I love a good story; hearing someone else's secrets is a guilty pleasure.
Which is why I never miss a Secretly Y'All, Tell Me a Story night at Balliceaux.
Tonight's theme was music stories, so all the storytellers were musicians and each played a song after spilling their guts.
And by "spilling their guts," I mean all manner of things.
Herschel Stratego talked about girls he lusted after and how he didn't have the body type to be romantic; his song was about tall, handsome men who won the girls.
Best of all, he named names.
Chris Milk showed off his recent bike accident injuries before singing, specifically mentioning his bruised, ahem, private parts.
Lest he be doubted, he said he had cell phone pictures of the black and blue injured parts should anyone be interested. Um, no thanks.
Charlottesville's Browning Porter did an amazing rap to "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," forcing me to find the one literary geek I knew in the room and lock eyes.
That's not a pleasure a reader gets every day and I had to share it with someone.
Probably the most fascinating story came from Lydia Ooghe before she sang "Topsy," a song about a dead elephant.
The saga involved Nicholas Tesla, an arrogant Thomas Edison, A/C and D/C current and an Asian elephant that killed three men after being fed a lit cigarette.
What I learned was that an electrocuted elephant causes a lot of smoke; I found the mental picture most unsettling.
It was a lively crowd that came to hear music stories tonight, so I got to hear about RVA Music Fest from a DJ, the new school year from a recently-shorn teacher's perspective and how popular tonight's topic was from an organizer.
You just can't imagine how satisfying it is to listen to the stories of strangers and friends in a public setting until you do it.
After story time hour(s), I left to meet a new friend at Lemaire to have my brain picked.
He's working on a project and needed input from someone he considers "in the know" since he's a recent transplant.
Let me assure you, I did not claim to be in the know.
Upon walking in, I heard my name called and not by he who had invited me.
It was some of the usual suspects: bartender and wife, restaurant owner, man-about-town. I hugged, I kissed, I said hello.
My new friend was enjoying a Sazerac, so I jumped in to join him and listen to the details of his project.
After the business portion of the meeting we moved on to more colorful topics like Le Tigre, catfish at Comfort and the pleasures of working for oneself.
As a Brooklyn transplant, he can't get over how gosh darn friendly folks are in these parts. Or how good Virginia smoked peanuts are.
In keeping with the evening's theme, I told him a radio story (he accused me of being part of a "Morning Zoo" team) and he told me a metal-working story (from what I've seen of him, it was hard to imagine him doing such).
We performed no music after our stories were finished, but we had no audience either.
In-the-knows know never to spill your guts on a full moon.
Showing posts with label lydia ooghe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lydia ooghe. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
Belonging to Everyone Who Meets You
It was almost like a day at the beach, but without the ocean.
It started out as usual, with breakfast and walking, which for a change here lately wasn't miserable because it was overcast and not even in the 90s.
How quickly we lower our standards!
And then not long after I got home, I heard it: the unmistakable sound of rain outside.
Without a moment's hesitation, I picked up the morning's Washington Post, which I had not yet started, and moved to my back porch which overlooks the yard.
And with the sound of the rain on the metal roof and the occasional raindrops hitting me in my rocking chair, I savored my morning newspaper.
I read about three different books I must read. One was about the art scene in L.A. in the sixties, one about the generation that started the California wineries and one about the most beautiful walks in Paris.
Any or all would make terrific beach reads, not that I'll wait that long to find out.
It was so pleasant on the porch with the rain falling all around me after the heat of the past few weeks. Just as I was nearing the end of the paper, it let up and started to get brighter.
Seemed like a good time to take a nap, so I went inside and did.
After lunch and some actual time devoted to work, I decided to take another reading break, picking up the beach read I have still not finished since returning home.
After 70 pages or so of "Showman: The Life of David O. Selznick," I realized it was the perfect time for a nap. Again.
Can't say I know what got into me today. This is how I behave at the beach, reading and napping at will, but it's not my M.O. at home.
I finally left the house around 8:30 this evening for music and to make sure I still knew how to talk to other people.
The Camel was hosting a Singer/Songwriter Night and I only recognized one name on the list, so I figured it would be interesting.
Obviously anticipating a small crowd, the show had been set up on the bar side of the restaurant with the folding door to the main room shut.
Within no time, they adjusted the plan, opened the door and brought chairs over for the overflow of people standing, like me.
First up were Miriam and Jordan of local band the Kindling Kind, whom I'd never heard of.
Miriam had a distinctive voice which reminded me of English singer Lauren Christy.
Her songs were confessional in nature and Jordan's guitar playing added a nice richness to them. I'd be interested to hear the whole band.
Robert Lacey, originally from Charlottesville but currently living in New Orleans, was up next and began with a song inspired by Tom Robbins.
I wasn't sure about him after the first song, but his intensity and voice got progressively stronger until he was riveting to hear.
Favorite lyric: "I wanted to believe in the curve of your freckled hip between my knees"
The crowd was respectful and hushed for both the first two sets, so I should have known it was too good to last.
No sooner had organizer Paul Wilson begun his set when the noise of the crowd became offensively loud.
After his first song, he addressed the problem. "If everyone would be quiet and listen, it's an awesome thing when you just listen."
And people were quiet when he said that. And as soon as he went back to singing they went back to shouting over him. It was a shame.
Lydia Ooghe dueted with Paul on a couple of songs, teasing the audience since she was the next performer.
The rudeness continued during Lydia's set of mostly new material.
She has such a delicate voice and although Paul actually went up to some of the worst offenders and asked them to move to the back and keep it low, they quickly forgot.
Lydia mentioned a recent singer/songwriter showcase she'd done in C-ville where all the performers were asked to write a song based on another song.
She had chose one called "If I Could Play a Piano" and redone it, using similar music elements as "If I Could Sleep."
Starting a song, she said, "Oops, there goes my capo! Technical difficulties!" and a quick audience member responded, "Don't fret it!"
I laughed out loud and he looked pretty pleased with himself.
I enjoyed major bliss when she covered David Byrne's "Everyone's in Love with You," easily one of my very favorite Byrne songs and quite a tribute to someone.
Hearing a song written and sung by a man performed by a women gave extra poignancy to the lyrics, which I appreciated.
It was a stellar choice on Lydia's part and she did an outstanding job with it.
And the crowd shouted on. Even though there were more performers to come, I was tired of the drunken rudeness and left before I got to hear the remaining singers.
It may have felt like a day at the beach all day, but this evening made for a solid return to normal life in RVA.
