I'm Only Me

It wasn't your typical First Friday.

For starters, I left the arts district to meet a friend for dinner and never made it back in time for art.

We'd both gotten the memo to wear black and talk about love and violins.

Our meal was abbreviated by the need to be at a mutual friend's show at 7:30 at the Michaux House, where the Listening Room used to be held.

That alone was noteworthy and person after person mentioned how excited they were to be back where it all began.

The first person I saw inside was the reason for the evening, new Dad Jonathan Vassar, particularly striking tonight because his hair was showing.

When I asked about this rarity, he explained that he'd stopped wearing his summer baseball cap ("And once I stop, I never go back") but at 86 degrees today, it had been just too warm for one of his knit caps.

Hence, a fine-looking but rarely seen head of hair showing.

Elizabeth Whitmire opened with her friend Karen singing backup, announcing, "I'm going to play some whiny folk songs."

It put me in mind of an old boyfriend who used to say his favorite music was made by whiny white women.

Accompanied by guitar and mandolin, they played depressing songs ("Depressing songs always have the worst rhymes"), a spiteful song, the first song Elizabeth ever wrote, and a fine cover choice ("This is a Magnetic Fields' song we can't play").

If I was the Grand Canyon 
I'd echo everything you say 
but I'm just me, I'm only me 
and you used to love me that way 
so you know how to love me that way

The closing song hilariously came from personal experience. "This song is about the girl my boyfriend dated after me. She had long hair and a private jet."

Whoa, it's hard to compete with those two things.

Philly's Chris Kasper, a last minute addition to the show, played second accompanied by violinist Kiley.

He did a short set, singing songs about Carolina, about when you first move in with a lover and have no furniture and about seeing an ex on the street after you've broken up and pretending not to.

Tonight's main event was Jonathan Vassar's CD release, "Mercy for the Undeserving," a two-disc set, one of unreleased songs from ten years ago and another of new material.

Sixteen songs, two sister albums ten years apart. Kind of like twin sons of different mothers, a reference that dates me for sure.

Before he began singing, the lovely Anousheh turned around from her front row seat and warned us all that she always cries at Jonathan's shows.

Sad lyrics, spare arrangements, it's really a recipe for emotion.

An artist in the audience called out that Jonathan had on a cardigan, saying he'd gotten one, too, when he'd become a Dad.

It was immediately dubbed a "dadigan."

"I just learned tonight what hash tags are," Jonathan said by way of introduction. "I don't understand it, though, because that's a pound sign. Shouldn't it be a pound tag?"

The man raises a good point.

He dedicated "Houston Gone Again" to Elizabeth and commented that tonight felt like a Listening Room reunion being back in the old space "for all you Listening Room regulars and there's a lot of you here tonight."

I was sitting between two of them, one with his hands full of cookies and the other lost in thought about why men do the things they do.

After singing "Long Drive Home," Jonathan cracked wise, saying, "Hash tag thanks."

He called friend and fellow former Ophelia member Grant onstage to join him for a few songs and Grant's voice and mandolin add immeasurably to the evocative songs new and old.

Getting his harmonica into its holder, Jonathan shared, "I saw Kris Kristofferson this summer and he didn't become a full-fledged singer/songwriter until he was 34. And by full-fledged, I mean famous. So I figure I've got about two days."

Grant established his old man bragging rights by sharing that he hadn't known what hash tags were either, assuming that the pound sign meant that the writer felt strongly enough to pound on the table to make his point.

Who said musicians don't have a sense of humor?

After a touching "My Life is Not My Own," Jonathan asked for requests and Will, seated next to the teary Anousheh, asked for "Last Chance."

You can always count on Jonathan for beautifully heartfelt music done right and tonight it was even better given the nostalgic setting.

Church basement, low ceiling, twinkly lights, lots of familiar faces.

Toto, it's wonderful to be back at the Michaux house hearing music for the undeserving.

When I got home, I found a message from an out-of-town friend saying she was at Belmont Food Shop and to hurry over.

There I found three friends, the artist I'd seen twice already this week, and the bartender who greeted me by asking if I wanted the cook's plate.

Sadly, no, I'd already eaten. But it's nice to know that's my standing order.

But I joined in tasting some desserts - mint chocolate chip mousse and apple walnut crisp- and sipping Prosecco while '20s music played in the background.

Eventually the chef came out and when I refused the offer of a chocolate jalapeno, he told me to follow him.

Through the kitchen, past my favorite wooden walk-in to the backyard garden he took me, the better to show off his herbs and veggies.

Last time I'd been in his backyard, Belmont was only open for lunch and it was crowded with piles of stuff, some junk, some worthwhile.

