Undone and Modern

You'd think there wasn't anything else to do but Bourdain tonight, but 'twasn't so.

Been there, done Tony six years ago. Next!

So when a Maryland friend called to say she'd be in town late this afternoon, I told her I was free until 7:30.

Her default restaurant is the Continental because it's in the neighborhood where she used to live but it didn't open until she'd moved.

Because she's time-challenged, I took my time arriving so she could feel superior about my tardiness.

She wanted to jump into a bottle of bubbles with me, but I was leaning toward soda bubbles instead, and despite the bartender's cajoling ("She can't finish  a whole bottle by herself," he tried telling me, but I knew better), held fast.

Over a plate of nachos and an encroaching crowd of young West End families, we swapped stories of rich people parties, ancient history and mutual friends.

Her best line: "Even though I'm nodding, it doesn't mean I agree with you."

We got so engrossed in philosophical arguments that all at once we looked up and 2 3/4 hours had passed and she needed to get to her dinner plans and I to my musical evening.

I arrived at the Firehouse in time to hold open the door for the woman who'd been kind enough to do the baking for the evening.

As a devotee of the Listening Room (38 of 40 attended), I felt no hesitation in immediately sampling from the three varieties of cookies she'd made.

Hands down favorite: the toffee bars, buttery and crispy underneath and buttery and chocolate on top, making for butter squared.

I'm enough of a veteran to know to go in to stake my claim on my seat before returning to socialize.

The self-proclaimed "old rocker" was munching a toffee bar on the couch, so I joined him, learning that he'd only found out about the Listening Room happening two hours earlier, and purely by chance.

"I saw it and said,  'That's what I'm doing tonight," he said between bites.

Happily, my favorite Jackson Ward couple came in with the good news that they'll soon be back at their Emrick flat after nine months of house surfing while the building was renovated after the fire last August.

Everyone who knows them is as excited as they are to have them back in the neighborhood, hanging out and going to shows as frequently as they used to.

MC Chris kicked off #40 squinting under the glare of the stage lights, reminding us that while it's taboo to talk during the music, it's okay to laugh at the musicians' jokes and sing along when instructed.

Liza Kate came on first and prefaced her set with, "I'm used to playing in bars, so I'm not used to this whole crystal-clear thing. But we'll get through it together," before dedicating the first song to her Mom.

After a couple of songs with just her hushed voice and guitar, she stated the obvious. "I don't know how to write happy songs."

It was then that I noticed the girl in front of me sketching Liza as she sang, alternately looking up at the singer and down at her sketchpad as Liza took form on the page.

A few more in and the singer loosened up a tad, saying, "Every song sung is one closer to dinner time. That's what's getting me through."

To paraphrase John Lennon, whatever gets you through the set.

At another point, she glanced down at her set list and wailed, "I have like 75 more songs," but her songs were succinct, so it probably looked like a lot more than the length of her set would have indicated.

Her last song yielded my favorite lyric.

We're lucky we're only a little undone.

Her low-key set had been a lovely kick-off to the evening.

During intermission, a dimpled friend came in from a beer-tasting event and took the seat nearest me, noting that our mutual music friend was M.I.A.

Again.

Hey, I'm not here to judge, but I've got no problems making jokes about absent friends.

Next Chris introduced Anousheh, saying that she, like Liza, had been making music for quite some time now.

The quintet is fronted by the Cupid's bow-mouthed Anousheh, tonight in show-stopping cute platform shoes that never stopped dancing.

And why should they when the band was playing the most delicious keyboard-based pop with her voice soaring over two killer guitars and a kick-ass rhythm section?

No wonder she couldn't stop dancing.

They were playing songs from her new EP "The Trouble I Find," like the longing-filled "On and On" and the knowing "The Trouble I Need," which got my vote for favorite lyric.

But the trouble I find is trouble I need.

Their set was so energetic and almost non-stop that they were almost through before she reminded the crowd that the record was for sale at the merch table, "We have download cards - very modern! - and t-shirts over at the table."

