Celebrating Life and Happiness

I've apparently been mistaken for missing in action.

When I (finally after 3 years) posted a new profile photo on Facebook the other day, certain friends wasted no time in weighing in.

There you are! I've been looking for you.

Where have you been?

Well, let's see, just yesterday I was, as usual, all over the place.

In the morning I was down walking by the river, at least right up until I made a pit stop on the way home at Rapp Session for a lobster roll and an orgeat lemonade, quite possibly the most exquisite summer lunch known to woman.

In the afternoon, I was at Firehouse Theater with Mac for their collaboration with TheatreLab on "Heathers: The Musical," a riff on the late '80s black comedy classic about mean girl high school cliques.

As a card-carrying nerd in high school, I knew nothing of such popularity.

The play was a hoot, from a slo-mo fight scene to an ode to 7-11 and Slurpees ("Happiness comes when everything's numb"). Of course the '80s references were rampant: Bono at Live Aid, Air Supply, watching porn on Cinemax (or is that Skinemax?).

And when else but the '80s would a high school girl announce, "I'm, hot, pissed and on the pill?" On a fashion sidenote, in a play full of adorable '80s looks, it was the Heather played by Michaela Nicole who took top prize for most fabulous hair and cutest skirt (a split yellow skirt with a yoke that I'd love to own).

Easily the most hilarious scene concerned the fathers' reactions to the apparent suicide of their sons, two testosterone-fueled jocks.

I don't know what was funnier, the lyrics of "Dead Gay Son" sung by Billy Christopher Maupin and Eddie Webster as the fathers ("Well, I never cared for homos much until I reared me one") or Maupin's Dad shuffle dance in celebration of his new-found appreciation for the two stray rhinestones on the Lord's big purse.

Great stuff. It's no wonder the show's run has been extended.

In the evening, I was at Sub Rosa for the latest in their natural wine series of Sub Rosato pop-ups with the added bonus of Miramar playing.

Since it wasn't my first rodeo music show at Sub Rosa, I knew full well my date and I should arrive well in advance to score a good table and avail ourselves of the 8 groovy bio-dynamic wines being featured.

Rather than choose from a list created by a pro (the savvy Virginia), we opted to work our way across the list from sparkling through white, Rose and red, while noshing on every single thing on the pop-up menu: buttery tarts of goat cheese, dill and tomato, a charcuterie board, bread and olive oil and housemade chips.

Be still, my cholesterol.

Starting with Omero Moretti, an organic, unfiltered Umbrian and a classic Cremant du Jura, we moved through the wildly contrasting Sepp Moser Gruner Veltliner and Benito Santos "Pago de Xoan" Rias Baixas.

It was our loss to miss out on the Spanish Rose because it had already sold out, so we enjoyed a Virginian instead (Rosemont's unfiltered Rose) along with a faux Rose, a Kir Royale made with the Jura we'd already had.

It wasn't much of a sacrifice, I have to say.

Meanwhile, the trio of Miramar was effortlessly enchanting the room with boleros, Brazilian songs and original music, all set to the keyboard accompaniment of national treasure Marlyse Simmons, who managed to do it despite the setting sun through the window making things a tad warm for her.

Singer Laura Ann, looking fabulous in an orange sherbet-colored dress with orange pumps - because only she would have orange pumps - made sure to remind the crowded room that despite the happy sound to some songs, they were all basically unhappy.

"Here we are celebrating life and happiness through sadness, as we do," Laura said while Rei shook his maracas in agreement.

Late in the set, percussion arrived courtesy of Giustino and his bongos, making for a thrilling addition to an already sublime sound. It looked like hot work, though, and he'd pull out his handkerchief between songs to wipe sweat from his head.

That's a dedicated musician right there.

Lots of friends crowded into the bakery: the Turkish singer, her Russian guitarist and his Italian fashion blogger girlfriend, the jazz critic, the dance party enthusiast, practically the entire Dutch & Co. crew, the reporter.

It was a party for those in the know.

