I didn't know what to make of the flashcards. They're teaching tools, right? Visual aids to reinforce words and numerical problems.
So it's spring break at VCU and the students are gone, which makes going to 821 Cafe easier because parking is possible. So I went for a quick dinner, had my usual black bean nachos and was reading the Travel section of Sunday's Washington Post when I noticed the girl a stool away from me was making flashcards.
She had a stack of 3 x 5" index cards and a black marker and she was methodically and clearly printing words or phrases on each card.
Douche bag. Furries. Ass cherry. Motherf*cker. Fag hag.
What? Just as I opened my mouth to ask the obvious, an immense woman took the stool in between us, saying with a smile, "Sorry to be all up in your grills," to us both. The flashcard-maker hastily put the cards away and the moment was lost.
I can twist this one around in my head endlessly and I still don't think I'll ever figure out to what purpose those flashcards were to be used. I will be curious (yellow) indefinitely.
Music at the Firehouse was next and it was a bittersweet occasion. Tonight was the last performance for the original line-up of Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird; mandolin/banjo player and vocalist Chris is moving to the Left Coast.
As always with this group, the show began exactly on time and with the Dish Dogs, a band from Harrisonburg. The name comes from all the band members having done stints as dishwashers in restaurants. Hell, if that's all it takes, every band in town could use "dish dogs" as a sub-title.
The flyer's description of Dish Dogs as folk, country and blues with a grin was apt. They were missing two players tonight, but put on an enthusiastic set with acoustic and electric guitars, bass and mandolin (or drums, depending on the band's preference).
There were songs written to cheer up friends who had been dumped, songs about girls who had done the dumping and even a mention of C.S. Lewis. It was all good fun.
Philly's Chris Kasper was next and oddly enough, I had seen him at the Listening Room last March 23, so it had been almost exactly a year. At one point, he said he was going to do a bluegrass song, qualifying bluegrass by saying the song was in the key of G and played fast.
He's a terrific songwriter with an interesting voice and once again, it occurred to me how well he would fit in with Richmond's folk scene.
Jonathan Vassar and Speckled Bird, along with the first two acts, were doing the third night of a three-night tour in the third month. Antonia mentioned that she had tried some Middlemarch jokes at the shows the last two nights, to no laughter. So tonight, she said, she was banter-shy.
"And they were funny, too!" she told the crowd.
"Yea, to English majors," Jonathan quipped.
"Ouch," Antonia said with a pout.
So we got no George Eliot humor, much to my disappointment, and I wasn't even an English major. What we got was the group's beautifully harmonious sad songs highlighted by Josh's eloquent cello playing and Chris' farewell mandolin and banjo playing.
Newcomers got to hear Antonia's knockout vox saw for the first time (the rest of us had been anticipating it from the start of the set) and Jonathan noted, "If we ever get famous, it'll be because of that. It's a gimmick, but I'm not above using my wife as a gimmick."
This from the man who can write a song based on a true story he only read about online, but never experienced, and make your heart hurt. In other words, they're all incredibly talented. And Chris will be as much missed by the audience as he no doubt will be by his band.
But enough about the sad stuff. What in the world could those flashcards have possibly been used for?
Showing posts with label jonathan vasser and the speckled bird. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jonathan vasser and the speckled bird. Show all posts
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
I Came to See You
The funny part is, I originally planned to have a two-hour evening. No, seriously, I was shooting for a simple little Saturday night listening to friends play folk music and then home to bed. 10:30 to 12:30 and then out. Really.
And then a friend called out of the blue and suggested meeting for a drink at Julep and although I'd just been there Thursday night, I had been eating, not drinking, despite Bobby's attentive offers to pour me a variety of tequilas, so I said yes.
Tonight I gave him the opportunity to pour me Corazon and he graciously made me the first customer to use the new metal spoon-straws he'd brought back from his NYC trip last week. "You don't really need it with tequila on ice," he said, smiling, but it was still a nice gesture to make me the inaugural user.
The bar was packed, so we were standing near the end behind the hostess stand. At one point, one of my favorite servers, the handsome Kent, came over with a startled look on his face.
"You're like a Ninja," he said. "You come in here so stealthily I never even realize you're here and then, surprise, there you are." Yea, that's me, the stealthy type. I think more likely my lack of height hides me among the tall masses.
After a couple of hours (the original targeted length of my entire evening) about pasties, bar ambiance and pot-stirrers, I left for Balliceaux. A new friend had suggested meeting for music tonight, but didn't know of anything happening. Since I already had plans to go to a show, we decided to make it a twosome.
Austin greeted me at the front bar, so I decided to linger there a while there sipping Herradura Anejo and waiting for my evening's company, whom I wasn't even sure would recognize me since we hadn't seen each other since our original meeting nearly two months ago.
I told Austin about the dueling soloists show I'd seen last night because two of the guys at the show were mutual friends, including the drummer who'd lost me with his reference to pocket rhythm drumming.
Reassuringly, Austin gave me the same "huh?" look I'd given the drummer when he mentioned it. I felt better knowing I wasn't the only one confused by obscure drumming terminology.
As the dining crowd began to leave, the pretty people started arriving, so I knew I had to make my way to the back bar and establish territory.
My friend was due to arrive shortly and I wanted to have a place where we could actually see the show. I found that spot at the stool-less bar, where the most popular request from the youngest of the females was for Stella, a beer Balliceaux doesn't even carry (I like to think just to challenge them).
I'd come for the show with Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird and the Go Rounds, a Brooklyn band.
Unfortunately for the bands (and me) 90% of the crowd had come to get drunk and shout. It was a shame for my companion, who had never heard JV & TSB before because the crowd roar drowned out the accordion almost completely
On the other hand, he got to hear Antonia's vox saw (turning to me, he said, "For a minute, I thought someone was playing saw!"), a real treat for anyone who's never heard it. I couldn't resist mentioning that I'd seen a band earlier this week that had two saw players. Two!
The Go Rounds were a duo playing earnest folk music and they had just as difficult a time making themselves heard over the inane conversations going on in the crowd. I can say that because I eavesdropped on enough to know that nothing was really being said.
During the break, we got to talking about classic country music after I told him my only real musical prejudice is contemporary country. A friend had recently played several vintage country records for me and I loved both the heartfelt sincerity of the lyrics and unique delivery.
While waiting in the loo line, I chatted up the guy in line behind me after he asked if I had waited as long as he had to finally get in line (I had). Funny the things people use to strike up conversations.
A few well-placed questions and I discovered that his current music passion is 80s Italian disco and that we both shared an affinity for Joy Division. Now I feel the need to explore 80s Italian disco just to know.
After the show, it was only 12:30, so my companion asked if I wanted to do some more talking (clearly we're new to each other if he has to ask me if I want more conversation) and get a bite to eat.
Given the time, our choices were limited, but Joe's Inn wasn't far and I hadn't been in since the "cool side" had been made into the smoking side (as I'd been told by more than one friend lately), so I was game.
The non-smoking side was empty and closed for the evening, so we took a booth amongst the cool kids, the only seats available actually, on the other side.
Standing next to our booth were a guy in bright red plaid pants and another guy in a shocking blue flower-print shirt. Despite my electric-blue tank top peeking out from under my dress, clearly we weren't nearly colorful enough for this crowd.
Deciding on what to eat was easily accomplished by him picking two things and me picking from his choices. That resulted in a Greek salad followed by spaghetti a la Greek with marinara, something I would have never ordered on my own, which made it a good choice for me.
As we worked our way through the mound of pasta the size of my head, we played the question and answer game, meaning we barely finished before they closed at 2:00.
As our ancient waitress informed us, "We've turned the coffee pots off." We assumed that meant that they were ready to lock the doors next.
End result: my planned simple little two-hour evening morphed into something like a simple seven instead. No complaints here.
Simple is in the eye of the beholder.
And then a friend called out of the blue and suggested meeting for a drink at Julep and although I'd just been there Thursday night, I had been eating, not drinking, despite Bobby's attentive offers to pour me a variety of tequilas, so I said yes.
Tonight I gave him the opportunity to pour me Corazon and he graciously made me the first customer to use the new metal spoon-straws he'd brought back from his NYC trip last week. "You don't really need it with tequila on ice," he said, smiling, but it was still a nice gesture to make me the inaugural user.
The bar was packed, so we were standing near the end behind the hostess stand. At one point, one of my favorite servers, the handsome Kent, came over with a startled look on his face.
"You're like a Ninja," he said. "You come in here so stealthily I never even realize you're here and then, surprise, there you are." Yea, that's me, the stealthy type. I think more likely my lack of height hides me among the tall masses.
