I'm Only Me

It wasn't your typical First Friday.

For starters, I left the arts district to meet a friend for dinner and never made it back in time for art.

We'd both gotten the memo to wear black and talk about love and violins.

Our meal was abbreviated by the need to be at a mutual friend's show at 7:30 at the Michaux House, where the Listening Room used to be held.

That alone was noteworthy and person after person mentioned how excited they were to be back where it all began.

The first person I saw inside was the reason for the evening, new Dad Jonathan Vassar, particularly striking tonight because his hair was showing.

When I asked about this rarity, he explained that he'd stopped wearing his summer baseball cap ("And once I stop, I never go back") but at 86 degrees today, it had been just too warm for one of his knit caps.

Hence, a fine-looking but rarely seen head of hair showing.

Elizabeth Whitmire opened with her friend Karen singing backup, announcing, "I'm going to play some whiny folk songs."

It put me in mind of an old boyfriend who used to say his favorite music was made by whiny white women.

Accompanied by guitar and mandolin, they played depressing songs ("Depressing songs always have the worst rhymes"), a spiteful song, the first song Elizabeth ever wrote, and a fine cover choice ("This is a Magnetic Fields' song we can't play").

If I was the Grand Canyon 
I'd echo everything you say 
but I'm just me, I'm only me 
and you used to love me that way 
so you know how to love me that way

The closing song hilariously came from personal experience. "This song is about the girl my boyfriend dated after me. She had long hair and a private jet."

Whoa, it's hard to compete with those two things.

Philly's Chris Kasper, a last minute addition to the show, played second accompanied by violinist Kiley.

He did a short set, singing songs about Carolina, about when you first move in with a lover and have no furniture and about seeing an ex on the street after you've broken up and pretending not to.

Tonight's main event was Jonathan Vassar's CD release, "Mercy for the Undeserving," a two-disc set, one of unreleased songs from ten years ago and another of new material.

Sixteen songs, two sister albums ten years apart. Kind of like twin sons of different mothers, a reference that dates me for sure.

Before he began singing, the lovely Anousheh turned around from her front row seat and warned us all that she always cries at Jonathan's shows.

Sad lyrics, spare arrangements, it's really a recipe for emotion.

An artist in the audience called out that Jonathan had on a cardigan, saying he'd gotten one, too, when he'd become a Dad.

It was immediately dubbed a "dadigan."

"I just learned tonight what hash tags are," Jonathan said by way of introduction. "I don't understand it, though, because that's a pound sign. Shouldn't it be a pound tag?"

The man raises a good point.

He dedicated "Houston Gone Again" to Elizabeth and commented that tonight felt like a Listening Room reunion being back in the old space "for all you Listening Room regulars and there's a lot of you here tonight."

I was sitting between two of them, one with his hands full of cookies and the other lost in thought about why men do the things they do.

After singing "Long Drive Home," Jonathan cracked wise, saying, "Hash tag thanks."

He called friend and fellow former Ophelia member Grant onstage to join him for a few songs and Grant's voice and mandolin add immeasurably to the evocative songs new and old.

Getting his harmonica into its holder, Jonathan shared, "I saw Kris Kristofferson this summer and he didn't become a full-fledged singer/songwriter until he was 34. And by full-fledged, I mean famous. So I figure I've got about two days."

Grant established his old man bragging rights by sharing that he hadn't known what hash tags were either, assuming that the pound sign meant that the writer felt strongly enough to pound on the table to make his point.

Who said musicians don't have a sense of humor?

After a touching "My Life is Not My Own," Jonathan asked for requests and Will, seated next to the teary Anousheh, asked for "Last Chance."

You can always count on Jonathan for beautifully heartfelt music done right and tonight it was even better given the nostalgic setting.

Church basement, low ceiling, twinkly lights, lots of familiar faces.

Toto, it's wonderful to be back at the Michaux house hearing music for the undeserving.

When I got home, I found a message from an out-of-town friend saying she was at Belmont Food Shop and to hurry over.

There I found three friends, the artist I'd seen twice already this week, and the bartender who greeted me by asking if I wanted the cook's plate.

Sadly, no, I'd already eaten. But it's nice to know that's my standing order.

But I joined in tasting some desserts - mint chocolate chip mousse and apple walnut crisp- and sipping Prosecco while '20s music played in the background.

Eventually the chef came out and when I refused the offer of a chocolate jalapeno, he told me to follow him.

Through the kitchen, past my favorite wooden walk-in to the backyard garden he took me, the better to show off his herbs and veggies.

Last time I'd been in his backyard, Belmont was only open for lunch and it was crowded with piles of stuff, some junk, some worthwhile.

Since then, inlaid terraces had been put down, a stone-encircled compost pile put in and an array of spot gardens added.

