I'm hosting an intimate house show featuring Liza Kate and Jonathan Vassar...two of the most heartbreaking songwriters I know. This is also a rare opportunity to see Liza before she leaves RVA.
When an invitation like that arrives, you RSVP right away.
Mr. Wright came by and scooped me up so we could chow down at Goatocado first and while I've eaten there several times, tonight was the first time eating fireside. The afternoon warmth was still palpable when we arrived, so eating outside was extra appealing given that we settled on the bench nearest the fire as the sun set.
From there we went to my friend's house for mingling before music. Since the guest list was small - 32 people - I wasn't sure if I'd know anyone beyond our hostess and Jonathan. Silly me, it wound up being full of the old Listening Room crowd along with some new faces.
When I introduced a friend (and regular blog reader) to Mr. Wright, her handshake apparently conveyed to him how glad she was to finally put a face to all the many posts she'd read about him. Her tale of finding a copperhead in her laundry room and psyching her husband up to destroy it got the evening off to a fine start.
And while the hostess and I have been friends for years, she's only been in this Fan apartment for a year and I'd never seen it. It was like so many Fan apartments a series of good-sized rooms without doors, lots of door molding and very high ceilings. I took my time checking out the art on the walls, immediately recognizing one piece.
It was "The Lioness," part of the Grandville series Triple Stamp Press did for a Ghostprint Gallery show four - wait, how can that be? - years ago with the exquisite monoprint showing the lioness erect in a long, full 19th century skirt with a pistol tied to the sash at her waist and a riding crop under her arm. She's clearly a woman with a purpose.
All kinds of familiar faces showed up, including the scientist (who, I learned, stopped cycling after going through a windshield), the banjo player, the musical couple (minus their little one) and the in-laws who were supposed to be home watching Jonathan's children (they claimed they were nearly asleep anyway and took the chance to escape).
Talking to the scientist about teaching at VCU, he shared that his current students are the first generation to have grown up on standardized testing and the result is that they're incapable of critical thinking. And of all the unlikely moments, turns out that the scientist's partner recognized Mr. Wright from a bike ride.
This is such a small town.
After everyone found a chair, Liza Kate sat down with her guitar to play, stating for the record, "In case you don't know me, I'm leaving" and went on to share her beautifully sad songs with us as the hostess' cat wound its way among people's legs. All around us, candles burned and fairy lights shone. Wine was poured into paper cups and flasks were passed.
After singing a couple songs, Liza said, "I feel like I grew up in Richmond even though I came here in my 20s" and then paused. "That's all I'm saying about that or I'll cry" and she looked like she was about to anyway.
Saying that she didn't know who wrote it but that the song had been covered by the Byrds, she launched into a poignant cover of "You Don't Miss Your Water." I knew immediately who'd written it because I'd interviewed William Bell a few years ago ahead of his performance at the Folk Fest and he'd been justifiably proud of having written that song.
Afterward, she noted, "Every time I have to sing the word cry, I want to cry." For that matter, every time she got applause, she looked about to break down. Occasionally, she'd slip some humor in, like when she said, "This next song is for the partyheads. Move the chairs and dance if you want."
Talk about hilarious.
She seemed surprised when the room gave her a standing ovation, but for many of us, it was applause for all the years she shared her intimate songs with us. Besides, if she's like everyone else, she'll find her way back to Richmond.
During the break to allow more time for friends to chat, the Scientist shared with Mr. Wright and me his plans to cycle northern Italy with his partner this summer despite his bike issues post-accident. Getting back on that horse and all.
Our conversation ended when Jonathan Vassar sat down with his harmonica and guitar to play.
After his first song, someone in the front row put money in the donation jar next to his feet. Her husband observed, "She wanted to wait to hear the first song before she committed," the joke being that Jonathan and her husband have not only played together for years, but are business partners. For that matter, I can't imagine there was single person in that room who hasn't heard Jonathan's distinctive brand of Americana before.
That's why it's a house show. You only invite the people who already care about the artist.
Jonathan ruminated on how being a father of three has cut into his time to book shows, so he's appreciative when house shows are set up for him. The apartment itself, he said, reminded him of the ones many of his friends lived in years ago.
He did the relatively new "For Now, We're Good" and made small talk while tuning his guitar by asking the room how everybody was doing. Pausing a beat, he said, "I'm doing fine, thanks" and got a chuckle out of some of us.
After doing a song "for Josh because he likes it," Josh called out, "Is that the radio edit?" and mishearing him, Jonathan responded, "Yea, I know some Radiohead." That got an even bigger laugh.
When Jonathan took a few moments to tighten the screws on his harmonica, his work mate and fellow musician called out, "Are you building that harmonica?" That's the only problem with house shows where everybody's a friend: no one hesitates to rib the talent.
Before singing "Something's Gotta Give," he explained that he'd only practiced the song late at night after his wife and kids were fast asleep. "I've never really sung it out loud," he confessed. "It's not about my wife." Then, just to make sure, he turned to her and said, "It's not about you, honey."
Introducing "Not in the Know," he joked, "This I did write about you. Just kidding!" And while the new material may not have had a full voice testing before tonight, they passed with flying colors.
When the audience gave him a standing ovation, too, he owned it by standing along with us to bring the evening to a close.
Was my heart broken after hearing so much melancholy music? Nope, it wasn't. But my devotion to house shows definitely went up a notch after hearing two of the most intimate singer songwriters do their best to break it.
Now if only Jonathan had played some Radiohead...
Showing posts with label jonathan vassar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jonathan vassar. Show all posts
Sunday, February 24, 2019
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Until the Songs are Done
I took the A6 - also known as the motorway to the sun -to a yard show.
Since it's Virginia wine month, I began the evening at Pasture for a glass of Cardinal Point Winery A6, the lovely Viognier/Chardonnay blend named after the road in France that links Paris to Lyon, a fact I know only because I poured for Cardinal Point at the Virginia Wine Expo two years in a row.
The restaurant was busy with some people even eating outside on the patio, a treat not to be missed on an October evening.
While I thought the rest of my evening would be spent indoors watching two favorite musicians play, I arrived at the address given to find a crowd gathering in the yard next door.
Following the light and laughter to what was clearly going to be a yard show, I saw a familiar face sitting at the front picnic table and promptly joined the Hat, a.k.a. the man about town, on his bench.
From our perch, we were facing a mural I hadn't seen before of black, white, gray and orange, depicting a quarter moon, a tee-pee and a suitcase dangling from a rope near the top of the mural. In front of the mural were several metal frames on which strings of white and orange twinkle lights had been strung. A lit jack-o-lantern sat in front of chairs for musicians and drums. Smaller lit pumpkins sat on the picnic tables.
It was like a Fall fairyland and an ideal place for a little night time music.
Sitting next to the Hat, I said hello to the Richmanian warbler, waved to the record producer, spotted the long-haired breakout musician, smiled at the fashionable keyboard player and her reclusive husband while smelling the candle burning in the pumpkin on the table behind us (humor centered around citronella versus sinsemilla).
A couple spread out an Indian print blanket and sat down on the grass in front of us Soon a second blanket appeared, then a third and forth, all of the same Indian-type print that used to hang from windows as curtains back in the '70s. Apparently they're back.
Josh Small played first, explaining that he'd set out to write a song about something other than himself and settled on the flower world. Except that when all was said and done, the flower song was also about him.
The man is not only musical, but very funny.
When he was introducing a song about farming, he admitted that while he often wore overalls, he may never have actually been to a farm. "I've been to a couple pumpkin patches," he offered. Invoking Burt Reynolds, he did a Jerry Reed song called "Papa's Knee." One of the great things about a Josh Small set is how eclectic they are.
It had been eons since I'd seen David Shultz play out but, in fairness, he and his wife did have triplets so the man's been understandably busy. He began by thanking Matt, the evening's organizer, saying, "The yard couldn't look more cozy."
While the staff from Lamplighter Coffee across the street dragged trashcans along the sidewalk and traffic from the downtown expressway rumbled by, David played guitar and sang lyrics like, "Would it be so bad to dance until the song is done?"
My answer? Never.
Singing "I can't, can't get away from you," the Hat leaned over and observed, "That's a double negative, you know." I did.
David brought up drummer Willis, who'd arrived straight from a volleyball game (he is kind of tall), and they did "The Farmer," Willis' deft touch on drums and percussion adding a lot to the song and then added in Curtis on pedal steel (which was also draped in twinkle lights) and Jonathan on accordion for Blaze Foley's "Clay Pigeons."
Curtis and David joked back and forth about the limited rehearsing they'd done for this show. When David introduced "Down the Road," Curtis said, "That's the one we jammed on for 16 seconds and then talked about the chords?"
"That's why David Shultz and the Skyline aren't a band anymore," David patiently explained."Because what I really want to do is go to your house and drink wine and talk about music."
Favorite lyric: The best laid plans are the ones that don't require a second thought.
We got a real treat when David and Jonathan brought up the very talented Grant to play mandolin so they could play some Ophelia songs such as "Hunter's Bow." Along with drummer Willis, that quartet had made some outstanding music as Ophelia a few years back.
"It's a sneak attack Ophelia reunion!" someone said. Lucky us.
They did "Easy Prey" but it was the aching of "One Too Many" ("One too many nights together or one too many nights apart") that knocked the crowd off its feet, sounding just as remarkable as it did when they first played it.
David and Grant did "Oklahoma Rose," a song they wrote together and a reminder how well those two harmonize, much like on "Days Go By," a song recorded by Grant's River City Band.
Jonathan's songs never fail to tug at the heart ("I'm on my way to being on my own") and it didn't hurt having Curtis' mournful pedal steel further ripping our hearts out.
They closed the show with "The Butcher" ("I got a quarter of a quart of wine") and sitting there listening to those familiar voices singing to the sky was a reminder of just how wonderful Richmond can be sometimes.
Sort of a musical motorway to the moon on a Fall night.
Since it's Virginia wine month, I began the evening at Pasture for a glass of Cardinal Point Winery A6, the lovely Viognier/Chardonnay blend named after the road in France that links Paris to Lyon, a fact I know only because I poured for Cardinal Point at the Virginia Wine Expo two years in a row.
The restaurant was busy with some people even eating outside on the patio, a treat not to be missed on an October evening.
While I thought the rest of my evening would be spent indoors watching two favorite musicians play, I arrived at the address given to find a crowd gathering in the yard next door.
Following the light and laughter to what was clearly going to be a yard show, I saw a familiar face sitting at the front picnic table and promptly joined the Hat, a.k.a. the man about town, on his bench.
From our perch, we were facing a mural I hadn't seen before of black, white, gray and orange, depicting a quarter moon, a tee-pee and a suitcase dangling from a rope near the top of the mural. In front of the mural were several metal frames on which strings of white and orange twinkle lights had been strung. A lit jack-o-lantern sat in front of chairs for musicians and drums. Smaller lit pumpkins sat on the picnic tables.
It was like a Fall fairyland and an ideal place for a little night time music.
Sitting next to the Hat, I said hello to the Richmanian warbler, waved to the record producer, spotted the long-haired breakout musician, smiled at the fashionable keyboard player and her reclusive husband while smelling the candle burning in the pumpkin on the table behind us (humor centered around citronella versus sinsemilla).
A couple spread out an Indian print blanket and sat down on the grass in front of us Soon a second blanket appeared, then a third and forth, all of the same Indian-type print that used to hang from windows as curtains back in the '70s. Apparently they're back.
Josh Small played first, explaining that he'd set out to write a song about something other than himself and settled on the flower world. Except that when all was said and done, the flower song was also about him.
The man is not only musical, but very funny.
When he was introducing a song about farming, he admitted that while he often wore overalls, he may never have actually been to a farm. "I've been to a couple pumpkin patches," he offered. Invoking Burt Reynolds, he did a Jerry Reed song called "Papa's Knee." One of the great things about a Josh Small set is how eclectic they are.
It had been eons since I'd seen David Shultz play out but, in fairness, he and his wife did have triplets so the man's been understandably busy. He began by thanking Matt, the evening's organizer, saying, "The yard couldn't look more cozy."
While the staff from Lamplighter Coffee across the street dragged trashcans along the sidewalk and traffic from the downtown expressway rumbled by, David played guitar and sang lyrics like, "Would it be so bad to dance until the song is done?"
My answer? Never.
Singing "I can't, can't get away from you," the Hat leaned over and observed, "That's a double negative, you know." I did.
David brought up drummer Willis, who'd arrived straight from a volleyball game (he is kind of tall), and they did "The Farmer," Willis' deft touch on drums and percussion adding a lot to the song and then added in Curtis on pedal steel (which was also draped in twinkle lights) and Jonathan on accordion for Blaze Foley's "Clay Pigeons."
Curtis and David joked back and forth about the limited rehearsing they'd done for this show. When David introduced "Down the Road," Curtis said, "That's the one we jammed on for 16 seconds and then talked about the chords?"
"That's why David Shultz and the Skyline aren't a band anymore," David patiently explained."Because what I really want to do is go to your house and drink wine and talk about music."
Favorite lyric: The best laid plans are the ones that don't require a second thought.
We got a real treat when David and Jonathan brought up the very talented Grant to play mandolin so they could play some Ophelia songs such as "Hunter's Bow." Along with drummer Willis, that quartet had made some outstanding music as Ophelia a few years back.
"It's a sneak attack Ophelia reunion!" someone said. Lucky us.
They did "Easy Prey" but it was the aching of "One Too Many" ("One too many nights together or one too many nights apart") that knocked the crowd off its feet, sounding just as remarkable as it did when they first played it.
David and Grant did "Oklahoma Rose," a song they wrote together and a reminder how well those two harmonize, much like on "Days Go By," a song recorded by Grant's River City Band.
Jonathan's songs never fail to tug at the heart ("I'm on my way to being on my own") and it didn't hurt having Curtis' mournful pedal steel further ripping our hearts out.
They closed the show with "The Butcher" ("I got a quarter of a quart of wine") and sitting there listening to those familiar voices singing to the sky was a reminder of just how wonderful Richmond can be sometimes.
Sort of a musical motorway to the moon on a Fall night.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Make the Most of Our Time
Once upon a time, when my life was very different and so was the Richmond music scene, a new concept took hold.
