Hot Damn, Come Back Soon

Sometimes you gotta give back what wasn't yours in the first place.

Richmond's loss is Gainesville's, well, gain.

The lovely Julie Karr is returning home to Gainesville and tonight was her last show in Richmond.

So after a rainy day spent driving out to the Northern Neck and back, nothing sounded as appealing as a three-block walk to Gallery 5 for music.

I got there early enough to have to compete with an ear-splitting sound check to discuss a friend's cute new dresses and how to ride on bikes with them without, you know, flashing people.

Seems she's just discovered the glories of wearing a dress in the summertime and is trying to acquire them as rapidly as possible.

I've been doing the same for decades. Dresses are easy; no coordination required.

And speaking of coordination, first up was Hot Dolphin, and while I knew all the members in other  bands, I'd never experienced this configuration.

The drummer came from the Diamond Center and the guitarist and bassist from Tyrannosaurus Awesome.

Out in front was Lindsey, dressed oh-so fetchingly in a "hot damn" t-shirt, shorts and a head scarf.

She. Never. Stopped. Dancing.

As if it wasn't enough to shake her scarf-tied tambourine and growl out garage pop, she kicked and pranced and jumped and danced to every song she sang.

By the third song, she ripped the cute scarf off her head and tossed it to the side of the stage.

Extra layer? Unnecessary.

When she said the next song owed a debt to Bo Diddley, audience-member Julie Karr yelled, "He lived in Gainesville!"

Gesturing with her hands, Lindsey humorously observed, "And it all comes full circle."

Cue Elton John music.

And now Julie is returning to the land of Bo Diddley.

As a friend pointed out, "I can't let myself be sad about Julie leaving, so I'll be angry that we're losing such a talented musician."

On Hot Dolphin's last song, "Animal," Lindsey exorcised her anger with more frenetic dancing, ending to big applause.

The next band took long enough to get set up that I walked outside to enjoy the lovely night air where drummer Tim looked half-melted sitting on the sidewalk having a cigarette post-set.

I couldn't help but admire that at nearly 9:15, the sky was still blue, not dark.

Summer is a beautiful thing.

I hadn't seen Little Master before, but a friend said she'd seen them and they'd done a Brian Eno cover, impressive enough for her to recall.

They played more covers tonight along with original stuff, but mostly I just watched the drummer's hands blur as he worked up a sweat keeping the requisite punk pop beat driving.

And sculpting nice arms.

By the time they finished, the show went into overdrive because the last band included Julie, our soon-to-depart songstress, and it had to be over by 11:00.

They chose to set up on the floor rather than on the stage, putting them in the middle of the crowd and making for a much more intimate vibe for their set.

Saying, "We're going to get started. I'm Bad and this is Magic," she gestured to Jimmy from White Laces on drums and Tim, whom we'd already seen, on bass.

If you never heard Julie sing during the years she was here, shame on you, because she's got a distinctively earthy voice unlike any other in this town.

I'd never seen her in this project, which was so straight-ahead rock that she was even playing an electric guitar, something I'd yet to see her do.

It's always been an acoustic.

But tonight the trio was going hard and sounding good and at one point she looked  around and said, "There's not a single person here I don't recognize. Thank you all for coming."

This is the part where people were trying not to feel sad about her going to graduate school in Florida.

When she noticed how late it was getting she rearranged the remaining set list, saying, "We're crunching on time-age. We need to step it up."

Between songs, Tim told a joke about the difference between a rubber and a rattlesnake,

"Nothing, I don't want to f*ck with either," he deadpanned.

Ba-dum-bum.

Facing him with her guitar poised, Julie said, "As a soon-to-be health care professional, I say don't tell that joke again."

I don't know if you can tell Tim what to do, but she sure sounded serious.

Then it was back to the business of rocking as Bad Magic finished out their final set.

It felt a little emotional.

But everyone there wishes Julie nothing but the best, so the evening ended with many hugs and farewells.

But let's not focus on that. Better to focus on being mad at losing one of the really good ones.

If we're lucky, she'll cycle back through Richmond again someday.

Cause she's Bad.

Wishin' and Hopin'

It was enough that it was Record Store Day.

It got even better when Plan 9 announced a live in-store Dusty Springfield tribute at 3:00 with multiple friends playing as part of it.

It got even funnier when one of them announced, "We will be taking roll. And 20% of your final grade as a Richmonder will be based on participation."

Although I hardly need bonus points in that department, I'm also the kind of eager beaver willing to go for extra credit.

Naturally it didn't actually happen at 3, but that's beside the point.

It gave me plenty of time to browse the wax and mingle with assorted record-lovers.

The inimitable Herschel, nattily clad and with his hair neatly parted, led off with his uke, doing a couple of Dusty songs ("Randy Newman wrote that but Dusty sang it") before Paul told him his time was up.

Someone near me commented how self-assured Herschel sings when he's singing anyone's songs but his own. Another said she only came because Herschel was playing.

I may have been in the middle of a Herschel fan club meeting.

To his credit, he opened his ukulele case when he was done and solicited donations to the National Breast Cancer Coalition, in honor of Dusty, who died of breast cancer.

It's just the kind of thoughtful thing Herschel would do.

It took a while for the six musicians to assemble onstage and by then a good-sized crowd had formed in front of all the people browsing the stacks.

Charlane was the first featured singer and she did two classics, "The Look of Love" and "You Don't Own Me."

Ringleader Paul took over vocal duties for "Breakfast in Bed" and "I Just Don't Know What to Do with Myself," even though he's not the same sex as Dusty.

I guess being ringleader gives you extra privileges.

Next up singing was Christina from Low Branches and I was eager to hear her ethereal voice doing Dusty.

She moved over to the main mic and looked aghast at it, causing Paul to acknowledge, "Yea, I slobbered all over it."

"Gosh, Paul!" she gulped, no doubt appalled at all the spit covering a device she was now expected to use.

"It's rock and roll," he shrugged, leaving her to removed the mic from the stand and hold it a safe distance from her own mouth.

Alas and alack, Paul's outstanding guitar work all but drowned out her vocals on "Some of Your Loving," a fact pointed out by both Charlie and me, but which unfortunately did not improve much for her second song.

Along with the rest of the crowd, I strained hard to hear her do "You Don't Have to Say You Love Me" and she got major applause afterwards.

Lindsey of Hot Dolphin closed out the show with a kickin' version of Dusty's "Son of a Preacher Man" (with Paul on a different, less noisy guitar), getting everyone in the crowd grooving along with her.

Paul thanked the audience for coming, noting, "That's the way to celebrate Record Store Day!"

The older black guy in shades and a colorful cap standing behind looked at me and said, "You bet it is!"

And, yes, in the spirit of Record Store Day, I bought myself Miguel's "Kaleidoscope Dreams" because my favorite record collector and Beer Betty, Melissa, had turned me on to new R & B done right.

As far as I'm concerned, I got an A in record Store Day and on 20% of my final grade as a Richmonder.

But just to be sure, I'm going to go out and score some extra credit tonight.