This is an evening for people who love all forms of music and are most excited to see something unlike anything else out there. If you're a true music fan, you're not going to want to miss it.
~ RVA Mag "Shows you must see this week."
Tell me something I didn't already know.
I mean, how could you call yourself a music fan and not jump on an intimate show of a string quartet performing selections from Trey Pollard's new album "Antiphones?"
Throw in that hometown-boy-made-good Matthew E. White was opening and it was a benefit for Classical Revolution RVA and you'd have to be a musical fool not to snap up tickets early. And I'm no fool, or at least, no musical fool.
Besides, despite being strangers, Trey and I go way back. I'd seen Foxygen at the National last year, the same Foxygen who'd had Trey do the arrangements for the album, which is why I went (that and local musicians backing them on said arrangements). I was part of the enthusiastic audiences that saw him play as part of Ombak at Balliceaux in 2010 and 2014. That's right, I saw him backing Lydia Ooghe at Live at Ipanema in 2010, a cozy and memorable show. Back in 2011, I'd not only heard jazz sextet Old New Things do Trey's "Americana" at the Camel, but met a middle-aged man who'd recently begun taking guitar lessons from Trey and bragged about it to me, a stranger. Heck, in 2016, he'd been part of the appeal of hearing the Scott Clark Other Other 4-tet in the dim light of the Gypsy Tea Room. For that matter, there was the time I saw him as part of the Matt White hometown show at Strange Matter touring behind Matt's "Big Love" album just when it was breaking huge. And let's not forget the Richmond Symphony Pops performance in 2017 where Trey wrote the arrangements for all the performers - Tim Barry, Bio Ritmo, Clair Morgan - and I was in the nosebleeds for them all.
But if you really want to drill down, I was at the Listening Room in April 2010 when he'd been playing pedal steel instead of his usual guitar and found myself too curious not to go up to him afterward. Music novice that I am, I'd asked him about it and been surprised when he admitted that the instrument was new to him, so it still required every bit of concentration he had.
Who knew anything musical was ever difficult for Trey Pollard?
All of that's just a long way of saying that seeing the RVA Mag piece after I'd gotten tickets for last night's birthday week fundraiser for Classical Revolution RVA was just validation that I'd made the right call.
Not that I need validation, mind you, but it's always a nice bonus.
After dinner at Goatocado - me with a Californian, Mr. Wright with a Mediterranean - you can be sure we arrived moments after the doors opened so I could have my choice of seats (second row, center, behind family members in the front row) for an evening with Spacebomb founder Matt and longtime collaborator Trey.
Spotting the usual suspects - the DJ I'd just seen at "La Dolce Vita," the Bridgepark mastermind, assorted local musicians - I somehow managed to miss a favorite girlfriend who messaged me this morning, saying she'd seen me before the show and then I'd disappeared. How we missed each other, I'm not quite sure.
Next to me was a young couple, sounding new to each other because they were sharing their musical tastes. She explained that her taste was eclectic, although she couldn't abide country and he listened politely as she told him how much more music there was where she came from than here. Still, they agreed, Richmond was getting better and they were hoping they hadn't made a bad choice in coming tonight.
I didn't have the time or inclination for some real talk with them.
Matt came out and sat down at the piano with the uber-talented Alan Parker on guitar, explaining that it had been only last night when he'd asked Alan to accompany him. That's some serious chops right there. He then proceeded to play some of his new hushed and soulful songs, his back to the room because of the piano's placement.
"I was gonna tell a Trey story between every song - I've known Trey half my life - but I decided not to," he joked at the start, a shame for those of us who love a good yarn. His song about the current dictator in the White House was entitled "No Future in Our Frontman" and got a resounding round of applause, as much for the song's urgency as its message.
If not our musicians and artists speaking out against this abomination-in-chief, then who?
Eventually, Matt relented and shared a favorite Trey story, telling us how, as a teenager, his Virginia Beach guitar teacher was always holding up Trey as the local guitar pinnacle, which was meaningless because Matt had no idea who he was. At least he didn't until he realized that the cheesy Norfolk restaurant where he was hosting had a weekly band consisting of old guys playing rock and roll covers with one young guy shredding mightily on guitar.
