Be present. Well, duh.
That zen-like reminder was painted on the wall of the restaurant, but not the first restaurant I went to today because that one was in service of my hired mouth and was for breakfast.
Breakfast was before we took a road trip to Norfolk listening to REM and the Bo Deans and cursing people who brake for no good reason and before our silver-tongued tour guide gave us a walking tour of Norfolk's waterfront.
It was during that walkabout that he led us to Java Surf Coffee Shop, passing a window display with a sign that read, "In a relationship, one person needs to be the emotional designated driver," sparking a discussion of whether that's true or not. Dissent was expressed; I abstained.
Eventually, we made it to the piece-de-resistance: the USS Wisconsin, a circa 1943 battleship rising up like a giant silver blowfish on steroids when we first encountered it head on.
Honestly, I was unprepared for how massive it was and if we'd had the time, I'd have been all about touring it. Another time, I hope.
Impressive in a different sort of way was a ridiculously long dark blue sailboat (by that, I mean far longer than my apartment times two) with masts too high to fit in the photograph I tried to take of it. That it was registered in the Cayman Islands gave us to believe there was drug-laundering money involved, but made it no less beautiful or tremendously sized.
After meandering through downtown, we landed on the sidewalk in front of a doormat-sized inlay that used fancy script to spell out "The Fontaine Room," giving testament to the restaurant's former life.
These days, it's a swinging hot spot called the Grilled Cheese Bistro which required a short wait for one of the community tables (which is the only kind they have, a trend I embrace), but paid off in spades with exceptional sandwiches (cooked in buckets of clarified butter), killer fries and a bartender who never let the hordes wipe the smile off her face or the good attitude from her words.
I think it was because she was being present. I know I was.
Now that I think about it, though, I may also have been swayed by them having Dominion Brewing root beer on tap, because what accompanies a Johnny Appleseed grilled cheese better?
By the time we rolled out of there, a long line had already begun snaking down the sidewalk in anticipation of tonight's Hanson show at the Norva, bringing up the question, who loves Hanson that much in 2017 anyway?
Clearly the show was sold out, but it mattered not because by late afternoon, we were heading back because we've got shows of our own in Richmond, you know.
And tonight's was a helluva bill: the Richmond Symphony with Tim Barry, Clair Morgan, Natalie Prass, Bio Ritmo and Matthew E. White.
Setting out on foot, we breezed past the crowded Grace Street restaurant patios to land at Maya, where our server was a familiar face and, coincidentally, a J-Ward neighbor. Given tonight's show, the place was mobbed and he was keeping everything handled with his usual aplomb and self-deprecation.
I don't often eat three meals out in one day unless I'm on vacation (I could stretch that a bit and say that with the road trip and playing tourist all day that it was vacation-like), but sometimes you just have to eat the fish tacos and be happy someone else is willing to cook for you.
Across the street, the Carpenter Center was filling up with a mix of longtime Symphony Pops subscribers and a whole lot of people who'd probably never been to the Symphony in their life, but were fans of one of the bands performing tonight.
It was a pretty fascinating show in that local musician Trey Pollard had written arrangements for their songs based on what would best suit their existing music. It ranged from Tim Barry being just a voice and guitar to Bio Ritmo's nine musicians (tonight with the bonus of singer Laura Ann Singh) and salsa rhythms, providing huge flexibility in where and how much the symphony came in.
Clair Morgan provided humor when his band took the stage without him and he finally came out, saying, "My wife's gonna kill me, but I can't find my guitar strap." Luckily, it was soon located and they could play, vibraphones and all, without any husbands being killed.
Ultimately, rock trumped symphony and light projections made the performance oh-so groovy while the crowd didn't hesitate to call out to friends and favorite performers onstage.
In the loo during intermission, I heard my name called and there was the woman I run into everywhere: the Northern Neck, a southside coffee shop, an obscure house show, now the symphony.
Heading back to my seat, I heard my name called and turned around to see my former neighbor. When I marveled that he'd recognized me from the back, he said it was my hair. I think I believe him.
Walking through the inner lobby, I ran into a gorgeous girlfriend and once in the outer lobby, a favorite sax player greeted me. My people were everywhere.
Be present often enough and they all find you. Okay, maybe not in the Fontaine Room, but definitely here in Richmond.
Does being asleep count as being present? Asking for a friend...
Showing posts with label bio ritmo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bio ritmo. Show all posts
Sunday, September 24, 2017
Sunday, October 2, 2016
The Camera Loves You
Maybe it's just me, but the day after a 10-hour party, an early evening is in order.