Otherwise I'd be typing this from the porch swing overlooking the ocean.
Jackson Ward has much to recommend it, but no ocean.
It started out as usual, with breakfast and walking, which for a change here lately wasn't miserable because it was overcast and not even in the 90s.
How quickly we lower our standards!
And then not long after I got home, I heard it: the unmistakable sound of rain outside.
Without a moment's hesitation, I picked up the morning's Washington Post, which I had not yet started, and moved to my back porch which overlooks the yard.
And with the sound of the rain on the metal roof and the occasional raindrops hitting me in my rocking chair, I savored my morning newspaper.
I read about three different books I must read. One was about the art scene in L.A. in the sixties, one about the generation that started the California wineries and one about the most beautiful walks in Paris.
Any or all would make terrific beach reads, not that I'll wait that long to find out.
It was so pleasant on the porch with the rain falling all around me after the heat of the past few weeks. Just as I was nearing the end of the paper, it let up and started to get brighter.
Seemed like a good time to take a nap, so I went inside and did.
After lunch and some actual time devoted to work, I decided to take another reading break, picking up the beach read I have still not finished since returning home.
After 70 pages or so of "Showman: The Life of David O. Selznick," I realized it was the perfect time for a nap. Again.
Can't say I know what got into me today. This is how I behave at the beach, reading and napping at will, but it's not my M.O. at home.
I finally left the house around 8:30 this evening for music and to make sure I still knew how to talk to other people.
The Camel was hosting a Singer/Songwriter Night and I only recognized one name on the list, so I figured it would be interesting.
Obviously anticipating a small crowd, the show had been set up on the bar side of the restaurant with the folding door to the main room shut.
Within no time, they adjusted the plan, opened the door and brought chairs over for the overflow of people standing, like me.
First up were Miriam and Jordan of local band the Kindling Kind, whom I'd never heard of.
Miriam had a distinctive voice which reminded me of English singer Lauren Christy.
Her songs were confessional in nature and Jordan's guitar playing added a nice richness to them. I'd be interested to hear the whole band.
Robert Lacey, originally from Charlottesville but currently living in New Orleans, was up next and began with a song inspired by Tom Robbins.
I wasn't sure about him after the first song, but his intensity and voice got progressively stronger until he was riveting to hear.
Favorite lyric: "I wanted to believe in the curve of your freckled hip between my knees"
The crowd was respectful and hushed for both the first two sets, so I should have known it was too good to last.
No sooner had organizer Paul Wilson begun his set when the noise of the crowd became offensively loud.
After his first song, he addressed the problem. "If everyone would be quiet and listen, it's an awesome thing when you just listen."
And people were quiet when he said that. And as soon as he went back to singing they went back to shouting over him. It was a shame.
Lydia Ooghe dueted with Paul on a couple of songs, teasing the audience since she was the next performer.
The rudeness continued during Lydia's set of mostly new material.
She has such a delicate voice and although Paul actually went up to some of the worst offenders and asked them to move to the back and keep it low, they quickly forgot.
Lydia mentioned a recent singer/songwriter showcase she'd done in C-ville where all the performers were asked to write a song based on another song.
She had chose one called "If I Could Play a Piano" and redone it, using similar music elements as "If I Could Sleep."
Starting a song, she said, "Oops, there goes my capo! Technical difficulties!" and a quick audience member responded, "Don't fret it!"
I laughed out loud and he looked pretty pleased with himself.
I enjoyed major bliss when she covered David Byrne's "Everyone's in Love with You," easily one of my very favorite Byrne songs and quite a tribute to someone.
I introduce you to my friends
& that's the last I see of you
All the world's discovered my big secret
Everyone's in love with you
They're fascinated by your smile
They copy all the things you do
I wish that you & I could be together, but
Everyone's in love with you, yeah
Everyone's in love with you
God gives, God's wise
The way that she smiles
It should be no surprise
At work, at home
I'm introduced to so & so
But you're the one they want to know
I'm jealous & a little proud
I want to kill & kiss you too
You belong to everyone who meets you
Everyone's in love with you
God gives, God takes
Don't misunderstand I'm a satisfied man
So sweet, so strange
I guess I'll never understand the things she does to all my friends
Hearing a song written and sung by a man performed by a women gave extra poignancy to the lyrics, which I appreciated.
It was a stellar choice on Lydia's part and she did an outstanding job with it.
And the crowd shouted on. Even though there were more performers to come, I was tired of the drunken rudeness and left before I got to hear the remaining singers.
It may have felt like a day at the beach all day, but this evening made for a solid return to normal life in RVA.
Otherwise I'd be typing this from the porch swing overlooking the ocean.
Jackson Ward has much to recommend it, but no ocean.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Nipples and Disco Balls
A friend was looking for a way to kill time until his 10:00 date and decided to use me.
I told him I was beginning my evening at the VMFA for the documentary "A Woman Like That" about the only female Baroque artist, Artemisia Gentileschi.
The two filmmakers were there to introduce the film, and assured us that "This is not a dead artist film."
In fact, it had many funny moments such as one of the filmmakers strapping a camera to her body to surreptitiously film an exhibit of Gentileschi's paintings after the museum refused her permission.
She was an interesting woman for many reasons, not the least of which was how audacious she was for her time, painting female nudes in a more realistically natural way than male artists had done.
Because she was a freelance artist with no patron, she had to forcefully speak up for herself to be treated fairly as an artist and as a result, was called a virago. You know, a woman like that.
I suppose it's a lot like Madonna saying that by holding her own with music executives back in the 80s, she was called a bitch, unlike a male artist who might do the same.
Referring to one of her works, St. Louis Museum curator Judith Mann said, "This was the first time a breast was really painted, even showing the areola." Women know what breasts look like without a bra, she said.
During the discussion with the filmmakers and curator after the screening, a woman asked Mann what her thoughts were on the VMFA's Gentileschi, "Venus and Cupid," a beautifully languorous work showing a reclining nude looking rapturous (I have my theory as to why).
Mann was quick to say that she no longer believed it was done by Gentileschi as she once had when she'd included it in a show of the artist's work in St. Louis.
The collective surprise at her statement resonated with a huge silence in the room. The near-capacity crowd clearly loved our presumed Gentileschi.
I'm not going to lie; it was a bit of a buzz kill after watching a movie about such a fascinating and talented woman.
Afterwards, my friend and I stopped for a bite at 821 for, what else, black bean nachos (I've made a convert of him) while listening to the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs being blasted on the sound system.
That's a little bit of heaven right there, music and food-wise anyway.
