Ask a Direct Question, Get a Direct Answer

Planning for a low-key evening only ensures the opposite.

After much debauching in New Orleans the past four days, I thought it best to get some culture, go to a quiet show and have an early bedtime.

So much for the best laid plans of mice and (wo)men.

A friend called up about meeting for wine, and it didn't require a second thought on my part to toss my plans to see "The Glass Menagerie" out the window.

I suggested a bite to eat first at Magpie, where the music was pure 70s and  80s. I have a feeling fifty years from now, the Cure will still be a mainstay on restaurant sound systems.

No doubt this surprises the members of the Cure as much as it does their 80s fans. Who would have guessed?

An amuse bouche of duck confit with a local cherry tomato vinaigrette was the perfect example of Chef Owen's cuisine.

I had the breaded sweetbreads with rosemary custard and a grilled peach. Even my non-adventurous eater friend liked the combo and the custard was truly impressive for its uniqueness.

She got the small plate special, lobster broth braised short rib with a sautee of hearts of palm, asparagus and leeks in escargot broth. The veggies cut the richness of the short ribs beautifully.

Since it was her first Magpie visit, she was happy to linger, but we had plans to go to Ballcieaux so we moved on.

There we waited for bar stools with a bottle of Gaillard Clemence Guery because nothing says low-key Tuesday night quite like a bottle of French bubbles (at half price).

My friend had heard from her sweetie on the drive over so we knew we might have company soon, so we got all our girl talk out of the way before he arrived.

I always enjoy the chatter when it's the three of us because he's such an eclectic guy and they so obviously are crazy about each other.

Then a friend of mine, a Brooklyn transplant, showed up and all of a sudden we were a foursome.

He'd come to see Fuzzy Baby, a personal favorite of mine, and a band that must be experienced to be appreciated.

RVA is indeed fortunate to have a duo blending humor, percussion and tuba in such a talented way. And thrift store tuba at that. Molly's tuba came from the same place my entire outfit had come from.

If I were going  to tell a newcomer which bands were essential for them to hear to begin to appreciate Richmond's music scene, Fuzzy baby would be one of them.

Meanwhile we had another addition to our group whom I'd met last week.

He's a body-rubber by profession although he seemed to prefer the term massage therapist.

But he was a great conversationalist and, like me, believed in the importance of honesty and directness, meaning we covered a fair amount of information two strangers don't usually.

If they ever decide to let me rule the world, this is how everyone will talk to each other.

I suppose it could be considered another method of natural selection because surely the weak will be weeded out.

The headliner was Monarchs from Alabama and there was a decent-sized crowd for them.

The honey-voiced lead singer had been at the bar earlier eating next to us and she'd had great energy and enthusiasm.

That came across in the music, which was melody-driven with tales of life and the oddness of it all.

It had enough interesting guitar and keyboards to grab me and take me out of the conversational pool for a while..

Back out front, the lovebirds decided to leave and I finished out the evening with the therapist and a new-to-me tequila.

I learned that Cazadores, a tequila of which I'm fond, is known as the favorite of Mexican day laborers.

Something new to add to my resume.

When the lights suddenly came on and it was clear it was closing time, I realized that my low key evening had ended up anything but.

I might as well have been back in that club bathroom in NOLA.

Clearly there's nowhere I can be that isn't where I'm supposed to be.

Maybe I need to write it on a bathroom wall here so I don't forget.

The last thing I was told before getting in my car was not to self-edit and don't you know I definitely did.

Being Turned On at the Camel

Guy: What do you want a shot of?
Girl: Um...uh...uhhhhhh...I want a shot of whatever.

Luckily, there were also musicians and Beatles fans in attendance at The Camel tonight in addition to shot seekers.

It was a late-starting show because of an earlier comedy show. It was after 11 when Lightfoot from DC took the stage, mentioning that it was their drummer's last night with the band before he leaves to seek fame and fortune in Hollywood. Seriously.