That it was also bittersweet, musical and full of friends was icing on the cake.
After a solo dinner at 821 Cafe eating black beans nachos and listening to thrash, I landed at Balliceaux in time to nab a front row seat for the screening of the new documentary, "Goodbye Garbers."
My expectation was that I'd see lots of familiar faces, which I did, including more than a few who also showed up in the film, making for lively conversations about punk glasses, post-punk, the seedy Safeway on Grace Street and the value of cover bands in the overall musical scheme of things.
Just promise me there'll never be a Dexy's Midnight Runners cover band, please.
And, oh, did we digress. What is up with millennials who, when asked what music they're listening to currently, always seem to respond in the distant past (shoegaze? Pink Floyd? Stones? what the hell?) instead of with bands who are their contemporaries?
Inquiring minds want to know.
Introducing the documentary was musician and first-time filmmaker Allison Apperson, who'd backed into the project when musician friend Kelly Queener suggested they make a video about the closing of the Garbers building in the Bottom, the premiere practice space for scores of local bands over several decades.
Allison was the logical choice since she not only had editing experience, but had even named her band after the renowned practice space. Only problem was, Kelly had said "video" and Allison heard "documentary" and the latter was what we were about to see.
For me, what was cool about the film was seeing footage of bands playing in the practice spaces subdivided into the 65,000 square foot Garbers Garage Door Company building. Kelly had begun as a painter there and only later picked up a guitar as an alternate means of creative self-expression.
A woman named Colleen actually lived there, making art and expressing gratitude to owner Carl Otto for allowing her residency (as well as props to anyone born in 1957 like she was).
Carl appeared onscreen several times, explaining how he'd inherited the space from his father-in-law and saw no reason not to rent out the unused parts of the building to musicians, calling it "the best security system" to have people coming and going from the building night and day.
Because of course bands are not going to practice much during the staid 9-5 worker bee time frame.
While I knew that Garber's was a practice space, before tonight, I'd had no idea of just how many bands had made music there.
The first had been Fat Elvis starting in 1986 - the year I came to Richmond - plus a long-time residency by salsa kings Bio Ritmo and lots more, including White Laces, Manzara, the Ar-Kaics, Diamond Center, Hot Dolphin and Snowy Owls.
All bands I'd seen more than once. Even the documentary's musical talking heads were people I knew. Several said the same thing, that you could hear the evolution of other bands' albums there. That musicians fed off the energy of each other. How terrific the sound was in the building.
Best of all, Carl referred to his young tenants as making an enjoyable noise, at least right up until the end of June when he closed the building in anticipation of selling it. To be fair, the man is going on 80.
Everyone I talked to afterwards was gobsmacked at what a fabulous job Allison had done on the film, which in no way came across as a first effort. Clearly, the Garbers building attracted people of multiple talents.
Even better, her sense of humor resulted in a caption labeling guitarist, DJ and all-around music geek Paul Ivey as "angry musician," a joke he didn't even notice during tonight's screening, while some of us howled.
Perhaps his new Brian Wilson tour t-shirt had him in a blissfully zen state where he didn't notice such silliness.
After the screening, Kelly's band, Peace Beast, took the stage to deliver the kind of live music that used to percolate at the Garbers building. Their brand of dreamy psych pop with two female vocalists was the ideal way to feel the magic of the Garbers scene that is no more.
From here on out, it'll just be the stuff of legend, although the documentary probably ought to be required viewing for up and coming young Richmond musicians looking for inspiration.
Even the so-called angry ones.
That it was also bittersweet, musical and full of friends was icing on the cake.
After a solo dinner at 821 Cafe eating black beans nachos and listening to thrash, I landed at Balliceaux in time to nab a front row seat for the screening of the new documentary, "Goodbye Garbers."
My expectation was that I'd see lots of familiar faces, which I did, including more than a few who also showed up in the film, making for lively conversations about punk glasses, post-punk, the seedy Safeway on Grace Street and the value of cover bands in the overall musical scheme of things.
Just promise me there'll never be a Dexy's Midnight Runners cover band, please.
And, oh, did we digress. What is up with millennials who, when asked what music they're listening to currently, always seem to respond in the distant past (shoegaze? Pink Floyd? Stones? what the hell?) instead of with bands who are their contemporaries?
Inquiring minds want to know.
Introducing the documentary was musician and first-time filmmaker Allison Apperson, who'd backed into the project when musician friend Kelly Queener suggested they make a video about the closing of the Garbers building in the Bottom, the premiere practice space for scores of local bands over several decades.
