You know I'm not myself when I can't recall the last time I saw live music.
I know I haven't seen any in 2018 and looking back at my calendar, if you don't count plays, looks like it was early November.
All I can say is, that may be the longest stretch I've gone in years without seeing a band and I'm not proud of it.
So tonight I was among the music lovers who crowded Sub Rosa Bakery to see the Low Branches reunion, not to mention Jonathan Vassar and the Badlands opening up for them. For those not familiar with these two stellar local bands, allow me to clarify: first we heard JV& TB, a male trio singing sad songs, followed by TLB, a female-fronted trio singing sad songs.
Because if there is anything I need these days to reinforce my mood, it's sad songs.
Chairs and stools had been assembled to face the twinkle light-draped front windows and door and the room hushed quickly once Jonathan strapped on his guitar, greeted the crowd made up of lots of old friends from the Listening Room days - where I'd gotten to know both these bands - and began with the instantly recognizable "Days Go By."
With Nate (of bagel fame) on upright bass and doing harmonies and Curtis on pedal steel, the band did "You Were Gone," one of several songs off their new EP just released last month. You know, I've been listening to Jonathan make music since 2007 and his songs still move me every time.
Meanwhile, people kept arriving, making their way to the counter for wine and wedging themselves into any available spaces left. Jonathan lightened the mood after a group came in and quickly found seats, saying, "Now that my in-laws are here, we'll restart that one!"
Favorite lyric: We both crossed the line, but I can't remember who pushed who.
They closed their set with the very new "The Truth" with the timeless acknowledgment, "Change is the only thing that stays the same." Please don't remind me.
The break afterward allowed the latecomers to mingle with the punctual crowd and before long, the volume was such that you had to lean in to hear the person you were talking to. Two friends I chatted with have gotten pregnant since I last saw them and another had her one month-old with her.
I was delighted to chat with the scuba-diving artist who used to keep bees because we hadn't seen each other in over a year. Curious about why that was, she posited that it's her early bedtime to accommodate an early morning yoga schedule, leading to a discussion of how we both require 9 hours sleep a night.
She thought it might also be related to her absence on Facebook now that her social media platform of choice is Instagram. Asking if I used it, she was tickled pink to learn I'd just joined the Instagram fam a week ago. "Now we'll see each other there!" she predicted.
A musician friend I've known for 8 years now came over and asked me sotto voce why I wasn't blogging. Her question caught me completely off guard, although I didn't hesitate to tell her how flattered I was that she'd noticed. "Of course I noticed," she exclaimed. "Reading your blog is a regular part of my day and I miss it!" She even uses it as a reference to check on when things happened.
It's not like other close friends haven't asked me about the absence of my daily posts, but she wanted to know why. Without having put it into sentences before, I answered with words I didn't know my brain had formulated.
I'm really low right now and if I were to blog, it would be with a very different voice than my readers are accustomed to. I couldn't feign a cheerfulness or optimism I'm not feeling anymore and I told her that I don't think my readers would want to read the words of this mood and that voice.
"Well, I want to read your words no matter what the voice," she said, offering up perhaps the kindest response imaginable.
Jonathan, talking to friends about when the last time the Low Branches had played, turned to me and asked when it was. I wasn't exactly sure, but when I saw Christina, the heart and soul of the Low Branches, she laughed and said, "Well, you would know because whenever it was, you wrote about our final show."
The blog again. Seems I've been charged with keeping a record of Richmond goings-on.
Then it was showtime. "We're going to play some old songs and some new songs," Christina announced, her guitar on her crossed legs. "I have a lot to say."
Like with Jonathan, I recognized old songs such as "Like a Glove" and loved hearing new ones like "Down to the Church" and "The Stranger." It's always moving when she sings her lament-like cover of Dolly Parton's "Jolene," which I hadn't heard in years. Fittingly, today was Dolly's birthday, so Christina wished her a happy birthday.
Christina's got such a beautifully effortless voice and hushed way of singing and she mentioned that she thought her guitar was too loud (it wasn't), but two guitars and keyboards complemented the band's serene, introspective and meandering aesthetic.
