Don't let anyone tell you that you can't have all kinds of fun at the VMFA.
Arriving at the museum before 5:00, I was walking in the Boulevard entrance (the only entrance as far as I'm concerned) when I heard, "Well, hello."
It was Greg, drummer for Goldrush, the band performing to the silent film classic "Battleship Potemkin" and ostensibly the reason I was at the museum tonight.
"Look at those legs," he smiled. "Very sexy, if I may say so."
You may indeed, I told him. What a fine way to start my evening at the museum.
Walking in together, he headed toward the theater and I went upstairs to Amuse to meet a fellow culture lover.
As it turned out, I was the first and only customer in Amuse at that hour, which was fine with me.
I took the center bar stool in front of a vase of white azaleas and greeted a favorite bar wench.
With no one else in the room, I could actually hear the ice melting and shifting in the absinthe drip at the end of the bar.
Which was good because it meant that they'd be ready to do an absinthe drip at any point I desired.
My film-going companion showed up and we eschewed the happy hour specials for some favorite wines.
He went Italian and I opted for the Boxwood Rose, a perennial favorite and never more so than this time of year.
I was delighted to hear that Chef had just redone the menu today so I had some fresh choices.
We began with tall food, namely the tuna tartare stacked over avocado with Chinese five-spice tuille and lemon oil.
The creamy texture of the high-grade tuna and ripe avocado contrasted beautifully with the crispy, spicy and lacy "cookie."
With limited time before the film started, we moved on to the papusa de chicharron after casually mentioning how good it sounded to the bartender.
She said it was her new favorite and we were sold.
The pulled pork in house made corn tortilla pockets with black beans, pickled cabbage and pineapple with red sauce and sour cream was an enormous portion that easily fed two.
Long-cooked pork inside corn made for a satisfying take on Mexican but it was the tart pickled cabbage that gave the dish its piquancy.
As we neared the end of the dish, we noticed the time and requested that our absinthe drips be started.
The moment she sat the sugar cubes in the absinthe spoons and started the ice water drip, the guy next to us inquired, "What is that?"
I think I've heard a stranger ask that just about every time the drip has been pressed into service for me.
I'm just providing an educational service for the uninitiated, you see.
After enjoying our absinthes, we headed down to the theater for the seminal 1925 silent film about a mutiny against the Tsarist regime.
Or as film lecturer Trent Nicholas put it, "Thesis meets antithesis and results in synthesis." Got it.
He said the story-boarding for the film looked like music and in fact the film could be seen as visual music, an imagery I loved.
The twist was having Prabir and the Goldrush providing the soundtrack with guitar, upright bass, violin and drums.
The movie seemed surprisingly undated in many ways although the story cards were a bit heavy-handed at times ("Heavy and gloomy is the sleep of the off-duty").
Having seen Goldrush preform many times, I recognized some of the songs used although they had also added new material to flesh it out.
It was funny; when they sang, "We don't have to worry about shit," an older couple nearby picked up their things and departed, clearly disgusted with such offensive language.
Hell, if they'd stuck around they'd have been appalled when Prabir started singing, "Roll one for me," since he wasn't talking about Easter eggs.
The band seemed to excel during the extended ship escape scene where their music perfectly mirrored the action onscreen.
Shostakovitch, who'd done the original score, would have been proud, assuming he could handle rock and roll.
I have to admit, I felt something stirring when the crew proudly raised the red flag of victory in a black and white movie.
The band got a standing ovation when the film ended with the squadron, which was supposed to stop the Potemkin, instead let them go and cheered on the rebel ship.
Goldrush had done the Potemkin proud and only offended a few people.
Well done, guys.
Since it was still early, I bid my fellow Potemkin-ite adieu and went up to Amuse to close out the night.
The dining room, which only an hour and half earlier had been scarcely a quarter full was now completely packed.
Horrors! I even had to wait for a seat at the bar.
In a stroke of random luck, it was the seat nearest the absinthe drip, so what could I do but order one?
The bartender inquired if I was still too full to eat again but it seemed as good a time as any for dessert.