We talked about espaliered fig trees, aromatic lemon balm and the abundance of lettuces he'd grown and used this summer.

Talking about our recent stellar weather of warm days and cool nights ("Like desert weather," according to him), we eventually made our way back into the dining room and my waiting friend.

Some might think me rude to abandon them at the bar, but she knows me well enough to know that I am a sucker for a walk in a good garden, especially on a balmy October evening.

Hash tag good life.

Musical Tuesday: Preachers' Guns and Sons

If I'd set out to have an evening of contrasting musical experiences, I couldn't have accomplished it any better than where I found myself tonight.

It was the end of an era at the Listening Room, with tonight's show being the final one at the Michaux House; after a stellar fifteen-month run there, the monthly event is moving to the Firehouse Theater.

No more will we walk down the outdoor staircase to the basement for a talk-free show, so it was a little bittersweet knowing I'd never again eat a donut or ask a dumb musical question of a musician there.

Tonight's show was a strong one, making for the appropriate sendoff for the turning of the venue page. Singer-songwriter Knox Hubard was introduced with the words, "I have seen grown women swoon at the sound of his voice."

I know for sure that he was the first LR performer ever to wear a corduroy blazer or have his lyrics/set list taped to his guitar.

He did have a beautiful voice, showcased with well-written songs and impeccable delivery. He sang about trains, a song he'd written after a trip with his son, and about finding the love of your life, with assistance from Mark of Louisiana Territory (whom he'd written it for on the occasion of his marriage) and Chris and Antonia of the Speckled Bird.

Up second was Allison Self, a long-time favorite of mine who'd been traveling so much the past year that she hadn't been playing out much.

Tonight's near-capacity crowd (the baked goods were completely gone by the end of the first set) was treated to her classic Americana big voice and enthusiastic ukulele playing.

The buzz after her set was incredible; apparently a lot of people were hearing her for the first time and being blown away. She played music from her new EP "Self-Titled," (get it?), which she had for sale for $1 to $500, buyer's choice a la Radiohead.

She also covered vintage country, blues and folk, including Leadbelly's "Good Night Irene," Loretta Lynn and "St. Louis Blues." Lyric: "If it weren't for powder and store-bought hair, That man of mine wouldn't have gone nowhere." Classic stuff.

Tyler Crowley played last and he also had a new EP to play. Before he even got started, the string of lights that falls nearly every LR show fell, causing him to note, "I was at the very first Listening Room show and watched the lights fall."

As was I; now it's practically guaranteed to happen every time. Regulars laugh; newbies are just surprised.

Tyler had brought the crew with whom he'd recorded, including Lance Koehler, Marcus Tenney, and Reggie Chapman (all of No BS) and Jonathan Vassar and Antonia (JV & the Speckled Bird), making for the biggest band ever for the LR stage and a very full sound.

Tyler's songs were all taken from slices of his life, including "Preacher and his Gun," a song he described as, "Imagine if Clint Eastwood and Jimmy Swaggert morphed into one man."

My favorite was the lush "Restless Feeling," full of warm horns and indie swagger. He said it sounded even better on the CD than it had live, but I don't see how that's possible.

He closed with a cover of his favorite song, Radiohead's "Let Down." I went to compliment him on the set after the show and before I could, he asked if I'd been at the Symphony Sunday because he thought he'd seen me. "You are at every kind of show," he laughed.

It was appropriate because Tyler and I first met at the Camel when he came up to me and said, "I see you at every show I go to. Who are you?"

After saying good-bye to the Micheaux House for the last time, a couple of friends and I took the short drive to the Republic for a very different sort of musical event.

Prabir and Treesa, half of Prabir and the Goldrush, were playing music from movies. It's part of their themed series at Republic; last time it was all about sex.

They were finishing up their first set when we got there and during the break, Treesa came up to hug me and thank me for coming because, she said, "I know you hate this venue."

It's the smoke I hate and the reeking afterwards actually, but, even so, I told her, I wouldn't have missed seeing what the set list was.

Besides, 48 hours ago, I had been listening to Treesa play violin with the Richmond Symphony performing Pucini and Verdi; how could I resist hearing something so different from her tonight?

And there were some doozies. They opened with the theme from Star Wars and Jaws before cutting loose on "Gangsta's Paradise."

Imagine a white girl from Kansas playing violin and rapping while using her phone for the lyrics. It really needed to be seen and heard to be believed. The crowd roared their approval and her husband taped the entire thing for posterity (or blackmail, I don't know which).

There was an exuberant (read: drunk and loud) crowd at Republic for the show and much enthusiasm as they launched into music from Pulp Fiction, including "Son of a Preacher Man."

The theme to Aladdin, "A Whole New World" was familiar enough to Treesa that she didn't even need her phone, nor did the singalong crowd. Who knew there were so many Aladdin fans at the Republic on a Tuesday night?

