Sometimes life is about choices. Of the random things that went on in my world today, let's see, I could write about...
~meeting a Georgetown University sports management major and talking about RFK Stadium
~the extended lunchtime discussion of race and politics at Croaker's Spot
~an unexpectedly teary at dinner
~a casual friend sharing that she was married for 42 days. "The first 30 were cool."
~the old rocker (his self-description when we met) greeting me by saying I smelled like I'd just showered
...it seems to me that the likeliest topic for my post should be semi-famous old rocker Tommy Stinson.
Approaching Gallery 5, my mind wandered to my life circa 1992, the year aforementioned semi-famous old rocker put out his first solo record post-Replacements breakup the year before.
His then-band name - Bash and Pop - said it all and I'd revisited it via my 24-year old CD as I drove around today, remembering how I'd used "Tiny Pieces" on several mix tapes I'd made for myself back in that other lifetime.
Why would I not come hear him live four blocks from home all these years later?
All the formerly young dudes were there, a fact which wouldn't have surprised me if I'd bothered to consider the thought. Women of a certain age showed in smaller numbers, like the suburban Mom (of a 19-year who only listens to Slipknot and Marilyn Manson...hmmm) standing next to me who admitted to being a Replacements fan, even once owning drummer Chris Mars' solo album.
P.S. She also left early looking bored. Pity.
Fittingly given what was to come, the opening band was "a less intimidating version of Long Arms," according to lead singer James when he introduced his fine band, meaning electrified acoustic guitars and less drumming.
The funny part is that sometimes James is just another history nerd I see at the noon lectures at the Virginia Historical Society and other times, like tonight, he's a rock god.
That is, when he's not grilling his band mates on the term for castrating chickens, which no one knew. Answer so you know for future Long Arms shows? Caponize. Put that in your crossword puzzle and finish it.
Not long after, James sighed dramatically. "We're going to singk about our feelings. Strap yourself in, kids," he warned, calling the band's sound tonight "castrated."
That's where James and I differed.
Of all the times I've seen and appreciated the talent of Long Arms, never have I enjoyed a performance so completely. Why? Because I could actually hear James' earnest and literate lyrics and comments referencing Kerouac, Country Joe and the Fish and, yes, his feelings. The band's energy, excellent guitar licks and dance-ability was still there, just not as ear-splitting (aka caponzing).
He didn't see it that way, yet this is a man who already knew what play Lincoln was watching at Ford's Theater and when I share that I saw most of it (until storming began), asks, "Before or after the line where he was shot?" Impressive, right?
"The next song is called "Party Girl" and it's for me," he said from the stage. No doubt.
Complete. Nerd. Slash. Rock. God.
No one wants their favorite Long Arms set to end on a Friday night, but sadly it did, freeing up James to mingle, wherein I could razz him about the show starting late. Would he want a history lecture to begin late? I think not.
The tardiness he casually explained away as due to the eating and drinking he, Tommy Stinson and cohorts had been doing at Comfort before the show, such an enjoyable exercise that the semi-famous old rocker had suggested moving his set time back to 10:15 to prolong it.
As you might imagine, no one was going to hold this man to a set starting time. Let's not forget "Never Aim to Please" was the first song on his first album.
When Tommy finally shambled up on stage alone with his guitar, it was with the same spiky blond hair and earring look he'd sported on that first Bash and Pop record. That it was just his acoustic and voice brought back the MTV Unplugged era in spades.
It wasn't the most organized set - "Hmm, what do I play now?" he mused more than once - but he's seasoned enough to effortlessly knock back a handful of new songs before telling a story about mistakenly leaving his Maker's Mark at the bar before coming onstage. The bartender had kindly brought it to him.
"If someone would be so kind as to order me another one, that'd be great," he announced to a roomful of fans. When it shortly arrived, he thanked the guy in the red shirt who'd delivered it and commented on how nice it would be to have a line of Maker Marks stretching to the speaker.