Mocha java ice cream with maple cream, Merlot caramel and two oatmeal cookies, a recent addition to the menu, seemed like the way to go so I did.
Waiting for it to arrive, I took another look at the French photography show in the nearby hallway gallery.
Do people still kiss on the streets like they did in that classic 1950 Doisneau photograph? And, if not, shouldn't they/
Back at the bar, my dessert arrived and I dug in.
Nearby was a couple from the Northern Neck in town for the evening and we struck up a conversation about hour-old oysters, good restaurants on the Neck and sitting on the dock of the Rappahannock
The woman next to me, on the other hand, wanted to discuss classic vermouth (insisting I taste her Manhattan), San Quentin prison and the movie I'd just seen.
Next thing I knew, a beer rep I know was calling my name, having spotted me from across the room as she ate dinner.
She is convinced that eventually she can make a beer lover of me.
I have my doubts, but enjoyed meeting her new squeeze and hearing about the upcoming beer dinners she thinks I should attend.
I mean, be realistic. I just added absinthe to my wine and tequila-only repertoire last year after eons of drinking nothing else.
Fact is, I can't just jump on the suds bandwagon like that.
By the time they cleared out, it was time for me to go, too. It had, after all, been over five hours since I'd arrived at the VMFA and they were long closed.
Officially anyway.
As I walked out, the bartender called to me.
"First in, last out," she laughed.
Well, sure.
When I can get compliments, art, a terrific meal off a new menu, absinthe, a classic silent movie I've never seen and live music, I'll happily stay until the bitter end.
Or, more accurately, the better end.
Showing posts with label prabir and the goldrush. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prabir and the goldrush. Show all posts
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Loving My Enemy Tonight
"If you're here, that means this is the best thing going on right now," the handsome bass player Matt told me when I arrived at the Camel.
Actually, there were two outstanding things going on at that moment (9:00) but I'd already taken in the first.
InLight had a different feel this year by virtue of being held in a central location rather than a streetscape; it seemed to make for more interaction among the attendees.
The first pieces I saw were lit boxes with cut-outs, including one that resembled a large creature.
Walking away from it, a guy came up behind me and said, "They stole that idea from Disney World. They have the same thing there but bigger. I just went there last month and saw it."
And here I just saw it for a whimsical and creative sea monster rather than stolen intellectual property.
Passing the lantern parade, I stopped in front of the RVA Dance Collective, who were doing a piece that ended with a scream.
"Well, that was interesting," a woman said sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she walked away.
Actually, it was. The sudden movements of the dancers, the still figures, all of it made for a visual treat that she clearly wasn't appreciating.
The interpretations using light were myriad. One showed lines of a Samuel Beckett poem and another just the face of a diva singing.
Since the aria was in Italian, it was all about the emotion in her face, which given her beauty and strength of voice, was considerable.
"Next! You can only look at that for so long," declared the man beside me to his friends leading them away after about five seconds of watching her sing.
It made me a little sad.
There was a lot more video this year, it seemed to me, focusing on things as disparate as "Recollections of Tredegar" to graffiti images from Broad Street and Fulton Hill.
Probably my favorite was a cloth-covered house with different video projections on the walls and roof.
Best of all, after you walked around to see all the various images, you could go inside it.
Standing inside with two guys sitting in the chairs there, I watched the shadows of kids dancing and frolicking outside against a video projection of a raging fire.
Flame images leaped up around their outstretched arms and bouncing forms.
The juxtaposition was fascinating, an unexpected moment that could not have been anticipated but captured the essence of InLight: people interacting with light.
To get to follow such a unique experience with great music was just a lucky break.
No two ways about it, I was excited to be seeing the Rosebuds again.
I'd first seen them back in early 2008 when they opened for British Seapower at the Satellite Ballroom in Charlottesville and again this summer at the National when they opened for Bon Iver.
And as much as I'd enjoyed them those times, seeing them in a small room like the Camel as the headliner was a guaranteed good time.
In yet another world-shaking moment, the show started on time, so many people missed White Laces' acoustic set.