Just as we were tearing into our food, my friend noticed the woman next to him as a regular customer (he's a bartender), which led to an extended discussion about food and restaurants while I ate away and minimally contributed.
On the plus side, she gave us her plate of onion rings which she was too full to eat and which had been torturing us with its smell as we awaited our food.
Her fawning over my friend ended when his girlfriend called to see when he was picking her up. They were headed to Sprout, as was I.
My timing was perfect as Lydia Ooghe was just starting her soft-sung set when I walked in.
It was good to hear some new material from her upcoming album, even if the bar crowd did provide an overly-loud backdrop for her sweet voice.
A last minute addition, Terror Pigeon Dance Revolt, put on as unusual a show as their name would suggest.
After a lengthy set-up, the singer said, "We're going to do a tiny little sound check and then melt your faces."
There was a colorful backdrop, an enormous blow-up Winnie the Pooh, and the drummer's drums were taped together and strapped to his body.
The guitarist wore a furry dog rug around his waist, its head dangling between his legs suggestively. The lead singer had a Robert Smith of the Cure haircut circa 1983 and wore a dress. Everyone else wore helmets that lit up.
The band played on the floor rather than the stage as the singer moved through the crowd dancing and throwing his body around.
The only female member put on a disco ball helmet and twirled while someone pointed a flashlight at her head.
It was performance art and pure theater.
Their disco-ish sound was all about dancing and the crowd was quickly engaged. I sat atop the booth back to stay out of the fray and give me a bird's-eye view of the action.
The singer spent a fair amount of time writhing on the floor as he sang, sometimes to prerecorded music as the band accompanied it live.
It certainly wasn't like anything I've ever witnessed at Sprout before and I could see why the New York Times has written them up.
Atlanta's Omelet followed and they were a tad odd, too, but in a much different way. Wigs, unusual clothing, masks and sunglasses were part of their Zappa-meets-GWAR energy.
A friend described them as Primus-like and I could see that. The saxophone and clarinet were a nice touch for an otherwise classic progressive metal sound.
By that point, I'd swung as far as I cared to for the evening and was ready to move on despite two more bands being on the bill.
A girl has to recognize when she's had enough of everything she needs for the moment.
At least audacious women like that do and I'd like to think that I'm one of those.
I told him I was beginning my evening at the VMFA for the documentary "A Woman Like That" about the only female Baroque artist, Artemisia Gentileschi.
The two filmmakers were there to introduce the film, and assured us that "This is not a dead artist film."
In fact, it had many funny moments such as one of the filmmakers strapping a camera to her body to surreptitiously film an exhibit of Gentileschi's paintings after the museum refused her permission.
She was an interesting woman for many reasons, not the least of which was how audacious she was for her time, painting female nudes in a more realistically natural way than male artists had done.
Because she was a freelance artist with no patron, she had to forcefully speak up for herself to be treated fairly as an artist and as a result, was called a virago. You know, a woman like that.
I suppose it's a lot like Madonna saying that by holding her own with music executives back in the 80s, she was called a bitch, unlike a male artist who might do the same.
Referring to one of her works, St. Louis Museum curator Judith Mann said, "This was the first time a breast was really painted, even showing the areola." Women know what breasts look like without a bra, she said.
During the discussion with the filmmakers and curator after the screening, a woman asked Mann what her thoughts were on the VMFA's Gentileschi, "Venus and Cupid," a beautifully languorous work showing a reclining nude looking rapturous (I have my theory as to why).
Mann was quick to say that she no longer believed it was done by Gentileschi as she once had when she'd included it in a show of the artist's work in St. Louis.
The collective surprise at her statement resonated with a huge silence in the room. The near-capacity crowd clearly loved our presumed Gentileschi.
I'm not going to lie; it was a bit of a buzz kill after watching a movie about such a fascinating and talented woman.
Afterwards, my friend and I stopped for a bite at 821 for, what else, black bean nachos (I've made a convert of him) while listening to the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs being blasted on the sound system.
That's a little bit of heaven right there, music and food-wise anyway.
Just as we were tearing into our food, my friend noticed the woman next to him as a regular customer (he's a bartender), which led to an extended discussion about food and restaurants while I ate away and minimally contributed.
On the plus side, she gave us her plate of onion rings which she was too full to eat and which had been torturing us with its smell as we awaited our food.
Her fawning over my friend ended when his girlfriend called to see when he was picking her up. They were headed to Sprout, as was I.
My timing was perfect as Lydia Ooghe was just starting her soft-sung set when I walked in.
It was good to hear some new material from her upcoming album, even if the bar crowd did provide an overly-loud backdrop for her sweet voice.
A last minute addition, Terror Pigeon Dance Revolt, put on as unusual a show as their name would suggest.
After a lengthy set-up, the singer said, "We're going to do a tiny little sound check and then melt your faces."
There was a colorful backdrop, an enormous blow-up Winnie the Pooh, and the drummer's drums were taped together and strapped to his body.
The guitarist wore a furry dog rug around his waist, its head dangling between his legs suggestively. The lead singer had a Robert Smith of the Cure haircut circa 1983 and wore a dress. Everyone else wore helmets that lit up.
The band played on the floor rather than the stage as the singer moved through the crowd dancing and throwing his body around.
The only female member put on a disco ball helmet and twirled while someone pointed a flashlight at her head.
It was performance art and pure theater.
Their disco-ish sound was all about dancing and the crowd was quickly engaged. I sat atop the booth back to stay out of the fray and give me a bird's-eye view of the action.
The singer spent a fair amount of time writhing on the floor as he sang, sometimes to prerecorded music as the band accompanied it live.
It certainly wasn't like anything I've ever witnessed at Sprout before and I could see why the New York Times has written them up.
Atlanta's Omelet followed and they were a tad odd, too, but in a much different way. Wigs, unusual clothing, masks and sunglasses were part of their Zappa-meets-GWAR energy.
A friend described them as Primus-like and I could see that. The saxophone and clarinet were a nice touch for an otherwise classic progressive metal sound.
By that point, I'd swung as far as I cared to for the evening and was ready to move on despite two more bands being on the bill.
A girl has to recognize when she's had enough of everything she needs for the moment.
At least audacious women like that do and I'd like to think that I'm one of those.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Everyone's an Actor or Musician
From the wine bar, I got girl talk from a good friend. From the movie, I got laughs and Richmond scenery. From the music, I got a familiar voice and two bands new to me.
With the exception of meeting the man of my dreams, I think I got everything I could need tonight.