It was November 2009 when the Listening Room opened up the basement doors of the Michaux house and welcomed in anyone and everyone willing to shut up and listen while the music played, here.
Back then, it was so refreshing to be able to go to a show where you knew you'd be able to hear every note, every harmony. And the string of twinkle lights would reliably fall from the low basement ceiling every time.
Like death and taxes, some things are certainties.
Tonight marked the end of that remarkable string of shows with the final installment of the Listening Room at the Firehouse Theater.
One thing about tonight was non-negotiable: I was going to sit in my usual seat come hell or high water.
So I arrived early enough to stake my territory and hang out with the LR crew whom I've gotten to know over the years. Emcee Chris saw me and said, "I'd have been devastated if you hadn't come."
As if.
When I finally took my seat I was joined by my favorite Jackson Ward couple, also long-time LR regulars.
A few minutes later, photographer Rob, part of the original crew, came over to bring the three of us glasses of bubbly to celebrate our nearly half a decade allegiance to the Listening Room.
One of the LR rules is that shows start on time but tonight's was a tad tardy with emcee Chris taking the stage to acknowledge as much.
He shared that the very first night of the series, Apropos Roasters brought coffee but forgot to bring a grinder. Now, almost five years later, they have an actual coffee shop. Time marches forward.
Appropriately, tonight's first act was Dogs on Main Street, also known as Mac, a fine singer and musician I first saw at the Listening Room back in February 2011 when he was the first one to inaugurate the move from the Michaux House to the Firehouse.
I've seen him many times since and he only continues to sound less raw and more poignant, although the one thing that hasn't changed is his stellar self-deprecating sense of humor, in full flower tonight.
After his first heartfelt song, he explained that over the next few songs he was going to take us low and then lower and then back up and even higher. "So don't leave," he warned. "I'm not responsible for what happens if you do."
Anyone who had left (no one did) would have missed his second song ending abruptly when a string on his guitar snapped.
He'd come down from NYC on a Greyhound bus and so hadn't brought his usual second guitar. "I'm crashing and burning," he joked.
Mark of second band Vandaveer stepped out of the shadows and offered him a pack of guitar strings, asking, "What do you need?"
A guitar, Mac said and used Mark's to continue while Mark graciously took Mac's guitar backstage to restring it in the meantime.
Singer songwriter and LR originator Jonathan Vassar was called onstage and brought his wife's maternity accordion to join Mac for a song, an obvious mutual admiration society.
"You know what you get for trying to be different?" Mac asked us rhetorically. "A broken string!"
He chose to skip the song called "Gallows" even after he got his guitar returned and restrung, cracking wise saying, "I have download cards, postcards and an overdue credit card."
My favorite lines was, "I'm just an alley cat yearning for something more than this," at least until he played a new song and I heard him sing, "I guess my sins are at an even keel."
Saying that he was still going to be beating himself up about the broken string when he went to bed, Mac shared that at his release show at the Camel, he'd kicked his own cord out. "So what you saw tonight is pretty regular. Come talk to me after the show if I don't seem too unbearable."
Talented, yes. Hysterical for sure. Unbearable, not even a little. Dogs on Main Street is the epitome of what the Listening Room is about.
Talented musician with excellent songwriting chops and distinctive voice is introduced to music-loving masses and becomes part of local scene.
Tonight's crowd was understandably big and I felt a little sorry for those whose first LR was tonight. Imagine experiencing this and knowing it will be no more.
Once the second act began, the LR crew took the stage for a sort of mass farewell. Jonathan entreated us to keep listening. Antonia explained that there were people here tonight who'd been at that first Firehouse show seeing Mac and asked that those of us who'd been at the very first Michaux House show raise our hands.
We were a small group, but undoubtedly with some of the fondest memories in the room.
As he always does, Chris reminded us that the audience was 50% of the LR's success formula and even said, "Karen's been to more Listening Rooms than I have." The man didn't lie.
Next up was Vandaveer, a band I consider my May band. I first saw them in May 2011 and then again in May 2012, meaning I was overdue for my May Vandaveer fix.
They've been on a living room tour since April 1, covering over 13,000 miles with 3,000 left to go before the end of the month.
Leader Mark explained that he lived in Arlington, Virginia, singer Rose in Massachusetts and pedal steel player Tom was from Pennsylvania.
"For those of you keeping score, we play commonwealth music," he cracked. Literate humor, I like that. And if you ask me, it's better described as poetic music.
And I don't just like his voice, I adore his voice, which, as the girlfriend sitting next to me observed, "I even like his speaking voice." Uh huh.
Their sound is sort of alt-folk with his acoustic guitar bumped up with just enough reverb to tread near rock territory but Tom's pedal steel and Rose's exquisite voice on harmony and sometimes lead anchoring things firmly in LR territory.
When Mark mentioned that Tom was a Civil War buff who had spent some hours looking at Richmond's historic sites like Cold Harbor, he called us the birthplace of entrenchments.
"We used to make out there," my friend said leaning in as he husband sat oblivious on the other side of her.
The buoyant "However Many Takes It Takes," a song about perseverance, a subject I know well, won my vote for the line, "I'll be in the kingdom of your dreams."
"Sometimes it requires all arms and legs be on the ground to solve technical difficulties," Mark said at one point, pulling stuff out of the power strip in front of him and then flinging them over his shoulder. "None of that was necessary but it was for dramatic effect."
Dramatic aptly described his voice and Rose's over Tom's pedal steel or slide guitar and each song shimmered with the talent of the three. We couldn't have asked for a finer band to finish out the Listening Room.
For a soulful song about the coming apocalypse, Mark said, "There's nothing you can do except snap and sing along," which is about what I plan to do when the apocalypse finally does arrive.
Off their album of murder ballads from last year ("We sold dozens and dozens of that album"), they did "Pretty Polly" as Mark put it, "Modernized for your contemporary ears." That meant instead of guitar, he sang and stamped on the wooden floor.
We got another from that album when Rose sang "The Drunkard's Doom" and about brought the house down with her exquisite voice, sort of Emmylou Harris-like.
Then there was more literary humor when Mark told of writing a song because of Beverly Cleary and I wondered how many people in the crowd knew who she or Ramona Quimby had been.
Saying he couldn't call it "Ramona" because of Dylan's "To Ramona," he'd titled it "Beverly Cleary's 115th Dream," although he admitted that he didn't know that it was really her 115th.
Peace and love and harmony
and all the things that lovers need
Like hope and health and clarity and time
Oh, precious, precious time
And, just like that, the final Listening Room wound down. Mark called up the entire LR crew - Antonia, Jonathan, Chris, Rob, Nate- and Mac for the big singalong finale, Tom Waits' "Come On Up to the House."
I've no doubt that some of that crew got a bit misty up there singing because I know the long-time regulars in the room felt that way.
It was a really good run and the Listening Room set new standards for shows in this town. Oh, and the bands I discovered through being at almost every Listening Room. All the people I met there.
But it's not the end of the world, It's just a closing of the circle. It's run its course and now we'll have Listening Room Presents shows on an occasional basis.
What matters most is what Jonathan said. Keep on listening.
You better believe I will.
It was November 2009 when the Listening Room opened up the basement doors of the Michaux house and welcomed in anyone and everyone willing to shut up and listen while the music played, here.
Back then, it was so refreshing to be able to go to a show where you knew you'd be able to hear every note, every harmony. And the string of twinkle lights would reliably fall from the low basement ceiling every time.
Like death and taxes, some things are certainties.
Tonight marked the end of that remarkable string of shows with the final installment of the Listening Room at the Firehouse Theater.
One thing about tonight was non-negotiable: I was going to sit in my usual seat come hell or high water.
So I arrived early enough to stake my territory and hang out with the LR crew whom I've gotten to know over the years. Emcee Chris saw me and said, "I'd have been devastated if you hadn't come."
As if.
When I finally took my seat I was joined by my favorite Jackson Ward couple, also long-time LR regulars.
A few minutes later, photographer Rob, part of the original crew, came over to bring the three of us glasses of bubbly to celebrate our nearly half a decade allegiance to the Listening Room.
One of the LR rules is that shows start on time but tonight's was a tad tardy with emcee Chris taking the stage to acknowledge as much.
He shared that the very first night of the series, Apropos Roasters brought coffee but forgot to bring a grinder. Now, almost five years later, they have an actual coffee shop. Time marches forward.
Appropriately, tonight's first act was Dogs on Main Street, also known as Mac, a fine singer and musician I first saw at the Listening Room back in February 2011 when he was the first one to inaugurate the move from the Michaux House to the Firehouse.
I've seen him many times since and he only continues to sound less raw and more poignant, although the one thing that hasn't changed is his stellar self-deprecating sense of humor, in full flower tonight.
After his first heartfelt song, he explained that over the next few songs he was going to take us low and then lower and then back up and even higher. "So don't leave," he warned. "I'm not responsible for what happens if you do."
Anyone who had left (no one did) would have missed his second song ending abruptly when a string on his guitar snapped.
He'd come down from NYC on a Greyhound bus and so hadn't brought his usual second guitar. "I'm crashing and burning," he joked.
Mark of second band Vandaveer stepped out of the shadows and offered him a pack of guitar strings, asking, "What do you need?"
A guitar, Mac said and used Mark's to continue while Mark graciously took Mac's guitar backstage to restring it in the meantime.
Singer songwriter and LR originator Jonathan Vassar was called onstage and brought his wife's maternity accordion to join Mac for a song, an obvious mutual admiration society.
"You know what you get for trying to be different?" Mac asked us rhetorically. "A broken string!"
He chose to skip the song called "Gallows" even after he got his guitar returned and restrung, cracking wise saying, "I have download cards, postcards and an overdue credit card."
My favorite lines was, "I'm just an alley cat yearning for something more than this," at least until he played a new song and I heard him sing, "I guess my sins are at an even keel."
Saying that he was still going to be beating himself up about the broken string when he went to bed, Mac shared that at his release show at the Camel, he'd kicked his own cord out. "So what you saw tonight is pretty regular. Come talk to me after the show if I don't seem too unbearable."
Talented, yes. Hysterical for sure. Unbearable, not even a little. Dogs on Main Street is the epitome of what the Listening Room is about.
Talented musician with excellent songwriting chops and distinctive voice is introduced to music-loving masses and becomes part of local scene.
Tonight's crowd was understandably big and I felt a little sorry for those whose first LR was tonight. Imagine experiencing this and knowing it will be no more.
Once the second act began, the LR crew took the stage for a sort of mass farewell. Jonathan entreated us to keep listening. Antonia explained that there were people here tonight who'd been at that first Firehouse show seeing Mac and asked that those of us who'd been at the very first Michaux House show raise our hands.
We were a small group, but undoubtedly with some of the fondest memories in the room.
As he always does, Chris reminded us that the audience was 50% of the LR's success formula and even said, "Karen's been to more Listening Rooms than I have." The man didn't lie.
Next up was Vandaveer, a band I consider my May band. I first saw them in May 2011 and then again in May 2012, meaning I was overdue for my May Vandaveer fix.
They've been on a living room tour since April 1, covering over 13,000 miles with 3,000 left to go before the end of the month.
Leader Mark explained that he lived in Arlington, Virginia, singer Rose in Massachusetts and pedal steel player Tom was from Pennsylvania.
"For those of you keeping score, we play commonwealth music," he cracked. Literate humor, I like that. And if you ask me, it's better described as poetic music.
And I don't just like his voice, I adore his voice, which, as the girlfriend sitting next to me observed, "I even like his speaking voice." Uh huh.
Their sound is sort of alt-folk with his acoustic guitar bumped up with just enough reverb to tread near rock territory but Tom's pedal steel and Rose's exquisite voice on harmony and sometimes lead anchoring things firmly in LR territory.
When Mark mentioned that Tom was a Civil War buff who had spent some hours looking at Richmond's historic sites like Cold Harbor, he called us the birthplace of entrenchments.
"We used to make out there," my friend said leaning in as he husband sat oblivious on the other side of her.
The buoyant "However Many Takes It Takes," a song about perseverance, a subject I know well, won my vote for the line, "I'll be in the kingdom of your dreams."
"Sometimes it requires all arms and legs be on the ground to solve technical difficulties," Mark said at one point, pulling stuff out of the power strip in front of him and then flinging them over his shoulder. "None of that was necessary but it was for dramatic effect."
Dramatic aptly described his voice and Rose's over Tom's pedal steel or slide guitar and each song shimmered with the talent of the three. We couldn't have asked for a finer band to finish out the Listening Room.
For a soulful song about the coming apocalypse, Mark said, "There's nothing you can do except snap and sing along," which is about what I plan to do when the apocalypse finally does arrive.
Off their album of murder ballads from last year ("We sold dozens and dozens of that album"), they did "Pretty Polly" as Mark put it, "Modernized for your contemporary ears." That meant instead of guitar, he sang and stamped on the wooden floor.
We got another from that album when Rose sang "The Drunkard's Doom" and about brought the house down with her exquisite voice, sort of Emmylou Harris-like.
Then there was more literary humor when Mark told of writing a song because of Beverly Cleary and I wondered how many people in the crowd knew who she or Ramona Quimby had been.
Saying he couldn't call it "Ramona" because of Dylan's "To Ramona," he'd titled it "Beverly Cleary's 115th Dream," although he admitted that he didn't know that it was really her 115th.
Peace and love and harmony
and all the things that lovers need
Like hope and health and clarity and time
Oh, precious, precious time
And, just like that, the final Listening Room wound down. Mark called up the entire LR crew - Antonia, Jonathan, Chris, Rob, Nate- and Mac for the big singalong finale, Tom Waits' "Come On Up to the House."
I've no doubt that some of that crew got a bit misty up there singing because I know the long-time regulars in the room felt that way.
It was a really good run and the Listening Room set new standards for shows in this town. Oh, and the bands I discovered through being at almost every Listening Room. All the people I met there.
But it's not the end of the world, It's just a closing of the circle. It's run its course and now we'll have Listening Room Presents shows on an occasional basis.
What matters most is what Jonathan said. Keep on listening.
You better believe I will.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
I'm Only Me
It wasn't your typical First Friday.
