Pull My Puppet Strings and I'll Dance

Yep, that was me standing in the center of the Landmark stage tonight.

But I worked up to it gradually, beginning with music.

Certain bands play so infrequently out that when they do, I want to be there. Now Sleepyhead is one of my favorites of those.

They were doing an early show at the Camel tonight with Emily Peal. Except that when I arrived, it turned out that Emily had pneumonia.

She has my sincere sympathy for that, knowing, as I do, how that can unexpectedly scratch the record of your life mid-note.

But all was not lost because the show was going on with just Now Sleepyhead.

To pass the time, I bellied up to the bar and ordered nachos and chatted with the bartender whom I'd just seen at Balliceaux the other night for storytelling.

Just as my food arrived, a guy sat down next to me at the bar, knocking into me as he did so.

"Do you do a ton of drugs? How do you feel about drug confessions?" he immediately asked the bartender, who demurred.

Turning to me, he pointed to my nachos. "I'm a hippie. Can I have half of those?"

No, I told him, so he turned and ordered a margarita with "lots of salt and even more extra booze."

When the bartender handed it to him, he asked him, "What's your definition of a hippie? I say it's someone who has money but uses it for good."

The bartender said that that was not his definition of a hippie.

He turned back to me. "You're pretty. Can I buy you a drink?"

Luckily his attention span was short and he abruptly left (after asking the bartender if he had any peyote), leaving those of us who'd dealt with him to shake our heads.

"God speed," a guy near me said.

Just before Now Sleepyhead began playing, the owner asked him to step outside to talk and he wasn't allowed back in.

God speed indeed.

Once the band started playing, all was right with the world because the audience was made up of long-time fans of theirs, many grateful for an early show on a Thursday night.

The combination of keyboards, multiple guitars, French horn and xylophone makes for both an ambient and dreamgaze sound enhanced by multiple vocalists.

Warning that it was a soft song, they played "Use Your Bicycle as an Antenna" and their song for the ages, "Who the Fuck?"

As always, they traded instruments throughout the set and thanked the crowd repeatedly for coming when really we should have bee thanking them.

For my second act, my beekeeping friend had invited me to join a small backstage tour of "The Lion King" given by her friend, Bruce, whom I'd met a Balliceaux Monday evening.

No, I haven't seen the production (although I did meet a hyena at Secco), but how could I turn down an invitation to be at the Landmark stage door at 10:15?

Let's just say I've never been to a stage door before.

Like the eager beaver I am, I was there ten minutes early chatting up another invitee, telling him that no, I hadn't seen the show, but I had met a hyena.

Lo and behold, a woman walks by, looks at me and does a double take.

"I met you at Secco!" said the hyena's wife, assuring me that they'd used my suggestions about what to do in Richmond while they'd been here.

This town is even small when it comes to out-of-towners.

Before we knew it, we were being led through the stage door to the bowels of the Landmark Theater.

Once there, we saw the scads of costumes and puppets that fill twenty semi-trailers when the show moves from city to city (New Orleans is next).

We saw a wall of gazelle heads, all made of carbon fiber and weighing next to nothing.

Moving toward one of the make-up areas, a giraffe looked at our little group and noted, "Wow! You guys must be special. You got Bruce!"

I'd already been feeling like a pretty big deal just to be on this tour; knowing that Bruce never gave them just added another level of thrilling.

And then to get to walk out on to the Landmark stage, where I'd seen the likes of Prince, R.E.M., Paul Simon and Janet Jackson perform, well, it's a good thing there was a lot of head room.

But, as we learned from our guide, there really wasn't. The Landmark has been the most problematic of all the venues the production has used.

Its small doorways make it difficult to get tall giraffes and fat warthogs through inadequate openings.

Just as I was coming down from the high of looking in the orchestra pit from the stage, we walked into the room where Bruce and two others work their magic on the puppets.

A crew member inside stopped cold. "You guys are very lucky! You're the first touring group to come back to the puppet room!"

There we saw the Scar headdress and the separate mechanics and cables that make it move.

He passed just the headpiece around, warning us, "Be very careful with it. It's worth more than a baby."

We saw an entire cabinet of animal heads for the understudies, necessary because each is made exactly to the actor's head size.

I admired the Hyena Rack (labeled as such), knowing that I'd met a hyena.

Bruce explained about how "The Lion King" was conceived of as a double event, meaning the audience sees both the puppet's movement and the actor's simultaneously.

Looking at the warthog's costume, which weighed 40 pounds and had a separate fabric puppet for its tongue, we marveled at the skill of the actor in it.