Allison was the logical choice since she not only had editing experience, but had even named her band after the renowned practice space. Only problem was, Kelly had said "video" and Allison heard "documentary" and the latter was what we were about to see.
For me, what was cool about the film was seeing footage of bands playing in the practice spaces subdivided into the 65,000 square foot Garbers Garage Door Company building. Kelly had begun as a painter there and only later picked up a guitar as an alternate means of creative self-expression.
A woman named Colleen actually lived there, making art and expressing gratitude to owner Carl Otto for allowing her residency (as well as props to anyone born in 1957 like she was).
Carl appeared onscreen several times, explaining how he'd inherited the space from his father-in-law and saw no reason not to rent out the unused parts of the building to musicians, calling it "the best security system" to have people coming and going from the building night and day.
Because of course bands are not going to practice much during the staid 9-5 worker bee time frame.
While I knew that Garber's was a practice space, before tonight, I'd had no idea of just how many bands had made music there.
The first had been Fat Elvis starting in 1986 - the year I came to Richmond - plus a long-time residency by salsa kings Bio Ritmo and lots more, including White Laces, Manzara, the Ar-Kaics, Diamond Center, Hot Dolphin and Snowy Owls.
All bands I'd seen more than once. Even the documentary's musical talking heads were people I knew. Several said the same thing, that you could hear the evolution of other bands' albums there. That musicians fed off the energy of each other. How terrific the sound was in the building.
Best of all, Carl referred to his young tenants as making an enjoyable noise, at least right up until the end of June when he closed the building in anticipation of selling it. To be fair, the man is going on 80.
Everyone I talked to afterwards was gobsmacked at what a fabulous job Allison had done on the film, which in no way came across as a first effort. Clearly, the Garbers building attracted people of multiple talents.
Even better, her sense of humor resulted in a caption labeling guitarist, DJ and all-around music geek Paul Ivey as "angry musician," a joke he didn't even notice during tonight's screening, while some of us howled.
Perhaps his new Brian Wilson tour t-shirt had him in a blissfully zen state where he didn't notice such silliness.
After the screening, Kelly's band, Peace Beast, took the stage to deliver the kind of live music that used to percolate at the Garbers building. Their brand of dreamy psych pop with two female vocalists was the ideal way to feel the magic of the Garbers scene that is no more.
From here on out, it'll just be the stuff of legend, although the documentary probably ought to be required viewing for up and coming young Richmond musicians looking for inspiration.
Even the so-called angry ones.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Park Twice, Party Thrice
What does it say about my evening that I used porta-potties in two different locations tonight? Or that I had no clue about the downpour until hours later when someone mentioned it casually in conversation? Or that I turned down the one man who sincerely wanted to dance with me? Nothing much.
My friend and I began our evening at Aziza's at my suggestion and because it had been a good while since she'd been there. It seemed foolish to consider ordering glasses of wine when a bottle of Vino Verde could be had for $17. "It's my favorite wine on a day like this," our server told the two women who subsisted all last summer on vino verde and late night conversation. Still, it's always nice to have one's choices validated.
The cheese plate kept us occupied while we whittled down our dinner selections, finally deciding to share the griddled garlic shrimp, white beans and pancetta, a salad and a side of asparagus. It was more than enough food and, in truth, we weren't able to finish all the cheese. The white bean and pancetta dish was unexpectedly warm and dangerously close to comfort food if not for all that healthy fiber. Given my lunch today, that's a lot of musical fruit in one day.
Our next stop was Brown's Island for the Grace Potter and the Nocturnals show to close out the first day of Riverrock. We arrived shortly after the mud race, so we saw many people in various stages of muddiness and undress. Others still had their runners' numbers pinned to their shirts. My friend mentioned that she always feels like a fraud at such events given her non-athletic status (and mine is even lower than hers).
The last time I saw GP&tN was fall 2007 at Toad's Place as the opener for Govt. Mule (without a doubt the most patchoulie-stinking, hippie-like crowd of any show I'd ever been to). Clearly the record company had gotten hold of this band in the interim and gussied up their image; Grace was not a short-skirt wearing blond when last I saw her. Their bluesy rock sound harkens back to the 70s and the crowd present were clearly devoted fans, singing and dancing to every song. And why shouldn't they have been, given a free concert on a balmy May evening?
