Let me tell you about my 13-year old self.
This young nerd was in eighth grade at Charles Carroll Junior High (this having been before middle school became the norm) where I was an avid reader and good student who sewed my own mini-dresses. I collected 45s, babysat for spending money and had never gotten the slightest bit of attention from a boy.
I was involved in zero after school activities, which was fine by me since I could quickly knock off my homework and either hop on my bike and ride the neighborhood or find somewhere quiet to read.
All in all, I was a very happy camper with few complaints about my life beyond my 12-year old sister borrowing my clothes and returning them unwashed with her B.O. on them, which, incidentally, was far worse than my own.
I had just started wearing braces but apparently wasn't very good about oral hygiene with them, since on my way into school one morning, Anthony Basil - an uber-nerd I could never aspire to top - pointed out that I had toast in my braces after I smiled a good-morning to him.
Naturally, I was mildly embarrassed at the comment, although the fact that it came from Anthony and not a cute, funny boy helped, but mostly I was grateful for the reminder to be more vigilant about braces-brushing. That and not to eat any more toast as I'm walking to school.
Thirteen was when I finally acknowledged how much satisfaction I got from writing. Although I'd started my first novel at the beach when I was 11, it was eighth grade when my aptitude for writing became apparent to my teachers.
In English class, we were told to write a short story about anything at all, only to be surprised when six of the 37 (helluva class size) stories were chosen to be printed, bound and distributed. I was pretty proud of myself when "Has Anybody Seen My Jiffy John?" made the cut. Later in the school year, another assignment was to choose a popular song, treat the lyrics as poetry and analyze it. I chose Joni Mitchell's "Both Sides Now" and with every fiber of my 13-year old being analyzed the hell out of Mitchell's tale of life experiences I'd yet to have.
All of this is just a long way of saying that my experiences as a 13-year old bear almost no resemblance to what today's 13-year olds must go through.
I got a crash course in modern eighth graders at the Basement, where TheatreLAB's production of "Dance Nation" was opening tonight. And although the play is ostensibly about a group of competitive dancers - all girls except one boy - from Ohio trying to make the finals, the dancing is secondary to the trials and tribulations of the young girls trying to navigate adolescence.
I'm here to tell you that theirs is not the adolescence mine was. Or, as it turns out, much like the coming of age of any of us now comfortably in middle age.
During a scene where one of the girls does a monologue, she howls her affirmation of her body - men and boys telling her how perfect her ass or boobs are is already normal for her - shouting about her body confidence with fierce pride. When she finished, a woman my age nearby commented, "I never felt that way when I was thirteen."
I don't remember being unhappy with my 13-year old body at all, but nor do I recall thinking of it in sexual terms at that point. And losing my virginity was definitely not a hot topic with girlfriends.
Ditto these young girls asking each other how to masturbate, which wasn't discussed in my adolescence because back in the olden days, each of us just figured it out ourselves. Honestly, it wasn't that difficult. By high school, you might discuss it with your best friend but only after you knew what you were doing.
And mind you, we didn't have the Internet for reference.
Maggie Roop's direction is flawless and knowing, and I'd guess that being a dancer herself helped immeasurably. The young cast (and stellar Chris Klinger as dance teacher Pat, played with the utmost seriousness because winning matters) nailed the insecurities, doubts and narcissism of these girls navigating a 21st century world where everyone feels fame is attainable and competing for superiority has been bred into them since toddlerhood.
Let's put it this way: when I was 13, there was no way I or any girl I knew would have undressed in front of other girls. Hell, I had five sisters and we never got naked in front of each other once we no longer had to take shared baths.
But also, I didn't participate in team activities, so my knowledge of that kind of group dynamic as a young teen is non-existent.
As someone whose early teen years seem comparatively easy to what these young characters go through, the play registered as a sad commentary on what parents have wrought in terms of child-rearing. These are girls who have felt pressures and sexual attention from many sides since before they even get their first period, which couldn't help but make me feel sad for their lost youth.
The audience skewed heavily young so it was fascinating hearing their cheering and laughing reactions to scenes that pulled at my heartstrings and those of some other nearby Baby Boomers, one of whom noted at the end, "Not for me."
Don't get me wrong, it does my estrogen-filled heart good to sit back and, for a change, watch a mostly female cast interpret a woman-written play directed by a woman. I can't help it if my 13-year old life didn't carry the emotional weight that the 13-year olds of today must bear as a matter of course.
The beauty of TheatreLAB's "Dance Nation" is the glimpse into the now it provides, allowing people like me to consider what a monumental shift has taken place for our girls.
Now that's worthwhile theater.
Showing posts with label maggie roop. Show all posts
Showing posts with label maggie roop. Show all posts
Saturday, July 13, 2019
Sunday, February 26, 2017
You Live, You Learn
And we pause from today's hefty dose of testosterone for something completely different.
The evening may have begun with the stench of hops, but before long, estrogen was the overwhelming scent in the room. And it's a big room.
Mac and I arrived as the DJ was inundating the growing crowd with songs from the era: Smashing Pumpkins, Goo Goo Dolls, Bush.
Hardywood was hosting the latest in the Cover to Cover series, cherry picking a '90s gem sure to pull every woman who was in ninth grade or above in 1995: Alanis Morrissette's "Jagged Little Pill," a prominent feminist musical screed of the grunge era.
And let's not forget it was written and sung by a 19 year old. Nineteen!
When I commented on what a seminal album it was, Mac said she knew every word. What I recalled was that the record had boasted a ridiculous number of hits.
Wearing an off-the-shoulder black knit dress, torn black tights and boots, Kelsey kicked things off with "All I Really Want," sounding eerily like Alanis while Matt played the harmonica.
All I need now is intellectual intercourse
A soul to dig the hole much deeper
The thing about the harmonica is that I'd just seen Matt at the Elbys Sunday and mentioned my excitement at this show coming up. "Yea, I gotta learn the harmonica by then. I haven't started trying yet," he'd said, shrugging. "But I have a feeling they stuck it in front of Alanis and she just breathed, so I'll be okay."
The boy had come a long way in 6 days.
You could barely hear Morgan doing "You Oughta Know" because the mostly female crowd sang every syllable at the top of their lungs, fists pumping, especially on the "But you're still alive!" part.
"Does anyone have a bra I could burn?" Morgan asked after finishing the song. Wrong era.
Well, that was cathartic, I said to Mac, who shared that her friend had reminisced that the album had gotten her through her divorce. Her and every woman who got divorced for the next decade, I'd bet.
I spotted my photographer friend making his way toward the stage, the massive lens on his camera giving him easy access to a front row position while his honey happily danced and sang nearby.
There was the angst of "Perfect," a solid reminder of how dark grunge got, followed by Maggie in a plaid flannel shirt doing "Hand in My Pocket" while the crowd not only sang along but did the hand gestures - peace sign, playing piano, hailing a taxi.
I'm broke, but I'm happy
I'm poor, but I'm kind
I'm short but I'm healthy, yeah
With Kelsey singing "Right Through You," guitarist Oliver did double duty, alternately playing the electric guitar around his neck and the acoustic guitar on a stand in front of him, the electric wedged between them.
So it wasn't only major singing talent onstage, the band was superb, too.
Debra came out to sing "Forgiven" to find the mic set about two feet over her short stature, but, as always, used her force of nature voice to command the room.
You know how us Catholic girls can be
We make up for so much time a little too late
The angelic-faced Georgia not only killed "You Learn," but managed a high legged kick (in Chuck Taylors with green shoelaces, no less) during the ai-yi portion of the song.
I recommend getting your heart trampled on to anyone, yeah
I recommend walking around naked in your living room, yeah
Maggie was back for "Head Over Feet" (would the radio hits never end?) and by now, the crowd was nearly orgasmic with memories of their youth.
You're the best listener that I've ever met
You're my best friend, best friend with benefits
What took me so long?
When it was time for "Mary Jane," Matt said that Debra had told him years ago that if Cover to Cover ever did "Jagged Little Pill," she had dibs on "Mary Jane" because, according to her, it's her car jam. When she finished belting it out, Mac looked at me in awe. "She has an amazing voice."
And speaking of amazing voices, around the time the crowd was beginning to wonder if an Alanis album meant we weren't going to get to hear Matt sing, he appeared to do "Ironic," promising that it was going to get weird.
Matt playing a girl's part is hardly headlines for him and we got a terrific cover of "Ironic," never more heartfelt than when he sang about "meeting the man of my dreams."
Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
And life has a funny way of helping you out
When he concluded, he observed that there was something timely about the album to him. Mac said she'd just been thinking the same thing.
"That's the year I was born!" Kelsey piped up while sporting a shit-eating grin and getting grief for her youth before doing "Not the Doctor" and pushing the young women behind us into ecstasies.
I don't want to be the sweeper of the egg shells that you walk upon
And I don't want to be your other half, I believe that 1 and 1 make 2
"I want this album," one announced. "I'm going to Spotify it."
Kelsey and Morgan's harmonies on "Wake Up" were goosebump-inducing, almost as magnificent as their manes of hair.
And, in what seemed like no time, "Jagged Little Pill" was over, except no female in the room was ready to accept that. Matt announced a five-minute intermission to re-hydrate with beer before the show carried on.
Afraid of losing our prime floor space in the second row, Mac and I stayed rooted for the duration and Matt began the second half with an a capella version of "Your House" before Kelsey took the reins with "21 Things I Want in a Lover" and we moved into Alanis' subsequent music.
I'm in no hurry, I could wait forever
I'm in no rush because I like being solo
There are no worries and certainly no pressure in the meantime
I'll live like there's no tomorrow
It only got better with Debra singing "Thank U" while Matt played a small keyboard on a shoulder strap ("What I'm doing is so not impressive," he assured the audience) and one of the trio of blond sisters behind us (none of whom could have been as old as this album) sighed, "I looooove this song."
The moment I let go of it
Was the moment I touched down
When Debra sang, "How 'bout no longer being masochistic," she also said in an aside just afterwards, "Unless that's your thing..."
But what struck me about the song was the difference in the words from the angry female lyrics of "Jagged Little Pill" three years earlier. Clearly our little girl had done some growing in those years.
"It's about to get real meta, y'all," Maggie warned as Georgia told the crowd to take a deep breath in and launched into a slow burn version of the Black Eyed Peas' "My Humps" set to acoustic guitar and sung by a woman who looked like Doris Day and who, for a change, was not throwing snack-sized Ziplock bags of bacon at the crowd as she has been known to do.
She was doing such a fabulous cover of the song that half the room never even recognized what she was singing or the fiercely clever arrangement she was using.
Morgan got up to sing "Hands Clean," saying, "This song has more lyrics than a George R.R. Martin novel," while being accompanied by Matt on bass, playing it for the first time in his life. It was quite a combination.
Ooh, this could get messy
But you don't seem to mind
Ooh, don't go telling everybody
And overlook this supposed crime
"You have to really live in 1995 tonight!" Matt exhorted the crowd.
By that point, they'd covered the highlights of Alanis' post-"Jagged Little Pill" period but the crowd still screamed for more, which netted us an encore of four songs we'd already heard - "All I Really Want," "Hand In My Pocket" and "You Learn."
It would have been plenty to send us out into the night except for one song.
To close out the night, Kelsey did "You Oughta Know," sounding every bit as angry as Alanis had circa 1995 and with a crowd hoarse from singing yet still trying and determined to dance in place until the last.
And the stench of estrogen so thick in the air you could have cut it with a knife.
I recommend biting off more than you can chew to anyone
I certainly do
I recommend sticking your foot in your mouth at any time
Feel free
After living and learning from Alanis, I recommend letting go, walking around your living room naked and living like there's no tomorrow.
And as for the pursuit of a soul to dig the hole of intellectual intercourse deeper, I'd also recommend whittling that list from 21 to something more realistic. I certainly do.
Far greater likelihood of touching down that way.
The evening may have begun with the stench of hops, but before long, estrogen was the overwhelming scent in the room. And it's a big room.
Mac and I arrived as the DJ was inundating the growing crowd with songs from the era: Smashing Pumpkins, Goo Goo Dolls, Bush.
And let's not forget it was written and sung by a 19 year old. Nineteen!
When I commented on what a seminal album it was, Mac said she knew every word. What I recalled was that the record had boasted a ridiculous number of hits.
Wearing an off-the-shoulder black knit dress, torn black tights and boots, Kelsey kicked things off with "All I Really Want," sounding eerily like Alanis while Matt played the harmonica.
All I need now is intellectual intercourse
A soul to dig the hole much deeper
The thing about the harmonica is that I'd just seen Matt at the Elbys Sunday and mentioned my excitement at this show coming up. "Yea, I gotta learn the harmonica by then. I haven't started trying yet," he'd said, shrugging. "But I have a feeling they stuck it in front of Alanis and she just breathed, so I'll be okay."
The boy had come a long way in 6 days.
You could barely hear Morgan doing "You Oughta Know" because the mostly female crowd sang every syllable at the top of their lungs, fists pumping, especially on the "But you're still alive!" part.
"Does anyone have a bra I could burn?" Morgan asked after finishing the song. Wrong era.
Well, that was cathartic, I said to Mac, who shared that her friend had reminisced that the album had gotten her through her divorce. Her and every woman who got divorced for the next decade, I'd bet.
I spotted my photographer friend making his way toward the stage, the massive lens on his camera giving him easy access to a front row position while his honey happily danced and sang nearby.
There was the angst of "Perfect," a solid reminder of how dark grunge got, followed by Maggie in a plaid flannel shirt doing "Hand in My Pocket" while the crowd not only sang along but did the hand gestures - peace sign, playing piano, hailing a taxi.
I'm broke, but I'm happy
I'm poor, but I'm kind
I'm short but I'm healthy, yeah
With Kelsey singing "Right Through You," guitarist Oliver did double duty, alternately playing the electric guitar around his neck and the acoustic guitar on a stand in front of him, the electric wedged between them.
So it wasn't only major singing talent onstage, the band was superb, too.
Debra came out to sing "Forgiven" to find the mic set about two feet over her short stature, but, as always, used her force of nature voice to command the room.
You know how us Catholic girls can be
We make up for so much time a little too late
The angelic-faced Georgia not only killed "You Learn," but managed a high legged kick (in Chuck Taylors with green shoelaces, no less) during the ai-yi portion of the song.
I recommend getting your heart trampled on to anyone, yeah
I recommend walking around naked in your living room, yeah
Maggie was back for "Head Over Feet" (would the radio hits never end?) and by now, the crowd was nearly orgasmic with memories of their youth.
You're the best listener that I've ever met
You're my best friend, best friend with benefits
What took me so long?
When it was time for "Mary Jane," Matt said that Debra had told him years ago that if Cover to Cover ever did "Jagged Little Pill," she had dibs on "Mary Jane" because, according to her, it's her car jam. When she finished belting it out, Mac looked at me in awe. "She has an amazing voice."
And speaking of amazing voices, around the time the crowd was beginning to wonder if an Alanis album meant we weren't going to get to hear Matt sing, he appeared to do "Ironic," promising that it was going to get weird.
Matt playing a girl's part is hardly headlines for him and we got a terrific cover of "Ironic," never more heartfelt than when he sang about "meeting the man of my dreams."
Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
And life has a funny way of helping you out
When he concluded, he observed that there was something timely about the album to him. Mac said she'd just been thinking the same thing.
"That's the year I was born!" Kelsey piped up while sporting a shit-eating grin and getting grief for her youth before doing "Not the Doctor" and pushing the young women behind us into ecstasies.
I don't want to be the sweeper of the egg shells that you walk upon
And I don't want to be your other half, I believe that 1 and 1 make 2
"I want this album," one announced. "I'm going to Spotify it."
Kelsey and Morgan's harmonies on "Wake Up" were goosebump-inducing, almost as magnificent as their manes of hair.
And, in what seemed like no time, "Jagged Little Pill" was over, except no female in the room was ready to accept that. Matt announced a five-minute intermission to re-hydrate with beer before the show carried on.
Afraid of losing our prime floor space in the second row, Mac and I stayed rooted for the duration and Matt began the second half with an a capella version of "Your House" before Kelsey took the reins with "21 Things I Want in a Lover" and we moved into Alanis' subsequent music.
I'm in no hurry, I could wait forever
I'm in no rush because I like being solo
There are no worries and certainly no pressure in the meantime
I'll live like there's no tomorrow
It only got better with Debra singing "Thank U" while Matt played a small keyboard on a shoulder strap ("What I'm doing is so not impressive," he assured the audience) and one of the trio of blond sisters behind us (none of whom could have been as old as this album) sighed, "I looooove this song."
The moment I let go of it
Was the moment I touched down
When Debra sang, "How 'bout no longer being masochistic," she also said in an aside just afterwards, "Unless that's your thing..."
But what struck me about the song was the difference in the words from the angry female lyrics of "Jagged Little Pill" three years earlier. Clearly our little girl had done some growing in those years.
"It's about to get real meta, y'all," Maggie warned as Georgia told the crowd to take a deep breath in and launched into a slow burn version of the Black Eyed Peas' "My Humps" set to acoustic guitar and sung by a woman who looked like Doris Day and who, for a change, was not throwing snack-sized Ziplock bags of bacon at the crowd as she has been known to do.
She was doing such a fabulous cover of the song that half the room never even recognized what she was singing or the fiercely clever arrangement she was using.
Morgan got up to sing "Hands Clean," saying, "This song has more lyrics than a George R.R. Martin novel," while being accompanied by Matt on bass, playing it for the first time in his life. It was quite a combination.
Ooh, this could get messy
But you don't seem to mind
Ooh, don't go telling everybody
And overlook this supposed crime
"You have to really live in 1995 tonight!" Matt exhorted the crowd.
By that point, they'd covered the highlights of Alanis' post-"Jagged Little Pill" period but the crowd still screamed for more, which netted us an encore of four songs we'd already heard - "All I Really Want," "Hand In My Pocket" and "You Learn."
It would have been plenty to send us out into the night except for one song.