For "Ghostbusters," they turned on the fog machine and really got the crowd going. Afterwards, Treesa pouted, "I don't want to stop using the fog machine." Not a complaint you hear every day.

But she did because it wasn't needed for the cheesiest possible one-two punch closer ever imagined, a medley of "Wind Beneath My Wings" and "Everything I Do (I Do for You)." Some of the girls in the crowd were clearly in rapture mode as they belted out the lyrics with the band.

If Prabir hadn't set out to pick two of the absolute corniest songs ever written, he'd inadvertently shown cornball genius.

Or, as Treesa's husband Matt summed it up for the ages, "This is really a comedy show." Musical comedy, but comedy for sure.

That's fine. From earnest early on to laughing later on, I'll take my music every way I can get it.

No Princes Tonight

Some evenings just make you feel like a warm muffin, you know, all happy and satisfied. This turned out to be one of those.

It started with dinner at Sprout with Andrew. Although I'd shared his birthday dinner with his friends last Friday, tonight was just the two of us doing our annual shared meal in honor of him. I applaud his ability to keep his birthday going; he's now five days in and still celebrating.

This wicked cold compelled us both to start with Charlie's chicken and potato soup, full of large chunks of chicken and skin-on potatoes floating in a lovely clear broth. I felt better about the cold with every spoonful.

For my main course, I had the sliced steak salad (salad greens and radish with mustard dressing), the meat perfectly medium rare and the freshest-tasting mixed greens possible in December.

Andrew had the grilled cheddar with sliced apples and didn't even offer me a bite, despite having nothing but superlatives to say about it. I let it slide because it was, after all, his sandwich. Dessert, in the form of raspberry cream puffs on a plate of chocolate sauce, disappeared in the blink of an eye.

I left to go to the loo and ran into a friend; we talked about last night's show which she'd missed and she kindly invited me to her Christmas party. I must have chatted longer than I realized because when I finally came out of the bathroom, Andrew was waiting for me with my coat in hand. Time to go.

And he was right because tonight was the Listening Room and smart cookies know to arrive in time to socialize (and get the good donuts, if you're so inclined) before the music starts promptly at 8. So off we went.

As I walked by the musicians' room on the way in, my friend Jameson called to me. He'd told me the other night that he wanted me (and 20 other people) to help with stage props during their set tonight. Eyeing the collection of stuffed animals on the table, he grabbed one and said, "You should have the beaver," causing the room to explode in laughter. Indeed I should.

Josh Quarles of the Speckled Bird went on first and it was a pleasure to hear him solo for a change. He announced that, "I'm going to be the boring one compared with the other two acts." Boring is not the word I would have used for his excellent songwriting and voice. He even did some looping to bring his cello playing into the room.

I have seen Jameson's band, Lobo Marino, before but I knew this was going to be a particularly colorful set. Jameson came onstage barefoot (with reason) and Laney looked like a movie star in a long gold coat over all black; Nathaniel was his usual handsome multi-talented self.

They did a few songs off the upcoming album (recorded with the oh-so-talented Dave Watkins recently) and then music off their stellar last CD, "Keep Your Head Up."

At one point, Jameson's need for bare feet became obvious when he used his big toe to turn on a power strip, which started two box fans with paper streamers attached and bits of paper resting on top. It was quite an effect as paper scattered and streamers blew around during the song.

When they got to "Animal Hands," it was time for the crowd participation. The cue was the line "Oh, my god" and it was then that stuffed animal-holders had been instructed to throw their fuzzies at the band. I was in the front row center, so it was no difficulty at all to lob my beaver directly between Jameson's thighs. Let's just say I was the one who exploded in laughter that time.

Mingling after that set, I ran into a friend who'd assured me he was coming to the Listening Room (silly me, I thought he meant at the beginning). Turns out he was late because he'd gotten drunk (at the office Christmas party) and then lost (having parked over by Crossroads Coffee by mistake and then hiked to the show). But better late than never. I invited him to join us in the front row.

The laughter continued with Fuzzy Baby's set. If you haven't experienced them before, you can't be prepared for just how unique everything about this duo is. They bill themselves as a two-person one-man band for starters.

Instruments? Guitars, cymbals, drums, tuba, clarinet, cowbells, tambourine, and a Brazilian drum played from the inside. A capella, whistling, harmonies. Songs about cheese, unrequited love, obsessive love, photo albums and one of Richmond's finest trumpeters, Bob (the already classic, "Chimpanbob").

Theirs is truly music to laugh along with, when you're not marveling at their musical talent. A photographer friend leaned over in between songs and said, "I can't believe he's keeping time like that" about Giustino playing drums, cymbals, guitar and singing all at once. Not to mention looking extremely dapper doing it.