For a change, I sat on the couch at Secco rather than at the bar, providing an even closer view of the Hopper-esque view of the interior of The Eatery across the street.
We also had a great view of people coming around the corner, including a man in patchwork pants that were truly something, we just weren't sure what (my friend: "I'm rethinking taking up quilting after seeing those").
I also enjoyed my first Lebanese wine, the 2008 Chateau Muser "Jeune Rouge," a blend of Cinsault, Syrah and Cab. It was velvety smooth and full of spices, making me wonder why I'm such a latecomer to Lebanese wines (perhaps it's an availability issue and, if so, thank you, Julia).
My friend had loads of relationship talk she needed to get off her chest while I had only a few minor stories to share (or minor stories about major events).
We did both over a selection of new cheeses, including the Westfield Farm White Buck (soft, flaky, bloomy rind with just a whisper of bleu), the P'tit Basque (smooth, nutty) and the Romero (firm, vibrant, rosemary-infused).
The last was a raw milk cheese and easily my favorite of the three; I don't need no stinkin' homogenization.
We had planned to move from there to the Byrd, but Friend had to bow out, so I went for an evening of independent film alone. Showing was Antihero, a collaboration of VCU theater students and graduates made last summer on a shoestring.
And, of course, using RVA as a location guaranteed me several things. I'd recognize locations (the fight on Monument Avenue, for instance) and there would be bikes and PBR.
Beyond that, I've seen one of the lead actors, Joe Carlson, chew scenery in any number of theatrical performances over the years. Even wine god Bob Talcott had a role as a mean drug kingpin, although he looked very dapper in his seersucker suit.
The movie told the story of two RVA guys partying and breaking into houses once they discover that one of them has psychic powers. Despite their less-than-lawful start, they wind up doing all sorts of good deeds (reviving an overdosed girl, preventing a rape) along the way.
The dialog alternated between bro-speak (everyone called everyone "dude") and under-the-breath witty ("Why do they call it a grilled cheese when it's fried?").
The good-sized audience cheered, laughed along and generally showed support for the offbeat comedy and its local crew. I have no doubt but that many PBRs were raised in celebration shortly after the screening ended.
With the movie over by 9:00, it only made sense to stop by the Camel on my way home. Tuesdays they always host a couple of jazz bands and there's no cover, making for a tempting way to finish out the evening.
This week it was the Lucas Fritz Quintet followed by Old Soul, two bands about which I knew nothing. That was corrected pretty quickly after I arrived when musician Lydia Ooghe came over to say hello. Only then did she tell me that Old Soul is her "side project."
LFQ got things rolling with some original material; I especially like "Ultra Hang" and "The O." I got a kick out of Fritz introducing the song "Just In Time" as "from the Old American songbook."
I think he meant the Great American songbook, but technically he's right; they are old songs It just sounded funny coming from someone of his tender years.
In addition to Lydia on vocals, Old Soul also had Marcus and David from No BS Brass Band and Matt, the drummer I had befriended at the Zakir Hussain show at the Folk Fest last fall.
So I didn't know the band by name, but I was familiar with four of the seven members, which actually isn't all that surprising. It's a fact; Richmond's music community is as incestuous as its restaurant community. When it comes to music, I'm not sure that's a bad thing, though.
Old Soul had a very full sound with both alto and tenor sax and fabulous keyboards, not to mention a vocalist on many of the songs.
A highlight was the two-part piece, "Sleeps Vary" and "Morning Doubts," as was the last piece, written by Matt and featuring drumming that had the entire crowd quiet and enthralled, which unfortunately had not been the case throughout the entire evening.
It was a terrific way to finish things up. Like I said, except for the obvious, I got everything I could have wanted this evening.
With the exception of meeting the man of my dreams, I think I got everything I could need tonight.
For a change, I sat on the couch at Secco rather than at the bar, providing an even closer view of the Hopper-esque view of the interior of The Eatery across the street.
We also had a great view of people coming around the corner, including a man in patchwork pants that were truly something, we just weren't sure what (my friend: "I'm rethinking taking up quilting after seeing those").
I also enjoyed my first Lebanese wine, the 2008 Chateau Muser "Jeune Rouge," a blend of Cinsault, Syrah and Cab. It was velvety smooth and full of spices, making me wonder why I'm such a latecomer to Lebanese wines (perhaps it's an availability issue and, if so, thank you, Julia).
My friend had loads of relationship talk she needed to get off her chest while I had only a few minor stories to share (or minor stories about major events).
We did both over a selection of new cheeses, including the Westfield Farm White Buck (soft, flaky, bloomy rind with just a whisper of bleu), the P'tit Basque (smooth, nutty) and the Romero (firm, vibrant, rosemary-infused).
The last was a raw milk cheese and easily my favorite of the three; I don't need no stinkin' homogenization.
We had planned to move from there to the Byrd, but Friend had to bow out, so I went for an evening of independent film alone. Showing was Antihero, a collaboration of VCU theater students and graduates made last summer on a shoestring.
And, of course, using RVA as a location guaranteed me several things. I'd recognize locations (the fight on Monument Avenue, for instance) and there would be bikes and PBR.
Beyond that, I've seen one of the lead actors, Joe Carlson, chew scenery in any number of theatrical performances over the years. Even wine god Bob Talcott had a role as a mean drug kingpin, although he looked very dapper in his seersucker suit.
The movie told the story of two RVA guys partying and breaking into houses once they discover that one of them has psychic powers. Despite their less-than-lawful start, they wind up doing all sorts of good deeds (reviving an overdosed girl, preventing a rape) along the way.
The dialog alternated between bro-speak (everyone called everyone "dude") and under-the-breath witty ("Why do they call it a grilled cheese when it's fried?").
The good-sized audience cheered, laughed along and generally showed support for the offbeat comedy and its local crew. I have no doubt but that many PBRs were raised in celebration shortly after the screening ended.
With the movie over by 9:00, it only made sense to stop by the Camel on my way home. Tuesdays they always host a couple of jazz bands and there's no cover, making for a tempting way to finish out the evening.
This week it was the Lucas Fritz Quintet followed by Old Soul, two bands about which I knew nothing. That was corrected pretty quickly after I arrived when musician Lydia Ooghe came over to say hello. Only then did she tell me that Old Soul is her "side project."
LFQ got things rolling with some original material; I especially like "Ultra Hang" and "The O." I got a kick out of Fritz introducing the song "Just In Time" as "from the Old American songbook."
I think he meant the Great American songbook, but technically he's right; they are old songs It just sounded funny coming from someone of his tender years.
