I am the magnet and the world is the steel.
Or, put another way, I can always count on strangers talking to me. Always.
The Virginia Center for Architecture was my first stop for the opening of the new exhibit "Young Architects of Spain."
I found it to be a fascinating look at the design skills for buildings that would never get built in this country, or at the very least, on this coast.
There was an apartment in Madrid made of plastic, which was odd enough, but it had a a pink and white kitchen.
I think we stopped making pink and white kitchens sometime in the Kennedy era.
The Vega Sicilia Garden Pavilion had been designed because the winery needed a place to receive clients and guests.
Naturally, the Spaniard responsible for the design created a place where you could sip wine while overlooking a magnificent, surrounding garden.
As I stood admiring a glass and cedar collective housing project, I wondered aloud what the term "collective housing" meant.
The guy next to me looked as perplexed as I was.
To our rescue came a handsome bystander who explained in a charming accent that it was like a condo, a group building with shared ownership.
Ah-ha.
That led to a discussion of the next panel, which was of a public housing project in Madrid, basically a white box with modules set into it randomly, making for a pastiche of windows, balconies and jutting promontories.
I mentioned that it appeared to me to be a structure light years more stylish and unique than any public housing ever built in this country.
"Are you an architect?" he asked and I had to disappoint him.
Turns out he was and had come to this country from Poland to practice a few years ago.
He admitted that when he'd first come here, he was all about form (as only a young architect can be), only to gradually realize that he's developed a passion for cornices and such.
"Now I feel differently," he said. "It's too cold looking. I didn't like it anymore."
Somehow I'd lucked into having the ideal person to share the exhibit with since clearly he knew way more about architecture than I did.
Score!
He asked what I did and said he wished he had a knack for writing, while I only wish I could design buildings, making for a chat about the other man's grass always being greener.
When he left to get more sangria, I soldiered on without him, marveling at a "Space for Youth Creation" made from a former water tank with three-foot thick walls.
These young Spaniards were nothing if not out-of-the-box thinkers.
Exiting the VCA, I almost ran into the Man About Town, walking home from work.
He was recently back from a sojourn in NYC, and knwoing what a theater geek I am, he shared some theater experiences (masks! liability! six-inch heels!) he'd seen there while we lingered on the brick sidewalk in the early evening air.
My friend sauntered on while I was on to Amuse to meet a friend.
I got the last free barstool and hugs from four people in the first five minutes. Clearly it had been too long.
With a split of Cava and a bowl of mussels with Surry sausage, white wine and garlic (no kissing tonight!), I was happy as a clam.
When I looked up from inhaling my dinner, I noticed that I was now alone at the bar.
Where had everybody gone?
When I mentioned it to the bartender, he wryly observed, "Yea, you seem to do that a lot."
That's my kind of bartender.
My friend filled me in on his recent trip out west and his upcoming plans that will take him from Richmond for at least a couple of years and maybe forever.
I'm happy he's going to pursue something he loves, but I'll miss his good company here.
We brought out our planners, mine a small purple book and his a phone, and coordinated a date to do debauched things before he leaves.
Next thing I know, a man is asking if the recently vacant stool next to me is free.
Come on in, I told him and next thing I knew he was introducing himself and telling me where he worked, about his dislike for a class he's taking and about his carrying on at the Beer and Bourbon Festival.
When he heard my friend talking about his move, he said he'd come and visit, "And I'll even bring Karen!"
Let's be clear here; he'd met me fifteen minutes ago.
And when my Cava was gone, he kindly offered to buy me more, but I had places to be.
I had to go say goodbye to another friend.
His farewell soiree was at Balliceaux and one of my favorite local bands, Marionette, was playing.
The beauty of that is that the friend leaving has been designing Marionette's merch for the past five years.
The Marionette t-shirt I have? His design.
The Marionette postcard on my desk? His design.
And now he's off to San Diego to go to graduate school and continue his artistic bent.
When the band got ready to begin, drummer Kevin announced, "Where's the man of the hour? We need Austin front and center!"
Once he was in full view of the band, they started their set, which included a lot of the new songs that will be on the upcoming album.
The room was packed and I saw at least three musicians from other local bands in the crowd.
A friend came up to chat about my love life before asking me point blank, "Do you think that's the bass player's "O" face? I think it is."
It might very well have been, but as I pointed out, guitarist Adam seemed to be using his "O" face on certain solos, too.
Maybe that's part of the appeal of live music.
Later in the set Adam spoke a few words about Austin leaving and what a contribution he'd made to the band over the years by essentially defining the Marionette aesthetic with his posters and t-shirts.
"If it weren't for Austin's posters, Karen would never have come to see us," Adam informed the crowd.
I turned to Austin then, admitting, "It's true."
Back in the Stone Age of 2007/2008, I was an avid admirer of show posters, stopping to read them every chance I got.
It used to be how I found out about shows in the pre-Facebook days.
And Austin's Marionette posters were uniquely and beautifully artistic. In fact, I still have several of them squirreled away.
For the final song of the set, the vintage video montage that always plays behind Marionette included several of Austin's posters followed by wishes of good luck for his new adventure.
It was a fitting tribute to him and his art. When it ended, he'd disappeared.
As I went to leave Balliceaux, the front room was playing Beach House's "Teen Dream" album.
It was bittersweet because that was an album Austin and I bonded over many times, both of us obsessed with its sound and having listened to it for months on end.
I left to find Austin just outside the door, smoking and talking to people.
Holding the door open so he could hear what was playing, I told him how fitting it was that I got to say goodbye to him to Beach House.
Before I could say the rest of what I wanted to say to him, he said the exact words in my head to me.
"I'm so glad that I got to know you," he said, hugging me.
Luck is having strangers talk to me because I never know which ones will end up being friends.
Even if I have to eventually bid them farewell.
Showing posts with label Marionette. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marionette. Show all posts
Friday, July 13, 2012
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Merry and Tragical
Park once, party twice. Sadly, though, I paid the price.
Nay, faith, let me not play a woman, for I have a beard coming.
And that's the beauty of a gender-reversed play. Those actors playing women do have beard potential.
Firehouse Theater was doing "A Midsummer Night's Dream" with fifteen women playing the male parts.
As if the pleasure of men playing women wasn't sufficient, there were also actors of a tender age playing believable love-besotted youths (Hermia and Lysander).
There was anachronistic humor, like when the bumbling troupe needed moonlight for their play and decided to check the calendar to see if the moon would be bright for them.
In this version, that calendar was on a smartphone, around which they all gathered to determine that the moon would indeed be shining for their performance.
There was innuendo, like when Bottom (played to perfection by Molly Hood) said, "I could munch your good dry oats."
So that's what the kids were calling it in Shakespeare's time. Munching.
There was physical humor, as when Demetrius says, "Let's follow him and, by the way, let, whoa, us recount our dream."
The "whoa" occurred when she nearly ran into a pole.
Or when Bottom says, "And, most dear actors, eat no onion nor garlic for we are to utter sweet breath," as one of her fellow actors takes a bite of sandwich, leaving onion hanging from her mouth.
There was the most plaintive and unloved Helena imaginable in the always hysterically dour Dean Knight.
There was mad doting by multiple couples not to mention lovers making moan.
The performance was especially timely since I'd just seen Richmond Shakespeare do the very same play at Maymont not three weeks ago.
Of course, in that version Hermia didn't stand up to pee and Theseus didn't have breasts.
Call me a mortal fool, but all shall be well when Firehouse does a gender exploration of anything by the Bard.
In other words, count me in.
From the forest of the fairies to a blog's birthday party we went. Luckily it was on the same block.
RVAPlaylist was celebrating its second birthday, and as I explained to a fellow music lover, it wasn't that I wanted to go, I had to go.
Of course I wanted to as well.
And why not? The show was free, there was a band I'd never seen and was eager to, one of my long-time favorite bands was playing and there would be birthday cake.
Oh, yes, and literally dozens of people I knew would be there.
Happily, I walked into the Camel to a clutch of familiar faces right up front.
Greeting people, hugging friends and hearing my name called, I turned to see a friend with outstretched arms.
"Is this the Karen receiving line?" he asked only half mocking.
Why, yes, it was.
Against Grace were already playing their brand of pop punk (think Jimmy Eat World) to a crowd of rapturous fans exactly like my friend had described them.
Devoted.
Once their set ended, I set out to finish saying hello to everyone I knew, a never-ending attempt, since inevitably I'd see someone else I hadn't yet seen.
Dead Fame played second and brought their 21st-century take on Joy Division (and a different crowd) to life under minimal lighting and a crowd that moved incessantly with the beat of the music.
As a pal noted, the band had done their 80s homework and lead singer Michael was a study of Ian Curtis as he delivered post-punk and staccato dance moves.
Marionette was last and they too had their own fan base, allowing them to take their music in some new directions instead of playing only familiar material.
We die hards love that kind of fan-centric set list.
Guitarist Adam began their set by thanking Andrew, RVAPlaylist's author, for his long-time interest in the band.
The only thing Adam forgot to mention was who had originally introduced Andrew to Marionette's music.
I don't want to name names, but it was the same woman (not played by a man tonight) who was assured that if she came to the birthday party tonight, not only would there be cake, but she was free to lick the icing off the edge of the plate.
That's a pretty sweet enticement.
All in all, the birthday party had been great fun and it's hard to beat free music.
Well, not exactly free.
I walked out to find a $60 ticket on my car. Really? This is what our cops are doing with their time at night?
Although I'd parked in the same space I've parked for years to go to the Firehouse and the Camel, apparently now it's off limits after 11 p.m.
Ah, well. The course of true fun never did run smooth.
Nay, faith, let me not play a woman, for I have a beard coming.
And that's the beauty of a gender-reversed play. Those actors playing women do have beard potential.
Firehouse Theater was doing "A Midsummer Night's Dream" with fifteen women playing the male parts.
As if the pleasure of men playing women wasn't sufficient, there were also actors of a tender age playing believable love-besotted youths (Hermia and Lysander).
There was anachronistic humor, like when the bumbling troupe needed moonlight for their play and decided to check the calendar to see if the moon would be bright for them.
In this version, that calendar was on a smartphone, around which they all gathered to determine that the moon would indeed be shining for their performance.
There was innuendo, like when Bottom (played to perfection by Molly Hood) said, "I could munch your good dry oats."
So that's what the kids were calling it in Shakespeare's time. Munching.
There was physical humor, as when Demetrius says, "Let's follow him and, by the way, let, whoa, us recount our dream."
The "whoa" occurred when she nearly ran into a pole.
Or when Bottom says, "And, most dear actors, eat no onion nor garlic for we are to utter sweet breath," as one of her fellow actors takes a bite of sandwich, leaving onion hanging from her mouth.
There was the most plaintive and unloved Helena imaginable in the always hysterically dour Dean Knight.
There was mad doting by multiple couples not to mention lovers making moan.
The performance was especially timely since I'd just seen Richmond Shakespeare do the very same play at Maymont not three weeks ago.
Of course, in that version Hermia didn't stand up to pee and Theseus didn't have breasts.
Call me a mortal fool, but all shall be well when Firehouse does a gender exploration of anything by the Bard.
In other words, count me in.
From the forest of the fairies to a blog's birthday party we went. Luckily it was on the same block.
RVAPlaylist was celebrating its second birthday, and as I explained to a fellow music lover, it wasn't that I wanted to go, I had to go.
Of course I wanted to as well.
And why not? The show was free, there was a band I'd never seen and was eager to, one of my long-time favorite bands was playing and there would be birthday cake.
Oh, yes, and literally dozens of people I knew would be there.
Happily, I walked into the Camel to a clutch of familiar faces right up front.
Greeting people, hugging friends and hearing my name called, I turned to see a friend with outstretched arms.
"Is this the Karen receiving line?" he asked only half mocking.
Why, yes, it was.
Against Grace were already playing their brand of pop punk (think Jimmy Eat World) to a crowd of rapturous fans exactly like my friend had described them.
Devoted.
Once their set ended, I set out to finish saying hello to everyone I knew, a never-ending attempt, since inevitably I'd see someone else I hadn't yet seen.
Dead Fame played second and brought their 21st-century take on Joy Division (and a different crowd) to life under minimal lighting and a crowd that moved incessantly with the beat of the music.
As a pal noted, the band had done their 80s homework and lead singer Michael was a study of Ian Curtis as he delivered post-punk and staccato dance moves.
Marionette was last and they too had their own fan base, allowing them to take their music in some new directions instead of playing only familiar material.
We die hards love that kind of fan-centric set list.
Guitarist Adam began their set by thanking Andrew, RVAPlaylist's author, for his long-time interest in the band.
The only thing Adam forgot to mention was who had originally introduced Andrew to Marionette's music.
I don't want to name names, but it was the same woman (not played by a man tonight) who was assured that if she came to the birthday party tonight, not only would there be cake, but she was free to lick the icing off the edge of the plate.
That's a pretty sweet enticement.
All in all, the birthday party had been great fun and it's hard to beat free music.
Well, not exactly free.
I walked out to find a $60 ticket on my car. Really? This is what our cops are doing with their time at night?
Although I'd parked in the same space I've parked for years to go to the Firehouse and the Camel, apparently now it's off limits after 11 p.m.
Ah, well. The course of true fun never did run smooth.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Rebuilding the Bionic Woman
Never make plans because they are always subject to change. But set goals anyway.
I began at Amuse because it was a favorite bartender's last night and far be it for me not to worship at his bar one last time.
The vibe was low key when I arrived and escalated to full-on busy before it was all over.
Even better, a dedicated admirer joined me before long, making for an even better way to enjoy my evening.
We started with the Boxwood Rose despite the plethora of happy hour choices. As if that weren't surprise enough, there was a new prix fixe menu.
Amuse, you've gotten so hip lately.
We couldn't resist the regular menu, though, choosing the country style duck pate with quince whole grain mustard, pistachios and toasted crostini.
At the bartender's recommendation, we let it sit for a while to warm up, releasing the flavors.
Just as compelling were the house-cured sardines and roasted piquillo peppers with arugula, olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
It was just short of an Italian's wet dream.
Last, but certainly not least, was the grilled polenta with a saute of local mushrooms and creamy sherry with chives.
Meanwhile, we had been greeted by WRIR folk, the bartender's parents ("Didn't we meet in an alley?") and a couple who clarified that they were not engaged.
Because it was the bartender's last night. It seemed only appropriate that he make my last absinthe drip at Amuse.
Okay, maybe not my last, but the last he prepared for me.
A nearby bar sitter marveled at the process, never having seen it before.
You have to love absinthe virgins.
Because of the later light and the magnificent view, we lingered over absinthe while admiring the fading March light over the sculpture garden.
By then I'd missed the Black Maria Film Fest I'd intended to make.
Eventually, we marshaled our forces and went to see "Visions of France: Three Postwar Photographers," a beguiling show of people kissing, cafe scenes and assorted denizens of Paris' streets.
We were taken with Doisneau's "Kiss by the Hotel de Ville" mainly because of the girl's arm.
Yes, he is holding her shoulder and kissing her hard, but it is the surrender in her right arm that captivated us.
Clearly, she was completely helpless once he started kissing her.
Now, that's street art.
Stopping on the second floor landing, we paused to admire the host of couples tangoing on the lower level.
Every third Friday, they do Tango after Work and watching these couples dance was a beautiful entertainment.
I am probably far too uncoordinated to attempt tangoing, but I couldn't help but admire the beauty of the joined bodies.
And I've got the wardrobe; all the women wore skirts or dresses.
We all need something to aspire to.
Next up, I went to Strange Matter for music because how else do you follow absinthe, street kissing and tango?
In this case, with leg compliments from a girl, libido questions from a guy, a man in the ladies' room and three excellent sets.
Marionette started on time, a rarity at Strange Matter, and played an incredibly tight set of new music.
It's fantastic when old fans get rewarded with new material.
During one song the drummer's girlfriend came up to me and said, "This song sounds like sex, doesn't it?"
When I mentioned her comment to the guitarist later, he said, "I thought it sounded more like victory...or maybe that's the same."
Ocean versus Daughter was next, and while I'd seen them once before, I hadn't known the full back story then.
Hearing her sing "You hurt me. I hate you. I hope you die in a fire" takes on a whole new meaning when I learn that the guy she wrote it about is in the room.
While I liked her voice and keyboards, even better was when she had two members of Marionette backing her up.
During a trip to the bathroom, I came out of my stall to find the singer cornered near the sink by a guy who wanted her to listen to his band.
But really, following her into the ladies' room to make his pitch?
I can't decide if that's very rock and roll or just skeevy.
Last up was Canary, oh Canary and while the vocals weren't quite high enough in the mix, they did their usual superb job with reverb and obtuse lyrics.