I've seen Anousheh play her songs with her band and I've seen her do them solo and while I love when all the focus is on her terrific voice, I'm crazy about her band's full sound.

I could listen to Tyler play guitar all night long.

But the sketcher in front of me was focused on the other guitar player and when I glanced at her pad, I saw him coming to life on the page, right down to his blue shirt and brown curls.

Glowing a bit with exertion after "My Hands," she took a big swig from her water bottle and said, "Thanks to Liza Kate for playing. We have both been doing this for a long time."

I heard a chuckle or two from some friends behind me, no doubt at Anousheh's interpretation of "long."

When it got down to their last two songs, she said one was new and the other was a cover.

"This new one is even louder than the others, if you can imagine that. And Marcus Shrock's chord progressions are so awesome."

The bass player got an "aw, shucks" look on his face before showing us how awesome they were.

"We're gonna end the night with a real bummer," Anousheh said, taking us out much the way Liza had brought us in.

Not that there's anything wrong with starting or finishing somewhat melancholy, especially when the voices expressing the melancholia are so lovely.

And the platform shoes so cute. Bourdain who?

Attitude Adjustment

Walk away from the computer. That's what I had to tell myself after hours of working without moving, to the point where my shoulders were knotted and my brain no longer firing on all cylinders. Time to step away from my desk.

I stepped all the way to Grace Street for Live at Ipanema and to hear Mark Brown of Louisiana Territory. I arrived as things were being set up, allowing enough time to get some Vino Verde and a piece of delicately moist coconut cake. Thus fortified, I was ready for the music I so desperately needed.

Despite knowing several of the guys in Louisiana Territory, I have never seen them perform together. Tonight I was getting Mark on acoustic guitar and Tyler on electric, making for stripped-down versions of some of the band's material.

And material worth hearing it was. "I'll Just Go on Anyway" was both a song title and the title of  book Mark's grandfather had written; the song was about a discussion between his father and grandfather.

They covered Ryan Adams' "16 Days" admirably. Mark mentioned being introduced to David Bazan's music last year and listening obsessively to it ever since, so they covered one of his as well.

The crowd was smaller than usual for a Live at Ipamena event, but, let's face it, it was a crazily busy weekend in RVA and undoubtedly a lot of people  were done with going out by 10:30 on Sunday night. I was not among them.

I was fortunate to find several friends in place when I got there. The ballet composer heard me wax poetic about his music (and deservedly so), the biologist described an avant garde German film he was hoping I could identify (I couldn't) and the friend who was just back from playing MacRock recommended a Philly band he'd heard that he's sure I'll like (just listened; I do).

Once the music began, there were times when the crowd chatter became overly loud. Finally Mark introduced the ideal song for that crowd. "This is for those times when you're up here playing and no one's listening. I don't want to be that guy and guilt anyone or anything," he said disingenuously. As a result, a few people were a little quieter for a few minutes before resuming chatter as usual.

From Mark's stage banter, I learned that some songs are created by guitarists sitting in their underwear in their bedrooms (confirmed, albeit reluctantly, by two nearby guitarists). That's a new musical visual for me and one I won't soon forget.

I'm a big fan of Tyler's guitar playing and I found it interesting to watch as he modified his playing to accommodate the simpler arrangements being played tonight. After the show, he mentioned how very different it was to be playing the songs as they had originally begun. Getting back to basics, so to speak, and we were the lucky audience who got to hear that return to simpler sounds.

After the post-show mingling, I got my check and a guy nudged me to ask bartender Brandon what they didn't take (referring to plastic). "American Express...and attitude," he deadpanned.

Good thing I'd left my attitude back at my computer with my fried brain. Wait, what attitude?

Drummers Do It with Rhythm

It was a brave, new world at the Listening Room tonight, one that included drums and amps and bongos, oh, my!

Put another way, there were more musicians on the stage for tonight's performance than in your average three Listening Room shows of yore. With a whopping eighteen musicians playing throughout the evening, that's pure fact, not hyperbole.