To close out the night, Kelsey did "You Oughta Know," sounding every bit as angry as Alanis had circa 1995 and with a crowd hoarse from singing yet still trying and determined to dance in place until the last.
And the stench of estrogen so thick in the air you could have cut it with a knife.
I recommend biting off more than you can chew to anyone
I certainly do
I recommend sticking your foot in your mouth at any time
Feel free
After living and learning from Alanis, I recommend letting go, walking around your living room naked and living like there's no tomorrow.
And as for the pursuit of a soul to dig the hole of intellectual intercourse deeper, I'd also recommend whittling that list from 21 to something more realistic. I certainly do.
Far greater likelihood of touching down that way.
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Love Is Careless in its Choosing
It's a swell life I have.
As I'm sitting on Hermitage Road en route to Hardywood, the evening sun inching toward setting on my left, a ridiculously long freight train crossing in front of me and Chakha Khan belting out "Through the Fire" at all-windows-open top volume, I am reminded of that fact yet again.
At the last minute I'd found out that tonight was Cover to Cover and that the Trunk Show band was doing "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars" and decided it would be just disrespectful not to give the Thin White Duke my attention.
In no time, I made the acquaintance of a young women originally from Michigan after complimenting her gorgeous blond curly hair. "Yea, it's the best part of genetics," she said, both of us glowing from the warmth of the tap room.
Currently on a four-year post as a political scheduler in Richmond, she admitted to still getting to know the city, which made it all the more surprising that she'd found out about C2C.
"I was in Halcyon this afternoon and overheard someone talking about it and decided I definitely needed to come," she said. Turns out she'd done theater back in Michigan, leading to a comparison of which shows we'd both seen.
When Trunk Show took the stage, I pointed at guitarist Grant in a white short and vest and asked her if he was cute. "Well, he's got a guitar in front of him," she said rhetorically. "But, yes, he's definitely cute."
Then it was showtime. Matt, clad in synthetics with a blazer on top, yelled, "I'm really hot...in more ways than one!" and the show was off and running. When he got to the "I'm a space invader" lyric during "Moonage Daydream," the blazer was thrown off to reveal a symphony in Spandex: a backless, deep-cut purple top and silver skin-tight pants.
A few notes into "Starman," my young Michigan friend turns and grins, saying, "This is one of my very favorite Bowie songs!" Nearby, practically every middle-aged guy was singing along to every word.
Matt, on the other hand, only once forgot the lyrics all evening.
"This backless thing is great in a building that's 90,000 degrees, but the fabric just doesn't breathe!" Matt lamented from stage before going on to explain to the room (and especially newbies like Michigan) that the whole idea of Cover to Cover is to "bring back the idea of the album as a story meant to be heard start to finish, as opposed to his generation's habit of hearing one song out of context and never exploring the rest of the album at all.
Hey, he said it, I'm just seconding that notion.
But it wasn't just the Matt show and stellar vocalists Ali and Maggie (she's the brilliant one who came up with the C2C idea - it's always a woman, isn't it, with the best ideas?) were welcomed to the stage to sing lead in their appropriately glammy ensembles while the rest of us danced in the sweaty tap room to every song.
In the spirit of Matt's admonition, I followed Bowie with an evening of record-listening at Holmes' man cave, drinking "good swill," as he puts it (Graham Beck Brut Rose and French champagne Beloved had planned to save for her birthday) while grooving to "Ricky Nelson Live at the Troubadour," Joni Mitchell's "For the Roses" (after the third time Beloved and I replaced the needle on the start of "You Turn Me On, I'm a Radio," Holmes cut off our needle privileges) and "Court and Spark" and "The Best of Spirit," which reeked of the late 1960s.
But it was Holmes' extensive Neil Young collection that yielded the new-to-me "This Note's for You," a 1988 record by Neil Young and the Bluenotes (which couldn't have pleased Harold Melvin and the Bluenotes) that not only had a horn section, but pulled from the same influences as Stray Cats.
Who knew Neil ever went in this direction? Certainly not me.
Throughout the night, Holmes would spontaneously announce, "Everybody dance!" and everybody did. We were having such a great time that the only reason I left at 1 a.m. was because I knew I had to be up early.
When I got home, my downstairs neighbor was on his porch, contemplating the thunderstorm rolling in, smoking a cigarette and curious about where I'd been. When I told him I'd gone to a show followed by a friend's house to listen to records and talk, he sat up in attention.
"That's so cool that you do that kind of stuff!" he enthused. Do what, have a life? "No, that's more than a life. That you intentionally listen to music with friends and talk about it. I feel like the people I know never do that. No one I know actively listens to music."
To be clear, he graduated from VCU two weeks ago and is a practicing musician and this is his reality, that people can't be bothered to really listen to music, much less discuss it.
Being a millennial must suck in so many ways.
After five minutes of shared storm watching and lifestyle discussion, I bid him goodnight, intent on getting to bed so I'd be up early enough to catch the first hour of Broad Appetit. And, unlike Holmes who cracked me up earlier by deadpanning, "I like to have secure premises when I retire," I closed not a single window before sliding between the sheets
I was not only up, I met my date on the street, so eager was I to eat and escape quickly.
Even at 11:02, Broad Street was alive with people pushing strollers, walking dogs and making the loop in search of the best small plates. Unfortunately, this year's event had a far greater amount of fair-type vendors shoulder to shoulder with local restaurants, but really just taking up valuable space, in my opinion.
In one hour, we ate the equivalent of brunch: Lucy's meatloaf over cornbread and bacon-wrapped chicken with ranch dressing, Amour's duck crepes, potato pancake with applesauce and chocolate crepes with fleur de sel, Maple and Pine's short rib shortcake with mushroom ragout and quinoa salad with avocado mousse over an heirloom tomato, Castanea's paella and Lehja's butter chicken over rice and my favorite, an edamame and avocado chaat.
Just as good as the food I ate was the weather, which maintained a mostly comfortable cloudy overhang the whole hour we strolled the circuit. Only once we headed away from the increasing crowds did the sun make a concerted effort to come out.
It's only 12:03 and the whole day and evening is still ahead of me. Yep, my life is truly swell.
As I'm sitting on Hermitage Road en route to Hardywood, the evening sun inching toward setting on my left, a ridiculously long freight train crossing in front of me and Chakha Khan belting out "Through the Fire" at all-windows-open top volume, I am reminded of that fact yet again.
At the last minute I'd found out that tonight was Cover to Cover and that the Trunk Show band was doing "The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars" and decided it would be just disrespectful not to give the Thin White Duke my attention.
In no time, I made the acquaintance of a young women originally from Michigan after complimenting her gorgeous blond curly hair. "Yea, it's the best part of genetics," she said, both of us glowing from the warmth of the tap room.
Currently on a four-year post as a political scheduler in Richmond, she admitted to still getting to know the city, which made it all the more surprising that she'd found out about C2C.
"I was in Halcyon this afternoon and overheard someone talking about it and decided I definitely needed to come," she said. Turns out she'd done theater back in Michigan, leading to a comparison of which shows we'd both seen.
When Trunk Show took the stage, I pointed at guitarist Grant in a white short and vest and asked her if he was cute. "Well, he's got a guitar in front of him," she said rhetorically. "But, yes, he's definitely cute."
Then it was showtime. Matt, clad in synthetics with a blazer on top, yelled, "I'm really hot...in more ways than one!" and the show was off and running. When he got to the "I'm a space invader" lyric during "Moonage Daydream," the blazer was thrown off to reveal a symphony in Spandex: a backless, deep-cut purple top and silver skin-tight pants.
A few notes into "Starman," my young Michigan friend turns and grins, saying, "This is one of my very favorite Bowie songs!" Nearby, practically every middle-aged guy was singing along to every word.
Matt, on the other hand, only once forgot the lyrics all evening.
"This backless thing is great in a building that's 90,000 degrees, but the fabric just doesn't breathe!" Matt lamented from stage before going on to explain to the room (and especially newbies like Michigan) that the whole idea of Cover to Cover is to "bring back the idea of the album as a story meant to be heard start to finish, as opposed to his generation's habit of hearing one song out of context and never exploring the rest of the album at all.
Hey, he said it, I'm just seconding that notion.
But it wasn't just the Matt show and stellar vocalists Ali and Maggie (she's the brilliant one who came up with the C2C idea - it's always a woman, isn't it, with the best ideas?) were welcomed to the stage to sing lead in their appropriately glammy ensembles while the rest of us danced in the sweaty tap room to every song.
In the spirit of Matt's admonition, I followed Bowie with an evening of record-listening at Holmes' man cave, drinking "good swill," as he puts it (Graham Beck Brut Rose and French champagne Beloved had planned to save for her birthday) while grooving to "Ricky Nelson Live at the Troubadour," Joni Mitchell's "For the Roses" (after the third time Beloved and I replaced the needle on the start of "You Turn Me On, I'm a Radio," Holmes cut off our needle privileges) and "Court and Spark" and "The Best of Spirit," which reeked of the late 1960s.
But it was Holmes' extensive Neil Young collection that yielded the new-to-me "This Note's for You," a 1988 record by Neil Young and the Bluenotes (which couldn't have pleased Harold Melvin and the Bluenotes) that not only had a horn section, but pulled from the same influences as Stray Cats.
Who knew Neil ever went in this direction? Certainly not me.
Throughout the night, Holmes would spontaneously announce, "Everybody dance!" and everybody did. We were having such a great time that the only reason I left at 1 a.m. was because I knew I had to be up early.
When I got home, my downstairs neighbor was on his porch, contemplating the thunderstorm rolling in, smoking a cigarette and curious about where I'd been. When I told him I'd gone to a show followed by a friend's house to listen to records and talk, he sat up in attention.
"That's so cool that you do that kind of stuff!" he enthused. Do what, have a life? "No, that's more than a life. That you intentionally listen to music with friends and talk about it. I feel like the people I know never do that. No one I know actively listens to music."
To be clear, he graduated from VCU two weeks ago and is a practicing musician and this is his reality, that people can't be bothered to really listen to music, much less discuss it.
Being a millennial must suck in so many ways.
After five minutes of shared storm watching and lifestyle discussion, I bid him goodnight, intent on getting to bed so I'd be up early enough to catch the first hour of Broad Appetit. And, unlike Holmes who cracked me up earlier by deadpanning, "I like to have secure premises when I retire," I closed not a single window before sliding between the sheets
I was not only up, I met my date on the street, so eager was I to eat and escape quickly.
Even at 11:02, Broad Street was alive with people pushing strollers, walking dogs and making the loop in search of the best small plates. Unfortunately, this year's event had a far greater amount of fair-type vendors shoulder to shoulder with local restaurants, but really just taking up valuable space, in my opinion.
In one hour, we ate the equivalent of brunch: Lucy's meatloaf over cornbread and bacon-wrapped chicken with ranch dressing, Amour's duck crepes, potato pancake with applesauce and chocolate crepes with fleur de sel, Maple and Pine's short rib shortcake with mushroom ragout and quinoa salad with avocado mousse over an heirloom tomato, Castanea's paella and Lehja's butter chicken over rice and my favorite, an edamame and avocado chaat.
Just as good as the food I ate was the weather, which maintained a mostly comfortable cloudy overhang the whole hour we strolled the circuit. Only once we headed away from the increasing crowds did the sun make a concerted effort to come out.
It's only 12:03 and the whole day and evening is still ahead of me. Yep, my life is truly swell.
Sunday, April 17, 2016
Time to Play B-sides.
As my favorite man who wears high heels says, "The time is now. That's all you need to know."
The pre-game at Rogue Gentlemen involved J. Mourat Rose, a lamb Philly steak, fried chicken skins and three luscious cheddar chive biscuits with apple butter that my companion had professed to be uninterested in until I ordered them.
Three warm, seductive biscuits later, I was given my due for ordering such deliciousness while a couple at the other end of the bar acttually lifted off of their stools to ogle our repast, eventually ordering the same.
The main event was TheatreLAB's performance of "Venus in Fur," easily one of the most fascinating two-person plays I've ever seen and not because it's about sado-masochism, either.
What, doesn't everyone have a dog collar?
All the cool kids were there for opening night, and it's always pleasant to begin by hearing my name called and then, "Hey, gorgeous" to get my attention. It was the walker/play-lover I'd not seen recently, finally getting out of his house.
He'd picked an outstanding choice for his return to play-going.
Watching Maggie Roop as Vanda and James Ricks as Thomas was an exquisite 90 minutes of thrust and parry with the two actors playing an actor and director ("Young women can't even play feminine anymore!") who are bringing to life a play about a masochist looking for his dominatrix.
You know, that old chestnut.
If it sounds like a hall of mirrors, that''s exactly what playwright David Ives seems to have been going for and it's brilliant stuff onstage.
I'm not convinced that all women want to control men, as the play's Thomas insists, but where I did agree was that nobody has out-sized emotions anymore (and we're the worse for it, I might add).
We're all explicable. What we're not is extricable.
Assured direction by Matt Shofner and terrific performances by both actors ensured that everyone who walked out of there knew they'd seen something they wouldn't soon forget.
Just as I was finding Maggie's Vanda character simplistic and a bit too broad with the comedic bits ("Remind me...?" when the Austro-Hungarian empire is mentioned), she slid seamlessly into the role of the woman being groomed to be Thomas' dominatrix, totally commanding the stage and showing what she was made of, both challenging him and seducing him.
And what man doesn't like that? She even arrived with period costumes for both of them, showing a level of planning that speaks to those of us who tend to overthink everything.
James - still memorable as a blond Hamlet in the 2012 Bootleg Shakespeare production - "To be or...Line!" - was born to play the role of Thomas, the smugly arrogant director whose life has already settled into mediocrity without him noticing, but who can't help but be affected by the crass and sometimes contemptuous actress who's showed up in his office to read for the part in his play.
TheatreLAB never disappoints, but the combination of the brilliance in choosing this steamy play and casting and directing it to perfection already has me emailing friends to nudge them to get tickets.
Don't say I didn't tell you so, kids. You wouldn't want to miss the sound of zippering when a roomful of people hold their collective breath in complete silence as a pair of thigh-high black patent leather boots are zipped up two fabulous legs. Truth.
We barely made it to Comfort before the intricacies of the post-play discussion began, followed by long-delayed girl talk ("That old chestnut?" she asks, cracking me up with her dismissive take on my life) until we are the final customers and only the bartender is left to say goodnight.
Cue next day.
Talk about unlikely, I have been to Lowe's three times in 24 hours and that's a lifetime achievement record. Also, I was spending someone else's money, which makes it a whole lot more fun.
Over the course of the day together, I am mistaken repeatedly for my companion's wife, a highly unlikely occurrence given that he pitches for the other team, but he's more delighted with the mistaken identity every time it happens. Meanwhile, he digs, plants, spreads and sweeps as if I'd given him a Honey-Do list.
I only hope my garden represents me as well as the painting the jazz drummer created for me does. It certainly smells wonderful (the garden, not eh painting).
Tonight's Leap of Faith party for the upcoming Bijou Film Center was a thank-you to all of us who'd donated to get the arthouse theater off the ground (and hopefully in my neighborhood) as founding members.
Number 178, right here, folks.
After a full day outside working, even a hoppy-smelling brewery was a welcome change, as were the sounds of DJ Carlito spinning records, along with plenty of familiar faces and music lovers.
It was especially delightful to run into one half of the Blood Brothers, visiting from NYC and, I was happy to hear, cobbling together a satisfying life producing bands, delivering his wife's food to movie sets and playing music.
Hey, whatever combination works, that's my life philosophy.
Grass Panther - two guys who sound like a whole lot more- rocked everybody's faces off (a pink-clad five year old danced like a punk veteran, unable to stop herself), addressing the song "Stinky Pants" to the men in the room ("We'll have a group session later about that," singer/guitarist Michael says) and closing by saying, "Thanks for taking the journey with us."
No, thank you for a killer post-punk set. Just what I needed.
During the break, all the founding members were gathered for a group photo complete with Groucho Marx glasses/noses on each of us, destined to be come a classic...or Facebook blackmail
The highlight of the evening may have been when one of the Bijou's founders, James, got up to explain about the Bijou and what it will be. A 100-seat art house. A cafe and bar, with beers such as Hardywood on tap.
"We'll also serve wine for people like Karen who don't like beer," James announces from the stage, a stage in a brewery.
A guy near me leans over and whispers, "Did you see people step away from you when he said that?" Um, no, but I don't doubt it.
Despite that, when he'd said it, a DJ's wife had given me a thumbs up of support from across the floor. Later, a woman stopped me to tell me she didn't drink beer either.
The difference? She didn't get called out for it in front of a roomful of beer lovers.
But isn't that almost the point? Why does a non-beer drinker go to Hardywood? Because she gets to see terrific bands and support an artsy cause that's near and dear to her heart. Even better, the Bijou not only met its goal of 360 founding members, it beat it.
Turns out we are the movie town some of us thought we were.
Call it one of those perfect synchronicity moments when the Green Hearts took the stage, because off to the side was a guy I hadn't seen in years, but whose restaurant was the first place I ever saw the Green Hearts.
It's practically poetic, right?
The band got bonus points for doing several covers of songs used in movies, including a Cheap Trick song and Blue Oyster Cult's "Burnin' for You," a song I probably haven't heard this millennium.
I totally dug it, not gonna lie.
With their dark suits and energetic pop, they were well-suited to reminding the crowd that this was a party and at parties, people dance. Dancing in place, I was completely caught off guard when a founder and all-around great guy asked me to dance, inadvertently saying no out of sheer surprise instead of just jumping in.
What, a woman who loves to dance declining an invitation?
Perhaps we should have a group session about that later. The time is now and that should be enough.
The pre-game at Rogue Gentlemen involved J. Mourat Rose, a lamb Philly steak, fried chicken skins and three luscious cheddar chive biscuits with apple butter that my companion had professed to be uninterested in until I ordered them.