"Thanks to Jonathan Vassar and the Badlands," she said after her final song. "It's just like old times!"
In terms of seeing two of my favorite long-time local bands, yes. In terms of life, I only wish.
Showing posts with label jonathan vassar and the badlands. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jonathan vassar and the badlands. Show all posts
Sunday, March 11, 2018
Thursday, October 19, 2017
Reckless Thoughts
It was chilly, no doubt about it, but it was a magical evening to sit outside and listen to sad songs.
There aren't many people who could entice me to the bowels of southside - don't ask me where, I was in no man's land from German School Road on - but Jonathan Vassar and the Badlands have that power over me.
Maybe it's because my appreciation for Jonathan dates back to those first Listening Rooms back in the dark ages of 2009, before Richmond was an "it" town. It didn't hurt that our hostess had invited me to her other house shows, albeit when she was living a quarter mile away in Monroe Ward, and I knew she always creates an exceptional environment for artists to play in.
But mainly it's the wonderful memories I have of a 2010 show that Jonathan and the Speckled Bird had done one evening over on Grace Street, when they'd played music to accompany watching scores of chimney swifts swoop and swerve as they settled down for the night. It had also happened in October and been chilly enough that some of us had to huddle under covers to watch and listen.
Tonight was huddle redux. So with chair, blanket and shawl, I joined friends and strangers for an evening of music outdoors under a blue velvet sky with only a few stars punctuating it.
First came seasonally-appropriate red wine and socializing, which took an unexpected turn not long after Jonathan's sweet dog Dolly began alternating eating grass and vomiting.
Our hostess shared that her former tenants had decided to put down cheap wooden flooring (and poorly, too) over the hardwood floors in one bedroom, prompting someone to observe, "He probably murdered someone and wanted to cover up the blood."
Or the sperm, someone else conjectured. Or blood and sperm, posited another. What our hostess needed was luminol to detect bloodstains, we agreed, like what police use at a crime scene.
While it seemed like a hell of a tangent, we weren't though yet. My former Jackson Ward neighbor said that she'd love to do CSI work, that she'd always been attracted to that sort of thing (a fact confirmed by her friend since age 12), but had also considered being a vet were it not for all the math.
Then she casually mentioned she currently has two fox paws packed in salt in her refrigerator. Naturally, this led to a discussion of why (she plans to integrate them into a sculpture) and how she became interested in tanning but it turned out to be more challenging than she expected.
Her first attempt involved a road kill squirrel. "I cut him too far up the butt," she explained nonchalantly and we roared with laughter. Seems she did a better with the fox that yielded the paws currently in cold storage next to the milk.
Tragic as it was that this conversation had to wind down, the band was ready to begin playing, so I fetched my chair and set up camp between two girlfriends, both singers, and both dating back to the Listening Room days. Dolly was just left of my feet.
With Jonathan on guitar and harmonica, Curtis on pedal steel and Nate on upright bass and harmonies, the trio began with "Oklahoma Rose," with the sound of the instruments wafting on the crisp night air. You could practically see the sustained notes of the pedal steel hanging in front of us and winding their way around the audience.
The visuals, too, were lovely, with the band playing against a backdrop of the brick of the house with candles lining the window sills and twinkle lights strung on potted plants, the deck, the instrument cases, just about everywhere.
For that matter, Jonathan and Nate had a string of lights in their chest pockets, sort of like a lighted pocket square for the occasion.
Songs like "You are Gone" were beautiful and sad - Jonathan doesn't write any other kind - and soon people swayed and moved their heads or leaned into each other as they sat on chairs and blankets around the back yard.
A guy near me passed out hand warmers and I slid one into my glove. Yes, gloves. No judging.
Jonathan said that they were playing the same set they'd played last month at the Bristol Rhythm and Roots Reunion, where he'd been amazed to learn that Bristol's Main Street separates Virginia and Tennessee. Since I'd only learned that fact last month at a moonshine lecture, I could relate.
"If you see a look of pain on my face," he warned us, "It's because my beard got caught in my harmonica holder." Ouch.
