Music to Gamble By

For some, it's their annual trek to Jackson Ward. For me, it's a day to hunker down and we all know I'm not the hunkering down type.

Of course I'm talking Broad Appetit, the food festival that draws bad parallel parkers, parents with enormous strollers and trashy people who don't hesitate to leave their debris on my neighborhood's sidewalks. A day that no sentient J-Ward denizen would dare move her car unless she wasn't going to return until after 6:00.

Oh, sure, I did my walk on the pipeline, carefully skirting the blocks devoted to the madness, but once back, you can be sure I spent the day at home reading the Sunday Post and my current book, Fred Astaire's memoir, "Steps in Time."

Which means that by evening, I was chomping at the bit to be among the living.

Since I was nearly at the end of my book, with plans to donate it to the neighborhood Little Free Library, I took it with me as I headed to Gallery 5 for Classical Incarnations. Since I only had a few pages left, I read as I walked the two blocks to the library. It was at the stop sign that a guy pulled up and from behind me, I heard, "Whatcha reading, sweetheart?"

Holding up my book, I explained that it was the dancer's 1959 look back at his career, although told in a pretty matter of fact manner. We were so busy chatting that neither of us noticed the car that had pulled up behind him until the driver honked.

Waving, he smiled and said, "I didn't want to bother you, but I had to ask," and drove off. I finished the final two pages standing in front of the library, deposited it for some other dance lover to enjoy and headed to Gallery 5, which, let's face it, I could walk to in my sleep.

It was a bigger crowd than I'd anticipated, so I wound up in one of the back rows where I could overhear everyone discussing their Sunday. One guy was sharing his city horror story of parking behind a car with a busted window, which apparently made him nervous enough to then move his car.

When he told the two guys he was talking to that he wasn't sure it was safe around here, I stepped in to tell him that I've lived here nearly 13 years without incident. All three marveled at that news.

Another guy was telling someone that he and his wife had tried to go to Mama J's before the show, but that there was a 50-minute wait. "Probably people from Broad Appetit still hungry," he guessed. No, sir, Mama J's is like that every single Sunday evening. Do I have to explain everything to these rubes?

And I shouldn't call them rubes because at least they were at Classical Incarnations, which is basically a classical music variety show deliberately set in a bar to make it more accessible. A small groups of musicians play, then there's a five minute break while the next act sets up and that goes on for about an hour and a half. It's an interesting (and probably less-threatening) way to enjoy classical music, plus it allows time for lots of bar breaks. Classical music without the attitude.

Let's just say that if you want to see the program, you're expected to look it up on your phone.

The evening began with a scene from the third act of a new opera, "MineRVA: Times Change," which takes place in Richmond (and opens this weekend). Labeled by our host as a blend of old and new music, one thing it wasn't was your Mama's opera. Meaning one character sung into her phone while at a coffee shop, which I'm pretty sure has never been done in an opera before.

Another sung about the app he'd created that turn thoughts into song, an app for which he was offered a billion dollars, which he turned down because he prefers that people still talk to each other. "It would be just another way to sacrifice your soul online!" he sang.

Needless to say, this guy was my hero. Accompanying the three singers were musicians from Jefferson Baroque playing guitar, harpsichord, bassoon and violin and, I gotta say, it was a distinct pleasure to hear a harpsichord played live at Gallery 5.

And just when I think I've experienced it all at my neighborhood haunt...

During the break, I heard a guy complaining that he'd wanted to hear certain bands at Broad Appetit, but after he'd eaten, they still weren't playing. So then he began drinking, but they still weren't on. "I don't know why I even went," he concluded. Um, for the food, sir?

Next up was Natalie, who'd been seated in the row next to me with her boyfriend, both of them conspicuous because of the large black "X" on their hands that precluded their drinking. She explained that it would be her last time playing Classical Incarnations because she was leaving for school in California. Sad crowd noises followed.