And the stage banter! Giustino's witty repartee with the audience riffed on everything from Josh and Lobo Marino to living room practice sessions ("I always have a microphone pointed at my crotch"). Molly was the perfect foil, setting him up and batting him down.

The late arrival friend asked me afterwards if they always did the banter (they do) and if it was always the same (it never is, which impressed him no end). Walking out, I asked him if he wanted a ride back to his car. He did.

Before he got out of my car, he asked me what I was doing next. "Are you off to have a drink and talk to princes?" he wondered.

I said that I hadn't decided but that I might just go home. "And write a blog post at 11-something?" he asked, clearly not believing.

"It could happen," I told him. It did.

Subterranean Sophistication

"That was an auditory pleasure," said one VCU student to another as we exited the Listening Room tonight. So what else is new, boys? But maybe they were Listening Room virgins and unprepared for the wonders of this must-hear monthly event. Even my friend Andrew almost always comes out for this one.

The crowd shifts regularly, sometimes younger, sometimes more mature, but always growing and made up of dedicated music lovers. For a change, tonight's bill had only two bands instead of three, making for slightly longer sets. Put on your attention spans, kids.

Blasco led the charge, tall and slender in black, and wearing a hat and jacket he soon shed under the heat of the lights. Even better, two of the lights got turned off, making for a much more atmospheric setting.

Blasco explained that he'd be playing both old and new material and that the new stuff would be recognizable because " it will be in French, so that's how you can tell. Because I'm French." He kept lyric sheets in front of him, he said, because they were still fresh. Even when I didn't understand the words, I got the feelings he was conveying.

It was the LR's first multi-lingual performance and set an interesting tone for the evening. With a tad less lighting, we could have been in a subterranean boite rather than a church basement with an emotive singer/songwriter playing guitar and singing songs of frustrated lives and loves. It felt so...Gallic and I mean that in the best possible way.

Favorite lyric: "He makes me want to miss you."

Next up was ...and The Wiremen, a trio tonight with one New Yorker (Lynn Wright) and two Richmonders (Paul Watson and Pippin). I've seen them before in places as disparate as Poe's Pub and Ghostprint Gallery, so I knew we were in for a treat.

Their music has a dark complexity and with Wright's (Bryan Ferry-like) warble, it makes for a haunting sound. Tuning his guitar, Wright said, "I was told to talk to the audience tonight which I don't usually do. I was also told not to act like a New Yorker."

The man does have a certain blase coolness that could be construed as acting like a New Yorker, but his apparent enjoyment in the performance came across as pure Richmond.

Watson's trumpet-playing and backing vocals add so much to the band's sound, as did his occasional air-guitar strumming on his trumpet. It was only preparation apparently for when he actually picked up his guitar, often alternating playing it with the horn.

Pippin (also of the Happy Lucky Combo) provided the creative drumming and percussion that rounded out their sound. I had just seen him play last week at the Musicircus, although in a band with a very different sound.

Favorite lyric: "Hey, I could be your man and stay to face it."

It was an unusually sophisticated evening at the Listening Room tonight and since a show of hands proved that easily half the crowd were first-timers, they may be surprised on their next visit to discover a completely different kind of musical experience.

But there still won't be any talking allowed. That's just how the Listening Room rolls.

Hot Music, Sweaty Musicians

"Hi everybody. I'm Dean Lee and this is the noise I make."

That brilliant line was the kickoff of the eighth installment of the Listening Room, which followed a bottle of excellent half-priced Alma Negra Malbec/Bonarda and pie at Sette with a good friend.

Unfortunately for her, she couldn't make the show.

When Dean made his pronouncement at the start, the crowd was actually sparser than usual, but by the middle of his set, the crowd had almost doubled, more chairs were being put out and things were warming up nicely with the warm bodies of assorted music lovers.

It was just Dean, his guitar and harmonica (he apologized for a couple of missing reeds) and a collection of interesting songs with offbeat lyrics.

Dean's songs had a way of ending surprisingly, even for him, which added a certain charm to his performance.

Favorite lyric:"Went to the show and they didn't play my song."

I know that feeling, Dean.

When his set was over, he ran off the "stage" with his arms overhead in a victory stance, as if to celebrate being finished.

Actually the audience was sorry to see him go.

Before the Orioles (Nick Woods and Matt Wirt) could play, a string of lights fell from the ceiling, as happens every month, causing MC Chris to say, "Now it's a real Listening Room show."

Then the audience was treated to two voices with two guitars and Matt's guitar had a thickness, a richness that made it pure pleasure to listen to.

When I asked him why it sounded so amazing, he downplayed it, saying it was just a pawnshop guitar.

"Maybe it's the person playing it?" he suggested. Maybe it was.

Nick said they'd been together for three years and, "we didn't conquer the world but we did make our first $5 CDs."