Referring to the song, "What I Talk About When I Talk About Us," he joked, "That's as jammy as we get," providing Nate - the bagel-maker extraordinaire who's about to open his own bagel shop - an opening for a bagel joke (he tried).
A song such as "Darken My Door" sounds like it'll be terribly sad, but a lyric like, "Please darken my door, just to be sure that you're nigh" sounds pretty romantic to me. Other times - "When things fall apart, don't let it harden your heart" - he sounded downright hopeful.
We kept it so close to the chest
I always had to second guess
The show had originally been scheduled for last week and been canceled because of a forecast for rain (which never materialized), so Jonathan thanked us for showing up this week despite the chill. "It was too hot last week!" a friend called out, but I disagreed just as vocally. I'd rather be hot.
She who was swaddled next to me concurred. "I could have worn something cuter last week!"
"This feels like fall!" one of the men said, as if that were a good thing.
The band announced that their final song would be "The Truth," after which Jonathan thanked our hostess and said it had been a lot of fun playing these songs and a nearby dog began barking relentlessly, causing Dolly to sit up and stare into the darkness.
I think back to way back when
All it took was the mention of your name
Change is the only thing that stays the same
It's the only thing
For me, there was no more sublime way to be reminded of that than with music, surrounded by lovers and other strangers outside on an autumn night.
Nevermind the blood stains inside the house.
There aren't many people who could entice me to the bowels of southside - don't ask me where, I was in no man's land from German School Road on - but Jonathan Vassar and the Badlands have that power over me.
Maybe it's because my appreciation for Jonathan dates back to those first Listening Rooms back in the dark ages of 2009, before Richmond was an "it" town. It didn't hurt that our hostess had invited me to her other house shows, albeit when she was living a quarter mile away in Monroe Ward, and I knew she always creates an exceptional environment for artists to play in.
But mainly it's the wonderful memories I have of a 2010 show that Jonathan and the Speckled Bird had done one evening over on Grace Street, when they'd played music to accompany watching scores of chimney swifts swoop and swerve as they settled down for the night. It had also happened in October and been chilly enough that some of us had to huddle under covers to watch and listen.
Tonight was huddle redux. So with chair, blanket and shawl, I joined friends and strangers for an evening of music outdoors under a blue velvet sky with only a few stars punctuating it.
First came seasonally-appropriate red wine and socializing, which took an unexpected turn not long after Jonathan's sweet dog Dolly began alternating eating grass and vomiting.
Our hostess shared that her former tenants had decided to put down cheap wooden flooring (and poorly, too) over the hardwood floors in one bedroom, prompting someone to observe, "He probably murdered someone and wanted to cover up the blood."
Or the sperm, someone else conjectured. Or blood and sperm, posited another. What our hostess needed was luminol to detect bloodstains, we agreed, like what police use at a crime scene.
While it seemed like a hell of a tangent, we weren't though yet. My former Jackson Ward neighbor said that she'd love to do CSI work, that she'd always been attracted to that sort of thing (a fact confirmed by her friend since age 12), but had also considered being a vet were it not for all the math.
Then she casually mentioned she currently has two fox paws packed in salt in her refrigerator. Naturally, this led to a discussion of why (she plans to integrate them into a sculpture) and how she became interested in tanning but it turned out to be more challenging than she expected.
Her first attempt involved a road kill squirrel. "I cut him too far up the butt," she explained nonchalantly and we roared with laughter. Seems she did a better with the fox that yielded the paws currently in cold storage next to the milk.
Tragic as it was that this conversation had to wind down, the band was ready to begin playing, so I fetched my chair and set up camp between two girlfriends, both singers, and both dating back to the Listening Room days. Dolly was just left of my feet.
With Jonathan on guitar and harmonica, Curtis on pedal steel and Nate on upright bass and harmonies, the trio began with "Oklahoma Rose," with the sound of the instruments wafting on the crisp night air. You could practically see the sustained notes of the pedal steel hanging in front of us and winding their way around the audience.
The visuals, too, were lovely, with the band playing against a backdrop of the brick of the house with candles lining the window sills and twinkle lights strung on potted plants, the deck, the instrument cases, just about everywhere.