Three warm, seductive biscuits later, I was given my due for ordering such deliciousness while a couple at the other end of the bar acttually lifted off of their stools to ogle our repast, eventually ordering the same.
The main event was TheatreLAB's performance of "Venus in Fur," easily one of the most fascinating two-person plays I've ever seen and not because it's about sado-masochism, either.
What, doesn't everyone have a dog collar?
All the cool kids were there for opening night, and it's always pleasant to begin by hearing my name called and then, "Hey, gorgeous" to get my attention. It was the walker/play-lover I'd not seen recently, finally getting out of his house.
He'd picked an outstanding choice for his return to play-going.
Watching Maggie Roop as Vanda and James Ricks as Thomas was an exquisite 90 minutes of thrust and parry with the two actors playing an actor and director ("Young women can't even play feminine anymore!") who are bringing to life a play about a masochist looking for his dominatrix.
You know, that old chestnut.
If it sounds like a hall of mirrors, that''s exactly what playwright David Ives seems to have been going for and it's brilliant stuff onstage.
I'm not convinced that all women want to control men, as the play's Thomas insists, but where I did agree was that nobody has out-sized emotions anymore (and we're the worse for it, I might add).
We're all explicable. What we're not is extricable.
Assured direction by Matt Shofner and terrific performances by both actors ensured that everyone who walked out of there knew they'd seen something they wouldn't soon forget.
Just as I was finding Maggie's Vanda character simplistic and a bit too broad with the comedic bits ("Remind me...?" when the Austro-Hungarian empire is mentioned), she slid seamlessly into the role of the woman being groomed to be Thomas' dominatrix, totally commanding the stage and showing what she was made of, both challenging him and seducing him.
And what man doesn't like that? She even arrived with period costumes for both of them, showing a level of planning that speaks to those of us who tend to overthink everything.
James - still memorable as a blond Hamlet in the 2012 Bootleg Shakespeare production - "To be or...Line!" - was born to play the role of Thomas, the smugly arrogant director whose life has already settled into mediocrity without him noticing, but who can't help but be affected by the crass and sometimes contemptuous actress who's showed up in his office to read for the part in his play.
TheatreLAB never disappoints, but the combination of the brilliance in choosing this steamy play and casting and directing it to perfection already has me emailing friends to nudge them to get tickets.
Don't say I didn't tell you so, kids. You wouldn't want to miss the sound of zippering when a roomful of people hold their collective breath in complete silence as a pair of thigh-high black patent leather boots are zipped up two fabulous legs. Truth.
We barely made it to Comfort before the intricacies of the post-play discussion began, followed by long-delayed girl talk ("That old chestnut?" she asks, cracking me up with her dismissive take on my life) until we are the final customers and only the bartender is left to say goodnight.
Cue next day.
Talk about unlikely, I have been to Lowe's three times in 24 hours and that's a lifetime achievement record. Also, I was spending someone else's money, which makes it a whole lot more fun.
Over the course of the day together, I am mistaken repeatedly for my companion's wife, a highly unlikely occurrence given that he pitches for the other team, but he's more delighted with the mistaken identity every time it happens. Meanwhile, he digs, plants, spreads and sweeps as if I'd given him a Honey-Do list.
I only hope my garden represents me as well as the painting the jazz drummer created for me does. It certainly smells wonderful (the garden, not eh painting).
Tonight's Leap of Faith party for the upcoming Bijou Film Center was a thank-you to all of us who'd donated to get the arthouse theater off the ground (and hopefully in my neighborhood) as founding members.
Number 178, right here, folks.
After a full day outside working, even a hoppy-smelling brewery was a welcome change, as were the sounds of DJ Carlito spinning records, along with plenty of familiar faces and music lovers.
It was especially delightful to run into one half of the Blood Brothers, visiting from NYC and, I was happy to hear, cobbling together a satisfying life producing bands, delivering his wife's food to movie sets and playing music.
Hey, whatever combination works, that's my life philosophy.
Grass Panther - two guys who sound like a whole lot more- rocked everybody's faces off (a pink-clad five year old danced like a punk veteran, unable to stop herself), addressing the song "Stinky Pants" to the men in the room ("We'll have a group session later about that," singer/guitarist Michael says) and closing by saying, "Thanks for taking the journey with us."
No, thank you for a killer post-punk set. Just what I needed.
During the break, all the founding members were gathered for a group photo complete with Groucho Marx glasses/noses on each of us, destined to be come a classic...or Facebook blackmail
The highlight of the evening may have been when one of the Bijou's founders, James, got up to explain about the Bijou and what it will be. A 100-seat art house. A cafe and bar, with beers such as Hardywood on tap.
"We'll also serve wine for people like Karen who don't like beer," James announces from the stage, a stage in a brewery.
A guy near me leans over and whispers, "Did you see people step away from you when he said that?" Um, no, but I don't doubt it.
Despite that, when he'd said it, a DJ's wife had given me a thumbs up of support from across the floor. Later, a woman stopped me to tell me she didn't drink beer either.
The difference? She didn't get called out for it in front of a roomful of beer lovers.
But isn't that almost the point? Why does a non-beer drinker go to Hardywood? Because she gets to see terrific bands and support an artsy cause that's near and dear to her heart. Even better, the Bijou not only met its goal of 360 founding members, it beat it.
Turns out we are the movie town some of us thought we were.
Call it one of those perfect synchronicity moments when the Green Hearts took the stage, because off to the side was a guy I hadn't seen in years, but whose restaurant was the first place I ever saw the Green Hearts.
It's practically poetic, right?
The band got bonus points for doing several covers of songs used in movies, including a Cheap Trick song and Blue Oyster Cult's "Burnin' for You," a song I probably haven't heard this millennium.
I totally dug it, not gonna lie.
With their dark suits and energetic pop, they were well-suited to reminding the crowd that this was a party and at parties, people dance. Dancing in place, I was completely caught off guard when a founder and all-around great guy asked me to dance, inadvertently saying no out of sheer surprise instead of just jumping in.
What, a woman who loves to dance declining an invitation?
Perhaps we should have a group session about that later. The time is now and that should be enough.
Sunday, January 11, 2015
It Was Worth All the While
Kerplunk, just like that it was 1994 again, except thankfully without Celine Dion and "The Lion King."
For the second night in a row, I was at Hardywood, this time for the Cover to Cover series where they play an entire album live start to finish. Somehow when I wasn't looking, 21 years have passed since Green Day's "Dookie" was released, so that was to be the featured album tonight.
Like every teen-aged boy in the country, I'd bought "Dookie" when it came out in '94 because even with estrogen, I couldn't resist their pop punk hooks and whiny, stoner lyrics. But even then I understood who that album belonged to.
Walking in, I ran into Brian, tonight's bass player, whom I'd just seen play bass last night with Snowy Owls. Even better, he's playing tomorrow at Hardywood with yet another band, that one a jazz group. Versatile guy doing shoegaze, punk and jazz in a matter of 48 hours.
Hardywood had a big crowd for the show tonight, whether for beer or a trip down middle school memory lane, I couldn't say. A couple of (male) friends joined me near the front, no doubt there because they were 12 and 14 years old when it came out.
Although the show was supposed to start at 7:30, it didn't, so the crowd kept growing until finally ringleader Matt Shofner (in a short-sleeved black shirt and bow tie) took the stage with the crack Cover to Cover band, saying, "Punctuality isn't punk." You know, he had a point.
Matt wasn't the only one looking the part. When I'd seen bassist Brian earlier, his long hair had been up, but now he'd released his waist-length locks, looking ready to rock.
Explaining that "Dookie" had been released on February 1, 1994, he reminded us that it had arrived in an era of chain wallets (the chain on his pants could have secured a bank vault) and burgeoning eye liner usage. As they launched into "Burnout," the crowd began "clinking" beer cups together as the familiar strains washed over them.
Matt and his fellow vocalists - Maggie (who did triple duty also dancing and playing tambourine), Evan (black shirt, skinny tie) and occasionally the other Maggie (hilariously insisting on applause to make it worth her while)- even had the rowdy crowd sing "Happy Birthday" to the album in Green Day style ("not dirge-like").
The night really got rolling when they did "Basket Case." As Matt sang, "I am one of those melodramatic fools," a melodramatic bearded fool in the crowd exploded in front of the stage, singing along, pumping his fist, briefly jumping on stage and generally unleashing his inner 14-year old. It was a beautiful thing to see.
One thing the crowd picked up on quickly was how well the band - Brian, Bentley and Grant - were executing the songs, nailing every lick and drum fill. A girl in front of me kept yelling, "You're amazing!" at them.
Of course everyone went berserk singling along and jumping around to "When I Come Around," causing Evan to observe, "It's great to see so many of you singing along. It means you listened to this music when you were kids."
I wheeled around to raise an eyebrow at my friend, the former 12-year old Green Day lover, and he looked sheepish. "Kids!" he repeated.
Someone shouted out a toast to Tres Cool, Green Day's drummer, only appropriate.
After the last song, "F.O.D.," Matt held up his phone set to a timer and told us to be patient. He reminded the crowd that it was last call. Only when a minute and 17 seconds had passed did they launch into the hidden track, "All by Myself" accompanied only by acoustic guitar.
It's now standard procedure at the end of every Cover to Cover show for the band to encore with a few greatest hits and they did. My friends didn't bother waiting around so I told them good-night and stayed put.
"American Idiot" made everyone go crazy, even more so when Matt sang the line, "Well, maybe I'm the faggot America," pointing at himself and the crowd roared. After all, who wants to be part of the redneck agenda?
"Brain Stew" only fed the fire and after that, he announced, "Okay, get out your lighters," which for this age group means cell phones with the flashlight feature on and sang "Time of Your Life." The room sang along at the top of our voices.
So take the photographs and still frames in your mind
Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time
After one last full-throttle rocking, the band was introduced and we were thanked by Matt, but the band had other ideas. They began playing "Welcome to Paradise" for the second time tonight and the space in front of the stage, sloppy with spilled beer, finally turned into a mosh pit with bodies flying as they sang along.
It was very 1994. Like then, I stayed out of the fray but enjoyed watching every minute of it. Green Day calls that "Having a Blast." Me, too.
For the second night in a row, I was at Hardywood, this time for the Cover to Cover series where they play an entire album live start to finish. Somehow when I wasn't looking, 21 years have passed since Green Day's "Dookie" was released, so that was to be the featured album tonight.
Like every teen-aged boy in the country, I'd bought "Dookie" when it came out in '94 because even with estrogen, I couldn't resist their pop punk hooks and whiny, stoner lyrics. But even then I understood who that album belonged to.
Walking in, I ran into Brian, tonight's bass player, whom I'd just seen play bass last night with Snowy Owls. Even better, he's playing tomorrow at Hardywood with yet another band, that one a jazz group. Versatile guy doing shoegaze, punk and jazz in a matter of 48 hours.
Hardywood had a big crowd for the show tonight, whether for beer or a trip down middle school memory lane, I couldn't say. A couple of (male) friends joined me near the front, no doubt there because they were 12 and 14 years old when it came out.
Although the show was supposed to start at 7:30, it didn't, so the crowd kept growing until finally ringleader Matt Shofner (in a short-sleeved black shirt and bow tie) took the stage with the crack Cover to Cover band, saying, "Punctuality isn't punk." You know, he had a point.
Matt wasn't the only one looking the part. When I'd seen bassist Brian earlier, his long hair had been up, but now he'd released his waist-length locks, looking ready to rock.
Explaining that "Dookie" had been released on February 1, 1994, he reminded us that it had arrived in an era of chain wallets (the chain on his pants could have secured a bank vault) and burgeoning eye liner usage. As they launched into "Burnout," the crowd began "clinking" beer cups together as the familiar strains washed over them.
Matt and his fellow vocalists - Maggie (who did triple duty also dancing and playing tambourine), Evan (black shirt, skinny tie) and occasionally the other Maggie (hilariously insisting on applause to make it worth her while)- even had the rowdy crowd sing "Happy Birthday" to the album in Green Day style ("not dirge-like").
The night really got rolling when they did "Basket Case." As Matt sang, "I am one of those melodramatic fools," a melodramatic bearded fool in the crowd exploded in front of the stage, singing along, pumping his fist, briefly jumping on stage and generally unleashing his inner 14-year old. It was a beautiful thing to see.
One thing the crowd picked up on quickly was how well the band - Brian, Bentley and Grant - were executing the songs, nailing every lick and drum fill. A girl in front of me kept yelling, "You're amazing!" at them.
Of course everyone went berserk singling along and jumping around to "When I Come Around," causing Evan to observe, "It's great to see so many of you singing along. It means you listened to this music when you were kids."
I wheeled around to raise an eyebrow at my friend, the former 12-year old Green Day lover, and he looked sheepish. "Kids!" he repeated.
Someone shouted out a toast to Tres Cool, Green Day's drummer, only appropriate.
After the last song, "F.O.D.," Matt held up his phone set to a timer and told us to be patient. He reminded the crowd that it was last call. Only when a minute and 17 seconds had passed did they launch into the hidden track, "All by Myself" accompanied only by acoustic guitar.
It's now standard procedure at the end of every Cover to Cover show for the band to encore with a few greatest hits and they did. My friends didn't bother waiting around so I told them good-night and stayed put.
"American Idiot" made everyone go crazy, even more so when Matt sang the line, "Well, maybe I'm the faggot America," pointing at himself and the crowd roared. After all, who wants to be part of the redneck agenda?
"Brain Stew" only fed the fire and after that, he announced, "Okay, get out your lighters," which for this age group means cell phones with the flashlight feature on and sang "Time of Your Life." The room sang along at the top of our voices.
So take the photographs and still frames in your mind
Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time
After one last full-throttle rocking, the band was introduced and we were thanked by Matt, but the band had other ideas. They began playing "Welcome to Paradise" for the second time tonight and the space in front of the stage, sloppy with spilled beer, finally turned into a mosh pit with bodies flying as they sang along.
It was very 1994. Like then, I stayed out of the fray but enjoyed watching every minute of it. Green Day calls that "Having a Blast." Me, too.
Friday, November 28, 2014
Wig in a Box
One day you meet a witty bartender and the next thing you know, he's a transgender woman. Or, playing one anyway.
Once upon a time in Richmond, back in the days before Heritage's world domination, I was a regular at Six Burner, the restaurant that preceded it. It was there that I met a new bartender, hit it off with him and spent the evening gabbing about life, theater and music.
He made sure I knew about the new event he'd started, the monthly Ghost Light afterparty at Richmond Triangle Players. I went a few weeks later and got to see my new bartender friend in his rightful place, a stage. Matt Shofner played host and frequent performer that night and I became his unabashed fan.
Only years of those Sunday nights listening to Matt's incredible voice and watching his non-stop showmanship could have prepared me for TheatreLab's production of "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" that I saw tonight.
I'd been dying to see the inside of TheaterLab's new space, dubbed The Basement because it is, conveniently for me located in Jackson Ward.
Down the stairs I've passed so many times I went, only to find the subterranean DIY space that is evolving into their permanent performance home, learning that it was formerly a shoe store and a speakeasy, somehow appropriate both of them.
As further proof that we weren't in Kansas anymore, this was not your granny's program. It warned us to pee beforehand (no intermission), that strobe lights would be used because they're awesome and that the band was going to be l-o-u-d. I was okay with all of that.
Saying hello to artistic director Deejay Gray - looking very '70s in his desert boots - he welcomed me warmly and instructed me to "sit close so Hedwig can see you." As someone who likes to see the actors spit, he didn't have to tell me twice.
I found a single seat in the second row center, only to have a tall guy sit down in front of me. Fortunately, he was a sloucher.
"Ladies and gentlemen, whether you like it or not...Hedwig!" was a cue for the incredibly tight four piece band (appropriately bedazzled in makeup and glitter) to begin playing "America the Beautiful" as Matt strutted out in a cape, denim dress, torn fishnets and high-heeled boots.
He had some pretty impressive moves considering his heel height, that's all I'm going to say. Meanwhile, Hedwig said things like, "I do love a warm hand on my entrance."
Using song and monologue, he told the story of his life growing up in East Berlin, listening to the American music of the time - Tony Tennille, Anne Murray - on Armed Forces Radio. At one point, he stood with his leg on either side of the guy in front of me, gyrating his hips and grinding his leopard-print shorts into his face.
You see, beneath that leopard print was Hedwig's greatest disappointment: the inch of flesh left after a botched sex change operation. Hence the band name, the Angry Inch.
The play has a great score and "Origin of Love" is the best musical explanation of predestined soul mates as any I've heard. The rousing "Sugar Daddy" was instantly familiar since Matt and crew always sing that at GLAP when the hat gets passed for the pianist, although I hadn't known it was from this.
Local references abounded in the script - Hedwig was supposedly starting her tour at The Basement, her ex-lover was playing that night at Richmond Coliseum - but the best one came after a raucous number.
"I think we finally found our single," Hedwig says of the kick ass song they'd just done.
Meanwhile, he's got a Hardywood Singel in the palm of his hand and is counting 1, 2,3, 4 under his breath as he displays it. "These things don't pay for themselves," he cracked, referring to Hardywood Craft Brewery's sponsorship of "Hedwig."
As if that wasn't funny enough, Hedwig also explained what he was doing for a living in his trailer. "I lost my job at the PX and lost my gag reflex, You do the math." Done.
Because of when the play took place, namely before and after the Berlin Wall came down, there were tons of '70s and '80s references and several times, I found myself one of the very few who laughed out loud at them, no doubt a result of a young Friday night audience.
"His face might have been a Yes cover, it was so still," he deadpanned and my laugh was the only one in the room. Come on, that's hilarious...if you knew the band Yes.
The only other actor in the show was Bianca Bryan and there were times I was riveted by her performance, usually over on the far side of the stage, no matter what Matt was doing. She was an ideal foil for him, both musically and in terms of her character.
Director Maggie Roop - Matt's longtime friend and original fan - deserves a round of applause herself for putting together a top-notch production theater lovers will be talking about for some time to come.