After a couple of hours (the original targeted length of my entire evening) about pasties, bar ambiance and pot-stirrers, I left for Balliceaux. A new friend had suggested meeting for music tonight, but didn't know of anything happening. Since I already had plans to go to a show, we decided to make it a twosome.
Austin greeted me at the front bar, so I decided to linger there a while there sipping Herradura Anejo and waiting for my evening's company, whom I wasn't even sure would recognize me since we hadn't seen each other since our original meeting nearly two months ago.
I told Austin about the dueling soloists show I'd seen last night because two of the guys at the show were mutual friends, including the drummer who'd lost me with his reference to pocket rhythm drumming.
Reassuringly, Austin gave me the same "huh?" look I'd given the drummer when he mentioned it. I felt better knowing I wasn't the only one confused by obscure drumming terminology.
As the dining crowd began to leave, the pretty people started arriving, so I knew I had to make my way to the back bar and establish territory.
My friend was due to arrive shortly and I wanted to have a place where we could actually see the show. I found that spot at the stool-less bar, where the most popular request from the youngest of the females was for Stella, a beer Balliceaux doesn't even carry (I like to think just to challenge them).
I'd come for the show with Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird and the Go Rounds, a Brooklyn band.
Unfortunately for the bands (and me) 90% of the crowd had come to get drunk and shout. It was a shame for my companion, who had never heard JV & TSB before because the crowd roar drowned out the accordion almost completely
On the other hand, he got to hear Antonia's vox saw (turning to me, he said, "For a minute, I thought someone was playing saw!"), a real treat for anyone who's never heard it. I couldn't resist mentioning that I'd seen a band earlier this week that had two saw players. Two!
The Go Rounds were a duo playing earnest folk music and they had just as difficult a time making themselves heard over the inane conversations going on in the crowd. I can say that because I eavesdropped on enough to know that nothing was really being said.
During the break, we got to talking about classic country music after I told him my only real musical prejudice is contemporary country. A friend had recently played several vintage country records for me and I loved both the heartfelt sincerity of the lyrics and unique delivery.
While waiting in the loo line, I chatted up the guy in line behind me after he asked if I had waited as long as he had to finally get in line (I had). Funny the things people use to strike up conversations.
A few well-placed questions and I discovered that his current music passion is 80s Italian disco and that we both shared an affinity for Joy Division. Now I feel the need to explore 80s Italian disco just to know.
After the show, it was only 12:30, so my companion asked if I wanted to do some more talking (clearly we're new to each other if he has to ask me if I want more conversation) and get a bite to eat.
Given the time, our choices were limited, but Joe's Inn wasn't far and I hadn't been in since the "cool side" had been made into the smoking side (as I'd been told by more than one friend lately), so I was game.
The non-smoking side was empty and closed for the evening, so we took a booth amongst the cool kids, the only seats available actually, on the other side.
Standing next to our booth were a guy in bright red plaid pants and another guy in a shocking blue flower-print shirt. Despite my electric-blue tank top peeking out from under my dress, clearly we weren't nearly colorful enough for this crowd.
Deciding on what to eat was easily accomplished by him picking two things and me picking from his choices. That resulted in a Greek salad followed by spaghetti a la Greek with marinara, something I would have never ordered on my own, which made it a good choice for me.
As we worked our way through the mound of pasta the size of my head, we played the question and answer game, meaning we barely finished before they closed at 2:00.
As our ancient waitress informed us, "We've turned the coffee pots off." We assumed that meant that they were ready to lock the doors next.
End result: my planned simple little two-hour evening morphed into something like a simple seven instead. No complaints here.
Simple is in the eye of the beholder.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
On Not Escaping Queen
How great is it when the hardest choice I have to make on a Saturday night is which show to attend first? Well, that and who's worth saving a seat for.
My decision about where to start was actually a no-brainer because the CD release party show at the Camel was for Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird. Speckled Bird vocalist/accordion player Antonia is also Jonathan's wife and when Antonia is involved, shows start on time, even in a town notorious for late-starting shows. We love her for this.
Knowing this, I began my night at the Camel, arriving early enough to score a front table (and even save a seat for a late-arriving friend who, when he finally arrived told me that saving him a seat was "the nicest thing anyone's done for me all year." That may be the best thank you I've had all year) and do some mingling before the musical magic happened.
It was then that one of my favorite musicians came over and said, "You know I stalk your blog, but what's the scoop on what's happening with you?" Fair enough; I do omit plenty of details, so I told her what was up lately and she was kindly supportive of my slow-moving pace. It was a nice shot of unexpected girl talk.
Low Branches kicked off the show after singer Christina had deadpanned to a few of us that, "We're doing some Queen and I'll be rapping." If you've ever heard her ethereal singing voice, that statement would be as hysterical to you as it was to me. Matt's drumming and guitar playing combined with her voice set the tone (and standard) for a beautiful night of music.
Zac Hryciak and the Jungle Beat played next and, honestly, I never tire of that beat. They'd added a second violinist, making for a much fuller sound, even as the crowd continued to grow in size. They're also in recording mode, hoping to be out in the spring.
By the time Jonathan Vassar and Speckled Bird played, the room was filled to bursting with friends, families and old high school buddies.
Antonia even acknowledged that, "I think I told a couple people that this is even better than a wedding," a statement which could be misconstrued, except that she explained what she meant about the assembled group (part of it was about alcohol being involved...but just a small part).
It was a true album release show, with the band playing the new one, "Signs and Wonders" in order, as if for consideration of the audience. The crowd clearly gave off an energy of devotion and admiration for the band as well as the excellent new material, with loud and enthusiastic applause after every song.
No question, it was a love fest. Camel owner Rand came up to me afterwards and said, "That was magic, wasn't it?" For devotees of Americana folk, thoughtful songwriting and mesmerizing harmonies, it was indeed that.
But like all good punctual shows, it was over at a reasonable hour, so a friend and I gathered our forces and went to Gallery 5 for the end of the Ghost of Pop 6 show. Since it featured seven bands, we felt sure that we still had time to catch at least two and maybe three. We were right.
I was pleased that we'd made it in time for Fuzzy Baby's set, because I love their unique sound and offbeat song topics. They're playing the next Listening Room ("No booze! No talking! It's going to be great!" Giustin told the audience, suggesting everyone come).
Those who had been there for Roctopussy's set (James Bond movie music covers) raved about what an amazing set we had missed. There was violin shredding! A French horn! Madness! I only hope they play again soon so I, too, can have the "Goldfinger" experience I missed tonight.
After Fuzzy Baby's set we ran into upright bass player extraordinaire, Matt Gold, of Prabir and the Goldrush, who was charmingly loopy but only slightly concerned about his ability to play next. I assured him he'd be fine, noting that his muscle memory would save the day. "Oh, you're a musician then?" he asked, his eyes lighting up at the thought that I understood. As if.
"No," I explained. "But I can talk to one." His concern was for naught because Prabir and the Goldrush played a rollicking set, ending with Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" and a crowd sing-along. One way or another, it looks like I was destined to hear Queen tonight after all.
Afterwards, a friend came up and asked if I wanted to go get drunk and ride the Bottom and Back bus with him tonight. Tempting as it sounded (and we consider ourselves soul mates since we show up at so many of the same places), I declined.
Later Andrew asked me if I would do it on another occasion, assuring me that the people-watching alone makes it well worth it. Not one to rule things out, I guess I'll have to put it on my bucket list.
Problem is that I always seem to be too busy to take the time to come up with the damn list...but I'm not sure that's a problem at all.
My decision about where to start was actually a no-brainer because the CD release party show at the Camel was for Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird. Speckled Bird vocalist/accordion player Antonia is also Jonathan's wife and when Antonia is involved, shows start on time, even in a town notorious for late-starting shows. We love her for this.
Knowing this, I began my night at the Camel, arriving early enough to score a front table (and even save a seat for a late-arriving friend who, when he finally arrived told me that saving him a seat was "the nicest thing anyone's done for me all year." That may be the best thank you I've had all year) and do some mingling before the musical magic happened.
It was then that one of my favorite musicians came over and said, "You know I stalk your blog, but what's the scoop on what's happening with you?" Fair enough; I do omit plenty of details, so I told her what was up lately and she was kindly supportive of my slow-moving pace. It was a nice shot of unexpected girl talk.
Low Branches kicked off the show after singer Christina had deadpanned to a few of us that, "We're doing some Queen and I'll be rapping." If you've ever heard her ethereal singing voice, that statement would be as hysterical to you as it was to me. Matt's drumming and guitar playing combined with her voice set the tone (and standard) for a beautiful night of music.
Zac Hryciak and the Jungle Beat played next and, honestly, I never tire of that beat. They'd added a second violinist, making for a much fuller sound, even as the crowd continued to grow in size. They're also in recording mode, hoping to be out in the spring.