Fuzzy Baby followed them and made everything right with the world again. There's just something about the sound of a tuba and songs about instruments mating that makes a person appreciate the pleasures of Saturday night.

It was about 12:45 when Prabir and the Goldrush finally gathered their forces for the billed "I'd Love to Turn You On" show to include any number of Beatles' covers.

They did some original stuff first, including a kick-ass new song, before going back to the music of a band who broke up at least a decade before most of the people in the room were even alive. Just an observation, mind you.

It wasn't enough that they they were covering the Fab Four; they also had special guests join them throughout the evening. People like horn man Lucas Fritz, bar wench Melanie Rasnic, guitar player Kevin Wade Inge (of Horsehead) and Gallery 5 director Amanda Robinson all added to the musical mix.

When the tuning up portion of the show dragged on, Prabir explained, "All the songs we're doing, the Beatles never did live. Now we know why."

A sampling of what got covered: "Got to Get You into my Life," notable for Lucas' horn, a truncated "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band,"and "I am the Walrus," brilliantly executed on Kevin's guitar and with the audience helping out on the coo-coo-ca-choos, "Fixing a Hole," a personal favorite already, totally unexpected tonight and now memorable for Amanda's version, "Eleanor Rigby," always beautiful because of Matt's bass playing and a rip-roaring take on "Why Don't We Do It in the Road?" again by the awesome Amanda.

When the set closed, Prabir invited all the musical guests as well as Justin and Molly of Fuzzy Baby back up on stage for the final song. I was expecting "All You Need is Love" but instead we got the perennial Generation Z favorite "Bohemian Rhapsody."

We may have started in the 60s tonight, but we finished squarely in the 70s with the whole room singing along and swaying unevenly.

Proof positive that the Beatles' music lives on...and old Queen never dies, especially in a room full of people doing shots of whatever.

Guy: Here.
Girl: What is it? Doesn't matter. I don't care.

No Princes Tonight

Some evenings just make you feel like a warm muffin, you know, all happy and satisfied. This turned out to be one of those.

It started with dinner at Sprout with Andrew. Although I'd shared his birthday dinner with his friends last Friday, tonight was just the two of us doing our annual shared meal in honor of him. I applaud his ability to keep his birthday going; he's now five days in and still celebrating.

This wicked cold compelled us both to start with Charlie's chicken and potato soup, full of large chunks of chicken and skin-on potatoes floating in a lovely clear broth. I felt better about the cold with every spoonful.

For my main course, I had the sliced steak salad (salad greens and radish with mustard dressing), the meat perfectly medium rare and the freshest-tasting mixed greens possible in December.

Andrew had the grilled cheddar with sliced apples and didn't even offer me a bite, despite having nothing but superlatives to say about it. I let it slide because it was, after all, his sandwich. Dessert, in the form of raspberry cream puffs on a plate of chocolate sauce, disappeared in the blink of an eye.

I left to go to the loo and ran into a friend; we talked about last night's show which she'd missed and she kindly invited me to her Christmas party. I must have chatted longer than I realized because when I finally came out of the bathroom, Andrew was waiting for me with my coat in hand. Time to go.

And he was right because tonight was the Listening Room and smart cookies know to arrive in time to socialize (and get the good donuts, if you're so inclined) before the music starts promptly at 8. So off we went.

As I walked by the musicians' room on the way in, my friend Jameson called to me. He'd told me the other night that he wanted me (and 20 other people) to help with stage props during their set tonight. Eyeing the collection of stuffed animals on the table, he grabbed one and said, "You should have the beaver," causing the room to explode in laughter. Indeed I should.

Josh Quarles of the Speckled Bird went on first and it was a pleasure to hear him solo for a change. He announced that, "I'm going to be the boring one compared with the other two acts." Boring is not the word I would have used for his excellent songwriting and voice. He even did some looping to bring his cello playing into the room.

I have seen Jameson's band, Lobo Marino, before but I knew this was going to be a particularly colorful set. Jameson came onstage barefoot (with reason) and Laney looked like a movie star in a long gold coat over all black; Nathaniel was his usual handsome multi-talented self.

