Iron & WIne with Poetry

There are many places in RVA to hear poetry and so many different variations that constitute poetry.

After an absence, the Poetic Principles series, for years at the VMFA, returned tonight but at a more fitting location, the Library of Virginia.

To mark the occasion, food and Virginia wine (Chateau Morrisette) were being served.

Although Richmond-born, Kate Daniels, the poet who was reading tonight, acknowledged that she hadn't lived here for thirty years.

She showed her RVA credibility by informing us that her parents had met at a blind date at the Tobacco Parade.

Boy, those were the good old politically incorrect days, huh?

Daniels was an excellent reader and interpreter of her mostly long-form poetry. "Bus Ride" was about Rosa Parks and "A History of Hair" about the Holocaust.

"Genesis 128," about her childhood suspicions of Catholics ("They had a lot of kids so they were having a lot of sex, unlike the Baptists"), contained the line "To anyone walking by, it would have looked like lust."

Speaking of how much she disliked her parents' smoking, she read "Cigarettes and Matches," with the line "I came to fear the little orgy of pleasure that excluded me," referring to her parents' shared vice.

"I am lifted from the stupor of the everyday," came from "Old Pain" about memories of her father smoking and his subsequent illnesses as a result.

"I'm not a very light poet," she told the audience, but followed that with a dash of humor, saying "The dream of every cliche is to make it into a poem" and read "Capitalism" which began with a reference to going to hell in a hand basket.

But as long as there is poetry being written and read, I don't see how that is possible.

Since I had barely over an hour between the reading and the show at the National and they were on adjoining blocks, I wound up eating at Gibson's by default.

Honestly, it was my first meal there pre-concert.

No, really.

The two guys next to me at the bar were also going to the show and were picking halfheartedly at a plate of nachos when I sat down and ordered. They eventually gave up and pushed the half-full plate away.

I wanted to reach over there and help myself; I was amazed that two guys couldn't finish one plate of nachos and said so, but delicately so as not to bruise their male egos.

"We went to Subway before we came here and got nachos," one said sheepishly.

"What? You have to know that guys aren't the smartest people on the planet. Come on, we're guys!"

It wasn't even worth piling on, so I just laughed and changed the topic to music.

Meanwhile, I had the fresh Mozzarella with basil and roasted red peppers and a balsamic reduction and garlic bread, a simple but satisfying supper.

By the time I finished up, it was time to head next door.

I'd heard raves about the Low Anthem from friends and when they came out, a clarinet, an upright bass, keyboard and musical saw, I knew I was in for a treat.

Everyone was a multi-instrumentalist and that's always impressive.

Introducing "Matter of Time" as a love song, they sang "So I feather my nest, See me puffing my chest" in beautiful harmonies with ever-changing instruments.

Unfortunately, the crowd was extremely talkative during their entire set.

"Y'all know Snoop Dog played here last night? How many of you were here? It still smells great backstage!"

My only question would be what does it smell like?

The show was sold out and after Low Anthem's set, that became apparent as bodies closed in around me. I wanted to leave and go get another drink but feared losing my prime space since I had no one but strangers to hold it for me.

Sam Beam came out and said, "It's a treat to be back in Richmond," referring to his years at VCU where he got a degree in painting.

"I've got a lot of in laws here tonight, so everyone act like you like us."

Not sure he had to make that request given the rabid crowd.

Of course, Sam Beam is Iron and Wine, a one-man band. In a teensy-weensy departure from that this evening, he had a ten-piece backing band.

There were backup singers and a horn section and two drummers; it was one-man band madness!

But it made for an incredibly lush sound and some downright beautiful harmonies, so why quibble about the meaning of one?

He wasn't particularly chatty between songs, instead preferring an occasional longer monologue.

He mentioned having walked around Richmond today, barely recognizing the city with all the new development and improvements.

 And naturally he'd gone down to see the river.