By the time Jonathan Vassar and Speckled Bird played, the room was filled to bursting with friends, families and old high school buddies.
Antonia even acknowledged that, "I think I told a couple people that this is even better than a wedding," a statement which could be misconstrued, except that she explained what she meant about the assembled group (part of it was about alcohol being involved...but just a small part).
It was a true album release show, with the band playing the new one, "Signs and Wonders" in order, as if for consideration of the audience. The crowd clearly gave off an energy of devotion and admiration for the band as well as the excellent new material, with loud and enthusiastic applause after every song.
No question, it was a love fest. Camel owner Rand came up to me afterwards and said, "That was magic, wasn't it?" For devotees of Americana folk, thoughtful songwriting and mesmerizing harmonies, it was indeed that.
But like all good punctual shows, it was over at a reasonable hour, so a friend and I gathered our forces and went to Gallery 5 for the end of the Ghost of Pop 6 show. Since it featured seven bands, we felt sure that we still had time to catch at least two and maybe three. We were right.
I was pleased that we'd made it in time for Fuzzy Baby's set, because I love their unique sound and offbeat song topics. They're playing the next Listening Room ("No booze! No talking! It's going to be great!" Giustin told the audience, suggesting everyone come).
Those who had been there for Roctopussy's set (James Bond movie music covers) raved about what an amazing set we had missed. There was violin shredding! A French horn! Madness! I only hope they play again soon so I, too, can have the "Goldfinger" experience I missed tonight.
After Fuzzy Baby's set we ran into upright bass player extraordinaire, Matt Gold, of Prabir and the Goldrush, who was charmingly loopy but only slightly concerned about his ability to play next. I assured him he'd be fine, noting that his muscle memory would save the day. "Oh, you're a musician then?" he asked, his eyes lighting up at the thought that I understood. As if.
"No," I explained. "But I can talk to one." His concern was for naught because Prabir and the Goldrush played a rollicking set, ending with Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" and a crowd sing-along. One way or another, it looks like I was destined to hear Queen tonight after all.
Afterwards, a friend came up and asked if I wanted to go get drunk and ride the Bottom and Back bus with him tonight. Tempting as it sounded (and we consider ourselves soul mates since we show up at so many of the same places), I declined.
Later Andrew asked me if I would do it on another occasion, assuring me that the people-watching alone makes it well worth it. Not one to rule things out, I guess I'll have to put it on my bucket list.
Problem is that I always seem to be too busy to take the time to come up with the damn list...but I'm not sure that's a problem at all.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Jewish Anniversary Sex
Eat Jewish food
Sleep in a Christian bed
Wear Muslim clothing
That was only one of the many lessons I learned at the Encyclopedia of Jewish Food dinner that I attended at the JCC tonight, but then I had a lot to learn on the topic, being an Irish (lapsed) Catholic and all.
And no, for change, I wasn't solo; my date was one of my blog readers who'd contacted me and suggested that we meet up and enjoy the dinner and lecture together. Write a blog! Meet new people!
Between the charming company, trying new foods and (because I am a nerd) the interesting stuff I learned in the lecture/cooking demonstration, I had a terrific time.
Dinner began with the Romanian vegetable stew Guvetch and, given the Romanian propensity to put garlic in everything, I loved this dish. The woman on the other side of me picked out her cooked carrots (she only likes them raw) and I so wanted to fish them out of her bowland eat them, but thought better of it.
As we were eating the stew, author Gil Marks began a demonstration of making Keftes (Sepahardic leek patties), telling the audience that "the best implement in the kitchen is the human hand." My Southern grandmother would have agreed with him.
Next up was Fesenjan (Persian chicken with pomegranates and walnuts), fidellos tostados (Sepahardic toasted noodles) and the Keftes de Prasa that Marks had just shown us how to make. I was particularly fond of the onion, pomegranate and walnut mixture in the chicken's broth.
My non-Jewishness became glaringly apparent when the event's photographer came around to take a picture of our table. Someone suggested we have it taken bar mitzvah-style and still I sat in my seat.
Only when told did I understand that I needed to get up and stand behind the people on the other side of the table. Let's hope the picture doesn't reveal my cluelessness.
As we were nibbling Middle Eastern filled cookies (the iced anise was delicious), Marks went on to talk about the Americanization of Jewish food.
Once Jews began making some of their foodstuffs for sale, their best customers, he said, were the pioneers headed west and looking for well-preserved, long-lasting foods. Matzohs in covered wagons; who knew?
I had warned my date that I had a commitment immediately after the dinner lecture, so I said my goodbye and headed to the Listening Room's one-year anniversary performance. As one of the 95 people who came to the very first LR show, I was not going to miss tonight's music.
The LR is put on by the Foundry, a collective of musicians and artists who make it all happen every month. Appropriately, three members of that group were also tonight's first band, Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird.
Despite having seen them perform many, many times over the past three years, tonight's show was something special. It came across as especially emotional and even songs I've heard before had been fine-tuned and seemed to hold fresh nuances.
And oh yes, Antonia did her legendary vox saw and even husband Jonathan acknowledged that he has no idea how she makes that amazing sound ("I tried once in the shower and it sounded like a dying rabbit.")
Favorite lyric: Think of me. I know that you know who I am.
Psalmships from Philly was next and singer/songwriter Josh told us that his band hadn't been able to make it. It didn't matter; his four-string guitar playing and distinctive voice delivered a noteworthy set.
He praised RVA, saying, "I don't really know what's going on in Richmond, but if Jonathan Vassar and Horsehead are any indication, you need to block the gates." I loved hearing that an out-of-towner recognized what a great scene we have here.
Favorite lyric: You can't get here fast enough. I will swim to you."
Horsehead played last and I had seen them do an acoustic set at Six Burner a while back, although they acknowledged that they're an electric band. They were very polished, very tight musically and the crowd really liked them.
They deviated from their set list only once, to play a new song about stalking...told from the stalker's perspective. "Hate me if you will," the lead singer said admitting that it was the first such song he knew of. He's undoubtedly right about that, but the audience found humor in the song.
Lead guitarist Kevin was a pleasure to watch from my front row seat; his talented musicianship and beautiful harmonies were the set's highlight for me.
I might add that both he and the bass player had a dimple, a surprisingly high dimple ratio for a four-piece band (I notice this kind of thing only because I have dimples myself).
Tonight's show ran unusually long for the Listening Room (not that anyone was complaining, mind you), but not so late that I couldn't head over to Republic afterwards with a couple of friends for a show about sex.
The inimitable Prabir Mehta was playing a show all about sex with his partner in crime (and symphony violinist) Treesa Gold. There were booty bags and condoms being handed out. And why was I there?
Not because I like Republic cause I don't (Andrew and I went one time and permanently crossed it off our list). Everyone in the place smokes, so we reeked after being in there for a relatively short time. And the crowd is, well, the crowd wouldn't like me.
But Prabir and Treesa are friends and talented musicians and I was curious to see what kind of hilarity would ensue. Would they even be able to keep straight faces?
It was totally worth it. Treesa rapped (yes, really) and as Prabir's brother noted, "That's the whitest thing I ever heard in my life." Her husband cringed and fortified himself with many Bass Ales (he also shot video, it should be noted).
When the smoke and annoying people finally got to us, we left, but just as we stepped outside, I heard the first few notes of the Divinyls' masterfully metaphoric "I Touch Myself." There was no way I could walk away from that.
On the side of the building, I slowly opened the door that faces the stage so we had our own private viewing area. The three of us watched as Prabir and Treesa tore it up.
At the end, Prabir glanced over at us with a look of pure sheepishness. Treesa beamed.
Keftes with a reader, four-string guitars and dimples, booty bags and self-pleasuring. This may have been a Tuesday night for the books.
Sleep in a Christian bed
Wear Muslim clothing
That was only one of the many lessons I learned at the Encyclopedia of Jewish Food dinner that I attended at the JCC tonight, but then I had a lot to learn on the topic, being an Irish (lapsed) Catholic and all.
And no, for change, I wasn't solo; my date was one of my blog readers who'd contacted me and suggested that we meet up and enjoy the dinner and lecture together. Write a blog! Meet new people!
Between the charming company, trying new foods and (because I am a nerd) the interesting stuff I learned in the lecture/cooking demonstration, I had a terrific time.
Dinner began with the Romanian vegetable stew Guvetch and, given the Romanian propensity to put garlic in everything, I loved this dish. The woman on the other side of me picked out her cooked carrots (she only likes them raw) and I so wanted to fish them out of her bowland eat them, but thought better of it.
As we were eating the stew, author Gil Marks began a demonstration of making Keftes (Sepahardic leek patties), telling the audience that "the best implement in the kitchen is the human hand." My Southern grandmother would have agreed with him.
