Get Ready to Weep

I'm hosting an intimate house show featuring Liza Kate and Jonathan Vassar...two of the most heartbreaking songwriters I know. This is also a rare opportunity to see Liza before she leaves RVA.

When an invitation like that arrives, you RSVP right away.

Mr. Wright came by and scooped me up so we could chow down at Goatocado first and while I've eaten there several times, tonight was the first time eating fireside. The afternoon warmth was still palpable when we arrived, so eating outside was extra appealing given that we settled on the bench nearest the fire as the sun set.

From there we went to my friend's house for mingling before music. Since the guest list was small - 32 people - I wasn't sure if I'd know anyone beyond our hostess and Jonathan. Silly me, it wound up being full of the old Listening Room crowd along with some new faces.

When I introduced a friend (and regular blog reader) to Mr. Wright, her handshake apparently conveyed to him how glad she was to finally put a face to all the many posts she'd read about him. Her tale of finding a copperhead in her laundry room and psyching her husband up to destroy it got the evening off to a fine start.

And while the hostess and I have been friends for years, she's only been in this Fan apartment for a year and I'd never seen it. It was like so many Fan apartments a series of good-sized rooms without doors, lots of door molding and very high ceilings. I took my time checking out the art on the walls, immediately recognizing one piece.

It was "The Lioness," part of the Grandville series Triple Stamp Press did for a Ghostprint Gallery show four - wait, how can that be? - years ago with the exquisite monoprint showing the lioness erect in a long, full 19th century skirt with a pistol tied to the sash at her waist and a riding crop under her arm. She's clearly a woman with a purpose.

All kinds of familiar faces showed up, including the scientist (who, I learned, stopped cycling after going through a windshield), the banjo player, the musical couple (minus their little one) and the in-laws who were supposed to be home watching Jonathan's children (they claimed they were nearly asleep anyway and took the chance to escape).

Talking to the scientist about teaching at VCU, he shared that his current students are the first generation to have grown up on standardized testing and the result is that they're incapable of critical thinking. And of all the unlikely moments, turns out that the scientist's partner recognized Mr. Wright from a bike ride.

This is such a small town.

After everyone found a chair, Liza Kate sat down with her guitar to play, stating for the record, "In case you don't know me, I'm leaving" and went on to share her beautifully sad songs with us as the hostess' cat wound its way among people's legs. All around us, candles burned and fairy lights shone. Wine was poured into paper cups and flasks were passed.

After singing a couple songs, Liza said, "I feel like I grew up in Richmond even though I came here in my 20s" and then paused. "That's all I'm saying about that or I'll cry" and she looked like she was about to anyway.

Saying that she didn't know who wrote it but that the song had been covered by the Byrds, she launched into a poignant cover of "You Don't Miss Your Water." I knew immediately who'd written it because I'd interviewed William Bell a few years ago ahead of his performance at the Folk Fest and he'd been justifiably proud of having written that song.

Afterward, she noted, "Every time I have to sing the word cry, I want to cry." For that matter, every time she got applause, she looked about to break down. Occasionally, she'd slip some humor in, like when she said, "This next song is for the partyheads. Move the chairs and dance if you want."

Talk about hilarious.

She seemed surprised when the room gave her a standing ovation, but for many of us, it was applause for all the years she shared her intimate songs with us. Besides, if she's like everyone else, she'll find her way back to Richmond.

During the break to allow more time for friends to chat, the Scientist shared with Mr. Wright and me his plans to cycle northern Italy with his partner this summer despite his bike issues post-accident. Getting back on that horse and all.

Our conversation ended when Jonathan Vassar sat down with his harmonica and guitar to play.

After his first song, someone in the front row put money in the donation jar next to his feet. Her husband observed, "She wanted to wait to hear the first song before she committed," the joke being that Jonathan and her husband have not only played together for years, but are business partners. For that matter, I can't imagine there was  single person in that room who hasn't heard Jonathan's distinctive brand of Americana before.

That's why it's a house show. You only invite the people who already care about the artist.

Jonathan ruminated on how being a father of three has cut into his time to book shows, so he's appreciative when house shows are set up for him. The apartment itself, he said, reminded him of the ones many of his friends lived in years ago.

He did the relatively new "For Now, We're Good" and made small talk while tuning his guitar by asking the room how everybody was doing. Pausing a beat, he said, "I'm doing fine, thanks" and got a chuckle out of some of us.

After doing a song "for Josh because he likes it," Josh called out, "Is that the radio edit?" and mishearing him, Jonathan responded, "Yea, I know some Radiohead." That got an even bigger laugh.