The people watching in a crowd like that was stellar and luckily there were enough porta-potties to keep the lines short. There was a guy dancing in front of us who kept turning around and glancing toward my feet. My friend had concerns that he had a foot fetish until we noticed his recording device and mics near my feet and realized he was just checking his power levels. Of course, for all we know, he had a foot fetish too.
We made our last stop Capital Ale House to hear Bio Ritmo, a band neither of us had heard in years, despite having a friend in the band (we've sen him far more often in one of his other projects). It's tough not to enjoy a Bio Ritmo show given their enthusiasm, the nature of the music and all that percussion. It was there that someone mentioned the earlier rain of which we had been completely unaware, tucked away as we were in beerland (and not drinking beer).
Tonight, the dance floor was filled with dancing couples showing off their salsa and merengue moves. some more successfully than others. There was even a guy doing his pop and lock moves when he wasn't trying to entice some hapless woman to join him on the dance floor. In other words, the floor show alone was worth the price of admission.
We had parked once to party twice, so it was a bit of a hike and as we walked back to the car, I found nature calling. In a fortuitous find, there was a random porta-potty on Canal Street, so I ducked in while my friend stood outside talking to me through the door. She was sharing her concerns about the wisdom of me using a porta-potty on a deserted street at 1 a.m. while she stood there appearing to talk to herself; I assure her that she didn't look any more foolish than the bluetooth set.
Or any more foolish than I'd have looked on the dance floor. It's important to know one's limitations, whether they apply to pit stops or tripping the light fantastic.
My friend and I began our evening at Aziza's at my suggestion and because it had been a good while since she'd been there. It seemed foolish to consider ordering glasses of wine when a bottle of Vino Verde could be had for $17. "It's my favorite wine on a day like this," our server told the two women who subsisted all last summer on vino verde and late night conversation. Still, it's always nice to have one's choices validated.
The cheese plate kept us occupied while we whittled down our dinner selections, finally deciding to share the griddled garlic shrimp, white beans and pancetta, a salad and a side of asparagus. It was more than enough food and, in truth, we weren't able to finish all the cheese. The white bean and pancetta dish was unexpectedly warm and dangerously close to comfort food if not for all that healthy fiber. Given my lunch today, that's a lot of musical fruit in one day.
Our next stop was Brown's Island for the Grace Potter and the Nocturnals show to close out the first day of Riverrock. We arrived shortly after the mud race, so we saw many people in various stages of muddiness and undress. Others still had their runners' numbers pinned to their shirts. My friend mentioned that she always feels like a fraud at such events given her non-athletic status (and mine is even lower than hers).
The last time I saw GP&tN was fall 2007 at Toad's Place as the opener for Govt. Mule (without a doubt the most patchoulie-stinking, hippie-like crowd of any show I'd ever been to). Clearly the record company had gotten hold of this band in the interim and gussied up their image; Grace was not a short-skirt wearing blond when last I saw her. Their bluesy rock sound harkens back to the 70s and the crowd present were clearly devoted fans, singing and dancing to every song. And why shouldn't they have been, given a free concert on a balmy May evening?
The people watching in a crowd like that was stellar and luckily there were enough porta-potties to keep the lines short. There was a guy dancing in front of us who kept turning around and glancing toward my feet. My friend had concerns that he had a foot fetish until we noticed his recording device and mics near my feet and realized he was just checking his power levels. Of course, for all we know, he had a foot fetish too.
We made our last stop Capital Ale House to hear Bio Ritmo, a band neither of us had heard in years, despite having a friend in the band (we've sen him far more often in one of his other projects). It's tough not to enjoy a Bio Ritmo show given their enthusiasm, the nature of the music and all that percussion. It was there that someone mentioned the earlier rain of which we had been completely unaware, tucked away as we were in beerland (and not drinking beer).
Tonight, the dance floor was filled with dancing couples showing off their salsa and merengue moves. some more successfully than others. There was even a guy doing his pop and lock moves when he wasn't trying to entice some hapless woman to join him on the dance floor. In other words, the floor show alone was worth the price of admission.
We had parked once to party twice, so it was a bit of a hike and as we walked back to the car, I found nature calling. In a fortuitous find, there was a random porta-potty on Canal Street, so I ducked in while my friend stood outside talking to me through the door. She was sharing her concerns about the wisdom of me using a porta-potty on a deserted street at 1 a.m. while she stood there appearing to talk to herself; I assure her that she didn't look any more foolish than the bluetooth set.
Or any more foolish than I'd have looked on the dance floor. It's important to know one's limitations, whether they apply to pit stops or tripping the light fantastic.
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