Matt, meet Trey.
The string quintet - two violins, viola, cello and upright bass - joined Matt for the last couple of songs, with Trey warning the room that they'd not rehearsed together for this. But these were classical musicians and pros, and they nailed his arrangements, adding an incredibly lush note to Matt's music.
They were so good, in fact, that after the final note, Matt turned to them and Trey looking terribly impressed. "Hey, that was pretty good, Trey!" he marveled since he had just heard the arrangements for the first time, too.
Apparently when you've known someone nearly all your musical life, arranging for their songs is no big deal, or at least it isn't for someone as talented as Trey.
After a brief intermission, the string quintet returned to play selections from Trey's "Preludes and Fugues for String Quartet," a series of short pieces that delivered various moods and musical expectations, only to take off in a direction that felt fresher than any string quartet music you can remember hearing.
Trey introduced the musicians, then took up a spot standing off in a corner as they played.
Like an expectant father being asked to witness his baby's delivery, Trey's focus involved listening intently to the quintet while staring down with his eyes covered or up at the ceiling, at least until his young son approached him, arms extended. Trey took in the rest of the performance with his son's head nestled in his Daddy's neck. It was incredibly sweet.
But so was being on the second floor of the Hof with a small crowd of music lovers listening to homegrown Richmond music about to be released to the world. These guys represent Richmond impressively well and anyone who knew about the show and chose not to come had missed out.
Trey and the Classical Revolution musicians got a much-deserved and extended standing ovation and every time they tried to stop bowing and leave, the clapping kicked into a higher gear. Safe to say, everyone there knew they'd witnessed something extraordinary.
Making our way out, I ran smack into the handsomest bass player I know, surprising both of us since it had been a while and I'd missed his annual Halloween extravaganza because I'd been at a black tie gala dancing to "Brick House" instead of at his house.
"As I live and breathe, Karen Newton!" he exclaimed, hugging me while holding his wife's violin off to the side.
Just another part of a stellar evening I wouldn't have wanted to miss. As the DJ and I agreed, there was absolutely nowhere better to be in Richmond this Tuesday night.
P.S. Happy sixth birthday, Classical Revolution. Helluva celebration.
Showing posts with label matthew e white. Show all posts
Showing posts with label matthew e white. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 14, 2018
Sunday, September 24, 2017
Big Love
Be present. Well, duh.
That zen-like reminder was painted on the wall of the restaurant, but not the first restaurant I went to today because that one was in service of my hired mouth and was for breakfast.
Breakfast was before we took a road trip to Norfolk listening to REM and the Bo Deans and cursing people who brake for no good reason and before our silver-tongued tour guide gave us a walking tour of Norfolk's waterfront.
It was during that walkabout that he led us to Java Surf Coffee Shop, passing a window display with a sign that read, "In a relationship, one person needs to be the emotional designated driver," sparking a discussion of whether that's true or not. Dissent was expressed; I abstained.
Eventually, we made it to the piece-de-resistance: the USS Wisconsin, a circa 1943 battleship rising up like a giant silver blowfish on steroids when we first encountered it head on.
Honestly, I was unprepared for how massive it was and if we'd had the time, I'd have been all about touring it. Another time, I hope.
Impressive in a different sort of way was a ridiculously long dark blue sailboat (by that, I mean far longer than my apartment times two) with masts too high to fit in the photograph I tried to take of it. That it was registered in the Cayman Islands gave us to believe there was drug-laundering money involved, but made it no less beautiful or tremendously sized.
After meandering through downtown, we landed on the sidewalk in front of a doormat-sized inlay that used fancy script to spell out "The Fontaine Room," giving testament to the restaurant's former life.
These days, it's a swinging hot spot called the Grilled Cheese Bistro which required a short wait for one of the community tables (which is the only kind they have, a trend I embrace), but paid off in spades with exceptional sandwiches (cooked in buckets of clarified butter), killer fries and a bartender who never let the hordes wipe the smile off her face or the good attitude from her words.