For that matter, Jonathan and Nate had a string of lights in their chest pockets, sort of like a lighted pocket square for the occasion.
Songs like "You are Gone" were beautiful and sad - Jonathan doesn't write any other kind - and soon people swayed and moved their heads or leaned into each other as they sat on chairs and blankets around the back yard.
A guy near me passed out hand warmers and I slid one into my glove. Yes, gloves. No judging.
Jonathan said that they were playing the same set they'd played last month at the Bristol Rhythm and Roots Reunion, where he'd been amazed to learn that Bristol's Main Street separates Virginia and Tennessee. Since I'd only learned that fact last month at a moonshine lecture, I could relate.
"If you see a look of pain on my face," he warned us, "It's because my beard got caught in my harmonica holder." Ouch.
Referring to the song, "What I Talk About When I Talk About Us," he joked, "That's as jammy as we get," providing Nate - the bagel-maker extraordinaire who's about to open his own bagel shop - an opening for a bagel joke (he tried).
A song such as "Darken My Door" sounds like it'll be terribly sad, but a lyric like, "Please darken my door, just to be sure that you're nigh" sounds pretty romantic to me. Other times - "When things fall apart, don't let it harden your heart" - he sounded downright hopeful.
We kept it so close to the chest
I always had to second guess
The show had originally been scheduled for last week and been canceled because of a forecast for rain (which never materialized), so Jonathan thanked us for showing up this week despite the chill. "It was too hot last week!" a friend called out, but I disagreed just as vocally. I'd rather be hot.
She who was swaddled next to me concurred. "I could have worn something cuter last week!"
"This feels like fall!" one of the men said, as if that were a good thing.
The band announced that their final song would be "The Truth," after which Jonathan thanked our hostess and said it had been a lot of fun playing these songs and a nearby dog began barking relentlessly, causing Dolly to sit up and stare into the darkness.
I think back to way back when
All it took was the mention of your name
Change is the only thing that stays the same
It's the only thing
For me, there was no more sublime way to be reminded of that than with music, surrounded by lovers and other strangers outside on an autumn night.
Nevermind the blood stains inside the house.
Friday, June 5, 2015
Darken My Door
I, of all people, understand the difficulty in getting to five years.
In this case, the anniversary was between blogger Andrew and the music-loving community. His blog, RVA Playlist, was turning five years old. I didn't mention to Andrew that my blog had turned five in February 2014 and you didn't see me throwing parties for myself, now did you?
The party wasn't starting until 8, so I met a friend at Sabai, the new Thai street food place and tiki bar practically next door to the Broadberry where the show was happening. They've just recently opened, so it was just a brief stop to get the lay of the land.
They won major points for a '70s soul soundtrack that featured multiple Barry White songs, Spinners and Honey Cone doing "Want Ads." I kid you not, people were breaking into song at the bar. Me, I was just reliving my youth in music.
Adding to the feel-good vibe were a couple of well-executed cocktails, my friend's Death is a Lie, a euphoric combination of mezcal, grapefruit bitters and a twist, while my zingy daiquiri was creamy with Gosling rum, egg white, blackberry brandy and orgeat for notes of almond syrup. Yes, look at me, drinking a real cocktail. I also had a couple of shrimp skewers bathed in Thai spices for a tasty clearing of my sinus cavity.
For his anniversary show, Andrew had chosen bands he'd known for years, bands in some cases I'd introduced him to originally. First up was Jonathan Vassar and the Badlands, tonight a trio of upright bass, guitar and pedal steel, and Andrew mentioned from the stage that I'd been the one who'd first exposed him to Jonathan. So there was a little public recognition thrown in for good measure tonight.
Jonathan's never met a sad song he couldn't write and tonight's were as beautiful as anything I've heard of his, perhaps made all the more so for the mournful sound of the pedal steel. Favorite lyric: "Please, darken my door," a line made even more poignant because of his harmonizing with bass player Nate.
The crowd around the stage area was a respectful one for their set while the people who'd come to chatter remained in the back by the bar, making everybody happy for the most part. See, we can all get along.
I'd expected loads of familiar faces tonight and during the break, I caught up with some of the infrequent faces: the singer who'd already had her own show this week, the country-hopping sound engineer I hadn't seen in close to a year, the dance party maven, the happy couple.