They did a few songs off the upcoming album (recorded with the oh-so-talented Dave Watkins recently) and then music off their stellar last CD, "Keep Your Head Up."

At one point, Jameson's need for bare feet became obvious when he used his big toe to turn on a power strip, which started two box fans with paper streamers attached and bits of paper resting on top. It was quite an effect as paper scattered and streamers blew around during the song.

When they got to "Animal Hands," it was time for the crowd participation. The cue was the line "Oh, my god" and it was then that stuffed animal-holders had been instructed to throw their fuzzies at the band. I was in the front row center, so it was no difficulty at all to lob my beaver directly between Jameson's thighs. Let's just say I was the one who exploded in laughter that time.

Mingling after that set, I ran into a friend who'd assured me he was coming to the Listening Room (silly me, I thought he meant at the beginning). Turns out he was late because he'd gotten drunk (at the office Christmas party) and then lost (having parked over by Crossroads Coffee by mistake and then hiked to the show). But better late than never. I invited him to join us in the front row.

The laughter continued with Fuzzy Baby's set. If you haven't experienced them before, you can't be prepared for just how unique everything about this duo is. They bill themselves as a two-person one-man band for starters.

Instruments? Guitars, cymbals, drums, tuba, clarinet, cowbells, tambourine, and a Brazilian drum played from the inside. A capella, whistling, harmonies. Songs about cheese, unrequited love, obsessive love, photo albums and one of Richmond's finest trumpeters, Bob (the already classic, "Chimpanbob").

Theirs is truly music to laugh along with, when you're not marveling at their musical talent. A photographer friend leaned over in between songs and said, "I can't believe he's keeping time like that" about Giustino playing drums, cymbals, guitar and singing all at once. Not to mention looking extremely dapper doing it.

And the stage banter! Giustino's witty repartee with the audience riffed on everything from Josh and Lobo Marino to living room practice sessions ("I always have a microphone pointed at my crotch"). Molly was the perfect foil, setting him up and batting him down.

The late arrival friend asked me afterwards if they always did the banter (they do) and if it was always the same (it never is, which impressed him no end). Walking out, I asked him if he wanted a ride back to his car. He did.

Before he got out of my car, he asked me what I was doing next. "Are you off to have a drink and talk to princes?" he wondered.

I said that I hadn't decided but that I might just go home. "And write a blog post at 11-something?" he asked, clearly not believing.

"It could happen," I told him. It did.

On Not Escaping Queen

How great is it when the hardest choice I have to make on a Saturday night is which show to attend first? Well, that and who's worth saving a seat for.

My decision about where to start was actually a no-brainer because the CD release party show at the Camel was for Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird. Speckled Bird vocalist/accordion player Antonia is also Jonathan's wife and when Antonia is involved, shows start on time, even in a town notorious for late-starting shows. We love her for this.

Knowing this, I began my night at the Camel, arriving early enough to score a front table (and even save a seat for a late-arriving friend who, when he finally arrived told me that saving him a seat was "the nicest thing anyone's done for me all year." That may be the best thank you I've had all year) and do some mingling before the musical magic happened.

It was then that one of my favorite musicians came over and said, "You know I stalk your blog, but what's the scoop on what's happening with you?" Fair enough; I do omit plenty of details, so I told her what was up lately and she was kindly supportive of my slow-moving pace. It was a nice shot of unexpected girl talk.

Low Branches kicked off the show after singer Christina had deadpanned to a few of us that, "We're doing some Queen and I'll be rapping." If you've ever heard her ethereal singing voice, that statement would be as hysterical to you as it was to me. Matt's drumming and guitar playing combined with her voice set the tone (and standard) for a beautiful night of music.

Zac Hryciak and the Jungle Beat played next and, honestly, I never tire of that beat. They'd added a second violinist, making for a much fuller sound, even as the crowd continued to grow in size. They're also in recording mode, hoping to be out in the spring.