By the time we got to the climax, it had been 90 non-stop minutes of rock and roll, Matt Shofner's mega-talent and a story that reminds us that sometimes you don't realize who your soul mate is.
Best of all, it played out in a basement in my neighborhood, christening the new space in the most impressive and irreverent way. Six Burner, I owe you.
There's a lesson here: don't stop going to bars. Look at the talent I meet. You do the math.
Once upon a time in Richmond, back in the days before Heritage's world domination, I was a regular at Six Burner, the restaurant that preceded it. It was there that I met a new bartender, hit it off with him and spent the evening gabbing about life, theater and music.
He made sure I knew about the new event he'd started, the monthly Ghost Light afterparty at Richmond Triangle Players. I went a few weeks later and got to see my new bartender friend in his rightful place, a stage. Matt Shofner played host and frequent performer that night and I became his unabashed fan.
Only years of those Sunday nights listening to Matt's incredible voice and watching his non-stop showmanship could have prepared me for TheatreLab's production of "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" that I saw tonight.
I'd been dying to see the inside of TheaterLab's new space, dubbed The Basement because it is, conveniently for me located in Jackson Ward.
Down the stairs I've passed so many times I went, only to find the subterranean DIY space that is evolving into their permanent performance home, learning that it was formerly a shoe store and a speakeasy, somehow appropriate both of them.
As further proof that we weren't in Kansas anymore, this was not your granny's program. It warned us to pee beforehand (no intermission), that strobe lights would be used because they're awesome and that the band was going to be l-o-u-d. I was okay with all of that.
Saying hello to artistic director Deejay Gray - looking very '70s in his desert boots - he welcomed me warmly and instructed me to "sit close so Hedwig can see you." As someone who likes to see the actors spit, he didn't have to tell me twice.
I found a single seat in the second row center, only to have a tall guy sit down in front of me. Fortunately, he was a sloucher.
"Ladies and gentlemen, whether you like it or not...Hedwig!" was a cue for the incredibly tight four piece band (appropriately bedazzled in makeup and glitter) to begin playing "America the Beautiful" as Matt strutted out in a cape, denim dress, torn fishnets and high-heeled boots.
He had some pretty impressive moves considering his heel height, that's all I'm going to say. Meanwhile, Hedwig said things like, "I do love a warm hand on my entrance."
Using song and monologue, he told the story of his life growing up in East Berlin, listening to the American music of the time - Tony Tennille, Anne Murray - on Armed Forces Radio. At one point, he stood with his leg on either side of the guy in front of me, gyrating his hips and grinding his leopard-print shorts into his face.
You see, beneath that leopard print was Hedwig's greatest disappointment: the inch of flesh left after a botched sex change operation. Hence the band name, the Angry Inch.
The play has a great score and "Origin of Love" is the best musical explanation of predestined soul mates as any I've heard. The rousing "Sugar Daddy" was instantly familiar since Matt and crew always sing that at GLAP when the hat gets passed for the pianist, although I hadn't known it was from this.
Local references abounded in the script - Hedwig was supposedly starting her tour at The Basement, her ex-lover was playing that night at Richmond Coliseum - but the best one came after a raucous number.
"I think we finally found our single," Hedwig says of the kick ass song they'd just done.
Meanwhile, he's got a Hardywood Singel in the palm of his hand and is counting 1, 2,3, 4 under his breath as he displays it. "These things don't pay for themselves," he cracked, referring to Hardywood Craft Brewery's sponsorship of "Hedwig."
As if that wasn't funny enough, Hedwig also explained what he was doing for a living in his trailer. "I lost my job at the PX and lost my gag reflex, You do the math." Done.
Because of when the play took place, namely before and after the Berlin Wall came down, there were tons of '70s and '80s references and several times, I found myself one of the very few who laughed out loud at them, no doubt a result of a young Friday night audience.
"His face might have been a Yes cover, it was so still," he deadpanned and my laugh was the only one in the room. Come on, that's hilarious...if you knew the band Yes.
The only other actor in the show was Bianca Bryan and there were times I was riveted by her performance, usually over on the far side of the stage, no matter what Matt was doing. She was an ideal foil for him, both musically and in terms of her character.
Director Maggie Roop - Matt's longtime friend and original fan - deserves a round of applause herself for putting together a top-notch production theater lovers will be talking about for some time to come.
By the time we got to the climax, it had been 90 non-stop minutes of rock and roll, Matt Shofner's mega-talent and a story that reminds us that sometimes you don't realize who your soul mate is.
Best of all, it played out in a basement in my neighborhood, christening the new space in the most impressive and irreverent way. Six Burner, I owe you.
There's a lesson here: don't stop going to bars. Look at the talent I meet. You do the math.
Saturday, August 30, 2014
Time Makes You Bolder
Fleetwood Mac and summer just go together.
My best friend and I saw them play two nights at the Capital Center in 1977 on the "Rumours" tour. Even know what I wore both nights (we won't talk about the mauve and lavender tube top and cut-offs).
Fast forward 37 Augusts and tonight I was right up front at Hardywood for the latest in the Cover to Cover series to see "Rumours" played start to finish by a bunch of theater people I have seen both onstage and at the ghost light afterparty many times.
But his time, it was personal. These songs are the soundtrack of my misspent youth.
With terrific songs to work with and a crack band, including for the first time, Brian Cruse, a bass player I first met when he was in Marionette and have since seen in many guises (tonight he oozed the '70s in a white leisure suit and shades, his waist-length hair down for the first time I'd ever seen), each song was a testament to its immortality.
Audra doing "Dreams"? Everyone sang along. Nick killing it on "Never Going Back"? Lindsey would be proud.
Before "Go Your Own Way," Hedwig (no Angry Inch), aka Matt, came out in full regalia sipping a beer and spitting it out on my right sandal.
I couldn't have been more honored.
It was hotter than hell in Hardywood, the crowd was huge and boasted all ages and the smell of sweat permeated the room by the time we heard Katrinah do the sublime "Songbird."
Someone handed me a cluster of miniature pink roses, apropos of nothing.
Maggie sang "Gold Dust Woman," directing the line, "Rock on ancient queen" directly at Hedwig, who returned it with a hip cock and look of his own.
The encore necessarily had to feature earlier and later stuff. Rhiannon set the Stevie fanatics (easy to spot in their stylized version of '70s dress) on fire and while I was happy to hear "Landslide," I'd have preferred "Silver Springs."
An '80s song followed but since I'd long since abandoned the Mac by then, I barely recognized it. But I did get both the first Stevie Nicks solo albums when they came out.
So while Stevie's "Edge of Seventeen" wasn't what I would have chosen to play as the closer for "Cover to Cover: Rumours," it was a crowd-pleasing, rabble rousing finish to a very hot, sweaty Fleetwood Mac kind of a night and I sang and danced along to every note.
Just not in a mauve and lavender tube top and cut-offs...although they might have been cooler.
My best friend and I saw them play two nights at the Capital Center in 1977 on the "Rumours" tour. Even know what I wore both nights (we won't talk about the mauve and lavender tube top and cut-offs).
Fast forward 37 Augusts and tonight I was right up front at Hardywood for the latest in the Cover to Cover series to see "Rumours" played start to finish by a bunch of theater people I have seen both onstage and at the ghost light afterparty many times.
But his time, it was personal. These songs are the soundtrack of my misspent youth.
With terrific songs to work with and a crack band, including for the first time, Brian Cruse, a bass player I first met when he was in Marionette and have since seen in many guises (tonight he oozed the '70s in a white leisure suit and shades, his waist-length hair down for the first time I'd ever seen), each song was a testament to its immortality.
Audra doing "Dreams"? Everyone sang along. Nick killing it on "Never Going Back"? Lindsey would be proud.
Before "Go Your Own Way," Hedwig (no Angry Inch), aka Matt, came out in full regalia sipping a beer and spitting it out on my right sandal.
I couldn't have been more honored.
It was hotter than hell in Hardywood, the crowd was huge and boasted all ages and the smell of sweat permeated the room by the time we heard Katrinah do the sublime "Songbird."
Someone handed me a cluster of miniature pink roses, apropos of nothing.
Maggie sang "Gold Dust Woman," directing the line, "Rock on ancient queen" directly at Hedwig, who returned it with a hip cock and look of his own.
The encore necessarily had to feature earlier and later stuff. Rhiannon set the Stevie fanatics (easy to spot in their stylized version of '70s dress) on fire and while I was happy to hear "Landslide," I'd have preferred "Silver Springs."
An '80s song followed but since I'd long since abandoned the Mac by then, I barely recognized it. But I did get both the first Stevie Nicks solo albums when they came out.
So while Stevie's "Edge of Seventeen" wasn't what I would have chosen to play as the closer for "Cover to Cover: Rumours," it was a crowd-pleasing, rabble rousing finish to a very hot, sweaty Fleetwood Mac kind of a night and I sang and danced along to every note.
Just not in a mauve and lavender tube top and cut-offs...although they might have been cooler.
Friday, June 6, 2014
I've Got Soul but I'm Not a Soldier
I smiled like I meant it because I did.
When I heard that the second installment of up and coming new production company Spin, Spit and Swear's Cover to Cover series was going to be the Killer's stellar debut album "Hot Fuss," I cleared the decks for tonight.
When that album came out in 2004, it was the antithesis of everything I was then listening to, a lot of which was post-punk revival, so the likes of Interpol, Editors, Franz Ferdinand and the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs.
Then along comes this glammy sounding band with an album full of distinctive guitar, which I loved, but also synths and soaring anthemic songs that made you want to shake your ass.
Not ashamed to say I fell hard for it but I was hardly the only one since it's since ended up on all kinds of "best debut albums" and "best albums of the aughts" lists before long.
All of that is a roundabout way of saying that I was not going to miss hearing "Hot Fuss" performed live tonight by some major talent from the local theater community.
Passing a guy in a t-shirt that read, "You can't drink all day if you don't start in the morning," and giving him credit for his honesty, I claimed a spot near the stage to wait for the show.
Almost immediately I found myself next to a guitarist I know with a beer in his hand. I had to know. Was he there for the beer or the music?
"I love this album," he admitted. Join the club, friend. "And I never saw them."
Well, there I had a leg up because I saw them back in 2006 at Merriweather Post Pavilion and while I was happy to hear them live, we were so far back on the lawn that they looked like miniatures on stage.
At least tonight I'd be able to see the band sweat.
Not long after, I overheard the trio next to me begin talking about "Hot Fuss" and not one of them knew it. They said they'd started listening to the Killers with the second album, where the band shed the glam for a Springsteen-like earnestness that didn't speak to me.
They were busy trying to recall if they knew even one song from "Hot Fuss." I couldn't not join their conversation.
"Mr. Brightside"? "Somebody Told Me"? "Smile Like You Mean It"? Come on, guys, work with me here. One of them thought maybe he knew "Somebody Told Me." Maybe.
I gave them a brief Killers history lesson and they were fascinated. To be fair, they didn't appear to be much beyond legal drinking age, which means they would have been in middle school when the record came out.
As if that wasn't discouraging enough, I overheard a girl who had obviously come for the beer telling a guy, "I mean, I like the Killers, but why are they doing the whole album?"
It wasn't worth my time and effort, so I just walked away.
Since the last "Cover to Cover" show, Hardywood had invested in a new sound system and I could tell a huge difference in sound quality during the sound check. This was going to rock.
I ran into the music teacher and as a kindred vertically-challenged person, we found spots right up front where no Paul Bunyan could spoil our view.
Keyboard/synth player Dave Robbins had transposed the whole album by ear and along with Bentley Cobb on drums and Grant Oliver on guitar, the band was note perfect.
Matt Shofner, he of the big voice and even larger stage presence, took the stage and with the initial spaceship-sounding synth notes of "Jenny Was a Friend of Mine," dove into 2004.
Trading off lead vocals with Russel Lacy, Sera Stavroula and Kelsey Cordrey, the cover to cover band soon had some of us dancing in place to the oh-so recognizable songs.
When Bentley went to use the drum pad nothing happened, causing Matt to joke, "It wouldn't be one of our shows without technical difficulties," but that was quickly corrected.
We only got as far as the fourth song, "Somebody Told Me" and sweat was dripping down my legs, so I can only imagine how hot the band must have been. Guitarist Grant had begun the set in a blazer, but that soon bit the dust.
Matt had the smartest idea. He went over and rolled up the garage door to the side of the stage and within moments, it was noticeably cooler inside.
Meanwhile, back on stage before the next song, he holds up a bloody finger before saying, "This is how you put on a band-aid," and demonstrating.
Co-host Maggie Roop, his long-time partner in crime and theater, looked at him and said, "That was almost hardcore until you put the band-aid on."
No surprise, my favorite, "All These Things That I Have Done," got a lot more people almost dancing and nearly everyone singing along.
Another head aches, another heart breaks
I am so much older than I can take
and my affection, well it comes and goes
I need direction to perfection, no, no, no, no
One of the things I adore about that song is how the Killers used a gospel choir for backing vocals, so I was tickled when five more people came onstage to do choir duty and testify to the rafters.
Afterwards, Matt asked if anyone knew the next song and I called out "Andy, You're a Star," but he didn't hear me. It was enough to know I was correct before Kelsey began singing it.
When Matt introduced Russell to sing lead, he told the crowd, "This is Russell Lacy. Ladies, I want you to take your panties off," before he sang.
I saw no panties thrown onstage, but I can't vouch as to whether any were removed other than Matt's and I know that only because he later came onstage and told us so.
There seemed to be less recognition on some of the later songs, but as a big fan of "On Top" and "Change Your Mind," that was other people's problem, not mine.
We're all the same and love is blind
The sun is gone before it shines
And if the answer is no
Can I change your mind?
Once they got to the end of the album, "Everything Will Be Alright," Russell soloed with his guitar on a bonus track, "Glamorous Indie Rock and Roll," which I learned was on the UK version of "Hot Fuss."
See, kids, it's not just entertaining, it's educational.
Part of a Cover to Cover evening involves four local artists creating works while the rest of us listen to music. They're supposed to be inspired by what's going on around them and then the finished products are raffled off at the end with the proceeds going to Spin, Spit and Swear. I bought a ticket (anything for S,S & S) and kept my fingers crossed.
Problem was that at this point, one of the artists wasn't quite finished even though the album was, but the band just happened to have one more song waiting in the wings and as Matt put it, "If any Killers song is a dance song, this is it."
It's tough to argue with "Human" (or, as my friend Jym once hilariously put it, "Are we human or are we dancer? Discuss.") as a perfect excuse to shake your tail feathers, but I also love the poetry of the lyrics.
Pay my respects to grace and virtue
Send my condolences to good
Hear my regards to soul and romance
They always did the best they could
That song did get a few more asses in gear before the raffle winners' names were pulled and the art, some still wet, was awarded to four lucky people.
But Matt had one last trick up his sleeve.
"In Style Weekly's Best of Issue, one of the critic's picks was the Cover to Cover series," he said grinning and went on to thank me - using my initials - for the nod. "But she practically double dared us to do "All These Things That I Have Done" twice. What do you guys think of that? Should we do it?"
A smattering of applause wasn't enough (god knows, I was screaming and clapping as loudly as I could but I'm only one woman) and he was about to leave when he asked again and a thunderous reaction had the band kicking in with the first line, "When there's nowhere else to run" and it became a giant singalong, clap-along and dance-a-thon.
Help me out
Yeah, you gotta help me out
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the back burner
You know you gotta help me out
Helluva hot fuss of an evening, sweaty legs and all. Correct answer: we are dancer.
When I heard that the second installment of up and coming new production company Spin, Spit and Swear's Cover to Cover series was going to be the Killer's stellar debut album "Hot Fuss," I cleared the decks for tonight.
When that album came out in 2004, it was the antithesis of everything I was then listening to, a lot of which was post-punk revival, so the likes of Interpol, Editors, Franz Ferdinand and the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs.
Then along comes this glammy sounding band with an album full of distinctive guitar, which I loved, but also synths and soaring anthemic songs that made you want to shake your ass.
Not ashamed to say I fell hard for it but I was hardly the only one since it's since ended up on all kinds of "best debut albums" and "best albums of the aughts" lists before long.
All of that is a roundabout way of saying that I was not going to miss hearing "Hot Fuss" performed live tonight by some major talent from the local theater community.
Passing a guy in a t-shirt that read, "You can't drink all day if you don't start in the morning," and giving him credit for his honesty, I claimed a spot near the stage to wait for the show.
Almost immediately I found myself next to a guitarist I know with a beer in his hand. I had to know. Was he there for the beer or the music?
"I love this album," he admitted. Join the club, friend. "And I never saw them."
Well, there I had a leg up because I saw them back in 2006 at Merriweather Post Pavilion and while I was happy to hear them live, we were so far back on the lawn that they looked like miniatures on stage.
At least tonight I'd be able to see the band sweat.
Not long after, I overheard the trio next to me begin talking about "Hot Fuss" and not one of them knew it. They said they'd started listening to the Killers with the second album, where the band shed the glam for a Springsteen-like earnestness that didn't speak to me.
They were busy trying to recall if they knew even one song from "Hot Fuss." I couldn't not join their conversation.
"Mr. Brightside"? "Somebody Told Me"? "Smile Like You Mean It"? Come on, guys, work with me here. One of them thought maybe he knew "Somebody Told Me." Maybe.
I gave them a brief Killers history lesson and they were fascinated. To be fair, they didn't appear to be much beyond legal drinking age, which means they would have been in middle school when the record came out.
As if that wasn't discouraging enough, I overheard a girl who had obviously come for the beer telling a guy, "I mean, I like the Killers, but why are they doing the whole album?"
It wasn't worth my time and effort, so I just walked away.
Since the last "Cover to Cover" show, Hardywood had invested in a new sound system and I could tell a huge difference in sound quality during the sound check. This was going to rock.
I ran into the music teacher and as a kindred vertically-challenged person, we found spots right up front where no Paul Bunyan could spoil our view.