When Jonathan took a few moments to tighten the screws on his harmonica, his work mate and fellow musician called out, "Are you building that harmonica?" That's the only problem with house shows where everybody's a friend: no one hesitates to rib the talent.

Before singing "Something's Gotta Give," he explained that he'd only practiced the song late at night after his wife and kids were fast asleep. "I've never really sung it out loud," he confessed. "It's not about my wife." Then, just to make sure, he turned to her and said, "It's not about you, honey."

Introducing "Not in the Know," he joked, "This I did write about you. Just kidding!" And while the new material may not have had a full voice testing before tonight, they passed with flying colors.

When the audience gave him a standing ovation, too, he owned it by standing along with us to bring the evening to a close.

Was my heart broken after hearing so much melancholy music? Nope, it wasn't. But my devotion to house shows definitely went up a notch after hearing two of the most intimate singer songwriters do their best to break it.

Now if only Jonathan had played some Radiohead...

Undone and Modern

You'd think there wasn't anything else to do but Bourdain tonight, but 'twasn't so.

Been there, done Tony six years ago. Next!

So when a Maryland friend called to say she'd be in town late this afternoon, I told her I was free until 7:30.

Her default restaurant is the Continental because it's in the neighborhood where she used to live but it didn't open until she'd moved.

Because she's time-challenged, I took my time arriving so she could feel superior about my tardiness.

She wanted to jump into a bottle of bubbles with me, but I was leaning toward soda bubbles instead, and despite the bartender's cajoling ("She can't finish  a whole bottle by herself," he tried telling me, but I knew better), held fast.

Over a plate of nachos and an encroaching crowd of young West End families, we swapped stories of rich people parties, ancient history and mutual friends.

Her best line: "Even though I'm nodding, it doesn't mean I agree with you."

We got so engrossed in philosophical arguments that all at once we looked up and 2 3/4 hours had passed and she needed to get to her dinner plans and I to my musical evening.

I arrived at the Firehouse in time to hold open the door for the woman who'd been kind enough to do the baking for the evening.

As a devotee of the Listening Room (38 of 40 attended), I felt no hesitation in immediately sampling from the three varieties of cookies she'd made.

Hands down favorite: the toffee bars, buttery and crispy underneath and buttery and chocolate on top, making for butter squared.

I'm enough of a veteran to know to go in to stake my claim on my seat before returning to socialize.

The self-proclaimed "old rocker" was munching a toffee bar on the couch, so I joined him, learning that he'd only found out about the Listening Room happening two hours earlier, and purely by chance.

"I saw it and said,  'That's what I'm doing tonight," he said between bites.

Happily, my favorite Jackson Ward couple came in with the good news that they'll soon be back at their Emrick flat after nine months of house surfing while the building was renovated after the fire last August.

Everyone who knows them is as excited as they are to have them back in the neighborhood, hanging out and going to shows as frequently as they used to.

MC Chris kicked off #40 squinting under the glare of the stage lights, reminding us that while it's taboo to talk during the music, it's okay to laugh at the musicians' jokes and sing along when instructed.

Liza Kate came on first and prefaced her set with, "I'm used to playing in bars, so I'm not used to this whole crystal-clear thing. But we'll get through it together," before dedicating the first song to her Mom.

After a couple of songs with just her hushed voice and guitar, she stated the obvious. "I don't know how to write happy songs."

It was then that I noticed the girl in front of me sketching Liza as she sang, alternately looking up at the singer and down at her sketchpad as Liza took form on the page.

A few more in and the singer loosened up a tad, saying, "Every song sung is one closer to dinner time. That's what's getting me through."

To paraphrase John Lennon, whatever gets you through the set.

At another point, she glanced down at her set list and wailed, "I have like 75 more songs," but her songs were succinct, so it probably looked like a lot more than the length of her set would have indicated.

Her last song yielded my favorite lyric.

We're lucky we're only a little undone.

Her low-key set had been a lovely kick-off to the evening.

During intermission, a dimpled friend came in from a beer-tasting event and took the seat nearest me, noting that our mutual music friend was M.I.A.

Again.

Hey, I'm not here to judge, but I've got no problems making jokes about absent friends.

Next Chris introduced Anousheh, saying that she, like Liza, had been making music for quite some time now.

The quintet is fronted by the Cupid's bow-mouthed Anousheh, tonight in show-stopping cute platform shoes that never stopped dancing.

And why should they when the band was playing the most delicious keyboard-based pop with her voice soaring over two killer guitars and a kick-ass rhythm section?

No wonder she couldn't stop dancing.