So while I'd traded off film for music, I can't come close to matching the record of WRIR's Galaxy Girl, who was there tonight. She's now seen fifteen shows this month and it's March 16th.
I bowed at her feet for such awesomeness.
The best I got tonight was having a musician friend tell me he'd been driving through my neighborhood and was admiring some great legs in shorts when he realized it was me.
We're going to call that metaphorical bowing at my legs for semi-awesomeness.
I know it's not much, but it's hard to compete with a record like fifteen out of sixteen.
Truth is, when it comes to some things, I'd be happy with one out of three.
As long as it's the right one.
I began at Amuse because it was a favorite bartender's last night and far be it for me not to worship at his bar one last time.
The vibe was low key when I arrived and escalated to full-on busy before it was all over.
Even better, a dedicated admirer joined me before long, making for an even better way to enjoy my evening.
We started with the Boxwood Rose despite the plethora of happy hour choices. As if that weren't surprise enough, there was a new prix fixe menu.
Amuse, you've gotten so hip lately.
We couldn't resist the regular menu, though, choosing the country style duck pate with quince whole grain mustard, pistachios and toasted crostini.
At the bartender's recommendation, we let it sit for a while to warm up, releasing the flavors.
Just as compelling were the house-cured sardines and roasted piquillo peppers with arugula, olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
It was just short of an Italian's wet dream.
Last, but certainly not least, was the grilled polenta with a saute of local mushrooms and creamy sherry with chives.
Meanwhile, we had been greeted by WRIR folk, the bartender's parents ("Didn't we meet in an alley?") and a couple who clarified that they were not engaged.
Because it was the bartender's last night. It seemed only appropriate that he make my last absinthe drip at Amuse.
Okay, maybe not my last, but the last he prepared for me.
A nearby bar sitter marveled at the process, never having seen it before.
You have to love absinthe virgins.
Because of the later light and the magnificent view, we lingered over absinthe while admiring the fading March light over the sculpture garden.
By then I'd missed the Black Maria Film Fest I'd intended to make.
Eventually, we marshaled our forces and went to see "Visions of France: Three Postwar Photographers," a beguiling show of people kissing, cafe scenes and assorted denizens of Paris' streets.
We were taken with Doisneau's "Kiss by the Hotel de Ville" mainly because of the girl's arm.
Yes, he is holding her shoulder and kissing her hard, but it is the surrender in her right arm that captivated us.
Clearly, she was completely helpless once he started kissing her.
Now, that's street art.
Stopping on the second floor landing, we paused to admire the host of couples tangoing on the lower level.
Every third Friday, they do Tango after Work and watching these couples dance was a beautiful entertainment.
I am probably far too uncoordinated to attempt tangoing, but I couldn't help but admire the beauty of the joined bodies.
And I've got the wardrobe; all the women wore skirts or dresses.
We all need something to aspire to.
Next up, I went to Strange Matter for music because how else do you follow absinthe, street kissing and tango?
In this case, with leg compliments from a girl, libido questions from a guy, a man in the ladies' room and three excellent sets.
Marionette started on time, a rarity at Strange Matter, and played an incredibly tight set of new music.
It's fantastic when old fans get rewarded with new material.
During one song the drummer's girlfriend came up to me and said, "This song sounds like sex, doesn't it?"
When I mentioned her comment to the guitarist later, he said, "I thought it sounded more like victory...or maybe that's the same."
Ocean versus Daughter was next, and while I'd seen them once before, I hadn't known the full back story then.
Hearing her sing "You hurt me. I hate you. I hope you die in a fire" takes on a whole new meaning when I learn that the guy she wrote it about is in the room.
While I liked her voice and keyboards, even better was when she had two members of Marionette backing her up.
During a trip to the bathroom, I came out of my stall to find the singer cornered near the sink by a guy who wanted her to listen to his band.
But really, following her into the ladies' room to make his pitch?
I can't decide if that's very rock and roll or just skeevy.
Last up was Canary, oh Canary and while the vocals weren't quite high enough in the mix, they did their usual superb job with reverb and obtuse lyrics.
So while I'd traded off film for music, I can't come close to matching the record of WRIR's Galaxy Girl, who was there tonight. She's now seen fifteen shows this month and it's March 16th.
I bowed at her feet for such awesomeness.
The best I got tonight was having a musician friend tell me he'd been driving through my neighborhood and was admiring some great legs in shorts when he realized it was me.
We're going to call that metaphorical bowing at my legs for semi-awesomeness.
I know it's not much, but it's hard to compete with a record like fifteen out of sixteen.
Truth is, when it comes to some things, I'd be happy with one out of three.
As long as it's the right one.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Of Language and Love Songs
It's a rare night when I can sandwich in Tennessee between Romania and Prague.
Things got rolling at the Grace Street Theater where the VCU Cinematheque series restarted for the semester with a Cannes double award winner, "Police, Adjective."
I've stated for the record that I'm a huge fan of this (free) film series which shows independent foreign films that never quite made it to Richmond.
Tonight's gem played to a nearly full house and given that it was Romanian New Wave, deservedly so.
The movie about an undercover cop who is tailing a high school kid suspected of selling hash had less to do with cops and crime and everything to do with language.
When his superior insists that he initiate a sting operation to arrest the kid, the hero resists because he doesn't want to ruin the kid's life merely for being irresponsible.
The payoff comes when the boss challenges him on why not. The hero doesn't want it on his conscience that he's ruined a kid's life.
It's at that point that the dictionary comes out and the boss has him look up conscience and discuss it. Next comes looking up moral, then police.
Everything comes down to interpretation of language and, frankly, this language geek couldn't have been more amused at a black comedy about the language police enforcing word usage.
As if that wasn't pleasurable enough, I found myself seated next to a former Media General colleague (and his partner) who was also let go in the great recession of 2008.
When I asked what he'd been up to, he regaled me with stories of his travels since he retired/got laid off.
Their last trip had been to Rome, Florence, Sienna and the hill towns of Tuscany.
Telling me a hilarious story about a bus driver who drove them up a mountain in his own car because it was a holiday and the taxis and buses weren't running, he advised, "You have to go to Florence."
I'll get right on that.
Their upcoming trip is to Amsterdam, the Riviera, the Loire Valley and Paris ("because it's on the way," he insisted).
I like his version of being laid off even more than my own.
After bidding the travelers goodnight, I headed over to City Dogs for a Tennessee slaw dog with mustard, onions, chili and cole slaw.
Pig and cabbage was just what I needed to fortify myself before the next portion of the evening.
Meanwhile, a quick stop in the ladies' room provided a wealth of reading material on the chalkboard walls.
My favorite: "Love guys with beards? Become a whiskerina! Visit beardleague.org."
Somehow I wasn't surprised to learn about the Follicles of the James Stache and Beard League. I know I have more bearded male friends than not.
Why shouldn't they have a fan club?
And on that pleasant note, I got myself to Balliceaux for Oceans versus Daughter, which is usually three Americans, one Brit and one Czech who came together in Prague and have been making music ever since.
For the recent past, though, lead singer Flanna has been back in the colonies and touring the northeast with two members of our own indie royalty, Kevin and Marshall of Marionette while her band is back in Prague.
She did the first couple of songs solo, pairing her lovely voice with just keyboards before having Marshall and Kevin join her onstage to fill out her sound.
Telling us she was going to sing a song about poison cake, she called to the guys in the kitchen, asking if they made poison cakes.
Somehow they heard "poison snakes" and there was some back and forth before the song began.
And the songs were exquisite; "Fire" was about being destroyed by a guy ("You hurt me, I hate you. I hope that you die in a fire") while she said "Don't Try" was about listening to that little voice in your head.
Midway through she told the crowd that she had CDs (pay what you will), T-shirts and tote bags.
"This is my QVC moment," she explained before suggesting that Marionette do the same.
"It's over there," Marshall said with his usual understated charm. "Y'all know."
We do.
We were also treated to Flanna joining them for two Marionette songs, including the first track off their upcoming EP, a song called "Shades of Doubt."
It was quite a song. In the over four years that I have been seeing this band, they continue to impress me as they develop musically and lyrically.
Then it was back to OvD and the trio finished up with "Take Care," a fitting close to their set.
When the night is through
The light of the moon awakens you
And the day has come again for you
I'll take care of you
Despite the happy ending, the crowd (me included) called for one more and Flanna alone returned to the stage for "Lips of Justice."
I've been several places
In my heart you've come along
My trailing train
And then the show was over and the room was filled with people raving to each other about what we'd just heard.
A friend summed it up. "When I look back on my twenties, I'm going to think of how lucky I was to have heard shows like this at Balliceaux."
The fact is, at any age a person could look back and remember how lucky they were to have nights like this.
I'll send you a letter
I'll write you a song
Please hold your horses
It won't be too long
Things got rolling at the Grace Street Theater where the VCU Cinematheque series restarted for the semester with a Cannes double award winner, "Police, Adjective."
I've stated for the record that I'm a huge fan of this (free) film series which shows independent foreign films that never quite made it to Richmond.
Tonight's gem played to a nearly full house and given that it was Romanian New Wave, deservedly so.
The movie about an undercover cop who is tailing a high school kid suspected of selling hash had less to do with cops and crime and everything to do with language.
When his superior insists that he initiate a sting operation to arrest the kid, the hero resists because he doesn't want to ruin the kid's life merely for being irresponsible.
The payoff comes when the boss challenges him on why not. The hero doesn't want it on his conscience that he's ruined a kid's life.
It's at that point that the dictionary comes out and the boss has him look up conscience and discuss it. Next comes looking up moral, then police.
Everything comes down to interpretation of language and, frankly, this language geek couldn't have been more amused at a black comedy about the language police enforcing word usage.
As if that wasn't pleasurable enough, I found myself seated next to a former Media General colleague (and his partner) who was also let go in the great recession of 2008.
When I asked what he'd been up to, he regaled me with stories of his travels since he retired/got laid off.
Their last trip had been to Rome, Florence, Sienna and the hill towns of Tuscany.
Telling me a hilarious story about a bus driver who drove them up a mountain in his own car because it was a holiday and the taxis and buses weren't running, he advised, "You have to go to Florence."
I'll get right on that.
Their upcoming trip is to Amsterdam, the Riviera, the Loire Valley and Paris ("because it's on the way," he insisted).
I like his version of being laid off even more than my own.
After bidding the travelers goodnight, I headed over to City Dogs for a Tennessee slaw dog with mustard, onions, chili and cole slaw.
Pig and cabbage was just what I needed to fortify myself before the next portion of the evening.
Meanwhile, a quick stop in the ladies' room provided a wealth of reading material on the chalkboard walls.
My favorite: "Love guys with beards? Become a whiskerina! Visit beardleague.org."
Somehow I wasn't surprised to learn about the Follicles of the James Stache and Beard League. I know I have more bearded male friends than not.
Why shouldn't they have a fan club?
And on that pleasant note, I got myself to Balliceaux for Oceans versus Daughter, which is usually three Americans, one Brit and one Czech who came together in Prague and have been making music ever since.
For the recent past, though, lead singer Flanna has been back in the colonies and touring the northeast with two members of our own indie royalty, Kevin and Marshall of Marionette while her band is back in Prague.
She did the first couple of songs solo, pairing her lovely voice with just keyboards before having Marshall and Kevin join her onstage to fill out her sound.
Telling us she was going to sing a song about poison cake, she called to the guys in the kitchen, asking if they made poison cakes.
Somehow they heard "poison snakes" and there was some back and forth before the song began.
And the songs were exquisite; "Fire" was about being destroyed by a guy ("You hurt me, I hate you. I hope that you die in a fire") while she said "Don't Try" was about listening to that little voice in your head.
Midway through she told the crowd that she had CDs (pay what you will), T-shirts and tote bags.
"This is my QVC moment," she explained before suggesting that Marionette do the same.
"It's over there," Marshall said with his usual understated charm. "Y'all know."
We do.
We were also treated to Flanna joining them for two Marionette songs, including the first track off their upcoming EP, a song called "Shades of Doubt."
It was quite a song. In the over four years that I have been seeing this band, they continue to impress me as they develop musically and lyrically.
Then it was back to OvD and the trio finished up with "Take Care," a fitting close to their set.
When the night is through
The light of the moon awakens you
And the day has come again for you
I'll take care of you
Despite the happy ending, the crowd (me included) called for one more and Flanna alone returned to the stage for "Lips of Justice."
I've been several places
In my heart you've come along
My trailing train
And then the show was over and the room was filled with people raving to each other about what we'd just heard.
A friend summed it up. "When I look back on my twenties, I'm going to think of how lucky I was to have heard shows like this at Balliceaux."
The fact is, at any age a person could look back and remember how lucky they were to have nights like this.
I'll send you a letter
I'll write you a song
Please hold your horses
It won't be too long
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Did I Say That Out Loud?
The world's gone mad when I can arrive at the Camel at 8:45 and have missed the first band.
Part of the problem may have been making a stop at Stella's to meet a girlfriend for a quickie.
In a truly odd moment, as I was walking toward the front door, an SUV pulled up to turn around and the driver looked at me and said, "Karen!"
I have no earthly idea who he was and he proceeded to backed up and drove away.
Why does anything still surprise me?
It was a good thing we wanted to sit at the bar because every table was in use or reserved. Yes, every single one.
Stella, are you putting crack in the spanikopita or what?
Someone had drunk up all the rose, so I got the 2009 Boutari Moschoflero after inhaling its lovely floral nose and tasting its full bodied intensity.
I'm on a mission to build my Greek grape vocabulary, both literally and figuratively speaking.
It was so busy in there that my friend inadvertently gave two different food orders to two different servers while waiting for me to make up my mind.
It didn't matter.
As one server said, "Somebody else will want what you didn't and we'll just give it to them."
No doubt there are restaurants that would kill for that kind of crazy busy-ness.
I ordered a heartier-sounding meze, namely the lamb frites. Hearty doesn't begin to describe it.
A pile of thick-cut steak fries was smothered in sliced leg of lamb, tons of onion (both white and green), Feta and Manouri cheese.
It arrived in all its glory, looking like a $10 heart attack on a plate.
I'm not going to claim I ate it all but I will say there was no lamb or onions at all left when I pushed it away.
My friend insisted we get the chocolate hazelnut baklava for which I had limited capacity given my disdain for honey, which I find cloying. Two bites sufficed.
I'd warned my friend that I had limited time and a show to see and I was out of there in what I thought was plenty of time to drive the short distance.
Wrong.
I arrived to find that the three-band bill had expanded to four and that the first band, Snowy Owls, had already played.
Color me surprised...and disappointed.
Fortunately Marionette was up next and although their set was too short (chop, chop, four bands!), they played a new song and a strong set.
I've been a fan for years now and I appreciate the evolution of their sound from a six-piece to a four-piece with more emphasis on the band's impeccable instrumentation.
Lots of friends were there and there's still plenty of Wye Oak talk going around with attendees still savoring and non-attendees still kicking themselves.
I savored.
Next up was Brother William from Mechanicsville.
The big draw was Hotel Lights, a quintet fronted by the former drummer for Ben Folds Five, Darren Jessee,a fact that may have attracted some people.
I found myself attracted to their sound which never strayed far from something achingly sad yet beautiful, even when upbeat and rocking.
Let's just say haunting.
How can I rave about their sound? Let me count the ways.
The layers of synths, the post-punk electric guitar, the minimalist drumming, the rhythmic bass and always Darren's gentle voice.
"This song began at Patrick Henry's and moved on to Poe's," he told us, reminding the crowd of their Richmond connection.
By the time they'd finished creating an atmosphere that washed over the room, their set was over, but the crowd was having none of it.
Calling for one more, the band obliged with two and we were treated to a little more exquisite sadness that was all the more moving for knowing it was about to end.
As all Tuesday nights must end.
It's only those twenty five minutes I'll never get back.
Part of the problem may have been making a stop at Stella's to meet a girlfriend for a quickie.
In a truly odd moment, as I was walking toward the front door, an SUV pulled up to turn around and the driver looked at me and said, "Karen!"
I have no earthly idea who he was and he proceeded to backed up and drove away.
Why does anything still surprise me?
It was a good thing we wanted to sit at the bar because every table was in use or reserved. Yes, every single one.
Stella, are you putting crack in the spanikopita or what?
Someone had drunk up all the rose, so I got the 2009 Boutari Moschoflero after inhaling its lovely floral nose and tasting its full bodied intensity.
I'm on a mission to build my Greek grape vocabulary, both literally and figuratively speaking.
It was so busy in there that my friend inadvertently gave two different food orders to two different servers while waiting for me to make up my mind.
It didn't matter.
As one server said, "Somebody else will want what you didn't and we'll just give it to them."
No doubt there are restaurants that would kill for that kind of crazy busy-ness.