Next up was Fesenjan (Persian chicken with pomegranates and walnuts), fidellos tostados (Sepahardic toasted noodles) and the Keftes de Prasa that Marks had just shown us how to make. I was particularly fond of the onion, pomegranate and walnut mixture in the chicken's broth.
My non-Jewishness became glaringly apparent when the event's photographer came around to take a picture of our table. Someone suggested we have it taken bar mitzvah-style and still I sat in my seat.
Only when told did I understand that I needed to get up and stand behind the people on the other side of the table. Let's hope the picture doesn't reveal my cluelessness.
As we were nibbling Middle Eastern filled cookies (the iced anise was delicious), Marks went on to talk about the Americanization of Jewish food.
Once Jews began making some of their foodstuffs for sale, their best customers, he said, were the pioneers headed west and looking for well-preserved, long-lasting foods. Matzohs in covered wagons; who knew?
I had warned my date that I had a commitment immediately after the dinner lecture, so I said my goodbye and headed to the Listening Room's one-year anniversary performance. As one of the 95 people who came to the very first LR show, I was not going to miss tonight's music.
The LR is put on by the Foundry, a collective of musicians and artists who make it all happen every month. Appropriately, three members of that group were also tonight's first band, Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird.
Despite having seen them perform many, many times over the past three years, tonight's show was something special. It came across as especially emotional and even songs I've heard before had been fine-tuned and seemed to hold fresh nuances.
And oh yes, Antonia did her legendary vox saw and even husband Jonathan acknowledged that he has no idea how she makes that amazing sound ("I tried once in the shower and it sounded like a dying rabbit.")
Favorite lyric: Think of me. I know that you know who I am.
Psalmships from Philly was next and singer/songwriter Josh told us that his band hadn't been able to make it. It didn't matter; his four-string guitar playing and distinctive voice delivered a noteworthy set.
He praised RVA, saying, "I don't really know what's going on in Richmond, but if Jonathan Vassar and Horsehead are any indication, you need to block the gates." I loved hearing that an out-of-towner recognized what a great scene we have here.
Favorite lyric: You can't get here fast enough. I will swim to you."
Horsehead played last and I had seen them do an acoustic set at Six Burner a while back, although they acknowledged that they're an electric band. They were very polished, very tight musically and the crowd really liked them.
They deviated from their set list only once, to play a new song about stalking...told from the stalker's perspective. "Hate me if you will," the lead singer said admitting that it was the first such song he knew of. He's undoubtedly right about that, but the audience found humor in the song.
Lead guitarist Kevin was a pleasure to watch from my front row seat; his talented musicianship and beautiful harmonies were the set's highlight for me.
I might add that both he and the bass player had a dimple, a surprisingly high dimple ratio for a four-piece band (I notice this kind of thing only because I have dimples myself).
Tonight's show ran unusually long for the Listening Room (not that anyone was complaining, mind you), but not so late that I couldn't head over to Republic afterwards with a couple of friends for a show about sex.
The inimitable Prabir Mehta was playing a show all about sex with his partner in crime (and symphony violinist) Treesa Gold. There were booty bags and condoms being handed out. And why was I there?
Not because I like Republic cause I don't (Andrew and I went one time and permanently crossed it off our list). Everyone in the place smokes, so we reeked after being in there for a relatively short time. And the crowd is, well, the crowd wouldn't like me.
But Prabir and Treesa are friends and talented musicians and I was curious to see what kind of hilarity would ensue. Would they even be able to keep straight faces?
It was totally worth it. Treesa rapped (yes, really) and as Prabir's brother noted, "That's the whitest thing I ever heard in my life." Her husband cringed and fortified himself with many Bass Ales (he also shot video, it should be noted).
When the smoke and annoying people finally got to us, we left, but just as we stepped outside, I heard the first few notes of the Divinyls' masterfully metaphoric "I Touch Myself." There was no way I could walk away from that.
On the side of the building, I slowly opened the door that faces the stage so we had our own private viewing area. The three of us watched as Prabir and Treesa tore it up.
At the end, Prabir glanced over at us with a look of pure sheepishness. Treesa beamed.
Keftes with a reader, four-string guitars and dimples, booty bags and self-pleasuring. This may have been a Tuesday night for the books.
Monday, October 4, 2010
So Long (not Goodbye)
How's this for an amazing way to spend the last couple of hours of daylight?
In a parking lot at Grace and Adams (a mere five blocks from home), sitting with our backs to the band Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird, watching chimney swifts swoop and flutter against a fading sky before finally roosting in the chimney atop a nearby tall building.
What in the world, you wonder? The chimney swifts are soon to migrate to the mid-range Andes for the winter. So before that happens, a group was gathered to enjoy a musical dedication to these fluttering birds who have adapted to urban living by roosting in chimneys rather than caves and trees.
I'd brought a chair, as advised, but friends Andrew and even the biologist Dan (who should have known better) had not, so we returned to my car to fetch two beach chairs so they wouldn't have to sit on cold asphalt.
When I opened my trunk, they both noticed it had a beach smell (granted, I've only been back from the beach for five days) and I spotted my beach towel, the perfect thing to keep me warm as the sun dropped lower in the sky. It's true, I have no blood.
Mary from the Audubon Society gave a short talk about the birds as we watched them pattern the evening sky. She pointed out that they look like "cigars with wings" and had an irregular wing-flapping pattern and a distinctive warble, all of which we could see and hear.
Her D.C. associate at the Society had pronounced that the swifts are "disappearing like crazy" (surely a scientific term) as fewer chimneys are built and those that are tend to have covers.
The solution, she said, was fake chimneys on rooftops and likened providing such things to the plethora of bluebird boxes that were mounted when bluebirds began disappearing not so long ago.
As she spoke, the flock of swifts grew larger and larger and then the music began. It was a moving experience watching the birds in the sky while the un-amplified music wrapped around us. The band was only doing four songs and as the last strains of the third song wound down, the last of the swifts dropped down into the chimney.
The final song, written especially for the occasion, "A Slow Song for Swifts" was performed to a now-empty sky, which was somehow appropriate since the swifts will soon be gone on their long migration to South America, hopefully to return to RVA in the spring.
I'm not doing an adequate job of describing the beauty of the birds and the music being interwoven as we watched, but take my word for it, it was spectacular.
All that field observation (as my biologist friend calls it) in the cold evening air had made me hungry, so I dropped by Secco for dinner and ran into an unexpected Oktoberfest walk instead.
Never has there been so much testosterone in Secco at one time. Walking in, one of the two guys standing outside gave me that classic, "How YOU doin'?" line and I almost laughed (which would not have been kind). Inside they were wall to wall.
But the front couches were full of off-duty Secco employees and friends who suggested I join them. Needless to say, they were more my speed than the beer walkers, so I sat down on a hassock. (The walkers had already done Joe's Inn and Commercial Taphouse; Can Can was to come after Secco from what I heard).
Dinner was speck-wrapped hanger steak with local veggies and legumes, truffle sauce and black truffle shavings, roasted spiced almonds with sea salt and Burgundy. It was so satisfying after being out in the cold (sorry, but for me this weather feels cold; a few days ago I was bare-legged with sandals on). Red meat and red wine were just what I needed to thicken my blood a little.
But it was well worth getting cold for the magic of the chimney swifts and the music. How can I move away from this city with things like this happening?
Well, should I decide to, you can be sure I'll have a chimney for swifts...or put a fake chimney on my house.
Wherever I end up.
In a parking lot at Grace and Adams (a mere five blocks from home), sitting with our backs to the band Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird, watching chimney swifts swoop and flutter against a fading sky before finally roosting in the chimney atop a nearby tall building.
What in the world, you wonder? The chimney swifts are soon to migrate to the mid-range Andes for the winter. So before that happens, a group was gathered to enjoy a musical dedication to these fluttering birds who have adapted to urban living by roosting in chimneys rather than caves and trees.
I'd brought a chair, as advised, but friends Andrew and even the biologist Dan (who should have known better) had not, so we returned to my car to fetch two beach chairs so they wouldn't have to sit on cold asphalt.
When I opened my trunk, they both noticed it had a beach smell (granted, I've only been back from the beach for five days) and I spotted my beach towel, the perfect thing to keep me warm as the sun dropped lower in the sky. It's true, I have no blood.
Mary from the Audubon Society gave a short talk about the birds as we watched them pattern the evening sky. She pointed out that they look like "cigars with wings" and had an irregular wing-flapping pattern and a distinctive warble, all of which we could see and hear.
Her D.C. associate at the Society had pronounced that the swifts are "disappearing like crazy" (surely a scientific term) as fewer chimneys are built and those that are tend to have covers.
The solution, she said, was fake chimneys on rooftops and likened providing such things to the plethora of bluebird boxes that were mounted when bluebirds began disappearing not so long ago.