Since then, inlaid terraces had been put down, a stone-encircled compost pile put in and an array of spot gardens added.

We talked about espaliered fig trees, aromatic lemon balm and the abundance of lettuces he'd grown and used this summer.

Talking about our recent stellar weather of warm days and cool nights ("Like desert weather," according to him), we eventually made our way back into the dining room and my waiting friend.

Some might think me rude to abandon them at the bar, but she knows me well enough to know that I am a sucker for a walk in a good garden, especially on a balmy October evening.

Hash tag good life.

Down Home Listening Room Reunion

It was like the old Brownies song, "Make new friends and keep the old."

After a two-month hiatus, the Listening Room returned tonight in fine form.

Walking in, the Romanian gypsy music chanteuse stamped my hand, the independent woman gave me a hug and the tweeting monster showed off her adorable thrift store skirt.

When I got into the theater to claim my seats, I found the dimpled M.C. on a ladder doing something official.

He hugged from on high.

My favorite J-Ward couple had already established a beachhead in the row behind me.

Life was good.

With everyone's Listening Room behavior a tad rusty after the break, the M.C. got laughs when thanking Apropos Roasters and their coffee "house call" service.

After an hilarious correction, he made that "home delivery."

The L.R. had an encore performance with Philly's Chris Kasper, whom I've seen a few times, including a command performance for just me, here.

Tonight he brought a different sound when he played electric guitar and utilized a pedal board, making for denser sound.

Starting one song, he abruptly stopped, saying, "I'm gonna change chords. Forget what you just heard."

Musical and funny? Irresistible.

Favorite lyric: "Find me when I'm older, My tongue a bit bolder."

During the break, I scored some King cake in honor of Mardi Gras before moving over to say hello to the scientist, who immediately offered me peanut M & Ms.

He has offered me chocolate at any number of shows and yet it was still unexpected. He even apologized for the lesser chocolate (it's usually some exotic dark chocolate).

You have to appreciate a friend who is never without the important things in life.

Moonbees played next and I thought their meditative psychedelia was a stellar direction for a Listening Room show to take.

Bassist Nate explained how he came to be in the band (by asking basically) and Clifton, long a personal favorite since Ilad, cracked wise about ignoring bass players,

Coincidentally, I'd seen both musicians play not long ago when I'd gone out for Romanian gypsy music.

Drummer Brian was poster-worthy and Gabe wooed ears with slide guitar.

The audience couldn't have asked for a better return show after a long two months without.

I'd hoped to get some girltalk in with the two cutest girls at the show, but they ditched me for their beds, so I headed to Secco solo.

There were only two couples there when I arrived, so I wasn't expecting much. Eventually another came in.

The music was set to She and Him on Pandora, although the pastry chef and I noted that it wasn't playing much besides She and Him.

Finally, City and Color came on and the music took off.

Atta girl, Pandora, you can do it.

Midway through my Domaine Brazilier Côteaux du Vendomois Rose, I overheard the latest arrivals mention "August: Osage County," which I'd just seen.

Now that I'm older and my tongue a bit bolder, I jumped right into that conversation. They'd seen it in NYC in 2008 and wanted to see it again here.

But of course. Turns out he's an actor in "The Lion King."

A hyena at that.

He and his mate had been at Secco last night drinking flights and had come back particularly for the Vina Sastre Flavus Blanco, a minerally white.

"Want to try some jaen?" the bartender asked when my rose was gone, offering up the Flavus and a grape I'd never even heard of.

And why not now that I had  this charming couple to talk to?

Since they're in town for the run of the play, they were eager for ideas on what to do and where to go.

As it happens, that's a subject with which I have some familiarity.

I recommended restaurants, venues, even events (Blood Brothers dj-ing 60s music, hello?) and they enthusiastically made notes on his phone for future reference.

We talked about his brother the playwright; we discussed the Elvis photograph he had seen in the back hallway of the Landmark.

I couldn't have asked for better company.

"You're a resource!" I was told after over sharing my opinion on the Jefferson, 3rd Street Diner and Amuse.

Yes, that's what they're calling me these days. A resource.

Or someone who can't keep her opinion to herself.

The way I figure, someone's got to help the hyenas who come to Richmond.

I like to think I'm qualified. After all, what are new friends for?

Be Here Now, Be Now Here

I didn't get kissed, despite tempting fate with garlic breath.

It didn't happen at tonight's "Trio of Troubadours" show at Sponge HQ at the Anderson Gallery.

As the man-about-town quipped upon leaving, "We got absorbed at Sponge tonight."

Come on, that's so bad we have to give him high marks for saying it out loud.