And it was all very cool, just very different than business as usual. Even the energy in the room felt different; a friend and I tried to figure it out. Were there more new faces? Is it the bar that makes the crowd so much noisier between sets? Is it just not being in a church basement? We couldn't put our fingers on it.

But the bottom line at the Listening Room is hearing talented musicians play to a respectful and silent audience and nothing about that had changed.

Harrisonburg band David Bayard Richard was a septet with two keyboards, drums, guitar, violin, viola and cello. They were introduced by MC Chris Edwards as "indie pop piano ballad chamber pop" and that's probably as succinct a description as could be made for the band.

They came onstage and lead singer Richard responded with, "That's the first time we've been introduced...ever." We are nothing if not well-mannered at the Listening Room.

They had an interesting sound, alternating a more drum/guitar-heavy sound with a more string-focused one and occasionally all coming together. Richard's growl of a voice was very melodic and enhanced by the two keyboards.

The last song, which featured all seven instruments was beautiful, although the strings were tough to hear over the drums. On an earlier song, my friend had said that there were moments when the strings swelled that she felt close to tears, always part of the pleasure of chamber pop.

Playing next was Anousheh Khalili, she of the sensuous voice and writer of beautiful pop gem songs. Tonight she had a three-piece behind her and it added a whole new dimension to her music.

"I'm playing all new songs," she told the crowd. "So unless you were at my one other show, you haven't heard them." Turning to my seatmate, I told her I had been there. "If anyone had, it would be you," she whispered with a smile.

But as impressive as the new songs had been when she'd played them solo at Ipanema, they were even more so tonight with her band. Guitarist Tyler Crowley was a perfect fit with Anousheh's voice and keyboards, adding texture to her sound and proving that a good thing can sometimes be made even better.

Miramar, another septet, took over from Anousheh (who had used their keyboards to save lugging her own) with guitar/sax, bass, drums, two singer/percussionists and, yes, bongos. And if they were the first bongos at the Listening Room, it was also the first time that boleros were sung.

I've heard Miramar before, so I knew what to expect, but many in the crowd had the unexpected pleasure of songs from Puerto Rico and Greece as well as original material, none of it in English and all of it quite beautiful.

On the one hand, all the bands tonight had a common bond: keyboards, drums, guitars and vocalists; on the other, the musical genres were far-flung: indie, Latin, chamber, dance and pop. Music lovers with wide-ranging tastes, a group that would include me, had many itches scratched this evening.

Except for jazz. But conveniently, Brian Jones was playing at the Camel a few steps away, so once the show ended, I took those steps to scratch one last itch before the night was over.

No matter with whom Jones surrounds himself (tonight it was Parker, Ralston and Kuhl), his masterful playing is always a sight to behold and a treat to hear. And I love watching the young jazz musicians in the audience worship at his altar stage as he plays.

But unlike the Listening Room, there were no bongos. Pity.

Musical Tuesday: Preachers' Guns and Sons

If I'd set out to have an evening of contrasting musical experiences, I couldn't have accomplished it any better than where I found myself tonight.

It was the end of an era at the Listening Room, with tonight's show being the final one at the Michaux House; after a stellar fifteen-month run there, the monthly event is moving to the Firehouse Theater.

No more will we walk down the outdoor staircase to the basement for a talk-free show, so it was a little bittersweet knowing I'd never again eat a donut or ask a dumb musical question of a musician there.

Tonight's show was a strong one, making for the appropriate sendoff for the turning of the venue page. Singer-songwriter Knox Hubard was introduced with the words, "I have seen grown women swoon at the sound of his voice."

I know for sure that he was the first LR performer ever to wear a corduroy blazer or have his lyrics/set list taped to his guitar.

He did have a beautiful voice, showcased with well-written songs and impeccable delivery. He sang about trains, a song he'd written after a trip with his son, and about finding the love of your life, with assistance from Mark of Louisiana Territory (whom he'd written it for on the occasion of his marriage) and Chris and Antonia of the Speckled Bird.

Up second was Allison Self, a long-time favorite of mine who'd been traveling so much the past year that she hadn't been playing out much.