As she spoke, the flock of swifts grew larger and larger and then the music began. It was a moving experience watching the birds in the sky while the un-amplified music wrapped around us. The band was only doing four songs and as the last strains of the third song wound down, the last of the swifts dropped down into the chimney.
The final song, written especially for the occasion, "A Slow Song for Swifts" was performed to a now-empty sky, which was somehow appropriate since the swifts will soon be gone on their long migration to South America, hopefully to return to RVA in the spring.
I'm not doing an adequate job of describing the beauty of the birds and the music being interwoven as we watched, but take my word for it, it was spectacular.
All that field observation (as my biologist friend calls it) in the cold evening air had made me hungry, so I dropped by Secco for dinner and ran into an unexpected Oktoberfest walk instead.
Never has there been so much testosterone in Secco at one time. Walking in, one of the two guys standing outside gave me that classic, "How YOU doin'?" line and I almost laughed (which would not have been kind). Inside they were wall to wall.
But the front couches were full of off-duty Secco employees and friends who suggested I join them. Needless to say, they were more my speed than the beer walkers, so I sat down on a hassock. (The walkers had already done Joe's Inn and Commercial Taphouse; Can Can was to come after Secco from what I heard).
Dinner was speck-wrapped hanger steak with local veggies and legumes, truffle sauce and black truffle shavings, roasted spiced almonds with sea salt and Burgundy. It was so satisfying after being out in the cold (sorry, but for me this weather feels cold; a few days ago I was bare-legged with sandals on). Red meat and red wine were just what I needed to thicken my blood a little.
But it was well worth getting cold for the magic of the chimney swifts and the music. How can I move away from this city with things like this happening?
Well, should I decide to, you can be sure I'll have a chimney for swifts...or put a fake chimney on my house.
Wherever I end up.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
First Fridays Music Walk
First Fridays have gotten to be as much about music as visual art and you can imagine how that pleases me. In between gallery hopping, there's music to be found for all kinds of tastes.
After hearing from several people that tonight was going to be a light turnout for the art walk, it was actually exceedingly busy. As the evening wore on, people seemed to keep coming and forming audiences in front of all the various musical entertainments.
Gallery 5 had always done music and tonight I heard British-born Freddie Stevenson as part of their new music series, the Accents Tour, showcases up and coming European and Australian musicians. Metro Space Gallery, too, is a reliable place for listening, although they tend to lean toward blues and rock bands. Art 6 is good about having interesting music on a regular basis; tonight it was My Son the Doctor playing Balkana nd Jewish folk music.
But there was also a cover band playing in the lot near Visual Arts and they had a Goth-clad belly dancer interpreting their covers of Bad Company and the like. A trio of earnest young horn players (they all had to be under 20) were playing near Corporate Museum and Frame.
And in the courtyard at Adams, which over the past year has become a reliably excellent place to hear music during First Fridays, both Lobo Marino and the Colloquial Orchestra were impressing the crowds.
But lest you think I just skipped over the primary purpose of the art walk, I didn't. "Self Titled" at G5 was an exhibit of original artwork used for independently-released albums. I was struck by how the actual art sometimes had a wholly different feel than the piece of it used on an album cover.
"Last Dowry" at Quirk was a collection of sumptuous pieces made of jewelry, satin ribbons and lush fabrics. Some were square, or egg-shaped, some were U-shaped and one looked like a bone. They were incredibly feminine looking and invited the viewer to touch their beautiful textures. I'd have guessed instantly that the artist was a woman; and indeed, her name was Vadis Turner.
I ran into plenty of friends tonight (and, no, I did not wear black, garnering compliments galore) since absolutely everyone seemed to be out and about. It was great to see my neighborhood full of visitors again after the relative calm of the summer months.
So after an evening of art and all kinds of music, I naturally went out for (what else?) more music. Sprout Cafe was having a show with Athens, Georgia's Madeline followed by Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird's last show until December. It all sounded good to me.
Madeline packed the room with probably forty people sitting, standing and sprawled on the floor, all eager to hear her unique voice and well-written emotive lyrics. Her voice and style owe a fair amount to Joni Mitchell and even Karen Carpenter.
At times she had an almost Irish lilt and at others her southern roots shone through (sometimes it is all about the dirty south). All in all, a stellar performance. Favorite lyric: "I want to be everything you need to prove."
JV and the Speckled Bird closed out my evening by superbly performing their last EP, The Fire Next Time. It was a fitting way to impress the room full of fans and give us something to remember until they're back playing live again.
And it won't have to be on a First Friday, but given the state of Richmond's art walk lately, it's certainly a possibility. Maybe we can get Madeline back to play her first album in its entirety, too.
It would be worth it for the title alone: Kissing and Dancing. Evocative, isn't it?
After hearing from several people that tonight was going to be a light turnout for the art walk, it was actually exceedingly busy. As the evening wore on, people seemed to keep coming and forming audiences in front of all the various musical entertainments.
Gallery 5 had always done music and tonight I heard British-born Freddie Stevenson as part of their new music series, the Accents Tour, showcases up and coming European and Australian musicians. Metro Space Gallery, too, is a reliable place for listening, although they tend to lean toward blues and rock bands. Art 6 is good about having interesting music on a regular basis; tonight it was My Son the Doctor playing Balkana nd Jewish folk music.
But there was also a cover band playing in the lot near Visual Arts and they had a Goth-clad belly dancer interpreting their covers of Bad Company and the like. A trio of earnest young horn players (they all had to be under 20) were playing near Corporate Museum and Frame.
And in the courtyard at Adams, which over the past year has become a reliably excellent place to hear music during First Fridays, both Lobo Marino and the Colloquial Orchestra were impressing the crowds.
But lest you think I just skipped over the primary purpose of the art walk, I didn't. "Self Titled" at G5 was an exhibit of original artwork used for independently-released albums. I was struck by how the actual art sometimes had a wholly different feel than the piece of it used on an album cover.
"Last Dowry" at Quirk was a collection of sumptuous pieces made of jewelry, satin ribbons and lush fabrics. Some were square, or egg-shaped, some were U-shaped and one looked like a bone. They were incredibly feminine looking and invited the viewer to touch their beautiful textures. I'd have guessed instantly that the artist was a woman; and indeed, her name was Vadis Turner.
I ran into plenty of friends tonight (and, no, I did not wear black, garnering compliments galore) since absolutely everyone seemed to be out and about. It was great to see my neighborhood full of visitors again after the relative calm of the summer months.
So after an evening of art and all kinds of music, I naturally went out for (what else?) more music. Sprout Cafe was having a show with Athens, Georgia's Madeline followed by Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird's last show until December. It all sounded good to me.
Madeline packed the room with probably forty people sitting, standing and sprawled on the floor, all eager to hear her unique voice and well-written emotive lyrics. Her voice and style owe a fair amount to Joni Mitchell and even Karen Carpenter.
At times she had an almost Irish lilt and at others her southern roots shone through (sometimes it is all about the dirty south). All in all, a stellar performance. Favorite lyric: "I want to be everything you need to prove."
JV and the Speckled Bird closed out my evening by superbly performing their last EP, The Fire Next Time. It was a fitting way to impress the room full of fans and give us something to remember until they're back playing live again.
And it won't have to be on a First Friday, but given the state of Richmond's art walk lately, it's certainly a possibility. Maybe we can get Madeline back to play her first album in its entirety, too.
It would be worth it for the title alone: Kissing and Dancing. Evocative, isn't it?
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Welcome, Please Play Saw
"For those of you that I don't know, I'm Liza. There, that's done."
So began the triple bill at the Camel tonight and the ruby-throated Liza Kate kicked things off. As many times as I've heard her, I continue to enjoy each time as if it were the first. I watched as a couple who had recently moved down from NYC fell under her spell. I watched other musicians studying her. She really is a local treasure.
Next up was Durham's Midtown Dickens, a three piece who combined folk, punk and even bluegrass. One of the highlights of their stellar set was seeing the saw being played. As Jonathan Vassar later pointed out in a nod to seeing such a feat, "Playing saw is hard...and it hurts!" For what it's worth, hearing saw is fascinating and doesn't hurt a bit.
The band's collection of instruments (recorder? melodica?) and their punk energy were a terrific combination, as were the beautifully harmonic voices. They hope to be back soon and we 'd be lucky to have them here again.
Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird, minus Chris Edwards and his mandolin who were apparently off in Nashville, didn't even bother setting up on stage. Instead they played in between the stage and the front row, making for a very intimate set. It was appropriate, too, because tonight was their next-to-last show until the end of the year.