At one point he said that his grandfather had worked at a chemical plant in Hopewell.

When the old man learned that Sam and his friends were going swimming down off of Belle Isle, he intoned, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"But I haven't grown any extra appendages," Beam announced with a grin.

Beginning to play again, he amusingly said, "Let's get mellow," as if he'd been anything else.

"For the past few nights, people have been getting jacked up for some mellow, sleepytime music." Clearly he didn't get it, although there was some of that going on tonight.

I find it tough to understand hooting and hollering at Iron and Wine's deeply textured and powerful storytelling.

It's folk, maybe folk rock in places, and the kind of music that washes over you rather than amping you up. It's poetry set to music.

But as I've seen, everyone responds to poetry, whether spoken or sung, in their own way.

 The good news is that as long as poetry is being created, we couldn't possibly be in that collective hand basket to hell.

Not even those among us who aren't the smartest people on the planet.

You know who you are.

Shiny, Deep and Ears Ringing

A friend had invited me to meet her for drinks and then join her for "The Color Purple" at the Landmark Theater.

That wasn't going to work because I had plans to see a music show at 9:00, but we decided to meet for drinks anyway.

Conveniently for me, she chose the Belvidere at Broad at 5:45. Foolishly, neither of us had considered the number of people who would be there at 5:30 for a pre-theater meal.

It's not like we had a tough time getting bar stools because we didn't, but the hustle and bustle around us was non-stop for the harried staff. On the plus side, they knew it would mostly go away by 7:45.

Except that it didn't. Oh, sure, plenty of people left to make the curtain, including my friend, but even more showed up looking for food and drink on a Saturday night. No one had any idea what the craziness was about.

My friend and I enjoyed the Hahn Cabernet Sauvignon as we chatted about our upcoming trips. In the blink of an eye, it was time for her to leave and I was left with half a glass of wine and no one to talk to. Luckily that didn't last long.

Friends of a friend came in, and took the table behind me, so with a swivel of the hips, I had two friendly faces and eager conversationalists while they ate their burgers and downed their beer flight.

To taunt our mutual friend, we took a picture of me and one of the guys and sent it off to him, saying we were on the way to the Girl Talk show at the National (he detests Girl Talk and would undoubtedly wonder how in the world we ended up together). Simple pleasures.

I enjoyed the Belvidere's house applewood-smoked salmon (they do it so well) after their departure and tried to keep up with the rotating cast of characters in the stools nearest me. They seemed to be the staging area for the next available table.

I was soon joined at the bar by a West End foursome waiting for a table. They asked me if I'd eaten there before, launching a 20-minute discussion of where else in the city they should try.

They apologized for living in Short Pump, but now that they're empty-nesters, they're committed to doing all their dining in the city and broadening their horizons. But they needed help.

They eagerly asked for some of my favorite places and dishes and I happily shared my opinions. "Boy, did we talk to the right person," one of the husbands gushed to his wife. "You're a goldmine of information!" he told me. That's me, shiny and deep.

Once they'd moved tableside, I ordered the dark chocolate brownie with vanilla bean gelato, Bailey's dark chocolate whipped cream and a dark chocolate ganache sauce.

When it arrived, a nearby girl grabbed her husband's arm and asked, "What's that? I need that!" They had just arrived. Down, girl. She watched me eat until I pushed the rest away; you could almost see her wondering why I hadn't finished.

When I left, there were close to ten people waiting for tables at the front and it was going on 9:00. I wished owner Julie luck with that (she was as perplexed by it as I was) and walked home to get my car and head to Gibson's.

Tonight's show there was further complicated because of the Girl Talk show at the National. Walking by to get in Gibson's, I passed a lot of kids in shiny clothes, their underage hands marked with a big "X," all ready for a dance party, which Girl Talk would no doubt deliver.

Down in the bowels of Gibson's it was much more civilized. The show began with Dave Watkins on dulcitar, looping himself for layers of sound. At one point, a friend acknowledged, "Ah, the ever-capable Dave Watkins. He's got three loops going at once!"