In addition to Lydia on vocals, Old Soul also had Marcus and David from No BS Brass Band and Matt, the drummer I had befriended at the Zakir Hussain show at the Folk Fest last fall.
So I didn't know the band by name, but I was familiar with four of the seven members, which actually isn't all that surprising. It's a fact; Richmond's music community is as incestuous as its restaurant community. When it comes to music, I'm not sure that's a bad thing, though.
Old Soul had a very full sound with both alto and tenor sax and fabulous keyboards, not to mention a vocalist on many of the songs.
A highlight was the two-part piece, "Sleeps Vary" and "Morning Doubts," as was the last piece, written by Matt and featuring drumming that had the entire crowd quiet and enthralled, which unfortunately had not been the case throughout the entire evening.
It was a terrific way to finish things up. Like I said, except for the obvious, I got everything I could have wanted this evening.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Sprouting Sprigs at a Wine Dinner
There are wine dinners and then there are wine dinners. Tonight's Farmers' Dinner at Sprout featuring Manakintowne Specialty Growers and Virginia wines was outstanding.
Sprout's usually casual, funky ambiance was transformed by china, candles and flowered napkins into a chic little bistro full of foodies and wine enthusiasts. Even owners Jamie and Laurie were looking especially fine tonight. Since they're usually closed on Sundays, the whole thing felt a little like a stealth get-together.
The folks from Manakintowne Growers were there and were introduced. The wine representative outlined the wine to come and what it would be paired with.
She had asked Chef Charlie to speak about his food, but he'd declined saying only, "I know it's good." Having known Charlie for close to five years now, that's about what I would expect him to say.
And it was good, very good. The first course was a salad of mixed greens, including fennel, kale, arugula, cilantro, green tomatoes, red onions, local apples and toasted seeds in a toasted seed dressing. The Barboursville Brut, the ideal start to the meal, held its own with the mouth-watering selection of greens.
Next up was a winter squash ravioli with pumpkin, Twin Oaks tofu and local feta paired with Horton Petit Manseng. I wasn't familiar with the grape, so I got a kick out of learning that this southwestern French wine was used to baptize kings instead of water. How lucky are we that this grape does so well in our Virginia soil?
The wine had beautiful aromas and as much as I liked the first sip, it was after the first bite of the creamy ravioli that it became obvious how well it had been matched to the dish. I couldn't help having more of this rich full-bodied dry white wine. Yum.
The main course was Polyface chicken ballantine, boned and stuffed with sausage, apples and oysters over a turnip puree with chard. The combination of flavors, reminiscent of Thanksgiving, called for something un-wimpy to stand up to it and the Horton Norton succeeded admirably.
After having read Todd Kliman's book about the Norton grape, The Wild Vine, this past summer and tasting various Nortons around the state to supplement my reading, I already knew I was a fan of this grape.
It's known as one of those that people either love or hate (probably more of the latter). My table mate (another solo diner) hadn't had it, but she took one sip and pronounced, "Funky! I love it!" mirroring my feelings about Dr. Norton's discovery. More Norton, please.
Our last course was a rosemary berry chocolate torte served with the Horton Xoco chocolate wine. So that you know, Chef Charlie used to be the pastry chef at Balliceaux and I was devoted to his desserts there.
Many was the time that I'd go in and have wine and dessert and he'd always come out and solicit my opinion about his latest creation. So I knew going in that tonight's dessert would be spectacular.
The little round torte was thickly iced with rosemary and chile-infused ganache. The red coulis on the plate was made from, among other things, beets and purple carrots, conveying a natural sweetness. The whipped cream on top was dense and cocoa dusted. Divine does not begin to describe it.
Each plate came with a sprig of rosemary on it and my table mate pointed and said, "Look, your sprig is blooming." Given my recent change in direction, it seemed an appropriate metaphor. As she noted, no one else's sprig was in flower. I'll take it.
The Xoco worked well with the dessert, although it wasn't to my taste once the torte was history. As our wine rep told us, there is no middle of the road with this wine. I would say it has its place with the right dessert, but it was a bit much for me.
When Charlie came out finally, he suggested we tell our friends about the new wine dinner series at Sprout and I told him that was a bad idea.
If we go blabbing about it, our spots may be snapped up next time and then where will we be? I'm kidding of course, but at $35 all inclusive, this meal is easily the best wine dinner deal in the city. Creative food, great ambiance and an interesting crowd added up to something special on a Sunday night.
As I was leaving, I stopped to talk to owner Jamie about the new stage they've just put in the back room. I'd seen my first show on it Friday night and wanted him to know how much a short person appreciated the raised musicians. He's tall, but he got it.
And since they weren't having music at Sprout tonight, I made my way to Grace Street for the latest installment of Live at Ipanema, featuring the honey-voiced Lydia Ooghe. The usual suspects were there, musicians, DJs, my Folk Fest drummer friend and even my new show buddy put in an appearance.
With no fanfare or introduction, Lydia (and the always-impressive Trey Pollard on pedal steel and Jake Thro on bass and backing vocals) launched into her set and the crowd quieted right down, all except for the overly-loud trio at the end of the bar.
Since these shows are recorded, most people have the courtesy not to compete with the music, but not these three. I saw several people cast dirty looks their way but they were oblivious. Ah, well. I just tuned them out as Lydia no doubt did.
Afterwards, I had a chance to work the room, reliving the Sufjan show with the Richmond Scene and discussing the upcoming week's amazing lineup of shows with a musician friend, a guy who has three shows this week. Bring it on, we agreed.
There are Sunday nights and then there are Sunday nights. This was one of the really good ones.
Sprout's usually casual, funky ambiance was transformed by china, candles and flowered napkins into a chic little bistro full of foodies and wine enthusiasts. Even owners Jamie and Laurie were looking especially fine tonight. Since they're usually closed on Sundays, the whole thing felt a little like a stealth get-together.
The folks from Manakintowne Growers were there and were introduced. The wine representative outlined the wine to come and what it would be paired with.
She had asked Chef Charlie to speak about his food, but he'd declined saying only, "I know it's good." Having known Charlie for close to five years now, that's about what I would expect him to say.
And it was good, very good. The first course was a salad of mixed greens, including fennel, kale, arugula, cilantro, green tomatoes, red onions, local apples and toasted seeds in a toasted seed dressing. The Barboursville Brut, the ideal start to the meal, held its own with the mouth-watering selection of greens.