Back at our table, we sipped the lovely Te Mata Gamay Noir from Hawke's Bay, New Zealand, coincidentally also the home of the winemaker I'd squired around last month. I can't wait to tell him I'm still drinking his local juice.

What I can't do is provide prior notice to my Facebook friends of where I'm out and about on any given day or night.

That said, if you're looking for me, I can be found. Just ask in advance and I'll tell you where.

But MIA? Only if you don't know where to look.

Saucy Plays and Love Trains

The last time I saw a high school play I was probably in high school.

And while I don't recall the specific play, I feel absolutely certain it was nowhere near as good as the one I saw tonight.

Maggie Walker Governor's School was doing a preview tonight of "Twelfth Night (Or What You Will)" and I couldn't think of a single reason to pass up free Shakespeare.

I was completely unprepared for what a fabulous theater the school had but not entirely surprised at the fine set dressing.

Clearly talent abounds at this school.

A big, fat, yellow moon hung over the back of the stage with a charming flower-covered swing in front.

These clothes are good enough to drink in and so be these boots, too.

There's a certain kind of amusement that comes from hearing a line like that come out of the mouth of a teenager.

The young cast had clearly been well-rehearsed by director Billy Christopher Maupin and came across sure of their dialog and confident in their movements.

His casting was also cleverly-executed, with a guy playing Maria and a girl playing the beleagured Malvolio, he of the grim smile and yellow cross-gartered stockings, which in this production were black fishnets over yellow tights.

Shall we set about some revels?

There's a line the essence of which rang plenty true coming out of a high-schooler's mouth.

A scene where Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguecheek begin dancing together got big laughs when Toby's hands migrated south to Andrew's butt. You know, like at a high school dance.

I heard you were saucy at my gates.

That's the kind of line that makes me want to work saucy into conversation and not in relation to food, either.

Fact is, I've seen "Twelfth Night" as much as I've seen any Shakespeare play performed, but I never get tired of seeing it interpreted well, as it was tonight.

This was a cast who understood the words they were saying and not just parroting language. Music was incorporated into the play at the beginning, middle and end demonstrating some talented musicality on the part of the cast.

Love sought is good but given unsought is better.

If they haven't yet had the life experience to understand that one, they will.

In the meantime, they're putting on a decidedly excellent production that'll make you forget they still get big X's on their hands at shows.

Once the play was over and I left the high school, where better to go than a dance?

Balliceaux was hosting Mexican band, Sabrosa Sabrosura, playing their cumbia/funk/reggae dance music for our Wednesday night pleasure.

When I got there, I found a friend at the front bar and since the band was running late, sat down with him to chat for a bit.

He'd already heard about the band's delay due to driving up from New Orleans today, but had had been told they were expected within the hour.

We moved to the back room to await their arrival and there I found the jazz critic and settled in to chat with him.

He had great stories, like one about seeing Pat Metheny at a Broad Street venue with only ten other people, including a very young Bruce Hornsby.

The best one happened at a family reunion last year in New Jersey where a young female family member from California who goes to school in New York told him how much she loved Reggie Pace.

That's one far-reaching trombone.

Finally the band - a guitar player, a key-tar player and a slip of a woman playing the cheese grater-looking guira- arrived some time after 11 and set up quickly.

As a bonus, Richmond's own Giustino Riccio was playing congas for them, resplendent in a red shirt and enormous bell-bottom jeans, an ensemble he'd changed into in the basement of Kuba Kuba after his shift tonight.

"Sorry we're so late!" the singer/guira player said. "We're on Mexican time! Get ready because this is dancing music!"

The second they began playing, no one in the good-sized crowd (which was full of jazz musicians) who'd waited around cared how long they'd waited.

But then, before they even got to the end of the first song, something blew on the sound system and there was a break while it was fixed.

Boy, these guys were having a hard time of it tonight.

They began jamming without amplification and soon the guitar player was peeling off his shirt.

"Looks like strip cumbia," the critic joked as we waited.