The lyrics were at times laugh out loud funny ("I wanted the bridge to sound like Nirvana Unplugged") and sometimes more introspective ("I feel the exact same as I did a year ago today").

Near the end of their set, Nick removed his shirt, using it to wipe sweat from his face.

"I feel like the bass player in the Roots. That's one sweaty dude." It was a tad warm for the audience and we weren't doing a thing, so it had to be hot as hell under the lights and playing their hearts out.

Frankzig referred to his band, the Music Club, as the Miami Sound machine and the duo was such a cool complement to the unique sounds of Frank's classical guitar playing.

"I know you're wondering and, yes, we were all extras in Carlito's Way," he said by way of introduction, telling us that Ray would play shaker things with his ham hock hands and Justin would play bongos.

And then a second strand of lights fell, as if to reiterate what a real show it was.

Frank and the Music Club played a Latin-influenced set with few lyrics and the most impressive Flamenco-style guitar playing the Listening Room has ever witnessed.

With percussion being shaken, scraped and turned and Justin's bongos anchoring it all, they were three mesmerizing musicians to watch.

Favorite song title, after a rough translation: "I miss my beer-drinking Mama."

Don't we all?

The set closed with Frank imploring the audience, "Hopefully that was remotely painless."

His shirt was soaked through from his energetic guitar playing and the audience completely wowed by their set.

As the band gathered up their stuff, I went up and asked a few bongo questions and was told that people who ask questions should have a drink bought for them as a reward for their musical curiosity.

How does the Listening Room keep topping itself?

Upping the Ante at the Listening Room

What if we took the Listening Room concept to the next level? What if we tried to make Richmond a place that became known for attentive audiences who did not shout or party at top volume during a show? What if I discovered that I wasn't the only person who had this fantasy?

Well, damn if I'm not. During a conversation with band photographer extraordinaire PJ Sykes at tonight's Listening Room performance, we talked about the recent Spoon show at the National. Like me, he'd been appalled at the rude and unruly crowd. Since then, he said several people had brought up the same subject to him and an idea had begun to foment.

What if a grass-roots movement started to encourage listening rather than talking at places like the National? PJ suggested carrying small cards which would be politely and silently handed to talkers at shows. They'd say something along the lines of "Here in Richmond, we like to hear our shows. Please, no talking during the performance." Then there'd be a website address should the cardholder want to learn more about the movement.

As he pointed out, bands would spread the word that rva was a great listening town. Hell, they spread the word about the backstage facilities and bands have admitted to booking here for that reason alone. Imagine how popular we could become among the earnest musician set. And as someone who's had my fair share of being surrounded by partiers with no interest in listening, I wouldn't hesitate to hand a stranger a card that paraphrased "Shut the fuck up."

But I digress. It was another stellar, in fact, possibly Top Two Ever show at the Listening Room this evening. It was most certainly the biggest crowd so far at the Michaux House and while I was quite comfy (having no blood or circulation) many around me were fanning themselves. The poor musicians, under the lights, looked downright shiny and hot.

First up was Brown Bird from Rhode Island. The last time they played here was five years ago at the now-defunct Nonesuch and they were a duo then. Tonight's trio put on a show to be remembered, rootsy and folky; it's not often you hear a sea chantey as a finale. Or see a guy playing guitar with his hands, drums with both feet and singing lead.

With dobro, guitar, cello, fiddle and drum, they had an unusual sound, far more driving than your typical Americana band. And such a drum: upside down and open on top to allow the addition of bells and whatever, it made for a hard-driving element throughout. The audience reacted with moving heads, feet and shoulders. Favorite lyric, "I haven't quite thrown enough of me away." Brown Bird got the most extended applause of any band I've seen at the Listening Room and I've been to every one.

The headliner was local band Homemade Knives, who hadn't played a show in three years. Lead singer Will told us right up front that he'd prefer to play for us, "ten at a time" and asked that the rest of the audience step out of the room for a bit. No one budged. "I couldn't be more nervous," he admitted.

They're a five-piece (accordion, keys, guitars and cello), who've also been around for a while, but on hiatus after the death of a member. Their harmonies are beautiful and their acoustic folk sound a thing of beauty, and tonight put them back in the spotlight in front of an adoring crowd.

When Jonathan took a minute to change instruments and grab his harmonica, the band prepared to start without him. "Wait for me!" he implored. "I'm just trying to get through this," Will lamented. The did a Tom Waits cover and an "old song done new" from an early EP, Industrial Parks. Favorite lyric, "If you would only run, I could chase you."

Their set was short and ended with Will telling us that "that's all the songs we know." As a musician friend said to me at that point, "I could have listened to another 25 minutes of that." Me, too.