For starters, I left the arts district to meet a friend for dinner and never made it back in time for art.
We'd both gotten the memo to wear black and talk about love and violins.
Our meal was abbreviated by the need to be at a mutual friend's show at 7:30 at the Michaux House, where the Listening Room used to be held.
That alone was noteworthy and person after person mentioned how excited they were to be back where it all began.
The first person I saw inside was the reason for the evening, new Dad Jonathan Vassar, particularly striking tonight because his hair was showing.
When I asked about this rarity, he explained that he'd stopped wearing his summer baseball cap ("And once I stop, I never go back") but at 86 degrees today, it had been just too warm for one of his knit caps.
Hence, a fine-looking but rarely seen head of hair showing.
Elizabeth Whitmire opened with her friend Karen singing backup, announcing, "I'm going to play some whiny folk songs."
It put me in mind of an old boyfriend who used to say his favorite music was made by whiny white women.
Accompanied by guitar and mandolin, they played depressing songs ("Depressing songs always have the worst rhymes"), a spiteful song, the first song Elizabeth ever wrote, and a fine cover choice ("This is a Magnetic Fields' song we can't play").
If I was the Grand Canyon
I'd echo everything you say
but I'm just me, I'm only me
and you used to love me that way
so you know how to love me that way
The closing song hilariously came from personal experience. "This song is about the girl my boyfriend dated after me. She had long hair and a private jet."
Whoa, it's hard to compete with those two things.
Philly's Chris Kasper, a last minute addition to the show, played second accompanied by violinist Kiley.
He did a short set, singing songs about Carolina, about when you first move in with a lover and have no furniture and about seeing an ex on the street after you've broken up and pretending not to.
Tonight's main event was Jonathan Vassar's CD release, "Mercy for the Undeserving," a two-disc set, one of unreleased songs from ten years ago and another of new material.
Sixteen songs, two sister albums ten years apart. Kind of like twin sons of different mothers, a reference that dates me for sure.
Before he began singing, the lovely Anousheh turned around from her front row seat and warned us all that she always cries at Jonathan's shows.
Sad lyrics, spare arrangements, it's really a recipe for emotion.
An artist in the audience called out that Jonathan had on a cardigan, saying he'd gotten one, too, when he'd become a Dad.
It was immediately dubbed a "dadigan."
"I just learned tonight what hash tags are," Jonathan said by way of introduction. "I don't understand it, though, because that's a pound sign. Shouldn't it be a pound tag?"
The man raises a good point.
He dedicated "Houston Gone Again" to Elizabeth and commented that tonight felt like a Listening Room reunion being back in the old space "for all you Listening Room regulars and there's a lot of you here tonight."
I was sitting between two of them, one with his hands full of cookies and the other lost in thought about why men do the things they do.
After singing "Long Drive Home," Jonathan cracked wise, saying, "Hash tag thanks."
He called friend and fellow former Ophelia member Grant onstage to join him for a few songs and Grant's voice and mandolin add immeasurably to the evocative songs new and old.
Getting his harmonica into its holder, Jonathan shared, "I saw Kris Kristofferson this summer and he didn't become a full-fledged singer/songwriter until he was 34. And by full-fledged, I mean famous. So I figure I've got about two days."
Grant established his old man bragging rights by sharing that he hadn't known what hash tags were either, assuming that the pound sign meant that the writer felt strongly enough to pound on the table to make his point.
Who said musicians don't have a sense of humor?
After a touching "My Life is Not My Own," Jonathan asked for requests and Will, seated next to the teary Anousheh, asked for "Last Chance."
You can always count on Jonathan for beautifully heartfelt music done right and tonight it was even better given the nostalgic setting.
Church basement, low ceiling, twinkly lights, lots of familiar faces.
Toto, it's wonderful to be back at the Michaux house hearing music for the undeserving.
When I got home, I found a message from an out-of-town friend saying she was at Belmont Food Shop and to hurry over.
There I found three friends, the artist I'd seen twice already this week, and the bartender who greeted me by asking if I wanted the cook's plate.
Sadly, no, I'd already eaten. But it's nice to know that's my standing order.
But I joined in tasting some desserts - mint chocolate chip mousse and apple walnut crisp- and sipping Prosecco while '20s music played in the background.
Eventually the chef came out and when I refused the offer of a chocolate jalapeno, he told me to follow him.
Through the kitchen, past my favorite wooden walk-in to the backyard garden he took me, the better to show off his herbs and veggies.
Last time I'd been in his backyard, Belmont was only open for lunch and it was crowded with piles of stuff, some junk, some worthwhile.
Since then, inlaid terraces had been put down, a stone-encircled compost pile put in and an array of spot gardens added.
We talked about espaliered fig trees, aromatic lemon balm and the abundance of lettuces he'd grown and used this summer.
Talking about our recent stellar weather of warm days and cool nights ("Like desert weather," according to him), we eventually made our way back into the dining room and my waiting friend.
Some might think me rude to abandon them at the bar, but she knows me well enough to know that I am a sucker for a walk in a good garden, especially on a balmy October evening.
Hash tag good life.
For starters, I left the arts district to meet a friend for dinner and never made it back in time for art.
We'd both gotten the memo to wear black and talk about love and violins.
Our meal was abbreviated by the need to be at a mutual friend's show at 7:30 at the Michaux House, where the Listening Room used to be held.
That alone was noteworthy and person after person mentioned how excited they were to be back where it all began.
The first person I saw inside was the reason for the evening, new Dad Jonathan Vassar, particularly striking tonight because his hair was showing.
When I asked about this rarity, he explained that he'd stopped wearing his summer baseball cap ("And once I stop, I never go back") but at 86 degrees today, it had been just too warm for one of his knit caps.
Hence, a fine-looking but rarely seen head of hair showing.
Elizabeth Whitmire opened with her friend Karen singing backup, announcing, "I'm going to play some whiny folk songs."
It put me in mind of an old boyfriend who used to say his favorite music was made by whiny white women.
Accompanied by guitar and mandolin, they played depressing songs ("Depressing songs always have the worst rhymes"), a spiteful song, the first song Elizabeth ever wrote, and a fine cover choice ("This is a Magnetic Fields' song we can't play").
If I was the Grand Canyon
I'd echo everything you say
but I'm just me, I'm only me
and you used to love me that way
so you know how to love me that way
The closing song hilariously came from personal experience. "This song is about the girl my boyfriend dated after me. She had long hair and a private jet."
Whoa, it's hard to compete with those two things.
Philly's Chris Kasper, a last minute addition to the show, played second accompanied by violinist Kiley.
He did a short set, singing songs about Carolina, about when you first move in with a lover and have no furniture and about seeing an ex on the street after you've broken up and pretending not to.
Tonight's main event was Jonathan Vassar's CD release, "Mercy for the Undeserving," a two-disc set, one of unreleased songs from ten years ago and another of new material.
Sixteen songs, two sister albums ten years apart. Kind of like twin sons of different mothers, a reference that dates me for sure.
Before he began singing, the lovely Anousheh turned around from her front row seat and warned us all that she always cries at Jonathan's shows.
Sad lyrics, spare arrangements, it's really a recipe for emotion.
An artist in the audience called out that Jonathan had on a cardigan, saying he'd gotten one, too, when he'd become a Dad.
It was immediately dubbed a "dadigan."
"I just learned tonight what hash tags are," Jonathan said by way of introduction. "I don't understand it, though, because that's a pound sign. Shouldn't it be a pound tag?"
The man raises a good point.
He dedicated "Houston Gone Again" to Elizabeth and commented that tonight felt like a Listening Room reunion being back in the old space "for all you Listening Room regulars and there's a lot of you here tonight."
I was sitting between two of them, one with his hands full of cookies and the other lost in thought about why men do the things they do.
After singing "Long Drive Home," Jonathan cracked wise, saying, "Hash tag thanks."
He called friend and fellow former Ophelia member Grant onstage to join him for a few songs and Grant's voice and mandolin add immeasurably to the evocative songs new and old.
Getting his harmonica into its holder, Jonathan shared, "I saw Kris Kristofferson this summer and he didn't become a full-fledged singer/songwriter until he was 34. And by full-fledged, I mean famous. So I figure I've got about two days."
Grant established his old man bragging rights by sharing that he hadn't known what hash tags were either, assuming that the pound sign meant that the writer felt strongly enough to pound on the table to make his point.
Who said musicians don't have a sense of humor?
After a touching "My Life is Not My Own," Jonathan asked for requests and Will, seated next to the teary Anousheh, asked for "Last Chance."
You can always count on Jonathan for beautifully heartfelt music done right and tonight it was even better given the nostalgic setting.
Church basement, low ceiling, twinkly lights, lots of familiar faces.
Toto, it's wonderful to be back at the Michaux house hearing music for the undeserving.
When I got home, I found a message from an out-of-town friend saying she was at Belmont Food Shop and to hurry over.
There I found three friends, the artist I'd seen twice already this week, and the bartender who greeted me by asking if I wanted the cook's plate.
Sadly, no, I'd already eaten. But it's nice to know that's my standing order.
But I joined in tasting some desserts - mint chocolate chip mousse and apple walnut crisp- and sipping Prosecco while '20s music played in the background.
Eventually the chef came out and when I refused the offer of a chocolate jalapeno, he told me to follow him.
Through the kitchen, past my favorite wooden walk-in to the backyard garden he took me, the better to show off his herbs and veggies.
Last time I'd been in his backyard, Belmont was only open for lunch and it was crowded with piles of stuff, some junk, some worthwhile.
Since then, inlaid terraces had been put down, a stone-encircled compost pile put in and an array of spot gardens added.
We talked about espaliered fig trees, aromatic lemon balm and the abundance of lettuces he'd grown and used this summer.
Talking about our recent stellar weather of warm days and cool nights ("Like desert weather," according to him), we eventually made our way back into the dining room and my waiting friend.
Some might think me rude to abandon them at the bar, but she knows me well enough to know that I am a sucker for a walk in a good garden, especially on a balmy October evening.
Hash tag good life.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Worm Salt and Hard-Working Men
It was like a moment from the 1950s, right here in Jackson Ward.
There I was, eating my dinner surrounded by men, listening to records on the stereo and flipping through Betty Crocker's New Good and Easy Cookbook.
After a day spent playing catch-up, talking to a bouzouki player in Newfoundland and writing about the Spanish civil war, I put myself together and walked down the street to Saison, where I found nothing but the opposite sex.
Pointing out to the bartender that one of these things was not like the other, he arched an eyebrow and asked if I had a problem with it.
I did not.
Part of my motivation to come had been that it was vinyl night (although I'd been too lazy to bring a contribution myself), but, as it turned out, I also made tequila happy hour.
I am helpless in the face of half-priced tequila, even more so given what was already on the turntable: English post-punk band The Sound.
Espolon blanco in hand, I was now ready to consider some eats.
Fried corn with cayenne and gusano salt (you know, salt blended with desiccated caterpillar) gave me a spicy accompaniment to my Espolon and I followed that with greens.
Pickled fig salad with country ham, arugula, orange sections and toasted black walnuts gave me some sweet to go with the salty this time.
My menu had come in a book of old Virginia photographs, but the guy next to me got his in a far more fabulous book.
That's right, I had to ask to look at Betty Crocker's New Good and Easy Cookbook, a spiral-bound classic from 1954.
It was such a fascinating cultural snapshot, I barely even made small talk for a while.
Well, except to say, ooh, look at this menu for morning meal at the ranch! Ranch?
Or, check out this recipe for snow-capped franks (mashed potato and bacon on split hot dogs).
There was an entire section on homey, hearty, happy lunches.
The guys around me found it hysterical.
You don't even want to know where the conversation went once I told them about the menu labeled "lunch for a hard-working man."
You can be sure that the man wasn't making it.
The most interesting thing to me was how dependent the cookbook was on convenience foods- boxed cake mixes, instant mashed potatoes, cream of chicken soup, Bisquick and yet, there was a whole section of recipes on variety meats.
That's right, Betty told you how to make crispy fried livers, stuffed veal heart, tongue, broiled lamb kidneys, even liver and bacon patties.
Thank god there was no recipe fro snow-capped veal heart.
The book closed with a chapter on "fourth meals" also known as snacks, emphasizing how important they were.
Don't I know it. I'm having asnack fourth meal of bacon even as I type this.
While I was taking my trip down culinary memory lane, a guy came in with a newer album to share, one I knew, "In Guards We Trust" and the music shifted from 1985 to 2013.
Unfortunately, I wasn't going to be around at the end of the night to see what else came in and which customer's album was ultimately the staff pick, winning its owner gift certificates to Saison and Steady Sounds.
Like the guy sitting immediately to my left, I couldn't linger anymore because I had to get going to the Listening Room.
Back after a summer hiatus, it seemed like ages since I'd been to the Firehouse for music.
My first order of business was telling a friend how I'd been out at a restaurant when his father recognized me from the Listening Room and spoke to me.
And, no, we'd never met.
From there I reserved my usual seat and began making the rounds to mingle among the familiar and new faces.
The puppet master sat in front of me, the scientist had on his bowtie, the DJ had a drink in both hands and my neighbors brought warm cheesecake bars.
First up was James Harris Moore, from Nashville we were told and now living in Charlottesville.
He was a long, tall drink of water with a shock of curly hair, orange shoe laces and a good voice.
After a couple of songs, he made the inevitable comments about the quiet room. "This is a good challenge for me. I'm used to playing bars where people ignore me."
I get so twisted up sleeping next to you
Wondering what I'm going to be
He talked about songwriting, how sometimes songs come in 15 minutes while others take years to finish.
How sometimes writers get stuck, as he had, and find inspiration in unlikely places, for him a photography book.
For one song, he got all Andrew Bird on us, whistling the melody beautifully.
After thanking us for being good listeners ("Good job! I was afraid you'd forgotten since it's been a while"), he got to his last song.
"The next one's not mine but I love it anyway," he said, launching into a haunting cover of "Moon River."
It was the very best kind of cover, where the artist makes it his own and it was a stellar ending to his set.
Tonight's second act was, as host Chris said, a man who needed no introduction. "He's the godfather of the Listening Room."