By the time Jonathan Vassar and Speckled Bird played, the room was filled to bursting with friends, families and old high school buddies.

Antonia even acknowledged that, "I think I told a couple people that this is even better than a wedding," a statement which could be misconstrued, except that she explained what she meant about the assembled group (part of it was about alcohol being involved...but just a small part).

It was a true album release show, with the band playing the new one, "Signs and Wonders" in order, as if for consideration of the audience. The crowd clearly gave off an energy of devotion and admiration for the band as well as the excellent new material, with loud and enthusiastic applause after every song.

No question, it was a love fest. Camel owner Rand came up to me afterwards and said, "That was magic, wasn't it?" For devotees of Americana folk, thoughtful songwriting and mesmerizing harmonies, it was indeed that.

But like all good punctual shows, it was over at a reasonable hour, so a friend and I gathered our forces and went to Gallery 5 for the end of the Ghost of Pop 6 show. Since it featured seven bands, we felt sure that we still had time to catch at least two and maybe three. We were right.

I was pleased that we'd made it in time for Fuzzy Baby's set, because I love their unique sound and offbeat song topics. They're playing the next Listening Room ("No booze! No talking! It's going to be great!" Giustin told the audience, suggesting everyone come).

Those who had been there for Roctopussy's set (James Bond movie music covers) raved about what an amazing set we had missed. There was violin shredding! A French horn! Madness! I only hope they play again soon so I, too, can have the "Goldfinger" experience I missed tonight.

After Fuzzy Baby's set we ran into upright bass player extraordinaire, Matt Gold, of Prabir and the Goldrush, who was charmingly loopy but only slightly concerned about his ability to play next. I assured him he'd be fine, noting that his muscle memory would save the day. "Oh, you're a musician then?" he asked, his eyes lighting up at the thought that I understood. As if.

"No," I explained. "But I can talk to one." His concern was for naught because Prabir and the Goldrush played a rollicking set, ending with Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" and a crowd sing-along. One way or another, it looks like I was destined to hear Queen tonight after all.

Afterwards, a friend came up and asked if I wanted to go get drunk and ride the Bottom and Back bus with him tonight. Tempting as it sounded (and we consider ourselves soul mates since we show up at so many of the same places), I declined.

Later Andrew asked me if I would do it on another occasion, assuring me that the people-watching alone makes it well worth it. Not one to rule things out, I guess I'll have to put it on my bucket list.

Problem is that I always seem to be too busy to take the time to come up with the damn list...but I'm not sure that's a problem at all.

Brunchy Baby

Ordinarily I would avoid a restaurant in the first few weeks after it gets reviewed, leaving it to the newbies, but Ettamae's Cafe is a only few blocks from home and a regular destination for me, so I broke my own rule.

Part of my motivation for doing so was that Fuzzy Baby was playing during brunch today and they always put on a good show. So I bit the bullet, ambled over and found my little neighborhood spot filled to bursting.

I was kindly offered the one remaining table, but I couldn't live with myself if I took up a table by myself and then a four-top, or even a two-top, came in. So instead I took the stool in front of the register where people usually wait for to-go orders. Laura said it was just fine and that was good enough for me.

Fuzzy Baby was on a break when I arrived, so I chatted with Laura and watched the endless amount of egg poaching Matt was doing. The servers were going up and down the stairs non-stop ("How many calories do you think you've burned?" one waiting customer asked. "You can have all the stuffed French toast you want!" said another).

The corned beef sandwich isn't available on Saturdays, but the corned beef hash is and I'd been dying to try it because I'm such a fan of Matt's corned beef. With a couple of eggs, a bowl of fresh fruit and some thick toast, I couldn't have been happier on my stool in the sunny front window with the construction theater of 2 Street just outside.

The hash was every bit as wonderful as I'd expected it to be, flavorful and full of bits of beef. The fruit was a mixture of grapes, cantaloupe and the ripest pineapple I could have hoped for (pet peeve: I hate trying to eat unripe pineapple).