And the beauty of that statement is that we were listening. The only voices were the ones on stage. Maybe it has something to do with the program cards which are on every seat when the audience arrives. "Please, no talking during the performance."

Hmm, sounds like the basis of a grass-roots idea. Count me in.

Listening for All the Right Reasons

You don't see a good friend for a few weeks and when you finally do your time is limited by prior committments, so all the Counoise and Malbec in the restaurant can't help you catch up on each other's lives any faster than you do. But we tried diligently, we really did.

The starting point was Six Burner (at her request but always a good choice for me) and while I was the sole customer at 6:00, within the hour, the place was bustling. By the time my friend arrived, I'd already regaled Josh with the details of last night's supreme soul show, knowing that as a musician he'd want to hear about such talent and showmanship and he did. His biggest regret was that I hadn't forewarned him since he'd been off by 9:30 and could have made it over. I keep forgetting that that's my job around here: tell people what to do.

My friend started by asking if I had the minutes of our last get-together and, sadly, I did not. Once we got rolling on the value of blog posts with depth, there was no stopping the words, though. Theater was next with a discussion of the hardest part of being an actor not being the actual acting, but the onstage listening and reacting (can you say Brandon Crowder?). Having just seen Tommy too, we compared notes.

She's recently started working out with a personal trainer who's been treating her respectfully and politely. much to her disgust. Tired of that nonsense, when he told her today to do another set of crunches after two previous sets, she responded, "Fuck you!" in an effort to loosen him up. After that, he seemed to finally get a feel for who she really is and how best to handle her; a well-placed expletive can do that for a woman.

Josh reappeared with an amuse bouche and we tucked into eel with roasted ramp in a mushroom sauce and what a delicious thing that was. We then ordered the salumi plate of cured meats and the risotto balls with mozzarella (that superb crust and creamy interior, what a beautiful contrast that was) to have some sustenance while we delved into heavier things.

She reads the blog so, as she pointed out, she knew the general framework of what had been happening, but wanted the full-on versions with the details I don't share publicly. It had been so long that entire chapters had closed, new intrigue had occurred and fresh fodder for discussion developed. Josh kept our glasses refilled and we talked right up until we went our separate ways on the sidewalk out front.

I had to get going because I was not willing to be late for the Listening Room; music starts promptly at 8 and I like to have a few minutes to socialize before zipping it for the sake of music.

The program began with the soft-voiced Lydia Ooghe, playing with Trey Pollard and Wells Hanley. "This is a song about wanting to go out and drink by myself," she informed the audience. Then turning to her musicians, she asked, "Do you guys know what song that is? It 's actually all of them." Favorite lyric: "I don't really care if you're a good boy/you're the only one for me."

Worth noting is that Trey was not playing his usual guitar, but instead the pedal steel, an instrument whose sound I love but don't really understand. I corrected that tonight by going up to him after the performance and asking my dumb non-musician questions. Unlike the guitar, which he's played since childhood, the pedal steel is fairly new to him. "It takes every ounce of concentration I have to play this thing," he told me, saying it was well worth it. Ah, but the sound is so wonderful we both agreed.

Nick Coward played next and up until tonight, I'd only seen him with his band, the Last Battle. He played a song from his upcoming EP and mentioned that it had horns, but that he was going to sing the horns, which he did beautifully; he also covered the Arcade Fire's Ocean of Noise. Best lyric: "Blaming the past/for what the future lacks/in this backward waltz."

Last up was Moruza (it means mish-mash and was the leader's middle name), a quintet of three women and two guys (keys, fiddle, bass, drums, singer). Saying she was nervous and babbling, a song was introduced with, "This is a song about liars...which is almost everybody." She paused to let the audience react. "No, she didn't," she said smiling at her pronouncement.

The band had beautiful harmonies with two and sometimes three female voices and claimed that usually they were the quietest band, although that was not the case at the Listening Room. Favorite lyric: "And you loved me/just the way I'd hoped you could/And you followed me/just the way I'd hoped you would." That's from a song entitled Richmond, written, they said, because the band is from here, lives here and loves it here.

I can relate. While I'm not from here, evenings like tonight are exactly why I live here and love it here. Some people would call it a big, stupid city, but I feel lucky enough to think I'll find someone amazing here.

And in the meantime, I have nights like this.

Starting Greek at Basilis, Ending Satisfied at the Listening Room

I got props from three different guys tonight and that's a damn fine showing for a Tuesday night, if I do say so myself.

I've said before that I blog for compliments, but sometimes the payoff isn't immediate, which only makes the eventual nod all the more satisfying.

Almost a month ago, a friend read yet another of my Listening Room posts and asked if he could go with me to the next one and naturally I agreed.

Another friend had also been swayed by my rave reviews of the experience and was planning to come.

Friend #1 and I began in Carytown to check out the new Greek restaurant, Basilis, for dinner.