Even semi-famous old rockers can't drink all night without acquiring a little attitude, as evidenced when he sang, mid-song, "But I'll sing for all you mother-f*ckers here," and let out a rueful chuckle.
After the simplicity of the unplugged set, he invited his electric guitarist friend Chip Roberts, the other half of Cowboys in the Campfire (apparently the successor to Bash and Pop) to join him onstage for songs such as "On the Rocks" where Chip could show off his fantastic guitar chops.
It wasn't long before it became clear that these two have spent way too much time together on this tour with Tommy rolling his eyes when he noticed Chip still had his reading glasses stuck in his shirt and complaining, "Every f*cking day," likening their relationship to an uncle or a marriage (what?).
"No, no, I love him."
He should, considering all that Chip's pedal steel playing added to the song, "Match Made in Hell," a song he exhorted the crowd to join him on the chorus. "Match made in hell," yea, we got this.
This tour means Tommy's talking to lots of journalists and he's already tired of being asked "almost every day" about all the new books being written about Big Star, another band whose musical importance, like that of the Replacements, never translated to commercial success.
"I still listen to Big Star's music, but what's with all these books being written about them at the same time?" he grumbled before launching into a Big Star cover. Contrarian.
A set list was finally located but Tommy couldn't read it without glasses and he ignored Chip's offers of using his. The duo were clearly part Oscar and Felix.
Naturally, a semi-famous old rocker has to leave the stage so he can come back for an encore, thrilling the once young dudes and dudettes with the title song off that long-ago album, "Friday Night is Killing Me."
It hasn't so far, but I also just showered. Give it time.
Showing posts with label long arms. Show all posts
Showing posts with label long arms. Show all posts
Saturday, July 30, 2016
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Taking Jersey Shots
The city is still operating in holiday mode.
Parking spaces abound. Few cars are on the road. It doesn't even feel like a Saturday.
Driving up Main Street in search of dinner, places appear to be lightly populated.
The emptiest of all is Mediterranean Bistro on the corner of South Addison, a three -week old '70s-era Mediterranean restaurant we soon learn.
Walking in, it seems familiar.My companion thinks he knows why.
"It's like every Greek diner in Jersey," he opines.
I think I've eaten in Jersey maybe twice so I am unsure what that involves.
I find out. Red plastic water tumblers. Two big screen TVS, both on and blaring. A menu of Greek and Italian dishes.
Taking seats at the bar, I immediately ask our affable bartender if he can mute the TVs since we're the only customers.
He obliges.
When it comes time to choose music, he defers to us.
Despite being a metal fan, he admits to liking D'Angelo, so he uses that as a starting point for a Pandora station.
"We can change it if you don't like it," he says accommodatingly.
Bowing to the menu, we choose Elios Red, a fruit-forward blend from Greece and then a Greek salad.
As we shared the salad, the bartender brought us small bowls.
"The kitchen just took some rice pilaf out of the oven," he said. "Here, try some."
Try some, you'll like it. It was a family thing to do.
A traditional menu calls for a traditional dish, so we ordered the handmade eight-layer lasagna to share.
We'd banked on typical Jersey proportions and boy, did we get them.
An enormous piece of lasagna came doused in dried oregano but otherwise perfectly satisfactory for the place and the price.
It'll be interesting to see what crowds they'll draw being on the main drag but being of the plastic-covered menu variety.
That and the butter coming in small plastic containers kind of place.
Despite a valiant attempt on both our parts, part of the lasagna left when we did.
Call me demanding, but a meal evocative of the Jersey turnpike was not enough to soothe my soul tonight.
There were shows galore, but I opted for the Long Arms show at Poe's Pub.
Walking in, I saw the usual Poe's crowd of neighborhood men and die-hard smokers/drinkers, aka the Poe's regulars.
Nearer the back room, I ran into Long Arms' leader, James, a fellow history nerd and lecture attendee.
He gave me a hard time about finally coming to see his band (alright, it had been over a year) but seemed genuinely glad to see me.