After a predictable forever for Goldrush to set up, they played a particularly rocking set full of new and newer material, including a song Prabir had written about his assault on the street, "It's All in the Past." I salute someone for being able to make lemonade out of those kinds of lemons.
Another time, he dedicated the next song to Andrew, saying it was because, "This is what we'll be doing to him after our set. The song is called "Search and Destroy." Once Andrew delivered tequila shots to the stage, I'd have sworn I saw Willis hitting his drums even harder than usual (was that a flying drumstick?) and Matt's bass resonating in my innards. Good stuff.
They closed with "Human Evolution," notable in that three horn players from No BS Brass Band - Reggie, David and Marcus - joined them for it. Know what? Goldrush sounds good with horns. In fact, a cute girlfriend said, "All music sounds better with horns. Every kind of music."
During the break, I got into a fascinating discussion with a friend who explained that he and his cohabitating girlfriend have separate silverware trays. That's right, they each use their own flatware for eating. Neither liked the other's and it seemed silly to buy new.
Odd as this sounded to me, a friend shared that when she got married, they bought a new set because neither liked each other's, either. He preferred a minimalist design and she had specific fork issues. "We found a simple pattern that met my fork needs (yes, fork needs) and problem solved," she said. That's a marriage that will probably go the distance with that kind of compromising skills.
Once No BS Brass Band got set up to play, I moved to the elevated VIP section (despite being a nobody) so I could see over the crowd. The great thing about the Broadberry stage is that it accommodates the many guys and their horns in No BS, a larger than usual group.
Drummer Lance was behind them, yes, but he got an extended solo so we could watch him unobstructed and other times, he just stood on his stool to lord over all those horns. His distinctive vocals also served as a reminder that he was back there.
They did a brand new song called "3 a.m. Bounce" and Reggie seemed especially pleased when it got a rousing reaction. They're just so tight for being so many people, it's hard not to be impressed. Oh, and P.S., I introduced Andrew to them, too.
Their set was more or less a non-stop dance party, as they always are, but the crowd was smaller than at their typical shows, no doubt a factor of the hour on a school night. Still, everyone who stayed was glad they did.
All in all, it was a pretty wonderful anniversary party except for one thing. There was no cake. I don't want to make it sound like I came for cake - I really wanted to see the bands, of course - but a cake really makes a party. Andrew explained that his cake baker had an unfortunate accident, but try telling my sweet tooth that.
Fortunately, we did get a prize to take home, a fifth anniversary RVA Playlist mix of 20 songs (although I personally have only heard 15 of the bands live) that represent the Richmond music scene. On the liner notes, my name was included as one of the people Andrew thanked for love and support. Aww, shucks, who needs cake when they've got recognition?
So happy anniversary, RVA Playlist. Five years is a lot of posts (believe me, I know) and a lot of local music featured over the years. We both know I've probably been at more of those shows you wrote about than you were, but we've already had that conversation.
And here's a fun fact: the anniversary gift for five years is silverware. Separate or shared forks, Andrew? Having made it five years, it's your choice.
In this case, the anniversary was between blogger Andrew and the music-loving community. His blog, RVA Playlist, was turning five years old. I didn't mention to Andrew that my blog had turned five in February 2014 and you didn't see me throwing parties for myself, now did you?
The party wasn't starting until 8, so I met a friend at Sabai, the new Thai street food place and tiki bar practically next door to the Broadberry where the show was happening. They've just recently opened, so it was just a brief stop to get the lay of the land.
They won major points for a '70s soul soundtrack that featured multiple Barry White songs, Spinners and Honey Cone doing "Want Ads." I kid you not, people were breaking into song at the bar. Me, I was just reliving my youth in music.
Adding to the feel-good vibe were a couple of well-executed cocktails, my friend's Death is a Lie, a euphoric combination of mezcal, grapefruit bitters and a twist, while my zingy daiquiri was creamy with Gosling rum, egg white, blackberry brandy and orgeat for notes of almond syrup. Yes, look at me, drinking a real cocktail. I also had a couple of shrimp skewers bathed in Thai spices for a tasty clearing of my sinus cavity.