Before one song in which he'd also be playing drums, he told the crowd, "I'm going to lose my glasses on this one." Before long, they were sliding down his nose and he finally pulled them off and tossed them to the floor. It was an excellent set.

Lobo Mario played next, putting on their best mic'd show ever (since they frequently play without mics) and infusing their folky songs with an enthusiastic energy that engaged the diverse crowd.

At one point Jameson introduced "Laney on accordion" after a particularly robust accordion piece. "Yea, that was me shredding," she said self-deprecatingly. Their down-tempo cover of Elvis' "Can't Help Falling in Love" brought the house down.

DC's The Orchid headlined and, as a big fan of post-rock, I was thrilled to hear these guys perform. Like all post-rock groups, there was the serious wall of guitar sound (three) plus a drummer, with no vocals playing big, beautiful soundscapes alternately loud and quiet.

Unlike most post-rock groups, however, they had an amplified violin player (he doubled on keyboards), making for quite an interesting addition to their sound.

Unfortunately, during his solos (and between songs) the thumping bass of the Girl Talk show rattled the ceiling of the room. Fortunately, when they were all playing, their bold sound pushed right back.

When their stellar set was over, I said my farewells to my friends and headed over to Sprout, hoping to catch some of the show going on there.

Owner Laurie's band Catnip Dreams was playing and I hadn't seen them since last summer's Jonny Z Fest show where they absolutely shone on Shields Street.

As soon as I walked in the door, a friend came up to tell me I'd miss their terrific set. Drat the luck.

I headed to the back room for Green Hearts to find the room was packed. Finally a guy took pity on my abbreviated stature and gave me his step, where I could at least see lead singer (and WRIR DJ) Paul Ginder and some of the other band members rocking out.

Their sound was pure 60s/70s and most of the band had on skinny ties. They played tambourine, maracas and cowbell in addition to the usual suspects.

Songs were short and high energy and the crowd was moving non-stop during every 3-minute burst. Sadly, I also saw no less than four people with their fingers in their ears. Tragic, kids, absolutely tragic.

When they finished, the audience clamored for one more and Paul begged off, saying "We can't. We're old." The crowd refused to accept such an un-rock and roll sentiment and they played one more.

Afterwards, I went up to Sprout owner Jamie just before he began DJ'ing vintage vinyl, saying, "Sprout, always reliable for revisiting the past."

"Not a problem, is it?" he grinned.

Would I have been there again if it was? Not to mention that there's always the hope of meeting a like-minded soul over a sixties or seventies groove.

Quail and New Wave

I didn't mean to do Restaurant Week, really I didn't. When a friend suggested meeting up before I went to the National, I didn't give it a moment's thought when I told him Bistro 27, my neighborhood joint.

And then when I got there and realized what I'd done, it just seemed easier to stay. I try to stay out of the fray during the hustle and bustle of RW, but there was room for us at the bar and Carlos wanted me to try his menu and before you know it, we had a bottle of the Barboursville Cab Franc and I was scanning the menu.

Friend had dinner plans later, so it was just me eating and after a quick look at the menu, there was really no question. The pan-roasted quail stuffed with a mixed mushroom and foie gras mousse served over autumn root veggies was too tempting to pass up, so I didn't.

The funny part was that Carlos came over then and said I should order the quail after I'd already decided it was what I was getting, so I could pretend I was taking the chef's recommendation.

Of course, I had to have a first course to get to the quail and I went with the Bistro salad, a perennial favorite of mine, as was my dessert of choice, the hazelnut chocolate torte, But I've swooned over them both before and it was really the quail that was the star tonight.

The mousse stuffing was decadent and the heaping dish of minutely-cut root vegetables was everything fall should taste like. I only hope other diners are smart enough to order something so un-RW-like. I was the first of six who ordered it tonight he said.