Leader Landis admitted that they weren't used to playing acoustic and were going to make it a short set.
It was too bad because they played well and I would have liked for the crowd to have shut up, the better to hear them.
They did two covers ("This is the second song tonight we didn't write and that's disgusting," Landis said) in the five song-set.
Every time I hear these guys, their sound is slightly different and every time I like it.
Prabir and the Goldrush were up at bat next and I'm happy to report that Matt's bass was high enough in the mix to hear, not always the case, but a pleasure when it happens.
Why have an instrument that big if you can't hear it if you're in the audience?
It took forever to get the sound worked out for the Rosebuds, but the eager crowd waited without complaining.
It was the last night of their tour and they were happy to be playing to a small, enthusiastic crowd who obligingly sang along every time they were asked.
"F**k it, this is a dance song," lead singer Ivan said introducing "Get Up, Get Out" and you'd better believe people danced.
For that matter, the crowd went wild for the dancey "Woods" (coincidentally, full of light imagery) especially the two middle aged couples right in front of me.
They were definitely getting down with their bad selves.
My long-time concert buddy Andrew walked up to me, looked down, grinned and shook his head.
This has happened to us a time or two before; we attract the unexpected dancers and then sit back and watch.
I suppose if we had rhythm, we'd be dancing as uninhibitedly as they do.
A musician friend mentioned how poppy the Rosebuds are, unclear as to how they were considered indie when their sound could potentially suit the mainstream.
As if pop and indie are mutually exclusive. But to each his own.
In his defense, he had just come from a Dead Kennedys cover band rehearsal, so the transition may have been a bit tough.
Not so the transition from InLight to the Rosebuds.
Two superlatives in one night. It couldn't have been easier...or more satisfying.
Actually, there were two outstanding things going on at that moment (9:00) but I'd already taken in the first.
InLight had a different feel this year by virtue of being held in a central location rather than a streetscape; it seemed to make for more interaction among the attendees.
The first pieces I saw were lit boxes with cut-outs, including one that resembled a large creature.
Walking away from it, a guy came up behind me and said, "They stole that idea from Disney World. They have the same thing there but bigger. I just went there last month and saw it."
And here I just saw it for a whimsical and creative sea monster rather than stolen intellectual property.
Passing the lantern parade, I stopped in front of the RVA Dance Collective, who were doing a piece that ended with a scream.
"Well, that was interesting," a woman said sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she walked away.
Actually, it was. The sudden movements of the dancers, the still figures, all of it made for a visual treat that she clearly wasn't appreciating.
The interpretations using light were myriad. One showed lines of a Samuel Beckett poem and another just the face of a diva singing.
Since the aria was in Italian, it was all about the emotion in her face, which given her beauty and strength of voice, was considerable.
"Next! You can only look at that for so long," declared the man beside me to his friends leading them away after about five seconds of watching her sing.
It made me a little sad.
There was a lot more video this year, it seemed to me, focusing on things as disparate as "Recollections of Tredegar" to graffiti images from Broad Street and Fulton Hill.
Probably my favorite was a cloth-covered house with different video projections on the walls and roof.
Best of all, after you walked around to see all the various images, you could go inside it.
Standing inside with two guys sitting in the chairs there, I watched the shadows of kids dancing and frolicking outside against a video projection of a raging fire.
Flame images leaped up around their outstretched arms and bouncing forms.
The juxtaposition was fascinating, an unexpected moment that could not have been anticipated but captured the essence of InLight: people interacting with light.
To get to follow such a unique experience with great music was just a lucky break.
No two ways about it, I was excited to be seeing the Rosebuds again.
I'd first seen them back in early 2008 when they opened for British Seapower at the Satellite Ballroom in Charlottesville and again this summer at the National when they opened for Bon Iver.
And as much as I'd enjoyed them those times, seeing them in a small room like the Camel as the headliner was a guaranteed good time.
In yet another world-shaking moment, the show started on time, so many people missed White Laces' acoustic set.
Leader Landis admitted that they weren't used to playing acoustic and were going to make it a short set.