When I got to the point where everything was gone except some toast, I asked for jam and was given blackberry jam from Nana's Homemades. Bursting with the flavor of ripe blackberries, I slathered on a layer of jam thicker than the toast and savored every bite. Nana, clearly you know what you're doing.

When Fuzzy Baby came back to start their second set, it was as the Black Stripes, a White Stripes cover band. They even had the wigs and the red and white outfits for the look.

Their first three songs paid homage to the Detroit rockers (including "Seven Nation Army," a personal favorite...I love how much Jack's 7-string guitar comes off sounding like a bass line), then wigs were removed and they got back to the musical business of being Fuzzy Baby, always a pleasure to hear.

People continued to arrive practically non-stop while I was there, probably a combination of the recent review and, as more than a few acknowledged, to hear the band. It probably didn't hurt that it was a beautiful fall day to spend on the balcony, either.

Being so close to the register, I heard customer after customer rave about the food on their way out (although I didn't hear anything I didn't already know). It's gratifying to see that so many people are discovering the J-Ward joint with the Brooklyn vibe.

Given Ettamae's limited space, Laura was saying that their musical brunches will have to be limited to duos. Low Branches or Lobo Marino anyone?

As a big fan of both local music and Matt's food, I'd say either band would go great with that corned beef hash and the blackberry jam.

The Real Story, Part 2

Boy, what kind of a lame blogger purporting to "go on and on" writes such a vague and abbreviated post as I did last night? I've got no excuse other than how incredibly busy I was from the second I got up yesterday until I got home from Balliceaux at 1:30 and I was just ready to crash.

The fact is the evening had a little bit of everything I like, including great conversational partners both the expected and unexpected kinds. And then there was the poetry, the art, and the music.

Chop Suey was hosting poets Allison Titus and Julie Doxsee and it was as if the invitation to the reading only went out to a small group of poets and fiction writers...and me. It made for a very informal reading for an unusually low turnout, but I was just pleased, as always, to begin my evening with hearing poetry.

Allison began with some of her newer work, all office poems, each distinguished by their subtitle, including one about the Southside Unemployment office, a place she said she knew well. It was she who wrote the line mentioned in last night's post.

Julie said her book began as 56 letters to objects but turned into something more. She was on city four of a ten-city tour and beginning to experience mid-tour burnout. Favorite line: "Your body is a map of skin, more you than skin." By the way, I stole the title of last night's post from the title of one of her poems (it's a tribute, Julie).

Ghostprint Gallery's opening was in full swing when I arrived for Sterling Clinton Hundley's "Crew." The show is a combination of large scale paintings, in many cases paired with the much smaller black and white studies for those paintings. And while you can't compare apples and oranges, in some ways, I preferred the clean lines and monochromatic pallet of the studies, not that I wouldn't have happily taken home the painting "Winter Road" if it had been offered to me.

Several friends were already at the show, including one wearing the cutest little sweater dress she'd knitted herself. Honestly, it looked very much like something I wore in college, but inevitably in fashion what goes around comes around and she certainly didn't remember the style from last time around.

Waiting to meet my old Floyd Avenue neighbor for drinks, I overheard a couple of guys at the end of the bar discussing ordering White Russians. "You know my Kahlua is at my house," one offered. "And I even have organic milk." The other guy was having none of it and ordered his drink at the bar.

I ordered a glass of Domaine de Camplazens rose only to be told they were sold out of pink. In that case, I told the bartender, I'll have 1800. "Wow, that's quite a swing!" the bartender commented grinning hugely. It's pink or tequila lately, my friend.

The first thing my friend commented on was that I was wearing black, presumably because of my post the other night. I pointed out that I did have on a white skirt with a band of pink and red flowers, but he was right; I had reverted to black on top anyway. He said that thinking back to all those years we were neighbors all he remembered seeing me in was black...and I lived there 13 years. I really do need to work harder on this.

What we didn't realize back in those days was how similar our going-out outlooks were. Like me, he doesn't stay in when he could be out. He's working on a big new project and was soliciting my skewed viewpoint for it.