Black Brothers was already playing so I quickly found an empty stool and planted it.
The band was a standard rock trio (guitar, bass, drums) with the unexpected addition of trumpeter Lucas Fritz, whom I'd seen many times in various permutations at the Camel.
It didn't take long to be hooked on their Southern take on alt-rock with horn and I got the sense that many in the room felt the same.
After their interesting set, the guitarist said, "We're the Black Brothers and we have a couple t-shirts and CDs in case you want them. But you probably don't."
I have to admit, I admire that kind of anti-marketing.
And, just so you know, there are two brothers named Black in the band.
Truth in rock and roll.
Despite Poe's being an infrequent destination for me, I ran into several friends, resulting in several hysterical conversations.
Favorite line from the a handsome bass player: "I mean, how do people go out and do stuff like you do and still have time to clean house and do laundry?"
We all do what we gotta do, maybe just a little faster, my friend.
By the time Long Arms took the stage, I was deep in conversation with another friend, this time about women who send texts to male friends about their significant others.
Best line in that chat: "Tuesday's generally the big hookup day, right in the vortex of the work week."
I swear, I just sat down in a stool and they talk to me.
Not all of them because many of them were outside on the deck smoking away.
Poe's is nothing if not smoker-friendly and I couldn't get over the clutch of smokers in heavy coats and hats out there throughout the evening.
Violinist Treesa Gold of Long Arms had told me that anytime you see a picture of her playing in the band, she looks happy because she enjoys it so much.
Actually, they all- two guitars, keys, drums, bass, violin- looked like they were having a blast.
The music is fun, part rootsy, part punk and part alt-country with James wowing the girls with his casual indifference and earnest energy.
And he's funny, too, saying things like, "Being pretty's my full time job."
"That's the stuff bumper stickers are made of," a friend said sotto voice afterwards.
Songs rolled out seamlessly from James saying, "This song is about a gunslinger" (he's no doubt an expert) to "Downtown Dreamer" to dedicating a song to "A guy I met in Memphis and I'm looking at him right now."
From the band's opening notes, an uber-fan danced directly in front of the band, clearly having too much fun.
When James wanted to get really earnest, he pulled out his harmonica and made the little girls swoon.
"Get it cookin', Son!" someone called from the crowd.
Man-about-town Prabir joined me for the set, an interesting companion because he used to be in Long Arms.
Watching intently, he commented on how weird it was to be watching another guitarist perform the parts he'd written.
After a particularly tasty little part, he noted with satisfaction, "Well done."
The man should know.
"Great drummer," a friend observed to me. "He never misses a beat."
After one particularly rousing song, "New Lovers' Dance," James announced, "That song was dedicated to Karen," although neither I nor Prabir could hear his explanation why that was.
It's not the why, James (although I'd love to know), it's the act.
Treesa's violin (like Lucas' trumpet in the last band) added an unexpected dimension to the band's already dynamic sound.
To close the show, James pulled out all the stops (meaning his harmonica) and the dancing man was joined by a certain violinist's husband, dancing mightily with his dashing hat in hand.
Nobody was happy when the show ended because everyone was having such a good time..
Waiting in the perennially long post-show bathroom line with other women, I promised the girl behind me I'd be quick.
My bathroom speed has long been legendary.
When I stepped out moments after going in, she bowed to me.
The next girl in line was even more direct.
"We should all buy you a shot!" she exclaimed, speaking of herself and the others still in line.
Yea, you should, honey.
But we're still operating in holiday mode, so I'll let it slide.
Parking spaces abound. Few cars are on the road. It doesn't even feel like a Saturday.
Driving up Main Street in search of dinner, places appear to be lightly populated.
The emptiest of all is Mediterranean Bistro on the corner of South Addison, a three -week old '70s-era Mediterranean restaurant we soon learn.
Walking in, it seems familiar.My companion thinks he knows why.
"It's like every Greek diner in Jersey," he opines.
I think I've eaten in Jersey maybe twice so I am unsure what that involves.