I think it was because she was being present. I know I was.
Now that I think about it, though, I may also have been swayed by them having Dominion Brewing root beer on tap, because what accompanies a Johnny Appleseed grilled cheese better?
By the time we rolled out of there, a long line had already begun snaking down the sidewalk in anticipation of tonight's Hanson show at the Norva, bringing up the question, who loves Hanson that much in 2017 anyway?
Clearly the show was sold out, but it mattered not because by late afternoon, we were heading back because we've got shows of our own in Richmond, you know.
And tonight's was a helluva bill: the Richmond Symphony with Tim Barry, Clair Morgan, Natalie Prass, Bio Ritmo and Matthew E. White.
Setting out on foot, we breezed past the crowded Grace Street restaurant patios to land at Maya, where our server was a familiar face and, coincidentally, a J-Ward neighbor. Given tonight's show, the place was mobbed and he was keeping everything handled with his usual aplomb and self-deprecation.
I don't often eat three meals out in one day unless I'm on vacation (I could stretch that a bit and say that with the road trip and playing tourist all day that it was vacation-like), but sometimes you just have to eat the fish tacos and be happy someone else is willing to cook for you.
Across the street, the Carpenter Center was filling up with a mix of longtime Symphony Pops subscribers and a whole lot of people who'd probably never been to the Symphony in their life, but were fans of one of the bands performing tonight.
It was a pretty fascinating show in that local musician Trey Pollard had written arrangements for their songs based on what would best suit their existing music. It ranged from Tim Barry being just a voice and guitar to Bio Ritmo's nine musicians (tonight with the bonus of singer Laura Ann Singh) and salsa rhythms, providing huge flexibility in where and how much the symphony came in.
Clair Morgan provided humor when his band took the stage without him and he finally came out, saying, "My wife's gonna kill me, but I can't find my guitar strap." Luckily, it was soon located and they could play, vibraphones and all, without any husbands being killed.
Ultimately, rock trumped symphony and light projections made the performance oh-so groovy while the crowd didn't hesitate to call out to friends and favorite performers onstage.
In the loo during intermission, I heard my name called and there was the woman I run into everywhere: the Northern Neck, a southside coffee shop, an obscure house show, now the symphony.
Heading back to my seat, I heard my name called and turned around to see my former neighbor. When I marveled that he'd recognized me from the back, he said it was my hair. I think I believe him.
Walking through the inner lobby, I ran into a gorgeous girlfriend and once in the outer lobby, a favorite sax player greeted me. My people were everywhere.
Be present often enough and they all find you. Okay, maybe not in the Fontaine Room, but definitely here in Richmond.
Does being asleep count as being present? Asking for a friend...
That zen-like reminder was painted on the wall of the restaurant, but not the first restaurant I went to today because that one was in service of my hired mouth and was for breakfast.
Breakfast was before we took a road trip to Norfolk listening to REM and the Bo Deans and cursing people who brake for no good reason and before our silver-tongued tour guide gave us a walking tour of Norfolk's waterfront.
It was during that walkabout that he led us to Java Surf Coffee Shop, passing a window display with a sign that read, "In a relationship, one person needs to be the emotional designated driver," sparking a discussion of whether that's true or not. Dissent was expressed; I abstained.
Eventually, we made it to the piece-de-resistance: the USS Wisconsin, a circa 1943 battleship rising up like a giant silver blowfish on steroids when we first encountered it head on.
Honestly, I was unprepared for how massive it was and if we'd had the time, I'd have been all about touring it. Another time, I hope.
Impressive in a different sort of way was a ridiculously long dark blue sailboat (by that, I mean far longer than my apartment times two) with masts too high to fit in the photograph I tried to take of it. That it was registered in the Cayman Islands gave us to believe there was drug-laundering money involved, but made it no less beautiful or tremendously sized.
After meandering through downtown, we landed on the sidewalk in front of a doormat-sized inlay that used fancy script to spell out "The Fontaine Room," giving testament to the restaurant's former life.