Keyboard/synth player Dave Robbins had transposed the whole album by ear and along with Bentley Cobb on drums and Grant Oliver on guitar, the band was note perfect.
Matt Shofner, he of the big voice and even larger stage presence, took the stage and with the initial spaceship-sounding synth notes of "Jenny Was a Friend of Mine," dove into 2004.
Trading off lead vocals with Russel Lacy, Sera Stavroula and Kelsey Cordrey, the cover to cover band soon had some of us dancing in place to the oh-so recognizable songs.
When Bentley went to use the drum pad nothing happened, causing Matt to joke, "It wouldn't be one of our shows without technical difficulties," but that was quickly corrected.
We only got as far as the fourth song, "Somebody Told Me" and sweat was dripping down my legs, so I can only imagine how hot the band must have been. Guitarist Grant had begun the set in a blazer, but that soon bit the dust.
Matt had the smartest idea. He went over and rolled up the garage door to the side of the stage and within moments, it was noticeably cooler inside.
Meanwhile, back on stage before the next song, he holds up a bloody finger before saying, "This is how you put on a band-aid," and demonstrating.
Co-host Maggie Roop, his long-time partner in crime and theater, looked at him and said, "That was almost hardcore until you put the band-aid on."
No surprise, my favorite, "All These Things That I Have Done," got a lot more people almost dancing and nearly everyone singing along.
Another head aches, another heart breaks
I am so much older than I can take
and my affection, well it comes and goes
I need direction to perfection, no, no, no, no
One of the things I adore about that song is how the Killers used a gospel choir for backing vocals, so I was tickled when five more people came onstage to do choir duty and testify to the rafters.
Afterwards, Matt asked if anyone knew the next song and I called out "Andy, You're a Star," but he didn't hear me. It was enough to know I was correct before Kelsey began singing it.
When Matt introduced Russell to sing lead, he told the crowd, "This is Russell Lacy. Ladies, I want you to take your panties off," before he sang.
I saw no panties thrown onstage, but I can't vouch as to whether any were removed other than Matt's and I know that only because he later came onstage and told us so.
There seemed to be less recognition on some of the later songs, but as a big fan of "On Top" and "Change Your Mind," that was other people's problem, not mine.
We're all the same and love is blind
The sun is gone before it shines
And if the answer is no
Can I change your mind?
Once they got to the end of the album, "Everything Will Be Alright," Russell soloed with his guitar on a bonus track, "Glamorous Indie Rock and Roll," which I learned was on the UK version of "Hot Fuss."
See, kids, it's not just entertaining, it's educational.
Part of a Cover to Cover evening involves four local artists creating works while the rest of us listen to music. They're supposed to be inspired by what's going on around them and then the finished products are raffled off at the end with the proceeds going to Spin, Spit and Swear. I bought a ticket (anything for S,S & S) and kept my fingers crossed.
Problem was that at this point, one of the artists wasn't quite finished even though the album was, but the band just happened to have one more song waiting in the wings and as Matt put it, "If any Killers song is a dance song, this is it."
It's tough to argue with "Human" (or, as my friend Jym once hilariously put it, "Are we human or are we dancer? Discuss.") as a perfect excuse to shake your tail feathers, but I also love the poetry of the lyrics.
Pay my respects to grace and virtue
Send my condolences to good
Hear my regards to soul and romance
They always did the best they could
That song did get a few more asses in gear before the raffle winners' names were pulled and the art, some still wet, was awarded to four lucky people.
But Matt had one last trick up his sleeve.
"In Style Weekly's Best of Issue, one of the critic's picks was the Cover to Cover series," he said grinning and went on to thank me - using my initials - for the nod. "But she practically double dared us to do "All These Things That I Have Done" twice. What do you guys think of that? Should we do it?"
A smattering of applause wasn't enough (god knows, I was screaming and clapping as loudly as I could but I'm only one woman) and he was about to leave when he asked again and a thunderous reaction had the band kicking in with the first line, "When there's nowhere else to run" and it became a giant singalong, clap-along and dance-a-thon.
Help me out
Yeah, you gotta help me out
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the back burner
You know you gotta help me out
Helluva hot fuss of an evening, sweaty legs and all. Correct answer: we are dancer.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
The Only Bee in Your Bonnet
Ignoring my disdain for beer, I went to a brewery.
It's not like I hadn't been to Hardywood before; I had and between the crowd of hat boy types and young parents, had decided it just wasn't my thing.
I overlooked that tonight for the sake of bringing back geek chic.
Some theater friends were hosting an evening of music, but not just some band I could see elsewhere. Good bands, even friends' bands, play there all the time and I don't go.
No, tonight they were presenting their first "Cover to Cover" concert featuring a live band doing every song in order off They Might Be Giants' seminal 1990 album, "Flood."
Needless to say, I had to be there.
Luckily, in addition to hordes of moderately drunk people, I also found a few friends in the crowd, including a lot of actors and musicians.
The handsome bass player, inexplicably wearing a red clown nose, found me first and we commiserated about the distasteful smell of a brewery, an odor that had him gagging the first time he'd come to Hardywood to play a show.
But I can't just talk to one person, and before long I ran into the jeweler, one of last night's drummers and a Jackson Ward neighbor.
The evening was hosted by Matt, the same Matt who hosts the Ghost Light Afterparty with aplomb and high heels.
After the band played the brief "Intro to Flood," Matt and Evan sang the classic "Birdhouse In Your Soul," only messing up a little.
After mad clapping, Matt observed, "You guys are far too forgiving." Copious amounts of beer will do that to you.
After a few minor adjustments to the sound system, Evan informed us, "We're gonna turn up the vocals higher in the mix so you can hear us better not knowing the words."
Meanwhile, the girl standing in front of me turned and said to me, "If my hair gets too big, just flip it out of your way."
Will do, honey.
Symphony violinist Treesa came onstage for "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)" after having lost an hour of her life learning the part yesterday and promptly nailed it, making the song just about perfect.
It was during "Your Racist Friend" that Matt got jiggy with it, knocking into the pianist's music stand and light.
The Richmond symphony librarian, who happened to be in the crowd, vaulted onstage, adjusting the light for him like it was his job, which it wasn't.
Maggie did "Particle Man' complete with hand gestures just short of interpretive dance.
By then the crowd was pretty big and Evan said, "Sorry to those of you in the middle and back who can't hear us. Scooch closer and we'll all sweat to the oldies.
"We'll only bite if you want us to," Matt added, probably not kidding.
After "We Want a Rock," the Star Foster Dance Project showed up on two stages for several songs, including for "Minimum Wage," where a dancer named Egbert did a frenetic dance that perfectly mimicked the song's energy.
Katrinah and Maggie did a killer version of "Women and Men" with Matt singing back-up crouched on the floor at the women's feet. Appropriate, I thought.
Before "Sapphire Bullets of Pure Love," Matt warned us, "Here comes a song we never practiced." In other words, it was just like being at the Ghost Light Afterparty.
After the final song, "Road Movie to Berlin," they had time to kill before the art raffle, so they did "Birdhouse in Your Soul" again, this time to a far more, um, lubricated crowd.
The theater crowd, grouped to the right of the stage, created a big dance party, getting everyone else dancing, too.
Of course, once they'd done that, how could they not bring Treesa back onstage for one last rousing rendition of "Istanbul"?
"Look at all the invisible panties being thrown up here on stage!" Matt yelled, in the finest GLAP tradition.
And speaking of those fine GLAP folks, Matt and Maggie, tonight was only the first in the"Cover to Cover" series designed to raise money for their new production company, Spin, Spit and Swear, an apt metaphor for anything they do.
Once the music was over, I said my farewells to the good people and headed back to J-Ward for dinner at Lucy's.
Walking in, I heard my name called and found a wine rep, a pizza mogul and their husbands eating dinner before journeying out to Short Pump to see Eddie Murphy's brother at a comedy club.
Asking where I'd been, I shared, only to see my friend's face fall.
"I love that album! How did I not hear about that?" she wailed. Knowing about the first time for anything new is always the hardest.
After they left, I settled in at the bar where the bartender asked if I wanted Espolon, but I needed something better suited to warming me up on a cold night.
Her memory was excellent, but no, I was hoping for a glass of Stefano Antonucci Rosse Piceno, a Sangiovese and Montepulciano blend from Santa Barbara, a place with fond memories for the abundance of wine tasting I'd done there on vacation a few years back.
Playing on the screen was Alfred Hitchcock's "Lifeboat," a 1944 film I've never seen, but with no subtitles, couldn't really follow. I did question how Tallulah Bankhead was able to look so well-groomed stuck in a lifeboat for so long.
It was while I was eating a Cesar salad with white anchovies (perfectly dressed, too often not the case and I can't stand greens dripping in dressing) that I heard my name called again, this time by an actress I knew who had moved to Washington, D.C.
She's back to do a role in "The Elaborate Entrance of Chad Deity" at Firehouse Theater, promising flesh, fighting and a whole lot more inappropriate behavior if I come see it.
Sounds like a superb night of theater to me.
While eating some addictive spicy walnuts (cayenne, sugar, salt), I heard the table behind me talking about Black Iris Studio and the "suitcase exhibit," so I wasted no time in twirling around in my bar stool and telling them plenty about this terrific traveling music installation, which I've not only written about but done myself.
They asked me questions and thanked me profusely, despite my eavesdropping.
You guys are far too forgiving.
And while you're at it, keep the nightlight on inside the birdhouse in your soul.
It's not like I hadn't been to Hardywood before; I had and between the crowd of hat boy types and young parents, had decided it just wasn't my thing.
I overlooked that tonight for the sake of bringing back geek chic.
Some theater friends were hosting an evening of music, but not just some band I could see elsewhere. Good bands, even friends' bands, play there all the time and I don't go.
No, tonight they were presenting their first "Cover to Cover" concert featuring a live band doing every song in order off They Might Be Giants' seminal 1990 album, "Flood."
Needless to say, I had to be there.
Luckily, in addition to hordes of moderately drunk people, I also found a few friends in the crowd, including a lot of actors and musicians.
The handsome bass player, inexplicably wearing a red clown nose, found me first and we commiserated about the distasteful smell of a brewery, an odor that had him gagging the first time he'd come to Hardywood to play a show.
But I can't just talk to one person, and before long I ran into the jeweler, one of last night's drummers and a Jackson Ward neighbor.
The evening was hosted by Matt, the same Matt who hosts the Ghost Light Afterparty with aplomb and high heels.
After the band played the brief "Intro to Flood," Matt and Evan sang the classic "Birdhouse In Your Soul," only messing up a little.
After mad clapping, Matt observed, "You guys are far too forgiving." Copious amounts of beer will do that to you.
After a few minor adjustments to the sound system, Evan informed us, "We're gonna turn up the vocals higher in the mix so you can hear us better not knowing the words."
Meanwhile, the girl standing in front of me turned and said to me, "If my hair gets too big, just flip it out of your way."
Will do, honey.
Symphony violinist Treesa came onstage for "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)" after having lost an hour of her life learning the part yesterday and promptly nailed it, making the song just about perfect.
It was during "Your Racist Friend" that Matt got jiggy with it, knocking into the pianist's music stand and light.
The Richmond symphony librarian, who happened to be in the crowd, vaulted onstage, adjusting the light for him like it was his job, which it wasn't.
Maggie did "Particle Man' complete with hand gestures just short of interpretive dance.
By then the crowd was pretty big and Evan said, "Sorry to those of you in the middle and back who can't hear us. Scooch closer and we'll all sweat to the oldies.
"We'll only bite if you want us to," Matt added, probably not kidding.
After "We Want a Rock," the Star Foster Dance Project showed up on two stages for several songs, including for "Minimum Wage," where a dancer named Egbert did a frenetic dance that perfectly mimicked the song's energy.
Katrinah and Maggie did a killer version of "Women and Men" with Matt singing back-up crouched on the floor at the women's feet. Appropriate, I thought.
Before "Sapphire Bullets of Pure Love," Matt warned us, "Here comes a song we never practiced." In other words, it was just like being at the Ghost Light Afterparty.
After the final song, "Road Movie to Berlin," they had time to kill before the art raffle, so they did "Birdhouse in Your Soul" again, this time to a far more, um, lubricated crowd.
The theater crowd, grouped to the right of the stage, created a big dance party, getting everyone else dancing, too.
Of course, once they'd done that, how could they not bring Treesa back onstage for one last rousing rendition of "Istanbul"?
"Look at all the invisible panties being thrown up here on stage!" Matt yelled, in the finest GLAP tradition.
And speaking of those fine GLAP folks, Matt and Maggie, tonight was only the first in the"Cover to Cover" series designed to raise money for their new production company, Spin, Spit and Swear, an apt metaphor for anything they do.
Once the music was over, I said my farewells to the good people and headed back to J-Ward for dinner at Lucy's.
Walking in, I heard my name called and found a wine rep, a pizza mogul and their husbands eating dinner before journeying out to Short Pump to see Eddie Murphy's brother at a comedy club.
Asking where I'd been, I shared, only to see my friend's face fall.
"I love that album! How did I not hear about that?" she wailed. Knowing about the first time for anything new is always the hardest.
After they left, I settled in at the bar where the bartender asked if I wanted Espolon, but I needed something better suited to warming me up on a cold night.
Her memory was excellent, but no, I was hoping for a glass of Stefano Antonucci Rosse Piceno, a Sangiovese and Montepulciano blend from Santa Barbara, a place with fond memories for the abundance of wine tasting I'd done there on vacation a few years back.
Playing on the screen was Alfred Hitchcock's "Lifeboat," a 1944 film I've never seen, but with no subtitles, couldn't really follow. I did question how Tallulah Bankhead was able to look so well-groomed stuck in a lifeboat for so long.
It was while I was eating a Cesar salad with white anchovies (perfectly dressed, too often not the case and I can't stand greens dripping in dressing) that I heard my name called again, this time by an actress I knew who had moved to Washington, D.C.
She's back to do a role in "The Elaborate Entrance of Chad Deity" at Firehouse Theater, promising flesh, fighting and a whole lot more inappropriate behavior if I come see it.
Sounds like a superb night of theater to me.
While eating some addictive spicy walnuts (cayenne, sugar, salt), I heard the table behind me talking about Black Iris Studio and the "suitcase exhibit," so I wasted no time in twirling around in my bar stool and telling them plenty about this terrific traveling music installation, which I've not only written about but done myself.
They asked me questions and thanked me profusely, despite my eavesdropping.
You guys are far too forgiving.
And while you're at it, keep the nightlight on inside the birdhouse in your soul.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Everyone Needs a Person to Turn Their Pages
The one thing we couldn't be thankful for at tonight's Ghost Light afterparty was heat.
Maybe it was there, but if it was, the females in the room couldn't feel it for the second annual 1st GLAPsgiving celebration (also given a shout-out as the weirdest GLAP ever), but Princess Di sat next to me with his Cosmo and I used his furnace-like body heat to warm my hands throughout the evening.
Hostess Maggie wore a fetching green circle skirt with "thank you" written in a dozen languages on it. Host Matt wore a headband with a giant acorn and pine needles. The guy who volunteered to run sound, a funk DJ at WRIR, was not only new to the job but new to the space. There was only one microphone instead of two and it only worked when it wanted to.
And nobody ever did find pianist Sandy's sustain pedal ("So we're going to have some choppy-sounding piano tonight, y'all").
"It's a technological shit storm," Matt warned.
"Usually I'm thankful for heat," Maggie said, shivering in one of Matt's bustiers.
Given that the set was one of a glitter-encrusted igloo (albeit with a rainbow over it), the absence of warmth fit right in.
The festivities got off to an amazing start with her saying, "First I'd like to thank the lord. You can snap along," and then she, Matt and Audra launched into Lorde's "Royals."
With nothing but the occasional bongo beats and snapping fingers, they nailed the song everyone knows.
Let me be your ruler (ruler)
You can call me queen bee
And baby, I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule
Let me live that fantasy
Nick from New York (who's apparently in the cast of "Fiddler on the Roof") was invaluable tonight, at one point calling out during a lull, "I have a pop song in my back pocket if you need it."
Wouldn't the world be a better place if we all had a good pop song in our back pocket?
Matt and Ali did a goosebump-inducing version of "I'd Give It All for You" when their two incredible voices harmonized.
When Audra and Ali got up to sing a song from "Little Women," Ali introduced it by saying, "This is where one of us dies," host Maggie broke in, saying hilariously, "Don't spoil it for the people!"
We already knew it was going to be serious because Ali spit out her gum.
Another devastating song followed when Brittney did a song from "Les Miz," Princess DI's least favorite musical.
The always clever Starlet Knight said she was going to sing the only Thanksgiving song she knew and did the sweetly retro "Counting My Blessings" while wearing a spotted Cruella deVille jacket.
From there, the weirdness flowed like syrup on pancakes.
Sam, the sound guy did "Fly Me to the Moon," a standard you might not expect from a funk DJ.
Joe did a dramatic reading of a hand-written letter he found on the sidewalk that began with, "Boo, I know things be whack," and moved through discussions of (and he'd warned us about the adult language in his "dramatic reading") both his anatomy and that of the babe he was writing to and where he'd like to see things placed.
With each reference to a body part, we in the audience began snapping our fingers in applause, beatnik-style.
When he finished, both Maggie and Ian bowed down at his feet.
The first half closed with "The Circle of Life" because what is a GLAP without it and the accompanying interpretive dance, bongos and myriad shaker balls?
Instead of the usual pizza, there was a GLAPSgiving feast of fried chicken and a yard of cookies (really, the box was 36 inches long) while dance music (Janet Jackson, Go-Gos, Tony Basil) blared.
The second act got off with a bang as Nicole got up to sing "As We Stumble Along" from "The Drowsy Chaperone," which I'd just seen a couple weeks ago.
Hilariously, she started singing, then stopped and said of herself, "She already messed up."
Maggie, who is also in the show, smiled and said, "We're in week four of our run," and pianist Sandy said, "Take 2" for the rousing tribute to alcohol.