The Timon puppet was attached to the actor's feet with rods, to his solar plexus with a chest mount and his hands controlled the arms and mouth.

Big budget, meet Walt Disney Industries.

By the time we'd scoured the backstage area, I was in awe of a production I've never seen and likely won't.

But not because I wasn't bowled over by the creativity, ingenuity and sheer scope of the production.

No, it was more of a budget constraint than anything.

In any case, I got to stand on the stage of the Landmark and take a bow in my Berlin tights.

I like to think that had there been an audience, the Tights Queen might have even gotten some applause.

My only challenge then would have been to get my head out those inadequate doors.

Repackaging My Inner Smartass

I wasn't the only one looking for some Monday night action.

The show at Sprout promised skygaze, shoegaze and shoewave, which was as good as a guarantee that I absolutely had to be there.

The surprise was how many other people were, too.

My main reason for going was Now Sleepyhead, a local ambient/shoegaze sounding band of whom I've been a fan for several years now.

The only problem is how rarely they play out.

You don't hear a lot of French horn in indie bands except with them and their combination of mournful lyrics over beautiful music sucks me in every time.

Introducing their last song, Michael said with a grin, "This is probably our happiest song and it's called 'Eternal Damnation."

They're also possibly the only band who claim to have pillowcases along with CDs among their merchandise.

During their set, a loud (drunk? poorly raised? oblivious?) girl right in the front began talking to her friend, getting ever-louder, trying to talk over the sound of an electrified band.

Of course I had no tolerance for her, but as I looked around, I saw steam coming out of several people's ears, so it wasn't just me being offended.

Just as I was about to do my civic/musical duty, a friend stepped up to her and took care of it.

She left in a huff with her girlfriend and later their male friend gave my friend a shove and a look of death.

I'm going to go with poorly raised.

Next up was Sleepy Vikings, a sextet all the way from Tampa ("It's even hot on Christmas in Tampa,") and one of those rare bands, a la Mermaid Skeletons, where everyone is seated.

Their shoegaze sound had moments of pure jangley folk pop, but it was the spacey electric guitar weaving its way through two acoustics that wormed its way into my ear and wouldn't let go.

I'm never one to argue with female vocals, and when a male voice took over, I heard shades of Modest Mouse.

The chill drumming (lots of brushes and mallets) also added a great deal to the overall sound, which benefited from frequent changes in tempo and dynamics.

Okay, so I really, really liked this band.

Humor came through when they mentioned that they had CDs for sale on a back table.

"It's a good time to steal one because no one's guarding them."

Finally we got to the rock portion of the evening, not that I was necessarily ready to let go of shoegaze, with Canary, oh, Canary.

A stripped down trio playing "shoewave" aka dream-gaze pop (think Cocteau Twins), they had some songs with no vocals and others with some dramatic ones (and expressive hand gestures). 


When they locked into a groove, they stayed there.


As I walked out, one of the musicians sitting outside asked if I was leaving. 


Yes, I explained, I was because the show was over.


I was accused of being a smartass, but as I pointed out, if I didn't pull out that card, he might suspect I'd been replaced with a body double.

And if that does happen, I want a much better body. Just FYI.

Music for the Missed

I had no idea that the VMFA had been showing movies to the public since 1948 when I walked into tonight's screening of Louis Malle's Pretty Baby, part of November's movie theme, "photoplay."

Interestingly enough, the film had a couple of tie-ins to the current Sally Mann exhibit. In the film, the photographer Bellocq (played by Keith Carradine) uses a camera very similar to that which Mann uses.

And when the film first came out, there were many who felt that it crossed into the arena of child pornography, much like the derision directed at Mann's early 1990s photographs of her nude children.

But the cinematography of the 1978 movie was spectacular; it came across like a sepia-toned photograph out of the era portrayed, 1917 New Orleans. Susan Sarandon was very young and beautiful (especially nude) and Brooke Shields truly looked like a 12-year old and not a 16-year old playing younger.

The images of adult life as seen through the eyes of a child was unquestionably sad, but only in an historical sort of way; yes, child prostitution is appalling, but it was commonplace in 1917. Fact.

In the post-screening discussion, audience members agreed that such a film could never be made today in this country due to political correctness. Something similar would almost have to be made by a European, just like it was in 1978.

I left the museum with images of sultry candlelit meals on screened-in porches and headed to the candlelit confines of Sprout for a very special music show.