Friend had to leave to pick up his dinner partner, so I finished my wine and chocolate solo before moving on to the National. Local band Lubek opened and were playing when I arrived. I hadn't heard them before, but knew they were on the new RVA label Acme Thunderer (such a great name).

Metric's set was indie/new wave with loads of 80s influences and plenty of post-punk guitar. Lead singer Emily Haines (and her little girl voice) had nailed the 80s look in an off-the-shoulder metallic tunic (so Flashdance) that shone under the lights with every step she danced.

And did she ever dance...except when she was vogueing, posing one way or another to the beat of the music. Her baby-fine blond hair was in a perpetual state of slo-mo windblown from an unseen stage fan. She had the audience in her thrall for sure.

Guitarist James Shaw did his 80s take with a skinny tie, but his strong suit was his incredible speed on the guitar. I only wish he hadn't spent so much time facing the back rather than the audience. Perhaps he is the yin to Haines' yang. In any case, he had my full attention.

The audience was full of Metric lovers, most of whom knew every word and sang along. For a change, I only saw a few people I knew besides one of my faithful bartender friends.

Afterwards, I went next door to Gibson's to meet a friend and hear a couple of Minneapolis bands, Me & My Arrow and Phantom Tails. M&MA, a nine-piece, were especially interesting because I always appreciate a band with a cello. Especially when it's being played under a disco ball.

We left before I got to hear one of my favorite local bands, the Colloquial Orchestra, because friend needed to get home. But it turned out that he also wanted to make a quick stop at Penny Lane, so we detoured there, resulting in a random discussion of Mt. Everest and Mallory vs. Hillary with a nearby beard.

You never know when two guys with Wikipedia minutia on the same subject will get going, but I watched it unfold tonight (what did happen to the wife's photograph?). That's what I get for stopping at Penny Lane.

That, a taste of good Scottish beer and a bartender who called me "love." All as unexpected as my indulgence in Restaurant Week.

But then life seems to be handing me a lot of unexpected lately. The question is, what do I do with it?

Hell if I know.

It's Women Who Drove You to Drink

What's the best way to take the edge off of an isolated lifestyle? Alcohol, of course! And if coffee is for the wealthy and tea heavily taxed and water believed to cause illness and even death, what does that leave you with? Alcohol again! These things could explain why the average person in the 17th century drank a gallon of ale every day, starting at breakfast.

Then there's the all-purpose uses of alcohol, like cosmetic, household, medicinal and even for bathing. Name a product today that can do so much. I learned all this at today's Library of Virginia noon lecture by Sarah Meacham, author of Every Home A Distillery: Alcohol, Gender and Technology in the Colonial Chesapeake.

Seems taverns were the only place to socialize and guess who ran taverns? Women. And guess who made the ale and cider served in those taverns? Women. And since taverns were built before courthouses and churches, they were often called into use for those purposes. Juries were even given alcohol. A quart of brandy was the normal accompanying beverage for childbirth. At funerals, the alcohol for the guests was positioned directly on the casket.

Making alcohol was considered women's work up until the Revolution when men began taking it over because it required mastery and science, two skills not generally attributed to us women-folk at the time. We just weren't thought of as bright enough to use the new technology, you know, thermometers and hydrometers.

As I've stated before, I love history lectures about my people. Don't tell me women didn't help shape this country because I know it's not true. Learning more about as crucial a role as providing the only sociability in remote places and supplying the alcohol the made it possible could be seen as pivotal to the success of the development of our region.

After all that affirmation, I just had to meet a guy friend for lunch and crow about how great my sex is. Since the Library of Virginia is on the next block from Gibson's Grill, we made that our destination. I chose the white pizza (spinach, tomatoes, caramelized onions and Asiago cheese) and Andrew played copy-cat with pizza, getting the BBQ chicken version (with the same onions).
I know mine was better than I expected, generous with spinach and tiny little pieces of tomato
and plenty of those scrumptious onions. He did finish all of his, which is always a good sign, although I think that's just what guys do with pizza.