Sponge HQ is the studio of Hope Ginsburg, who teaches felt-making at VCU, so her top floor studio, with its bright green walls, houses felt objects and supplies, art books, a large aquarium and a beehive.

The beehive resides in a screened room at the top of six stairs within the studio.

The wooden box with its slanted sides is home to a good-sized honeycomb and scores of bees. Her beekeeping suit hangs on the outside of the little raised room.

What better place to enjoy a little folk music on a Sunday night?

A wall of windows gave us a view of the roiling sky that deposited next to no rain just before the show.

Attendees brought food to share, including the loveliest baba ganoush, which came with a warning from its maker, a devoted music fan, that serious garlic breath would result after eating.

The kind that would keep vampires away, she said.

"It's not like I'll be kissing anyone tonight," I told her, digging in.

"It always happens when you least expect it," she laughed. Pshaw, I told her I was looking for a garlic-lover anyway.

Hope had put a honeycomb in a bowl and the honey that dripped down from it was enjoyed by those who stuck a finger into the bowl to collect a taste.

She assured us that honey had antibacterial qualities, so we didn't have to worry about cooties (not that I was).

The studio had a window unit air conditioner which had to be turned off for the unamplified show, but the warmth didn't make its presence known until things were almost over.

Jonathan Vassar was up first and began with a couple of songs usually done with his band, The Speckled Bird.

"I don't know why I'm doing all these Speckled Bird songs," he wondered aloud. "The Speckled Bird is here, just without their instruments."

He did one song by his other side project, Ophelia, as well as a song I hadn't heard him play in ages, "See a Man about a Dog" and an even older song he'd written in high school.

That was for his parents, who were in the audience, but he proudly noted that he hadn't teared up at their presence for a change.

A seamless transition delivered Philadelphian Chris Kasper to the front of the room.

Having seen him before, I was looking forward to his set.

He admitted his affection for RVA and its music scene and noted that we should stop by his hometown and "See Independence Hall and have a cheese steak."

Chris is a good songwriter with an engaging voice and those hearing him for the first time were quickly won over.

He spoke of fans who recorded shows, "And it's nice to have the archives, but sometimes it's just about being in the moment. And tonight is like that."

Being there in the moment tonight meant we got to hear several songs as yet unrecorded, so our memories will be the only record of them.

In our 24/7 documented world, I really appreciated his emphasis on the here and now.

Chris brought his musical partner-in-crime Kiley up for a few songs and she added violin, vocals and dimples to the last few songs, excellent additions all.

Favorite lyric: "I will not turn my back when love is speaking."

David Shultz had drawn the closing spot by default.

As I was parking my car, I'd seen him walking down Franklin Street. Rolling down my window, I called to him.

"Excuse me sir, but don't you have a show to perform?"

He allowed as how a guy sometimes needs to clear his head and continued down the street.

But he made it back in time for his set, taking the front stool and asking of Hope if the bees were asleep for the night (they were, she said).

Jonathan provided harmonica and harmonizing for the first few songs, including an Ophelia number.

He covered Paul Simon's "The Obvious Child," inviting the audience to provide the drum parts (some did).

It was great; like Chris Kasper, he played new stuff to an attentive crowd before returning to established material.

Favorite lyric: "Just because you're losing your balance doesn't mean you're falling down."


Just because you spend the evening in a room with bees doesn't mean you'll get stung.

Take it from there.

The Long and Winding Road

Even when it's not stated, the first rule of the Listening Room remains the same.

And it wasn't stated tonight; the new Chris, who replaced the former Chris as emcee, neglected to remind attendees that there is no talking at the Listening Room.

But when you have two bands as hushed and beautiful as South China and Small Sur, people instinctively shut up anyway.

But just in case, I had brought my official badge of the Listening Room police, a birthday gift from a favorite couple. I was advised to consider mounting it on a sash for a feminine look. I'm considering it.

Upon walking in, I also fell into a discussion of the old "Perry Mason" show, of which I am a huge fan.

Give me '50s-era Los Angeles, an imposing attorney, his hot secretary and the big lug of a detective set to the most unsettling theme music ever composed and you've got some magnificent TV noir.

I was just amazed to find a kindred soul who appreciated it as much as I do. Who knew there were others?

But then I had to remind myself that I was really there for the music.

Portland Maine's South China made it easy with their set consisting of cello, accordion  and guitar with two voices.

It would be too simplistic to call them folk because they had an experimental edge to them, especially evident in the cello playing. It was a unique sound for the Listening Room, compelling but unusual.

They'd come down a day early to visit Hollywood Cemetery and were still adjusting to the heat. Imagine if they'd come during that last heat wave, the poor northerners.