She was playing a Brahms piece on piano that she described as "contemplative and longing because they couldn't be together," making me wonder if it wasn't dedicated to the young man next to me as she heads off to the Left Coast.

Besides Broad Appetit, the other big topic during breaks was Galaxy Con, which had just ended a few hours earlier at the nearby Convention Center. "Whose autograph did you get? one guy quizzed another. After the guy rattled off names, his inquisitor demanded, "You didn't get John de Lancie's? What? Come on, he was in "Star Trek!"

I was half tempted to turn around and tell this guy that I not only had no clue who John de Lancie was but I'd never once seen a Star Trek movie or TV episode. The only thing that stopped me was not wanting to send him into cardiac arrest and delay the rest of the performances.

Next came a string quartet doing Schubert's "Death and the Maiden," which the cellist explained was written on the composer's deathbed. So you can see it was turning into a very upbeat evening. I kid because it was a gorgeous piece beautifully played.

Overheard during the break: a man says to his wife, "There's a line at the bathroom. Why aren't you in it?" as if she didn't know her own needs. Mansplaining of the highest order.

In an evening full of unusual performances, the next stood out. One musician played a baroque bassoon and the one in the electric blue socks played viola de gamba, an instrument I'd only learned about by going to a lecture performance at UR a few years ago. The duo was playing compositions by a little known composer named Jean Daniel Braun, or as it was explained by the bassoonist, "French dance forms with Italian names by a German composer." Now that's some melting pot for you.

The big finale involved our host, a classical guitarist, and a violinist (not incidentally, the Richmond Symphony's concertmaster) who'd chosen obscure works - because what these musicians love best about Classical Incarnations is getting to play rare pieces nobody's heard of - by Paganini. Seems the composer was part owner in a casino toward the end of his life and had composed music to be played there.

After they did three pieces, the audience rose to its feet and gave them a standing ovation. But guitarist Andrew held up a finger to indicate they had one last piece for us. Encore time, kids.

A guy in the row near me who was on his fourth glass of red wine called out, "Free Bird!" which may sound like disrespect, but it also speaks to Classical Incarnations mission: to take the starch out of classical music listening. Done!

Fortunately, the virtuosic duo did not deliver any Skynyrd, but rather one last Paganini piece to gamble by.

Walking home, I could hear the clanging of poles being dropped as the tents along Broad Street were dismantled. Parking spaces were available on every block and for the first time all day, there were no smells of cooking food. I'd made it out without once having to deal with that mess.

Best of all, no souls were sacrificed online in the making of such a lovely evening.

Autumn Nocturne

Stop already with the non-stop praise for how glorious autumn is.

After three days of low humidity, highs in the 70s and lows in the 50s (tonight 46!) Richmond is acting like it's deep November.

I overheard a mailman yesterday talking on his phone as he worked his route and he was incredulous. "You wouldn't believe it here! It's sunny and 65 and they're walking around in hoodies and jackets," he told someone, implying that it was time to stop the madness.

Meanwhile, I'm still wearing a t-shirt and shorts and slathering on sunscreen before my daily walk. And I'm certainly still hot and sweaty when I finish, something that won't be the case come January (insert small sob for the fact that January is coming).

All the windows in my apartment have been lowered to quarter mast at night - depriving me of the sounds and breezes of the city - although I'm still able to raise them fully during the shank of the afternoon.

By late afternoon I was driving country roads to a farm for an interview, but also taking in the bucolic views as if I were just out joyriding in the sticks. All I needed was a piece of straw to chew on.

Yep, it's looking like fall out here alright.

Most interesting part of the farm was the horse cemetery, now over-planted with corn. I found it touching that farm animals have their own plot when it's time to go to that great barn beyond.

It was going on sunset by the time I returned to the city, a bit dustier but with lungs filled with county air. That meant that the temperature was also dropping quickly in that annoying way fall has. It's only October first and I'm already wearing leggings and a jean jacket, for crying out loud.

Dr. Faustus didn't sell his soul to the devil for knowledge, friends. Au contraire, he wanted endless summer.