I ordered a heartier-sounding meze, namely the lamb frites. Hearty doesn't begin to describe it.
A pile of thick-cut steak fries was smothered in sliced leg of lamb, tons of onion (both white and green), Feta and Manouri cheese.
It arrived in all its glory, looking like a $10 heart attack on a plate.
I'm not going to claim I ate it all but I will say there was no lamb or onions at all left when I pushed it away.
My friend insisted we get the chocolate hazelnut baklava for which I had limited capacity given my disdain for honey, which I find cloying. Two bites sufficed.
I'd warned my friend that I had limited time and a show to see and I was out of there in what I thought was plenty of time to drive the short distance.
Wrong.
I arrived to find that the three-band bill had expanded to four and that the first band, Snowy Owls, had already played.
Color me surprised...and disappointed.
Fortunately Marionette was up next and although their set was too short (chop, chop, four bands!), they played a new song and a strong set.
I've been a fan for years now and I appreciate the evolution of their sound from a six-piece to a four-piece with more emphasis on the band's impeccable instrumentation.
Lots of friends were there and there's still plenty of Wye Oak talk going around with attendees still savoring and non-attendees still kicking themselves.
I savored.
Next up was Brother William from Mechanicsville.
The big draw was Hotel Lights, a quintet fronted by the former drummer for Ben Folds Five, Darren Jessee,a fact that may have attracted some people.
I found myself attracted to their sound which never strayed far from something achingly sad yet beautiful, even when upbeat and rocking.
Let's just say haunting.
How can I rave about their sound? Let me count the ways.
The layers of synths, the post-punk electric guitar, the minimalist drumming, the rhythmic bass and always Darren's gentle voice.
"This song began at Patrick Henry's and moved on to Poe's," he told us, reminding the crowd of their Richmond connection.
By the time they'd finished creating an atmosphere that washed over the room, their set was over, but the crowd was having none of it.
Calling for one more, the band obliged with two and we were treated to a little more exquisite sadness that was all the more moving for knowing it was about to end.
As all Tuesday nights must end.
It's only those twenty five minutes I'll never get back.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Rain, Rain, Pelt Away
I couldn't bear the thought of missing the rain.
Because I had plenty of indoor plans for the evening, I made sure I got to be outside when it began to rain.
That put me parked at Fountain Lake with the car windows partially down, the white noise of the fountain competing with the more precise sound of the rain hitting the car roof.
Interestingly enough, I could see the rain hitting the lake, but couldn't hear it over the other sounds.
But after the week's heat, I was more than willing to feel the rain. Getting wet sounded good.
There were no more than a half dozen other cars parked along the lake. Did they get caught there and have to wait it out?
Or had they come there intentionally, like me, to enjoy the rain on the lake?
I'll never know.
From Byrd Park to Selba, I then went to check out yet another new Richmond restaurant, my fourth this week.
Walking in, I was glad I'd arrived before sundown. The beautiful skylights allowed waning sunlight to illuminate the beams and ceiling details.
The bar was bustling and the bartender was being pre-emptive, warning people that others were in front of them. Luckily, it didn't seem like anyone was in a hurry.
Food was everywhere, being passed and on tables for the taking.
Before I knew it, I'd had turkey meatloaf, vegetarian spring rolls with ponzu sauce, smoked salmon, mushroom tart, pork loin, panzanella, crabcake and raspberry truffles (yes, plural).
Twice I was told that everything was an abbreviated version of something on the regular menu, so we were tasting a good variety tonight.
Of course, the hook with Selba is the garden room, a conservatory/botanical garden-like room with extensive plantings of flowers, herbs and greenery.
It sits under extensive windows and looks beautiful. Unfortunately, the air conditioning was still set on heat wave and it was freezing in there.
Usually such gardens are a tad warm and the overwhelming scent of plants and flowers dominate, but tonight the low temperature kept all fragrance at bay.
The garden room would have been perfection except for the presence of two large flat screens (as a guy said to me, "Are they trying to make that beautiful space feel like s sports bar with those screens?"), which detracted from the overall vibe.
Screens aside, it's a truly beautiful and relaxing space while the front bar area is lively and hip.
I ran into a few people I knew and then, unexpectedly, into a local sous chef. I didn't recognize him at first because he was totally out of context.
He, on the other hand, greeted me with, "Hi! You're Karen, right?" Well done.
It was great fun to encounter someone else there alone and chat about the new space and other up and coming newbies.
But after a couple of hours, I had plans to head to Capital Ale House for music.
Two of my favorite local indie bands were playing a free show and that's irresistible on a Saturday night.
Ilad had just started when I arrived and listening to the first few songs, I realized it had been a while since I'd heard them last (they don't play out often).
There was a lot of new music I hadn't heard before, the overall sound was less rock-like and Cameron was doing a lot more singing.
When the audience was given a choice of two songs, only me and one other guy voted our preference.
"This is a democracy," Cam said. "They outnumbered you naysayers." So the two of us got our song.
I've been a big fan of Ilad for years. Gabe Churray's keyboards add a truly unique element to their sound.
I see the project as an outlet from Scott and Cam's other bands, which tend to lean more in the jazz direction. Ilad is more about soul and rocking and they excelled at both tonight.
The best thing for me about going to a Marionette show, besides hearing the band's genre-bending sound, is getting to see my friends in the band.
Marshall solicited my opinion of onstage drinking, Keith kindly insisted on buying me another tequila, Kevin asked why he hadn't seen me at the National lately, and Adam, well, Adam and discussed a whole lot of things.
Like why he's so touchy about 90s music (his age), the hazards of falling in love to Death Cab for Cutie (he did) and how being hot can make a musician play harder (ahem).
When their set finally began, it was with the band making noises of all kinds, blowing plastic flutes, drummer Kevin on guitar and guitarist Adam beating on the back of his guitar.
That cacophony is the prelude to a set of ambitious indie music that hangs together in a way less-experienced bands can only wish for.
Despite the late start, a good part of the crowd hung around, many of them obviously Marionette fans, like me.
But I'm guessing that, unlike me, they didn't stat their evening sitting in the car with the windows down, listening to the glorious sound of rain falling.
There's music and then there's music.
I heard the best kinds tonight, natural and man-made.
Because I had plenty of indoor plans for the evening, I made sure I got to be outside when it began to rain.
That put me parked at Fountain Lake with the car windows partially down, the white noise of the fountain competing with the more precise sound of the rain hitting the car roof.
Interestingly enough, I could see the rain hitting the lake, but couldn't hear it over the other sounds.
But after the week's heat, I was more than willing to feel the rain. Getting wet sounded good.
There were no more than a half dozen other cars parked along the lake. Did they get caught there and have to wait it out?
Or had they come there intentionally, like me, to enjoy the rain on the lake?
I'll never know.
From Byrd Park to Selba, I then went to check out yet another new Richmond restaurant, my fourth this week.
Walking in, I was glad I'd arrived before sundown. The beautiful skylights allowed waning sunlight to illuminate the beams and ceiling details.
The bar was bustling and the bartender was being pre-emptive, warning people that others were in front of them. Luckily, it didn't seem like anyone was in a hurry.
Food was everywhere, being passed and on tables for the taking.
Before I knew it, I'd had turkey meatloaf, vegetarian spring rolls with ponzu sauce, smoked salmon, mushroom tart, pork loin, panzanella, crabcake and raspberry truffles (yes, plural).
Twice I was told that everything was an abbreviated version of something on the regular menu, so we were tasting a good variety tonight.
Of course, the hook with Selba is the garden room, a conservatory/botanical garden-like room with extensive plantings of flowers, herbs and greenery.
It sits under extensive windows and looks beautiful. Unfortunately, the air conditioning was still set on heat wave and it was freezing in there.
Usually such gardens are a tad warm and the overwhelming scent of plants and flowers dominate, but tonight the low temperature kept all fragrance at bay.
The garden room would have been perfection except for the presence of two large flat screens (as a guy said to me, "Are they trying to make that beautiful space feel like s sports bar with those screens?"), which detracted from the overall vibe.
Screens aside, it's a truly beautiful and relaxing space while the front bar area is lively and hip.
I ran into a few people I knew and then, unexpectedly, into a local sous chef. I didn't recognize him at first because he was totally out of context.
He, on the other hand, greeted me with, "Hi! You're Karen, right?" Well done.
It was great fun to encounter someone else there alone and chat about the new space and other up and coming newbies.
But after a couple of hours, I had plans to head to Capital Ale House for music.
Two of my favorite local indie bands were playing a free show and that's irresistible on a Saturday night.
Ilad had just started when I arrived and listening to the first few songs, I realized it had been a while since I'd heard them last (they don't play out often).
There was a lot of new music I hadn't heard before, the overall sound was less rock-like and Cameron was doing a lot more singing.
When the audience was given a choice of two songs, only me and one other guy voted our preference.
"This is a democracy," Cam said. "They outnumbered you naysayers." So the two of us got our song.
I've been a big fan of Ilad for years. Gabe Churray's keyboards add a truly unique element to their sound.
I see the project as an outlet from Scott and Cam's other bands, which tend to lean more in the jazz direction. Ilad is more about soul and rocking and they excelled at both tonight.
The best thing for me about going to a Marionette show, besides hearing the band's genre-bending sound, is getting to see my friends in the band.
Marshall solicited my opinion of onstage drinking, Keith kindly insisted on buying me another tequila, Kevin asked why he hadn't seen me at the National lately, and Adam, well, Adam and discussed a whole lot of things.
Like why he's so touchy about 90s music (his age), the hazards of falling in love to Death Cab for Cutie (he did) and how being hot can make a musician play harder (ahem).
When their set finally began, it was with the band making noises of all kinds, blowing plastic flutes, drummer Kevin on guitar and guitarist Adam beating on the back of his guitar.
That cacophony is the prelude to a set of ambitious indie music that hangs together in a way less-experienced bands can only wish for.
Despite the late start, a good part of the crowd hung around, many of them obviously Marionette fans, like me.
But I'm guessing that, unlike me, they didn't stat their evening sitting in the car with the windows down, listening to the glorious sound of rain falling.
There's music and then there's music.
I heard the best kinds tonight, natural and man-made.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Goat Cheese Trumps Southern Rock
"Technically, it's illegal."
But what's a little raw milk between cheese-lovers?
Tonight's Curds and Wines event at Sprout was all about creating the perfect Virginia cheese plate, enhanced by a selection of Barboursville wines.
The raw milk cheeses were from Bonnyclabber Cheese Company on Sullivan Pond, out on the middle peninsula. I think that means due east.
And the cheeses we were eating weren't really illegal; they were just younger than what can be sold in stores.
But since we were all consenting adults, we mutually agreed to eat young goat cheeses. That turned out to be an outstanding decision on all our parts.
I ended up at a table with an enjoyable couple who were practically experts on Bonnyclabber cheeses, having bought them many times at the South of the James Market.
There were two cheese boards, each with five cheeses, plus plum/garlic, peach and cranberry chutneys, apple butter and dried apple slices, on the table.
They took one and I took the other. Somehow the two of them managed to eat the same amount of cheese off their plate as I ate all by myself.
I wasn't sure whether to question their appetites or be mortified by my own.
We began with their mild bleu cheese, paired with Barboursville's Brut (the house bubbly at the Inn at Little Washington, don't you know) and, for the condiment, the plum/garlic chutney.
Having never had a goat bleu cheese, I was wowed by its delicacy of flavor while maintaining its flavorful bleuness.
When enjoyed with the Brut, it was sublime.
I thought it was an impressive pairing right off the bat, but it was our first, so it was too early to make comparisons.
Next up was the Moonshine, a plain goat cheese with a corn whiskey-soaked corn husk wrapping.
With it we had the Sauvignon Blanc, now made with a small amount of Viognier after the winemaker's visit to New Zealand to learn how to up his Sauvignon Blanc game.
The grassiness of the fragrant wine was beautiful with the unbelievably fresh-tasting cheese.
When a spread of apple butter was added, it gained a new dimension, but wasn't quite as overtly fresh tasting, although still delicious.
Called Song, the grapevine and charcoal-ash rind cheese was served with the Barboursville Viognier.
The edible ash (touted as good for the stomach) was so fine that it offered only taste, not texture.
I ate an enormous amount of this cheese, mostly for that rind.
My new friends are considering moving to Jackson Ward and asked me what I thought of the neighborhood.
Could they have asked a more devoted lover of this place?
I raved, I gave specifics, I heartily endorsed.
The Sandy Bottom cheese was a big hit with everyone, as was the Cabernet Sauvignon it was served with, Murmurs of approval came from every table.
The cranberry chutney set off the peppery rind in a Thanksgiving dinner-sort of way, while the Cab was juicy and earthy,
We finished with Barboursville Malvaxia and the Rocky Mount, which had a rind of rosemary, chopped jalapenos and seeds (and when you got a seed, you knew it!) wrapped in white lightenin'-macerated corn husks.
I was noticing a pattern here when it came to husks, but no mention was made of tequila-soaked husks, so I didn't ask.
My new cheese friends said they love to use rounds of this cheese on pizza for spice and heat and I could easily see why.
The Malvaxia's sweetness was a great foil for the cheese's hot peppery goodness, not that it would have been the right wine for pizza.
But we weren't having pizza.
When all was said and done, the five courses of cheese and wine had provided a stellar meal and I was stuffed.
My tablemates were taking the rest of their cheese home and I offered them my trifling leftovers as well.
At least that way I could say I hadn't eaten the entire plate.
Verdict: my favorite pairing remained the very first one, although I found a lot to like about the other four, too.
Maybe I'm just a sucker for bubbles and bleu.
Music at the Camel followed and there was a good crowd for a Monday night.
Members of Marionette greeted me when I got there and then they were immediately off to open the show.
Sound can be problematic at the Camel sometimes, but tonight it was good.
With room to move onstage, guitarist Adam was more energetic than usual and hearing them play a new song was an unexpected pleasure.
As usual, I enjoyed watching first-timers get sucked in by their unique sound and stop talking to listen.
Lorem Ipsum was next, followed by headliners, J. Roddy Walston and the Business. This was the band most people had come to hear. And, by most people, I mean dozens of plaid flannel-shirted guys who knew every word to every song. Not that there's anything wrong with plaid, but testosterone was rampant and I was clearly in the minority.
Fortunately, I had a few musician and a DJ friends there, so I didn't feel completely out of place. They were my salvation when it came time to discuss what we were seeing in between songs.
The media has described JRW & TB as Jerry Lee Lewis fronting Lynyrd Skynrd and that's not far off.
They certainly look like Skynrd and their musical inspiration is clearly 70s Southern rock.
It's the addition of JRW's piano that saves it from being a straight-line derivation, but I don't think the plaid set cared (if they even were aware).
So I stood on the banquette and watched some ferocious piano-playing and song-screaming while the crowd waved their fists and shouted the words to "Don't Break the Needle" and a half dozen other songs.
By then my Southern rock fix had been satisfied for the next, oh, thirty years and I was free to go.
But I can't drink sweet tea, either, so what do I know?
But what's a little raw milk between cheese-lovers?
Tonight's Curds and Wines event at Sprout was all about creating the perfect Virginia cheese plate, enhanced by a selection of Barboursville wines.
The raw milk cheeses were from Bonnyclabber Cheese Company on Sullivan Pond, out on the middle peninsula. I think that means due east.
And the cheeses we were eating weren't really illegal; they were just younger than what can be sold in stores.
But since we were all consenting adults, we mutually agreed to eat young goat cheeses. That turned out to be an outstanding decision on all our parts.
I ended up at a table with an enjoyable couple who were practically experts on Bonnyclabber cheeses, having bought them many times at the South of the James Market.
There were two cheese boards, each with five cheeses, plus plum/garlic, peach and cranberry chutneys, apple butter and dried apple slices, on the table.
They took one and I took the other. Somehow the two of them managed to eat the same amount of cheese off their plate as I ate all by myself.
I wasn't sure whether to question their appetites or be mortified by my own.
We began with their mild bleu cheese, paired with Barboursville's Brut (the house bubbly at the Inn at Little Washington, don't you know) and, for the condiment, the plum/garlic chutney.
Having never had a goat bleu cheese, I was wowed by its delicacy of flavor while maintaining its flavorful bleuness.
When enjoyed with the Brut, it was sublime.
I thought it was an impressive pairing right off the bat, but it was our first, so it was too early to make comparisons.
Next up was the Moonshine, a plain goat cheese with a corn whiskey-soaked corn husk wrapping.
With it we had the Sauvignon Blanc, now made with a small amount of Viognier after the winemaker's visit to New Zealand to learn how to up his Sauvignon Blanc game.
The grassiness of the fragrant wine was beautiful with the unbelievably fresh-tasting cheese.