I find out. Red plastic water tumblers. Two big screen TVS, both on and blaring. A menu of Greek and Italian dishes.
Taking seats at the bar, I immediately ask our affable bartender if he can mute the TVs since we're the only customers.
He obliges.
When it comes time to choose music, he defers to us.
Despite being a metal fan, he admits to liking D'Angelo, so he uses that as a starting point for a Pandora station.
"We can change it if you don't like it," he says accommodatingly.
Bowing to the menu, we choose Elios Red, a fruit-forward blend from Greece and then a Greek salad.
As we shared the salad, the bartender brought us small bowls.
"The kitchen just took some rice pilaf out of the oven," he said. "Here, try some."
Try some, you'll like it. It was a family thing to do.
A traditional menu calls for a traditional dish, so we ordered the handmade eight-layer lasagna to share.
We'd banked on typical Jersey proportions and boy, did we get them.
An enormous piece of lasagna came doused in dried oregano but otherwise perfectly satisfactory for the place and the price.
It'll be interesting to see what crowds they'll draw being on the main drag but being of the plastic-covered menu variety.
That and the butter coming in small plastic containers kind of place.
Despite a valiant attempt on both our parts, part of the lasagna left when we did.
Call me demanding, but a meal evocative of the Jersey turnpike was not enough to soothe my soul tonight.
There were shows galore, but I opted for the Long Arms show at Poe's Pub.
Walking in, I saw the usual Poe's crowd of neighborhood men and die-hard smokers/drinkers, aka the Poe's regulars.
Nearer the back room, I ran into Long Arms' leader, James, a fellow history nerd and lecture attendee.
He gave me a hard time about finally coming to see his band (alright, it had been over a year) but seemed genuinely glad to see me.
Black Brothers was already playing so I quickly found an empty stool and planted it.
The band was a standard rock trio (guitar, bass, drums) with the unexpected addition of trumpeter Lucas Fritz, whom I'd seen many times in various permutations at the Camel.
It didn't take long to be hooked on their Southern take on alt-rock with horn and I got the sense that many in the room felt the same.
After their interesting set, the guitarist said, "We're the Black Brothers and we have a couple t-shirts and CDs in case you want them. But you probably don't."
I have to admit, I admire that kind of anti-marketing.
And, just so you know, there are two brothers named Black in the band.
Truth in rock and roll.
Despite Poe's being an infrequent destination for me, I ran into several friends, resulting in several hysterical conversations.
Favorite line from the a handsome bass player: "I mean, how do people go out and do stuff like you do and still have time to clean house and do laundry?"
We all do what we gotta do, maybe just a little faster, my friend.
By the time Long Arms took the stage, I was deep in conversation with another friend, this time about women who send texts to male friends about their significant others.
Best line in that chat: "Tuesday's generally the big hookup day, right in the vortex of the work week."
I swear, I just sat down in a stool and they talk to me.
Not all of them because many of them were outside on the deck smoking away.
Poe's is nothing if not smoker-friendly and I couldn't get over the clutch of smokers in heavy coats and hats out there throughout the evening.
Violinist Treesa Gold of Long Arms had told me that anytime you see a picture of her playing in the band, she looks happy because she enjoys it so much.
Actually, they all- two guitars, keys, drums, bass, violin- looked like they were having a blast.
The music is fun, part rootsy, part punk and part alt-country with James wowing the girls with his casual indifference and earnest energy.
And he's funny, too, saying things like, "Being pretty's my full time job."
"That's the stuff bumper stickers are made of," a friend said sotto voice afterwards.
Songs rolled out seamlessly from James saying, "This song is about a gunslinger" (he's no doubt an expert) to "Downtown Dreamer" to dedicating a song to "A guy I met in Memphis and I'm looking at him right now."
From the band's opening notes, an uber-fan danced directly in front of the band, clearly having too much fun.
When James wanted to get really earnest, he pulled out his harmonica and made the little girls swoon.
