Hit by the Unexpected at the National

I didn't expect to be at the National for 5 3/4 hours. so I'll do the abridged version of a really interesting night full of unexpected surprises.

Doors were at 7 and NYC's the Postelles were to take the stage at 8.

They didn't bring their garage pop to life until 9:00, then played a tight, energetic set ("I hear Beach Boys and Green Day chord changes," a friend observed) and were gone before we knew it.

Twin Tigers set up immediately and disappeared for the longest time.

When they did come back, it was to apologize for the delay and play that dream noise/wall of guitars/ shoegaze sound of which I'm so fond.

I saw people move to the lobby and insert earplugs, but I loved it from the first distorted chord and wished their set had been longer.

Then more waiting,

Finally someone important came out and told us that after playing Letterman, Interpol had tried to catch their plane, only to be delayed by all the thunderstorms and tornadoes.

They got as far as Newark and sat.

And waited.

They were, he said, "on their way and should arrive by midnight."

Anticipating a surly crowd, he offered refunds to those willing to give up a midnight Interpol show, sure to be a rare treat.

I wasn't going anywhere except to the upstairs bar to kill an hour by getting a snack.

The bar was mobbed with those choosing to stay, but after ordering I ran into the unexpectedly charming lead singer of Twin Tigers, Matthew, talking to some fans.

When he finished, I asked him (what else?) what he was listening to these days.

First thing out of his mouth was Beach House, ensuring an instant bond and much satisfying follow-up conversation (Van Halen was also mentioned, but I didn't dwell on that).

I ran into a guy I'd met at the Spoon show who gave me a hard time because I'd never contacted him ("I gave you my card and suggested we be friends," he accused. "Did you ever contact me? No.").

I detected some resentment on his part, but frankly, he hadn't even stayed for the entire Spoon show.

Very telling. I met a guy who told me his mother had once slept with Peter Buck of REM. TMI?

By the time we heard the crowd applauding as Interpol took the stage, my new friend asked me what I was doing after the show.

"You want to talk music some more?" I asked (his response was funny, direct and completely unbloggable), heading to the floor while he went to the band's merch table.

It was clear Interpol wanted to reward the stalwart for their patience.

They kicked off in high gear and didn't let up, playing equal amounts from Turn on the Bright Lights and Antics, much to the crowd's delight; newer material was interspersed throughout.

Aforementioned lead singer, a rabid Interpol fan, reappeared.

Interpol did two encores, a first in the three times I've seen them play.

They apologized repeatedly and thanked us for staying.

They played harder than I've ever seen them play and the devoted repaid them with adoration and enthusiasm.

Late starts, midnight snacks, failed friendship accusations, a much extended night, maternal sexual revelations and a musician handing me a napkin with his phone number on it (offered with a funny but unbloggable comment).

And my personal favorite: music from a cave.

It doesn't get more unexpected than all that...even for me and my random life.

Summing Up Secco

You see, if I'd gone to Secco before the poetry reading, I might not have made it there at all. Who am I kidding? There's no way I would have made it to that reading. So I wisely deferred my sipping satisfaction until after my poetry pleasure and was none the worse for it.

"When a good poem is written, a crappy Attorney General breaks a pinky toe." Or so said poet and contest judge Josh Poteat as a way of introducing another poet at today's reading at Chop Suey Books; the event celebrated the Best Poetry contest sponsored by James River Writers and Richmond magazine and attracted a full room.

First up was Heidi Poon with her tight and tense poetry; by the time they'd notified her that she was a winner, she' rewritten the winning poem. She was followed by Henry Hart whose poetry could not have been more different. I loved the line "I too will indenture myself to lightening," from his poem "Communion" about the ghost of Walt Whitman. Another he described as a crazy, political poem called "Field Trip to the Museum from the Bush Years" and contained the opening line, "George liked the bus but ignored the exhibits."

Laura Davenport, when informed that her poem had won the contest, asked, "Which one?" and was told, "The really long one." It was a reference to her poem "Sermon New Orleans," an absolutely beautiful piece of work.

Afterwards I strolled down the block to spend some time at the newly opened Secco wine bar. As it turned out, so did another attendee from the reading, so I had good company with which to share a glass of wine (me the Guindon Gamay Rose and he the Soif du Jour) and conversation.

As a bonus, I couldn't have been more complimented to see my name on the bar's chalkboard wall along with other names under "Thank you." You can be sure I pointed it out to everyone I saw, whether I knew them or not.

But I wasn't there to have my ego stroked; I wanted to eat. I'd met the kitchen staff a couple of weeks ago and I wanted to taste the fruits of their labor, so I ordered the passatelli in brodo with Chorizo and mustard greens (for us uninformed types, the menu explained that passatelli is a pasta from Emilia-Romgna similar to spatzle). Oh, this was a good combination and I'm in love with passatelli now.

Next up, I got fresh goat and cow milk ricotta with fava beans, roasted pecans, sea salt and evoo; if it sounds incredibly simple , it is....and isn't. The blending of these tastes and textures was sublime, something you wish you could have thought of on your own but know instinctively that you never would have.

By now I'd switched to the Barboursville Reserve Viognier after a discussion with a nearby bar sitter about the honeysuckle being in bloom in alleys all over the city right now. I couldn't resist ordering some cheese too and let Sara choose because, after all, she's the cheese whiz. Let's face it, nobody else could say. "Howdy Cheese People" and get away with it.

She knows I love my stinky cheese so she chose the Montenebro, a goat cheese from Spain with an ash rind and chutney on the side. Rich, semi-firm and stinky, I savored it as I went about choosing some of the music that will create the ambiance at Secco.

When I'd first arrived, I'd noticed the absence of music because, well, I love music. Julia had explained that they'd tried listening to NPR until a discordant opera came on and harshed every one's mellow. Her intention was to start using an iPod instead but she had to create some mixes first. I was thrilled and flattered when she suggested I use my bar time to create Karen's Secco mix from the music she had on her computer. You want me to choose what your customers will listen to on occasion? Done.

And that's how I came to hang out at Secco's bar for a good three hours, eating, sipping and scrolling through music to find the stuff I'd want to hear the next time I'm at Secco eating and sipping. I was choosing from Julia's music, so attribution should probably go to both of us.

I'll warn you now, though, it may be one of the few mixes ever made that includes both Interpol and Robert Goulet. Perhaps that will give you some idea of what an interesting place Secco is going to be.