These days, it's a swinging hot spot called the Grilled Cheese Bistro which required a short wait for one of the community tables (which is the only kind they have, a trend I embrace), but paid off in spades with exceptional sandwiches (cooked in buckets of clarified butter), killer fries and a bartender who never let the hordes wipe the smile off her face or the good attitude from her words.
I think it was because she was being present. I know I was.
Now that I think about it, though, I may also have been swayed by them having Dominion Brewing root beer on tap, because what accompanies a Johnny Appleseed grilled cheese better?
By the time we rolled out of there, a long line had already begun snaking down the sidewalk in anticipation of tonight's Hanson show at the Norva, bringing up the question, who loves Hanson that much in 2017 anyway?
Clearly the show was sold out, but it mattered not because by late afternoon, we were heading back because we've got shows of our own in Richmond, you know.
And tonight's was a helluva bill: the Richmond Symphony with Tim Barry, Clair Morgan, Natalie Prass, Bio Ritmo and Matthew E. White.
Setting out on foot, we breezed past the crowded Grace Street restaurant patios to land at Maya, where our server was a familiar face and, coincidentally, a J-Ward neighbor. Given tonight's show, the place was mobbed and he was keeping everything handled with his usual aplomb and self-deprecation.
I don't often eat three meals out in one day unless I'm on vacation (I could stretch that a bit and say that with the road trip and playing tourist all day that it was vacation-like), but sometimes you just have to eat the fish tacos and be happy someone else is willing to cook for you.
Across the street, the Carpenter Center was filling up with a mix of longtime Symphony Pops subscribers and a whole lot of people who'd probably never been to the Symphony in their life, but were fans of one of the bands performing tonight.
It was a pretty fascinating show in that local musician Trey Pollard had written arrangements for their songs based on what would best suit their existing music. It ranged from Tim Barry being just a voice and guitar to Bio Ritmo's nine musicians (tonight with the bonus of singer Laura Ann Singh) and salsa rhythms, providing huge flexibility in where and how much the symphony came in.
Clair Morgan provided humor when his band took the stage without him and he finally came out, saying, "My wife's gonna kill me, but I can't find my guitar strap." Luckily, it was soon located and they could play, vibraphones and all, without any husbands being killed.
Ultimately, rock trumped symphony and light projections made the performance oh-so groovy while the crowd didn't hesitate to call out to friends and favorite performers onstage.
In the loo during intermission, I heard my name called and there was the woman I run into everywhere: the Northern Neck, a southside coffee shop, an obscure house show, now the symphony.
Heading back to my seat, I heard my name called and turned around to see my former neighbor. When I marveled that he'd recognized me from the back, he said it was my hair. I think I believe him.
Walking through the inner lobby, I ran into a gorgeous girlfriend and once in the outer lobby, a favorite sax player greeted me. My people were everywhere.
Be present often enough and they all find you. Okay, maybe not in the Fontaine Room, but definitely here in Richmond.
Does being asleep count as being present? Asking for a friend...
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
Sunshine, Everybody Loves the Sunshine
There are a lot of people out there who are lazy and disinterested in life. I think it's great that you have such a sense of adventure and curiosity.
This gorgeous warm weather is almost enough to make you forget who's running the country.
My heat's been turned off since yesterday morning, my windows flung wide open for two days and shorts have already become my new daytime normal. It was a delightfully sweaty walk around Belle Isle and environs, followed by a trip to the polls to vote (I was #69, for what that's worth) for my house of delegates representative.
Exiting my polling place, both the two people handing out campaign materials - one supporting Regie Ford, the other John Barclay - thanked me for voting but it was the Ford supporter who said, "I see you walk by my house every day and you are moving!"
Not to quibble, but isn't that the whole point of walking?
Spending all afternoon writing meant I had a soundtrack of Jackson Ward reveling in a glorious February day with the sounds of skateboarders, radios turned up with car windows down and the hum of small planes cruising overhead, all the delightful distractions of having the outside coming in on a winter's day.
All of which was merely prelude to a much anticipated evening.
Christmas gifts are supposed to be thoughtful so what could be better for a music lover than the gift of a show? Especially when it's the first of a four-show tour where the other cities are (wait for it) London, Paris and New York.