The band did their part to represent RVA after Midtown Dickens' impressive turn on the saw with Antonia's vox saw. Not to point out the obvious, but it's not every Saturday night you hear both saw playing and vox saw. I know I considered myself fortunate.
I'd made plans to meet a new music-loving friend for the show and he was as impressed as I was. He was funny, too; since our first meeting, he'd found out that several of his friends read my blog. Apparently he didn't get very far in his description of me before they guessed who he was talking about. I wasn't surprised, but he seemed to be. This is, after all, a small town.
Now that he knows who I am, he realizes we've been at a lot of the same shows. But as I pointed out to Antonia tonight when she told someone, "Karen does everything," the truth is that I really only do the good things. I'm not interested in doing everything. Imagine the blog hate that would inspire.
So began the triple bill at the Camel tonight and the ruby-throated Liza Kate kicked things off. As many times as I've heard her, I continue to enjoy each time as if it were the first. I watched as a couple who had recently moved down from NYC fell under her spell. I watched other musicians studying her. She really is a local treasure.
Next up was Durham's Midtown Dickens, a three piece who combined folk, punk and even bluegrass. One of the highlights of their stellar set was seeing the saw being played. As Jonathan Vassar later pointed out in a nod to seeing such a feat, "Playing saw is hard...and it hurts!" For what it's worth, hearing saw is fascinating and doesn't hurt a bit.
The band's collection of instruments (recorder? melodica?) and their punk energy were a terrific combination, as were the beautifully harmonic voices. They hope to be back soon and we 'd be lucky to have them here again.
Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird, minus Chris Edwards and his mandolin who were apparently off in Nashville, didn't even bother setting up on stage. Instead they played in between the stage and the front row, making for a very intimate set. It was appropriate, too, because tonight was their next-to-last show until the end of the year.
The band did their part to represent RVA after Midtown Dickens' impressive turn on the saw with Antonia's vox saw. Not to point out the obvious, but it's not every Saturday night you hear both saw playing and vox saw. I know I considered myself fortunate.
I'd made plans to meet a new music-loving friend for the show and he was as impressed as I was. He was funny, too; since our first meeting, he'd found out that several of his friends read my blog. Apparently he didn't get very far in his description of me before they guessed who he was talking about. I wasn't surprised, but he seemed to be. This is, after all, a small town.
Now that he knows who I am, he realizes we've been at a lot of the same shows. But as I pointed out to Antonia tonight when she told someone, "Karen does everything," the truth is that I really only do the good things. I'm not interested in doing everything. Imagine the blog hate that would inspire.
Friday, June 25, 2010
A Little Dinner Music
It was almost as good as a scene from a 40s movie.
People were having dinner and drinking, some chatting softly, others raptly listening to the music.
The lights were up, so the focus was on eating and servers moved about discretely.
But the melodic strains of Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird "on stage" transformed the meal into so much more of an urbane dining experience.
Kudos to Jason at Olio for bringing in a band music-lovers would almost certainly come to hear, to a place offering creative and affordable food and drink.
I've been a fan of the restaurant since my first wine dinner there back in 2008, but this was my first time experiencing the music/dinner combo.
Even the band acknowledged that they didn't expect customers to shut up for their sets, but many did, the better to appreciate the beautiful harmonies, variety of instruments and passion the musicians brought to the room.
I arrived during the second song and conveniently found waiting for me a two-top with a clear view of the band. It was kismet.
Perusing the menu, but never losing sight of the 100 degree temperatures outside, I opted for the Smoked Salmon Nicoise (Norwegian salmon, fresh goat cheese, roasted red peppers, cukes, roasted tomatoes and red onion with balsamic dressing).
It's enough to move, much less digest, on a day as warm as this.
It wasn't long before an old friend and his new girlfriend came in and asked if they could join me at my prime spot of a table.
Pointing a finger at me, my friend admonished, "I should have known you'd be here." Well, duh.
A restaurant I like providing a band I like during dinner hours? Can we see more of this please?
Before long I felt another friend's hand on my shoulder, so he too joined us and then someone's musician friends came and the table got livelier still.
But when Antonia of Speckled Bird started doing her vox saw, all conversation ceased.
Hearing the human voice mimic a saw in the context of a beautiful song mutes even strong men.
My friend looked at me incredulously, "She's doing that with her voice?" he marveled. Why, yes she is, so keep it down, will you?
It was too funny when early on a group walked into the restaurant just as the third song was ending.
Jonathan glanced over to welcome then and then gave them a quick update, saying,"You missed all the happy songs."
That's an oversimplification, of course, because while much of their folk/Americana sound has a mournful tone to it, other songs are just flat-out beautiful, if not skipping-under-the-rainbow cliched.
As my friend and I were sharing a tiramisu close to the meal, my older friend leaned over to educate the newer friend. "If you go out with Karen, you have to be prepared to share dessert," he said, stating the obvious.
And, for the record, I don't twist anyone's arm; I'm just willing to oblige someone's sweet tooth indulgence by sharing the calorie burden with him.
After their second set, the band said goodnight even as the audience called for an encore.
But the tiny Antonia, she of the beautiful new accordion and angelic voice, had to disappoint the adoring crowd.
"But I'm hungry. I'm going to get cranky if I don't eat soon."
She had more than sung for her supper (as had Jonathan and Chris), so the audience respected that, they were excused and conversation took off at a much higher decibel level.
Diners lingered, sipping and chatting, for another hour or so as the musicians ate and moved around the room.
It was all very civilized and even a bit old-school. I absolutely loved it.
Since it was still a reasonable hour (10ish) when I left, I parked my car at home and walked the two blocks to the Belvidere for a nightcap.
I hadn't been in weeks, which is a crying shame for a place I could crawl to.There were only a few diners at that point, but Ben had a mostly full bar with my seat conveniently open.
A nearby couple turned out to be Jackson Ward residents too, even having left the city once only to return for missing all it offers (walkability, better restaurants, endless cultural options).
We hit it off at once.
I ordered an 1800 on ice and shared with Ben the story of why I'd started drinking good tequila in the first place (let's just say it involved a lot of tequila, a lunchtime job interview and I got the job...'nuff said).
But what I really wanted to talk about was beer, not tequila.
I'd heard some scuttlebutt that the Belvidere was thinking of adding an ABC/off premise license to provide a take-home beer source for the neighborhood, something my beloved J-Ward falls a bit short on.
But what had piqued my interest was the possibility that they'd be offering growlers.
Given the Belvidere's eclectic and ever-changing selection of beers on tap, I have to think that there are plenty of RVA types who would be thrilled to be able to refill their growler right in the 'hood with something new and different every week.
I couldn't have been more excited about this idea if I drank beer myself.
Ben also believes in the idea for the same reasons I do. Now all we have to do is convince owners Julie and Dave that they need to become Richmond's growler central.
Musical dining and a local growler source, both concepts hearkening back to another era in city living.
It's like what the J-Ward couple said about the current state of life here: "Richmond's becoming a great town in spite of itself."
I'd go so far as to say that Richmond's becoming a great town because of itself. Enjoy.
People were having dinner and drinking, some chatting softly, others raptly listening to the music.
The lights were up, so the focus was on eating and servers moved about discretely.
But the melodic strains of Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird "on stage" transformed the meal into so much more of an urbane dining experience.
Kudos to Jason at Olio for bringing in a band music-lovers would almost certainly come to hear, to a place offering creative and affordable food and drink.
I've been a fan of the restaurant since my first wine dinner there back in 2008, but this was my first time experiencing the music/dinner combo.
Even the band acknowledged that they didn't expect customers to shut up for their sets, but many did, the better to appreciate the beautiful harmonies, variety of instruments and passion the musicians brought to the room.
I arrived during the second song and conveniently found waiting for me a two-top with a clear view of the band. It was kismet.
Perusing the menu, but never losing sight of the 100 degree temperatures outside, I opted for the Smoked Salmon Nicoise (Norwegian salmon, fresh goat cheese, roasted red peppers, cukes, roasted tomatoes and red onion with balsamic dressing).
It's enough to move, much less digest, on a day as warm as this.
It wasn't long before an old friend and his new girlfriend came in and asked if they could join me at my prime spot of a table.
Pointing a finger at me, my friend admonished, "I should have known you'd be here." Well, duh.
A restaurant I like providing a band I like during dinner hours? Can we see more of this please?
Before long I felt another friend's hand on my shoulder, so he too joined us and then someone's musician friends came and the table got livelier still.
But when Antonia of Speckled Bird started doing her vox saw, all conversation ceased.
Hearing the human voice mimic a saw in the context of a beautiful song mutes even strong men.
My friend looked at me incredulously, "She's doing that with her voice?" he marveled. Why, yes she is, so keep it down, will you?
It was too funny when early on a group walked into the restaurant just as the third song was ending.