The place is not elaborate, but that's part of its charm along with a menu that'll remind you of the Greek festival.

When we got there, they were down to their last order of one of the two specials, the Mahi-Mahi Souvlakia and it had my name on it.

My friend ordered the moussaka and we shared a spanikopita and a tiropita, craving that buttery, flaky goodness.

My stick o' fish was perfectly cooked and, with the green beans in tomatoes and pita, a practically perfect meal (it came with white rice, too).

My friend enjoyed his moussaka so much we had to sit around for 45 minutes before he had room for dessert, which we chose from the dessert case.

It was the fruit tart, but let me explain Basilis version; it was ladyfingers with whipped chocolate cream (like a light chocolate mousse) and a thin layer of tiny pieces of fruit in the center.

It was light and not in the least guilt-inducing, but not much like any fruit tart you might know.

Before we left, I went to the ladies' room, which turned out to be a lengthy process because of how I'd dressed for the evening.

In order to do what I needed to do, I had to unbutton first a jacket and then a sweater and then unzip my dress, because it had a split skirt I couldn't just pull up, and then remove two pairs of tights, black and magenta.

I felt like I was in there for days.

I tell you this only because I'm renowned for my fast bathroom visits, so I felt I had to tell my friend why when I came out of the loo as an explanation for my extended absence.

As I'm telling him, the guy behind the counter walks by us and says to me, "You're so cute," and walks into the kitchen.

Random.

Yet another example of a totally random comment from a stranger directed at me.

But it was nice, so I'll take it.

And then there was the Listening Room, with coffee from Apropos Roasters and coffee cake from Garnett's. We found seats and the music began with Paul Watson, a trumpeter I've seen on multiple occasions.

Tonight he had a guitarist with him and he played trumpet on some songs and sang on others.

At one point, Jonathan Vassar joined him on stage and the two of them puffed up their cheeks and made mock trumpet noises for part of the song, an impressive thing to watch.

By song #3, my companion turned to me and mouthed the word, "AMAZING," with a big grin, followed by a silent, "thank you."

Paul mentioned being tired of playing in bars where people are more interested in partying than listening to the music.

" But that's just me," he rationalized.

No, Paul, it's me and lots of other people, too.

After the first intermission, one of the organizers, Chris Edwards, announced the beginning of the second group's set by teasing his co-organizer.

"Jonathan Vassar, less talking, more sitting."

Can you tell that Chris usually works with children?

Hezekiah Jones, a four-piece from Philly consisting of guitar, lap steel, bass and violin with two members singing, captured the audience with a beautiful folky sound and compelling lyrics.

"This is called 'Cupcakes for the Army," lead singer Raphael said, "and it's about baking."

Or war, but we got his drift.

A couple of songs were written during the three blizzards this past winter and the resulting time stuck inside.

Midway through their set, my other friend, sitting in front of me, turned and mouthed, "WOW!" (Oh, I know.)

Last up was Chris Kasper and for most of his set, all but Raphael of H.J. joined him on stage, adding another dimension to his voice and acoustic guitar.

Chris mentioned how lucky he felt to find people he could stand on stage who could also play their instruments; this is apparently key to a good musical relationship.

They did a song of theirs currently getting a bit of airplay in Philly and acknowledged the thrill of it.

Favorite lyric:"Find me when I'm a bit older...and my tongue a bit bolder." (Oh, is that how I got this way?)

Both the friends who attended for the first time tonight came because they'd read my last four posts about this event and I'd somehow convinced them that they just had to experience the audio pleasure that is the Listening Room.

Sure, I could say I told (wrote) them so, but the real satisfaction is in having turned them on to one of RVA's hidden treasures.

It's all part of my top secret movement to convince the music-going public that the best way to enjoy a show is with their lips sealed and their ears wide open.

But I did tell them so.

Garnett's Sets the Tone for Music Done Right

"I feel like I just ate in your kitchen," the departing customer said to Kendra, owner of Garnett's moments after I sat down at the bar. That compliment just about sums up what a comfortable place this months-old restaurant is; as for me, I still haven't tried every single sandwich, so I was back to cross one more off my list. Besides, I knew Mac missed me.

Tonight it was the turkey with Swiss, bacon and coleslaw on rye bread that caught my eye and while it was almost too thick to get my mouth around, I managed. The beauty of this sandwich was the contrast between the sweetness of the cole slaw and the saltiness of the bacon. One of my favorite bearded regulars came in and ordered a BLT with a fried egg...and a side of a grilled cheese. I remember my first time eating at Garnett's a guy had a side of potato salad with his sandwich and then ordered another side of potato salad for dessert. I've also seen people order an extra side of those fabulous pickles; Garnett's has that kind of effect on people.