Just to be clear, I'd have adored seeing one of the other shows but honestly, that would have been a bit pricey for a Christmas present. Besides, then you'd have to have the whole when-is-it-okay-to-travel-with-someone discussion and experience has proven that opinions differ wildly on that subject.
Instead we parked once and partied thrice by meeting at Lalo's Cocina for tacos and travel conversation (yea or nay?) before sidling over to the Broadberry to see Richmond's own Matthew E. White along with London songbird Flo Morrissey perform songs from their new cover duets album, "Gentlewoman, Ruby Man."
Backed by Big Cat, the name Matt's given his usual RVA crew of stellar musicians (Pinson on drums, Cameron on bass, Alan on guitar and Devonne on keyboards), the Yank and the Brit delivered beautifully-conceived covers compellingly re-imagined without concern for genre.
Matt said the French were terribly impressed that they'd included Nino Ferrer's "Looking for You," a song that was chosen after Flo got it on her Spotify discovery playlist, a fact he insisted wasn't especially cool. Charlotte Gainsbourg's "Heaven Can Wait" came out heavenly indeed, while "Grease" became a whole new animal with their thoughtful rendition of the darker lyrics.
There ain't no danger we can go too far
We start believing now that we can be who we are
A standout moment was hearing Leonard Cohen's "Suzanne" sung live so soon after losing him, but nothing rocked my socks quite like their take on the Velvet Underground's "Sunday Morning," with Devonne's retro-sounding keyboard and Alan showing off the lead rock guitar chops Matt had praised earlier ("They're aren't many left").
Early dawning
Sunday morning
It's all the wasted years
So close behind
Matt's hushed vocals were a killer counterpoint to Flo's clear tones as they wove through the assortment of covers that swung from vintage '60s and '70s to the au courant Frank Ocean and James Blake songs they'd chosen for this project.
It won't ever get old, not in my soul
Not in my spirit, keep it alive
The good news at the Broadberry was the addition of the new restrooms (I'll ignore for the moment the guy coming out of the ladies' room) so it's no longer necessary to fight your way through the audience to relieve yourself, but the bad news was that it was so sticky hot inside the venue - partially my fault for not standing still - that I alternated eating the last of the ice cubes in my cup with using them to cool myself.
An even better solution turned out to be a leisurely nightcap at Sabai with vintage soul playing and a chance to mull over the myriad possibilities of change. Wasted years aside, I'd been reminded that you can't always sleep nine hours if you want to see the sun rise.
Good advice, but I have some of my own. Souls won't get old when fueled by a sense of adventure and curiosity.
Take it from #69.
This gorgeous warm weather is almost enough to make you forget who's running the country.
My heat's been turned off since yesterday morning, my windows flung wide open for two days and shorts have already become my new daytime normal. It was a delightfully sweaty walk around Belle Isle and environs, followed by a trip to the polls to vote (I was #69, for what that's worth) for my house of delegates representative.
Exiting my polling place, both the two people handing out campaign materials - one supporting Regie Ford, the other John Barclay - thanked me for voting but it was the Ford supporter who said, "I see you walk by my house every day and you are moving!"
Not to quibble, but isn't that the whole point of walking?
Spending all afternoon writing meant I had a soundtrack of Jackson Ward reveling in a glorious February day with the sounds of skateboarders, radios turned up with car windows down and the hum of small planes cruising overhead, all the delightful distractions of having the outside coming in on a winter's day.
All of which was merely prelude to a much anticipated evening.
Christmas gifts are supposed to be thoughtful so what could be better for a music lover than the gift of a show? Especially when it's the first of a four-show tour where the other cities are (wait for it) London, Paris and New York.
Just to be clear, I'd have adored seeing one of the other shows but honestly, that would have been a bit pricey for a Christmas present. Besides, then you'd have to have the whole when-is-it-okay-to-travel-with-someone discussion and experience has proven that opinions differ wildly on that subject.