Could there be a more appropriate song at GLAP? I think not.
Nick and guitarist Steven (whom Maggie called Jesus when she couldn't remember his name) did "Dock of the Bay," Nick promising to "break it down" for us.
Another old chestnut that got rolled out was "Suddenly Seymour" with David and Audra acting out as well as singing, while a couple slow danced over by the bathroom to it.
Wearing her Hello, Kitty gloves for warmth, Starlet returned to sing "Romance is a Slow Dance," perhaps inspired by what was going on nearby.
Suddenly it was last call and we finished out the night with Audra and Ali singing.
"This is from a musical about co-joined twins," Audra explained. "It's kind of a creepy story."
But the song, "I Will Never Leave You" was gorgeous and surprisingly well executed considering the hour and alcohol consumption, while it had the princess next to me all but tearing up.
I had to break it down for him. Don't be cryin' at the GLAP, Boo. That just be whack.
Maybe it was there, but if it was, the females in the room couldn't feel it for the second annual 1st GLAPsgiving celebration (also given a shout-out as the weirdest GLAP ever), but Princess Di sat next to me with his Cosmo and I used his furnace-like body heat to warm my hands throughout the evening.
Hostess Maggie wore a fetching green circle skirt with "thank you" written in a dozen languages on it. Host Matt wore a headband with a giant acorn and pine needles. The guy who volunteered to run sound, a funk DJ at WRIR, was not only new to the job but new to the space. There was only one microphone instead of two and it only worked when it wanted to.
And nobody ever did find pianist Sandy's sustain pedal ("So we're going to have some choppy-sounding piano tonight, y'all").
"It's a technological shit storm," Matt warned.
"Usually I'm thankful for heat," Maggie said, shivering in one of Matt's bustiers.
Given that the set was one of a glitter-encrusted igloo (albeit with a rainbow over it), the absence of warmth fit right in.
The festivities got off to an amazing start with her saying, "First I'd like to thank the lord. You can snap along," and then she, Matt and Audra launched into Lorde's "Royals."
With nothing but the occasional bongo beats and snapping fingers, they nailed the song everyone knows.
Let me be your ruler (ruler)
You can call me queen bee
And baby, I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule
Let me live that fantasy
Nick from New York (who's apparently in the cast of "Fiddler on the Roof") was invaluable tonight, at one point calling out during a lull, "I have a pop song in my back pocket if you need it."
Wouldn't the world be a better place if we all had a good pop song in our back pocket?
Matt and Ali did a goosebump-inducing version of "I'd Give It All for You" when their two incredible voices harmonized.
When Audra and Ali got up to sing a song from "Little Women," Ali introduced it by saying, "This is where one of us dies," host Maggie broke in, saying hilariously, "Don't spoil it for the people!"
We already knew it was going to be serious because Ali spit out her gum.
Another devastating song followed when Brittney did a song from "Les Miz," Princess DI's least favorite musical.
The always clever Starlet Knight said she was going to sing the only Thanksgiving song she knew and did the sweetly retro "Counting My Blessings" while wearing a spotted Cruella deVille jacket.
From there, the weirdness flowed like syrup on pancakes.
Sam, the sound guy did "Fly Me to the Moon," a standard you might not expect from a funk DJ.
Joe did a dramatic reading of a hand-written letter he found on the sidewalk that began with, "Boo, I know things be whack," and moved through discussions of (and he'd warned us about the adult language in his "dramatic reading") both his anatomy and that of the babe he was writing to and where he'd like to see things placed.
With each reference to a body part, we in the audience began snapping our fingers in applause, beatnik-style.
When he finished, both Maggie and Ian bowed down at his feet.
The first half closed with "The Circle of Life" because what is a GLAP without it and the accompanying interpretive dance, bongos and myriad shaker balls?
Instead of the usual pizza, there was a GLAPSgiving feast of fried chicken and a yard of cookies (really, the box was 36 inches long) while dance music (Janet Jackson, Go-Gos, Tony Basil) blared.
The second act got off with a bang as Nicole got up to sing "As We Stumble Along" from "The Drowsy Chaperone," which I'd just seen a couple weeks ago.
Hilariously, she started singing, then stopped and said of herself, "She already messed up."
Maggie, who is also in the show, smiled and said, "We're in week four of our run," and pianist Sandy said, "Take 2" for the rousing tribute to alcohol.
Could there be a more appropriate song at GLAP? I think not.
Nick and guitarist Steven (whom Maggie called Jesus when she couldn't remember his name) did "Dock of the Bay," Nick promising to "break it down" for us.
Another old chestnut that got rolled out was "Suddenly Seymour" with David and Audra acting out as well as singing, while a couple slow danced over by the bathroom to it.
Wearing her Hello, Kitty gloves for warmth, Starlet returned to sing "Romance is a Slow Dance," perhaps inspired by what was going on nearby.
Suddenly it was last call and we finished out the night with Audra and Ali singing.
"This is from a musical about co-joined twins," Audra explained. "It's kind of a creepy story."
But the song, "I Will Never Leave You" was gorgeous and surprisingly well executed considering the hour and alcohol consumption, while it had the princess next to me all but tearing up.
I had to break it down for him. Don't be cryin' at the GLAP, Boo. That just be whack.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Legs M.I.A.
My legs were covered day and night and that tells the whole story.
Sunday night, it was a black burnt velvet dress (purchased by a former boyfriend back in 1997 at Lex's in Carytown) that ended at my feet, the better to fit in for the black-tie Richmond Theater Critics Circle awards (aka the Artsies) at the November Theater.
Considering that my skirts always end well above the knees, my full-length attire was cause for comment.
"You look beautiful but what did you do with your legs?" I was asked in the lobby pre-show.
Put them away for the night?
After hearing that I looked swanky, I explained that that's like telling someone they look casual. I got an amended, "You look really good," far more complimentary to my ears.
One of the evening's hosts, Michael Hawke, came onstage and yelled, "Good evening, Richmond bitches!" setting the tone for a raucous evening celebrating local theater.
Not that I'm partial or anything, but Matt and Maggie, hosts of the monthly Ghost Light Afterparty, did some of the funniest awards presenting, using every possible opportunity to crack wise.
"Look at this! Everyone's in costume, everyone's wasted, clearly this is GLAP!" Matt joked before Maggie clarified it was the Artsies.
When they went to announce their first award, he yelled, "Wait! We have to have a drum roll!" and pulled out the GLAP bongos a familiar sight to regulars.
"I'm still not convinced this isn't the GLAP," Matt said, playing it to the hilt. "I'm pretty sure I saw Karen at the bar."
"I'm gonna go look for Karen!" Maggie said, using me as an excuse to leave her hosting duties and get a drink.
And while I wasn't at the bar (I was in my seat like a good attendee), it's always good to get a solid shout-out from the GLAP crew.
As if an evening with my assets hidden wasn't enough, I took a day to go to the country to traipse through the woods at the invitation of a friend.
The invite came with a warning, though.
"I know you're not fond of long pants but I'm going to recommend you wear a pair and some shoes suitable for hiking so we can trek through the wilderness."
What are these long pants you speak of, friend?
But I took the caveat to heart, went to Diversity Thrift and found a pair of jeans that I was told looked straight out of the disco.
Hip-huggers, multiple zippered pockets front and back, wide bell-bottoms and only $5.25, they were about as groovy (and cheap) as they come.
If there'd been a disco on the other side of the state forest, I could have gone there directly.
Instead, I spent most of a day wearing jeans, so rare an occurrence for me that I can tell you the last time I had denim obliterating a view of my gams.
February 2009.
I'm not expecting to put jeans back on again anytime soon, because what's the point in having good legs and not showing them off? Twice was more than enough.
Okay, maybe if I get invited to the disco.
Sunday night, it was a black burnt velvet dress (purchased by a former boyfriend back in 1997 at Lex's in Carytown) that ended at my feet, the better to fit in for the black-tie Richmond Theater Critics Circle awards (aka the Artsies) at the November Theater.
Considering that my skirts always end well above the knees, my full-length attire was cause for comment.
"You look beautiful but what did you do with your legs?" I was asked in the lobby pre-show.
Put them away for the night?
After hearing that I looked swanky, I explained that that's like telling someone they look casual. I got an amended, "You look really good," far more complimentary to my ears.
One of the evening's hosts, Michael Hawke, came onstage and yelled, "Good evening, Richmond bitches!" setting the tone for a raucous evening celebrating local theater.
Not that I'm partial or anything, but Matt and Maggie, hosts of the monthly Ghost Light Afterparty, did some of the funniest awards presenting, using every possible opportunity to crack wise.
"Look at this! Everyone's in costume, everyone's wasted, clearly this is GLAP!" Matt joked before Maggie clarified it was the Artsies.
When they went to announce their first award, he yelled, "Wait! We have to have a drum roll!" and pulled out the GLAP bongos a familiar sight to regulars.
"I'm still not convinced this isn't the GLAP," Matt said, playing it to the hilt. "I'm pretty sure I saw Karen at the bar."
"I'm gonna go look for Karen!" Maggie said, using me as an excuse to leave her hosting duties and get a drink.
And while I wasn't at the bar (I was in my seat like a good attendee), it's always good to get a solid shout-out from the GLAP crew.
As if an evening with my assets hidden wasn't enough, I took a day to go to the country to traipse through the woods at the invitation of a friend.
The invite came with a warning, though.
"I know you're not fond of long pants but I'm going to recommend you wear a pair and some shoes suitable for hiking so we can trek through the wilderness."
What are these long pants you speak of, friend?
But I took the caveat to heart, went to Diversity Thrift and found a pair of jeans that I was told looked straight out of the disco.
Hip-huggers, multiple zippered pockets front and back, wide bell-bottoms and only $5.25, they were about as groovy (and cheap) as they come.
If there'd been a disco on the other side of the state forest, I could have gone there directly.
Instead, I spent most of a day wearing jeans, so rare an occurrence for me that I can tell you the last time I had denim obliterating a view of my gams.
February 2009.
I'm not expecting to put jeans back on again anytime soon, because what's the point in having good legs and not showing them off? Twice was more than enough.
Okay, maybe if I get invited to the disco.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Like Animals
Top a night that begins with a duo singing "Karma Chameleon," I dare you.
Yea, I knew you couldn't.
The Ghost Light afterparty had an animal theme and apparently lizards were the first animals to come to mind.
Pianist sandy, clearly a product of the '80s, harmonized along with host Matt while playing a mean piano.
The woman is a wonder.
Starlet Knight, wearing her snazzy new slacks from Diversity Thrift, announced she'd be singing "Run, Rabbit, Run," a song "from the '30s before things were politically correct."
It was all about a farmer having fun with a gun.
Yep, that wouldn't fly anymore.
Keeping to the theme, Matt and Jason did "Alone in the Universe," a song sung by Horton the elephant in "Seussical," the musical."
It got an added degree of humor because Matt was wearing a green knit cap and goggles, I think hoping for a frog look.
Stretching the theme halfway, Sarah sang "part of Your World," from "The Little Mermaid," so half fish, half girl.
Close enough.
Sara P. had a decided animal motif going on with leopard pants and doing a song from "Lord of the Rings" which she dedicated to a young cancer victim she'd known.
Just before she began singing, a guy sat down in the front row and held up two phones, causing Sara to wave at them and say hello to her Mom and Dad, as he filmed her perform via the magic of technology.
"That's the first time the GLAP has had telephoned-in audience members," Matt laughed.
Honestly, nothing that happens at the GLAP is all that surprising.
The handsome Nick was next and he's definitely one of my favorites because he's got such a terrific voice.
He did "Why, God, Why?" from "Miss Saigon" and had me melted in my seat.
Dan got up to sing, with host Maggie saying, "I can't think of many people more adorable than Dan" and with his hot pink sunglasses nestled in his curly black hair, I was inclined to agree.
The scenery is always so attractive at GLAP, if you know what I mean.
Eschewing the whole animal theme, he sang "I Found a Boy," causing Matt to observe, "Only Adele would put a key change in the middle of an a capella part."
"Adele's disgusting," Maggie agreed, acknowledging the singer's effortless vocal prowess.
Starlet got back up to sing along with Rico, the green puppet pianist Sandy had brought, making for the first time we've had a puppet show at the GLAP.
Next, mime?
Robin was a GLAP virgin but her killer voice had audience members cheering in their seats for some of the notes she hit.
Must be nice to be born with a voice that silences a room.
We veered back into Disney territory (they do have a wealth of animal songs, after all) with Josh doing "Be Prepared," from "The Lion King," clearly a childhood favorite of the better part of the crowd.
Katie and Ian, looking like a darling indie duo, stood butt to butt to sing "I Will Never Leave You" from "Sideshow," a musical about Siamese twins.
Again, straying a bit from the theme, but done well enough that an audience member found her way to teeh front row and waved her Bic lighter in the air, swaying side to side.
When the music moves you at GLAP, you do what you gotta do.
Another of my favorite performers is Ben, the multi-talented Ben, still sporting a mohawk and tonight letting Sandy play (he usually does his own ivory duty) while he sang "Johanna," from "Sweeney Todd."
It was particularly satisfying for me since I'd just seen ":Sweeney Todd" the other night, but in a version without music.
Leaving the stage, Matt and Maggie cracked wise about how Sondheim songs are "so easy, hardly any notes and no meaning to them."
You see, it's okay to be a smartass at the GLAP.
"The Lion King" roared its head again with Josh and Sara doing "Just Can't Wait to be King, much to the delight of the crowd.
Of all the songs done and redone at GLAP, surely one of the most popular has been "Suddenly, Seymour," which Andrew and Tricia did yet again tonight, albeit, as Maggie said, "the most hippie-dippie, kumbaya version ever."
It's not often we get hippie-dippie, kumbaya versions of anything at GLAP.
Starlet brought her retro talent back onstage with "Straighten Up and Fly Right" with Matt hilariously taking on puppet duties.
Once last call was announced, Maggie took charge, saying shed picked the last song and it was to be an animal singalong.
"Cats!" one of the Saras screamed.
Yes, "Cats" as in "Memory," as tried and trite a song as ever written and done in full-on singalong by the last remaining audience members, although not me because I've never seen "Cats."
Well, that and I can't sing.
Midway through, Maggie began some interpretive dance and finally Matt joined in, doing his best ballet moves and ending with a dying swan dip that ended the song.
And, fittingly, animal night at GLAP, may the poor creatures rest in peace.
Yea, I knew you couldn't.
The Ghost Light afterparty had an animal theme and apparently lizards were the first animals to come to mind.
Pianist sandy, clearly a product of the '80s, harmonized along with host Matt while playing a mean piano.
The woman is a wonder.
Starlet Knight, wearing her snazzy new slacks from Diversity Thrift, announced she'd be singing "Run, Rabbit, Run," a song "from the '30s before things were politically correct."
It was all about a farmer having fun with a gun.
Yep, that wouldn't fly anymore.
Keeping to the theme, Matt and Jason did "Alone in the Universe," a song sung by Horton the elephant in "Seussical," the musical."
It got an added degree of humor because Matt was wearing a green knit cap and goggles, I think hoping for a frog look.
Stretching the theme halfway, Sarah sang "part of Your World," from "The Little Mermaid," so half fish, half girl.
Close enough.
Sara P. had a decided animal motif going on with leopard pants and doing a song from "Lord of the Rings" which she dedicated to a young cancer victim she'd known.
Just before she began singing, a guy sat down in the front row and held up two phones, causing Sara to wave at them and say hello to her Mom and Dad, as he filmed her perform via the magic of technology.
"That's the first time the GLAP has had telephoned-in audience members," Matt laughed.
Honestly, nothing that happens at the GLAP is all that surprising.
The handsome Nick was next and he's definitely one of my favorites because he's got such a terrific voice.
He did "Why, God, Why?" from "Miss Saigon" and had me melted in my seat.
Dan got up to sing, with host Maggie saying, "I can't think of many people more adorable than Dan" and with his hot pink sunglasses nestled in his curly black hair, I was inclined to agree.
The scenery is always so attractive at GLAP, if you know what I mean.
Eschewing the whole animal theme, he sang "I Found a Boy," causing Matt to observe, "Only Adele would put a key change in the middle of an a capella part."
"Adele's disgusting," Maggie agreed, acknowledging the singer's effortless vocal prowess.
Starlet got back up to sing along with Rico, the green puppet pianist Sandy had brought, making for the first time we've had a puppet show at the GLAP.
Next, mime?
Robin was a GLAP virgin but her killer voice had audience members cheering in their seats for some of the notes she hit.
Must be nice to be born with a voice that silences a room.
We veered back into Disney territory (they do have a wealth of animal songs, after all) with Josh doing "Be Prepared," from "The Lion King," clearly a childhood favorite of the better part of the crowd.
Katie and Ian, looking like a darling indie duo, stood butt to butt to sing "I Will Never Leave You" from "Sideshow," a musical about Siamese twins.
Again, straying a bit from the theme, but done well enough that an audience member found her way to teeh front row and waved her Bic lighter in the air, swaying side to side.
When the music moves you at GLAP, you do what you gotta do.
Another of my favorite performers is Ben, the multi-talented Ben, still sporting a mohawk and tonight letting Sandy play (he usually does his own ivory duty) while he sang "Johanna," from "Sweeney Todd."
It was particularly satisfying for me since I'd just seen ":Sweeney Todd" the other night, but in a version without music.
Leaving the stage, Matt and Maggie cracked wise about how Sondheim songs are "so easy, hardly any notes and no meaning to them."
You see, it's okay to be a smartass at the GLAP.
"The Lion King" roared its head again with Josh and Sara doing "Just Can't Wait to be King, much to the delight of the crowd.
Of all the songs done and redone at GLAP, surely one of the most popular has been "Suddenly, Seymour," which Andrew and Tricia did yet again tonight, albeit, as Maggie said, "the most hippie-dippie, kumbaya version ever."
It's not often we get hippie-dippie, kumbaya versions of anything at GLAP.