Yes, yes, I know it's all relative. When I mentioned to my interviewee that summer should get a speeding ticket, she looked at me like I'd grown two heads. "Summer lasted forever!" she claimed. "I thought it would never end!"

If only it didn't have to. Now we're looking at heating bills and long nights and more clothing. Remind me again what's appealing about that?

With limited time before music, dinner needed to be quick and 821 Cafe not only fit the bill but cheered me up with my favorite black bean nachos at the same time. The place was quiet, in fact quieter than I've seen it in years and the TV screen was off, making for a relaxed yet cozy Sunday night vibe.

I'm devoted to 821 anyway, but I rarely get to experience it in such a low key atmosphere.

Classical Incarnations was at the Hof and already in progress when I found a seat in a room heavy on the middle age crowd and lighter on the millennials, the latter no doubt the target demo for classical music in a bar setting.

I've been going to Classical Incarnations since it began nearly 5 years ago, not every month, but often enough to appreciate small groups of classical musicians playing whatever the hell they choose to.

Like the magnificent Sonata for Flute and Piano by Otar Taktakishvili that drew spirited applause for its uniqueness and beauty. Or the rousing polka played by a brass quintet, the kind of thing suited for a German beer hall. The musicians invited the crowd to dance, but no one took them up on it.

On my way to the back at intermission, I was grabbed by a favorite couple I hadn't noticed was there. They claimed I was trying to avoid them (never!) when really I hadn't bothered looking around very hard while the music was playing.

They were just bringing me up to date when the Man About Town appeared and joined the conversation. Next thing you know, he's showing off his Ben Franklin profile and talking about why it's not worth working as a movie extra for a mere $50 a day.

A fellow Psychedelic Furs fan who'd spotted me last night (though I never laid eyes on him) made the point that they're always worth seeing, no matter the frequency. Clearly we both like frequency.

I heard about my friend's trip to the hospital after becoming dehydrated playing soccer and how his doctor had told him he was borderline obese. His wife seemed to think that he over-estimates his good health and was finally learning that he had no choice - no beer, no bread - but to start paying attention to it.

Translation: what a drag it is getting old.

But I tell you, it's not half the drag that is fall rolling in every year and harshing summer's mellow. Said no one ever, except for yours truly.

Fortunately, summer is a state of mind. Mine.

Yours in Acceptable Humor

We're pretty sure it's not about you. You're cool. ~ a musician friend, referring to Dadmobile's new hit single, "Caring Ain't Cool."

Wordplay, like the lobster and leek quiche I had during a late lunch at Can Can earlier, is simply irresistible.

My only walk of the day took me to Balliceaux for Classical Incarnations' latest installment, "Night of the Living Composers," some of whom played their own music, some who interpreted others' and one who suggested we download an app so that we could contribute sounds to his composition.

Even some of those with devices, like my social companion, opted out of going the app route and instead, like me, just experienced the piece as pure audience.

Looking dapper, Walter Braxton performed the fourth movement from his Dance Suite, a piece that took him nine years to write. Tonight his opus was having its world premiere to a packed house.

An earnest-looking guy named Niccolo improvised on a medieval fiddle played viola de gamba-style and French horn player Kristen played Tonia Ko's piece, "Glass Echoes," tied into sexual assault issues, but also proceeded by a customer dropping a drink, making for the sound of breaking glass.

Robert's "Meditations" were notable for their restraint, for the lack of music played by harp, viola, cello and flute in many sections. The funny part was that such a minimalist composition was also accompanied by the noise of a kitchen cleaning up and closing down, sounds that were particularly obvious during so many quieter moments.

Dressed in a diaphanous black crop top and pants, vocalist Nicole looked fabulous, so I took the opportunity to compliment her ensemble, especially how she'd mixed decades with the genie-like disco outfit over stiletto pumps, a completely un-1970s shoe style.