"Get it cookin', Son!" someone called from the crowd.
Man-about-town Prabir joined me for the set, an interesting companion because he used to be in Long Arms.
Watching intently, he commented on how weird it was to be watching another guitarist perform the parts he'd written.
After a particularly tasty little part, he noted with satisfaction, "Well done."
The man should know.
"Great drummer," a friend observed to me. "He never misses a beat."
After one particularly rousing song, "New Lovers' Dance," James announced, "That song was dedicated to Karen," although neither I nor Prabir could hear his explanation why that was.
It's not the why, James (although I'd love to know), it's the act.
Treesa's violin (like Lucas' trumpet in the last band) added an unexpected dimension to the band's already dynamic sound.
To close the show, James pulled out all the stops (meaning his harmonica) and the dancing man was joined by a certain violinist's husband, dancing mightily with his dashing hat in hand.
Nobody was happy when the show ended because everyone was having such a good time..
Waiting in the perennially long post-show bathroom line with other women, I promised the girl behind me I'd be quick.
My bathroom speed has long been legendary.
When I stepped out moments after going in, she bowed to me.
The next girl in line was even more direct.
"We should all buy you a shot!" she exclaimed, speaking of herself and the others still in line.
Yea, you should, honey.
But we're still operating in holiday mode, so I'll let it slide.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Long Arms to Hold All the Girls
"My heart stopped when I saw you walk in."
Given the right circumstances, those words would make a girl go weak in the knees but they had another meaning entirely tonight.
I'd gone to the Camel to see a triple bill with Long Arms headlining. Long Arms is the band of my fellow nerd and lecture-attendee, James.
He has chastised me more than once for not attending the band's shows (always due to a prior commitment, I might add) so my arrival had been noted immediately.
He gasped, he gave me a hard time, but I was glad to finally take away his ammo. Then I told him what a great Civil War lecture he'd missed Thursday night at the Library of Virginia...and he wanted details.
That's a nerd.
There was already a good-sized crowd milling about and it was barely 10:00, not always the case
It should be noted and exclaimed over that the show began on time. At the Camel on a Saturday night. Whoa.
Promptly at 10, DC singer/songwriter Justin Jones (with an upright bass player, but minus the Driving Rain) started playing, making sure to include some "Saturday night songs."
Despite a well-executed set, the crowd talked on.
A friend came over to ask me why a girl was wearing a see-through shirt, as if I would know what goes on in the mind of a 22-year old.
"Does Taco Bell wrap their burritos in clear plastic?" he asked rhetorically. "No. Where's the anticipation with that?" No clue.
Meanwhile, I noted a guy in a blue "I ♥ Hot Moms" t-shirt, not one you see every day, especially at a show.
When Justin left the stage, his button-down shirt was soaked through front and back from his energetic set.
Horsehead was next and after the first song, a girl walked by me, stopped and noted, "Look at the singer with the hat on. He looks like Kid Rock." True that.
Calling their set a "rock show," the band went hard, with Kevin delivering his usual guitar magnificence.
"This is Kevin's debut on piano," we were told. "If you ask what Kevin plays, Kevin plays everything." And very well, I might add.
The girl at the merch table next to me decided to mount the back of the booth (beer in hand) to see better and as she did so, she requested, "If I fall, you have to catch me."
Ethically, maybe, but she wasn't the boss of me. On the other hand, I did not want a body dropping on to me from above, so I kept one eye peeled in her direction.
In addition to the transparent and the hot mom-loving attire, there was an abundance of girls in strapless and low-cut dresses tonight. It was almost as if a memo had gone out.
Curious about it, I asked someone for an explanation, only to be told that they were hoping to get lucky with James.
Nerdy James? James I see at the Historical Society with alarming regularity? James who gloats over knowing about a lecture I don't?
Inquiring minds had to know. Next time James passed me, I asked him outright.
"I heard all these scantily-clad girls are here because they want to have sex with you."
He grinned.
"They might be," he allowed. "Well, no not really. Well, maybe."