Next up was a winter squash ravioli with pumpkin, Twin Oaks tofu and local feta paired with Horton Petit Manseng. I wasn't familiar with the grape, so I got a kick out of learning that this southwestern French wine was used to baptize kings instead of water. How lucky are we that this grape does so well in our Virginia soil?
The wine had beautiful aromas and as much as I liked the first sip, it was after the first bite of the creamy ravioli that it became obvious how well it had been matched to the dish. I couldn't help having more of this rich full-bodied dry white wine. Yum.
The main course was Polyface chicken ballantine, boned and stuffed with sausage, apples and oysters over a turnip puree with chard. The combination of flavors, reminiscent of Thanksgiving, called for something un-wimpy to stand up to it and the Horton Norton succeeded admirably.
After having read Todd Kliman's book about the Norton grape, The Wild Vine, this past summer and tasting various Nortons around the state to supplement my reading, I already knew I was a fan of this grape.
It's known as one of those that people either love or hate (probably more of the latter). My table mate (another solo diner) hadn't had it, but she took one sip and pronounced, "Funky! I love it!" mirroring my feelings about Dr. Norton's discovery. More Norton, please.
Our last course was a rosemary berry chocolate torte served with the Horton Xoco chocolate wine. So that you know, Chef Charlie used to be the pastry chef at Balliceaux and I was devoted to his desserts there.
Many was the time that I'd go in and have wine and dessert and he'd always come out and solicit my opinion about his latest creation. So I knew going in that tonight's dessert would be spectacular.
The little round torte was thickly iced with rosemary and chile-infused ganache. The red coulis on the plate was made from, among other things, beets and purple carrots, conveying a natural sweetness. The whipped cream on top was dense and cocoa dusted. Divine does not begin to describe it.
Each plate came with a sprig of rosemary on it and my table mate pointed and said, "Look, your sprig is blooming." Given my recent change in direction, it seemed an appropriate metaphor. As she noted, no one else's sprig was in flower. I'll take it.
The Xoco worked well with the dessert, although it wasn't to my taste once the torte was history. As our wine rep told us, there is no middle of the road with this wine. I would say it has its place with the right dessert, but it was a bit much for me.
When Charlie came out finally, he suggested we tell our friends about the new wine dinner series at Sprout and I told him that was a bad idea.
If we go blabbing about it, our spots may be snapped up next time and then where will we be? I'm kidding of course, but at $35 all inclusive, this meal is easily the best wine dinner deal in the city. Creative food, great ambiance and an interesting crowd added up to something special on a Sunday night.
As I was leaving, I stopped to talk to owner Jamie about the new stage they've just put in the back room. I'd seen my first show on it Friday night and wanted him to know how much a short person appreciated the raised musicians. He's tall, but he got it.
And since they weren't having music at Sprout tonight, I made my way to Grace Street for the latest installment of Live at Ipanema, featuring the honey-voiced Lydia Ooghe. The usual suspects were there, musicians, DJs, my Folk Fest drummer friend and even my new show buddy put in an appearance.
With no fanfare or introduction, Lydia (and the always-impressive Trey Pollard on pedal steel and Jake Thro on bass and backing vocals) launched into her set and the crowd quieted right down, all except for the overly-loud trio at the end of the bar.
Since these shows are recorded, most people have the courtesy not to compete with the music, but not these three. I saw several people cast dirty looks their way but they were oblivious. Ah, well. I just tuned them out as Lydia no doubt did.
Afterwards, I had a chance to work the room, reliving the Sufjan show with the Richmond Scene and discussing the upcoming week's amazing lineup of shows with a musician friend, a guy who has three shows this week. Bring it on, we agreed.
There are Sunday nights and then there are Sunday nights. This was one of the really good ones.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Music for a Cause
"Fuck BP," toasted Ilad's lead singer Clifton, summing up tonight's Gulf Leak Benefit at the Camel (or maybe just wanting to do a shot). The four-band bill provided a lot of entertainment for a minimum donation of five dollars, which benefited the Gulf Coast Fund and Tri-State Bird Rescue and Research.
Ophelia's stunning folk rock got things rolling. Their recent FB status, "Ophelia practiced last night. We still got it...or something like it," belies just how amazing their sound is. They've got it alright and anyone who hears it immediately recognizes that magic.
A musician friend who had never heard them before said as much to me tonight. I had come knowing I'd be bowled over again, but he'd been unprepared for the sheer amount of local talent perfectly combined in this one project. Ophelia are not to be missed.
Next up was the evening's organizer, Lydia Ooghe, with two of the four members of her band Lux Vacancy (one had a wedding and one had a fever). For many in the audience, it was their first time hearing her with backing musicians, although I've been lucky enough to hear the group in total already.
As impressive as Lydia's voice and songwriting skills are solo, the music is taken to another level with other musicians rounding out her sound. One friend said even her voice sounded bigger. Tonight she had bass and drums behind her guitar and singing and the crowd was clearly enthralled with the trio. I suppose they'd have been over the moon with the full band in attendance.
After what felt like an endless break between sets, Ilad took the stage and played the best set I'd ever heard them play in several years of being their fan. Most of the songs are off the upcoming album and featured multiple vocalists, an interesting change for them.
My musician friend tried to define their sound by saying that they were 60s psychedelic-influenced but didn't actually sound like 60s or psychedelic music. It's as apt a description as any for their unique sound. Interesting tangents in the music brought to mind prog-rock or even jazz influences, not unlikely given some of the band members' jazz roots.
Caulit Anything was just taking the stage when I headed out. Their loyal fans had been noisily awaiting their set for some time before it actually happened.
Leaving the Camel and crossing Broad Street, a guy stuck his face out of the car window and made a big smooching sound at me. His mother would be so proud.
About as proud as BP should be.
Ophelia's stunning folk rock got things rolling. Their recent FB status, "Ophelia practiced last night. We still got it...or something like it," belies just how amazing their sound is. They've got it alright and anyone who hears it immediately recognizes that magic.
A musician friend who had never heard them before said as much to me tonight. I had come knowing I'd be bowled over again, but he'd been unprepared for the sheer amount of local talent perfectly combined in this one project. Ophelia are not to be missed.
Next up was the evening's organizer, Lydia Ooghe, with two of the four members of her band Lux Vacancy (one had a wedding and one had a fever). For many in the audience, it was their first time hearing her with backing musicians, although I've been lucky enough to hear the group in total already.
As impressive as Lydia's voice and songwriting skills are solo, the music is taken to another level with other musicians rounding out her sound. One friend said even her voice sounded bigger. Tonight she had bass and drums behind her guitar and singing and the crowd was clearly enthralled with the trio. I suppose they'd have been over the moon with the full band in attendance.