"Really? I didn't know," she gushed. "My boyfriend's mother gave me the shoes." Not period appropriate, but then, isn't it the beauty of today that a stylish person can draw from multiple decades, much the way musicians can for a final product that is an all-encompassing pastiche rather than an imitation?

Yet another mash-up was a woman who used her computer to draw - which we could see on the wall behind her - while a music clip played of her reading a spoken word piece written in middle school about trying to figure out her truth as an artist and person.

Never in my life could I have conceived of such a thing, much less executed it in front of a crowd. Yet people think I'm cool?

I'm pretty sure it's as easy as being there for a Sunday night show of living composers that's fooled people into singing my praises.

Next up: dynamic, highly intelligent, refreshing. Why not shoot for the whole enchilada?

Sunny and Good Crescendo

When people ask me about my religion, I admit to being a heathen, with the qualifier that I see no need for organization when it comes to belief systems.

Then I usually joke that for me, walking outside every day is equivalent to a weekly service inside a building with a bunch of strangers.

I saw a lot of people who prefer the more conventional religious route as I headed to Carytown this morning, passing the throngs on their way to mass at Cathedral of the Scared Heart.

If they'd asked, which they didn't, I'd have told them I was on my way to worship at the church of live music, today's Mozart Festival celebrating the composer's 258th birthday.

The first event of the festival was at Alternatives boutique on this sunny, cold morning and I walked in to find all kinds of familiar faces, the conga player, the handsome bass player, the former neighbor, the scientist/musician involved in coordinating the festivities, who said he was surprised at the size of the crowd, having expected a half dozen people at best so early on a Sunday morning.

It wasn't long before he excused himself to "get a few snaparoos" and I moved closer to get a better view of the quartet about to play.

Ellen of Classical Revolutions welcomed everyone to the kick-off of the Mozart festival and thanked AlterNatives for being the presenting sponsor and making it all possible.

Against a backdrop of jewel-colored scarves and bejeweled wall hangings, the foursome began with Mozart's quartet #14, which Ellen had described as sunny, a perfect beginning for the day and the festival.

Turning the page literally and figuratively, quartet #15 in D minor, she said, wasn't as sunny but, "Mozart couldn't help himself and the sun comes out halfway through this piece."

It wasn't quite Mozart for Dummies, but it was nice to have some insider information for each piece.

A minuet from the same piece followed after an explanation that it was usually the first Mozart piece Suzuki students learn. "It's in book seven of ten because Mozart is hard!" Ellen said.

Afterwards, the symphony librarian observed that, "People don't know when to clap with classical music," so he led them, saying in an aside to me, "Now they'e all thinking, hey, I didn't hate hearing classical music!"

He, I might add, looked very smug about that.

What's to hate about hearing live classical music in a colorful boutique, especially when doughnuts are being served?

Some of us would call that a religious experience. And then we'd still go home and take a walk to see what else might drop from the sky.

But it was a fairly quiet walk with few people outside except for the ones I saw in their church clothes going into Mama J's Kitchen, the happy looks on their faces probably as much a function of where they were headed as where they'd been.

Rounding the corner from Leigh Street to St. James on my way back, I immediately heard the call and response coming from inside the Miracle Church of Our Lord Jesus Christ of the Apostolic Faith.

Moving from stained glass window to window, I realized that the congregation's role was clapping and a big "Ahhh" after every ecstatic line the pastor said.

You're gonna get up in the morning!
Ahhh!
You're gonna read the word of god!
Ahhh!
Of our savior Jesus Christ!
Ahhh!

I'm gonna stand outside your church and listen to the testifying that is the sound of Sunday music in Jackson Ward. Ahhh!

But then I'm going to drive back to Carytown to go hear another installment of the Mozart Festival, this time Operatic Incarnations at Plan 9.

When I arrived, there were fewer than 20 of us and by the time the program ended, there must have been at least 60 or more. On stage were cardboard cut-outs of both Mozart and Daft Punk, an apt metaphor for the crowd.