Jonathan Vassar was the man who'd originally conceived of the Listening Room and he talked briefly about where it had come from and how the new crew was ably handling it since he and his lovely wife had had a baby.
He began with "Catch Me If You Can" before telling the audience that he had a cold and he was starving it.
Apparently his friend Will had told him cold or fever, the best thing to do was drown it.
We got to hear several songs from his days with local super group Ophelia, including the brilliantly worded, "$10 says I'm Broke" inspired when a friend wouldn't loan him money for a sandwich on the bus back from NYC.
That's harsh.
Jonathan is known for his spare, sad songs, the kind that mention things like Bethlehem Steel, hard-drinking women and the Bay Bridge.
After a few, he felt the need to qualify himself to any newcomers in the crowd, saying, "These songs are not about my family. I'm happily married with an 8-month old who's just about to start crawling. My brother-in-law shot video of him today."
Just when he was about to completely destroy his aching troubadour image for the newbies, he came to. " Of course, the more you have, the more you have to lose."
That's our Jonathan.
He dedicated "Bakersfield" to all the guys in Ophelia there tonight.
Reaching for the wrong harmonica for "Oklahoma Rose," he said, "I saw Kris Kristofferson this summer and he grabbed the wrong harmonica and if he can get the wrong one..."
He closed with "Drive," a song from his upcoming album and his set of beautiful and melancholy songs ended.
Ah, Listening Room #42, a recipe for a homey, hearty and happy evening.
There I was, eating my dinner surrounded by men, listening to records on the stereo and flipping through Betty Crocker's New Good and Easy Cookbook.
After a day spent playing catch-up, talking to a bouzouki player in Newfoundland and writing about the Spanish civil war, I put myself together and walked down the street to Saison, where I found nothing but the opposite sex.
Pointing out to the bartender that one of these things was not like the other, he arched an eyebrow and asked if I had a problem with it.
I did not.
Part of my motivation to come had been that it was vinyl night (although I'd been too lazy to bring a contribution myself), but, as it turned out, I also made tequila happy hour.
I am helpless in the face of half-priced tequila, even more so given what was already on the turntable: English post-punk band The Sound.
Espolon blanco in hand, I was now ready to consider some eats.
Fried corn with cayenne and gusano salt (you know, salt blended with desiccated caterpillar) gave me a spicy accompaniment to my Espolon and I followed that with greens.
Pickled fig salad with country ham, arugula, orange sections and toasted black walnuts gave me some sweet to go with the salty this time.
My menu had come in a book of old Virginia photographs, but the guy next to me got his in a far more fabulous book.
That's right, I had to ask to look at Betty Crocker's New Good and Easy Cookbook, a spiral-bound classic from 1954.
It was such a fascinating cultural snapshot, I barely even made small talk for a while.
Well, except to say, ooh, look at this menu for morning meal at the ranch! Ranch?
Or, check out this recipe for snow-capped franks (mashed potato and bacon on split hot dogs).
There was an entire section on homey, hearty, happy lunches.
The guys around me found it hysterical.
You don't even want to know where the conversation went once I told them about the menu labeled "lunch for a hard-working man."
You can be sure that the man wasn't making it.
The most interesting thing to me was how dependent the cookbook was on convenience foods- boxed cake mixes, instant mashed potatoes, cream of chicken soup, Bisquick and yet, there was a whole section of recipes on variety meats.
That's right, Betty told you how to make crispy fried livers, stuffed veal heart, tongue, broiled lamb kidneys, even liver and bacon patties.
Thank god there was no recipe fro snow-capped veal heart.
The book closed with a chapter on "fourth meals" also known as snacks, emphasizing how important they were.
Don't I know it. I'm having a
While I was taking my trip down culinary memory lane, a guy came in with a newer album to share, one I knew, "In Guards We Trust" and the music shifted from 1985 to 2013.
Unfortunately, I wasn't going to be around at the end of the night to see what else came in and which customer's album was ultimately the staff pick, winning its owner gift certificates to Saison and Steady Sounds.
Like the guy sitting immediately to my left, I couldn't linger anymore because I had to get going to the Listening Room.
Back after a summer hiatus, it seemed like ages since I'd been to the Firehouse for music.
My first order of business was telling a friend how I'd been out at a restaurant when his father recognized me from the Listening Room and spoke to me.
And, no, we'd never met.
From there I reserved my usual seat and began making the rounds to mingle among the familiar and new faces.
The puppet master sat in front of me, the scientist had on his bowtie, the DJ had a drink in both hands and my neighbors brought warm cheesecake bars.
First up was James Harris Moore, from Nashville we were told and now living in Charlottesville.
He was a long, tall drink of water with a shock of curly hair, orange shoe laces and a good voice.
After a couple of songs, he made the inevitable comments about the quiet room. "This is a good challenge for me. I'm used to playing bars where people ignore me."
I get so twisted up sleeping next to you
Wondering what I'm going to be
He talked about songwriting, how sometimes songs come in 15 minutes while others take years to finish.
How sometimes writers get stuck, as he had, and find inspiration in unlikely places, for him a photography book.
For one song, he got all Andrew Bird on us, whistling the melody beautifully.
After thanking us for being good listeners ("Good job! I was afraid you'd forgotten since it's been a while"), he got to his last song.
"The next one's not mine but I love it anyway," he said, launching into a haunting cover of "Moon River."
It was the very best kind of cover, where the artist makes it his own and it was a stellar ending to his set.
Tonight's second act was, as host Chris said, a man who needed no introduction. "He's the godfather of the Listening Room."
Jonathan Vassar was the man who'd originally conceived of the Listening Room and he talked briefly about where it had come from and how the new crew was ably handling it since he and his lovely wife had had a baby.
He began with "Catch Me If You Can" before telling the audience that he had a cold and he was starving it.
Apparently his friend Will had told him cold or fever, the best thing to do was drown it.
We got to hear several songs from his days with local super group Ophelia, including the brilliantly worded, "$10 says I'm Broke" inspired when a friend wouldn't loan him money for a sandwich on the bus back from NYC.
That's harsh.
Jonathan is known for his spare, sad songs, the kind that mention things like Bethlehem Steel, hard-drinking women and the Bay Bridge.
After a few, he felt the need to qualify himself to any newcomers in the crowd, saying, "These songs are not about my family. I'm happily married with an 8-month old who's just about to start crawling. My brother-in-law shot video of him today."
Just when he was about to completely destroy his aching troubadour image for the newbies, he came to. " Of course, the more you have, the more you have to lose."
That's our Jonathan.
He dedicated "Bakersfield" to all the guys in Ophelia there tonight.
Reaching for the wrong harmonica for "Oklahoma Rose," he said, "I saw Kris Kristofferson this summer and he grabbed the wrong harmonica and if he can get the wrong one..."
He closed with "Drive," a song from his upcoming album and his set of beautiful and melancholy songs ended.
Ah, Listening Room #42, a recipe for a homey, hearty and happy evening.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Nights Go By
It was just as humid inside as out.
At least when I arrived, Ipanema was a tad sticky given the recent spate of thunderstorms, with a puddle near the front door that required jumping for entry.
It was just to keep out the un-worthy.
Inside, I took a prime bar stool for Live at Ipanema and watched as so many familiar faces rolled in.
The scientist, the poet, the beekeeper, the new mother. People kept coming in and so many of them I knew.
Everyone was in attendance because playing tonight was Jonathan Vassar who'd been tied up for a good long while, what with his new son and all.
But tonight the wee one was at home and he was all about the drinking and cigarette songs.
Starting with "Jefferson," a song he said he wrote when he was 20, it was an evening of his mournful voice and downbeat songs.
In other words, Jonathan Vassar perfection.
After the first song, he told us he was now 33, but had been "sirred" the other day, clearly a traumatic moment for him.
"I had on a skeleton t-shirt and jeans and this guy said 'sir' to me," he complained. His guess was that he had a "new dad" look that gave him away.
It happens to the best of us.
After doing several songs originally written in 2003, he told us about his hazardous day cleaning house.
Apparently it led to a burnt finger and a cut lip. "Everyday life is dangerous," he explained oh-so seriously.
He did several songs co-written with Grant Hunnicutt, like the evocative "Bay Bridge," about how even steel-clad structures can be moved.
"I'll tune because I'm a hot person to begin with," he said comically before realizing how that sounded.
At one point, he acknowledged his beaming wife, Antonia, saying, "Sitting over there is my lovely wife and next to her is Karen, who recently had a birthday, which she's probably still celebrating."
Affirmative nod from me.
"Happy birthday," he said before asking if there were any questions or comments.
Antonia had one.
"Is your set list written on a baby photo?"
Actually, it was written on a piece of paper sitting next to a photo of his son, he explained.
"Pass it around!" someone called and he smilingly obliged.
It was that kind of show, despite the drinking and cigarette songs.
"Days Go By" followed, with the memorable lyric, "That was the day I called you mine. Have you noticed how the days go by?"
Have I ever.
I wasn't sure what he meant when he said, "This is my Anousheh-dependent song. I wasn't going to play it unless she came," but when I saw Anousheh crying midway through, I understood.
He closed with the crowd favorite, "Catch Me if You Can," saying, "These were songs I wrote. I hope you like them."
We liked them so much we called for another, with the bartender calling the loudest, and he graciously sang one.
A warm basement on a wet summer night listening to an hour of sad songs sung beautifully.
Thank you, sir.
At least when I arrived, Ipanema was a tad sticky given the recent spate of thunderstorms, with a puddle near the front door that required jumping for entry.
It was just to keep out the un-worthy.
Inside, I took a prime bar stool for Live at Ipanema and watched as so many familiar faces rolled in.
The scientist, the poet, the beekeeper, the new mother. People kept coming in and so many of them I knew.
Everyone was in attendance because playing tonight was Jonathan Vassar who'd been tied up for a good long while, what with his new son and all.
But tonight the wee one was at home and he was all about the drinking and cigarette songs.
Starting with "Jefferson," a song he said he wrote when he was 20, it was an evening of his mournful voice and downbeat songs.
In other words, Jonathan Vassar perfection.
After the first song, he told us he was now 33, but had been "sirred" the other day, clearly a traumatic moment for him.
"I had on a skeleton t-shirt and jeans and this guy said 'sir' to me," he complained. His guess was that he had a "new dad" look that gave him away.
It happens to the best of us.
After doing several songs originally written in 2003, he told us about his hazardous day cleaning house.
Apparently it led to a burnt finger and a cut lip. "Everyday life is dangerous," he explained oh-so seriously.
He did several songs co-written with Grant Hunnicutt, like the evocative "Bay Bridge," about how even steel-clad structures can be moved.
"I'll tune because I'm a hot person to begin with," he said comically before realizing how that sounded.
At one point, he acknowledged his beaming wife, Antonia, saying, "Sitting over there is my lovely wife and next to her is Karen, who recently had a birthday, which she's probably still celebrating."
Affirmative nod from me.
"Happy birthday," he said before asking if there were any questions or comments.
Antonia had one.
"Is your set list written on a baby photo?"
Actually, it was written on a piece of paper sitting next to a photo of his son, he explained.
"Pass it around!" someone called and he smilingly obliged.
It was that kind of show, despite the drinking and cigarette songs.
"Days Go By" followed, with the memorable lyric, "That was the day I called you mine. Have you noticed how the days go by?"
Have I ever.
I wasn't sure what he meant when he said, "This is my Anousheh-dependent song. I wasn't going to play it unless she came," but when I saw Anousheh crying midway through, I understood.
He closed with the crowd favorite, "Catch Me if You Can," saying, "These were songs I wrote. I hope you like them."
We liked them so much we called for another, with the bartender calling the loudest, and he graciously sang one.
A warm basement on a wet summer night listening to an hour of sad songs sung beautifully.
Thank you, sir.
Friday, December 30, 2011
First Shots, Hold the Pickle
VCU, we have a love/hate relationship with you.
A group of us at the bar at 821 cafe were discussing how glorious the city is these days with the students gone.
Walking, biking and driving are exponentially easier than when school's in session. Certain restaurants (like 821) become accessible in a way that they aren't most of the time.
Which is exactly how my friend and I ended up there for lunch today. That and we were both starving.
We're one of those rare couples where the female orders the regular Coke and the male wants the diet version.
But he also uses the carcinogenic pink packets for his coffee, so there's really no hope for him.
I tried to talk him into sharing the black bean nachos with me but he was hankering for a burger, so with an order for both we were guaranteed more food than any two people could need or eat at one sitting.
And not just any burger, but the Union burger with Swiss, bacon, Portobellos and fried onion rings. The thing sat up about 5" high.
I teased him by calling it a heart attack on a plate, which is not to say it wasn't incredibly delicious.
One of the servers greeted me with, "Long time no see," a crack on us both having been at the same dinner party last week and then, rolling her eyes, told me she knew that I'd order the nachos.
Just call me Karen, the predictable.
From a few stools down, I heard, "So, did you enjoy the ballet?" and, lo and behold, there was the scientist having a massive Friday breakfast.
Who has two large glasses of orange juice at one sitting?
We indulged in a little "Nutcracker" nerdiness about what we'd seen.
We talked about our New Year's Eve plans with him saying he goes to a Northside party that always includes fireworks, a bonfire and gunshots fired at midnight.
I admitted that I had never heard of those NYE traditions until moving to RVA but now look forward to the sound of shots to ring in the new year.
As my friend and I shared the nachos and burger, we talked about what Santa had brought us, including the bottle of rum his sister had given him.
He doesn't drink. Merry Christmas.
That doesn't stop him from scanning the back bar (he is a bartender, after all) and we both wondered about a gaudy bottle which turned out to be pickle-flavored vodka.
Repulsive as it sounded, we were assured it makes stellar Bloody Marys, not that either of us drink them. Or vodka at all, for that matter.
We totaled about 2/3 of the nachos and half the burger before throwing in the towel and making plans to start the new year with a first together.
Leaving 821, I said hello to a couple of musician friends sitting in a booth and looking like they were enjoying their Friday feast as much as we had.
If they'd decided to open their mouths and start singing, I'd have sat down on the floor to listen.
It's not that VCU doesn't bring much of what I love to the city's fabric. It's just kind of special when the city is down to just us regulars.