After what felt like an endless break between sets, Ilad took the stage and played the best set I'd ever heard them play in several years of being their fan. Most of the songs are off the upcoming album and featured multiple vocalists, an interesting change for them.
My musician friend tried to define their sound by saying that they were 60s psychedelic-influenced but didn't actually sound like 60s or psychedelic music. It's as apt a description as any for their unique sound. Interesting tangents in the music brought to mind prog-rock or even jazz influences, not unlikely given some of the band members' jazz roots.
Caulit Anything was just taking the stage when I headed out. Their loyal fans had been noisily awaiting their set for some time before it actually happened.
Leaving the Camel and crossing Broad Street, a guy stuck his face out of the car window and made a big smooching sound at me. His mother would be so proud.
About as proud as BP should be.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Scoring My Life, Glows in the Dark-Style
You gotta love the Camel for their Sunday night shows; when nothing's happening at other venues, they frequently have music with which to end the weekend. Tonight it was Lux Vacancy and Glows in the Dark, two bands I knew were worth seeing again.
Last time I saw Lydia Ooghe was at the Listening Room, here, and tonight she'd added Cameron Ralston on bass, a worthy addition to the band's sound. Her quirky lyrics ("You make my timbers shiver" was a personal favorite) on topics such as falling in love with a rat or Dad being a waffle cone and Mom being a scoop of strawberry ice cream are ear-catching, especially given her unique voice.
Introducing a cover, she said it was "...a Bill withers song. You've probably heard it," and handed off her guitar, crossed her legs, clutched the chair seat and launched into "Ain't' No Sunshine." It was brilliant. Closing with the song "Jam, Baby," she sang, "I quit you, but you stuck to my shoe." In her little girl voice, it was a charming finish to a fine set.
Then it was on to Glows in the Dark, a band I love for many reasons. First, the beauty of their music is that any song sounds like it could have been lifted from an atmospheric scene in a movie. If I ever want the story of my life scored, they're doing the soundtrack.
Also, with song titles like "Gary Glitter" and "Europe" the listener is inevitably surprised at how the music develops, given the improvisational quality of it. There were plenty of musicians in the audience, all nodding in appreciation as the melodies took off on various tangents.
And then there was dancing guy, the one who planted himself front and center while the rest of the audience sat. The problem being that free jazz is a bit tough to dance and clap to, what with musicians improvising all over the place and ever-changing time signatures, not that this guy didn't try anyway.
You could see the smiles and murmured conversations around the room from his first shout-out to the band through his ever-twitching dance moves. I have no doubt that he thought he was one with the music and he did provide some stellar entertainment, sometimes dropping to the ground, other times just shaking his head so hard you thought his neck would snap.
Not that I'm making fun of dancing guy; he was obviously a music lover and was demonstrating that with his body. It wasn't that the audience was embarrassed for him, but he got to be a little distracting after the first few minutes.
And you don't really want distractions when Glows in the Dark is playing. Their music is an aural trip on its own, taking the listener wherever his or her head wants to go.
I like to just sit back and imagine which episode in my life each song is describing...or perhaps even predicting. No visuals needed.
Last time I saw Lydia Ooghe was at the Listening Room, here, and tonight she'd added Cameron Ralston on bass, a worthy addition to the band's sound. Her quirky lyrics ("You make my timbers shiver" was a personal favorite) on topics such as falling in love with a rat or Dad being a waffle cone and Mom being a scoop of strawberry ice cream are ear-catching, especially given her unique voice.
Introducing a cover, she said it was "...a Bill withers song. You've probably heard it," and handed off her guitar, crossed her legs, clutched the chair seat and launched into "Ain't' No Sunshine." It was brilliant. Closing with the song "Jam, Baby," she sang, "I quit you, but you stuck to my shoe." In her little girl voice, it was a charming finish to a fine set.
Then it was on to Glows in the Dark, a band I love for many reasons. First, the beauty of their music is that any song sounds like it could have been lifted from an atmospheric scene in a movie. If I ever want the story of my life scored, they're doing the soundtrack.
Also, with song titles like "Gary Glitter" and "Europe" the listener is inevitably surprised at how the music develops, given the improvisational quality of it. There were plenty of musicians in the audience, all nodding in appreciation as the melodies took off on various tangents.
And then there was dancing guy, the one who planted himself front and center while the rest of the audience sat. The problem being that free jazz is a bit tough to dance and clap to, what with musicians improvising all over the place and ever-changing time signatures, not that this guy didn't try anyway.
You could see the smiles and murmured conversations around the room from his first shout-out to the band through his ever-twitching dance moves. I have no doubt that he thought he was one with the music and he did provide some stellar entertainment, sometimes dropping to the ground, other times just shaking his head so hard you thought his neck would snap.
Not that I'm making fun of dancing guy; he was obviously a music lover and was demonstrating that with his body. It wasn't that the audience was embarrassed for him, but he got to be a little distracting after the first few minutes.
And you don't really want distractions when Glows in the Dark is playing. Their music is an aural trip on its own, taking the listener wherever his or her head wants to go.
I like to just sit back and imagine which episode in my life each song is describing...or perhaps even predicting. No visuals needed.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Listening for All the Right Reasons
You don't see a good friend for a few weeks and when you finally do your time is limited by prior committments, so all the Counoise and Malbec in the restaurant can't help you catch up on each other's lives any faster than you do. But we tried diligently, we really did.
The starting point was Six Burner (at her request but always a good choice for me) and while I was the sole customer at 6:00, within the hour, the place was bustling. By the time my friend arrived, I'd already regaled Josh with the details of last night's supreme soul show, knowing that as a musician he'd want to hear about such talent and showmanship and he did. His biggest regret was that I hadn't forewarned him since he'd been off by 9:30 and could have made it over. I keep forgetting that that's my job around here: tell people what to do.
My friend started by asking if I had the minutes of our last get-together and, sadly, I did not. Once we got rolling on the value of blog posts with depth, there was no stopping the words, though. Theater was next with a discussion of the hardest part of being an actor not being the actual acting, but the onstage listening and reacting (can you say Brandon Crowder?). Having just seen Tommy too, we compared notes.
She's recently started working out with a personal trainer who's been treating her respectfully and politely. much to her disgust. Tired of that nonsense, when he told her today to do another set of crunches after two previous sets, she responded, "Fuck you!" in an effort to loosen him up. After that, he seemed to finally get a feel for who she really is and how best to handle her; a well-placed expletive can do that for a woman.