I found a prime spot in front of the new releases (Mogwai, Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings), next to a fresh-faced kid wearing a Maggie Walker Governor's School hoodie and prepared to take notes in his Chorus notebook.

With a pianist to accompany them. a succession of soloists, duos, trios and quartets took the stage to show off Mozart's operatic talent.

They began with a quartet doing the opening from "The Magic Flute," three girls in black boas fighting over one boy laying on the floor.

Glancing at the student's notes in pencil on lined notebook paper, I read, "very good vowels," proof enough that he knew what to look for.

A duet from "Marriage of Figaro" concerned two women trying to trap one of their husbands in the act of betrayal and they even acted it out a little.

We got a solo from "Don Giovanni" about how much he loved her and during a solo from "Marriage of Figaro," I spotted an older woman near me mouthing every word.

Sure, I'd seen several people I knew - DJs from WRIR, the man about town, the filmmaker/artist- but there were also many people who were serious opera fans.

Another "Figaro" piece sung by a woman in the part of a 13-year old boy who wants to talk about love with everyone he meets elicited the student noting, "Good consonants, good crescendo."

Throughout the performance, people would be walking by Plan 9 and either hear the music or see the people onstage and pause to look in and listen. Many then decided to come in while some kept on going, a shame considering there was plenty of room and it was free.

After another "Figaro" aria and then duet, the pianist gathered up her music to leave as the next singer came onstage.

"Uh, my accompanist is at the petting zoo right now," she explained looking crestfallen, but the talented pianist sat back down to play for her.

Explaining that she was doing an aria from "Magic Flute," she said it was the part of the queen of the night. "She's evil and she's evil because she's single. Sorry, that was Mozart's interpretation."

I'm here to say that we no longer have to be evil just because we're single.

Some of us may be godless, but we're also thrilled when there's a Mozart Festival going on all day long.

I've heard there'll be snaparoos to show you what you missed, but you really had to hear it to believe it.

Best of all, I'm pretty sure a bad-ass new Richmond tradition was born today. Ahhh!

Last of the Romantics

As if this unexpectedly balmy weather isn't enough to make a girl swoon, there was romance the whole night long.

Classical Revolution RVA was doing an evening called "Romantic Incarnations," so I dug up a (couple) date; left my windows open and met them at Balliceaux.

With a bottle of Domaine de Rome Sancerre and seats near the back, we were ready to hear music from the Romantic period as well as just plain romantic music.

And, let's face it, few words are as subjective as "romantic."

But Holmes and his beloved know music so I think they'd have enjoyed their first Classical Incarnations no matter what kind of music was played.

We'd missed the very beginning of the show, walking in on Alex playing violin to Debussy's "Beau Soir," followed by Stephanie singing an aria to organizer David's piano.

Andrew and his classical guitar got the award for Best Costume, coming onstage with his shirt collar up and tie unloosened, saying, "You may have asked yourself, why is he wearing his tie so ridiculously."

Seems he was emulating the look of composer Francisco Tarrega. "Google him and you'll see in the first picture that comes up. I wanted to present in the style when it was composed."

Okay, so I did look it up when I got home and he was right.

Like many other Romantic composers who incorporated their country's folk music into their compositions, Tarrega's "An Arabic Caprice" had a decided Muslim-sounding element.

At least until the guy in the bathroom near our seats dropped the toilet lid and it reverberated right to the fifteen-foot ceiling in there.

On the other hand, this is exactly what Classical Revolutions set out to do: put classical music in a relaxed bar setting instead of a concert hall.

Talking, moving around and probably even lid-dropping are all fair game, and by those standards, tonight's crowd was fairly sedate.

During intermission, I checked in with Holmes & Co. to make sure they were enjoying themselves, but then how could any music-lover not enjoy a free night of classical musicians choosing their own music?

An anniversary card was being passed around because tonight marked the end of Classical Incarnations' first year, a cultural milestone.

David came out alone to do a technically demanding Chopin scherzo, all flying fingers and, if you ask Holmes, excess of bass.

I don't presume to hear such things.