And many of them are friends. As 2011 winds down, I raise my glass of Coke to them all.
A group of us at the bar at 821 cafe were discussing how glorious the city is these days with the students gone.
Walking, biking and driving are exponentially easier than when school's in session. Certain restaurants (like 821) become accessible in a way that they aren't most of the time.
Which is exactly how my friend and I ended up there for lunch today. That and we were both starving.
We're one of those rare couples where the female orders the regular Coke and the male wants the diet version.
But he also uses the carcinogenic pink packets for his coffee, so there's really no hope for him.
I tried to talk him into sharing the black bean nachos with me but he was hankering for a burger, so with an order for both we were guaranteed more food than any two people could need or eat at one sitting.
And not just any burger, but the Union burger with Swiss, bacon, Portobellos and fried onion rings. The thing sat up about 5" high.
I teased him by calling it a heart attack on a plate, which is not to say it wasn't incredibly delicious.
One of the servers greeted me with, "Long time no see," a crack on us both having been at the same dinner party last week and then, rolling her eyes, told me she knew that I'd order the nachos.
Just call me Karen, the predictable.
From a few stools down, I heard, "So, did you enjoy the ballet?" and, lo and behold, there was the scientist having a massive Friday breakfast.
Who has two large glasses of orange juice at one sitting?
We indulged in a little "Nutcracker" nerdiness about what we'd seen.
We talked about our New Year's Eve plans with him saying he goes to a Northside party that always includes fireworks, a bonfire and gunshots fired at midnight.
I admitted that I had never heard of those NYE traditions until moving to RVA but now look forward to the sound of shots to ring in the new year.
As my friend and I shared the nachos and burger, we talked about what Santa had brought us, including the bottle of rum his sister had given him.
He doesn't drink. Merry Christmas.
That doesn't stop him from scanning the back bar (he is a bartender, after all) and we both wondered about a gaudy bottle which turned out to be pickle-flavored vodka.
Repulsive as it sounded, we were assured it makes stellar Bloody Marys, not that either of us drink them. Or vodka at all, for that matter.
We totaled about 2/3 of the nachos and half the burger before throwing in the towel and making plans to start the new year with a first together.
Leaving 821, I said hello to a couple of musician friends sitting in a booth and looking like they were enjoying their Friday feast as much as we had.
If they'd decided to open their mouths and start singing, I'd have sat down on the floor to listen.
It's not that VCU doesn't bring much of what I love to the city's fabric. It's just kind of special when the city is down to just us regulars.
And many of them are friends. As 2011 winds down, I raise my glass of Coke to them all.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Be Here Now, Be Now Here
I didn't get kissed, despite tempting fate with garlic breath.
It didn't happen at tonight's "Trio of Troubadours" show at Sponge HQ at the Anderson Gallery.
As the man-about-town quipped upon leaving, "We got absorbed at Sponge tonight."
Come on, that's so bad we have to give him high marks for saying it out loud.
Sponge HQ is the studio of Hope Ginsburg, who teaches felt-making at VCU, so her top floor studio, with its bright green walls, houses felt objects and supplies, art books, a large aquarium and a beehive.
The beehive resides in a screened room at the top of six stairs within the studio.
The wooden box with its slanted sides is home to a good-sized honeycomb and scores of bees. Her beekeeping suit hangs on the outside of the little raised room.
What better place to enjoy a little folk music on a Sunday night?
A wall of windows gave us a view of the roiling sky that deposited next to no rain just before the show.
Attendees brought food to share, including the loveliest baba ganoush, which came with a warning from its maker, a devoted music fan, that serious garlic breath would result after eating.
The kind that would keep vampires away, she said.
"It's not like I'll be kissing anyone tonight," I told her, digging in.
"It always happens when you least expect it," she laughed. Pshaw, I told her I was looking for a garlic-lover anyway.
Hope had put a honeycomb in a bowl and the honey that dripped down from it was enjoyed by those who stuck a finger into the bowl to collect a taste.
She assured us that honey had antibacterial qualities, so we didn't have to worry about cooties (not that I was).
The studio had a window unit air conditioner which had to be turned off for the unamplified show, but the warmth didn't make its presence known until things were almost over.
Jonathan Vassar was up first and began with a couple of songs usually done with his band, The Speckled Bird.
"I don't know why I'm doing all these Speckled Bird songs," he wondered aloud. "The Speckled Bird is here, just without their instruments."
He did one song by his other side project, Ophelia, as well as a song I hadn't heard him play in ages, "See a Man about a Dog" and an even older song he'd written in high school.
That was for his parents, who were in the audience, but he proudly noted that he hadn't teared up at their presence for a change.
A seamless transition delivered Philadelphian Chris Kasper to the front of the room.
Having seen him before, I was looking forward to his set.
He admitted his affection for RVA and its music scene and noted that we should stop by his hometown and "See Independence Hall and have a cheese steak."
Chris is a good songwriter with an engaging voice and those hearing him for the first time were quickly won over.
He spoke of fans who recorded shows, "And it's nice to have the archives, but sometimes it's just about being in the moment. And tonight is like that."
Being there in the moment tonight meant we got to hear several songs as yet unrecorded, so our memories will be the only record of them.
In our 24/7 documented world, I really appreciated his emphasis on the here and now.
Chris brought his musical partner-in-crime Kiley up for a few songs and she added violin, vocals and dimples to the last few songs, excellent additions all.
Favorite lyric: "I will not turn my back when love is speaking."
David Shultz had drawn the closing spot by default.
As I was parking my car, I'd seen him walking down Franklin Street. Rolling down my window, I called to him.
"Excuse me sir, but don't you have a show to perform?"
He allowed as how a guy sometimes needs to clear his head and continued down the street.
But he made it back in time for his set, taking the front stool and asking of Hope if the bees were asleep for the night (they were, she said).
Jonathan provided harmonica and harmonizing for the first few songs, including an Ophelia number.
He covered Paul Simon's "The Obvious Child," inviting the audience to provide the drum parts (some did).
It was great; like Chris Kasper, he played new stuff to an attentive crowd before returning to established material.
Favorite lyric: "Just because you're losing your balance doesn't mean you're falling down."
Just because you spend the evening in a room with bees doesn't mean you'll get stung.
Take it from there.
It didn't happen at tonight's "Trio of Troubadours" show at Sponge HQ at the Anderson Gallery.
As the man-about-town quipped upon leaving, "We got absorbed at Sponge tonight."
Come on, that's so bad we have to give him high marks for saying it out loud.
Sponge HQ is the studio of Hope Ginsburg, who teaches felt-making at VCU, so her top floor studio, with its bright green walls, houses felt objects and supplies, art books, a large aquarium and a beehive.
The beehive resides in a screened room at the top of six stairs within the studio.
The wooden box with its slanted sides is home to a good-sized honeycomb and scores of bees. Her beekeeping suit hangs on the outside of the little raised room.
What better place to enjoy a little folk music on a Sunday night?
A wall of windows gave us a view of the roiling sky that deposited next to no rain just before the show.
Attendees brought food to share, including the loveliest baba ganoush, which came with a warning from its maker, a devoted music fan, that serious garlic breath would result after eating.
The kind that would keep vampires away, she said.
"It's not like I'll be kissing anyone tonight," I told her, digging in.
"It always happens when you least expect it," she laughed. Pshaw, I told her I was looking for a garlic-lover anyway.
Hope had put a honeycomb in a bowl and the honey that dripped down from it was enjoyed by those who stuck a finger into the bowl to collect a taste.
She assured us that honey had antibacterial qualities, so we didn't have to worry about cooties (not that I was).
The studio had a window unit air conditioner which had to be turned off for the unamplified show, but the warmth didn't make its presence known until things were almost over.
Jonathan Vassar was up first and began with a couple of songs usually done with his band, The Speckled Bird.
"I don't know why I'm doing all these Speckled Bird songs," he wondered aloud. "The Speckled Bird is here, just without their instruments."
He did one song by his other side project, Ophelia, as well as a song I hadn't heard him play in ages, "See a Man about a Dog" and an even older song he'd written in high school.
That was for his parents, who were in the audience, but he proudly noted that he hadn't teared up at their presence for a change.
A seamless transition delivered Philadelphian Chris Kasper to the front of the room.
Having seen him before, I was looking forward to his set.
He admitted his affection for RVA and its music scene and noted that we should stop by his hometown and "See Independence Hall and have a cheese steak."
Chris is a good songwriter with an engaging voice and those hearing him for the first time were quickly won over.
He spoke of fans who recorded shows, "And it's nice to have the archives, but sometimes it's just about being in the moment. And tonight is like that."
Being there in the moment tonight meant we got to hear several songs as yet unrecorded, so our memories will be the only record of them.
In our 24/7 documented world, I really appreciated his emphasis on the here and now.
Chris brought his musical partner-in-crime Kiley up for a few songs and she added violin, vocals and dimples to the last few songs, excellent additions all.
Favorite lyric: "I will not turn my back when love is speaking."
David Shultz had drawn the closing spot by default.
As I was parking my car, I'd seen him walking down Franklin Street. Rolling down my window, I called to him.
"Excuse me sir, but don't you have a show to perform?"
He allowed as how a guy sometimes needs to clear his head and continued down the street.
But he made it back in time for his set, taking the front stool and asking of Hope if the bees were asleep for the night (they were, she said).
Jonathan provided harmonica and harmonizing for the first few songs, including an Ophelia number.
He covered Paul Simon's "The Obvious Child," inviting the audience to provide the drum parts (some did).
It was great; like Chris Kasper, he played new stuff to an attentive crowd before returning to established material.
Favorite lyric: "Just because you're losing your balance doesn't mean you're falling down."
Just because you spend the evening in a room with bees doesn't mean you'll get stung.
Take it from there.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
4-H Club: Hip, Horns & Happy Hour
Imagine having an exquisite experience and then months later seeing it captured on film.
That was my pleasure tonight at the Anderson Gallery's Happy Hour, "Now Showing: Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird with filmmaker Jonathan Dodd."
I met a friend in the garden for beer and wine (oh-so reasonably priced at $2 and $3, respectively) and life advice before the performance began. And what a performance it was!
Dodd's new film "Travelogue" had been shot last year and featured various winter pastimes, including sled hockey, a sport I hadn't even known existed.
It used footage from his leisurely trip out West. And, most evocatively for me, he included film from the JV & SB performance last October done as a tribute to the departing chimney swifts in Monroe Ward, described here.
As the travelogue unfolded, the band, with the superb addition of Paul Watson on horns, played a soundtrack that took the film to a whole different level, a sentiment echoed by Dodd after the film finished.
It was truly moving. Accordions, guitars, clarinet, xylophone, horns, Jonathan's deep voice and Antonia's soaring vocals made for a soundtrack of breathtaking beauty.
After the sublime experience of having watched the chimney swifts float, fly and descend last Fall, it seemed like a gift to see it all again on film.
And Dodd, being a 21st-century photographer, shot in 35 mm, 16 mm and Super 8, making for a fascinating range of moving images.
It was my friend's first time at an Anderson Gallery happy hour and as we walked out, she was fumbling for words to express how impressed she'd been with what she'd just experienced.
But her sense of humor always comes through in the end.
"I kept thinking someone was going to come in and tell me to leave because I'm not hip enough," she said nonsensically.
But you don't have to be hip to enjoy the beauty of local film and music on a sultry summer evening.
You just have to have eyes and ears and be there.
Or, as Woody Allen put it, "Showing up is eighty percent of life."
Personally, I'm shooting for a perfect score.
That was my pleasure tonight at the Anderson Gallery's Happy Hour, "Now Showing: Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird with filmmaker Jonathan Dodd."
I met a friend in the garden for beer and wine (oh-so reasonably priced at $2 and $3, respectively) and life advice before the performance began. And what a performance it was!
Dodd's new film "Travelogue" had been shot last year and featured various winter pastimes, including sled hockey, a sport I hadn't even known existed.
It used footage from his leisurely trip out West. And, most evocatively for me, he included film from the JV & SB performance last October done as a tribute to the departing chimney swifts in Monroe Ward, described here.
As the travelogue unfolded, the band, with the superb addition of Paul Watson on horns, played a soundtrack that took the film to a whole different level, a sentiment echoed by Dodd after the film finished.
It was truly moving. Accordions, guitars, clarinet, xylophone, horns, Jonathan's deep voice and Antonia's soaring vocals made for a soundtrack of breathtaking beauty.
After the sublime experience of having watched the chimney swifts float, fly and descend last Fall, it seemed like a gift to see it all again on film.
And Dodd, being a 21st-century photographer, shot in 35 mm, 16 mm and Super 8, making for a fascinating range of moving images.
It was my friend's first time at an Anderson Gallery happy hour and as we walked out, she was fumbling for words to express how impressed she'd been with what she'd just experienced.
But her sense of humor always comes through in the end.
"I kept thinking someone was going to come in and tell me to leave because I'm not hip enough," she said nonsensically.
But you don't have to be hip to enjoy the beauty of local film and music on a sultry summer evening.
You just have to have eyes and ears and be there.
Or, as Woody Allen put it, "Showing up is eighty percent of life."
Personally, I'm shooting for a perfect score.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Burgers with The Great Unknown
Folk on, Steady Sounds.
Once again, my neighborhood record store was hosting an early show (6:30) with no price tag. Happily the crowd was bigger than at the last one, including several friends and musicians.
The inimitable Jonathan Vassar led the charge with his repertoire of sad songs. When he asked for requests, I suggested happy songs, but, as I already knew, there are no such songs in his repertoire.
Luckily there are plenty of heartfelt songs about family, places and memories, all satisfying.
Philly's The Great Unknown played next, coming from an interview at WRIR and an afternoon at the river ("It's okay to swim in your river, right? Cause we would never swim in ours in Philly!").
Formerly a quartet and now a trio, these guys have beautifully harmonious voices, accompanied by guitar, upright bass and drum.
They sang a new song, a song that used lyrics written by school children and two songs on which the audience was asked to sing along. We did our best.
After the show, the band was looking for some company, so four of us suggested Patrick Henry's (hey, it was $3 burger night) for some food, drink and conversation (RVA as good host).