When a spread of apple butter was added, it gained a new dimension, but wasn't quite as overtly fresh tasting, although still delicious.
Called Song, the grapevine and charcoal-ash rind cheese was served with the Barboursville Viognier.
The edible ash (touted as good for the stomach) was so fine that it offered only taste, not texture.
I ate an enormous amount of this cheese, mostly for that rind.
My new friends are considering moving to Jackson Ward and asked me what I thought of the neighborhood.
Could they have asked a more devoted lover of this place?
I raved, I gave specifics, I heartily endorsed.
The Sandy Bottom cheese was a big hit with everyone, as was the Cabernet Sauvignon it was served with, Murmurs of approval came from every table.
The cranberry chutney set off the peppery rind in a Thanksgiving dinner-sort of way, while the Cab was juicy and earthy,
We finished with Barboursville Malvaxia and the Rocky Mount, which had a rind of rosemary, chopped jalapenos and seeds (and when you got a seed, you knew it!) wrapped in white lightenin'-macerated corn husks.
I was noticing a pattern here when it came to husks, but no mention was made of tequila-soaked husks, so I didn't ask.
My new cheese friends said they love to use rounds of this cheese on pizza for spice and heat and I could easily see why.
The Malvaxia's sweetness was a great foil for the cheese's hot peppery goodness, not that it would have been the right wine for pizza.
But we weren't having pizza.
When all was said and done, the five courses of cheese and wine had provided a stellar meal and I was stuffed.
My tablemates were taking the rest of their cheese home and I offered them my trifling leftovers as well.
At least that way I could say I hadn't eaten the entire plate.
Verdict: my favorite pairing remained the very first one, although I found a lot to like about the other four, too.
Maybe I'm just a sucker for bubbles and bleu.
Music at the Camel followed and there was a good crowd for a Monday night.
Members of Marionette greeted me when I got there and then they were immediately off to open the show.
Sound can be problematic at the Camel sometimes, but tonight it was good.
With room to move onstage, guitarist Adam was more energetic than usual and hearing them play a new song was an unexpected pleasure.
As usual, I enjoyed watching first-timers get sucked in by their unique sound and stop talking to listen.
Lorem Ipsum was next, followed by headliners, J. Roddy Walston and the Business. This was the band most people had come to hear. And, by most people, I mean dozens of plaid flannel-shirted guys who knew every word to every song. Not that there's anything wrong with plaid, but testosterone was rampant and I was clearly in the minority.
Fortunately, I had a few musician and a DJ friends there, so I didn't feel completely out of place. They were my salvation when it came time to discuss what we were seeing in between songs.
The media has described JRW & TB as Jerry Lee Lewis fronting Lynyrd Skynrd and that's not far off.
They certainly look like Skynrd and their musical inspiration is clearly 70s Southern rock.
It's the addition of JRW's piano that saves it from being a straight-line derivation, but I don't think the plaid set cared (if they even were aware).
So I stood on the banquette and watched some ferocious piano-playing and song-screaming while the crowd waved their fists and shouted the words to "Don't Break the Needle" and a half dozen other songs.
By then my Southern rock fix had been satisfied for the next, oh, thirty years and I was free to go.
But I can't drink sweet tea, either, so what do I know?
Monday, February 28, 2011
The Rules of Pizza Club
The first rule of Pizza Club is that the dough must come from local supplier Pizza Tonight. Up until now, that had meant Pizza Tonight at home.
Ipanema changed all that tonight by inaugurating a monthly Pizza Club event featuring a host of vegan and vegetarian pizzas on PT's superior crust.
As someone who had been invited to the original Pizza Club several times and never been able to go, I was finally getting the chance to taste what all the hoopla was about.
Friends were already at the bar when I got there, so it was up to me to dive right in with them. Deciding which pizza to order was the hardest part, so I took care of the easy part by starting with a glass of Cono Sur Viognier.
I was sorely tempted by the pizza with mussels, caramelized onion and garlic but the lack of cheese sent me to the classic instead (tomato, basil, Mozzarella). A friend was in the middle of one and it looked scrumptious.
Ipanema had scratched entrees for the night, so the menu was limited to pizzas, salads and appetizers.
All around me were pizza eaters; a roving photographer snapped these beauties as they were delivered to their eager recipients. My guess would be that they're Facebook-bound, like every other picture taken these days seems to be.
One bite told me why my friends had long tried to get me to Pizza Club the Original; this dough makes a perfect crust, chewy and flavorful and supportive of its toppings. My friend had only been able to finish half of hers but I'm not ashamed to say I devoured all of mine.
Although a person who eats an entire pizza shouldn't need dessert, I was unwilling to pass on tonight's special offering of caramel gelato.
Served at the perfect temperature (not too cold or hard), each bite felt like a chewy caramel melting in my mouth. It was an unexpected and indescribably wonderful finish to my meal.
By about 9:30, the crowd began to dwindle as people left to go home and watch the Academy Awards, telling me that it was time to head over to the Camel for music.
As I walked up the sidewalk, I could hear music from within and a friend approached me, as if to warn me. "It's original, but it's classic rock," he informed me.
The Velvet Marias were mid-set when I walked in and it was true, the music was about as innovative as 1975, but the musicianship was strong and they had a room full of devoted fans enjoying every note, so I was clearly in the minority.
After a long breakdown and set-up, Marionette played, although they had microphone issues throughout their set. It was frustrating to the audience because they usually have such an outstanding sound, so I'm sure it must have frustrated the hell out of the musicians. Still, it's always good to hear them play.
Tonight's headliners were Athens, Georgia's Futurebirds, young but steeped in Southern music of the past. Or put another way, they'd be the perfect band to open for My Morning Jacket and get in front of a lot of likely converts.
My friend and I figured a lot of the audience for Drive-By Truckers fans, which is not a slur on that band but a euphemism for saying it was comprised of hat boys, frat boys and really bad white dancers who appreciate well done Southern rock. You know, the kind who yell out obscenities about guitars.
There was a lot to like about their sound, I have to admit. Three guitars, bass, pedal steel (always a pleasure to hear live), drums and multiple vocalists made for a rich sound that was not just southern but sometimes spiritual and even psychedelic. They had certainly done their homework listening to the music of their region's musical forefathers.
After all that pizza and gelato, I was just grateful that my only assignment was to show up, stand up and soak up the southern psychedelic sound.
Because the second rule of Pizza Club would most certainly be to avoid the couch after eating or you will surely find yourself asleep before you know it.
Dozing off isn't an option when you're surrounded by so much to see and hear. For instance, when you're listening to a glorious song like "Battle for Rome" amidst a room full of people trying desperately to find the beat.
Sleep through that, I dare you.
Ipanema changed all that tonight by inaugurating a monthly Pizza Club event featuring a host of vegan and vegetarian pizzas on PT's superior crust.
As someone who had been invited to the original Pizza Club several times and never been able to go, I was finally getting the chance to taste what all the hoopla was about.
Friends were already at the bar when I got there, so it was up to me to dive right in with them. Deciding which pizza to order was the hardest part, so I took care of the easy part by starting with a glass of Cono Sur Viognier.
I was sorely tempted by the pizza with mussels, caramelized onion and garlic but the lack of cheese sent me to the classic instead (tomato, basil, Mozzarella). A friend was in the middle of one and it looked scrumptious.
Ipanema had scratched entrees for the night, so the menu was limited to pizzas, salads and appetizers.
All around me were pizza eaters; a roving photographer snapped these beauties as they were delivered to their eager recipients. My guess would be that they're Facebook-bound, like every other picture taken these days seems to be.
One bite told me why my friends had long tried to get me to Pizza Club the Original; this dough makes a perfect crust, chewy and flavorful and supportive of its toppings. My friend had only been able to finish half of hers but I'm not ashamed to say I devoured all of mine.
Although a person who eats an entire pizza shouldn't need dessert, I was unwilling to pass on tonight's special offering of caramel gelato.
Served at the perfect temperature (not too cold or hard), each bite felt like a chewy caramel melting in my mouth. It was an unexpected and indescribably wonderful finish to my meal.
By about 9:30, the crowd began to dwindle as people left to go home and watch the Academy Awards, telling me that it was time to head over to the Camel for music.
As I walked up the sidewalk, I could hear music from within and a friend approached me, as if to warn me. "It's original, but it's classic rock," he informed me.
The Velvet Marias were mid-set when I walked in and it was true, the music was about as innovative as 1975, but the musicianship was strong and they had a room full of devoted fans enjoying every note, so I was clearly in the minority.
After a long breakdown and set-up, Marionette played, although they had microphone issues throughout their set. It was frustrating to the audience because they usually have such an outstanding sound, so I'm sure it must have frustrated the hell out of the musicians. Still, it's always good to hear them play.
Tonight's headliners were Athens, Georgia's Futurebirds, young but steeped in Southern music of the past. Or put another way, they'd be the perfect band to open for My Morning Jacket and get in front of a lot of likely converts.
My friend and I figured a lot of the audience for Drive-By Truckers fans, which is not a slur on that band but a euphemism for saying it was comprised of hat boys, frat boys and really bad white dancers who appreciate well done Southern rock. You know, the kind who yell out obscenities about guitars.
There was a lot to like about their sound, I have to admit. Three guitars, bass, pedal steel (always a pleasure to hear live), drums and multiple vocalists made for a rich sound that was not just southern but sometimes spiritual and even psychedelic. They had certainly done their homework listening to the music of their region's musical forefathers.
After all that pizza and gelato, I was just grateful that my only assignment was to show up, stand up and soak up the southern psychedelic sound.
Because the second rule of Pizza Club would most certainly be to avoid the couch after eating or you will surely find yourself asleep before you know it.
Dozing off isn't an option when you're surrounded by so much to see and hear. For instance, when you're listening to a glorious song like "Battle for Rome" amidst a room full of people trying desperately to find the beat.
Sleep through that, I dare you.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
From Bubbles to Barbera
If I'd known how many great things were going to be said to me at the party, I'd have gone the minute the doors opened.
Instead, I began my evening at the VMFA for their sparkler tasting in the Best Cafe.
Me and about a zillion other people, that is.
Nonetheless, I waited patiently for my turn at the tasting table behind a mild-mannered couple who were nice enough to snag me a glass and a spot when they finally achieved front-row status.
Amuse's manager had chosen four favorite bubblies for us to sample.
We started local with the Barboursville Brut and then the Domaine Ste. Michelle from Washington.
Next was the Kenwood Yulupa, my favorite of the quartet and finally the Simonet Vin Mousseux Blanc de Blancs.
Yielding my prime spot once I had my last glass, I heard, "Well, you can't stand around drinking free champagne all night."
This came from a guy I know who's in the business of business, so I'm sure he was thinking about the bottom line.
He had given up on waiting for the tasting and bought a glass in order to cut to the chase sooner.
Like me, he was sparkler sipping before heading over to First Fridays.
I was fortunate enough to walk in the door of Gallery 5 and be greeted by a man who dropped to his knees and kissed my hand.
Talk about a warm welcome!
At the front table was the February fundraiser, four custom-designed Valentine's Day postcards, inspired by famous artists and movements.
Although I haven't got anyone in mind to send a Valentine to, I bought the Roy Lichtenstein and Piet Mondrian-inspired cards.
You know, just in case I get lucky in the next nine days.
Okay, to support the gallery.
Upstairs at GallowLily's was "Bikewords: Recycled Sculptures" by Eric Venditti, a show of such reasonably-priced art that seven pieces had already sold by 7:30.
The unique rose sculptures mounted on wood, some painted and some varnished, were unrecognizable as former bike parts.
Did I mention that Eric is co-owner of the bike shop Recycles?
Leaving Gallery 5, I couldn't resist a stop at Captain Slappy's hot dog cart just outside the door for a bacon-wrapped dog slathered in mustard and onions.
I was only the second customer behind two of the comedy improv performers I'd seen just a few weeks ago inside G5; tonight they seemed to be more hungry than funny, although plenty friendly.
Clutching my foil, I ate my dog as I made my way to the Renaissance for the WRIR Party for the Rest of Us.
As soon as I walked in, a friend spotted me and we made our way to the coat check room.
I'd just hung up my coat and turned to leave when a girl walked in and asked me to check her coat.
She was a little surprised and a lot mortified to learn that I wasn't the coat check girl.
Somehow, I wouldn't have thought I looked like a coat check girl.
Maybe I just looked like the volunteer type.
Yea, that must be it.
From there we went directly to the ballroom for Marionette's set, which I did not want to miss.
I've been going to their shows for over three years now and continue to hear something new every time.
Immediately I ran into guitarist Adam who told me that he'd be playing his grandfather's guitar tonight, which I thought was really kind of cool.
He explained that when his grandfather had originally given it to him, he'd been a teenager who was into metal and he was underwhelmed.
Now finally he appreciated the beauty of the gift.
Marionette played a strong set, at first for the devoted, but gradually for the converted (I saw the same thing happen when they opened for The National last summer).
The huge screen behind them gave plenty of room for their video projections as they sucked in the audience with their soundscapes.
Afterwards, I moved back out into the main area to look for friends who arrived just as the masses did.
Moving around the room, I chatted with all kinds of people.
One guy introduced to me asked me if I wrote ICGOAO, much to my surprise.
I had to know how he knew that.
"Oh, Enzo told me about your blog," he said.
Enzo is a WRIR DJ and old friend.
This guy complimented me for doing so much and sharing it, saying that his introversion kept him from doing quite as much.
When the birthday cake, always a highlight, was rolled out, my friends and I helped ourselves, not realizing the ramifications of doing so.
The black trim on the icing quickly turned our teeth and tongues a horrific shade of blue.
You can be sure when I got my second piece (don't judge), I got one with all white icing.
We were smart to stand in a central location near the food table where everyone eventually made their way past us and said hello.
A beautiful girl spoke to my friends, one of whom went to introduce her to me.
"Oh, we've met," she corrected him and then spoke to me.
"In fact, a friend asked me to vote for her blog on RVA News but when I saw your blog listed, I voted for you instead because your blog is better, even if she is a friend."
Now that's high praise indeed and from someone I didn't even know read me.
Apologies to the friend.
We made our way back inside for The Diamond Center's set (once again enhanced with liquid projections by the talented duo of Greg and Sara...so groovy).
It was truly the first time I'd heard them play in a room big enough for their shoegazing sound.
From the first few reverb-drenched notes, I was in my element, turning to my friend and telling him, "Music from a cave. You know how I love this."
He nodded because he knows that all too well after all these years of music companionship.
One of his friends leaned in during the set to tell me how much he liked the band, whom he was hearing for the first time.
I told him how lucky he was to be hearing them in such a large space.
He also told me he loved my tights, a compliment I was surprised to hear from him.
Apparently so was his partner, who said to me, "I don't know if I should be concerned..."
"Why? Because he's not supposed to notice?" I teased.
"Exactly," he said, laughing.
I like to think that it's okay for everyone to notice everything, regardless of sex.
Sometimes it's just about the tights.
Near the end of the set, my friends were ready to go so I retrieved my coat without being asked to do so for anyone else.
We got as far as the front steps before running into fellow music lovers who'd just come from the Gallery 5 show.
We compared notes with them and headed in different directions.
I made a final stop at Bistro 27 because I'd promised a friend I would, but he'd already left, leaving word that I would be by.
As long as I was there, I enjoyed a glass of Barbera, chatted with those I knew, was prodded to share a funny story about a mutual acquaintance and decided to head home with my art-inspired Valentines and blue tongue.
Perhaps I should send them to the people who said such great things to me tonight.
The blue tongue I'm hoping will just fade away.
Instead, I began my evening at the VMFA for their sparkler tasting in the Best Cafe.
Me and about a zillion other people, that is.
Nonetheless, I waited patiently for my turn at the tasting table behind a mild-mannered couple who were nice enough to snag me a glass and a spot when they finally achieved front-row status.
Amuse's manager had chosen four favorite bubblies for us to sample.
We started local with the Barboursville Brut and then the Domaine Ste. Michelle from Washington.
Next was the Kenwood Yulupa, my favorite of the quartet and finally the Simonet Vin Mousseux Blanc de Blancs.
Yielding my prime spot once I had my last glass, I heard, "Well, you can't stand around drinking free champagne all night."
This came from a guy I know who's in the business of business, so I'm sure he was thinking about the bottom line.
He had given up on waiting for the tasting and bought a glass in order to cut to the chase sooner.
Like me, he was sparkler sipping before heading over to First Fridays.
I was fortunate enough to walk in the door of Gallery 5 and be greeted by a man who dropped to his knees and kissed my hand.
Talk about a warm welcome!
At the front table was the February fundraiser, four custom-designed Valentine's Day postcards, inspired by famous artists and movements.