We saw two classical guitarists from VCU and a violinist named Nathan who did a lullaby written by the man he called "the czar of violinists" and for his son, Antoine.

Holmes, ever the card, leaned over and observed sotto voice, "If I were up there to play my viola, I'd tell a few viola jokes first."

I thought that was pretty hysterical.

Classical guitarist Andrew returned to give a shout-out to VCU's school of music, commenting on how many VCU alums and students were performing tonight.

"We're so lucky to have VCU in our city," he reminded everyone.

He was finishing the evening with three pieces, but first he explained to us why Liszt was the original rock star.

He was a notorious home-wrecker. He had amazing chops, touring Europe to great acclaim. He organized the first benefit concerts for earthquake relief, and then referenced Live Aid, although I'm not sure he was born yet.

I'd say Andrew made a pretty good case for Liszt.

His final song was one he said he'd learned just last night. "This last one will be short and sloppy and for that I ask your forgiveness."

As discussed with my crack team of a date, we only heard short, not sloppy.

"So that's it. We're done," David said unceremoniously to let us know it was time to exit, stage right.

It was a tad jarring after all that high quality romancing we'd just had.

But since it was still early, Holmes and the near-Mrs. invited me back for some left coast bubbles he'd recently picked up.

Treveri brut rose was not only looked like the most gorgeously feminine of pinks, but tasted that way, too, with lots of strawberry and just enough crispness.

I was invited down into the man cave, where the music, the bar and the comic book collection dwell along with the dust of ancient civilizations.

Holmes was in charge of music, although he also took requests and moderated discussions about song tempos (see: "Layla," "After Midnight" et al) when required.

Necessarily, the music followed Holmes' curve, coming as it did from his CD collection, so Byrds (I do love a twelve-string guitar), Gene Clark, Patty Griffin, that ilk.

The most unusual request came from Beloved and was for a CD of music that was played during the Kennedy years in the White House, stuff like Pablo Casals, Mahalia Jackson and Count Basie, something she'd picked up at the VMFA.

It even included the overture to "Camelot," which has one of the most romantic songs ever written.

But if I'd ever leave you
It couldn't be in autumn
How I'd leave in autumn, I never will know
I've seen how you sparkle
When fall nips the air
I know you in autumn
And I must be there

Drinking pink bubbles and listening to more romantic music, now that's the way you keep the evening's theme going.

Even solo.

Into the Week Gently

What could be better to wind down with on a Sunday evening than a little classical music?

Balliceaux was hosting the monthly Classical Incarnations, a chance for musicians to play solo or in duos or trios.

I've learned to arrive early enough to get a table because the room tends to fill up and it's not a long event.

Tonight, my partner in crime and I were the first ones in, scoring a front table and a dessert that looked like a giant cupcake with strawberry mousse on top and a blueberry filling.

But we were in the minority eating sweet since most people seemed to be getting fries to munch on while listening.

The music began with two violinists doing a Telemann piece with violinist Ellen explaining that while they'd be playing the same music, they wouldn't be playing it at the same time.

"It works because Telemann was brilliant," she said and listening to the piece, it was clear she was right.

Classical guitarist Leah came next, a familiar face since I'd recently seen her play as part of Fado Nasso, a Portuguese fado group.

Tonight she was talking about her Kickstarter (she wants to study in Seville) and playing a couple of her own flamenco-influenced compositions, one accompanied by another classical guitarist.

David played piano for three early 20th century French pieces before showing us his lighter side.

"I did this last time and I'm going to try it again. Someone give me a tune and I'll make a song out of it," he challenged.

A guy at the bar sung out "Menomena," to which David asked, "Sesame Street?" and returned to the piano for an upbeat little ditty that took "menomena" in all kinds of poppy directions.

Daryl took the stage with an electric guitar, something new for Classical Incarnations.

Explaining that it was the centennial of Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring," he explained that he'd reduced the groundbreaking orchestral work for guitar.