We pulled two tables together to accommodate the additional two who joined us, got a terrific server (who just happened to write a webzine) and began getting to know each other with the aid of beer, Coke and, for some of us, Patron.
The problem with burger night at Patrick Henry's is not the burgers (easily one of the most flavorful cheap burgers in town) but the array of options. Pineapple compote? Hot pepper jelly? Hmmm...
After the hilarious ordeal of ordering, made all the more so because someone would order, then hear the next person's choice and second guess their own order, we began noticing the music.
It was all over the place, but in a good way. The Shins, Van Morrison, classic blues, Beach Boys, the music spurred many music tangents, including one about the inanity of Van Halen vocals.
But we also had great conversation about Cuba and its future, Gabriel Garcia Marquez and other must-read authors, and goat-milking (the band having had their first experience doing so this morning).
One of the benefits of so much chatter was that none of us could inhale our burgers immediately, despite being starved by that point.
Two enormous baskets of "community" fries took a beating, but only after our burgers were history. We were that kind of hungry.
By then the smoking had started, infiltrating clothes and hair, as it inevitably does at Patrick Henry's.
We hung on for another hour, comparing shows and talking about the Listening Room, which they had played to great acclaim this past April. I expect them to wow again tomorrow night at Sprout.
Getting up to go, a girl at a nearby table told me how much she liked my skirt. I didn't tell her it had been chosen for its thin fabric, brief length and breezy nature, not as a fashion statement.
Walking outside was like walking into an oven and while I didn't complain about the heat, my driver did. Guys never seem to tolerate summer warmth as well as girls.
What a difference a skirt makes.
Once again, my neighborhood record store was hosting an early show (6:30) with no price tag. Happily the crowd was bigger than at the last one, including several friends and musicians.
The inimitable Jonathan Vassar led the charge with his repertoire of sad songs. When he asked for requests, I suggested happy songs, but, as I already knew, there are no such songs in his repertoire.
Luckily there are plenty of heartfelt songs about family, places and memories, all satisfying.
Philly's The Great Unknown played next, coming from an interview at WRIR and an afternoon at the river ("It's okay to swim in your river, right? Cause we would never swim in ours in Philly!").
Formerly a quartet and now a trio, these guys have beautifully harmonious voices, accompanied by guitar, upright bass and drum.
They sang a new song, a song that used lyrics written by school children and two songs on which the audience was asked to sing along. We did our best.
After the show, the band was looking for some company, so four of us suggested Patrick Henry's (hey, it was $3 burger night) for some food, drink and conversation (RVA as good host).
We pulled two tables together to accommodate the additional two who joined us, got a terrific server (who just happened to write a webzine) and began getting to know each other with the aid of beer, Coke and, for some of us, Patron.
The problem with burger night at Patrick Henry's is not the burgers (easily one of the most flavorful cheap burgers in town) but the array of options. Pineapple compote? Hot pepper jelly? Hmmm...
After the hilarious ordeal of ordering, made all the more so because someone would order, then hear the next person's choice and second guess their own order, we began noticing the music.
It was all over the place, but in a good way. The Shins, Van Morrison, classic blues, Beach Boys, the music spurred many music tangents, including one about the inanity of Van Halen vocals.
But we also had great conversation about Cuba and its future, Gabriel Garcia Marquez and other must-read authors, and goat-milking (the band having had their first experience doing so this morning).
One of the benefits of so much chatter was that none of us could inhale our burgers immediately, despite being starved by that point.
Two enormous baskets of "community" fries took a beating, but only after our burgers were history. We were that kind of hungry.
By then the smoking had started, infiltrating clothes and hair, as it inevitably does at Patrick Henry's.
We hung on for another hour, comparing shows and talking about the Listening Room, which they had played to great acclaim this past April. I expect them to wow again tomorrow night at Sprout.
Getting up to go, a girl at a nearby table told me how much she liked my skirt. I didn't tell her it had been chosen for its thin fabric, brief length and breezy nature, not as a fashion statement.
Walking outside was like walking into an oven and while I didn't complain about the heat, my driver did. Guys never seem to tolerate summer warmth as well as girls.
What a difference a skirt makes.
Friday, June 17, 2011
From Monk to Minimalism
I can only be the poster child for doing things by myself for so long before I crave friends.
Tonight's odyssey began at the VMFA for their weekly Jazz Cafe, tonight featuring Monk's Playground, a quartet that re-imagines Thelonious Monk's music for an electric guitar-led group.
I hadn't been to the Jazz cafe in months so I was surprised that it wasn't nearly as mobbed as it had been last winter. More options at this time of year, I suppose.
But I found a seat and settled in to listen to the group's interpretations of Monk with a crowd clearly more familiar with him than I. Which is not to say that I didn't enjoy the music a lot; I just lacked familiarity with it.
I'd be the first to admit that about all I know of the great composer/pianist is that he's the second most recorded jazz composer and he only wrote seventy-some songs.
As a bonus, the sun was slowly setting behind the Pauley Center (the former Home for Confederate Women), making for a stunning visual to accompany the seminal music. I didn't get that last winter.
A couple of sets in, I was getting hungry, so I drove the few blocks to Acacia for dinner. The barely populated bar had plenty of room for me and there was a new bartender in place.
After a taste, I chose the J. Mourat "Collection" Rose, an elegantly dry pink wine made from Cabernet Franc, Negrette and Pinot Noir to sip while making my food choices.
I was reminded that Chef Dale had driven to the river to get softshells yesterday, but decided to go more in a tasting direction.
Starting with the tempura-fried squash blossoms with chive mascarpone was a choice as seasonally appropriate and short-lived as softshells.
I love when squash are flowering and begin showing up on menus all over town. The delicate flower is really about the tempura and the mascarpone was decadently rich and flavorful. I came this close to ordering another plate of them.
Instead, I tried the fried wontons over seaweed salad. The crispy wontons were filled to bursting with a flavorful mixture of chicken and cabbage, much enhanced by the seaweed and accompanying honey/soy sauce. I was two for two.
I decided to end on a richer note, choosing the rabbit raviolis with roasted mushrooms in a rabbit jus. Three good-sized hat-looking pillows contained the delicate-tasting shredded rabbit which sang when dipped in the jus.
For dessert I had more Rose while the bartender and I discussed the best brunch spots because it's the only meal he and his girlfriend can eat out together due to their nighttime schedules.
That led to a discussion of cooking eggs, a subject on which he was passionate. For whatever reason, not everyone in the business can do eggs well, much to his disgust (he's a former cook). I have a good friend who says the same thing.
We finally wound up our discussion so that I could go to Sprout for a show where I knew I'd see all kinds of friends and hear some interesting music.
And the friends were there and I even made a new one. A girl introduced herself saying, "Have we not met officially? I feel like I see you everywhere."
That's a line I've heard literally dozens of times, causing others around me to nod in acknowledgement.
One of the bearded ones piped up with, "Karen! She's everywhere you should be!" I appreciate a good smart-assed comment when I hear one.
I couldn't have asked for a better musical start to the night than recent transplant Nelly Kate, a girl capable of a dense sound thanks to her looping abilities.
She sang, she played guitar, she banged on a wooden box, she scratched said box and it all became part of a bigger whole.
Her experimental pop and little girl voice made for an entrancing sound and I was sorry her set was so short. Hopefully now that she's in RVA, we'll see her play out more often.
Broken Fences were from Pittsburgh and their sound was more folky, with two guitars and a male and female voice.
At times, their songs put me in mind of old English folk songs like "Greensleeves" or "Black is the Color." There was no denying that they made pretty music.
Last up was the dynamic duo of Jonathan Vassar and David Shultz of Ophelia (minus bass and drums) and tonight the focus was on David.
He did some of his own material, they did a couple of Ophelia songs and he closed with a Paul Simon cover, as the adoring crowd yelled encouragement.
Good as the music was, one of the unexpected pleasures of the evening was the return of a favorite couple who've been traveling since February.
They got back early and it was great to see them and talk to them after their absence. As she said, "It's so great not to have to be nice to new people all the time now that we're home."
And isn't that what friends are for, so that you don't have to be nice all the time?
Nobody would believe it if I tried it anyway.
Tonight's odyssey began at the VMFA for their weekly Jazz Cafe, tonight featuring Monk's Playground, a quartet that re-imagines Thelonious Monk's music for an electric guitar-led group.
I hadn't been to the Jazz cafe in months so I was surprised that it wasn't nearly as mobbed as it had been last winter. More options at this time of year, I suppose.
But I found a seat and settled in to listen to the group's interpretations of Monk with a crowd clearly more familiar with him than I. Which is not to say that I didn't enjoy the music a lot; I just lacked familiarity with it.
I'd be the first to admit that about all I know of the great composer/pianist is that he's the second most recorded jazz composer and he only wrote seventy-some songs.
As a bonus, the sun was slowly setting behind the Pauley Center (the former Home for Confederate Women), making for a stunning visual to accompany the seminal music. I didn't get that last winter.
A couple of sets in, I was getting hungry, so I drove the few blocks to Acacia for dinner. The barely populated bar had plenty of room for me and there was a new bartender in place.
After a taste, I chose the J. Mourat "Collection" Rose, an elegantly dry pink wine made from Cabernet Franc, Negrette and Pinot Noir to sip while making my food choices.
I was reminded that Chef Dale had driven to the river to get softshells yesterday, but decided to go more in a tasting direction.
Starting with the tempura-fried squash blossoms with chive mascarpone was a choice as seasonally appropriate and short-lived as softshells.
I love when squash are flowering and begin showing up on menus all over town. The delicate flower is really about the tempura and the mascarpone was decadently rich and flavorful. I came this close to ordering another plate of them.
Instead, I tried the fried wontons over seaweed salad. The crispy wontons were filled to bursting with a flavorful mixture of chicken and cabbage, much enhanced by the seaweed and accompanying honey/soy sauce. I was two for two.
I decided to end on a richer note, choosing the rabbit raviolis with roasted mushrooms in a rabbit jus. Three good-sized hat-looking pillows contained the delicate-tasting shredded rabbit which sang when dipped in the jus.
For dessert I had more Rose while the bartender and I discussed the best brunch spots because it's the only meal he and his girlfriend can eat out together due to their nighttime schedules.
That led to a discussion of cooking eggs, a subject on which he was passionate. For whatever reason, not everyone in the business can do eggs well, much to his disgust (he's a former cook). I have a good friend who says the same thing.
We finally wound up our discussion so that I could go to Sprout for a show where I knew I'd see all kinds of friends and hear some interesting music.
And the friends were there and I even made a new one. A girl introduced herself saying, "Have we not met officially? I feel like I see you everywhere."
That's a line I've heard literally dozens of times, causing others around me to nod in acknowledgement.
One of the bearded ones piped up with, "Karen! She's everywhere you should be!" I appreciate a good smart-assed comment when I hear one.
I couldn't have asked for a better musical start to the night than recent transplant Nelly Kate, a girl capable of a dense sound thanks to her looping abilities.
She sang, she played guitar, she banged on a wooden box, she scratched said box and it all became part of a bigger whole.
Her experimental pop and little girl voice made for an entrancing sound and I was sorry her set was so short. Hopefully now that she's in RVA, we'll see her play out more often.
Broken Fences were from Pittsburgh and their sound was more folky, with two guitars and a male and female voice.
At times, their songs put me in mind of old English folk songs like "Greensleeves" or "Black is the Color." There was no denying that they made pretty music.
Last up was the dynamic duo of Jonathan Vassar and David Shultz of Ophelia (minus bass and drums) and tonight the focus was on David.
He did some of his own material, they did a couple of Ophelia songs and he closed with a Paul Simon cover, as the adoring crowd yelled encouragement.
Good as the music was, one of the unexpected pleasures of the evening was the return of a favorite couple who've been traveling since February.
They got back early and it was great to see them and talk to them after their absence. As she said, "It's so great not to have to be nice to new people all the time now that we're home."
And isn't that what friends are for, so that you don't have to be nice all the time?
Nobody would believe it if I tried it anyway.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Alessi's Ark Floats into J-Ward
It makes me happy that we now have a neighborhood record store in Jackson Ward.
When Steady Sounds opened three blocks from my house last year,it was a big deal. I bought loads of Christmas presents there. I went to a Joanna Newsome listening party there.
And tonight I went to my first live performance there. Playing first was local favorite son Jonathan Vassar doing a short but heartfelt set.
Beginning, he said, "Hi, I'm Jonathan Vassar for those of you who don't know me. Karen does."
And I do, but I always enjoy hearing him sing and play. Today he was standing in the 5:00 sunlight in front of four paintings of the Beatles ($1,000, marked SOLD) doing a too short set.
Between songs, the headliner Alessi called out, "Do you have CDs?" making it clear that she was already a fan three songs in.
After Jonathan came Alessi's Ark, the project of Londoner Alessi Laurent-Marke and the reason for the show today.
Only 21, willowy and with a breathy voice and engaging manner, she began her set by moving closer to the small audience and then having us introduce ourselves.
She pronounced my name so much more beautifully than I can.
She and her parents had bought pizza for the crowd ("The biggest pizzas in the world!" she said with wonder) and offered it around.
Throughout her set, people wandered in, and most lingered at least for a bit to listen. One guy came in to buy albums, got sucked in by her singing and ended up buying one of her CDs as well.
She thanked each person mid-set as they came in.
She complimented Jonathan in the classically British way ("Brilliant!") and asked where he grew up. I can see where Jonathan's Americana sound would be catnip to a Brit folkie.
She got hot performing in her long sundress and shed her flip-flops and seemed worried about playing too long, ending with "Robot" to enthusiastic applause.
Talking to Alessi afterwards, she said she got inspired to make music when her Mum gave her Graham Nash's "Songs for Beginners," an album that came out nineteen years before she was born.
Because she had seemed shy onstage, I suspected she might have some stage fright issues, which she confirmed. "I always have to run to the bathroom before I go on," she explained.
Come to think of it, as soon as Jonathan had started his last song, she had disappeared upstairs so that when he mentioned her, she was absent. The sacrifices made for art.
But once singing, there was no sound of nervousness in her voice, only a whimsical musicality as she sang of time travel and freckles as constellations.