Although I haven't got anyone in mind to send a Valentine to, I bought the Roy Lichtenstein and Piet Mondrian-inspired cards.
You know, just in case I get lucky in the next nine days.
Okay, to support the gallery.
Upstairs at GallowLily's was "Bikewords: Recycled Sculptures" by Eric Venditti, a show of such reasonably-priced art that seven pieces had already sold by 7:30.
The unique rose sculptures mounted on wood, some painted and some varnished, were unrecognizable as former bike parts.
Did I mention that Eric is co-owner of the bike shop Recycles?
Leaving Gallery 5, I couldn't resist a stop at Captain Slappy's hot dog cart just outside the door for a bacon-wrapped dog slathered in mustard and onions.
I was only the second customer behind two of the comedy improv performers I'd seen just a few weeks ago inside G5; tonight they seemed to be more hungry than funny, although plenty friendly.
Clutching my foil, I ate my dog as I made my way to the Renaissance for the WRIR Party for the Rest of Us.
As soon as I walked in, a friend spotted me and we made our way to the coat check room.
I'd just hung up my coat and turned to leave when a girl walked in and asked me to check her coat.
She was a little surprised and a lot mortified to learn that I wasn't the coat check girl.
Somehow, I wouldn't have thought I looked like a coat check girl.
Maybe I just looked like the volunteer type.
Yea, that must be it.
From there we went directly to the ballroom for Marionette's set, which I did not want to miss.
I've been going to their shows for over three years now and continue to hear something new every time.
Immediately I ran into guitarist Adam who told me that he'd be playing his grandfather's guitar tonight, which I thought was really kind of cool.
He explained that when his grandfather had originally given it to him, he'd been a teenager who was into metal and he was underwhelmed.
Now finally he appreciated the beauty of the gift.
Marionette played a strong set, at first for the devoted, but gradually for the converted (I saw the same thing happen when they opened for The National last summer).
The huge screen behind them gave plenty of room for their video projections as they sucked in the audience with their soundscapes.
Afterwards, I moved back out into the main area to look for friends who arrived just as the masses did.
Moving around the room, I chatted with all kinds of people.
One guy introduced to me asked me if I wrote ICGOAO, much to my surprise.
I had to know how he knew that.
"Oh, Enzo told me about your blog," he said.
Enzo is a WRIR DJ and old friend.
This guy complimented me for doing so much and sharing it, saying that his introversion kept him from doing quite as much.
When the birthday cake, always a highlight, was rolled out, my friends and I helped ourselves, not realizing the ramifications of doing so.
The black trim on the icing quickly turned our teeth and tongues a horrific shade of blue.
You can be sure when I got my second piece (don't judge), I got one with all white icing.
We were smart to stand in a central location near the food table where everyone eventually made their way past us and said hello.
A beautiful girl spoke to my friends, one of whom went to introduce her to me.
"Oh, we've met," she corrected him and then spoke to me.
"In fact, a friend asked me to vote for her blog on RVA News but when I saw your blog listed, I voted for you instead because your blog is better, even if she is a friend."
Now that's high praise indeed and from someone I didn't even know read me.
Apologies to the friend.
We made our way back inside for The Diamond Center's set (once again enhanced with liquid projections by the talented duo of Greg and Sara...so groovy).
It was truly the first time I'd heard them play in a room big enough for their shoegazing sound.
From the first few reverb-drenched notes, I was in my element, turning to my friend and telling him, "Music from a cave. You know how I love this."
He nodded because he knows that all too well after all these years of music companionship.
One of his friends leaned in during the set to tell me how much he liked the band, whom he was hearing for the first time.
I told him how lucky he was to be hearing them in such a large space.
He also told me he loved my tights, a compliment I was surprised to hear from him.
Apparently so was his partner, who said to me, "I don't know if I should be concerned..."
"Why? Because he's not supposed to notice?" I teased.
"Exactly," he said, laughing.
I like to think that it's okay for everyone to notice everything, regardless of sex.
Sometimes it's just about the tights.
Near the end of the set, my friends were ready to go so I retrieved my coat without being asked to do so for anyone else.
We got as far as the front steps before running into fellow music lovers who'd just come from the Gallery 5 show.
We compared notes with them and headed in different directions.
I made a final stop at Bistro 27 because I'd promised a friend I would, but he'd already left, leaving word that I would be by.
As long as I was there, I enjoyed a glass of Barbera, chatted with those I knew, was prodded to share a funny story about a mutual acquaintance and decided to head home with my art-inspired Valentines and blue tongue.
Perhaps I should send them to the people who said such great things to me tonight.
The blue tongue I'm hoping will just fade away.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
A Simple Plan
The plan: a movie at the VMFA and then meeting the birthday boy for a show by one of our favorite bands at Balliceaux.
The bonus invitation: a reader-turned-friend suggested meeting at Bogart's to go to a house show in Randolph before moving on to Balliceaux. Well, I did have an hour and a half free in between stops, so why not?
The Friday Film:1958's Mon Oncle, by Jaqcues Tati, the darling of French art house cinema circa the 50s through the 70s. Known for his nearly silent films (but with loads of sound effects; I loved the clickity-clack tapping of the women's high heels on hard floors) and long observational shots, the movie looked at the changes in technology and consumerism happening at that time.
Favorite period details: a horse-drawn cart, baby carriages, a charcuterie in the neighborhood, and a street sweeper (man and broom, not machine). People carried their baguettes in hand (no bag) and women went to the milliner. 1958. Wow.
The mix-up: I went to meet reader friend at Bogart's and he wasn't there. Meanwhile, he went o Bogart's and I wasn't there. Turns out we were both there and somehow missed each other entirely. On the other hand, it was my first time in the new Bogart's.
The unexpected celebration: Arriving at Balliceaux, I ran into the birthday boy, who invited me to join his birthday dinner celebration. I was now part of the party of six discussing pork belly and kimchee. He found my birthday card amusing, although he did not follow its instructions to the letter. Just saying.
The birthday dinner: After a four-course lunch, you'd think I'd order something nice and light, but not so much. I went with the heritage burger made of ancient breed Virginia beef (I think that must be like heirloom tomatoes, don't you?) and artisan cheese with truffle fries. Three of the guys at the table got the Bonger (same as mine but with pork belly and kimchee added), but I had to draw the line somewhere (before giving in to complete gluttony, that is).
The surprise guest: Mr. M.I. A. from Bogart's came to Balliceaux and joined our group. Turns out he was secretly looking for a reason not to go to the house show, so our missing each other gave him that. Now he was here to enjoy the band with me. (Side note: he had found me in the crowd by asking the bartender where "Karen who likes Beach House and drinks tequila" was sitting." And I was pointed out. No, really; I thought he was making that up, too.
The music: Marionette, as talented a band as RVA currently has, but so under the radar that most people don't recognize their name. They played a terrific show and my friend was blown away with their energy, talent and tightness. Being a musician, I have to assume he's a pretty good judge of such things. Besides, I already knew that they're one of the best things going musically here.
The conversation: All over the place. On not giving up ("I love that your blog has hope. Weren't you in a really bad place two years ago?"), on defining the right to be a musician ("They've proven they're worthy in one set"), on recommending a new band to a friend ("Okay, so you were right.").
The ending: The recorded music got ungodly loud, the lights came up bright enough to land aircraft and the temperature dropped noticeably. As I heard the bartender tell a guy half-heartedly looking for a place to throw away his half-full PBR, "Just down it and I'll take the can." When it's 2 a.m., it's time to close the bar, friends.
The final analysis: Great movie, charming and so French, interesting conversation, jovial celebration with friends and outstanding local music.
In FB parlance: Like.
The bonus invitation: a reader-turned-friend suggested meeting at Bogart's to go to a house show in Randolph before moving on to Balliceaux. Well, I did have an hour and a half free in between stops, so why not?
The Friday Film:1958's Mon Oncle, by Jaqcues Tati, the darling of French art house cinema circa the 50s through the 70s. Known for his nearly silent films (but with loads of sound effects; I loved the clickity-clack tapping of the women's high heels on hard floors) and long observational shots, the movie looked at the changes in technology and consumerism happening at that time.
Favorite period details: a horse-drawn cart, baby carriages, a charcuterie in the neighborhood, and a street sweeper (man and broom, not machine). People carried their baguettes in hand (no bag) and women went to the milliner. 1958. Wow.
The mix-up: I went to meet reader friend at Bogart's and he wasn't there. Meanwhile, he went o Bogart's and I wasn't there. Turns out we were both there and somehow missed each other entirely. On the other hand, it was my first time in the new Bogart's.
The unexpected celebration: Arriving at Balliceaux, I ran into the birthday boy, who invited me to join his birthday dinner celebration. I was now part of the party of six discussing pork belly and kimchee. He found my birthday card amusing, although he did not follow its instructions to the letter. Just saying.
The birthday dinner: After a four-course lunch, you'd think I'd order something nice and light, but not so much. I went with the heritage burger made of ancient breed Virginia beef (I think that must be like heirloom tomatoes, don't you?) and artisan cheese with truffle fries. Three of the guys at the table got the Bonger (same as mine but with pork belly and kimchee added), but I had to draw the line somewhere (before giving in to complete gluttony, that is).
The surprise guest: Mr. M.I. A. from Bogart's came to Balliceaux and joined our group. Turns out he was secretly looking for a reason not to go to the house show, so our missing each other gave him that. Now he was here to enjoy the band with me. (Side note: he had found me in the crowd by asking the bartender where "Karen who likes Beach House and drinks tequila" was sitting." And I was pointed out. No, really; I thought he was making that up, too.
The music: Marionette, as talented a band as RVA currently has, but so under the radar that most people don't recognize their name. They played a terrific show and my friend was blown away with their energy, talent and tightness. Being a musician, I have to assume he's a pretty good judge of such things. Besides, I already knew that they're one of the best things going musically here.
The conversation: All over the place. On not giving up ("I love that your blog has hope. Weren't you in a really bad place two years ago?"), on defining the right to be a musician ("They've proven they're worthy in one set"), on recommending a new band to a friend ("Okay, so you were right.").
The ending: The recorded music got ungodly loud, the lights came up bright enough to land aircraft and the temperature dropped noticeably. As I heard the bartender tell a guy half-heartedly looking for a place to throw away his half-full PBR, "Just down it and I'll take the can." When it's 2 a.m., it's time to close the bar, friends.
The final analysis: Great movie, charming and so French, interesting conversation, jovial celebration with friends and outstanding local music.
In FB parlance: Like.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Prabir Walks Stupid Girl Home
What kind of an idiot does something stupid and then beats herself up for her stupidity?
The kind who meets a friend for dinner at Lulu's and listens to tales of her friend's recent dating exploits while enjoying a hearty lentil soup followed by ham and parsley terrine (house-smoked ham hocks, carrots cooked with the ham and parsley), picililli and grilled sourdough.
I loved the huge chunks of hocks in the terrine; they reminded me of all the tastiest bits left around the bone after carving (my family ate a ton of ham growing up).
The kind who goes to Strange Matter to see an outstanding indie triple-bill with a room full of like-minded fans. Marionette opened strong, Long Division post-rocked out and the Diamond Center gazed shoeward.
I met a musician's charming dad (about Long Division, he said, "I like the music, but are they going to sing?" Uh, no, that's why it's post-rock, sir) who thanked me for being a fan of his son's band (and then asked if I was married!).
The kind who came out to find her car vanished, towed away with her bag and cute shoes inside. The kind who could have smacked her forehead realizing her stupidity.
But all was not lost. Strange Matter is barely 3/4 of a mile from home, it was only 52 degrees outside and the bars hadn't closed so there were still plenty of people out and about. A little walk after an enjoyable evening would surely salvage a sorry situation.
I got barely two blocks before running into Prabir, the man who last year coached me on his sure-fire method for mending a broken heart, here. I told him of my stupidity and, since he also lives in J-Ward, he offered to walk home with me. I mean, he was going there anyway, but it was still a nice gesture.
I told him about the stellar show I'd just seen and he told me about the equally good one he'd been to at the Camel. Periodically, I would say something like, "I can't believe how stupid I was!" just so I could live with myself.
Thanking him for the company when we got to my house, I couldn't resist one last moment of self-flagellation. His response?
"Don't sweat it; it'll make a great blog post."
I wouldn't say great.
The kind who meets a friend for dinner at Lulu's and listens to tales of her friend's recent dating exploits while enjoying a hearty lentil soup followed by ham and parsley terrine (house-smoked ham hocks, carrots cooked with the ham and parsley), picililli and grilled sourdough.
I loved the huge chunks of hocks in the terrine; they reminded me of all the tastiest bits left around the bone after carving (my family ate a ton of ham growing up).
The kind who goes to Strange Matter to see an outstanding indie triple-bill with a room full of like-minded fans. Marionette opened strong, Long Division post-rocked out and the Diamond Center gazed shoeward.
I met a musician's charming dad (about Long Division, he said, "I like the music, but are they going to sing?" Uh, no, that's why it's post-rock, sir) who thanked me for being a fan of his son's band (and then asked if I was married!).
The kind who came out to find her car vanished, towed away with her bag and cute shoes inside. The kind who could have smacked her forehead realizing her stupidity.
But all was not lost. Strange Matter is barely 3/4 of a mile from home, it was only 52 degrees outside and the bars hadn't closed so there were still plenty of people out and about. A little walk after an enjoyable evening would surely salvage a sorry situation.
I got barely two blocks before running into Prabir, the man who last year coached me on his sure-fire method for mending a broken heart, here. I told him of my stupidity and, since he also lives in J-Ward, he offered to walk home with me. I mean, he was going there anyway, but it was still a nice gesture.
I told him about the stellar show I'd just seen and he told me about the equally good one he'd been to at the Camel. Periodically, I would say something like, "I can't believe how stupid I was!" just so I could live with myself.
Thanking him for the company when we got to my house, I couldn't resist one last moment of self-flagellation. His response?
"Don't sweat it; it'll make a great blog post."
I wouldn't say great.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Men, Men Everywhere
"Ruin your Thursday @ the VCA" the invitation read and I had every intention of doing just that. Tonight was the opening of American Ruins, a collection of almost 50 black and white images of ruins from the east coast to the west, showing at the Virginia Center for Architecture.
Arthur Drooker's photographs were artistic beauties, with crumbling walls and roofless columns framed by bare branches and leafy trees. I was shocked to learn that some of the ruins had been destroyed as recently as the last forty years; for some reason, I had presumed that these were long-time ruins, but then we're barely a long-time country. In most cases, fire was the culprit.
The Virginia ruins site represented on the walls was Barboursville and their winery was pouring tonight, but the exhibit is worth checking out even without a touch of the grape. It's up through the end of November. I even took the time to stroll the back garden of the Branch House for the first time tonight. It's a lovely, tranquil place.
As always, the opening was mainly male (architecture being male-dominated, I suppose). Of note was that I only ran into one person I knew (and fortunately I wasn't wearing black), but he knows me well enough to ask what the rest of my evening held. Telling him reminded him that he had also intended to be at my next stop (I'm as good as a calendar reminder sometimes).
That stop was The Empress for the Richmond Business Alliance champagne reception to celebrate the launch of the city's online directory of LGBT-friendly businesses. The Empress was being publicly designated as such tonight and the room was full of other LGBT business people. For the most part, it was a room full of attractive well-dressed men well-versed on all kinds of interesting topics.
I talked theater with actors and directors, restaurants with a real estate agent, and local bands with a writer. I loaned a book about coffee to a fellow blogger. I ate some of Chef Carly's delicious appetizers and sipped bubbles from bottom-heavy glasses. I like to think I was an asset to the party (Kevin, correct me if I'm wrong here).
Everyone wanted to know my connection since I don't own a business, so I shared my ties to the sponsor. My only regret was that I didn't get to stay for the cake, but happily I did satisfy my sweet tooth with a taste of the frosting and it was to die for. That's all I'm saying.
I had to cut out early and leave such charming company and such a culturally significant event in RVA to catch the opening band at the Canal Club, Marionette. These locals have been on a roll this summer, opening for The National, the Whigs and now Tortoise. It's the kind of resume-building a local band dreams of.
For the first time in years, the show was held upstairs instead of on the downstairs stage and no one seemed to know why. The show had originally been scheduled for the National, but a NASCAR-related corporate event had trumped Tortoise and they'd been moved to the smaller venue. Driving down to the show, I'd seen a lit-up race car in front of the National and a line of people down the block.
And given the size of the crowd, the Canal Club was big enough. Despite Tortoise's 20-year music-making history, the crowd was surprisingly small. Two different people said to me, "I'm disappointed in Richmond," referring to the low attendance.
But the fans who came were devoted and almost all of them were male. What we can glean from this is that jazz and prog rock-influenced post-rock bands are favored by those with a Y chromosome. A musician friend (a drummer) said that they are a drummer's band as a way of explaining all the guys.