It was too bad because they played well and I would have liked for the crowd to have shut up, the better to hear them.
They did two covers ("This is the second song tonight we didn't write and that's disgusting," Landis said) in the five song-set.
Every time I hear these guys, their sound is slightly different and every time I like it.
Prabir and the Goldrush were up at bat next and I'm happy to report that Matt's bass was high enough in the mix to hear, not always the case, but a pleasure when it happens.
Why have an instrument that big if you can't hear it if you're in the audience?
It took forever to get the sound worked out for the Rosebuds, but the eager crowd waited without complaining.
It was the last night of their tour and they were happy to be playing to a small, enthusiastic crowd who obligingly sang along every time they were asked.
"F**k it, this is a dance song," lead singer Ivan said introducing "Get Up, Get Out" and you'd better believe people danced.
For that matter, the crowd went wild for the dancey "Woods" (coincidentally, full of light imagery) especially the two middle aged couples right in front of me.
They were definitely getting down with their bad selves.
My long-time concert buddy Andrew walked up to me, looked down, grinned and shook his head.
This has happened to us a time or two before; we attract the unexpected dancers and then sit back and watch.
I suppose if we had rhythm, we'd be dancing as uninhibitedly as they do.
A musician friend mentioned how poppy the Rosebuds are, unclear as to how they were considered indie when their sound could potentially suit the mainstream.
As if pop and indie are mutually exclusive. But to each his own.
In his defense, he had just come from a Dead Kennedys cover band rehearsal, so the transition may have been a bit tough.
Not so the transition from InLight to the Rosebuds.
Two superlatives in one night. It couldn't have been easier...or more satisfying.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Living, Loving, She's Just a Woman
It's not often I start an evening with Nick Cave and end six hours later with Led Zeppelin.
Ghostprint Gallery's opening for the Richmond Illustrators IV National Juried exhibition was packed when I arrived. Considering that it's one of my favorite annual events, I wasn't in the least surprised.
The show is a terrific annual way to see what the state of the illustrative arts are and once again I was amazed at the array of talent on the walls.
The show's gold medal went to Jeffrey Alan Love's "Nick Cave and Warren Ellis," a monotype of the two men that became the show's poster.
Jenna Chew's "Washington, Elusive" had already sold when I arrived. It depicted General Washington amongst a group of shadowed soldiers; his was the only lit face. It was striking.
Demonstrating the range of the show, Josh George's "A Clinical Use of the Michelson Formula," done in mixed media on wood panel was four feet by three feet and visually stunning with its soft pastels and vaguely suggested images (and a price tag of $5,000).
I narrowed my wish list to two prints (a Clifford and a Love but couldn't choose), unframed, of course, but still out of range for the moment.
The show is a stunner and I only hope that the smart people attending Broad Appetit Sunday take the time to wander into Ghostprint's air-conditioning and check it out.
My next stop allowed me to park once and party twice (or four times if you want to count bands).
The Camel was hosting not one but two shows and I already had plans to attend the second when a music buddy recommended the first. I can take a hint.
Singer/songwriter Tom Goss was playing as part of Gay RVA's Live series and with only acoustic guitar and keyboard, he created a lovely sound with his strong voice.
It was a particularly chatty show, with Goss telling extended stories in between every song and the audience eating it up.
He told of having been a seminary student, only to realize it was not his calling ("The thing with the seminary is they have this thing called celibacy") and move on. Fortunately it provided a lot of songwriting fodder.
Many of his songs were love songs, one was written during his seminary stay as a substitute for sex (afterwards he said, "Playing that song wears me out!") and another was a Christmas song (a genre he detests, he said).
With references to the Chicago Bears and Cubs, it was anything but a traditional holiday tune, but very funny.
When he finished, the crowd cleared out and a different one began settling in for the next show. I mingled.
First up was Scolaro and it was their first show in four years. Four years is an ice age in the music business, so they claimed to be nervous.
And then their set started and the crowd was blown away. Bandleader Josh Scolaro won the double award for his vocal talents and his superb songwriting.
As a musician noted, "You know there's a lot in his head when you hear their songs." High praise, indeed.