They were playing songs from her new EP "The Trouble I Find," like the longing-filled "On and On" and the knowing "The Trouble I Need," which got my vote for favorite lyric.

But the trouble I find is trouble I need.

Their set was so energetic and almost non-stop that they were almost through before she reminded the crowd that the record was for sale at the merch table, "We have download cards - very modern! - and t-shirts over at the table."

I've seen Anousheh play her songs with her band and I've seen her do them solo and while I love when all the focus is on her terrific voice, I'm crazy about her band's full sound.

I could listen to Tyler play guitar all night long.

But the sketcher in front of me was focused on the other guitar player and when I glanced at her pad, I saw him coming to life on the page, right down to his blue shirt and brown curls.

Glowing a bit with exertion after "My Hands," she took a big swig from her water bottle and said, "Thanks to Liza Kate for playing. We have both been doing this for a long time."

I heard a chuckle or two from some friends behind me, no doubt at Anousheh's interpretation of "long."

When it got down to their last two songs, she said one was new and the other was a cover.

"This new one is even louder than the others, if you can imagine that. And Marcus Shrock's chord progressions are so awesome."

The bass player got an "aw, shucks" look on his face before showing us how awesome they were.

"We're gonna end the night with a real bummer," Anousheh said, taking us out much the way Liza had brought us in.

Not that there's anything wrong with starting or finishing somewhat melancholy, especially when the voices expressing the melancholia are so lovely.

And the platform shoes so cute. Bourdain who?

Drooling the Night Away

"I will be coming from the dentist and I'm not sure how I'll be. I just hope I'm not drooling," read the e-mail from the friend I was meeting for happy hour.

But she's a really good friend, so even if she had been drooling, I think we could have worked around it.

I like her enough that I'd wipe her chin dry if it came to that.

The plan was to meet up at Pescado's China Street since she'd never been to either location, despite living on the southside.

My reluctance to go south of the river is common knowledge, but actually I had been to China Street on the night it opened, here. I had held off since then to allow for the novelty to lessen a bit.

But just in case, we'd also arrived early.

Even so, the bartender and chef both said they remembered me; maybe it's sitting in that end bar stool that makes a person memorable.

Hopefully it wasn't the sheer quantity of what I ate that time.

The owner greeted me and introduced himself and my friend arrived without drool, but there was adhesive stuck to her jaw, which I had to point out (it's like broccoli in your teeth...wouldn't you want to know?).

After three hours in the dentist's chair, I was just glad she'd shown up.

We were early enough to enjoy all the great specials, so we availed ourselves of the $3 wine (Malbec or Chardonnay) and the $4 appetizers in a nearly empty blue dining room.

It gave the owner time to chat us up about what we do, where we live and his recent reviews.

I am always curious to hear what owners and chefs offer up about their opinions of critics.

The lobster quesadilla was plump and the accompanying cheese sauce flavorful, the mussels in coconut curry broth were devoured before we began drinking the broth with a spoon and the shrimp nachos used blue corn chips (my favorite) and plenty of shrimp, cheese, green onions, red peppers and even cabbage for crunch.

Friend had to switch from wine to beer though, because the acidity of the wine was hurting her mouth, but given today's heat, she didn't seem to mind too terribly much.

Or maybe she was just trying to compensate for the numbness wearing off.

We finished with the steaming-hot conch fritters because everybody likes fried bread with sauce.

By that time, the dining room was nearing capacity and we saw plenty of impressive-looking seafood being carried past us, but we were full.

After discussing the usual (her love life, the absence of mine), she wanted to know what was next.

"I know I'm only Act One, so what's after this?" she teased.

Can you guess she works in theater?

Music at Gallery 5 was next and when I described the bands, she regretted not being able to go.

And it was a great line-up, starting with Lob Marino ("Karen, it's the same set you heard at Sprout, but we're just about done with some new stuff." Promises, promises).

Every song except one had been written while they were in South America and the one written here was about last winter, undoubtedly a shock to their system upon their return.

The witty and self-deprecating Liza Kate followed, randomly telling the audience that she loves attention and that she'd ridden a horse today.

"Ever been famous?" she asked. "It's hot up here!"

Chapel Hill's Birds and Arrows was next and I was especially eager to hear them for the first time.

Tuning up and sound-checking, lead singer Andrea asked the sound guy for less reverb.

"A little less far down the well," she clarified. "Less My Morning Jacket."

As my close musical friends know, it's not about a well, it's about a cave, for crying out loud, and I love the sound of music from a cave, but apparently it's not what B & A are going for.

They launched into their latest single and mid-way through, the place went dark.

In the highlight of the evening, the band kept right on playing.