How wonderful to have a barefoot British songbird mesmerize in a Jackson Ward record store on a random Monday afternoon. Thank you, Steady Sounds.
Is this a great neighborhood or what?
When Steady Sounds opened three blocks from my house last year,it was a big deal. I bought loads of Christmas presents there. I went to a Joanna Newsome listening party there.
And tonight I went to my first live performance there. Playing first was local favorite son Jonathan Vassar doing a short but heartfelt set.
Beginning, he said, "Hi, I'm Jonathan Vassar for those of you who don't know me. Karen does."
And I do, but I always enjoy hearing him sing and play. Today he was standing in the 5:00 sunlight in front of four paintings of the Beatles ($1,000, marked SOLD) doing a too short set.
Between songs, the headliner Alessi called out, "Do you have CDs?" making it clear that she was already a fan three songs in.
After Jonathan came Alessi's Ark, the project of Londoner Alessi Laurent-Marke and the reason for the show today.
Only 21, willowy and with a breathy voice and engaging manner, she began her set by moving closer to the small audience and then having us introduce ourselves.
She pronounced my name so much more beautifully than I can.
She and her parents had bought pizza for the crowd ("The biggest pizzas in the world!" she said with wonder) and offered it around.
Throughout her set, people wandered in, and most lingered at least for a bit to listen. One guy came in to buy albums, got sucked in by her singing and ended up buying one of her CDs as well.
She thanked each person mid-set as they came in.
She complimented Jonathan in the classically British way ("Brilliant!") and asked where he grew up. I can see where Jonathan's Americana sound would be catnip to a Brit folkie.
She got hot performing in her long sundress and shed her flip-flops and seemed worried about playing too long, ending with "Robot" to enthusiastic applause.
Talking to Alessi afterwards, she said she got inspired to make music when her Mum gave her Graham Nash's "Songs for Beginners," an album that came out nineteen years before she was born.
Because she had seemed shy onstage, I suspected she might have some stage fright issues, which she confirmed. "I always have to run to the bathroom before I go on," she explained.
Come to think of it, as soon as Jonathan had started his last song, she had disappeared upstairs so that when he mentioned her, she was absent. The sacrifices made for art.
But once singing, there was no sound of nervousness in her voice, only a whimsical musicality as she sang of time travel and freckles as constellations.
How wonderful to have a barefoot British songbird mesmerize in a Jackson Ward record store on a random Monday afternoon. Thank you, Steady Sounds.
Is this a great neighborhood or what?
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Silver Tongues Offer Fool's Gold
I was chatting online with a friend, telling him about the show I planned to see tonight and he responded, "Well, I do want to see a show at Balliceaux one of these days."
Color me surprised because he's a show-going guy, much the way I'm a show-going girl (in fact, it's how we met; you can only see someone at shows so many times before introducing yourself), and yet he'd never been to Balliceaux for music? It was news to me.
If you've read this blog for more than a week, it's pretty obvious that Balliceaux is a regular destination for me and with good reason. The food is creative, the acoustics are good and a variety of musical genres (as well as film and storytelling) are booked in the back room.
Now let's see, I've seen rhythm and blues, free and experimental jazz, neo-soul, Ethiopian-style grooves, rock, '60s Asian pop, brass bands, New Orleans parlor-style jazz and that's just what I can remember off the top of my head.
Tonight's show was being called "1001 Nights: A Musical Tribute to Lhasa de Sela," the world music singer who died of breast cancer just over a year ago at age 37. The evening's proceeds were going to the Virginia Breast Cancer Foundation in her memory.
The event had been organized by Evrim Dogu, one of those people I admire for his multiple major talents. Besides being a devoted de Sela fan, he's a talented musician and the baking genius behind Sub Rosa Bread (if you've ever been to the Byrd House Market, you know the crusty perfection of his loaves).
He'd been planning the event since her death last year. Twelve local musicians and one out-of-towner were interpreting de Sela's catalog one song at a time. There were songs in English, French, Spanish and Arabic, all languages de Sela had used on her albums and in concert.
Some performers I was familiar with, like the Bird and her Consort (Jonathan and Antonia Vassar), Laura Ann Singh (Quatro na Bossa) and Chris Milk (the artist/musician/puppeteer, whose painting of a guitar player, "Song," hangs in front of me as I type this).
Others were new to me, but not to the large crowd of friends and fans who'd come to hear this dream bill; the place was packed. And one musician was familiar to me, but not on the program; playing his always-superb trumpet was Paul Watson.
It was a night of truly beautiful music and after each song, you'd wonder how the next could possibly match it, but it always did. At one point a friend turned and tapped me on my leg, whispering, "It's so amazing!"
And she'd had no idea who Lhasa de Sela was when she'd walked into the room; I say that because I had to tell her. On the other hand, I had known and I was every bit as impressed. You can't hear a song like "Fool's Gold" and not feel the passion inherent in her songwriting.
It's just too bad that my friend didn't choose tonight to have divested himself of his Balliceaux virginity with this once-in-a-blue moon performance.
Now use your silver tongue once more
There's one thing I'd like to know
Did you ever believe the lies that you told?
Did you own the fool's gold that you gave me?
Color me surprised because he's a show-going guy, much the way I'm a show-going girl (in fact, it's how we met; you can only see someone at shows so many times before introducing yourself), and yet he'd never been to Balliceaux for music? It was news to me.
If you've read this blog for more than a week, it's pretty obvious that Balliceaux is a regular destination for me and with good reason. The food is creative, the acoustics are good and a variety of musical genres (as well as film and storytelling) are booked in the back room.
Now let's see, I've seen rhythm and blues, free and experimental jazz, neo-soul, Ethiopian-style grooves, rock, '60s Asian pop, brass bands, New Orleans parlor-style jazz and that's just what I can remember off the top of my head.
Tonight's show was being called "1001 Nights: A Musical Tribute to Lhasa de Sela," the world music singer who died of breast cancer just over a year ago at age 37. The evening's proceeds were going to the Virginia Breast Cancer Foundation in her memory.
The event had been organized by Evrim Dogu, one of those people I admire for his multiple major talents. Besides being a devoted de Sela fan, he's a talented musician and the baking genius behind Sub Rosa Bread (if you've ever been to the Byrd House Market, you know the crusty perfection of his loaves).
He'd been planning the event since her death last year. Twelve local musicians and one out-of-towner were interpreting de Sela's catalog one song at a time. There were songs in English, French, Spanish and Arabic, all languages de Sela had used on her albums and in concert.
Some performers I was familiar with, like the Bird and her Consort (Jonathan and Antonia Vassar), Laura Ann Singh (Quatro na Bossa) and Chris Milk (the artist/musician/puppeteer, whose painting of a guitar player, "Song," hangs in front of me as I type this).
Others were new to me, but not to the large crowd of friends and fans who'd come to hear this dream bill; the place was packed. And one musician was familiar to me, but not on the program; playing his always-superb trumpet was Paul Watson.
It was a night of truly beautiful music and after each song, you'd wonder how the next could possibly match it, but it always did. At one point a friend turned and tapped me on my leg, whispering, "It's so amazing!"
And she'd had no idea who Lhasa de Sela was when she'd walked into the room; I say that because I had to tell her. On the other hand, I had known and I was every bit as impressed. You can't hear a song like "Fool's Gold" and not feel the passion inherent in her songwriting.
It's just too bad that my friend didn't choose tonight to have divested himself of his Balliceaux virginity with this once-in-a-blue moon performance.
Now use your silver tongue once more
There's one thing I'd like to know
Did you ever believe the lies that you told?
Did you own the fool's gold that you gave me?
Saturday, January 22, 2011
On Not Turning into a Pumpkin
For whatever it's worth, it seems I've become a regular at more than just my favorite restaurants.
As I often do, I began my Friday night at the VMFA for their Friday film. When I arrived, the event's organizer, Trent Nichols, greeted me with, "Welcome back!" as he tore my ticket (badly, but he said he doesn't practice between Fridays and it showed).
This week's film was An Unlikely Weapon: The Eddie Adams Story." Although you may not recognize the name, you'd know his photograph. It's the Pulitzer Prize-winning one of the Chief of Saigon Police shooting the Viet Cong prisoner in the head on the street in 1968.
Adams deserves more name recognition than he probably has. He shot thirteen wars, six presidents, untold celebrities and countless Penthouse cuties. But it was his Vietnam-era photos that got him noticed.
The documentary was fascinating, having been shot before Adams died in 2004, so it gave a true sense of the man in his own words.
He was not impressed with the prize-winning photo credited with changing public opinion about the war; he said the light wasn't right and the composition was terrible. Like any true artist, he was his own harshest critic.
Tonight's audience was full of photographers, eager to ask questions of producer Cindy Lou Adkins after the film. Unfortunately, I couldn't stay for it because of a must-see show at the Firehouse.
It was the Low Branches EP release show and, yes, they're friends, but they're also incredibly talented and I wanted to see and hear this first show at the Firehouse, where the Listening Room will soon take up residence.
The doors had opened 45 minutes before I got there, so I wasn't surprised when the Richmond Scene's Chris, acting as door guy, said he'd been wondering where I was (he might as well have tapped his watch).
When I went to buy the EP, Low Branches singer Christina was doing the selling. "If you hadn't shown up, I would have found out your phone number and called to make sure you were okay," she told me.
The show began with some of RVA's best singer/songwriters: Jonathan Vassar, Nick Coward, Chad Ebel and Will Loyal, alternating turns and each singing a song before beginning the cycle again.
They ended with all of them doing a song of Christina's, a marvelous collaboration of voices and small guitars (they say only very secure guys play small guitars).
The stage was a cozy and eclectic setting for this talented bunch. There were seven lamps, one bird cage, one stuffed deer's head and multiple instrument cases and amps placed artfully around wooden risers. Very homey, assuming the homeowner had slightly odd taste.
The Low Branches put on a magical performance, augmenting their sound with some of the musicians who had played on their record.
Josh of the Speckled Bird and Adam of the Last Battle played cello and lap steel respectively, adding an additional lushness to Matt and Christina's already-beautiful sound.
Her unique voice and Matt's ability to provide just the right instrumentation to enhance it (not to mention when we occasionally get to hear him sing, too) are the hallmarks of their music.Their set was over way too soon.
What could be better after a show of low-key folk than some fuzzy guitars and loads of reverb? I met a friend at Cous Cous as the bar was filling up (many of the arrivals had come from the show I had just attended).
He was not happy to hear that the Diamond Center wasn't starting until midnight, but I cajoled and he stayed; we did some people-watching and age-guessing in the interim.
At one point, the girl next to me turned and said, "You have the most beautiful nose." From there, she praised it every which way, talking about its delicacy, my profile, bad noses and worse. When she left, my friend quickly leaned down and asked, "Did she say what I think she said?"
Nodding, I told him, "And that's exactly why I blog. I get the most random comments in the world made to me and I have no idea why." Who raves about a stranger's nose to them in a bar?
Not long after, I thought the band was close to starting when they turned on their smoke machine and began stinking up the place with a rank smell.
But no, they weren't and my friend got tired of inhaling that mess and waiting,and headed out. "I'll read about what I missed in your blog tomorrow," he said, after asking if I'd hate him if he left (of course not - his loss).
He hadn't been gone three minutes when the Diamond Center cranked it up with the unmistakable sound of a twelve string. From there it was one reverb-drenched psychedelic song after another filling the packed room.
As if that wasn't soul-satisfying enough, DJs Greg and Sara were doing a psychedelic light show on a screen behind the band. It was too groovy for words and I mean that sincerely; I've heard them spin 60s vinyl and it was amazing, but now I know that their talents also extend to light shows.
I wasn't the only Diamond Center fanatic in the crowd, so there was a lot of dancing and booty-shaking going on throughout their set. I heard more than one person tell a friend, "This band is so good!"
When the final ribbon-bedecked tambourine-shaking song ended in a cloud of smoke, the crowd clapped and whistled in appreciation.
Because I'm such a fan of their sound, it was my fifth or sixth Diamond Center show. You could almost say I'm a regular with them, too.
But let's not. I'd rather just be thought of as a music lover who was lucky enough to see two amazing shows on a Friday night. Even a non-regular could have done that...if they're willing to stay out past midnight.
I got that one covered.
As I often do, I began my Friday night at the VMFA for their Friday film. When I arrived, the event's organizer, Trent Nichols, greeted me with, "Welcome back!" as he tore my ticket (badly, but he said he doesn't practice between Fridays and it showed).
This week's film was An Unlikely Weapon: The Eddie Adams Story." Although you may not recognize the name, you'd know his photograph. It's the Pulitzer Prize-winning one of the Chief of Saigon Police shooting the Viet Cong prisoner in the head on the street in 1968.
Adams deserves more name recognition than he probably has. He shot thirteen wars, six presidents, untold celebrities and countless Penthouse cuties. But it was his Vietnam-era photos that got him noticed.
The documentary was fascinating, having been shot before Adams died in 2004, so it gave a true sense of the man in his own words.
He was not impressed with the prize-winning photo credited with changing public opinion about the war; he said the light wasn't right and the composition was terrible. Like any true artist, he was his own harshest critic.
Tonight's audience was full of photographers, eager to ask questions of producer Cindy Lou Adkins after the film. Unfortunately, I couldn't stay for it because of a must-see show at the Firehouse.
It was the Low Branches EP release show and, yes, they're friends, but they're also incredibly talented and I wanted to see and hear this first show at the Firehouse, where the Listening Room will soon take up residence.
The doors had opened 45 minutes before I got there, so I wasn't surprised when the Richmond Scene's Chris, acting as door guy, said he'd been wondering where I was (he might as well have tapped his watch).
When I went to buy the EP, Low Branches singer Christina was doing the selling. "If you hadn't shown up, I would have found out your phone number and called to make sure you were okay," she told me.
The show began with some of RVA's best singer/songwriters: Jonathan Vassar, Nick Coward, Chad Ebel and Will Loyal, alternating turns and each singing a song before beginning the cycle again.
They ended with all of them doing a song of Christina's, a marvelous collaboration of voices and small guitars (they say only very secure guys play small guitars).