A female attendee said to me, "It's all dudes, which is cool, but they're so into the music they don't want to talk to a chick." I gathered that she was saying that it was not a good place to pick up a guy. Luckily I wasn't there for that.
The band was tight, all excellent musicians and I liked all the percussion. A musician friend was turned off by the extensive use of synthesizers, but loved the vibes. But when it came right down to it, I just didn't possess enough testosterone to fully appreciate Tortoise it seemed. They were good, but they weren't rocking my world.
Walking to my car after the second encore, two guys almost bumped into me coming out of Wonderland. One said, "Don't you love this weather?" to which I said no and placed my cold hand on his arm.
"Damn!" he said. "Where's your wristband from?" I told him the Canal Club. "Aww, man, the Tortoise show? Was it awesome?"
He was a guy. He knew Tortoise was playing even if he hadn't gone to the show. I knew what I had to say.
"Yea, it was awesome," I told him. "Why weren't you there?"
A look of pure male guilt crossed his face. It was the perfectly appropriate ending for my Tortoise experience.
Arthur Drooker's photographs were artistic beauties, with crumbling walls and roofless columns framed by bare branches and leafy trees. I was shocked to learn that some of the ruins had been destroyed as recently as the last forty years; for some reason, I had presumed that these were long-time ruins, but then we're barely a long-time country. In most cases, fire was the culprit.
The Virginia ruins site represented on the walls was Barboursville and their winery was pouring tonight, but the exhibit is worth checking out even without a touch of the grape. It's up through the end of November. I even took the time to stroll the back garden of the Branch House for the first time tonight. It's a lovely, tranquil place.
As always, the opening was mainly male (architecture being male-dominated, I suppose). Of note was that I only ran into one person I knew (and fortunately I wasn't wearing black), but he knows me well enough to ask what the rest of my evening held. Telling him reminded him that he had also intended to be at my next stop (I'm as good as a calendar reminder sometimes).
That stop was The Empress for the Richmond Business Alliance champagne reception to celebrate the launch of the city's online directory of LGBT-friendly businesses. The Empress was being publicly designated as such tonight and the room was full of other LGBT business people. For the most part, it was a room full of attractive well-dressed men well-versed on all kinds of interesting topics.
I talked theater with actors and directors, restaurants with a real estate agent, and local bands with a writer. I loaned a book about coffee to a fellow blogger. I ate some of Chef Carly's delicious appetizers and sipped bubbles from bottom-heavy glasses. I like to think I was an asset to the party (Kevin, correct me if I'm wrong here).
Everyone wanted to know my connection since I don't own a business, so I shared my ties to the sponsor. My only regret was that I didn't get to stay for the cake, but happily I did satisfy my sweet tooth with a taste of the frosting and it was to die for. That's all I'm saying.
I had to cut out early and leave such charming company and such a culturally significant event in RVA to catch the opening band at the Canal Club, Marionette. These locals have been on a roll this summer, opening for The National, the Whigs and now Tortoise. It's the kind of resume-building a local band dreams of.
For the first time in years, the show was held upstairs instead of on the downstairs stage and no one seemed to know why. The show had originally been scheduled for the National, but a NASCAR-related corporate event had trumped Tortoise and they'd been moved to the smaller venue. Driving down to the show, I'd seen a lit-up race car in front of the National and a line of people down the block.
And given the size of the crowd, the Canal Club was big enough. Despite Tortoise's 20-year music-making history, the crowd was surprisingly small. Two different people said to me, "I'm disappointed in Richmond," referring to the low attendance.
But the fans who came were devoted and almost all of them were male. What we can glean from this is that jazz and prog rock-influenced post-rock bands are favored by those with a Y chromosome. A musician friend (a drummer) said that they are a drummer's band as a way of explaining all the guys.
A female attendee said to me, "It's all dudes, which is cool, but they're so into the music they don't want to talk to a chick." I gathered that she was saying that it was not a good place to pick up a guy. Luckily I wasn't there for that.
The band was tight, all excellent musicians and I liked all the percussion. A musician friend was turned off by the extensive use of synthesizers, but loved the vibes. But when it came right down to it, I just didn't possess enough testosterone to fully appreciate Tortoise it seemed. They were good, but they weren't rocking my world.
Walking to my car after the second encore, two guys almost bumped into me coming out of Wonderland. One said, "Don't you love this weather?" to which I said no and placed my cold hand on his arm.
"Damn!" he said. "Where's your wristband from?" I told him the Canal Club. "Aww, man, the Tortoise show? Was it awesome?"
He was a guy. He knew Tortoise was playing even if he hadn't gone to the show. I knew what I had to say.
"Yea, it was awesome," I told him. "Why weren't you there?"
A look of pure male guilt crossed his face. It was the perfectly appropriate ending for my Tortoise experience.
Monday, August 30, 2010
An Evening in Four Parts
Three screens. Two couple dates. Three live bands. Five dishes. Three rooms at capacity. One dessert. One hell of a good time.
Earlier in the week, a friend had offered me a ticket to a documentary screening today. I'd declined, saying I was already triple booked for Sunday.
"It's at 4:00," he'd countered. Well, alrighty then, I could make it; I'd just be starting my evening a bit earlier. Plus I'd get to see the new RTP theater in Scott's Addition, which I'd not yet been in. I said yes to my first couple date of the evening.
4:00 Richmond Triangle Players Theater
The sold-out documentary screening was Gen Silent about the issues facing GLBT seniors as they age. Apparently, many go back into the closet to avoid prejudice or even abuse in long-term care facilities and nursing homes.
The people interviewed for the film shared touching stories of lives turned upside down by care giving, nursing home visits, inattentive or absent families and fear of being found out.
At today's Virginia premiere of the movie, many tissues were undoubtedly soaked and I heard sniffles throughout. I can't imagine not being touched by these stories of long-time couples struggling in later life.
It was a powerful film and it was being shown to engage the community in dialogue about how to improve the situation in RVA, so a panel discussion followed the film. I left feeling like I had seen an important film.
5:30 Belvidere at Broad, First Anniversary Celebration
The restaurant was hopping when I got there and only got crazier in the next few hours as regulars streamed in, filling up every available space. I saw neighbors, friends and a few who provided hysterical entertainment value.
The menu for the evening had fourteen specials, all of them tempting. By the time I met my second couple date for the evening, they had already ordered the first round of food: Spicy tuna roll (ahi tuna, spicy sriracha aioli, cucumber, sesame seeds), local tomato Caprese, and roasted stuffed mushrooms (stuffed with spinach, tomato, herbed cream cheese, and parmigiana reggiano in a red pepper cream sauce). May I say yum?
Our next course was a little heartier: All natural beef sliders 3 ways (Gouda and bacon, fresh Mozzarella and caramelized onions and lettuce, tomato and caramelized onions) and grilled tenderloin canapes (crostinis topped with grilled tenderloin, caramelized red onion, chives and a house made horseradish sauce). By the time we finished these, I was full.
But never too full for dessert. We ended with the fresh fruit Napoleon: sliced pound cake, house made blackberry brandy whipped cream and assorted berries. Although not what I expected (Napoleons requiring puff pastry, after all), it was simply wonderful... and very pretty.
The place was mobbed, everyone was ordering food and absolutely everything that came out of the kitchen was stellar. There wasn't a single thing that could have been improved upon.
Even before I saw him, I knew Chris was in the kitchen, but the fact is, everyone back there did an amazing job tonight. I think they each deserved multiple shift drinks.
Roger Carrol was playing sax and Alan Parker guitar for most of the evening and it added a nice ambiance to the party. There were times that the crowd's volume only intensified when the music was really wailing, but parties are supposed to be loud. At least the good ones are.
8:00 Gallery 5, Silent Music Revival
In all the years I've been attending this event, never has there been a crowd the size there was tonight. Fortunately, my couple date had saved me a seat for The Adventures of Prince Achmed, an animated silent movie from 1926.
Musical improvisation was courtesy of Dave Watkins and he was up to the challenge of scoring a 67-minute film, the longest Jameson has ever shown at a SMR.
I can't begin to describe how beautiful the film was. It took its inspiration from Indonesian shadow puppet traditions, although it actually used cardboard cutouts and stop motion techniques. It was three years in the making and it wasn't hard to see why, especially for 1926.
The story is from 1001 Arabian Nights and the intricately cut figures with their tapering fingers and elongated legs were a thing of beauty and Dave's accompaniment created a Middle Eastern mood that had the audience under its spell. Everything about the performance tonight felt magical.
10:00 The Camel, Marionette
The perfect way to close out my busy Sunday was by seeing some of my favorite people playing in one of the best bands in Richmond. Alas, no couple date, but I know the people in this band as friends by now, so it was almost like a group date (my next frontier, perhaps?).
There was a surprisingly good crowd in-house for a Sunday night (is it because VCU's back?) and despite a few sound glitches, the energy in the room was terrific. A masseuse I know came over and asked me why more people don't know about this local gem, but that's a question I have no answer for.
After the show, I lingered to talk to the band, ending with Adam the guitarist, who teased me about not arriving early enough to have a long conversation before they went on. Instead I stayed for a long conversation afterwards.
It's all about time management. If I can't fit something in at the start of my evening, there's always room at the end.
Who would have guessed how easily I've settled into this 1 a.m. or later bedtime? Don't all answer at once.
Earlier in the week, a friend had offered me a ticket to a documentary screening today. I'd declined, saying I was already triple booked for Sunday.
"It's at 4:00," he'd countered. Well, alrighty then, I could make it; I'd just be starting my evening a bit earlier. Plus I'd get to see the new RTP theater in Scott's Addition, which I'd not yet been in. I said yes to my first couple date of the evening.
4:00 Richmond Triangle Players Theater
The sold-out documentary screening was Gen Silent about the issues facing GLBT seniors as they age. Apparently, many go back into the closet to avoid prejudice or even abuse in long-term care facilities and nursing homes.
The people interviewed for the film shared touching stories of lives turned upside down by care giving, nursing home visits, inattentive or absent families and fear of being found out.
At today's Virginia premiere of the movie, many tissues were undoubtedly soaked and I heard sniffles throughout. I can't imagine not being touched by these stories of long-time couples struggling in later life.
It was a powerful film and it was being shown to engage the community in dialogue about how to improve the situation in RVA, so a panel discussion followed the film. I left feeling like I had seen an important film.
5:30 Belvidere at Broad, First Anniversary Celebration
The restaurant was hopping when I got there and only got crazier in the next few hours as regulars streamed in, filling up every available space. I saw neighbors, friends and a few who provided hysterical entertainment value.
The menu for the evening had fourteen specials, all of them tempting. By the time I met my second couple date for the evening, they had already ordered the first round of food: Spicy tuna roll (ahi tuna, spicy sriracha aioli, cucumber, sesame seeds), local tomato Caprese, and roasted stuffed mushrooms (stuffed with spinach, tomato, herbed cream cheese, and parmigiana reggiano in a red pepper cream sauce). May I say yum?
Our next course was a little heartier: All natural beef sliders 3 ways (Gouda and bacon, fresh Mozzarella and caramelized onions and lettuce, tomato and caramelized onions) and grilled tenderloin canapes (crostinis topped with grilled tenderloin, caramelized red onion, chives and a house made horseradish sauce). By the time we finished these, I was full.
But never too full for dessert. We ended with the fresh fruit Napoleon: sliced pound cake, house made blackberry brandy whipped cream and assorted berries. Although not what I expected (Napoleons requiring puff pastry, after all), it was simply wonderful... and very pretty.
The place was mobbed, everyone was ordering food and absolutely everything that came out of the kitchen was stellar. There wasn't a single thing that could have been improved upon.
Even before I saw him, I knew Chris was in the kitchen, but the fact is, everyone back there did an amazing job tonight. I think they each deserved multiple shift drinks.
Roger Carrol was playing sax and Alan Parker guitar for most of the evening and it added a nice ambiance to the party. There were times that the crowd's volume only intensified when the music was really wailing, but parties are supposed to be loud. At least the good ones are.
8:00 Gallery 5, Silent Music Revival
In all the years I've been attending this event, never has there been a crowd the size there was tonight. Fortunately, my couple date had saved me a seat for The Adventures of Prince Achmed, an animated silent movie from 1926.
Musical improvisation was courtesy of Dave Watkins and he was up to the challenge of scoring a 67-minute film, the longest Jameson has ever shown at a SMR.
I can't begin to describe how beautiful the film was. It took its inspiration from Indonesian shadow puppet traditions, although it actually used cardboard cutouts and stop motion techniques. It was three years in the making and it wasn't hard to see why, especially for 1926.
The story is from 1001 Arabian Nights and the intricately cut figures with their tapering fingers and elongated legs were a thing of beauty and Dave's accompaniment created a Middle Eastern mood that had the audience under its spell. Everything about the performance tonight felt magical.
10:00 The Camel, Marionette
The perfect way to close out my busy Sunday was by seeing some of my favorite people playing in one of the best bands in Richmond. Alas, no couple date, but I know the people in this band as friends by now, so it was almost like a group date (my next frontier, perhaps?).
There was a surprisingly good crowd in-house for a Sunday night (is it because VCU's back?) and despite a few sound glitches, the energy in the room was terrific. A masseuse I know came over and asked me why more people don't know about this local gem, but that's a question I have no answer for.
After the show, I lingered to talk to the band, ending with Adam the guitarist, who teased me about not arriving early enough to have a long conversation before they went on. Instead I stayed for a long conversation afterwards.
It's all about time management. If I can't fit something in at the start of my evening, there's always room at the end.
Who would have guessed how easily I've settled into this 1 a.m. or later bedtime? Don't all answer at once.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Party of One
Another Saturday night and I ain't got nobody, so it was just me, myself and I for dinner and a show tonight (to paraphrase Joan Armatrading). Luckily, I'm pretty good company, if I do say so myself.
Dinner was at Bistro 27, although another regular was in my stool when I arrived, so I had to sit elsewhere, throwing everybody off. When Dave finally took a moment from waiting tables to say hello, it was with the explanation that he hadn't seen me because I wasn't in my regular seat. Apparently I'm invisible elsewhere. My new location did put me closer to the chef though, who greeted me by kissing my hand, always a charming start to any evening.
When I heard the specials, I knew I didn't need to even look at the menu. I ordered the crispy-fried soft-shell crab with radicchio braised in white balsamic vinegar and beurre blanc. The sweetness of the crab contrasted with the tartness of the radicchio all swimming in that decadent pink sauce made for a little bit of heaven. I finished by sopping sauce with crusty bread and looking at Carlos like he was crazy when he kept asking, "You liked it? It's okay?"
At one point, a woman stopped outside the front window and Ron the bartender threw her a kiss, then looked guiltily at me. "I don't know her well enough to stick out my tongue," he explained, anticipating my comment. "I only use my tongue with people I know really well." Well, I suppose there's some satisfaction in that seeing as how he's stuck out his tongue at me three times in the past 24 hours.
I had enough time before the show for dessert and chose the chocolate mousse when told that it had just been made this afternoon. My usual seat occupant commented on how delicious it looked as he downed his quail, but I don't share my dessert with stool stealers. And it was very good, satisfying my long-neglected chocolate fix but still light enough so I wouldn't feel bogged down at the show.
I was going to the Canal Club to see Marionette and the Whigs, my second Athens, GA band in less than two weeks. The Canal Club is not my favorite venue, but the sound was excellent tonight and that makes a big difference in enjoyment of live music.
Local favorites Marionette played a strong set, intent on making amends for their last Poe's Pub show, which they found lacking (the audience, it should be noted, thought they were great). The crowd was partly fans and the rest became converts, much like what happened when they opened for the National. In fact, leaving the Canal Club, I heard the guy behind me tell his girlfriend, "I liked that second band better than the Whigs. They were amazing."
Oddly enough, the Whigs had played the Canal Club exactly two years ago today, a fact noted by the lead singer. "So meet us back here one year from today," he suggested. At that last show, another excellent local favorite had opened: Mermaid Skeletons. The Whigs have been blessed to have a couple of RVA's best bands prime the audience for them on August 8th.
I can't recall the last time I saw a band where all the members had long hair. The drummer, in particular, swung his hair as he played in his best Dave Grohl-like fashion. It was impressive to watch. Their garage rock sound is already stadium-ready with all three guys using arena moves as they played (next up they're opening for Kings of Leon and the Black Keys; perfect pairings). The audience reacted accordingly with one guy even holding up his lighter old-school style. Luckily it was a Zippo, so the flame lasted a good long while.
After the show, I enjoyed conversation with Marionette's guitarist Adam, always a pleasure to talk to. His studio is nearly complete and he raved about the sound and lighting in the place;I smell a party possibility there in the near future.