Jonathan glanced over to welcome then and then gave them a quick update, saying,"You missed all the happy songs."
That's an oversimplification, of course, because while much of their folk/Americana sound has a mournful tone to it, other songs are just flat-out beautiful, if not skipping-under-the-rainbow cliched.
As my friend and I were sharing a tiramisu close to the meal, my older friend leaned over to educate the newer friend. "If you go out with Karen, you have to be prepared to share dessert," he said, stating the obvious.
And, for the record, I don't twist anyone's arm; I'm just willing to oblige someone's sweet tooth indulgence by sharing the calorie burden with him.
After their second set, the band said goodnight even as the audience called for an encore.
But the tiny Antonia, she of the beautiful new accordion and angelic voice, had to disappoint the adoring crowd.
"But I'm hungry. I'm going to get cranky if I don't eat soon."
She had more than sung for her supper (as had Jonathan and Chris), so the audience respected that, they were excused and conversation took off at a much higher decibel level.
Diners lingered, sipping and chatting, for another hour or so as the musicians ate and moved around the room.
It was all very civilized and even a bit old-school. I absolutely loved it.
Since it was still a reasonable hour (10ish) when I left, I parked my car at home and walked the two blocks to the Belvidere for a nightcap.
I hadn't been in weeks, which is a crying shame for a place I could crawl to.There were only a few diners at that point, but Ben had a mostly full bar with my seat conveniently open.
A nearby couple turned out to be Jackson Ward residents too, even having left the city once only to return for missing all it offers (walkability, better restaurants, endless cultural options).
We hit it off at once.
I ordered an 1800 on ice and shared with Ben the story of why I'd started drinking good tequila in the first place (let's just say it involved a lot of tequila, a lunchtime job interview and I got the job...'nuff said).
But what I really wanted to talk about was beer, not tequila.
I'd heard some scuttlebutt that the Belvidere was thinking of adding an ABC/off premise license to provide a take-home beer source for the neighborhood, something my beloved J-Ward falls a bit short on.
But what had piqued my interest was the possibility that they'd be offering growlers.
Given the Belvidere's eclectic and ever-changing selection of beers on tap, I have to think that there are plenty of RVA types who would be thrilled to be able to refill their growler right in the 'hood with something new and different every week.
I couldn't have been more excited about this idea if I drank beer myself.
Ben also believes in the idea for the same reasons I do. Now all we have to do is convince owners Julie and Dave that they need to become Richmond's growler central.
Musical dining and a local growler source, both concepts hearkening back to another era in city living.
It's like what the J-Ward couple said about the current state of life here: "Richmond's becoming a great town in spite of itself."
I'd go so far as to say that Richmond's becoming a great town because of itself. Enjoy.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
The Noise Ordinance is Pure Bologna
"I do NOT want to go to jail. They call fried bologna bacon."
~Chad of the Florentines
But we'll get back to the noise ordinance. Tonight was a night full of familiar faces, starting at Lamplighter where I met a friend for dinner on the patio. I had the Lamplighter, a mixed green salad with strawberries, nuts, Gorgonzola and red onion with chicken salad and a vanilla balsamic vinaigrette; my friend had his chicken salad as a a sandwich. The problem with Lamplighter is the difficulty of choosing your meal while all those beautiful donuts, pastries and moon pies stare you in the face. I find it's best to turn my back on them while looking at the menu. I can't concentrate on savory when sweet is at hand.
As we sat outside enjoying our meal, a musician friend walked up and I asked if I would see him at Gallery 5 for music tonight. But no, it seems he had a date with a girl who had written her phone number on her check when he was waiting on her the other night (aren't all musicians also servers?). Like me, he doesn't date people who don't enjoy live music, here, but since there had been a band playing that evening, he felt fairly confident about tonight's possibilities. Dating is hard work, I know, so I wished him luck.
Just as I got back to eating, I heard my name shouted from across the street and two friends I hadn't seen in six months rode up. They've been woofing in South America and just got back a few days ago, so it was just wonderful to see them. We made plans to get together and catch up on what they'd been doing down there and what they'd missed in rva. Jameson is one of my very favorite people and it made my day for him to happen on me that way.
Moving on to Gallery 5, I met up with an exhausted girlfriend and, a bit later, a tardy music fanatic friend. I was looking forward to a superb evening showcasing four folk-type bands: Low Branches, Englishman, Jonathan Vassar & Speckled Bird and The Florentines. The band order had been arranged sonically, quietest to loudest, to accommodate the last band using a drum set. That order only became an issue later.
Low Branches' hushed sound could almost be considered lullaby-like in its beauty. Englishman, from Kentucky, have a 70s singer/songwriter sound with just guitar, keyboards and harmonies; I remembered being so impressed the first time I heard them. I've been following JV & SB for almost two years now and their sound just keeps getting richer and more mature. Jonathan even gave me a shout-out from the stage about my comment to him earlier about the line -up (it was essentially the First Listening Room bands with his band also included). Come on, everyone likes to hear their name from the stage, right?
By the time the Florentines came on, it was nearing the bewitching hour of 11 and the lead singer acknowledged the noise ordinance that is being enforced of late, with musicians being charged with misdemeanors. "I've been to jail once and I don't want to go back," he said, explaining why they would do two loud songs and then switch to quiet mode for the rest. It was when he heard that it was 11:02, that he made the comment about bologna.
Even a music lover like me wouldn't expect a guy to pump up the volume when he risks a bacon-less stay in jail. Life, even a few days, without bacon? That's asking too much of anyone.
In fact, that seals it. I won't be having a second visit to the City Jail.
~Chad of the Florentines
But we'll get back to the noise ordinance. Tonight was a night full of familiar faces, starting at Lamplighter where I met a friend for dinner on the patio. I had the Lamplighter, a mixed green salad with strawberries, nuts, Gorgonzola and red onion with chicken salad and a vanilla balsamic vinaigrette; my friend had his chicken salad as a a sandwich. The problem with Lamplighter is the difficulty of choosing your meal while all those beautiful donuts, pastries and moon pies stare you in the face. I find it's best to turn my back on them while looking at the menu. I can't concentrate on savory when sweet is at hand.
As we sat outside enjoying our meal, a musician friend walked up and I asked if I would see him at Gallery 5 for music tonight. But no, it seems he had a date with a girl who had written her phone number on her check when he was waiting on her the other night (aren't all musicians also servers?). Like me, he doesn't date people who don't enjoy live music, here, but since there had been a band playing that evening, he felt fairly confident about tonight's possibilities. Dating is hard work, I know, so I wished him luck.
Just as I got back to eating, I heard my name shouted from across the street and two friends I hadn't seen in six months rode up. They've been woofing in South America and just got back a few days ago, so it was just wonderful to see them. We made plans to get together and catch up on what they'd been doing down there and what they'd missed in rva. Jameson is one of my very favorite people and it made my day for him to happen on me that way.
Moving on to Gallery 5, I met up with an exhausted girlfriend and, a bit later, a tardy music fanatic friend. I was looking forward to a superb evening showcasing four folk-type bands: Low Branches, Englishman, Jonathan Vassar & Speckled Bird and The Florentines. The band order had been arranged sonically, quietest to loudest, to accommodate the last band using a drum set. That order only became an issue later.
Low Branches' hushed sound could almost be considered lullaby-like in its beauty. Englishman, from Kentucky, have a 70s singer/songwriter sound with just guitar, keyboards and harmonies; I remembered being so impressed the first time I heard them. I've been following JV & SB for almost two years now and their sound just keeps getting richer and more mature. Jonathan even gave me a shout-out from the stage about my comment to him earlier about the line -up (it was essentially the First Listening Room bands with his band also included). Come on, everyone likes to hear their name from the stage, right?
By the time the Florentines came on, it was nearing the bewitching hour of 11 and the lead singer acknowledged the noise ordinance that is being enforced of late, with musicians being charged with misdemeanors. "I've been to jail once and I don't want to go back," he said, explaining why they would do two loud songs and then switch to quiet mode for the rest. It was when he heard that it was 11:02, that he made the comment about bologna.
Even a music lover like me wouldn't expect a guy to pump up the volume when he risks a bacon-less stay in jail. Life, even a few days, without bacon? That's asking too much of anyone.
In fact, that seals it. I won't be having a second visit to the City Jail.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Soup and Sound for the Soul
After last night's excellent adventure, I wanted to keep it close to home tonight, so I opted for neighborhood dining and music for my evening's entertainment. After all, a person's got to do something interesting on a Saturday night.