The cello, drums and acoustic guitar all still worked and the audience cheered them for not stopping.

"We're so rock and roll, we blew the power," Andrea laughed.

The next song began while the stage was still dark but electricity was restored and they went on with their set of beautiful harmonies, well-crafted songs and obvious enthusiasm for what they do.

Introducing a song about having her 11-year old dog put down this spring, Andrea warned the audience not to cry.

And I didn't cry, but there was definite welling up since the same thing had happened to me this past spring.

Or maybe I just needed an excuse to well. In any case, the song seemed to be a crowd favorite, one of many the audience responded enthusiastically to.

Finishing up the night was the stellar Ophelia and unfortunately their set was limited by the noise ordinance curfew (don't get me started), so it was shorter than the fans would have liked.

I can only hope that the next time I see them, I get much more of them.

I seem to be hoping for a lot more of several things lately.

Just not more sad dog songs; they're just gateway music to the harder stuff and who needs that?

First I well and next thing you know I'll be drooling...and have to wipe my own chin.

Just give me some reverb to do it by.

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.

Live Music Heard Right

The first rule of The Listening Room is fairly self-evident, but tonight Josh Small had to explain another rule when somebody's cell phone rang during his second song.

"You can talk on phones, it's okay. That's an amendment to the rules."

His no-so-subtle hint was taken seriously, although the old white-haired guy down the row from me continued to text throughout.

Too bad for him, though because Josh is an energetic performer and well worth watching, constantly tapping his foot and moving his shoulders.

After beginning with a boogie-woogie number with an Ode to Joy riff, Josh told the audience, "I'll continue my tuning show," a reference to the two guitars and banjo he'd brought to play and then launched into the closest thing to a love song he'd ever written, according to him.

There was a song about his grandmother, a pseudo-metal song he qualified with, "I mean, it's not metal but it's serious finger-picking" and finished with a Nilsson cover song, requesting of the other two performers that they also close with a cover.

The lovely Liza Kate's hushed performance began with her saying, "This must be how it's supposed to be.. in a good way."

There was a tribute to her mom, followed by a song that she said was "like four days old. It might be a preemie, I don't know."

Tuning her guitar afterwards, she playfully called it "doing a Josh Small cover."

With Liza's delicate voice and gentle playing, she is the ideal artist for the listening room environment.

The crowd listened with collective bated breath so as not to miss a syllable.

David Schultz, sans Skyline, closed the show by beginning with a tune (The Butcher) that will be on the new Jonathan Vassar/David Schultz collaborative album they're currently recording.

His second song was, like Liza's, a song written specifically for this show, a habit he said began back in the days before he had a band.

He had to pause mid-song to recall how the next part went.

"Tomorrow I'll be unloading a shipping container of latex gloves, " he told the audience, "Nights Ike this make that bearable."

David played songs from all three of his group's albums in stripped -down versions that were beautiful.

Per Liza's request, he finished with a John Prine cover, delighting the audience.

Pitching for all the musicians performing tonight, David said, "And there are CDs for sale in the back. And they're really good!"

The same could be said for the musicians that the nearly full house got to hear tonight.

You may want to mark your calendars for February 23 at 7:30 for the next Listening Room show.

Music begins promptly at 8, so don't be late.

That's the third rule of the Listening Room, just so you know.

Liza Kate Sings for Silent Music Revival

What a way to go.

I finished out my weekend listening to the dulcet tones of Liza Kate, providing the musical accompaniment to two silent films at the Silent Music Revival at Gallery 5.

The first was 1967's OffOn by Scott Bartlett, the earliest American work combining film and video; the film cells were hand-tinted with food coloring.

The second was a collaboration between Luis Bunuel and Salvador Dali, both of whom wanted to put their dreams into a film. Un Chien Andalou is from 1929 and was full of graphic and sexual references that would never have been acceptable in the U.S. at such an early date, like, say, eyeball slitting and bare breast fondling.

Liza's beautiful voice was a haunting soundtrack to the avant garde films, pulling the audience in when the visuals didn't.

I've seen her perform many times before, but my favorite memory is a Gallery 5 show she did a couple years ago when she took the stage after the previous performer and the audience paid her no mind, continuing to talk away.

But Liza was having none of it. She addressed the crowd loudly and directly, saying that she was just a girl with an acoustic guitar, so it was going to be necessary for the crowd to shut the fuck up if they expected to hear her.

You never heard a room go so quiet so quickly.

And that's the beauty of the Silent Music Revival, besides it being a free event, of course.

The audience comes for the pleasure of a vintage silent film and an outstanding local musician or band. Who'd want to talk through either of those delightful things?