Walking in the Dark

It's an excellent night musically when I can start with one kind of music at 6:30 and end somewhere else with a completely different kind at 12:30.

It was the recent Folk Fest that landed me at Barrel Thief tonight for the Jason Jenkins Trio. At that mind-blowing Zakir Hussain show, I had sat next to a local drummer who had arrived as ridiculously early for the show as I had, so we'd had plenty of time to talk music, shows and audiences.

He had mentioned then that he was playing a show at Barrel Thief tonight and suggested I come by for some jazz to start my evening. I'll admit I was a little surprised when I arrived around 6:35 to find that most tables were taken and the remaining reserved. Luckily, there was a corner banquette with a low table in front of it with a great view of the band and I was ushered to it.

Taking Virginia Wine month to heart, I chose the Pollak Vineyards Meritage (a stellar blend of Cab Franc, Merlot and Petite Verdot) for my drinking pleasure throughout the evening and started with the olive tapenade, chevre and cucumber bruschetta.

Later, at my server's suggestion, I had the Chef's grilled cheese on rosemary foccacia, an interesting take on the standard, with multiple cheeses and sun-dried tomato spread. I do wish Barrel Thief had a wider menu.

My drumming friend and his cohorts were playing a variety of jazz standards to the obvious delight of the attentive audience, some of whom commented to the band between songs like old friends, or at least neighbors and frequent attendees.

During the break my drummer friend came over to get reacquainted and talk about what else we'd each seen at the Folk Fest after the tabla tour de force. He'd gotten to see Salsa Duro, the one group I'd really wanted to see and didn't, so he got to rub that in, telling me how amazing they were and why.

I left midway through the second set because I wanted to make the Wood & Steel acoustic show at Gallery 5 and I had to make a quick stop at home to exchange cute wine bistro platform shoes for standing-on-cement-for-hours shoes (boots, actually) before walking over; it was a most necessary transition.

I passed a utility repairman doggedly trying to restore power to the unlit street lights and asked him if there would be light by the time I walked home from the show; he assured me that there would be. Always good to hear.

When I arrived, Nick Woods was playing an earnest set, followed by Shannon Cleary, who sang his song about seeing Matt and Kim at the bike lot show and then seeing them Thursday night when the floor felt close to collapsing. Later we talked about the sinking feeling we shared that night about the strength of the Canal Club's flooring versus the enthusiasm of everyone's dancing.

Ophelia was next, but performing as a duo rather than a quartet. The crowd was too noisy as far as my friend and I were concerned, talking and laughing loudly over the heartfelt vocals of David and Jonathan.

My friend, who teaches at VCU, later told me that he could relate to being in front of a room full of people, many of whom were paying no attention to you. Still, it seemed a shame to drown out such beautiful harmonies.

Prabir and the Goldrush were next, doing their usual rock-your-socks-off set. When Prabir went to dedicate a song to a girl, violinist Treesa mentioned that her parents were in the audience, so the song instead went to them. Irreverently, it was followed by a song about smoking weed; no dedication necessary.

The final band was the trio Homemade Knives and they set up on the floor in front of the stage and the remaining members of the audience crowded around them, some sitting on the cold floor (not this girl) and others standing around.

Their haunting set ended with a much-slowed-down cover of Springsteen's Dancing in the Dark, because, according to lead singer Will, "covers are fun." It was an ironic comment considering that the somber and slow version they did of the up-tempo rock standard took the song to a whole new meaningful level and fun had nothing to do with it.

My friend offered to drive me home in case the street lights were still out, but I told him I was willing to go it alone. As I told him, what was going to happen, that I'd die on the streets of J-Ward on a Saturday night under a full moon?

"Worse things could happen," he grinned as he twirled his moustache, knowing I'd be just fine.

Do I have the option of being otherwise?

Folk Me

What's the best thing about the Richmond Folk Fest over the National Folk Fest? That would be the increasing focus on international music and tonight provided a an unparalleled kick-off to that emphasis.

I was meeting a favorite couple, so I arrived just before 6:30 to stake out the best seats (second row center) for a 7:15 show. Already in place in the same row was a guy looking as eager as I no doubt did, who immediately engaged me in conversation. He turned out to be a drummer who recently moved back to RVA from Colorado after 8 years away.

You can imagine what a conversation starter that was! He's just discovering all the changes in our music scene since he was last here and he was terribly impressed when he learned how often I'm out for live music ("I wish everyone was like you.") and asked for recommendations on local bands to check out. Happy to oblige, friend.

After last year's Folk Fest performance by Debashish Bhattacharya, here, I knew that if I was only going to see one performance this weekend, it was going to be Zakir Hussain playing tabla. As my handsome Indian friend (and half my couple date) had told me, the man is a maestro.

Midway through his first piece, the audience began clapping and cheering during one especially fast part, causing Hussain to throw out his hands in a "What are you people doing?" gesture. I had been wondering the same thing since they were drowning out the man's playing.

During the next piece, he was even clearer with the overly-noisy and enthusiastic, admonishing them "I'll tell you when to clap." Of note was that the sizable Indian contingent of the audience knew better than to mar the performance with making noise mid-music.

My new drummer friend, who was not clapping either, said between pieces, "People always do that on a drum solo. They don't know any better." Presumably they did after being told by the maestro.

Hussain had said that all the tabla movement was from the wrist down ("We get tennis wrist.") and at times, his fingers flew so fast they were unrecognizable as digits. His partner, playing the melody, had fingers just as fleet. And it wasn't just me who was left wowed.

After the encore, the drummer turned to me and said, "I can die happy now" with an enormous grin on his face. Drummer nirvana from the second row for both the talented and the mere fan.

That performance alone would have made for an absolutely amazing night, but due to the genius of the programming staff, there was more to come. Ensemble Shanbehzadeh, an Iranian trio, followed with a performance unlike anything I could have imagined.

Leader Saied Shanbehzadeh (now exiled in Paris because he wouldn't alter his music to suit his government) is a master of the double-reed bagpipe, which, I might add, was pink and tasseled. It's hard to describe the magnificence of a man passionately dancing while playing a pink bagpipe between two drummers (one his teenage son).

There may be men with more sinuous dance stylings on the planet, but I doubt you could find a member of tonight's audience who would believe that. From Cossack-style leg kicks to provocative pelvic thrusting and the most fluid hips imaginable on a man, you could almost see the females in the crowd responding.

At one point, the female half of my couple date looked over at me, her eyes enormous and just nodded knowingly at me. I nodded right back. Words weren't necessary, although we came up with a few choice ones later.

Afterwards, I spotted a friend who looked a little glazed and she said, "I need to go find someplace to dance and release some of this pent-up energy after that." I'm quite sure she wasn't the only one feeling that way. The man was a force of nature and the music's raw emotion was captivating.

With a mere 45 minutes to perform, Shanbehzadeh eschewed stage banter, saying only that he "loved people of all countries." He closed the show with, "Next year, all of us in New York!" Don't I wish.

Walking back up 5th Street, the handsome one suggested Lemaire to finish off the evening with wine, cocktails, cheeses and beef tartare. Since we'd been engrossed in music all evening, it was really our first chance for extended conversation.

He, like Hussain, is Indian, she's from Ukraine and the ensemble was Persian, making for a most international night at the Richmond Folk Fest.

I couldn't feel any more white-bread or any more thrilled to have witnessed such far-flung talent tonight.

Did I mention those hips?