Baltimore's Small Sur was up next and although I had heard them last night, here, I enjoyed them no less tonight.

A few songs in and the lead singer asked the audience if we had any questions.

"Did you play that song last night?" I asked. A friend had thought not when I asked her, but it turned out she was mistaken so I got public validation. Besides no on else was asking anything.

Tonight's show differed from last night's in that sax/guitar player Andy also played the piano on several songs, the Firehouse Theater conveniently having a piano stage-side and all. It was a lovely addition to their sound.

Like last night, the songs were romantically beautiful, full of imagery of entwined lovers and much longing.

Afterwards, I joined some friends in going to Sprout to wish co-owner Jamie a happy birthday and enjoy some Gatao vinho verde. It is the first day of summer, after all.

As we sat there talking about Best Coast and happy hours, I heard music start up in the back room.

A last minute show had been booked for Philly's Chris Kasper; when I went to check it out, he and a violinist were in the back room playing their hearts out and sounding terrific...for no one.

Which was a real shame because as someone who has seen him perform twice before, he's the kind of talent that deserves a roomful of listeners, like he had at the Listening Room when he played there.

Even so, I stood at the archway to the room listening to the well-crafted songs and beautiful harmonies, finally going inside and sitting down with my wine. It was a show for just me.

I felt obligated to apologize for the absence of Richmond's music-loving population, but they knew the show had been booked at the last minute and understood.

When they finished, he insisted I take one of his CDs and I was happy for the gift, both of the record and of the unexpected performance.

To quote a regular commenter to this blog, "It's a long road with many twists and turns."

I count myself as fortunate for how often that road puts me in a surprisingly interesting place.

Furries on Flashcards, Oh, My!

I didn't know what to make of the flashcards. They're teaching tools, right? Visual aids to reinforce words and numerical problems.

So it's spring break at VCU and the students are gone, which makes going to 821 Cafe easier because parking is possible. So I went for a quick dinner, had my usual black bean nachos and was reading the Travel section of Sunday's Washington Post when I noticed the girl a stool away from me was making flashcards.

She had a stack of 3 x 5" index cards and a black marker and she was methodically and clearly printing words or phrases on each card.

Douche bag. Furries. Ass cherry. Motherf*cker. Fag hag.

What? Just as I opened my mouth to ask the obvious, an immense woman took the stool in between us, saying with a smile, "Sorry to be all up in your grills," to us both. The flashcard-maker hastily put the cards away and the moment was lost.

I can twist this one around in my head endlessly and I still don't think I'll ever figure out to what purpose those flashcards were to be used. I will be curious (yellow) indefinitely.

Music at the Firehouse was next and it was a bittersweet occasion. Tonight was the last performance for the original line-up of Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird; mandolin/banjo player and vocalist Chris is moving to the Left Coast.

As always with this group, the show began exactly on time and with the Dish Dogs, a band from Harrisonburg. The name comes from all the band members having done stints as dishwashers in restaurants. Hell, if that's all it takes, every band in town could use "dish dogs" as a sub-title.

The flyer's description of Dish Dogs as folk, country and blues with a grin was apt. They were missing two players tonight, but put on an enthusiastic set with acoustic and electric guitars, bass and mandolin (or drums, depending on the band's preference).

There were songs written to cheer up friends who had been dumped, songs about girls who had done the dumping and even a mention of C.S. Lewis. It was all good fun.

Philly's Chris Kasper was next and oddly enough, I had seen him at the Listening Room last March 23, so it had been almost exactly a year. At one point, he said he was going to do a bluegrass song, qualifying bluegrass by saying the song was in the key of G and played fast.

He's a terrific songwriter with an interesting voice and once again, it occurred to me how well he would fit in with Richmond's folk scene.

Jonathan Vassar and Speckled Bird, along with the first two acts, were doing the third night of a three-night tour in the third month. Antonia mentioned that she had tried some Middlemarch jokes at the shows the last two nights, to no laughter. So tonight, she said, she was banter-shy.

"And they were funny, too!" she told the crowd.
"Yea, to English majors," Jonathan quipped.
"Ouch," Antonia said with a pout.

So we got no George Eliot humor, much to my disappointment, and I wasn't even an English major. What we got was the group's beautifully harmonious sad songs highlighted by Josh's eloquent cello playing and Chris' farewell mandolin and banjo playing.

Newcomers got to hear Antonia's knockout vox saw for the first time (the rest of us had been anticipating it from the start of the set) and Jonathan noted, "If we ever get famous, it'll be because of that. It's a gimmick, but I'm not above using my wife as a gimmick."