What I knew when I heard their sound was why Josh had been telling me for four months that I would find them "artistically mind-blowing." He knows my music taste well after years of music talk.
The Britpop-reminiscent sound is a personal favorite of mine, the use of reverb effects (as another friend noted, "Of course you liked it. It was music from a cave.") floats my boat and Josh's songwriting was eloquent and beautifully executed.
During their last song, a friend leaned over and summed up what I had been feeling. "That's what I want summer to feel like." It's true.
After their set, no less than three people told me that every time they looked at me during Scolaro's set, I was smiling. It was that good and I just couldn't help myself.
During the break, I got a chance to talk to all kinds of people who'd unexpectedly made it out for music tonight. e cheese whiz Sara showed up, one of the illustrators from Ghostprint, Holly Camp (her whimsical "Things Fall Apart" at the show had been as lovely as she is), and my lecture buddy and fellow nerd James all showed.
Most surprisingly in attendance was one of my favorite chefs, currently cheffing in C-ville, but soon to return.
Running into him and his soon-to-be able assistant alone made for some great conversation in an already jam-packed evening.
Prabir and the Goldrush played next and although I've seen them countless times, they're always good entertainment.
When a song is about tequila shots, these guys take tequila shots. It's for the art, I know.
They played a couple of new songs and always with a sly aside.
"See you guys on other side of this song," Prabir joked to his bandmates before taking on a less rehearsed piece. "I'm back," he crowed afterwards. It was great to hear new material from them.
Headlining was Zep Replica or the band formerly known as Led Zepplica (until another identically-named band got nasty about it), a band I had missed at their Halloween show at Strange Matter.
These guys don't just cover Zeppelin, they put on their tightest pants and wigs for the full effect. They may do even more than that and I just don't know about it.
It's truly something to behold and within moments, they had the audience totally into it.
My friend Stephen (originally an avid reader and commenter of my blog whom I've since gotten to know socially) plays bassist John Paul Jones in the band and after donning his costume, I went up to talk to him again just before their set.
"You recognized me in my wig?" he asked, sounding surprised. It was quite charming.
Leading off with "Black Dog" and making their way through "Rock and Roll" all the way to the one-two knockout punch of "Heartbreaker" segueing into "Living Loving Maid," they whipped the crowd into a frenzy and made it the 70s again (except for the damn cell phone picture-taking).
Every person in the room, no matter the age, looked euphoric including the staff.
Nobody hears a single word you say.
Livin', lovin', she's just a woman.
But you keep on talkin' till your dyin' day.
Livin', lovin', she's just a woman.
Chances are I will keep on talking till my dying day. It's just that I always have so much to talk about.
Ghostprint Gallery's opening for the Richmond Illustrators IV National Juried exhibition was packed when I arrived. Considering that it's one of my favorite annual events, I wasn't in the least surprised.
The show is a terrific annual way to see what the state of the illustrative arts are and once again I was amazed at the array of talent on the walls.
The show's gold medal went to Jeffrey Alan Love's "Nick Cave and Warren Ellis," a monotype of the two men that became the show's poster.
Jenna Chew's "Washington, Elusive" had already sold when I arrived. It depicted General Washington amongst a group of shadowed soldiers; his was the only lit face. It was striking.
Demonstrating the range of the show, Josh George's "A Clinical Use of the Michelson Formula," done in mixed media on wood panel was four feet by three feet and visually stunning with its soft pastels and vaguely suggested images (and a price tag of $5,000).
I narrowed my wish list to two prints (a Clifford and a Love but couldn't choose), unframed, of course, but still out of range for the moment.
The show is a stunner and I only hope that the smart people attending Broad Appetit Sunday take the time to wander into Ghostprint's air-conditioning and check it out.
My next stop allowed me to park once and party twice (or four times if you want to count bands).
The Camel was hosting not one but two shows and I already had plans to attend the second when a music buddy recommended the first. I can take a hint.
Singer/songwriter Tom Goss was playing as part of Gay RVA's Live series and with only acoustic guitar and keyboard, he created a lovely sound with his strong voice.