A friend later told me that if I didn't want to sleep with James, I failed the heterosexuality test.
For what it's worth, he's also the friend who greeted me by saying, "I'd ask what you've been up to, but I can do the research myself."
Yet another of my comedian/musician friends.
A cake had been baked for the occasion, frosted in turquoise icing to match the turquoise 7" Horsehead/Long Arms record being released tonight.
I had no qualms whatsoever about being the first to cut the cake (nod to AWB), putting two pieces on my plate and sharing with a friend who assured me that my sexuality was not in question because I didn't want to sleep with James.
Long Arms rocked hard from the second they began their set, playing songs from their CD and the new record.
The highlight came when James said, "This is a song about a woman from the Civil War who lived in Church Hill." A runaway? A spy? Are we talking Elizabeth van Lewes?
Forget Sexy Beast, that's the nerd I know.
Given the right circumstances, those words would make a girl go weak in the knees but they had another meaning entirely tonight.
I'd gone to the Camel to see a triple bill with Long Arms headlining. Long Arms is the band of my fellow nerd and lecture-attendee, James.
He has chastised me more than once for not attending the band's shows (always due to a prior commitment, I might add) so my arrival had been noted immediately.
He gasped, he gave me a hard time, but I was glad to finally take away his ammo. Then I told him what a great Civil War lecture he'd missed Thursday night at the Library of Virginia...and he wanted details.
That's a nerd.
There was already a good-sized crowd milling about and it was barely 10:00, not always the case
It should be noted and exclaimed over that the show began on time. At the Camel on a Saturday night. Whoa.
Promptly at 10, DC singer/songwriter Justin Jones (with an upright bass player, but minus the Driving Rain) started playing, making sure to include some "Saturday night songs."
Despite a well-executed set, the crowd talked on.
A friend came over to ask me why a girl was wearing a see-through shirt, as if I would know what goes on in the mind of a 22-year old.
"Does Taco Bell wrap their burritos in clear plastic?" he asked rhetorically. "No. Where's the anticipation with that?" No clue.
Meanwhile, I noted a guy in a blue "I ♥ Hot Moms" t-shirt, not one you see every day, especially at a show.
When Justin left the stage, his button-down shirt was soaked through front and back from his energetic set.
Horsehead was next and after the first song, a girl walked by me, stopped and noted, "Look at the singer with the hat on. He looks like Kid Rock." True that.
Calling their set a "rock show," the band went hard, with Kevin delivering his usual guitar magnificence.
"This is Kevin's debut on piano," we were told. "If you ask what Kevin plays, Kevin plays everything." And very well, I might add.
The girl at the merch table next to me decided to mount the back of the booth (beer in hand) to see better and as she did so, she requested, "If I fall, you have to catch me."
Ethically, maybe, but she wasn't the boss of me. On the other hand, I did not want a body dropping on to me from above, so I kept one eye peeled in her direction.
In addition to the transparent and the hot mom-loving attire, there was an abundance of girls in strapless and low-cut dresses tonight. It was almost as if a memo had gone out.
Curious about it, I asked someone for an explanation, only to be told that they were hoping to get lucky with James.
Nerdy James? James I see at the Historical Society with alarming regularity? James who gloats over knowing about a lecture I don't?
Inquiring minds had to know. Next time James passed me, I asked him outright.
"I heard all these scantily-clad girls are here because they want to have sex with you."
He grinned.
"They might be," he allowed. "Well, no not really. Well, maybe."
A friend later told me that if I didn't want to sleep with James, I failed the heterosexuality test.
For what it's worth, he's also the friend who greeted me by saying, "I'd ask what you've been up to, but I can do the research myself."
Yet another of my comedian/musician friends.
A cake had been baked for the occasion, frosted in turquoise icing to match the turquoise 7" Horsehead/Long Arms record being released tonight.
I had no qualms whatsoever about being the first to cut the cake (nod to AWB), putting two pieces on my plate and sharing with a friend who assured me that my sexuality was not in question because I didn't want to sleep with James.