But at the end of the evening, I left with the one who brung me, namely myself. With three of my most regular companions recently moving into relationship territory (and another lost to love six months ago), it looks like I'll be my own date even more frequently than in the past. At least there's always the random stranger for occasional conversation.
Good thing I can stand me.
Dinner was at Bistro 27, although another regular was in my stool when I arrived, so I had to sit elsewhere, throwing everybody off. When Dave finally took a moment from waiting tables to say hello, it was with the explanation that he hadn't seen me because I wasn't in my regular seat. Apparently I'm invisible elsewhere. My new location did put me closer to the chef though, who greeted me by kissing my hand, always a charming start to any evening.
When I heard the specials, I knew I didn't need to even look at the menu. I ordered the crispy-fried soft-shell crab with radicchio braised in white balsamic vinegar and beurre blanc. The sweetness of the crab contrasted with the tartness of the radicchio all swimming in that decadent pink sauce made for a little bit of heaven. I finished by sopping sauce with crusty bread and looking at Carlos like he was crazy when he kept asking, "You liked it? It's okay?"
At one point, a woman stopped outside the front window and Ron the bartender threw her a kiss, then looked guiltily at me. "I don't know her well enough to stick out my tongue," he explained, anticipating my comment. "I only use my tongue with people I know really well." Well, I suppose there's some satisfaction in that seeing as how he's stuck out his tongue at me three times in the past 24 hours.
I had enough time before the show for dessert and chose the chocolate mousse when told that it had just been made this afternoon. My usual seat occupant commented on how delicious it looked as he downed his quail, but I don't share my dessert with stool stealers. And it was very good, satisfying my long-neglected chocolate fix but still light enough so I wouldn't feel bogged down at the show.
I was going to the Canal Club to see Marionette and the Whigs, my second Athens, GA band in less than two weeks. The Canal Club is not my favorite venue, but the sound was excellent tonight and that makes a big difference in enjoyment of live music.
Local favorites Marionette played a strong set, intent on making amends for their last Poe's Pub show, which they found lacking (the audience, it should be noted, thought they were great). The crowd was partly fans and the rest became converts, much like what happened when they opened for the National. In fact, leaving the Canal Club, I heard the guy behind me tell his girlfriend, "I liked that second band better than the Whigs. They were amazing."
Oddly enough, the Whigs had played the Canal Club exactly two years ago today, a fact noted by the lead singer. "So meet us back here one year from today," he suggested. At that last show, another excellent local favorite had opened: Mermaid Skeletons. The Whigs have been blessed to have a couple of RVA's best bands prime the audience for them on August 8th.
I can't recall the last time I saw a band where all the members had long hair. The drummer, in particular, swung his hair as he played in his best Dave Grohl-like fashion. It was impressive to watch. Their garage rock sound is already stadium-ready with all three guys using arena moves as they played (next up they're opening for Kings of Leon and the Black Keys; perfect pairings). The audience reacted accordingly with one guy even holding up his lighter old-school style. Luckily it was a Zippo, so the flame lasted a good long while.
After the show, I enjoyed conversation with Marionette's guitarist Adam, always a pleasure to talk to. His studio is nearly complete and he raved about the sound and lighting in the place;I smell a party possibility there in the near future.
But at the end of the evening, I left with the one who brung me, namely myself. With three of my most regular companions recently moving into relationship territory (and another lost to love six months ago), it looks like I'll be my own date even more frequently than in the past. At least there's always the random stranger for occasional conversation.
Good thing I can stand me.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Birthday Bounty: Critics, Candles and Conversation
Reason #867 why I have the most random life on the planet: my conversation with a perfect stranger at River City Cellars today.
Me; Where do you live?
Him: Hyattsville, MD.
Me: No way. I grew up in New Carrollton.
Him: You went to Parkdale?
For the uninformed (okay, everybody reading this), those two places are a couple of miles apart. In the two decades I've lived in Richmond, no one has ever uttered the words "Hyattsville" or "Parkdale" to me. A person who grew up here couldn't possibly relate, but as a transplant, I just don't run into people who know of the planned community where I was raised (except possibly as a Metro stop), much less identify where I went to high school.
And to add to the haphazard nature of the conversation, I was talking to Todd Kliman, food and wine critic for Washingtonian magazine. He was doing a reading at RCC this evening to promote his book, The Wild Vine: A Forgotten Grape and the Untold Story of American Wine, about Virginia's own Norton grape. Talk about an event with my name on it!
As a wine lover with a preference for non-fiction, this reading/Norton tasting was my idea of a really good time. Kliman read a bit from the book, including a letter Daniel Norton had written, a letter which is housed at the Valentine Museum. Norton, the book's central character, was a Richmond doctor who bred the grape and whose personality came to life listening to that letter; I immediately bought the book.
After the tasting, I went over to ask the author to sign my copy and it was at that point that we got started on our shared heritage. In describing where he lived, because apparently Hyattsville has changed dramatically since I last saw it, he referenced DeMatha High School, a notable point of reference since my first boyfriend (and deflowerer) was a DeMatha graduate. Small freaking world, isn't it?
It was positively delightful to spend so much time talking about old neighborhoods and the types of people we grew up with. We discovered that we're both members of the FB group "Bitch, please! I grew up in PG County," and reminisced about how distinctly and positively we were shaped by that area and its demographic.
After a while, I felt guilty for taking up so much of the guest of honor's time, but not before he invited me up to join him on a restaurant critiquing endeavor or two. He's very specific about the kind of people he likes to have along when he's reviewing and somehow I made the cut. I can already guess that our problem is going to be paying attention to the food and not just jabbering on about shared memories and places.
We're also convinced that in all likelihood, there are almost no degrees of separation between us and with further conversation, we're bound to discover who we knew who might have slept together. We barely scratched the surface today and yet already found connections, and with a night or two in DC, I foresee all kinds of overlapping stories. Saying our goodbyes, Todd reminded me, "Call me within the next two weeks." You know, I think I will.
With such a fine start to my evening, I moved on to Acacia for a bit of dinner before music.When I arrived, the place was mobbed; a sixty-person rehearsal dinner was just finishing up. Luckily the hostess knows me and assured me that there would be a seat at the bar for me within moments and voila! There was. My timing had been impeccable.
As I slipped between the departing crowd, a man said to me, "You should have been at our party!" Actually, sir, I couldn't have timed it better than arriving just as Acacia was opening to the public. I'd never been there with only five other people in the entire restaurant; it was almost surreal. But of course, within fifteen minutes the place was nearly full.
The bartender recognized me from picking up my softshell lunches last week, here, and asked how we'd liked them and where we'd gone to eat them. I was flattered that she even remembered me and shared with her how much we'd enjoyed our al fresco lunch in Scuffletown Park.
It wasn't only me in celebratory mode tonight, either; a couple at the end of the bar was celebrating her recent birthday and the couple next to me their anniversary. Congratulations were exchanged all around. I began by wetting my whistle with the Man Vintners Chenin Blanc, tangy, tropical and from South Africa, a wine-growing region to which I'm partial.
Food-wise, I had the tuna crudo with shaved green garlic and the local asparagus and housemate mozzarella with lemon, caper and green olive oil. The tuna couldn't have been any rarer or fresher and the salad provided the perfect contrast of textures and flavors and that salty dressing made it all that much better. But then. when does Dale's food ever disappoint?
Dessert followed and I went for variety. The plate included a cactus berry sorbet of the prettiest pink color, a passionfruit panna cotta and a chocolate ganache. There was a lit birthday candle in my panna cotta when it arrived and I made the most of it by making a wish before I blew it out. This trio of sweet delights was further enhanced with the Chambers Rosewood Muscat, also of a lovey pink color, and the ideal accompaniment. Oral satisfaction achieved.
My final stop was at the Camel to hear local band (and personal favorite) Marionette play an excellent set, including some new material. I arrived early enough to spend some time chatting with the band beforehand. Guitarist Adam wanted to discuss The National's new album and career trajectory (Target for $7.99... really, guys?) and as the only person I know who is as rabid about the band as I am, it was especially satisfying to compare notes with him. And when he asked for some new music suggestions, I was more than happy to oblige (aren't I always?).
I think every one of my nerd quotas was met tonight: literary, conversation, wine, food and music. At this rate, I'm going to be walking on air by my birthday Sunday.
Me; Where do you live?
Him: Hyattsville, MD.
Me: No way. I grew up in New Carrollton.
Him: You went to Parkdale?
For the uninformed (okay, everybody reading this), those two places are a couple of miles apart. In the two decades I've lived in Richmond, no one has ever uttered the words "Hyattsville" or "Parkdale" to me. A person who grew up here couldn't possibly relate, but as a transplant, I just don't run into people who know of the planned community where I was raised (except possibly as a Metro stop), much less identify where I went to high school.
And to add to the haphazard nature of the conversation, I was talking to Todd Kliman, food and wine critic for Washingtonian magazine. He was doing a reading at RCC this evening to promote his book, The Wild Vine: A Forgotten Grape and the Untold Story of American Wine, about Virginia's own Norton grape. Talk about an event with my name on it!
As a wine lover with a preference for non-fiction, this reading/Norton tasting was my idea of a really good time. Kliman read a bit from the book, including a letter Daniel Norton had written, a letter which is housed at the Valentine Museum. Norton, the book's central character, was a Richmond doctor who bred the grape and whose personality came to life listening to that letter; I immediately bought the book.
After the tasting, I went over to ask the author to sign my copy and it was at that point that we got started on our shared heritage. In describing where he lived, because apparently Hyattsville has changed dramatically since I last saw it, he referenced DeMatha High School, a notable point of reference since my first boyfriend (and deflowerer) was a DeMatha graduate. Small freaking world, isn't it?
It was positively delightful to spend so much time talking about old neighborhoods and the types of people we grew up with. We discovered that we're both members of the FB group "Bitch, please! I grew up in PG County," and reminisced about how distinctly and positively we were shaped by that area and its demographic.
After a while, I felt guilty for taking up so much of the guest of honor's time, but not before he invited me up to join him on a restaurant critiquing endeavor or two. He's very specific about the kind of people he likes to have along when he's reviewing and somehow I made the cut. I can already guess that our problem is going to be paying attention to the food and not just jabbering on about shared memories and places.
We're also convinced that in all likelihood, there are almost no degrees of separation between us and with further conversation, we're bound to discover who we knew who might have slept together. We barely scratched the surface today and yet already found connections, and with a night or two in DC, I foresee all kinds of overlapping stories. Saying our goodbyes, Todd reminded me, "Call me within the next two weeks." You know, I think I will.
With such a fine start to my evening, I moved on to Acacia for a bit of dinner before music.When I arrived, the place was mobbed; a sixty-person rehearsal dinner was just finishing up. Luckily the hostess knows me and assured me that there would be a seat at the bar for me within moments and voila! There was. My timing had been impeccable.
As I slipped between the departing crowd, a man said to me, "You should have been at our party!" Actually, sir, I couldn't have timed it better than arriving just as Acacia was opening to the public. I'd never been there with only five other people in the entire restaurant; it was almost surreal. But of course, within fifteen minutes the place was nearly full.
The bartender recognized me from picking up my softshell lunches last week, here, and asked how we'd liked them and where we'd gone to eat them. I was flattered that she even remembered me and shared with her how much we'd enjoyed our al fresco lunch in Scuffletown Park.
It wasn't only me in celebratory mode tonight, either; a couple at the end of the bar was celebrating her recent birthday and the couple next to me their anniversary. Congratulations were exchanged all around. I began by wetting my whistle with the Man Vintners Chenin Blanc, tangy, tropical and from South Africa, a wine-growing region to which I'm partial.
Food-wise, I had the tuna crudo with shaved green garlic and the local asparagus and housemate mozzarella with lemon, caper and green olive oil. The tuna couldn't have been any rarer or fresher and the salad provided the perfect contrast of textures and flavors and that salty dressing made it all that much better. But then. when does Dale's food ever disappoint?
Dessert followed and I went for variety. The plate included a cactus berry sorbet of the prettiest pink color, a passionfruit panna cotta and a chocolate ganache. There was a lit birthday candle in my panna cotta when it arrived and I made the most of it by making a wish before I blew it out. This trio of sweet delights was further enhanced with the Chambers Rosewood Muscat, also of a lovey pink color, and the ideal accompaniment. Oral satisfaction achieved.
My final stop was at the Camel to hear local band (and personal favorite) Marionette play an excellent set, including some new material. I arrived early enough to spend some time chatting with the band beforehand. Guitarist Adam wanted to discuss The National's new album and career trajectory (Target for $7.99... really, guys?) and as the only person I know who is as rabid about the band as I am, it was especially satisfying to compare notes with him. And when he asked for some new music suggestions, I was more than happy to oblige (aren't I always?).
I think every one of my nerd quotas was met tonight: literary, conversation, wine, food and music. At this rate, I'm going to be walking on air by my birthday Sunday.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
I Heart Art
I honestly felt like I was in another city tonight, doing one of my favorite things when I travel: exploring a museum I've never been to. With the grand reopening of the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts (after, what, five years?), there are so many new galleries and pieces of art on display that I actually had the pleasure of first-time discovery, something I haven't had there for years.
It started with entering the museum. I made damn sure I began my visit by entering through the 1936 Boulevard entrance, something I'd never been able to do in the two decades I've lived in Richmond. I wasn't surprised that that area just inside the door felt more like a museum should feel on entering and it just got better from there.
I knew I couldn't possibly take it all in, even allowing myself four hours to try, but I did want to at least walk through as much of it as possible. I began at the top to check out the new restaurant Amuse and its views. They weren't open for business, per se, but they had a Mediterranean buffet and a cash bar, so eating was possible, if limited. I chose a table with a view and look forward to a proper meal there soon.
And then I wandered among the masses, guessing that for some of these visitors, this may have been their first visit to VMFA. "Oooh, that's pretty," an older woman said about a Georgia O'Keefe. "Mommy, why did he paint dead fish?" about a William Merrit Chase still life. "Dad, look at that statue of a man," pointing directly at the nude's genitalia. A woman was taking a picture of her husband, who was standing in front of a huge painting of a horse and pretending to rest his hand on the horse's neck.
I was thrilled to see one gallery hung salon-style but I heard some complaints about it from others in the room at the time. The "Matisse, Picasso and Modern Art in Paris" exhibit had pieces from the VMFA collection as well as UVA's and it's the first time they have all been hung together. The Japanese woodcut print gallery was a must-see. I've already told a friend that we need to plan a day to really check it all out.
When I arrived, Mariachi Las Americas was playing to the delight of the crowd. At 9, my local favorites Marionette took over the stage and sounded great in the new space. Guitarist Adam looked especially dapper in a suit and bare feet. As I stood there waiting for them to begin, a guy came over, asked me what they sounded like and who they were. I shared my opinion, told him I'd seen them many times and he introduced himself.
Now understand, I was amongst fifty other people waiting for the band to start and yet I was the one being asked band specifics. How in the world did this guy know that I'd seen them before or knew anything about them? I'm happy to spread the gospel of Marionette (after all, I did it at The National show before they came on) but it's not written on my forehead or anything.
But weird stuff always happens to me, so I don't dwell on it. After hours of art admiration, I was content to to just listen to music as my evening wound down. It was a perfect vantage point to say hello to people I knew as they walked by. Amy gave me a hug, Charlie mumbled his usual low-key "How are you?" and Dan was off to see his favorite Remington and suggested meeting up for pie at Ipanema later.
And my new "friend" James made sure to let me know that I was right on and Marionette was impressing him. Apparently he was having the pleasure of first-time discovery, too.
VMFA, it's terrific to have you back. And I say that from the bottom of my medium-sized American art-geek heart.
It started with entering the museum. I made damn sure I began my visit by entering through the 1936 Boulevard entrance, something I'd never been able to do in the two decades I've lived in Richmond. I wasn't surprised that that area just inside the door felt more like a museum should feel on entering and it just got better from there.
I knew I couldn't possibly take it all in, even allowing myself four hours to try, but I did want to at least walk through as much of it as possible. I began at the top to check out the new restaurant Amuse and its views. They weren't open for business, per se, but they had a Mediterranean buffet and a cash bar, so eating was possible, if limited. I chose a table with a view and look forward to a proper meal there soon.
And then I wandered among the masses, guessing that for some of these visitors, this may have been their first visit to VMFA. "Oooh, that's pretty," an older woman said about a Georgia O'Keefe. "Mommy, why did he paint dead fish?" about a William Merrit Chase still life. "Dad, look at that statue of a man," pointing directly at the nude's genitalia. A woman was taking a picture of her husband, who was standing in front of a huge painting of a horse and pretending to rest his hand on the horse's neck.