This naturally led to a dissection of the blogging community (he was a pioneer on the Richmond blogging scene) as well as the age-old issue of poorly written blogs. Our conversation was especially satisfying because, like me, he can discuss music and rave about Richmond endlessly.

At one point, a girl came over to say hello to him and he introduced us, using only my first name, which of course meant nothing to her. He then further qualified it by saying, "She's the I could go on and on blogger," and her face lit up with recognition. I continue to be amazed to discover strangers who know of me because of my blog.

He was funny, insisting on knowing what my first two stops had been and where my last stop would be. Maybe he couldn't wait for the post, probably a good thing since I was too tired to write it up last night.

And finally I ended up at Balliceaux for Fuzzy Baby, a band I had seen months ago at Live at Ipanema and really enjoyed. In fact, Guistino of FB was next to me at the bar and inquired as to why I was there. He was visibly impressed to hear that I was a return fan. It was his comment about his red polyester shirt that I quoted in the previous post. Molly, his musical partner, had on a red jumpsuit that, again, I think I may have worn in 1989.

I remember being impressed last time because they had played wine glasses. Tonight's instrumentation was limited to tuba, drum, clarinet, guitar, tambourine, bass and those beautiful voices, sometimes a Capella. Kicking off by saying, "We like to stimulate our audience," they played two excellent sets.

Once Giustino left my side to perform, he was replaced by one of my favorite local musicians, whom I am seeing everywhere lately. He'd told me his new goal was to "make the scene" more often and he must be succeeding because all of a sudden he's everywhere I am.

But he's a pleasure to talk to and I so enjoy his insightful musical perspective. I once had a boyfriend I could ask all my dumb non-musician questions of and lacking that now, it's nice to have someone who can explain musical things to me.

It's funny, though; he's the musician but he's been asking me for suggestions of can't-miss shows, so I suggested a couple to him last night. I may not always understand all the musical elements but I always know what I like and keep an ear open for what sounds interesting.

How else would I have anything worth posting about before I go to bed? When I can be bothered to go on and on, that is.

Invisible Sonnet

Among the highlights:

The reading: "This is how you might resume where you left off."

The art opening: Herd Study (cows reminiscent of an outdoor cafe) and Work Crew (oh, the scribble)

The former neighbor/blogger pioneer at Avalon: Blog talk, tequila and writing, the kind I do so well.

Music: "It's the polyester. My guitar is slipping and sliding. I practiced in cotton and it was fine."

Why bother you with the details?

Back in the Saddle Again

Isn't there some lame expression about how the best part of going away is coming home or some such nonsense? Sorry, but that's crap. But if you have to come back, it is good to be rewarded pleasurably for it.

Like having four people ask me why my blog was missing in action. Aw shucks, you noticed?

Or seeing my dog chow down like crazy after going on a hunger strike for the pet-sitter while I was gone. He's still a bit peeved with me for leaving, but at least his stomach isn't growling anymore.

Like meeting two restaurant friends for dinner in the neighborhood and being surprised with a gift of a dark chocolate truffle bar from Seattle Chocolates. Does this help explain why I love these siblings? Well, gifts and the conversation is always great.

And beef tenderloin with sauteed onions and mushrooms after three days of seafood. Yum.

Running into Alexa, former fellow employee and a photographer for the RTD, shooting pictures for next week's dining review. She couldn't resist ordering one of the dishes she'd photographed to take with her (the tequila shrimp); she said it was the first time she's ever been so tempted while shooting.

The monthly music recording for RVA news at Ipanema with Fuzzy Baby playing a nice, long set full of multiple instruments, lovely voices and glass playing (as in glasses partially filled with water). I only wish the crowd had been quieter (and shorter), but the place was packed and quiet is asking a lot of a crowd on a Thursday night. Thursday is the new Friday, or so they say.

If I had to come back to real life, it wasn't a bad way to kick off my weekend. Not bad at all.