And while we didn't drink at lunch, unlike the Chesapeake colonists, we did acknowledge that it was thanks to my people that drinking got off to the fine start that it did here in Virginia. After all, someone had to stay home and do the brewing while the men were off fighting for independence and all that sort of noble endeavor. What would be the good of freedom from the motherland if you couldn't celebrate it with a stiff one?

Feel free to toast us when you have your next cold beverage.

Gogol Bordello at The National

The moon was clear in the night sky, I had on funky tights, purchased in Berlin by a thoughtful friend, and the evening started early with good tequila.

All indications were for a fine night of gypsy punk.

J. and I were meeting at Gibson's for a pre-show cocktail, but she had a beer dinner to attend first. In the meantime, I chatted with a nearby bar sitter, who commented that not everyone would have the nerve to wear the tights I had on (although he did acknowledge that they looked like Berlin tights).

Phsaw, I said, nerve is one thing I do not have in short supply.

Friend finally arrived and ordered a Maker's Mark Manhattan to enjoy whilst I finished up my Tres Generations pour.

Then it was showtime.

We arrived at the National in time to enjoy part of Apostles of Hustle's interesting opening set.

I was especially pleased to find one of my favorite drummers/vocalists, Kevin (of Tulsa Drone and Marionette), tending bar; this is always a good thing because of the superb music talk and excellent pours it yields.

It was at this point that I made a convert out of my friend and she made the leap from whiskey to good tequila.

Smart woman.

What is there to say about Gogol Bordello?

Part gypsy music, part punk and pure energy is too simplistic and yet it says it all.

Or, to put it another way, two musicians had broken strings by the second song.

How about this: both the violin and accordion are played in minor keys?

And there were conga drums.

Need I go on?

The show was a non-stop dance-fest, except for the five people who remained rooted in place; we surmised that they were brain-dead and unable to respond to the allure of music created to entice the audience to respond.

The audience was a cross-section of RVA, with people representing every age, social group and musical preference; both the cool people and the complete geeks (including one in a holiday sweater...seriously) were in attendance.

Because when Gogol Bordello performs, they will come.

That much was clear.

Lunch Talk

When I was among the employed, I generally brought and ate lunch at my desk every day.

Now and then I'd meet someone for lunch, usually to try a new place (Aurora, Papa Ningo, etc.).

Now that I am among the unemployed, I usually eat at home, but I broke bad twice this week for lunch out with friends.

Thursday was lunch at Kuba Kuba with a girlfriend I hadn't seen since before "the great sickness" (my pneumonia).

She knew about the layoff, but wanted the details of the other stuff going on in my life.

It was cathartic to open up and tell her all the crappy stuff that's been happening in my life lately...especially since I usually lead a charmed life.

My oh-so tasty lunch was mussels in a garlic/tasso ham broth with plenty of Cuban toast to soak up that brothy goodness.

One of the waiters, also a musician in Fight the Big Bull, gave us a flier about Friday night's performance in at the Robinson in Church Hill.

Today's lunch was with a guy friend at the new Gibson's at the National.

We used to work together, so he filled me in on the latest office gossip.

What I wanted to hear about was his new relationship, since it had come about since I'd last seen him.

What he wanted to know about was whether everything was okay with me and since it's not, I just alluded to things being a bit overwhelming at the moment.

Like my other friends, he was surprised that I would acknowledge any problems since I always wear my happy face.

That's been tough lately, though, so I didn't really open up.

Lunch was a steak salad with fried onions and little potatoes, which was too large but mostly quite good, although the blue cheese dressing was mediocre.

I should get out more, because I was actually surprised that both places were mobbed during lunch.

It worked out fine both days, though, because we could discuss life without anyone paying the slightest bit of attention to us.

And right now the last thing I need is anyone paying attention to me.