I went to the Belvidere, knowing it would likely be crowded still so soon after being reviewed and it was. The lovely surprise of it was how many familiar faces were there, including my next door neighbor ( yes, him, but we're politely friendly now: http://icouldgoonandon.blogspot.com/2009/04/oh-it-was-awkward.html ) and his date right up front. Luckily, my stool was free and only one away from Dodie, DJ extraordinaire and my favorite Ipanema bartender. His friend Aaron eventually joined him and we talked "Where the Wild Things Are" and Tom DeLonge, among other interesting tid-bits. The Gallery 5 crew, Bizhan, Amanda and baby Azadeh (fresh off having their picture in the New York Times travel section) spotted me and I joined them for some conversation and baby holding/feeding (new parents really appreciate such). And at the end of the bar was man-about-town Mr. Mader, he of the Richmond Ballet. All in all, an excellent cross-section of interesting rva types and plenty of great conversation for me.
The cold, damp weather made it a perfect night for soup and since I'd yet to try any of theirs, I decided to go for it after hearing that the day's feature was Roasted Red Pepper with Crab. Wise choice because what I got was a most generous serving of crab meat with enough roasted red pepper liquid around it to call it soup. I'm not exaggerating when I say that every single bite was chock-full of crab meat. This taste delight is not always on the menu, so if you see it, I'd strongly suggest ordering it...and then savoring it for as long as you can. I recommended it to a nearby bar sitter , but he and his date had just eaten at a wedding reception, so they weren't hungry. I must have been convincing, though, because they got some to go.
The CD release show for Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird was at the Camel, so I snagged a seat in the front row of the rapidly filling room and settled in to enjoy their superb folk Americana song-making. I've probably seen them at least six or seven times by now and they always deliver an outstanding multi-instrument show. There were opening sets from Josh and then Chris (of Speckled Bird), previewing some of their songs to be included on the upcoming full-length CD. That was followed by a couple of songs from the last EP and then a performance of the new EP, "The Fire Next Time," in its entirety. They tried to end it there, but the enthusiastic crowd insisted on an encore. And while Jonathan said they were relieved it was over, I'm not so sure the audience was.
The New York Times travel article on Richmond included both Gallery 5 and the Camel as must-dos. And with good reason; they are quintessential examples of why this town is such a great place to live and play.
I went to the Belvidere, knowing it would likely be crowded still so soon after being reviewed and it was. The lovely surprise of it was how many familiar faces were there, including my next door neighbor ( yes, him, but we're politely friendly now: http://icouldgoonandon.blogspot.com/2009/04/oh-it-was-awkward.html ) and his date right up front. Luckily, my stool was free and only one away from Dodie, DJ extraordinaire and my favorite Ipanema bartender. His friend Aaron eventually joined him and we talked "Where the Wild Things Are" and Tom DeLonge, among other interesting tid-bits. The Gallery 5 crew, Bizhan, Amanda and baby Azadeh (fresh off having their picture in the New York Times travel section) spotted me and I joined them for some conversation and baby holding/feeding (new parents really appreciate such). And at the end of the bar was man-about-town Mr. Mader, he of the Richmond Ballet. All in all, an excellent cross-section of interesting rva types and plenty of great conversation for me.
The cold, damp weather made it a perfect night for soup and since I'd yet to try any of theirs, I decided to go for it after hearing that the day's feature was Roasted Red Pepper with Crab. Wise choice because what I got was a most generous serving of crab meat with enough roasted red pepper liquid around it to call it soup. I'm not exaggerating when I say that every single bite was chock-full of crab meat. This taste delight is not always on the menu, so if you see it, I'd strongly suggest ordering it...and then savoring it for as long as you can. I recommended it to a nearby bar sitter , but he and his date had just eaten at a wedding reception, so they weren't hungry. I must have been convincing, though, because they got some to go.
The CD release show for Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird was at the Camel, so I snagged a seat in the front row of the rapidly filling room and settled in to enjoy their superb folk Americana song-making. I've probably seen them at least six or seven times by now and they always deliver an outstanding multi-instrument show. There were opening sets from Josh and then Chris (of Speckled Bird), previewing some of their songs to be included on the upcoming full-length CD. That was followed by a couple of songs from the last EP and then a performance of the new EP, "The Fire Next Time," in its entirety. They tried to end it there, but the enthusiastic crowd insisted on an encore. And while Jonathan said they were relieved it was over, I'm not so sure the audience was.
The New York Times travel article on Richmond included both Gallery 5 and the Camel as must-dos. And with good reason; they are quintessential examples of why this town is such a great place to live and play.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
All Folked Up
What's the proper lead-up to a superb evening of folk music? Hell if I know, so here's how I went about it.
I went to the wine tasting at River City Cellars, as I so often do, with the usual result that I saw some people I knew and met a few new ones. They were pouring a selection of Louis/Dressner wines, mostly organic/biodynamic, low yield, hand harvested and sustainably raised. I ended up buying the Famille Peillot 2007 Bugey Pinot Noir from eastern France (owner Julia instructed me to decant it for a good while to fully enjoy it and I defer to her greater wine knowledge).
I've got a refrigerator full of white wine but with the cooler nights, I've been wanting something heartier to share with friends before an evening out. The tasting ended with one of my new acquaintances, Jason, telling me a particularly ribald joke; don't you love it when people can gauge how far they can go with you within moments of meeting?
Then there are the people who latch onto you despite there being no particular interest or connection on your part, as was the case for me at dinner last night at 27. The couple who sat down next to me at the bar mercifully arrived after I'd eaten and was just finishing my wine and proceeded to tell me way more about themselves than I cared to hear, even cajoling me to join them for a cigarette outside so we could continue our chat (I don't smoke, btw).
But the veal and mascarpone ravioli in sage butter sauce was divine, so I guess it was all some sort of cosmic trade off.
Lastly, I headed to Gallery 5 for the folk extravaganza of Paul Watson/Low Branches/Nick Coward/Vandaveer/Jonathan Vasser and the Speckled Bird show. I've seen Paul Watson, Jonathan Vasser and Low Branches before, so I already knew how terrifically talented they all were and I'd heard great things about Vandaveer.
This folk duet from DC was everything I'd read about them and more, with two beautiful voices, a guitar and some reverb. As the female half, Rose's voice was magnificent as a counterpoint to main guy Mark. He explained away her coughing, "Rose got the consumption in Burlington. You should hear her when she isn't coughing."
It was tough to imagine her voice sounding any more ethereal than it did. The audience kept telling them to move to rva; no doubt they'd be a stellar addition to our folk scene. Nick Coward's seven-piece ensemble was also wonderful: the back and forth of voices and all that instrumentation, soft and loud, was beautiful ear candy.
Walking home, the neighborhood was hopping; I got invited to two parties in full swing within a half a block of home.
All in all, I'd have to say it was a fine night.
I went to the wine tasting at River City Cellars, as I so often do, with the usual result that I saw some people I knew and met a few new ones. They were pouring a selection of Louis/Dressner wines, mostly organic/biodynamic, low yield, hand harvested and sustainably raised. I ended up buying the Famille Peillot 2007 Bugey Pinot Noir from eastern France (owner Julia instructed me to decant it for a good while to fully enjoy it and I defer to her greater wine knowledge).
I've got a refrigerator full of white wine but with the cooler nights, I've been wanting something heartier to share with friends before an evening out. The tasting ended with one of my new acquaintances, Jason, telling me a particularly ribald joke; don't you love it when people can gauge how far they can go with you within moments of meeting?
Then there are the people who latch onto you despite there being no particular interest or connection on your part, as was the case for me at dinner last night at 27. The couple who sat down next to me at the bar mercifully arrived after I'd eaten and was just finishing my wine and proceeded to tell me way more about themselves than I cared to hear, even cajoling me to join them for a cigarette outside so we could continue our chat (I don't smoke, btw).
But the veal and mascarpone ravioli in sage butter sauce was divine, so I guess it was all some sort of cosmic trade off.
Lastly, I headed to Gallery 5 for the folk extravaganza of Paul Watson/Low Branches/Nick Coward/Vandaveer/Jonathan Vasser and the Speckled Bird show. I've seen Paul Watson, Jonathan Vasser and Low Branches before, so I already knew how terrifically talented they all were and I'd heard great things about Vandaveer.
This folk duet from DC was everything I'd read about them and more, with two beautiful voices, a guitar and some reverb. As the female half, Rose's voice was magnificent as a counterpoint to main guy Mark. He explained away her coughing, "Rose got the consumption in Burlington. You should hear her when she isn't coughing."
It was tough to imagine her voice sounding any more ethereal than it did. The audience kept telling them to move to rva; no doubt they'd be a stellar addition to our folk scene. Nick Coward's seven-piece ensemble was also wonderful: the back and forth of voices and all that instrumentation, soft and loud, was beautiful ear candy.
Walking home, the neighborhood was hopping; I got invited to two parties in full swing within a half a block of home.
All in all, I'd have to say it was a fine night.
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