Instead we parked once and partied thrice by meeting at Lalo's Cocina for tacos and travel conversation (yea or nay?) before sidling over to the Broadberry to see Richmond's own Matthew E. White along with London songbird Flo Morrissey perform songs from their new cover duets album, "Gentlewoman, Ruby Man."
Backed by Big Cat, the name Matt's given his usual RVA crew of stellar musicians (Pinson on drums, Cameron on bass, Alan on guitar and Devonne on keyboards), the Yank and the Brit delivered beautifully-conceived covers compellingly re-imagined without concern for genre.
Matt said the French were terribly impressed that they'd included Nino Ferrer's "Looking for You," a song that was chosen after Flo got it on her Spotify discovery playlist, a fact he insisted wasn't especially cool. Charlotte Gainsbourg's "Heaven Can Wait" came out heavenly indeed, while "Grease" became a whole new animal with their thoughtful rendition of the darker lyrics.
There ain't no danger we can go too far
We start believing now that we can be who we are
A standout moment was hearing Leonard Cohen's "Suzanne" sung live so soon after losing him, but nothing rocked my socks quite like their take on the Velvet Underground's "Sunday Morning," with Devonne's retro-sounding keyboard and Alan showing off the lead rock guitar chops Matt had praised earlier ("They're aren't many left").
Early dawning
Sunday morning
It's all the wasted years
So close behind
Matt's hushed vocals were a killer counterpoint to Flo's clear tones as they wove through the assortment of covers that swung from vintage '60s and '70s to the au courant Frank Ocean and James Blake songs they'd chosen for this project.
It won't ever get old, not in my soul
Not in my spirit, keep it alive
The good news at the Broadberry was the addition of the new restrooms (I'll ignore for the moment the guy coming out of the ladies' room) so it's no longer necessary to fight your way through the audience to relieve yourself, but the bad news was that it was so sticky hot inside the venue - partially my fault for not standing still - that I alternated eating the last of the ice cubes in my cup with using them to cool myself.
An even better solution turned out to be a leisurely nightcap at Sabai with vintage soul playing and a chance to mull over the myriad possibilities of change. Wasted years aside, I'd been reminded that you can't always sleep nine hours if you want to see the sun rise.
Good advice, but I have some of my own. Souls won't get old when fueled by a sense of adventure and curiosity.
Take it from #69.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Big Love Comes Home
There's a lot to be said for delayed gratification.
When I bought my ticket back on October 10th for the Matt White show tonight at Strange Matter, I knew I'd be in for an impressive night of music.
Even expecting a knock-out, I wasn't prepared for what a memorable night it was.
I arrived promptly at 9 because the word was "Sounds at 9." Okay, not 9 per se, but not long after, either.
Making my way to the bar, I found myself next to a guy who said hello and introduced himself.
He'd come in to pay his tab from last night and now was curious about what was going on tonight.
I explained who the magnificently-maned Matt White was, about his Spacebomb studio and house band, then he explained that he was just back from Yogaville and had his dog in his car and was now really sorry he couldn't stay.
Not long after, with no introduction, Matt and his band -all very familiar faces since I've been seeing them play in myriad configurations for years now- plus the Rosebuds' Howard Ivans walked out of the kitchen and through the crowd to reach the stage.
Explaining that he'd been doing some songs with the Spacebomb guys, he began singing the new material over some of the funkiest R & B grooves being made by white boys today.
He even thanked the crowd for coming out early, although the pleasure was all ours and a guy I knew who didn't show up until just after 10 missed a simply superb set by coming late, a fact I may have pointed out.
It was all so retro-soul with Ivans' terrific voice and it was irresistibly danceable.
After several kick-ass original songs, Ivans said, "I'm going to do a Robert Palmer song, if that's okay."
Okay? I can't think of a more appropriate white boy to cover and "You Are in My System" benefited from the air tight rhythm and horn sections.
"You're listening to the best band in America," Ivans said, stating what Richmond music-lovers already know.
His set wound down far too quickly and suddenly we were at the last two songs.
One was a slow burner, the kind of song you want someone to slow- dance with to it and the last one, "Red Face Boy," was a barn-burner.