Tonight's near-capacity crowd (the baked goods were completely gone by the end of the first set) was treated to her classic Americana big voice and enthusiastic ukulele playing.

The buzz after her set was incredible; apparently a lot of people were hearing her for the first time and being blown away. She played music from her new EP "Self-Titled," (get it?), which she had for sale for $1 to $500, buyer's choice a la Radiohead.

She also covered vintage country, blues and folk, including Leadbelly's "Good Night Irene," Loretta Lynn and "St. Louis Blues." Lyric: "If it weren't for powder and store-bought hair, That man of mine wouldn't have gone nowhere." Classic stuff.

Tyler Crowley played last and he also had a new EP to play. Before he even got started, the string of lights that falls nearly every LR show fell, causing him to note, "I was at the very first Listening Room show and watched the lights fall."

As was I; now it's practically guaranteed to happen every time. Regulars laugh; newbies are just surprised.

Tyler had brought the crew with whom he'd recorded, including Lance Koehler, Marcus Tenney, and Reggie Chapman (all of No BS) and Jonathan Vassar and Antonia (JV & the Speckled Bird), making for the biggest band ever for the LR stage and a very full sound.

Tyler's songs were all taken from slices of his life, including "Preacher and his Gun," a song he described as, "Imagine if Clint Eastwood and Jimmy Swaggert morphed into one man."

My favorite was the lush "Restless Feeling," full of warm horns and indie swagger. He said it sounded even better on the CD than it had live, but I don't see how that's possible.

He closed with a cover of his favorite song, Radiohead's "Let Down." I went to compliment him on the set after the show and before I could, he asked if I'd been at the Symphony Sunday because he thought he'd seen me. "You are at every kind of show," he laughed.

It was appropriate because Tyler and I first met at the Camel when he came up to me and said, "I see you at every show I go to. Who are you?"

After saying good-bye to the Micheaux House for the last time, a couple of friends and I took the short drive to the Republic for a very different sort of musical event.

Prabir and Treesa, half of Prabir and the Goldrush, were playing music from movies. It's part of their themed series at Republic; last time it was all about sex.

They were finishing up their first set when we got there and during the break, Treesa came up to hug me and thank me for coming because, she said, "I know you hate this venue."

It's the smoke I hate and the reeking afterwards actually, but, even so, I told her, I wouldn't have missed seeing what the set list was.

Besides, 48 hours ago, I had been listening to Treesa play violin with the Richmond Symphony performing Pucini and Verdi; how could I resist hearing something so different from her tonight?

And there were some doozies. They opened with the theme from Star Wars and Jaws before cutting loose on "Gangsta's Paradise."

Imagine a white girl from Kansas playing violin and rapping while using her phone for the lyrics. It really needed to be seen and heard to be believed. The crowd roared their approval and her husband taped the entire thing for posterity (or blackmail, I don't know which).

There was an exuberant (read: drunk and loud) crowd at Republic for the show and much enthusiasm as they launched into music from Pulp Fiction, including "Son of a Preacher Man."

The theme to Aladdin, "A Whole New World" was familiar enough to Treesa that she didn't even need her phone, nor did the singalong crowd. Who knew there were so many Aladdin fans at the Republic on a Tuesday night?

For "Ghostbusters," they turned on the fog machine and really got the crowd going. Afterwards, Treesa pouted, "I don't want to stop using the fog machine." Not a complaint you hear every day.

But she did because it wasn't needed for the cheesiest possible one-two punch closer ever imagined, a medley of "Wind Beneath My Wings" and "Everything I Do (I Do for You)." Some of the girls in the crowd were clearly in rapture mode as they belted out the lyrics with the band.

If Prabir hadn't set out to pick two of the absolute corniest songs ever written, he'd inadvertently shown cornball genius.

Or, as Treesa's husband Matt summed it up for the ages, "This is really a comedy show." Musical comedy, but comedy for sure.

That's fine. From earnest early on to laughing later on, I'll take my music every way I can get it.