I was thrilled to see one gallery hung salon-style but I heard some complaints about it from others in the room at the time. The "Matisse, Picasso and Modern Art in Paris" exhibit had pieces from the VMFA collection as well as UVA's and it's the first time they have all been hung together. The Japanese woodcut print gallery was a must-see. I've already told a friend that we need to plan a day to really check it all out.
When I arrived, Mariachi Las Americas was playing to the delight of the crowd. At 9, my local favorites Marionette took over the stage and sounded great in the new space. Guitarist Adam looked especially dapper in a suit and bare feet. As I stood there waiting for them to begin, a guy came over, asked me what they sounded like and who they were. I shared my opinion, told him I'd seen them many times and he introduced himself.
Now understand, I was amongst fifty other people waiting for the band to start and yet I was the one being asked band specifics. How in the world did this guy know that I'd seen them before or knew anything about them? I'm happy to spread the gospel of Marionette (after all, I did it at The National show before they came on) but it's not written on my forehead or anything.
But weird stuff always happens to me, so I don't dwell on it. After hours of art admiration, I was content to to just listen to music as my evening wound down. It was a perfect vantage point to say hello to people I knew as they walked by. Amy gave me a hug, Charlie mumbled his usual low-key "How are you?" and Dan was off to see his favorite Remington and suggested meeting up for pie at Ipanema later.
And my new "friend" James made sure to let me know that I was right on and Marionette was impressing him. Apparently he was having the pleasure of first-time discovery, too.
VMFA, it's terrific to have you back. And I say that from the bottom of my medium-sized American art-geek heart.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Make My Night: The National and Marionette
It's almost exactly three years since I first saw The National live (they were opening for the Arcade Fire) and nearly two years since I saw them last (while on a night off from the tour with REM), so I was more than overdue to see them tonight.
When the tickets originally went on sale, I'd purposely chosen the Thursday show rather than the Friday, knowing I wouldn't be able to enjoy doing anything else on Thursday knowing they were playing here and I wasn't there. It turned out to be a wise choice.
As much as I'd been eagerly anticipating tonight, I was in for the surprise of the year when, checking online this afternoon for when the show started, I saw that the opener was local band Marionette, a band I've been a huge fan of for a couple of years now. There could be no more perfect show for me than the combination of these two on stage in one evening. They might as well have called it the Karen Show (and wouldn't it have been amazing if The National had sung "Karen"?).
I started out by meeting a friend and his charming out-of-town guest at Comfort. He'd already introduced her to my blog (she thought it was funny) and told me about hers (more serious due to its work-related nature). We had some great music talk and she was very surprised to learn that I'm not one of those people who tries to get backstage to meet the band. Must be my innate shyness that keeps me in the audience (okay, not likely). I raved about Marionette to them so we left in time to catch their set.
At the National we found frigid temperatures in anticipation of the crowd tonight. Only 800 tickets had been sold in advance, but people continued to walk up and buy them. I didn't want to deal with a shoulder-to-shoulder sell-out crowd (hence the choice of tonight over tomorrow) but I wasn't adverse to more warm bodies nearby either. Unfortunately when I got them, they were of the most obnoxious kind, but more on that later.
Marionette was performing as a four piece , rather than five, and played an excellent and energetic set. My friends were won over in a matter of a couple songs and it was obvious that the audience recognized them as something special as they got more and more into it with each song.
I loved that so many new people were being exposed to this talented band who have had me raving about their unique sound for over some time now. They're playing for the grand re-opening of the Virginia Museum next Saturday night and I can't suggest strongly enough that you go check them out. Not to be corny, but they will knock your socks off and besides, then I can say I told you so.
I wasn't sure what to expect different from The National other than new material, of which we got plenty. The main change I noticed was how much looser the band was, especially lead singer Matt Berninger. Last time, he'd been more staid, singing with closed eyes and less crowd interaction.
Tonight he was touching hands, bending down and engaging with the audience so much more. Maybe it was the bottle and glass of wine he'd brought onstage with him. I have to say, him removing the cork with his teeth was a pretty appealing picture.
At one point, he jumped off the stage and moved through the crowd singing, finally stopping at the sound booth. Much like my favorite bar stool at a restaurant, I have a favorite place at the National and it's against the guard rail of the sound booth. So it was a stroke of luck for me that he mounted the rail and sang from it, putting him a matter of a couple feet from where we were standing. It might have been the most exciting thing I've witnessed at a show and that's saying something, considering how many shows I attend every year.
Another (unfortunate) difference at the show was the addition of the party fan base. The summer 2008 show was a collection of The National fanatics who came to hear an amazing band. Tonight's crowd included those unpleasant types who are jumping on the bandwagon late and are far less devoted to the music.
The two guys in front of us, for instance, were obnoxiously drunk before the band even came onstage (one guy had five empty beer cups when his friend brought him his sixth beer). I heard him say, "I'm determined to get thrown out of here tonight."
By the third song, he and his buddy were shouting an inane conversation directly in front of me. As they got louder and obliterated my view, I couldn't stop myself from asking them to move or be quiet so I could hear the music. The guy with the six beers decided to challenge me by saying, "Yea, well we don't have to shut up. We're from New Orleans and we come to shows to party."
He continued to berate me while I ignored him and my friends closed in around me, but at least he wasn't in front of me anymore. Eventually his ADD kicked in and he moved away. I'm the wrong person to be near if you plan to talk loudly through a show; I've got no compunction about telling you to shut the fuck up, as I did with this guy tonight. No one's going to drown out bands this good in my presence.
The new material sounded great and Matt B. acknowledged that he was doing much better with the new material tonight than with the old. He said that, "At the end of a show, we give demerits and count the fuck-ups and tonight I'm going to win." During the encore, he apologized again for his mistakes. Honestly, the audience was just thrilled to hear that magnificent baritone and obtuse lyrics.
At that last show of theirs I saw, all the material was drawn from Alligator and Boxer, so the devoted got to hear all their favorites. With so much new stuff tonight, that wasn't necessarily the case. For me, satisfaction arrived in the form of "Slow Show," quite possibly the most romantic song ever written. And that's not just my opinion because I know for a fact that guitarist Adam Rose of Marionette agrees with me on that. Romance is, after all, in the ear of the beholder.
And tonight's performances by two of my all-time favorite bands made for a night not likely to be topped musically for quite some time. If ever there were two bands who understand what appeals to my ears, it's these guys. Or, as The National puts it:
I'm put together beautifully
Big wet bottle in my fist
Big wet rose in my teeth
I'm a perfect piece of ass
I couldn't have said it better myself. Hats off to both bands for making my night a perfect piece.
When the tickets originally went on sale, I'd purposely chosen the Thursday show rather than the Friday, knowing I wouldn't be able to enjoy doing anything else on Thursday knowing they were playing here and I wasn't there. It turned out to be a wise choice.
As much as I'd been eagerly anticipating tonight, I was in for the surprise of the year when, checking online this afternoon for when the show started, I saw that the opener was local band Marionette, a band I've been a huge fan of for a couple of years now. There could be no more perfect show for me than the combination of these two on stage in one evening. They might as well have called it the Karen Show (and wouldn't it have been amazing if The National had sung "Karen"?).
I started out by meeting a friend and his charming out-of-town guest at Comfort. He'd already introduced her to my blog (she thought it was funny) and told me about hers (more serious due to its work-related nature). We had some great music talk and she was very surprised to learn that I'm not one of those people who tries to get backstage to meet the band. Must be my innate shyness that keeps me in the audience (okay, not likely). I raved about Marionette to them so we left in time to catch their set.
At the National we found frigid temperatures in anticipation of the crowd tonight. Only 800 tickets had been sold in advance, but people continued to walk up and buy them. I didn't want to deal with a shoulder-to-shoulder sell-out crowd (hence the choice of tonight over tomorrow) but I wasn't adverse to more warm bodies nearby either. Unfortunately when I got them, they were of the most obnoxious kind, but more on that later.
Marionette was performing as a four piece , rather than five, and played an excellent and energetic set. My friends were won over in a matter of a couple songs and it was obvious that the audience recognized them as something special as they got more and more into it with each song.
I loved that so many new people were being exposed to this talented band who have had me raving about their unique sound for over some time now. They're playing for the grand re-opening of the Virginia Museum next Saturday night and I can't suggest strongly enough that you go check them out. Not to be corny, but they will knock your socks off and besides, then I can say I told you so.
I wasn't sure what to expect different from The National other than new material, of which we got plenty. The main change I noticed was how much looser the band was, especially lead singer Matt Berninger. Last time, he'd been more staid, singing with closed eyes and less crowd interaction.
Tonight he was touching hands, bending down and engaging with the audience so much more. Maybe it was the bottle and glass of wine he'd brought onstage with him. I have to say, him removing the cork with his teeth was a pretty appealing picture.
At one point, he jumped off the stage and moved through the crowd singing, finally stopping at the sound booth. Much like my favorite bar stool at a restaurant, I have a favorite place at the National and it's against the guard rail of the sound booth. So it was a stroke of luck for me that he mounted the rail and sang from it, putting him a matter of a couple feet from where we were standing. It might have been the most exciting thing I've witnessed at a show and that's saying something, considering how many shows I attend every year.
Another (unfortunate) difference at the show was the addition of the party fan base. The summer 2008 show was a collection of The National fanatics who came to hear an amazing band. Tonight's crowd included those unpleasant types who are jumping on the bandwagon late and are far less devoted to the music.
The two guys in front of us, for instance, were obnoxiously drunk before the band even came onstage (one guy had five empty beer cups when his friend brought him his sixth beer). I heard him say, "I'm determined to get thrown out of here tonight."
By the third song, he and his buddy were shouting an inane conversation directly in front of me. As they got louder and obliterated my view, I couldn't stop myself from asking them to move or be quiet so I could hear the music. The guy with the six beers decided to challenge me by saying, "Yea, well we don't have to shut up. We're from New Orleans and we come to shows to party."
He continued to berate me while I ignored him and my friends closed in around me, but at least he wasn't in front of me anymore. Eventually his ADD kicked in and he moved away. I'm the wrong person to be near if you plan to talk loudly through a show; I've got no compunction about telling you to shut the fuck up, as I did with this guy tonight. No one's going to drown out bands this good in my presence.
The new material sounded great and Matt B. acknowledged that he was doing much better with the new material tonight than with the old. He said that, "At the end of a show, we give demerits and count the fuck-ups and tonight I'm going to win." During the encore, he apologized again for his mistakes. Honestly, the audience was just thrilled to hear that magnificent baritone and obtuse lyrics.
At that last show of theirs I saw, all the material was drawn from Alligator and Boxer, so the devoted got to hear all their favorites. With so much new stuff tonight, that wasn't necessarily the case. For me, satisfaction arrived in the form of "Slow Show," quite possibly the most romantic song ever written. And that's not just my opinion because I know for a fact that guitarist Adam Rose of Marionette agrees with me on that. Romance is, after all, in the ear of the beholder.
And tonight's performances by two of my all-time favorite bands made for a night not likely to be topped musically for quite some time. If ever there were two bands who understand what appeals to my ears, it's these guys. Or, as The National puts it:
I'm put together beautifully
Big wet bottle in my fist
Big wet rose in my teeth
I'm a perfect piece of ass
I couldn't have said it better myself. Hats off to both bands for making my night a perfect piece.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
What's Your Musical Motivation?
I go to so many music shows because I love the excitement of seeing a band perform live. But as I was reminded tonight, everyone has their own agenda when it comes to why they're in the audience and it's naive of me to assume it's because they feel the way I do.
Last night I went to the Camel to see Marionette, one of my very favorite local bands and with good reason. Their sound is unlike most with enough of a varied appeal to grab many kinds of music lovers. In the 2+ years I've been attending their shows, I've gotten to know most of the band members and concluded that they're such interesting musicians because they're such interesting people. As a bonus, yesterday was multi-instrumentalist Marshall's birthday, adding another reason to celebrate the evening.
A photographer there shooting the crowd came over to take a picture. I was sitting with Kerri and Adam from Marionette, so I opted out of the snapshot and afterwards the photog sat down to get their names and chat. She pointed out a couple who came to the show only because the band was described as "indie folk." Apparently, they'd said that there just wasn't any indie folk in rva. And while I'm certainly pleased to hear of anyone who comes out for live music, all I can say is wtf? No indie folk here? That's like saying there was no hardcore here in the 90s.
As proof that we have an extremely active indie folk scene here, I would offer up Jonathan Vassar and Speckled Bird, Josh Small, Alison Self (and, when they're all in the same country, Arise Sweet Donkey!), the Colloquial Orchestra, the Low Branches, the Florentines...don't make me go on and on. No indie folk scene, indeed.
Since I'd taken the very front booth, I had lots of good visitors the whole evening. People would sit with me for a while and then move on. Prabir planted himself for most of the evening and he's always a charming conversational partner, full of good adventures and intrigue. An ex of his was in-house last night, so it was an especially eventful evening.
One guy who sat down for a bit and to whom I was introduced by Prabir was a musician. He talked about his plans to move west to further pursue his musical goals. But he also said he was only sticking around to hear one song by headliners, Marionette. I couldn't understand why. "Well, you know, most bands, like 98%, aren't any good and what's the chance I'm gonna find out this is one of the good ones?" Great attitude, friend. I told him I'd seen them plenty and that they were excellent, but he'd already made up his mind. What kind of a music lover is that?
Last time I'd been in the Camel, the owner Rand had boasted to me, knowing that I'm a wine drinker, that they'd finally gotten in some decent wine and adjusted their pricing. One of my few complaints with that venue has always been the cheap wine at exorbitant prices, and it had been duly noted. I had an excellent glass of Nero d'Avolo for seven bucks last night and that's a huge improvement over my past drinking experiences there. Kudos to Rand for choosing to address all of his audience's libation needs.
And grudgingly I'll also offer kudos to everyone who came out to hear last night's live music, even if some of your motivations were weak or unfounded. The important thing is that you were there supporting your local musicians and venue and no matter how misguided your reasons, you got to see a stellar show. Fortunately for me, I didn't have any of that baggage, so I just reveled in the music. Marionette makes that easy to do.
Last night I went to the Camel to see Marionette, one of my very favorite local bands and with good reason. Their sound is unlike most with enough of a varied appeal to grab many kinds of music lovers. In the 2+ years I've been attending their shows, I've gotten to know most of the band members and concluded that they're such interesting musicians because they're such interesting people. As a bonus, yesterday was multi-instrumentalist Marshall's birthday, adding another reason to celebrate the evening.
A photographer there shooting the crowd came over to take a picture. I was sitting with Kerri and Adam from Marionette, so I opted out of the snapshot and afterwards the photog sat down to get their names and chat. She pointed out a couple who came to the show only because the band was described as "indie folk." Apparently, they'd said that there just wasn't any indie folk in rva. And while I'm certainly pleased to hear of anyone who comes out for live music, all I can say is wtf? No indie folk here? That's like saying there was no hardcore here in the 90s.
As proof that we have an extremely active indie folk scene here, I would offer up Jonathan Vassar and Speckled Bird, Josh Small, Alison Self (and, when they're all in the same country, Arise Sweet Donkey!), the Colloquial Orchestra, the Low Branches, the Florentines...don't make me go on and on. No indie folk scene, indeed.
Since I'd taken the very front booth, I had lots of good visitors the whole evening. People would sit with me for a while and then move on. Prabir planted himself for most of the evening and he's always a charming conversational partner, full of good adventures and intrigue. An ex of his was in-house last night, so it was an especially eventful evening.
One guy who sat down for a bit and to whom I was introduced by Prabir was a musician. He talked about his plans to move west to further pursue his musical goals. But he also said he was only sticking around to hear one song by headliners, Marionette. I couldn't understand why. "Well, you know, most bands, like 98%, aren't any good and what's the chance I'm gonna find out this is one of the good ones?" Great attitude, friend. I told him I'd seen them plenty and that they were excellent, but he'd already made up his mind. What kind of a music lover is that?
Last time I'd been in the Camel, the owner Rand had boasted to me, knowing that I'm a wine drinker, that they'd finally gotten in some decent wine and adjusted their pricing. One of my few complaints with that venue has always been the cheap wine at exorbitant prices, and it had been duly noted. I had an excellent glass of Nero d'Avolo for seven bucks last night and that's a huge improvement over my past drinking experiences there. Kudos to Rand for choosing to address all of his audience's libation needs.
And grudgingly I'll also offer kudos to everyone who came out to hear last night's live music, even if some of your motivations were weak or unfounded. The important thing is that you were there supporting your local musicians and venue and no matter how misguided your reasons, you got to see a stellar show. Fortunately for me, I didn't have any of that baggage, so I just reveled in the music. Marionette makes that easy to do.
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