The stage was a cozy and eclectic setting for this talented bunch. There were seven lamps, one bird cage, one stuffed deer's head and multiple instrument cases and amps placed artfully around wooden risers. Very homey, assuming the homeowner had slightly odd taste.
The Low Branches put on a magical performance, augmenting their sound with some of the musicians who had played on their record.
Josh of the Speckled Bird and Adam of the Last Battle played cello and lap steel respectively, adding an additional lushness to Matt and Christina's already-beautiful sound.
Her unique voice and Matt's ability to provide just the right instrumentation to enhance it (not to mention when we occasionally get to hear him sing, too) are the hallmarks of their music.Their set was over way too soon.
What could be better after a show of low-key folk than some fuzzy guitars and loads of reverb? I met a friend at Cous Cous as the bar was filling up (many of the arrivals had come from the show I had just attended).
He was not happy to hear that the Diamond Center wasn't starting until midnight, but I cajoled and he stayed; we did some people-watching and age-guessing in the interim.
At one point, the girl next to me turned and said, "You have the most beautiful nose." From there, she praised it every which way, talking about its delicacy, my profile, bad noses and worse. When she left, my friend quickly leaned down and asked, "Did she say what I think she said?"
Nodding, I told him, "And that's exactly why I blog. I get the most random comments in the world made to me and I have no idea why." Who raves about a stranger's nose to them in a bar?
Not long after, I thought the band was close to starting when they turned on their smoke machine and began stinking up the place with a rank smell.
But no, they weren't and my friend got tired of inhaling that mess and waiting,and headed out. "I'll read about what I missed in your blog tomorrow," he said, after asking if I'd hate him if he left (of course not - his loss).
He hadn't been gone three minutes when the Diamond Center cranked it up with the unmistakable sound of a twelve string. From there it was one reverb-drenched psychedelic song after another filling the packed room.
As if that wasn't soul-satisfying enough, DJs Greg and Sara were doing a psychedelic light show on a screen behind the band. It was too groovy for words and I mean that sincerely; I've heard them spin 60s vinyl and it was amazing, but now I know that their talents also extend to light shows.
I wasn't the only Diamond Center fanatic in the crowd, so there was a lot of dancing and booty-shaking going on throughout their set. I heard more than one person tell a friend, "This band is so good!"
When the final ribbon-bedecked tambourine-shaking song ended in a cloud of smoke, the crowd clapped and whistled in appreciation.
Because I'm such a fan of their sound, it was my fifth or sixth Diamond Center show. You could almost say I'm a regular with them, too.
But let's not. I'd rather just be thought of as a music lover who was lucky enough to see two amazing shows on a Friday night. Even a non-regular could have done that...if they're willing to stay out past midnight.
I got that one covered.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Lend Me Your Layers
Sadly, tonight was probably one of the last nights suitable for a performance on the deck (at least for us thin-blooded types), so I had no intention of missing the potluck and music at the log cabin by the bamboo forest, even if it meant crossing the river.
The last such invitation had resulted in a perfect summer evening, here, ending in a thunderstorm that drowned out our applause. Tonight's show required extra layers, a fire pit and a quilt, but was no less impressive for the musical talent showcased.
We started by eating (chili, homemade pizza, artichoke squares, hot pepper pasta, deviled eggs, bread and Nutella, hummus and pita, mashed sweet potatoes, and pomelo, which we were told is meant to be shared by friends...and was) Mulled wine, hot cider and beer aided the mingling and prepared us for the outside.
The show began out back with most of us on the deck and the rest gathered in the yard just below to enjoy the crackling fire. Our hostess had made homemade marshmallows for toasting; if you knew her, this wouldn't surprise you in the least. When she serves s'mores, she also makes the graham crackers. As far as we know, she hasn't started making her own chocolate yet.
Low Branches gave another of their hushed and pretty performances, with Christina telling us it was only the second time she'd played electric guitar on stage (no one would have guessed had she not said that).
Their set ended with a Jonathan Vassar cover in tribute to his birthday tomorrow. Singer Christina called it "goofy" but the audience loved the rendition, very different from Jonathan's but just as spectacular.
Kentucky's Englishman were next and had added a drummer since I last saw them. Lead singer Andrew has a voice made for folk (sample lyric: "Sometimes I cope with absence with absinthe") and very reminiscent of 70s-era singer-songwriters. The group's harmonies were just beautiful and the addition of percussion to guitar and keys made a nice difference.
Watching the band play was enhanced by the drummer's movements which caused a nearby 5' plant's branches and flowers to move with his every stroke. It made for a lovely visual against the trail of smoke on a crisp fall night.
Their last song contained my favorite lyric, "I'm classically trained to find you in the end." (Hopeful sigh) After finishing, Andrew announced, "Let's drink...until our hosts want to go to bed!"
Driving home later was more successful than driving there; despite multiple previous visits I had gotten turned around in the dark on my way over, although I did finally get to see the river a few streets away. (Ooh, scenic! Boy, am I lost in the dark!)
I fully intended to call it a night, but driving home up Lombardy, I was enticed by the thought of Fight the Big Bull playing at Balliceaux, so I made one last stop. I haven't seen them since they'd played at Duke University with Justin Vernon (aka Bon Iver) and now that they'd played with indie royalty, I couldn't resist seeing if they looked different.
The room was packed with lots of familiar faces and it wasn't long before one of my favorite cabin cohorts showed up, too. There were the usual jazz lovers, intently bopping their heads to every note, as well as the see-and-be-seen-crowd. My favorite bartender Austin had just gotten off so we discussed the show we're both eagerly anticipating next week.
FTBB played an intense set, as usual, and I was glad I'd stopped by to hear all that brass set off so well by upright bass, drums and jazz guitar. The music couldn't have been any more different than the cabin show and that was kind of the appeal. Two very different musical experiences back to back.
Okay, Jameson, it's not a port city, but where are you going to find all that Richmond has to offer?
Take your time. You can get back with me on that.
The last such invitation had resulted in a perfect summer evening, here, ending in a thunderstorm that drowned out our applause. Tonight's show required extra layers, a fire pit and a quilt, but was no less impressive for the musical talent showcased.
We started by eating (chili, homemade pizza, artichoke squares, hot pepper pasta, deviled eggs, bread and Nutella, hummus and pita, mashed sweet potatoes, and pomelo, which we were told is meant to be shared by friends...and was) Mulled wine, hot cider and beer aided the mingling and prepared us for the outside.
The show began out back with most of us on the deck and the rest gathered in the yard just below to enjoy the crackling fire. Our hostess had made homemade marshmallows for toasting; if you knew her, this wouldn't surprise you in the least. When she serves s'mores, she also makes the graham crackers. As far as we know, she hasn't started making her own chocolate yet.
Low Branches gave another of their hushed and pretty performances, with Christina telling us it was only the second time she'd played electric guitar on stage (no one would have guessed had she not said that).
Their set ended with a Jonathan Vassar cover in tribute to his birthday tomorrow. Singer Christina called it "goofy" but the audience loved the rendition, very different from Jonathan's but just as spectacular.
Kentucky's Englishman were next and had added a drummer since I last saw them. Lead singer Andrew has a voice made for folk (sample lyric: "Sometimes I cope with absence with absinthe") and very reminiscent of 70s-era singer-songwriters. The group's harmonies were just beautiful and the addition of percussion to guitar and keys made a nice difference.
Watching the band play was enhanced by the drummer's movements which caused a nearby 5' plant's branches and flowers to move with his every stroke. It made for a lovely visual against the trail of smoke on a crisp fall night.
Their last song contained my favorite lyric, "I'm classically trained to find you in the end." (Hopeful sigh) After finishing, Andrew announced, "Let's drink...until our hosts want to go to bed!"
Driving home later was more successful than driving there; despite multiple previous visits I had gotten turned around in the dark on my way over, although I did finally get to see the river a few streets away. (Ooh, scenic! Boy, am I lost in the dark!)
I fully intended to call it a night, but driving home up Lombardy, I was enticed by the thought of Fight the Big Bull playing at Balliceaux, so I made one last stop. I haven't seen them since they'd played at Duke University with Justin Vernon (aka Bon Iver) and now that they'd played with indie royalty, I couldn't resist seeing if they looked different.
The room was packed with lots of familiar faces and it wasn't long before one of my favorite cabin cohorts showed up, too. There were the usual jazz lovers, intently bopping their heads to every note, as well as the see-and-be-seen-crowd. My favorite bartender Austin had just gotten off so we discussed the show we're both eagerly anticipating next week.
FTBB played an intense set, as usual, and I was glad I'd stopped by to hear all that brass set off so well by upright bass, drums and jazz guitar. The music couldn't have been any more different than the cabin show and that was kind of the appeal. Two very different musical experiences back to back.
Okay, Jameson, it's not a port city, but where are you going to find all that Richmond has to offer?
Take your time. You can get back with me on that.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Play for Me by Candlelight
The setting was a log cabin with chickens, an owl and a bamboo forest out back.
The occasion was a house show on the front screened-in porch, lit only by seven tiny white lights and about as many bucket candles.
The catalyst for the show was Sons of an Illustrious Father, a NY band passing through RVA (but unable to find a venue in which to play) from Charm City to NC.
The good fortune was all of ours.
The invited audience of 35 or so was divided evenly between the porch and the front yard.
When asked when the music was going to start, our host Jonathan had given us a heads-up that he'd created a back row of wicker-comfy seating for "the cool kids."
The power couple and I immediately anointed ourselves cool and took those seats for a magical evening of music.
The party had started at 6:30 but it was dusk when the music began and fireflies were everywhere. Josh Small, newly shorn and looking quite handsome, played first.
As usual, he made tuning jokes during his tuning bursts, but, as always, his banjo and guitar-based songs impressed.
Sons of an Illustrious Father was a five-piece (drums, bass, guitar, mandolin and accordion) and on certain songs, every member sang, a truly impressive thing.
Their folky Americana sound made beautiful use of the range of voices and I learned later from member Jake that they all write for the band and purposely trade off lead vocals.
After the first song, drummer Ezra said, "That was devastatingly depressing."
In words, perhaps, but not in sound.
After an inattentive audience in Baltimore last night, the band was thrilled with both our silence and our enthusiasm after each song; they were obviously enjoying themselves as much as we were.
A joke was made about the bass player Josh having no chance of getting laid on this tour; another crack was about Lila not knowing how to play the mandolin (Sofia: "Yes, that's a chord.").
Favorite lyric: "My heart is not made of glass or stone."
Ain't it the truth?
Last up was out host Jonathan, who played a lot of his early material to the delight of the Jonathan groupies in the audience.
It was fitting how the show ended.
Originally the music was to have been performed on the back porch, like it was last summer.
But with an 80% chance of rain, our host had moved it to the sheltered front porch.
And of course, it didn't rain a drop during any of the music.
But when Jonathan finished his last song, the audience shouted for one more.
As if in answer, the skies opened up and the rain came pouring down through the trees surrounding the log cabin.
The outside audience quickly made their way onto the screened-in porch, effectively ending the evening, but in the best possible way.
Tomorrow the brightly-painted school bus that brought Sons of an Illustrious Father to RVA will depart for Wilson, NC.
It would be tough for their memories of Richmond to be any more impressive than ours of them.
Here's hoping that next time they come through our fair city, there's a venue savvy enough to book them here.
Don't get me wrong, I certainly don't mind mind being one of the select few to experience them at an intimate house show, but honestly, more people deserve to hear them, even without the owl and the bamboo.
And just maybe by then the bass player will have gotten lucky.
Who knows what effect that could have on the entire rythm section?
The occasion was a house show on the front screened-in porch, lit only by seven tiny white lights and about as many bucket candles.
The catalyst for the show was Sons of an Illustrious Father, a NY band passing through RVA (but unable to find a venue in which to play) from Charm City to NC.
The good fortune was all of ours.
The invited audience of 35 or so was divided evenly between the porch and the front yard.
When asked when the music was going to start, our host Jonathan had given us a heads-up that he'd created a back row of wicker-comfy seating for "the cool kids."
The power couple and I immediately anointed ourselves cool and took those seats for a magical evening of music.
The party had started at 6:30 but it was dusk when the music began and fireflies were everywhere. Josh Small, newly shorn and looking quite handsome, played first.
As usual, he made tuning jokes during his tuning bursts, but, as always, his banjo and guitar-based songs impressed.
Sons of an Illustrious Father was a five-piece (drums, bass, guitar, mandolin and accordion) and on certain songs, every member sang, a truly impressive thing.
Their folky Americana sound made beautiful use of the range of voices and I learned later from member Jake that they all write for the band and purposely trade off lead vocals.
After the first song, drummer Ezra said, "That was devastatingly depressing."
In words, perhaps, but not in sound.
After an inattentive audience in Baltimore last night, the band was thrilled with both our silence and our enthusiasm after each song; they were obviously enjoying themselves as much as we were.
A joke was made about the bass player Josh having no chance of getting laid on this tour; another crack was about Lila not knowing how to play the mandolin (Sofia: "Yes, that's a chord.").
Favorite lyric: "My heart is not made of glass or stone."
Ain't it the truth?
Last up was out host Jonathan, who played a lot of his early material to the delight of the Jonathan groupies in the audience.
It was fitting how the show ended.
Originally the music was to have been performed on the back porch, like it was last summer.
But with an 80% chance of rain, our host had moved it to the sheltered front porch.
And of course, it didn't rain a drop during any of the music.
But when Jonathan finished his last song, the audience shouted for one more.
As if in answer, the skies opened up and the rain came pouring down through the trees surrounding the log cabin.
The outside audience quickly made their way onto the screened-in porch, effectively ending the evening, but in the best possible way.
Tomorrow the brightly-painted school bus that brought Sons of an Illustrious Father to RVA will depart for Wilson, NC.
It would be tough for their memories of Richmond to be any more impressive than ours of them.
Here's hoping that next time they come through our fair city, there's a venue savvy enough to book them here.
Don't get me wrong, I certainly don't mind mind being one of the select few to experience them at an intimate house show, but honestly, more people deserve to hear them, even without the owl and the bamboo.
And just maybe by then the bass player will have gotten lucky.
Who knows what effect that could have on the entire rythm section?
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