Tonight was a tribute to the late Nathan Joyce, a talented local musician with ties to many of the musicians currently performing in Richmond. The show hadn't quite begun when I arrived, so I took a stool at the bar and ordered some cheese hushpuppies and a root beer.

As musicians and friends came in, I had plenty of people to talk to. After a bit, the bartender brought over a glass of wine and asked, "Do you drink wine?" Why, yes I do. It was a mis-pour so he randomly donated it to me.

My friend Isaac had escaped his hosting job early enough to join me at the bar, so now I had wine and great company. He was one of the musicians playing in the show tonight, but for the moment, he just wanted a lager and a blather and so he had both.

I'm ashamed to say that we talked through the first two bands before moving into the back room for Now Sleepyhead's set. These guys are a favorite of mine and haven't played a show in over a year, so tonight's set was a pretty big deal. They had new material and were in fine voice (and French horn). I only hope they plan to start playing more again.

Between sets, a horror film Nathan and a friend had made was shown and it got great laughs from the audience for its spurting blood and deadpan dialog. It was a touching way to bring Nathan into the room visually tonight.

Isaac played next, two songs solo and two songs as part of his band Double Rainbows. Best put, he/they kicked ass and took numbers. He's got such a great voice plus he's an incredibly literate songwriter; the combination had the crowd enthralled and impressed. There was a lot of buzz after their set.

Ophelia, playing as a duo, followed and I already knew what a treat we were in for because Jonathan had told me their set list at the Listening Room Tuesday night: three REM covers.

Tonight he explained to the audience that he and Nathan were both huge REM fans and that Nathan was the only other person he ever knew other than himself who knew all the words to "It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine)," cementing their friendship.

Jonathan and David began by saying "We need Isaac for this," and then played "Driver 8" and "Don't Go back to Rockville" before launching a crowd singalong to "End of the World." I admit it, I was singing right along (badly, but singing). That's some classic stuff right there; who doesn't have REM somewhere in their past?

Lobo Marino closed the show, appropriate because lead singer Jameson had organized the evening's tribute. They played one song that Jameson and Nathan had written together ("the hit, Animal Hands") and treated us to a new piece off their upcoming album. Their energetic set was the perfect finish to a stellar evening of music.

I tried complimenting Isaac on his amazing set before I left, but he admitted he didn't take flattery well. Nevertheless, as I stood outside Sprout talking to half of Now Sleepyhead about the show, he knocked on the window and made the heart sign on his chest.

Just a guess, but I think that meant that he liked my words. Fair enough, because I was even more impressed with his. And he can sing his, unlike me.

Hopefully Nathan heard all the music in his honor tonight because it was a hell of a show.

The Good, The Bad and the Ugly

InLight, 1708 Gallery's 2nd Annual annniversary display, turned out to be both more and less than expected.

The three blocks of Broad and Grace from 5th to 8th were alive tonight with outdoor light-inspired art.

Some of it, like the installations at the plaza on the east side of the federal courthouse were imaginative and engaging.

I loved "Reach," a motorized contraption with halogen lights moving in a spider-like motion as viewers moved beneath.

But without question, my favorite was "Tomorrow Stood Just Outside the Circle From Where the Light Did Shine," a collection of black dress shoes with cut-outs illuminated from within and words written on the soles, all hanging across Grace Street.

It was ghostly and captivating at the same time.

There were plenty of interesting light installations, but nothing with the impact of last year's Jackson Ward house, as defined by light.

That 3-D recreation of an 18th century row house using only lights set a standard that may never be exceeded for this exhibit, IMHO.

As if pre-determined by fate, I followed InLight with dinner at the Belvidere at Broad, where I enjoyed seeing any number of fascinating locals.

I knew I'd be seeing Katie, last night's wine rep and bourbon buddy (and her charming farmer friend) again, but also saw Karen of Now Sleepyhead (looking lovely, as always) and Nate, who was performing outside the restaurant as Gull.

I never miss a chance to see and catch up with Nate; he is, without doubt, one of my favorite music people.

Add into this mix a very married neighbor who came early, sat himself down next to me, and stayed late, despite obvious hints from me to go home to wifey.

Residents of nearby bar stools noticed his inappropriately amorous attempts, but told me afterwards that they weren't certain enough to intervene.

Pity, really, because their meddling could have saved me untold fending off of said neighbor.

They stayed out of it as the neighbor got progressively more inebriated and I got more and more bored.

I came home to messages from two friend wanting to catch up with me earlier tonight, but, alas, it's a bit late at this point.

Maybe I can find someone to have breakfast with me in the morning.

We shall see who turns up.