Starlet brought her retro talent back onstage with "Straighten Up and Fly Right" with Matt hilariously taking on puppet duties.
Once last call was announced, Maggie took charge, saying shed picked the last song and it was to be an animal singalong.
"Cats!" one of the Saras screamed.
Yes, "Cats" as in "Memory," as tried and trite a song as ever written and done in full-on singalong by the last remaining audience members, although not me because I've never seen "Cats."
Well, that and I can't sing.
Midway through, Maggie began some interpretive dance and finally Matt joined in, doing his best ballet moves and ending with a dying swan dip that ended the song.
And, fittingly, animal night at GLAP, may the poor creatures rest in peace.
Monday, April 8, 2013
To the Birdhouse in Your Soul
The Ghost Light afterparty that had been postponed because of snow had no excuse tonight.
It was "Back to Basics" so the plan was to do old-school Broadway songs for a change.
But you have to understand that for this crowd, "Hair" is old-school and that's exactly where we started with our golden-throated host Matt doing "Going Down," as in, with Lucifer.
In other words, there was nowhere to go but up.
And yet, the next thing we heard was about Audra's hair, which led to an announcement that, "Audra shaved her pussy today."
The crowd reaction showed some variety - snickers and gasps- but once she came onstage and told the story, it was a rated G version about some found kittens and one's matted hair.
Sitting onstage was a guy with a guitar who was soon introduced as Evan's brother and as he took the stage, an audience member called out, "I've seen his butt twice," no doubt a reference to Evan's current role in "The Pride" as a Nazi sex master.
Brother Chris wasn't impressed, responding, "Me, too!"
Translation: we weren't fifteen minutes into the Ghost Light afterparty and we'd already touched on going down, pussies and butts.
Is this a great way to spend a Sunday night or what?
Chris played a mashup of "My Girl" and "Ignition" and made it work hysterically ("What you gonna do with all that junk...my girl?").
Hostess Maggie did a beautiful, sad song, only forgetting lines twice and finishing by saying, "Well, that was depressing," and admitting that she'd been forgetting the words to the song since high school.
Three guys in jeans, members of Hanover Tavern's production of "Cotton Patch Gospel" came up with upright bass, guitar and threir voices.
Their first song went off flawlessly and the second required three starts before the guitarist ended it saying, "Let's get Jesus more vodka."
Yes, let's, shall we?
Kristin, an actress from D.C., is new to Richmond and she was making her GLAP debut tonight singing an exquisite song she said was written for her by Joey Contreras.
With a guest star in the house came the return of the Mad Lib, practically a GLAP tradition, but for the benefit of newbies, there was an explanation of the process to gather words for it.
We were instructed to come up with funny or dirty nouns and verbs for the Mad Lib.
"Be creative, penis gets boring," Maggie, the Mad Libber explained.
"Excuse me, penis does not get boring," host Matt clarified. "Quit making those blanket statements."
So you see how back to basics we were at this point.
Chris did his best to get us back on track with Nat King Cole's standard, "L-O-V-E."
We took another tangent, this time with Paul, who did a sweet version of the Beatles' "Blackbird," tellingly from a music book entitled, "The Groovy Years."
And, really, aren't those the years we all want to have?
Two of the "Cotton Patch" gents returned to entertain us, with Lucas doing his best to get through a song before sharing, "Hi, I learned banjo eleven weeks ago."
He got the gold star of the night for playing a new instrument and on a song that he doesn't even play in the production.
Guest star Kirstin returned for a poignant song called "The Portrait," which she introduced by saying, "It's another sad one but I figured I'd be funny in the Mad Lib."
True that, since it was set to "My Favorite Things" and she apologized to Julie Andrews after singing the insane and smutty lyrics.
Tonight's moment when time stood still came courtesy of Nick, whom I'd just seen in "The Pride," when he sang a moving version of "The Impossible Dream" in his magnificent voice.
Now, that felt old school.
We were treated to an impromptu medley of They Might Be Giants songs because uber-fans Matt and Maggie were sad they were missing the TMBG show at the National tonight.
Hannah did "Isn't This Better?" from "Funny Lady," a heartbreaking song and a personal favorite I'd never have expected to hear.
The reliably funny Maggie Boop got up and announced she was doing a dramatic reading and then proceeded to read Kreashawn's "Gucci, Gucci" with the unforgettable lyric, "Bitch, you ain't no Barbie, I see you work at Arby's."
No, really, and she did it with Matt alternating between playing bongo beats and snapping his fingers overhead, beatnik-style.
And without ever losing her poise.
The crowd, however, was rolling on the floor.
The only way to follow that was with Sarah singing "The Wizard and I" while Maggie held a lamp in mid-air to aid her lyrics-reading while doing justice to a shaker ball in the other hand.
After that, we broke for pizza and to give our faces a break from non-stop smiling.
After the break, Chris was called on yet gain, prompting him to say, "I'm the one who came in with no music and I keep getting called up on stage."
And with good reason, young man.
Evan's little brother had everyone in hysterics as he did "Life in the Slaw Lane," a tribute to the plant world.
I'm the kinda guy that works hard for his celery and I don't mind telling you I was feeling a bit wilted.
But I didn't carrot all. 'Cause, otherwise, things were vine.
I try never to disparagus and I don't sweat the truffles.
I'm outstanding in my field and I know something good will turnip eventually.
A bunch of things were going grape, and soon, I'd be top banana.
At least, that's my peeling
Brilliant, right?
For the classic "The Weight," Chris had Maggie singing back-up and audience members doing impromptu harmony...for all five verses.
By the time the song finished, everyone had the hang of it and it sounded pretty great.
The vocal co-mingling of the crowd with the performers inspired the final song of the night, a group singalong to "Tomorrow" from "Annie" and a song most people in the audience knew.
Chins were stuck out, grins were seen and the lovefest ended with one big, sloppy promise that tomorrow is only a day away.
Golly, gee whiz, you couldn't ask for much groovier years than these.
It was "Back to Basics" so the plan was to do old-school Broadway songs for a change.
But you have to understand that for this crowd, "Hair" is old-school and that's exactly where we started with our golden-throated host Matt doing "Going Down," as in, with Lucifer.
In other words, there was nowhere to go but up.
And yet, the next thing we heard was about Audra's hair, which led to an announcement that, "Audra shaved her pussy today."
The crowd reaction showed some variety - snickers and gasps- but once she came onstage and told the story, it was a rated G version about some found kittens and one's matted hair.
Sitting onstage was a guy with a guitar who was soon introduced as Evan's brother and as he took the stage, an audience member called out, "I've seen his butt twice," no doubt a reference to Evan's current role in "The Pride" as a Nazi sex master.
Brother Chris wasn't impressed, responding, "Me, too!"
Translation: we weren't fifteen minutes into the Ghost Light afterparty and we'd already touched on going down, pussies and butts.
Is this a great way to spend a Sunday night or what?
Chris played a mashup of "My Girl" and "Ignition" and made it work hysterically ("What you gonna do with all that junk...my girl?").
Hostess Maggie did a beautiful, sad song, only forgetting lines twice and finishing by saying, "Well, that was depressing," and admitting that she'd been forgetting the words to the song since high school.
Three guys in jeans, members of Hanover Tavern's production of "Cotton Patch Gospel" came up with upright bass, guitar and threir voices.
Their first song went off flawlessly and the second required three starts before the guitarist ended it saying, "Let's get Jesus more vodka."
Yes, let's, shall we?
Kristin, an actress from D.C., is new to Richmond and she was making her GLAP debut tonight singing an exquisite song she said was written for her by Joey Contreras.
With a guest star in the house came the return of the Mad Lib, practically a GLAP tradition, but for the benefit of newbies, there was an explanation of the process to gather words for it.
We were instructed to come up with funny or dirty nouns and verbs for the Mad Lib.
"Be creative, penis gets boring," Maggie, the Mad Libber explained.
"Excuse me, penis does not get boring," host Matt clarified. "Quit making those blanket statements."
So you see how back to basics we were at this point.
Chris did his best to get us back on track with Nat King Cole's standard, "L-O-V-E."
We took another tangent, this time with Paul, who did a sweet version of the Beatles' "Blackbird," tellingly from a music book entitled, "The Groovy Years."
And, really, aren't those the years we all want to have?
Two of the "Cotton Patch" gents returned to entertain us, with Lucas doing his best to get through a song before sharing, "Hi, I learned banjo eleven weeks ago."
He got the gold star of the night for playing a new instrument and on a song that he doesn't even play in the production.
Guest star Kirstin returned for a poignant song called "The Portrait," which she introduced by saying, "It's another sad one but I figured I'd be funny in the Mad Lib."
True that, since it was set to "My Favorite Things" and she apologized to Julie Andrews after singing the insane and smutty lyrics.
Tonight's moment when time stood still came courtesy of Nick, whom I'd just seen in "The Pride," when he sang a moving version of "The Impossible Dream" in his magnificent voice.
Now, that felt old school.
We were treated to an impromptu medley of They Might Be Giants songs because uber-fans Matt and Maggie were sad they were missing the TMBG show at the National tonight.
Hannah did "Isn't This Better?" from "Funny Lady," a heartbreaking song and a personal favorite I'd never have expected to hear.
The reliably funny Maggie Boop got up and announced she was doing a dramatic reading and then proceeded to read Kreashawn's "Gucci, Gucci" with the unforgettable lyric, "Bitch, you ain't no Barbie, I see you work at Arby's."
No, really, and she did it with Matt alternating between playing bongo beats and snapping his fingers overhead, beatnik-style.
And without ever losing her poise.
The crowd, however, was rolling on the floor.
The only way to follow that was with Sarah singing "The Wizard and I" while Maggie held a lamp in mid-air to aid her lyrics-reading while doing justice to a shaker ball in the other hand.
After that, we broke for pizza and to give our faces a break from non-stop smiling.
After the break, Chris was called on yet gain, prompting him to say, "I'm the one who came in with no music and I keep getting called up on stage."
And with good reason, young man.
Evan's little brother had everyone in hysterics as he did "Life in the Slaw Lane," a tribute to the plant world.
I'm the kinda guy that works hard for his celery and I don't mind telling you I was feeling a bit wilted.
But I didn't carrot all. 'Cause, otherwise, things were vine.
I try never to disparagus and I don't sweat the truffles.
I'm outstanding in my field and I know something good will turnip eventually.
A bunch of things were going grape, and soon, I'd be top banana.
At least, that's my peeling
Brilliant, right?
For the classic "The Weight," Chris had Maggie singing back-up and audience members doing impromptu harmony...for all five verses.
By the time the song finished, everyone had the hang of it and it sounded pretty great.
The vocal co-mingling of the crowd with the performers inspired the final song of the night, a group singalong to "Tomorrow" from "Annie" and a song most people in the audience knew.
Chins were stuck out, grins were seen and the lovefest ended with one big, sloppy promise that tomorrow is only a day away.
Golly, gee whiz, you couldn't ask for much groovier years than these.
Monday, March 4, 2013
Raw and Wry, Rags to Riches
Once upon a time, it was a good night if there was one interesting happening on any given evening.
No more.
Plenty of nights I end up having to choose from several very appealing options.
Like last Tuesday night, I had my pick of a lauded dance documentary, the Oberon Quartet or the Listening Room.
And there was no way to do more than one.
Tonight I had the same dilemma: Ghost Light Afterparty or Live at Ipanema.
I never miss either (well, unless I'm in another country).
So off I went to Ipanema to meet a friend for dessert (banana coconut cake), see friends and hear Dead Professional.
That would be one half of the Cinnamon Band and the purveyor of wry and raw pop songs and elemental rock and roll riffs using a cheapo guitar and rudimentary drum loops.
Just the thing on a Sunday night.
Using two mics for different effects, he delivered wry, raw and elemental to a rapt crowd.
Rapt, that is, except for the table closest to Dead Pro, who proceeded to try to talk louder than the man with the cheapo guitar and the drum loops.
Le sigh.
Explaining that it was only his second show, he said, "So I'll be back" and launched into "Bad Memory."
At one point, he started a song, singing, "Don't be cruel," before stopping and saying, "Let's come back to that one."
It was a nice segue into an unexpected cover of T Rex's "Main Man."
Then it was back to cruelty and the unfinished song, with the evocative lyric, "Don't keep on twisting the knife if you're not gonna cut me loose."
It was an understandably short set, but I'm counting on him being back.
The bonus was a short set meant that there was still time to get to the GLAP, where tonight's theme was "rags to riches."
I don't know where they come up with this stuff.
Walking in at intermission to find a lobby full of people eating pizza, I ran into Princess Di for the second time today, along with neighbors who hadn't been able to get hold of me to invite me to their Mardi Gras party.
They insisted that next year I just show up on the Saturday before Fat Tuesday, with or without an invitation.
You don't have to tell me twice.
I asked about what I'd missed, only to be told that it was a chill, coffeehouse-style evening for a change.
Perhaps it fit the set at Richmond Triangle Players tonight, one with stained glass windows and a massive wooden door.
Once the second half started, host Maggie began by saying, "Keeping the theme loose, I'm going to do an Elvis song. At least I think Elvis was the first one to sing it."
Let the record show she proceeded to do a killer version of "Can't Help Falling" with Scott accompanying her on guitar while Audra held her phone so he could read the music.
Starlet Knight took the stage, saying she'd had way too much bourbon (someone in the back yelled, "No such thing!").
Mid-song, she paused and said, "This is where the key change would be but I'm not going to do it."
That garnered major applause.
Matthew got up to impress us with Barry Manilow's "Weekend in New England" with Ben, sporting a mohawk, dramatically playing the keyboard for him.
"He's such a drama queen," Matt joked when he finished.
In a roomful of drama queens, who would even notice, much less care?
Aaron and Matt sang a song after announcing that it would mean a whole lot more to them than us.
At GLAP you just let people do what they need to do.
Carla and Matt did "Somewhere Out There" from "An American Tail," that classic piece of cinematography.
I was reassured to know that the cheese factor was as high as usual.
Matt stopped the room cold with his rendition of "Waiting for Life to Begin," saying that song had gotten him through some not so merry moments and even some sad orgasms.
Sara sang a song from Les Miz, but the best part was when she finished and shared that, "I spat on myself in the middle of the dramatic moment."
One reason I like to sit in the first or second row is because I like to see people spit when they perform. True story.
Ben of the Mohawk gave us a Tammy Wynette song, "Till I Can Make It on My Own," segueing nicely into Dolly Parton's "9 to 5" and causing a mass singalong.
Honestly, I had no idea so many people knew the words to that chestnut.
When it came time for raffle prizes, a friend won tickets to "Riding the Bull" and luckily for me, he and his lovely wife already had tickets for it, so they graciously handed them off to me.
See, you meet the nicest people at the GLAP.
Gray was called up to sing and Maggie praised her costume, saying, "Gray got entrance applause just walking in tonight."
It may have been the curlers made of cans in her hair, it may have been the smeared lipstick and blackened tooth or maybe even the ruffled white panties she flashed for us.
All at once, Starlet Knight volunteered to give the farewell song and even promised to do the requisite key change this time.
Boy, the time goes so quickly when you come in halfway through the festivities.
But I'd also made it to both can't-miss events, so the win was mine.
Who's got time to wait for life to begin?
No more.
Plenty of nights I end up having to choose from several very appealing options.
Like last Tuesday night, I had my pick of a lauded dance documentary, the Oberon Quartet or the Listening Room.
And there was no way to do more than one.
Tonight I had the same dilemma: Ghost Light Afterparty or Live at Ipanema.
I never miss either (well, unless I'm in another country).
So off I went to Ipanema to meet a friend for dessert (banana coconut cake), see friends and hear Dead Professional.
That would be one half of the Cinnamon Band and the purveyor of wry and raw pop songs and elemental rock and roll riffs using a cheapo guitar and rudimentary drum loops.
Just the thing on a Sunday night.
Using two mics for different effects, he delivered wry, raw and elemental to a rapt crowd.
Rapt, that is, except for the table closest to Dead Pro, who proceeded to try to talk louder than the man with the cheapo guitar and the drum loops.
Le sigh.
Explaining that it was only his second show, he said, "So I'll be back" and launched into "Bad Memory."
At one point, he started a song, singing, "Don't be cruel," before stopping and saying, "Let's come back to that one."
It was a nice segue into an unexpected cover of T Rex's "Main Man."
Then it was back to cruelty and the unfinished song, with the evocative lyric, "Don't keep on twisting the knife if you're not gonna cut me loose."
It was an understandably short set, but I'm counting on him being back.
The bonus was a short set meant that there was still time to get to the GLAP, where tonight's theme was "rags to riches."
I don't know where they come up with this stuff.
Walking in at intermission to find a lobby full of people eating pizza, I ran into Princess Di for the second time today, along with neighbors who hadn't been able to get hold of me to invite me to their Mardi Gras party.
They insisted that next year I just show up on the Saturday before Fat Tuesday, with or without an invitation.
You don't have to tell me twice.
I asked about what I'd missed, only to be told that it was a chill, coffeehouse-style evening for a change.
Perhaps it fit the set at Richmond Triangle Players tonight, one with stained glass windows and a massive wooden door.
Once the second half started, host Maggie began by saying, "Keeping the theme loose, I'm going to do an Elvis song. At least I think Elvis was the first one to sing it."
Let the record show she proceeded to do a killer version of "Can't Help Falling" with Scott accompanying her on guitar while Audra held her phone so he could read the music.
Starlet Knight took the stage, saying she'd had way too much bourbon (someone in the back yelled, "No such thing!").
Mid-song, she paused and said, "This is where the key change would be but I'm not going to do it."
That garnered major applause.
Matthew got up to impress us with Barry Manilow's "Weekend in New England" with Ben, sporting a mohawk, dramatically playing the keyboard for him.
"He's such a drama queen," Matt joked when he finished.
In a roomful of drama queens, who would even notice, much less care?
Aaron and Matt sang a song after announcing that it would mean a whole lot more to them than us.
