone sat on the stone floor for the show and in the entire crowd, I only saw three beards.
When Mike Viola came out, a few people made a feeble attempt to stand and he said, "It's okay. You can sit down. We can truly do the campfire thing."
He was an engaging performer and songwriter, sharing tidbits of his life through between-song banter and the songs themselves.
Introducing "Strawberry Blond," he said he wanted to write a purely pop song for his "girl," and then corrected that to "wife."
Favorite lyric: You are an optimist, You think everything works out.
I do indeed.
The crowd swelled before Rachael Yamagata came out and she prefaced her set by telling us, "I'm super into being down and depressed and all why doesn't it ever work out?"
I'm a big fan of her throaty voice, made even more so last night because she'd caught a cold and was on Sudafed,
When she introduced "Sunday Afternoon," she said, "This was definitely a soulmate loss story song."
It was during "Be Be Your Love" that a girl who'd been very vocal during the show stood up and in front of Rachael at the keyboards and began singing "I want, want, want to be your love."
Rachael laughed and when she didn't go away, finally said, "You seem to be a little aggressive."
And that was being kind.
After Rachael asked the girl her name, she asked Rachael for a kiss ("I have a cold," she reminded her) and kept on talking to her mid-song.
Finally the bass player started singing, "Please, Samantha, won't you walk away?" and she finally sat down.
She contented herself who whoo-whoos during the next few songs.
There were normal fans there, too, like Sissy Spacek and her handsome husband Jack Fisk (I didn't complain when he seated himself at my feet) and many who knew every word to every song.
"People often mistake the title of this song," Rachael said. "It's not 'Worn Me Down Like a Rug.' It's like a road, people, like a road," and launched into "Worn Me Down" which caused Samantha, the rabid fan, to exhort the audience to stand up and dance.
She was getting on everyone's nerves by this point. The band finished with "one more sad song" as Rachael's cold-ravaged voice began to break up and then it was all over.
Walking outside, I passed by several band members and wasn't surprised to see Samantha in the midst of them.
I heard one say, "Sure you can make out with me if you want to" and another say, "Of course I smoke weed."
I'm guessing all Samantha's dreams came true last night.
The drive home brought more weather with me, this time fog and drizzle, and a dilemma once I finally got home a little after 1:00.
Was it too late to go out after that?
I decided for the right company it was as good a time as any, and since I hadn't had any good conversation all evening, why not?
While I'd been waiting for the show to start, the prerecorded music had been my entertainment. I heard Neil Young "Heart of Gold," MGMT "Kids" and, delightfully surprisingly, Crowded House's "Weather with You."
Hearing it, I could only think of one person who'd appreciate hearing that song like I would. Besides, I knew he'd want to hear about the show.
I was rewarded with Italian wedding cake, my favorite Bloc Party song (among many others) and a couple hours of laughter.
It's not about geography or happenstance
You need to fly and take a chance
You don't need to soar to emptiness
And float on high and forever dance alone
I'm with you on that one, Rachael.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
