Keeping True

Go away for a week and you've got a lot to make up for.

Stop one was the recently revamped Perly's, where I walked in to find a music-loving friend at the counter and sat down next to him.

Like me, he was fueling up before hitting Fall Line Fest shows tonight but we began by taking stock of the redone but still recognizable space.

Considering that it's mostly the same (the configuration), it's also very different in feel (a Jewish deli now).

I was particularly enamored of the paper place mats with the menu printed on them while he was impressed with the beer selection.

He was having a svelte corned beef sandwich (which was still pretty thick) but I swear my deli salad - chopped lettuce topped with chunks of pastrami, rolls of turkey and strips of salami, swiss, hard cooked eggs and a little too much Russian dressing- had more meat on it.

We'll call it a manly salad.

After dissecting the shows I'd missed and he'd seen at Fall Line Fest last night (Death, Matthew E. White), I left knowing I'd see him later at a show.

There was no way I was missing Potty Mouth, an all-girl punk pop band from Massachusetts, or the chance to see them with my cute friend at Gallery 5.

We stood right in front of the stage, waiting through bottled water being brought to the stage and drummer Victoria tying her shoes before the band could start.

After the first song, "Kids," singer Abby said, "I forgot to take out my ponytail. How can I have any fun like this?"

We all know punk requires flying hair, assuming you have it.

With that, she let down her long, blond hair, leaving it to hang in her face and move around as she sang and played guitar, not so different from Victoria's covering her face the whole time she drummed.

Some say you made a mistake
Well, you can taste my heartache
How does it taste?

Their set was high energy and I can only hope they were having as good a time as it looked like they were.

Inviting my friend to leave G5 for the National, her only request as that I drive.

When we stopped in front of Gallery 5 for the light, the girls of Potty Mouth were out front loading up their vehicle.

Never one to be shy, I called out to bassist Ally to tell her what a great show they'd put on, insisting they come back soon and play a longer set.

It never hurts to let one's admiration be known.

At the National, we were all kinds of surprised to find parking a snap, meaning not nearly enough people were inside.

After taking up residence in front of the sound booth, always my location at shows there, I saw a few friends, but not nearly as many as I'd expected.

Ditto the band, Sweden's Mary Onettes, which amounted to one guy instead of four.

"I was supposed to have my band withe me but they're busy wrestling ice bears in Sweden," singer/guitarist Philip explained.

I liked his sense of humor already.

But even if he hadn't had that, I'd still have been a sucker for the band's dream pop, which he performed using guitar and voice to recorded tracks by the rest of the band.

It may not have been ideal, but it still sounded great, echoing a lot of '80s bands' sounds I loved with songs such as "Everything, Everything," "God Knows I Had Plans" and the aching "Once I Was Pretty."

Everything I've ever done was a part of promising you and keeping true
Everything you've ever said is recorded in my heart.

Yep, I ate it all up with a spoon. I could have listened to them all night.

Instead, Philip introduced Amanda Mair, also from Sweden, who sang back-up for one Mary Onettes song and then did a set of her own of emotional piano ballads.

She reminded me a lot of '90s British songbird Lauren Christy, when my Perly's friend suddenly appeared right next to us, determined to hear her lovely voice from the best possible listening post in the room.

Why do you think this is my permanent position?

My friend got all excited when she saw that Potty Mouth had just tweeted about their set at Gallery 5, saying how friendly people in Richmond were.

"She's talking about you!" she insisted.  Good, maybe they'll come back like I asked.

Although the show was running a tad behind schedule, they almost made up for it with an unusually short break and then, hello!

Real Estate took the stage in their unassuming, so very un-Jersey-like way.

What they do very well is produce sunny songs with layers of guitar and vocals, making for the best kind of wistful nerd pop.

I'd been fortunate enough to see them their first time in Richmond, back in April 2012, at Strange Matter in a room that felt like a sauna and left me dripping wet after the show.

Not that it wasn't worth it.

Like last time, lead singer Martin isn't big on banter between songs, or even smiling much, but he was obviously putting his all into playing music with his long-time friends and band mates.

They began with the instrumental gem "Kinder Blumen," the ideal song to ease into their catalog, full of guitar interplay and catchy hooks and moved on to new stuff off their latest album, "Atlas."

Bassist Alex took over lead vocals for "Wonder Years," yet another catchy pop gem that was instantly memorable ("I'm not trying to be cool, I only wanna be kind, I know that I've pissed you off, Baby, better rewind").

Haven't we all had those moments in a relationship?

As if catchy tunes and longing lyrics weren't enough, the band was masterful at taking off with shimmering guitar jams and extended finishes that equaled pure pop heaven.

Before it was all over, they mentioned the hot tub backstage and invited us all to bring swimsuits and join them.

After a week away, I had a lot to make up for but not enough time for a soak.

It's enough that I tried a new restaurant, saw four stellar bands and told complete strangers what to do, from my car no less.

I can't do everything in one night.

A Little Wisp of a Scherzo

You start slow and you build on a hot Wednesday evening.

Unlike last week, this week's happy hour at the Anderson Gallery required no brain power.

No talent for interpreting art and music, no ability to read into paintings of historical context.

Just the break I needed to really spend some time looking at the new exhibit, Jacob Lawrence's "The Harriet Tubman Series," and take the time to read all of Lawrence's captions written for the 31 pieces.

As if the paintings weren't painfully and exquisitely evocative of Tubman's life, the text he wrote was every bit as strong.