Soon the guira-playing girl started talking to audience members about papayas, which seemed odd until the critic leaned down and observed, "I think they're talking about genitalia."

After the song "La Papaya y el Despapaye," sung in Spanish we had no more of a clue until she announced, "Since we all come from papayas..."

Genitalia it was.

The band was totally interactive with the crowd, maybe just glad to be out of the car, perhaps grateful that we'd stuck around for them, and challenged us, the guitar player saying, "The Mexicans say if you can't dance, you can't make love right."

Guira girl promptly got off the stage and started a conga line, which the guitar player called a "love train" and which snaked around the room for the rest of the song.

The critic finally looked at me and stood up, saying, "I'm gonna go home and play my own cheese grater."

I have no reason to assume that was a euphemism or related to genitalia.

He missed out on more high-energy dance music.

Saying that they'd driven for more than ten hours and been caught by the police, the band announced a ten-minute break.

Unfortunately because of the late start, many people had to leave at the break, but if they'd stuck around they might have been as surprised as I was that the band actually took a ten-minute break.

Clearly they were not on jazz time where 10 always means at least 30.

Another guy who'd been dancing a lot took over conga duties after the break, leaving Giustino to dance in front of the stage, first alone and then with a girl who asked him.

When the song ended and he went to retrieve his drink, there was some sort of collision and it shattered on the floor.

"You can drink my blood, but don't spill my tequila," the lovely guira player called out.

So now we better understood Mexican priorities.

Giustino returned to the congas where he was less likely to spill something and more likely to wow the crowd with his sure-handed playing.

The guira girl kept leaving the stage to pull people up to dance, or maybe she was trying to ascertain who knew how to make love right.

I felt pretty confident there. That's the part that made it way better than a high school dance.

Musique Rock in the Afternoon

Everyone should be so lucky.

My neighborhood record store was presenting music today on this third day of the holiday weekend, with Malhombre playing to tout their single release.

I'd yet to hear Malhombre but since the band is comprised of Blasco (whom I first saw at the Listening Room over two years ago) and Giustino Riccio (whom I know well from Fuzzy Baby, Bio Ritmo, the Garbers), I'd heard the parts.

Now it was time for the sum.

I walked in to find a friend looking cute in her new thrift store outfit and we passed time waiting for the band to set up talking about thrift stores and perusing vinyl.

In a continental touch, over in the corner they were serving mimosas.

In the "Holiday" section, we found all kinds of childhood memories - Johnny Mathis. Ella Fitzgerald, Nat King Cole, Elvis, the Supremes- and some not-so-familiar ones ("Disco Holidays"?).

My memories of seeing Blasco were that many of his songs were in French and that he had a wonderful smoldering dark quality to his music and presence.

This afternoon, I got all that and more because Malhombre rocked more than he did solo.

And why not with the very talented Giustino drumming?

To introduce their single, Blasco said, "This is the song on the single that you will want to buy."

He didn't even tell us it was a red vinyl single.

Sung in French, "Musique Rock" was a kick-ass song that took Blasco beyond the emotive singer-songwriter I'd previously seen.

"Lies" was introduced as, "I wrote this song after seeing a movie called "Romantico," a documentary about romantic music. I thought I'd try to write a song like that."

The resulting "Lies" sounded like heartbreak set to guitar and drums.

Just beautiful.

I think you nailed that one, my friend.

Another song began with the surfiest of guitars which alternated with dark, brooding parts and full-on rock.

After every song, Blasco would look up expectantly, as if trying to gauge the crowd's reaction to his material.

Let's just say people were going over to the counter to purchase the single even while he was still playing.

When Malhombre finished up their set in the sunlight-filled record store, we'd been treated to a set of music best described as French with Spanish roots (he emigrated from France in the '90s) with a sharp turn into rock territory.

Giustino and Blasco created a whole lot of sound for just two people, but then they're both awfully talented people.

Me, I'm just one of the lucky ones who spent my Saturday afternoon listening to their multi-lingual rocking out.

Jackson Ward can be so continental, you know?