Long Arms rocked hard from the second they began their set, playing songs from their CD and the new record.
The highlight came when James said, "This is a song about a woman from the Civil War who lived in Church Hill." A runaway? A spy? Are we talking Elizabeth van Lewes?
Forget Sexy Beast, that's the nerd I know.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Celebrating One Year of Music Madness at Ipanema
Allow me to give you the highlights from tonight's Live at Ipanema's first anniversary show featuring Long Arms.
During a discussion of adding a drummer to his band and being a former drummer, I express surprise to Prabir on just now learning these things about him.
"I'm like an onion, Karen. Peel me and cry." Or laugh hysterically at his melodrama.
Talking to a group of classical musicians, somehow the subject of instruments as smoking devices comes up.
"Man, a bassoon would work great and look really awesome, " one enthuses. "No, man, a French horn. You could stick your whole face in it to inhale."
During the performance, though, one sticks his fingers in his ears to protect his delicate hearing from the rock and roll.
Wow, seriously?
The small crowd before the show begins to grow and my girlfriend and I check out the new arrivals.
"He's attractive, don't you think?" I ask her. "It's spring. Everyone looks cute," she pronounces nonchalantly and I realize she's right.
It's mating season and everyone's feeling it.
A well-known scene face comes in and mentions his new bruise.
I apparently don't react in a sufficiently impressed manner, so he drops trou and shows me a black and yellow mess covering half his thigh and most of his ass.
Now I'm impressed.
Long Arms begins by playing a few songs with the addition of Prabir and then they're joined by the violinist and bass player from Prabir and the Goldrush.
James, the leader of Long Arms, notes that, "It's like being born up here. It's really tight." The trade off for the tight quarters is an enhanced sound and lots of energy.
The crowd eats it up.
To celebrate the first year of the series, cake is served after the show.
The moist yellow cake with coconut icing and blueberry filing is amazing and somehow gluten-free.
If I hadn't had that enormous piece of double chocolate cake right before the band played, I might have enjoyed it even more, but I'm not about to turn down cake.
For that matter, I'm not about to turn down live music, clever conversation or ogling new arrivals, either.
Having to admire hematomas though, that I could probably do without.
During a discussion of adding a drummer to his band and being a former drummer, I express surprise to Prabir on just now learning these things about him.
"I'm like an onion, Karen. Peel me and cry." Or laugh hysterically at his melodrama.
Talking to a group of classical musicians, somehow the subject of instruments as smoking devices comes up.
"Man, a bassoon would work great and look really awesome, " one enthuses. "No, man, a French horn. You could stick your whole face in it to inhale."
During the performance, though, one sticks his fingers in his ears to protect his delicate hearing from the rock and roll.
Wow, seriously?
The small crowd before the show begins to grow and my girlfriend and I check out the new arrivals.
"He's attractive, don't you think?" I ask her. "It's spring. Everyone looks cute," she pronounces nonchalantly and I realize she's right.
It's mating season and everyone's feeling it.
A well-known scene face comes in and mentions his new bruise.
I apparently don't react in a sufficiently impressed manner, so he drops trou and shows me a black and yellow mess covering half his thigh and most of his ass.
Now I'm impressed.
Long Arms begins by playing a few songs with the addition of Prabir and then they're joined by the violinist and bass player from Prabir and the Goldrush.
James, the leader of Long Arms, notes that, "It's like being born up here. It's really tight." The trade off for the tight quarters is an enhanced sound and lots of energy.
The crowd eats it up.
To celebrate the first year of the series, cake is served after the show.
The moist yellow cake with coconut icing and blueberry filing is amazing and somehow gluten-free.
If I hadn't had that enormous piece of double chocolate cake right before the band played, I might have enjoyed it even more, but I'm not about to turn down cake.
For that matter, I'm not about to turn down live music, clever conversation or ogling new arrivals, either.
Having to admire hematomas though, that I could probably do without.
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