I took my time reading them and when I walked out of the gallery, there was a friend already sitting with beer in hand.

Like me, he wanted a good seat for GeNDeRS, the duo of singer Nelly Kate and video artist Michele Seippel.

As we sat chatting about his upcoming vacation (a much deserved three weeks), more friends came in and we noticed an unusually high percentage of babies present.

Or as one music-loving friend observed, "I feel naked without a baby!"

The performance began when Nelly emerged from the back room singing a capella and walking toward the front.

Michele's live animation was right there with her, showing on the wall she was approaching.

Once up front, Nelly began recording herself and looping, playing a keyboard and twisting knobs to layer sound at the same time Michele was layering video.

A few babies got restless, one kid licked a Popsicle while mesmerized by the video imagery and the rest of the room was rapt.

Nelly Kate, wowing people with her little girl voice and dense sound since 2011, at least in Richmond.

The addition of Michele's visuals made it even more trance-like than usual.

I thought it made for a very cool happy hour.

Sustenance was next courtesy of Mama J's right here in my 'hood and I arrived just minutes before the place filled up as if on cue.

The bartender recognized me, asked if I wanted the usual (fried chicken) and inquired about my side (collards).

Soon two guys joined me at my end of the bar and the one next to me said hello.

When he was asked for his order, he wanted catfish, but nuggets not a fillet, which aren't on the menu.

And just one fillet, not two.

But as soon as my plate arrived, he called our server over and changed his order to chicken like mine.

It wasn't long before he had regrets, though and, for the second time, changed his order back to catfish nuggets, this time two fillets cut up.

The server checked with the kitchen to see if this was possible and came back to tell the guy that they would cut up one fillet into nuggets but the second one would be whole.

"So you're telling me that's my only choice?" the customer asked, clearly not satisfied.

It was.

Personally, I think the kitchen was putting their foot down, not wanting to be back there making nuggets for this guy.

Or maybe they were tired of doing nuggets after Broad Appetit, although they did win the "To Die For" award for best entree for those very nuggets..

I know because I could see the trophy sitting right there behind the bar.

Fed and full, I wandered down 2 Street to the Speakeasy beside the Hippodrome for Pairs, the second cousin of Classical Revolution.

That's the group that's dedicated to bringing classical music to your local bar, restaurant and coffee shop, worthy aims all.

Last time the pairing had been classical and jazz and tonight's was classical and rock.

Once again, we found coasters sitting on the tables, this month's labeled "Membership Card," with the evening's program on it.

As far as how it came about, it was all about the bass.

Upright bass player Todd of My Darling Fury had mentioned that he had an arrangement of Brahms String Sextet written with a double bass part to replace one of the cellos.

Classical Revolution organizer Ellen ran with that idea, having him perform it with two violins, two violas and a cello and then follow it with a set by My Darling Fury.

Brilliant.

The four-movement Brahms piece had plenty of space in a room with 20' ceilings and the only counterpoint to it was the sound of a cocktail shaker being mixed behind the bar.

When they finished, a woman came over and joined me at my table, beer in hand and eager to chat.

"What movement was your favorite?" she asked after telling me she played cello, but "not on that level."

I hadn't considered it until she asked, but my brain told me it had been the third, the scherzo.

She liked the second, the andante, better for the recurring theme that wound its way through it.

Frankly, I was flattered that anyone would even try to talk music to me given my appalling lack of musical comprehension.

She deferred to me, however, when it came to My Darling Fury, since I'd seen them before and she hadn't.

It took an interminable time for the sound man to get it right for them but once the band started, all was forgiven.

Singer Danny has a fabulous voice, emotive and strong, and whether singing "Friendly Parasite" or about "Take her home to Mama," the songs were melodic and tightly executed.

On one song bass player Todd began beating on the back of his bass, causing a fellow bass player to holler from the bar, "Spank it, son!"

Like I said, it was all about the bass tonight.

Being the language geek that I am, I loved "Spilled Milk," full of American idioms  like "big boys don't cry."

During a slow song, there were suddenly three dancers, one woman and two guys, performing in the space between the stage and the crowd.

It was totally unexpected and a few people near me laughed in amusement, so I guess modern dance wasn't their thing.

"You guys thought you were coming to see a rock show, didn't you?" the guitarist joked afterwards.

They did "The End of the World," saying, "We like to place our love songs in different settings and this one's at the end of it all."

The viola and violin players, complete with music stands, and the dancers returned for the closing song, "Magic Creature," making for a melding of the evening's pairs or perhaps a metaphor for something bigger.

I just know it was really beautiful.

My final stop of the evening was Gallery 5 for, wait for it, more music, although I'd missed the first two bands.

I made it in time for Fort Worth's War Party, who were giving it their rocking all in front of a surprisingly small crowd.

That said, there were so many good shows tonight, it was hard to know where to be.

By the time they finished their set (including a plea for somewhere to sleep and smoke), the headliner, locals Hoax Hunters, were up against the clock.

Frontman and guitarist PJ surprised the hell out of me by taking off his hat (a first), obviously anticipating a hard and fast set.

"We're not going to waste your time. We have eleven minutes, so let's do this!" he yelled before the band careened into four or five songs.

It's not every band who could cover so much material and still be finished before Gallery 5's noise cut-off kicks in.

But then it's not every night I can hear everything from classical to punk with minimalist pop and chamber rock in between, either.

Shoot, I consider this night well spanked.