My dance party-loving friend looked at me, grinning ear to ear, "I feel like I should be doing the hustle," he enthused after the first few beats.
He was spot on; the silken groove was made to boogie to and there weren't many people resisting it, whether full-on dancing or grooving in place.
After the set ended, trumpeter Bob Miller walked by and said hello. Telling him how much I'd loved what they'd played, he expressed regret that they'd only had a half dozen chances to play with Ivans on tour.
"I'd love to play these songs more," he admitted, showing his true-blue soul side.
Strange Matter got more crowded during the break and by the time Matt, Cameron, Scott, Pinson, Gabe, Bob, Trey and Bryan returned, the feel-good energy in the room was palpable.
Hometown boy puts out record with local band, makes year-end best of lists, tours US and Europe (100-plus shows this year, Matt said) and finally comes back to play for long-time fans.
"It's good to be home," Matt said sounding quite sincere.
It was good to be hearing the band Paste, Pitchfork and practically every other musical tastemaker had raved as emerging fully formed.
Of note was that guitarist Trey Pollard was sometimes playing pedal steel, notable mainly because I'd seen him play it at the Listening Room back in April 2010 when he'd first been learning it.
Then, he'd told me it took every ounce of concentration he had to play it and tonight it appeared to be an extension of him, much the way his guitar is.
During one song, dapperly-hatted bassist Cameron and leader Matt showed off their best Motown-like dance moves, playing and turning in unison to face stage right and left, mirroring each other.
Title track "Big Love" got its rhythmic hand claps courtesy of the horn section, with Bryan and Bob using the instruments they were born with. Likewise, Cameron and Gabe did double duty singing back-up.
It's hard to convey just how tight these guys are and how full their soul-meets-Muscle-Shoals sound is, but their obvious pleasure in playing together was readily apparent.
"This show tonight is important," Matt said between songs. "This is a special music community and a great artistic community. You might miss it if you don't stop and appreciate it. This is a special place. We've done 122 shows this year and I talk up Richmond in every city we play, send love back here. That's because it's real. Special things happen here."
He said that since it was the end of the mini-tour with Howard, and they were at home, there was no reason not to play every song they had, including new material off the recent EP.
With percussionist Scott Clark double-fisting tambourines while grinning like he was having the time of his life, they did just that.
Matt explained that the next song was very quiet. "I'm just telling you that in other cities, I stare at people to make them shut up for this song. You can't do that in your home town, it's rude. But if you want to wrap up your conversations so you can hear it..."
I'm embarrassed to say that some people went right on blathering and shouting drunkenly while the rest of us shut up so we could hear the beautifully quiet song.
We got the two-song warning because, Matt said, it would be awkward to do an encore since there was no place to go or wait.
Not that this crowd wouldn't have willingly waited for more deep grooves and blaring horns.
But as he pointed out, when a seven-song record unexpectedly takes off and you start touring, it's a limited repertoire you have to pull from.
The beauty was that it's also a very satisfyingly danceable one and by the end of the show, the room-filling chorus made for the feeling of a tent revival.
Richmond-style, of course.
Best of all, these guys are representing us all over the globe, making this town look as good as some of us already know it is.
No delay in gratification there.
When I bought my ticket back on October 10th for the Matt White show tonight at Strange Matter, I knew I'd be in for an impressive night of music.
Even expecting a knock-out, I wasn't prepared for what a memorable night it was.
I arrived promptly at 9 because the word was "Sounds at 9." Okay, not 9 per se, but not long after, either.
Making my way to the bar, I found myself next to a guy who said hello and introduced himself.
He'd come in to pay his tab from last night and now was curious about what was going on tonight.
I explained who the magnificently-maned Matt White was, about his Spacebomb studio and house band, then he explained that he was just back from Yogaville and had his dog in his car and was now really sorry he couldn't stay.
Not long after, with no introduction, Matt and his band -all very familiar faces since I've been seeing them play in myriad configurations for years now- plus the Rosebuds' Howard Ivans walked out of the kitchen and through the crowd to reach the stage.