This from the man who can write a song based on a true story he only read about online, but never experienced, and make your heart hurt. In other words, they're all incredibly talented. And Chris will be as much missed by the audience as he no doubt will be by his band.

But enough about the sad stuff. What in the world could those flashcards have possibly been used for?

Starting Greek at Basilis, Ending Satisfied at the Listening Room

I got props from three different guys tonight and that's a damn fine showing for a Tuesday night, if I do say so myself.

I've said before that I blog for compliments, but sometimes the payoff isn't immediate, which only makes the eventual nod all the more satisfying.

Almost a month ago, a friend read yet another of my Listening Room posts and asked if he could go with me to the next one and naturally I agreed.

Another friend had also been swayed by my rave reviews of the experience and was planning to come.

Friend #1 and I began in Carytown to check out the new Greek restaurant, Basilis, for dinner.

The place is not elaborate, but that's part of its charm along with a menu that'll remind you of the Greek festival.

When we got there, they were down to their last order of one of the two specials, the Mahi-Mahi Souvlakia and it had my name on it.

My friend ordered the moussaka and we shared a spanikopita and a tiropita, craving that buttery, flaky goodness.

My stick o' fish was perfectly cooked and, with the green beans in tomatoes and pita, a practically perfect meal (it came with white rice, too).

My friend enjoyed his moussaka so much we had to sit around for 45 minutes before he had room for dessert, which we chose from the dessert case.

It was the fruit tart, but let me explain Basilis version; it was ladyfingers with whipped chocolate cream (like a light chocolate mousse) and a thin layer of tiny pieces of fruit in the center.

It was light and not in the least guilt-inducing, but not much like any fruit tart you might know.

Before we left, I went to the ladies' room, which turned out to be a lengthy process because of how I'd dressed for the evening.

In order to do what I needed to do, I had to unbutton first a jacket and then a sweater and then unzip my dress, because it had a split skirt I couldn't just pull up, and then remove two pairs of tights, black and magenta.

I felt like I was in there for days.

I tell you this only because I'm renowned for my fast bathroom visits, so I felt I had to tell my friend why when I came out of the loo as an explanation for my extended absence.

As I'm telling him, the guy behind the counter walks by us and says to me, "You're so cute," and walks into the kitchen.

Random.

Yet another example of a totally random comment from a stranger directed at me.

But it was nice, so I'll take it.

And then there was the Listening Room, with coffee from Apropos Roasters and coffee cake from Garnett's. We found seats and the music began with Paul Watson, a trumpeter I've seen on multiple occasions.

Tonight he had a guitarist with him and he played trumpet on some songs and sang on others.

At one point, Jonathan Vassar joined him on stage and the two of them puffed up their cheeks and made mock trumpet noises for part of the song, an impressive thing to watch.

By song #3, my companion turned to me and mouthed the word, "AMAZING," with a big grin, followed by a silent, "thank you."

Paul mentioned being tired of playing in bars where people are more interested in partying than listening to the music.

" But that's just me," he rationalized.

No, Paul, it's me and lots of other people, too.

After the first intermission, one of the organizers, Chris Edwards, announced the beginning of the second group's set by teasing his co-organizer.

"Jonathan Vassar, less talking, more sitting."

Can you tell that Chris usually works with children?

Hezekiah Jones, a four-piece from Philly consisting of guitar, lap steel, bass and violin with two members singing, captured the audience with a beautiful folky sound and compelling lyrics.

"This is called 'Cupcakes for the Army," lead singer Raphael said, "and it's about baking."

Or war, but we got his drift.

A couple of songs were written during the three blizzards this past winter and the resulting time stuck inside.

Midway through their set, my other friend, sitting in front of me, turned and mouthed, "WOW!" (Oh, I know.)

Last up was Chris Kasper and for most of his set, all but Raphael of H.J. joined him on stage, adding another dimension to his voice and acoustic guitar.

Chris mentioned how lucky he felt to find people he could stand on stage who could also play their instruments; this is apparently key to a good musical relationship.

They did a song of theirs currently getting a bit of airplay in Philly and acknowledged the thrill of it.

Favorite lyric:"Find me when I'm a bit older...and my tongue a bit bolder." (Oh, is that how I got this way?)

Both the friends who attended for the first time tonight came because they'd read my last four posts about this event and I'd somehow convinced them that they just had to experience the audio pleasure that is the Listening Room.

Sure, I could say I told (wrote) them so, but the real satisfaction is in having turned them on to one of RVA's hidden treasures.

It's all part of my top secret movement to convince the music-going public that the best way to enjoy a show is with their lips sealed and their ears wide open.

But I did tell them so.