It's also a place where you're a fool not to order dessert; theirs are better priced than any place else in town, except for perhaps Black Sheep, and they're outstanding. Tonight I had yet another variation: chocolate cake with coffee icing. I don't even drink coffee and I thought it was wonderful; imagine how coffee lovers would swoon.

Like several other customers who came through Garnett's while I was there, I was headed to the Michaux House for this month's installment of the Listening Room. I arrived early enough to secure good seats for me and the two friends who were joining me. The well-trained audience was in their seats and hushed by 7:59.

The Colloquial Orchestra was up first, a local super group of sorts, made up of Chad of The Florentines, Matt of the Low Branches and Louisiana Territory and Dave Watkins ("I'm just Dave Watkins," he told us). Unusual instruments were the highlight here; Chad played the bouzouki, Matt the baritone ukulele and Dave the dulcitar.

The first song, all instrumental, was highlighted by Dave singing into the body of the dulcitar, causing it to resonate. From my vantage point, he appeared to be kissing his instrument, but the sound he produced was almost as good as a kissing sound. Another song, Pangea's Revenge, was introduced as "for all you hopeless romantics out there," and the lyrics were shown on a screen for a group singalong. Or, as Dave put it,"So you can't talk at the Listening Room, but no one said you couldn't sing." Those three stringed instruments playing together was truly a thing of beauty.

Up next was singer/songwriter Dean Fields, who while tuning his guitar, told the audience that "I wrote this song for banjo. This is not one." He entertained us with stories in between songs ("I wrote this in a bar in Raleigh. That paints a picture, doesn't it?") and explanations (about the song Dandelion Rain: "I find humidity inspiring.") He described the Listening Room environment as a reminder of how all the songs were written: simply and with just him and his guitar. Favorite lyric: "You pray the waiting's worth the next in line." So true. He closed with a song called Imitations, describing it as the first song he ever wrote that he didn't think was garbage. Not even close, Dean.

I wasn't at all familiar with local band The Thirds, a four-piece tonight, who began by telling us that they didn't have any good stories to tell, so they were just going to play. With two guitars, bass and keyboard, they also informed us that they were"kind of a rock band most of the time." Their stripped down acoustic sound for the evening may not have been rock (or, more appropriately, indie rock), but those keyboards and synthesized sounds elevated the music to something compelling. My friend found the vocals Death Cab for Cutie-like, which could be a good or bad thing, depending on your perspective; I liked the guy's voice and phrasing. Favorite lyric: "Chemical reactions that I can't explain/I'm way too old for this."

Without going all superlative on you, the Listening Room never disappoints; the organizers continue to bring in talented musicians to an atmosphere that encourages appreciation. Dean wisecracked with, "How you guys doing? Oh, yeah, you guys can't talk," which drew a huge laugh from the attendees. And, as always happens at these shows, midway through, a section of the strung-up lights broke free of their mooring and dropped, to the surprise of the band and delight of the audience. Like respectful silence during the show, it's one of those things you can always count on at the Listening Room. Fortunately, it doesn't make a sound when it happens.

Live Music Heard Right

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shut Up and Listen Up!

I hate going to a music show and having to listen to people around me shout, argue or even just converse while I'm trying to listen to the musicians.

Many is the time I wished my first grade teacher Mrs. Bixler, would happen by and give them THAT look, putting fear in their hearts and shutting them up.

Last night, I enjoyed a jabber-free evening of live music, thanks to the new free series, The Listening Room.

The show was held at the Michaux House on Franklin Street and while the organizers were expecting about 30 people, they easily had double that.

The set was simple and beautiful; there were four handmade wooden and fabric panels, with a plant and lamp in front and several Oriental-style rugs on the floor, creating an inviting ambiance.

The chairs were curved around this area for a cozy proximity to the audience.

There were three groups: Ferdinand Thomas, Englishman (from Lexington, KY) and The Low Branches.

All three bands played beautiful acoustic folky music and everyone in the audience observed the "No talking during performances please" rule stated on the program.

People arrived between 8 and 8:30, milled about socializing and at 8:29, as if on cue, sat down and just stopped talking. It was a beautiful thing.

Ferdinand Thomas' lyrics leaned toward the dark, with violin, keyboard and drum fleshing out the guitarist's vocals.

Englishman's vocal harmonies were a thing of beauty, very simple with just a guitar and keyboard.

The Low Branches, the only group I'd seen before, have the ethereal voice of Christina to anchor their haunting sound.

All three were ideal for a listening room setting and a rapt audience.

The Listening Room at the Michaux House is a concept overdue in Richmond.

We have so many fine musicians and the creation of an atmosphere in which they can be best appreciated is a gift to the music lovers of the city.

The kind of people who don't need a Mrs. Bixler to shut them up during the music portion of the evening.

The kind who want to shut up and listen.