Yes, sir, I'd say reducing 44 musicians' parts to one guitar was a hell of a reduction.

Saying he planned to debut the full work on May 29th, the anniversary of the first performance in 1913, he said he'd usually chosen the solo voice when transcribing the piece, although occasionally he'd used his favorite instrument instead.

"Please," he said, smiling, "No rioting,"  a reference to the near-riot caused 100 years ago.

His hands flew all over the strings, recreating the sounds of all those instruments as he played the first three parts of the piece.

It was a very cool experience, very different than the usual at Classical Incarnations, and yet perfectly fitting, too.

And no rioting was had.

During intermission, I chatted with the resident photographer, who's also the man from whom I took a class in understanding jazz, and the handsome bass player who never fails to tell me he's glad to see me.

I don't dwell on whether he means it or not.

The second half was far shorter, and began with Ellen on violin and Bill on cello and moved onto pianist Russell with a singer doing a sad French song

The set closed with pianist Russell, violinist Ellen and singer Lisa doing a Rachmaninoff piece, surely a treat for Russell given Rachmaninoff's piano-centric compositions.

Lisa read us the translation of the lyrics beforehand ("Because they're so beautiful," she said, meaning sad), although the ache in her voice would have told us all we needed to know.

It had been a satisfying evening of varied music and when I went to leave, the bass player tried to guess where I was going next.

That remains to be seen. And probably not told.

On Passion and Reason

Ho hum. Just another matinee of a Pulitzer Prize finalist at my local theater.

I'm kidding, of course.

I was thrilled to be at Virginia Repertory to see Cadence Theater's production of "Sons of the Prophet, part of the Acts of Faith Festival.

The story, a black comedy (or maybe just a drama-comedy) centers around two brothers whose father is killed at the beginning of the movie.

The best memories are all fictional.

Their aging and opinionated Uncle Bill moves in with them.

Joseph has un-diagnosed, crippling  pain in his legs.

He and his brother Charles are both gay (what are the chances, everyone wonders).

His female boss is an addictive personality obsessed with writing a book about his family because they are supposedly descended from poet Kahlil Gibran.

What's Lifetime movies? 
Television for women.

And it all makes for a glorious play where people talk over each other (like in real life) and bad things happen to good people (also known as life).

Anytime you try to put truth on paper, you get fiction.

Segments mirroring chapters in Gibran's "The Prophet" - "On Pain," "On Home, "On Friendship"- tell the story as the family copes.

Where you're dropped off in the world is everything.

The cast was stellar, with some of Richmond's best and some of its best up and coming actors coming alive on the tiny TheatreGym stage.

It seemed like Ryan Bechard as Joseph was on the stage practically every minute, playing a frustrated 28-year old trying to figure out what life had handed him. He did lust as well as he did pain.

The always-stellar Alan Sader was just the right mix of old-world and old man adjusting to the loss of his brother and having to go to the bathroom in a converted closet.

DJ Cummings as the younger brother Charles got my vote for best offhand delivery of his lines, making observations to the faces of other characters with no apparent filter. Hysterical.

The versatile Jacqueline Jones played a host of roles, funny, empathetic, gossipy and disdainful. And her black curly wig was magnificent.

Evan Nasteff played the TV reporter who comes to get a story with a mix of resolve and humor and some excellent butt-grabbing when it was called for.

No one's life should be about finding stability.

The play was short and because it was a story with no resolution, it wound up before I was ready for it to end.

I've little doubt that the Pulitzer Prize jury felt the same.

And considering that it just played off-Broadway last year, this theatergoer feels incredibly fortunate to have a top-notch production of it here so quickly after it closed in the Big Apple.

And I just may have to adopt the play's last line as my motto.

If you do it in time to the music, it goes faster.

What part of life couldn't that be applied to?

I have to give Cadence credit; yet again, they've produced a play I will be recommending my friends go see as soon as possible.

And I'll warn them not to come looking for a neat little play tied in a bow and handed to the audience because "Sons of the Prophet" is so much more interesting than that.