Josh reappeared with an amuse bouche and we tucked into eel with roasted ramp in a mushroom sauce and what a delicious thing that was. We then ordered the salumi plate of cured meats and the risotto balls with mozzarella (that superb crust and creamy interior, what a beautiful contrast that was) to have some sustenance while we delved into heavier things.
She reads the blog so, as she pointed out, she knew the general framework of what had been happening, but wanted the full-on versions with the details I don't share publicly. It had been so long that entire chapters had closed, new intrigue had occurred and fresh fodder for discussion developed. Josh kept our glasses refilled and we talked right up until we went our separate ways on the sidewalk out front.
I had to get going because I was not willing to be late for the Listening Room; music starts promptly at 8 and I like to have a few minutes to socialize before zipping it for the sake of music.
The program began with the soft-voiced Lydia Ooghe, playing with Trey Pollard and Wells Hanley. "This is a song about wanting to go out and drink by myself," she informed the audience. Then turning to her musicians, she asked, "Do you guys know what song that is? It 's actually all of them." Favorite lyric: "I don't really care if you're a good boy/you're the only one for me."
Worth noting is that Trey was not playing his usual guitar, but instead the pedal steel, an instrument whose sound I love but don't really understand. I corrected that tonight by going up to him after the performance and asking my dumb non-musician questions. Unlike the guitar, which he's played since childhood, the pedal steel is fairly new to him. "It takes every ounce of concentration I have to play this thing," he told me, saying it was well worth it. Ah, but the sound is so wonderful we both agreed.
Nick Coward played next and up until tonight, I'd only seen him with his band, the Last Battle. He played a song from his upcoming EP and mentioned that it had horns, but that he was going to sing the horns, which he did beautifully; he also covered the Arcade Fire's Ocean of Noise. Best lyric: "Blaming the past/for what the future lacks/in this backward waltz."
Last up was Moruza (it means mish-mash and was the leader's middle name), a quintet of three women and two guys (keys, fiddle, bass, drums, singer). Saying she was nervous and babbling, a song was introduced with, "This is a song about liars...which is almost everybody." She paused to let the audience react. "No, she didn't," she said smiling at her pronouncement.
The band had beautiful harmonies with two and sometimes three female voices and claimed that usually they were the quietest band, although that was not the case at the Listening Room. Favorite lyric: "And you loved me/just the way I'd hoped you could/And you followed me/just the way I'd hoped you would." That's from a song entitled Richmond, written, they said, because the band is from here, lives here and loves it here.
I can relate. While I'm not from here, evenings like tonight are exactly why I live here and love it here. Some people would call it a big, stupid city, but I feel lucky enough to think I'll find someone amazing here.
And in the meantime, I have nights like this.
The starting point was Six Burner (at her request but always a good choice for me) and while I was the sole customer at 6:00, within the hour, the place was bustling. By the time my friend arrived, I'd already regaled Josh with the details of last night's supreme soul show, knowing that as a musician he'd want to hear about such talent and showmanship and he did. His biggest regret was that I hadn't forewarned him since he'd been off by 9:30 and could have made it over. I keep forgetting that that's my job around here: tell people what to do.
My friend started by asking if I had the minutes of our last get-together and, sadly, I did not. Once we got rolling on the value of blog posts with depth, there was no stopping the words, though. Theater was next with a discussion of the hardest part of being an actor not being the actual acting, but the onstage listening and reacting (can you say Brandon Crowder?). Having just seen Tommy too, we compared notes.
She's recently started working out with a personal trainer who's been treating her respectfully and politely. much to her disgust. Tired of that nonsense, when he told her today to do another set of crunches after two previous sets, she responded, "Fuck you!" in an effort to loosen him up. After that, he seemed to finally get a feel for who she really is and how best to handle her; a well-placed expletive can do that for a woman.
Josh reappeared with an amuse bouche and we tucked into eel with roasted ramp in a mushroom sauce and what a delicious thing that was. We then ordered the salumi plate of cured meats and the risotto balls with mozzarella (that superb crust and creamy interior, what a beautiful contrast that was) to have some sustenance while we delved into heavier things.
She reads the blog so, as she pointed out, she knew the general framework of what had been happening, but wanted the full-on versions with the details I don't share publicly. It had been so long that entire chapters had closed, new intrigue had occurred and fresh fodder for discussion developed. Josh kept our glasses refilled and we talked right up until we went our separate ways on the sidewalk out front.
I had to get going because I was not willing to be late for the Listening Room; music starts promptly at 8 and I like to have a few minutes to socialize before zipping it for the sake of music.
The program began with the soft-voiced Lydia Ooghe, playing with Trey Pollard and Wells Hanley. "This is a song about wanting to go out and drink by myself," she informed the audience. Then turning to her musicians, she asked, "Do you guys know what song that is? It 's actually all of them." Favorite lyric: "I don't really care if you're a good boy/you're the only one for me."
Worth noting is that Trey was not playing his usual guitar, but instead the pedal steel, an instrument whose sound I love but don't really understand. I corrected that tonight by going up to him after the performance and asking my dumb non-musician questions. Unlike the guitar, which he's played since childhood, the pedal steel is fairly new to him. "It takes every ounce of concentration I have to play this thing," he told me, saying it was well worth it. Ah, but the sound is so wonderful we both agreed.
Nick Coward played next and up until tonight, I'd only seen him with his band, the Last Battle. He played a song from his upcoming EP and mentioned that it had horns, but that he was going to sing the horns, which he did beautifully; he also covered the Arcade Fire's Ocean of Noise. Best lyric: "Blaming the past/for what the future lacks/in this backward waltz."
Last up was Moruza (it means mish-mash and was the leader's middle name), a quintet of three women and two guys (keys, fiddle, bass, drums, singer). Saying she was nervous and babbling, a song was introduced with, "This is a song about liars...which is almost everybody." She paused to let the audience react. "No, she didn't," she said smiling at her pronouncement.
The band had beautiful harmonies with two and sometimes three female voices and claimed that usually they were the quietest band, although that was not the case at the Listening Room. Favorite lyric: "And you loved me/just the way I'd hoped you could/And you followed me/just the way I'd hoped you would." That's from a song entitled Richmond, written, they said, because the band is from here, lives here and loves it here.
I can relate. While I'm not from here, evenings like tonight are exactly why I live here and love it here. Some people would call it a big, stupid city, but I feel lucky enough to think I'll find someone amazing here.
And in the meantime, I have nights like this.
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