Explaining that he'd been doing some songs with the Spacebomb guys, he began singing the new material over some of the funkiest R & B grooves being made by white boys today.
He even thanked the crowd for coming out early, although the pleasure was all ours and a guy I knew who didn't show up until just after 10 missed a simply superb set by coming late, a fact I may have pointed out.
It was all so retro-soul with Ivans' terrific voice and it was irresistibly danceable.
After several kick-ass original songs, Ivans said, "I'm going to do a Robert Palmer song, if that's okay."
Okay? I can't think of a more appropriate white boy to cover and "You Are in My System" benefited from the air tight rhythm and horn sections.
"You're listening to the best band in America," Ivans said, stating what Richmond music-lovers already know.
His set wound down far too quickly and suddenly we were at the last two songs.
One was a slow burner, the kind of song you want someone to slow- dance with to it and the last one, "Red Face Boy," was a barn-burner.
My dance party-loving friend looked at me, grinning ear to ear, "I feel like I should be doing the hustle," he enthused after the first few beats.
He was spot on; the silken groove was made to boogie to and there weren't many people resisting it, whether full-on dancing or grooving in place.
After the set ended, trumpeter Bob Miller walked by and said hello. Telling him how much I'd loved what they'd played, he expressed regret that they'd only had a half dozen chances to play with Ivans on tour.
"I'd love to play these songs more," he admitted, showing his true-blue soul side.
Strange Matter got more crowded during the break and by the time Matt, Cameron, Scott, Pinson, Gabe, Bob, Trey and Bryan returned, the feel-good energy in the room was palpable.
Hometown boy puts out record with local band, makes year-end best of lists, tours US and Europe (100-plus shows this year, Matt said) and finally comes back to play for long-time fans.
"It's good to be home," Matt said sounding quite sincere.
It was good to be hearing the band Paste, Pitchfork and practically every other musical tastemaker had raved as emerging fully formed.
Of note was that guitarist Trey Pollard was sometimes playing pedal steel, notable mainly because I'd seen him play it at the Listening Room back in April 2010 when he'd first been learning it.
Then, he'd told me it took every ounce of concentration he had to play it and tonight it appeared to be an extension of him, much the way his guitar is.
During one song, dapperly-hatted bassist Cameron and leader Matt showed off their best Motown-like dance moves, playing and turning in unison to face stage right and left, mirroring each other.
Title track "Big Love" got its rhythmic hand claps courtesy of the horn section, with Bryan and Bob using the instruments they were born with. Likewise, Cameron and Gabe did double duty singing back-up.
It's hard to convey just how tight these guys are and how full their soul-meets-Muscle-Shoals sound is, but their obvious pleasure in playing together was readily apparent.
"This show tonight is important," Matt said between songs. "This is a special music community and a great artistic community. You might miss it if you don't stop and appreciate it. This is a special place. We've done 122 shows this year and I talk up Richmond in every city we play, send love back here. That's because it's real. Special things happen here."
He said that since it was the end of the mini-tour with Howard, and they were at home, there was no reason not to play every song they had, including new material off the recent EP.
With percussionist Scott Clark double-fisting tambourines while grinning like he was having the time of his life, they did just that.
Matt explained that the next song was very quiet. "I'm just telling you that in other cities, I stare at people to make them shut up for this song. You can't do that in your home town, it's rude. But if you want to wrap up your conversations so you can hear it..."
I'm embarrassed to say that some people went right on blathering and shouting drunkenly while the rest of us shut up so we could hear the beautifully quiet song.
We got the two-song warning because, Matt said, it would be awkward to do an encore since there was no place to go or wait.
Not that this crowd wouldn't have willingly waited for more deep grooves and blaring horns.
But as he pointed out, when a seven-song record unexpectedly takes off and you start touring, it's a limited repertoire you have to pull from.
The beauty was that it's also a very satisfyingly danceable one and by the end of the show, the room-filling chorus made for the feeling of a tent revival.
Richmond-style, of course.
Best of all, these guys are representing us all over the globe, making this town look as good as some of us already know it is.
No delay in gratification there.
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