Afterwards, there was a break before tonight's music, so that got solved neatly by parking once and partying twice.

Upstairs at Pie, we found Evan, the actor who'd played Timothy, tending bar with his music blaring.

Given the afternoon, I found his choice of Franz Ferdinand's "Matinee" particularly appropriate.

I chose a Pacino pie (covered in onions, spinach, bacon and Parmesan) just about the time that the actor who'd played Joseph walked in, sitting down at the bar with a drink and his cigarettes and answering questions from strangers about what roles he'd played for Richmond Shakespeare.

Asking for behind-the-scenes dirt, about the best we got from Evan was about pre-show dance parties in his dressing room.

I correctly guessed that Justin Timberlake was part of that mix.

Well, that and Jacqueline knits a lot backstage and DJ is an old soul in a young man's body.

Limited dirt, in other words, but fine pizza-eating conversation.

From there it was a short walk across the street to Balliceaux for Classical Incarnations, with musicians playing in small groups the classical music of their choice.

It's a chance for longhairs to let down their hair, sort of.

Until they began, the speakers blared the Ramones and the Clash, perfect pre-classical music my companion, a friend and I agreed.

We got there in time to score chairs, a good thing, since many people ended up standing or sitting on the cold floor for the entire show given that it was the biggest crowd I've ever seen for one of these nights.

Things got off on a high note with Richmond Symphony pianist Russell Wilson and trumpeter Victor playing the evocative "Night Songs."

I've known Russell since I took a series of jazz classes from him years ago at the VMFA and he's one of my very favorite musicians for his sweet nature, ever-present camera and amazing skills on the ivories.

A trio of guitar, cello and soprano had to wait for the sound of the deep fryer to stop before they could start.

Band photographer PJ was there at the musicians' request, shooting their sets the same as he does punk and indie shows.

There was a good-sized contingent present from Fredericksburg beginning with a violinist who played a Bach piece and got a loud, "Yes, John!" when he finished.

Russell came back with a vocalist for "Je te Veux," chosen, the singer said, because of Valentine's Day.

Tom came out with his bassoon to play two movements of a Bach flute piece.

"Not that much good music is written for bassoon, so we have to steal it," he said with a grin. "I hope by the second part you'll be tapping your feet."

It was a worthwhile theft and by the second part, I saw three sets of feet tapping besides my own, and at the end, a guy yelled, "Get it!" in support.

Oh, he got it alright.

There was a break for everyone to refresh their drinks and mingle, during which a sax-playing friend walked up and said, "Glad you're sitting down."

It was a reference to my fainting spell the other night, but it was also pretty funny.

Like me, he was bummed to have missed hearing Snowy Owls cover My Bloody Valentine.

During the intermission, I heard a guy say, "If I have a friend come into town this is where I take him."

High praise indeed for Balliceaux.

The Richmond Guitar Quartet was made up of three guys (and one on a seven-string guitar) and one woman in a sea foam green floor-length dress.

I didn't ask.

First they played English composer Frank Bridge's "An Irish Melody," explaining that it would like a deconstructed version of a song ("Like a puzzle you have to put together") that showed bits and pieces of the melody and only came together near the end.

So you can imagine my surprise, being a musical idiot. when I recognized what it was about 20 seconds in.

Maybe it was my Irish heritage, but picking out "Danny Boy" was as easy as drinking.

They did a couple pieces from Bizet's "Carmen," noting an empathy with the bassoon player's dilemma - not a lot of classical music was written for guitar.

 Next up was a cellist I recognized not just from another Classical Incarnations, but from indie band Ocean vs. Daughter. The moving piece was a tribute to a loss and to friends.

The night ended on a lovely note with a string quartet doing the third movement of a Mendelssohn work and one written on his honeymoon.

It was every bit as beautiful as you'd hope music written at that point in a talented man's life would be and a fitting finish to a standout day.

I heard today that where you're dropped off in the world is everything.

Get it, Richmond.