At GLAP you just let people do what they need to do.
Carla and Matt did "Somewhere Out There" from "An American Tail," that classic piece of cinematography.
I was reassured to know that the cheese factor was as high as usual.
Matt stopped the room cold with his rendition of "Waiting for Life to Begin," saying that song had gotten him through some not so merry moments and even some sad orgasms.
Sara sang a song from Les Miz, but the best part was when she finished and shared that, "I spat on myself in the middle of the dramatic moment."
One reason I like to sit in the first or second row is because I like to see people spit when they perform. True story.
Ben of the Mohawk gave us a Tammy Wynette song, "Till I Can Make It on My Own," segueing nicely into Dolly Parton's "9 to 5" and causing a mass singalong.
Honestly, I had no idea so many people knew the words to that chestnut.
When it came time for raffle prizes, a friend won tickets to "Riding the Bull" and luckily for me, he and his lovely wife already had tickets for it, so they graciously handed them off to me.
See, you meet the nicest people at the GLAP.
Gray was called up to sing and Maggie praised her costume, saying, "Gray got entrance applause just walking in tonight."
It may have been the curlers made of cans in her hair, it may have been the smeared lipstick and blackened tooth or maybe even the ruffled white panties she flashed for us.
All at once, Starlet Knight volunteered to give the farewell song and even promised to do the requisite key change this time.
Boy, the time goes so quickly when you come in halfway through the festivities.
But I'd also made it to both can't-miss events, so the win was mine.
Who's got time to wait for life to begin?
Saturday, March 2, 2013
A Ripping Good Time
We should confine ourselves to conversation and not attempt anything intelligent.
So wrote Noel Coward, inspiring a decidedly urbane evening.
A favorite girlfriend reported to Jackson Ward exactly on time, notable because she is usually not the punctual sort.
The conversation began the moment we were in the car together, both of us unwilling to wait to hear the latest.
Stop #1 was Virginia Rep's box office to score rush tickets and where the ticket seller informed me that there are three other people with my exact name in their database.
I was a little surprised, never having met another.
Tickets in hand, we got ourselves downtown for a little pre-theater supper by candlelight.
As many times as I've had lunch at La Parisienne, I'd only been there once at night and that was before they had a full dinner menu.
Our host led us to a two-top by the big front window, advising us to, "Imagine you're in New York City."
After a few minutes ensconced at our table, my friend dryly noted, "Well, it could be New York except there's no people walking by."
She had a point.
We began with glasses of Cotes du Rhone and a little verbal volleying with our server whom, we learned, was named after his grandfather and father, meaning he used his middle name.
I assumed that meant his predecessors had a different middle name, but I was mistaken.
He was a most affable guy, friendly and willing to accommodate our truncated visit, even bringing us an extra table when we ran out of room on ours.
We started with caramelized onion dip with fried crepe chips, surprised at the huge mound of salted and seasoned chips that accompanied the tiny ramekin of dip.
The richness of the dip soon explained itself as the reason why so many crepes had died in service to it.
Once we heard tonight's specials, we chose one of them, a half a lobster tail with Chimay sauce and a carrot slaw over micro-greens.
When we informed our server of our ignorance of Chimay, he offered that it was a reduction of a beer made by Trappist monks in Belgium, "And that's about the extent of what I know."
I like a man who acknowledges his limitations.
All that mattered was we both got a piece of a lobster tail and I got a nice little slaw and salad because my girlfriend doesn't care for mayo.
Next came Zee Onion Soup, a house specialty and ideal when you're sitting next to a window on a cold evening.
It arrived a bit tepid, but our gracious server whisked it back to the kitchen and returned the two crocks piping hot.
The owner came over and when I asked about the music they have on the second Tuesdays of the month, he did a little hip shake, saying, "You should come and dance the salsa."
I clarified my (sadly) rhythm-less state, citing my whiteness, and he laughed saying, "They look at me and think I can dance when I can't. I'm the same as you!"
So we were looking at a man who can't dance because he's white and French, I suppose.
Although we were rapidly running out of time to make our curtain, we couldn't leave without a sweet, choosing a cream puff from the front case rather than something off the dessert menu.
To accompany it, we had a Merlot/Grenache blend from Pomerol in the heart of Burgundy, with dark fruit, a little spiciness and beautiful balance.
Then, like Cinderella's clock chiming midnight, we jumped in the car and headed up the hill to the November Theater.
If I'd forgotten for a minute that it was First Friday art walk, I was soon reminded as clueless pedestrians stepped off curbs against the traffic lights again and again.
"You're better than me," my friend noted." I'd have never seen them and they'd have been hood ornaments."
It's better that I drive when we are downtown.
We made it into the theater and our second row left seats (surprisingly good for last minute and cheapo) with time left to peruse the program.
When the curtain came up on Noel Coward's "Hay Fever," it was on a lovely set of the drawing room of an English country house, complete with windows overlooking the garden and staircase to the second floor.
Not to mention being immediately plunged into the wildly dysfunctional Bliss family and their full house of weekend guests.
I warned him not to expect good manners.
With a writer father and a retired actress mother, the grown Bliss children, Sorel and Simon, are very aware that their family is weird.
And not just aware, but completely accepting of it.
We're very slapdash.
All the members of the very bohemian Bliss family are appalled to learn that each has invited a guest for the weekend without the rest of the family's knowledge.
Needles to say, afternoon tea is very stilted with so many unwanted visitors.
You do say ripping things.
During the first intermission, two women came to stand and chat behind me and I overheard them trying to one-up each other.
"My husband died in 2007," one said about coming to the theater alone.
"I lost mine in 2001," the other countered. "Boy, it goes so fast, doesn't it?"
Anybody got a tissue?
The second act begins after dinner and the fun begins as they all try to play a parlor game involving adverbs and guessing,
These games are too brainy for me.
The cast was extremely high energy, with Irene Ziegler leading the charge as the matriarch, all high drama and garden hats.
I'm a big fan of Molly Hood, who played Myra, one of the visitors, and here she was a saucy brunette, but as always, her diction was superb.
It was great fun seeing Maggie Roop as Jackie, a flapper with no confidence, smiling and crying at the same time, as she tries to navigate a houseful of insanity.
Once the game dissolves, the oddest people pair up and next thing we knew, there was a whole lot of kissing going on.
I never realize how dead I am until I meet people like you.
But it's the Bliss family, so it's kissing for kissing's sake and no one's really in love.
You kissed me because you were awfully nice and I was awfully nice and we both liked kissing very much. It was inevitable.
After the second intermission, it was the next morning and by now all the guests have realized they are visitors at a nuthouse and go to pack.
Do you think they know they're mad?
By the time the Bliss family convenes for breakfast, it's back to business as usual, meaning endless bickering, sibling smackdowns and general chaos.
They never even notice when the guests sneak out the door to escape back to London.
Given so much witty dialog, all kinds of era-appropriate costume changes and two intermissions, I was amazed to find us out on Broad Street only a little after 10:00.
I feel certain Noel Coward would have expected our sophisticated little evening to have lasted a tad longer.
Fortunately, the conversation we'd confined ourselves to had been outstanding, so we'd barely missed anything intelligent at all.
Maybe that just means we're okay with being slapdash.
So wrote Noel Coward, inspiring a decidedly urbane evening.
A favorite girlfriend reported to Jackson Ward exactly on time, notable because she is usually not the punctual sort.
The conversation began the moment we were in the car together, both of us unwilling to wait to hear the latest.
Stop #1 was Virginia Rep's box office to score rush tickets and where the ticket seller informed me that there are three other people with my exact name in their database.
I was a little surprised, never having met another.
Tickets in hand, we got ourselves downtown for a little pre-theater supper by candlelight.
As many times as I've had lunch at La Parisienne, I'd only been there once at night and that was before they had a full dinner menu.
Our host led us to a two-top by the big front window, advising us to, "Imagine you're in New York City."
After a few minutes ensconced at our table, my friend dryly noted, "Well, it could be New York except there's no people walking by."
She had a point.
We began with glasses of Cotes du Rhone and a little verbal volleying with our server whom, we learned, was named after his grandfather and father, meaning he used his middle name.
I assumed that meant his predecessors had a different middle name, but I was mistaken.
He was a most affable guy, friendly and willing to accommodate our truncated visit, even bringing us an extra table when we ran out of room on ours.
We started with caramelized onion dip with fried crepe chips, surprised at the huge mound of salted and seasoned chips that accompanied the tiny ramekin of dip.
The richness of the dip soon explained itself as the reason why so many crepes had died in service to it.
Once we heard tonight's specials, we chose one of them, a half a lobster tail with Chimay sauce and a carrot slaw over micro-greens.
When we informed our server of our ignorance of Chimay, he offered that it was a reduction of a beer made by Trappist monks in Belgium, "And that's about the extent of what I know."
I like a man who acknowledges his limitations.
All that mattered was we both got a piece of a lobster tail and I got a nice little slaw and salad because my girlfriend doesn't care for mayo.
Next came Zee Onion Soup, a house specialty and ideal when you're sitting next to a window on a cold evening.
It arrived a bit tepid, but our gracious server whisked it back to the kitchen and returned the two crocks piping hot.
The owner came over and when I asked about the music they have on the second Tuesdays of the month, he did a little hip shake, saying, "You should come and dance the salsa."
I clarified my (sadly) rhythm-less state, citing my whiteness, and he laughed saying, "They look at me and think I can dance when I can't. I'm the same as you!"
So we were looking at a man who can't dance because he's white and French, I suppose.
Although we were rapidly running out of time to make our curtain, we couldn't leave without a sweet, choosing a cream puff from the front case rather than something off the dessert menu.
To accompany it, we had a Merlot/Grenache blend from Pomerol in the heart of Burgundy, with dark fruit, a little spiciness and beautiful balance.
Then, like Cinderella's clock chiming midnight, we jumped in the car and headed up the hill to the November Theater.
If I'd forgotten for a minute that it was First Friday art walk, I was soon reminded as clueless pedestrians stepped off curbs against the traffic lights again and again.
"You're better than me," my friend noted." I'd have never seen them and they'd have been hood ornaments."
It's better that I drive when we are downtown.
We made it into the theater and our second row left seats (surprisingly good for last minute and cheapo) with time left to peruse the program.
When the curtain came up on Noel Coward's "Hay Fever," it was on a lovely set of the drawing room of an English country house, complete with windows overlooking the garden and staircase to the second floor.
Not to mention being immediately plunged into the wildly dysfunctional Bliss family and their full house of weekend guests.
I warned him not to expect good manners.
With a writer father and a retired actress mother, the grown Bliss children, Sorel and Simon, are very aware that their family is weird.
And not just aware, but completely accepting of it.
We're very slapdash.
All the members of the very bohemian Bliss family are appalled to learn that each has invited a guest for the weekend without the rest of the family's knowledge.
Needles to say, afternoon tea is very stilted with so many unwanted visitors.
You do say ripping things.
During the first intermission, two women came to stand and chat behind me and I overheard them trying to one-up each other.
"My husband died in 2007," one said about coming to the theater alone.
"I lost mine in 2001," the other countered. "Boy, it goes so fast, doesn't it?"
Anybody got a tissue?
The second act begins after dinner and the fun begins as they all try to play a parlor game involving adverbs and guessing,
These games are too brainy for me.
The cast was extremely high energy, with Irene Ziegler leading the charge as the matriarch, all high drama and garden hats.
I'm a big fan of Molly Hood, who played Myra, one of the visitors, and here she was a saucy brunette, but as always, her diction was superb.
It was great fun seeing Maggie Roop as Jackie, a flapper with no confidence, smiling and crying at the same time, as she tries to navigate a houseful of insanity.
Once the game dissolves, the oddest people pair up and next thing we knew, there was a whole lot of kissing going on.
I never realize how dead I am until I meet people like you.
But it's the Bliss family, so it's kissing for kissing's sake and no one's really in love.
You kissed me because you were awfully nice and I was awfully nice and we both liked kissing very much. It was inevitable.
After the second intermission, it was the next morning and by now all the guests have realized they are visitors at a nuthouse and go to pack.
Do you think they know they're mad?
By the time the Bliss family convenes for breakfast, it's back to business as usual, meaning endless bickering, sibling smackdowns and general chaos.
They never even notice when the guests sneak out the door to escape back to London.
Given so much witty dialog, all kinds of era-appropriate costume changes and two intermissions, I was amazed to find us out on Broad Street only a little after 10:00.
I feel certain Noel Coward would have expected our sophisticated little evening to have lasted a tad longer.
Fortunately, the conversation we'd confined ourselves to had been outstanding, so we'd barely missed anything intelligent at all.
Maybe that just means we're okay with being slapdash.
Monday, December 17, 2012
O Come, All Ye Ham and Cheesers
I come when called.
So when the Ghost Light Afterparty summoned the masses with "O, Come, All Ye GLAPful," I was there in my shortest pink skirt, my sassiest lace tights and enough holiday cheer to choke a reindeer.
Hell, somebody's gotta be the audience for a room full of hams.
As the night wore on, there was also plenty of Christmas cheese.
Like a DMX-wannabe doing "Rudolph." Afterwards, Maggie noted, "That's a holiday treat I bet you weren't expecting."
Amen.
Georgia doing "All I Want for Christmas" in s high, squeaky voice with her two front teeth blacked out.
Inexplicably, someone had brought a holiday songbook like no other, with Christmas songs about Star Wars characters.
So, yes, we were treated to "What Can You Get a Wookie for Christmas?" and the classic "R2D2, We Wish You a Merry Christmas."
As someone observed, most of the people in the room weren't born when these songs were created.
I hope they all realize how fortunate that makes them.
But there were sublime holiday moments, too.
Joy and Duron dueted on a poignant "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."
Ben playing piano and singing "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" magnificently, like he was singing for a date.
The cast of "A Child's Christmas in Wales" doing "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" with cello, guitar and two beautiful harmonizing female voices.
An exquisite "Silent Night" with only cello and piano.
Chris doing "The Christmas Song" a capella. Take that, Nat.
And, as always because it's the GLAP, serious comedy.
Like the interpretive dance break during "Let it Snow!"
Matt observing after sight-reading the wookie song, "I almost soiled myself when I sang, "Give him love and understanding."
Maggie's stellar rendition of Mel Blanc's "My Sombrero is Too Big."
And only at GLAP do you have a quartet not only looking up lyrics on their phones, but half the group doing the movie version and half doing the Broadway version, a fact they didn't realize until midway through the song.
But lest you get the impression that GLAP is just for drinking, raffle prizes and over-the-top performances, allow me to set you straight.
I pick up all kinds of salient information during my monthly five-hour stint at GLAP.
High praise from a friend who'd just seen "The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe" and is already planning to see it a second time.
Details of the renovated NU nightclub, complete with details of male and female go-go dancers, looped music and Wet Wednesdays.
A porn discussion with the praise, "All show, no grow and eight inches!"
Honestly, you can't glean this kind of information just anywhere. Or at least I can't.
And where else can I hear both Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas is You" done by Gray without her trench coat and k.d. lang's "Love is Like a Cigarette" done by Starlet Night in fur-trimmed ankle boots?
It almost makes me want to lasso Santa, like Maggie sang. Or at the very least, choke him.
But I won't. Like a wookie, even Santa deserves love and understanding.
And probably a bourbon on the rocks to make him GLAP-ful.
So when the Ghost Light Afterparty summoned the masses with "O, Come, All Ye GLAPful," I was there in my shortest pink skirt, my sassiest lace tights and enough holiday cheer to choke a reindeer.
Hell, somebody's gotta be the audience for a room full of hams.
As the night wore on, there was also plenty of Christmas cheese.
Like a DMX-wannabe doing "Rudolph." Afterwards, Maggie noted, "That's a holiday treat I bet you weren't expecting."
Amen.
Georgia doing "All I Want for Christmas" in s high, squeaky voice with her two front teeth blacked out.
Inexplicably, someone had brought a holiday songbook like no other, with Christmas songs about Star Wars characters.
So, yes, we were treated to "What Can You Get a Wookie for Christmas?" and the classic "R2D2, We Wish You a Merry Christmas."
As someone observed, most of the people in the room weren't born when these songs were created.
I hope they all realize how fortunate that makes them.
But there were sublime holiday moments, too.
Joy and Duron dueted on a poignant "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."
Ben playing piano and singing "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" magnificently, like he was singing for a date.
The cast of "A Child's Christmas in Wales" doing "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" with cello, guitar and two beautiful harmonizing female voices.
An exquisite "Silent Night" with only cello and piano.
Chris doing "The Christmas Song" a capella. Take that, Nat.
And, as always because it's the GLAP, serious comedy.
Like the interpretive dance break during "Let it Snow!"
Matt observing after sight-reading the wookie song, "I almost soiled myself when I sang, "Give him love and understanding."
Maggie's stellar rendition of Mel Blanc's "My Sombrero is Too Big."
And only at GLAP do you have a quartet not only looking up lyrics on their phones, but half the group doing the movie version and half doing the Broadway version, a fact they didn't realize until midway through the song.
But lest you get the impression that GLAP is just for drinking, raffle prizes and over-the-top performances, allow me to set you straight.
I pick up all kinds of salient information during my monthly five-hour stint at GLAP.
High praise from a friend who'd just seen "The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe" and is already planning to see it a second time.
Details of the renovated NU nightclub, complete with details of male and female go-go dancers, looped music and Wet Wednesdays.
A porn discussion with the praise, "All show, no grow and eight inches!"
Honestly, you can't glean this kind of information just anywhere. Or at least I can't.
And where else can I hear both Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas is You" done by Gray without her trench coat and k.d. lang's "Love is Like a Cigarette" done by Starlet Night in fur-trimmed ankle boots?
It almost makes me want to lasso Santa, like Maggie sang. Or at the very least, choke him.
But I won't. Like a wookie, even Santa deserves love and understanding.
And probably a bourbon on the rocks to make him GLAP-ful.
Monday, November 19, 2012
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