For his anniversary show, Andrew had chosen bands he'd known for years, bands in some cases I'd introduced him to originally. First up was Jonathan Vassar and the Badlands, tonight a trio of upright bass, guitar and pedal steel, and Andrew mentioned from the stage that I'd been the one who'd first exposed him to Jonathan. So there was a little public recognition thrown in for good measure tonight.
Jonathan's never met a sad song he couldn't write and tonight's were as beautiful as anything I've heard of his, perhaps made all the more so for the mournful sound of the pedal steel. Favorite lyric: "Please, darken my door," a line made even more poignant because of his harmonizing with bass player Nate.
The crowd around the stage area was a respectful one for their set while the people who'd come to chatter remained in the back by the bar, making everybody happy for the most part. See, we can all get along.
I'd expected loads of familiar faces tonight and during the break, I caught up with some of the infrequent faces: the singer who'd already had her own show this week, the country-hopping sound engineer I hadn't seen in close to a year, the dance party maven, the happy couple.
After a predictable forever for Goldrush to set up, they played a particularly rocking set full of new and newer material, including a song Prabir had written about his assault on the street, "It's All in the Past." I salute someone for being able to make lemonade out of those kinds of lemons.
Another time, he dedicated the next song to Andrew, saying it was because, "This is what we'll be doing to him after our set. The song is called "Search and Destroy." Once Andrew delivered tequila shots to the stage, I'd have sworn I saw Willis hitting his drums even harder than usual (was that a flying drumstick?) and Matt's bass resonating in my innards. Good stuff.
They closed with "Human Evolution," notable in that three horn players from No BS Brass Band - Reggie, David and Marcus - joined them for it. Know what? Goldrush sounds good with horns. In fact, a cute girlfriend said, "All music sounds better with horns. Every kind of music."
During the break, I got into a fascinating discussion with a friend who explained that he and his cohabitating girlfriend have separate silverware trays. That's right, they each use their own flatware for eating. Neither liked the other's and it seemed silly to buy new.
Odd as this sounded to me, a friend shared that when she got married, they bought a new set because neither liked each other's, either. He preferred a minimalist design and she had specific fork issues. "We found a simple pattern that met my fork needs (yes, fork needs) and problem solved," she said. That's a marriage that will probably go the distance with that kind of compromising skills.
Once No BS Brass Band got set up to play, I moved to the elevated VIP section (despite being a nobody) so I could see over the crowd. The great thing about the Broadberry stage is that it accommodates the many guys and their horns in No BS, a larger than usual group.
Drummer Lance was behind them, yes, but he got an extended solo so we could watch him unobstructed and other times, he just stood on his stool to lord over all those horns. His distinctive vocals also served as a reminder that he was back there.
They did a brand new song called "3 a.m. Bounce" and Reggie seemed especially pleased when it got a rousing reaction. They're just so tight for being so many people, it's hard not to be impressed. Oh, and P.S., I introduced Andrew to them, too.
Their set was more or less a non-stop dance party, as they always are, but the crowd was smaller than at their typical shows, no doubt a factor of the hour on a school night. Still, everyone who stayed was glad they did.
All in all, it was a pretty wonderful anniversary party except for one thing. There was no cake. I don't want to make it sound like I came for cake - I really wanted to see the bands, of course - but a cake really makes a party. Andrew explained that his cake baker had an unfortunate accident, but try telling my sweet tooth that.
Fortunately, we did get a prize to take home, a fifth anniversary RVA Playlist mix of 20 songs (although I personally have only heard 15 of the bands live) that represent the Richmond music scene. On the liner notes, my name was included as one of the people Andrew thanked for love and support. Aww, shucks, who needs cake when they've got recognition?
So happy anniversary, RVA Playlist. Five years is a lot of posts (believe me, I know) and a lot of local music featured over the years. We both know I've probably been at more of those shows you wrote about than you were, but we've already had that conversation.
And here's a fun fact: the anniversary gift for five years is silverware. Separate or shared forks, Andrew? Having made it five years, it's your choice.
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