It was a particularly chatty show, with Goss telling extended stories in between every song and the audience eating it up.
He told of having been a seminary student, only to realize it was not his calling ("The thing with the seminary is they have this thing called celibacy") and move on. Fortunately it provided a lot of songwriting fodder.
Many of his songs were love songs, one was written during his seminary stay as a substitute for sex (afterwards he said, "Playing that song wears me out!") and another was a Christmas song (a genre he detests, he said).
With references to the Chicago Bears and Cubs, it was anything but a traditional holiday tune, but very funny.
When he finished, the crowd cleared out and a different one began settling in for the next show. I mingled.
First up was Scolaro and it was their first show in four years. Four years is an ice age in the music business, so they claimed to be nervous.
And then their set started and the crowd was blown away. Bandleader Josh Scolaro won the double award for his vocal talents and his superb songwriting.
As a musician noted, "You know there's a lot in his head when you hear their songs." High praise, indeed.
What I knew when I heard their sound was why Josh had been telling me for four months that I would find them "artistically mind-blowing." He knows my music taste well after years of music talk.
The Britpop-reminiscent sound is a personal favorite of mine, the use of reverb effects (as another friend noted, "Of course you liked it. It was music from a cave.") floats my boat and Josh's songwriting was eloquent and beautifully executed.
During their last song, a friend leaned over and summed up what I had been feeling. "That's what I want summer to feel like." It's true.
After their set, no less than three people told me that every time they looked at me during Scolaro's set, I was smiling. It was that good and I just couldn't help myself.
During the break, I got a chance to talk to all kinds of people who'd unexpectedly made it out for music tonight. e cheese whiz Sara showed up, one of the illustrators from Ghostprint, Holly Camp (her whimsical "Things Fall Apart" at the show had been as lovely as she is), and my lecture buddy and fellow nerd James all showed.
Most surprisingly in attendance was one of my favorite chefs, currently cheffing in C-ville, but soon to return.
Running into him and his soon-to-be able assistant alone made for some great conversation in an already jam-packed evening.
Prabir and the Goldrush played next and although I've seen them countless times, they're always good entertainment.
When a song is about tequila shots, these guys take tequila shots. It's for the art, I know.
They played a couple of new songs and always with a sly aside.
"See you guys on other side of this song," Prabir joked to his bandmates before taking on a less rehearsed piece. "I'm back," he crowed afterwards. It was great to hear new material from them.
Headlining was Zep Replica or the band formerly known as Led Zepplica (until another identically-named band got nasty about it), a band I had missed at their Halloween show at Strange Matter.
These guys don't just cover Zeppelin, they put on their tightest pants and wigs for the full effect. They may do even more than that and I just don't know about it.
It's truly something to behold and within moments, they had the audience totally into it.
My friend Stephen (originally an avid reader and commenter of my blog whom I've since gotten to know socially) plays bassist John Paul Jones in the band and after donning his costume, I went up to talk to him again just before their set.
"You recognized me in my wig?" he asked, sounding surprised. It was quite charming.
Leading off with "Black Dog" and making their way through "Rock and Roll" all the way to the one-two knockout punch of "Heartbreaker" segueing into "Living Loving Maid," they whipped the crowd into a frenzy and made it the 70s again (except for the damn cell phone picture-taking).
Every person in the room, no matter the age, looked euphoric including the staff.
Nobody hears a single word you say.
Livin', lovin', she's just a woman.
But you keep on talkin' till your dyin' day.
Livin', lovin', she's just a woman.
Chances are I will keep on talking till my dying day. It's just that I always have so much to talk about.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Mystery Science Theater RVA Style
Music and silent movies were not top-of-mind awareness this evening.
I know because when I drove home from Carytown around 6:30, the celebrating had begun. Bars were mobbed, porches were full of celebrants despite the cold, people were driving around with VCU flags on their cars with people hanging out windows and sunroofs shouting.
And rounding Stuart Circle, I saw that the police had closed Franklin Street from that point east. No entering VCU for a while, I suppose.
My guess is that that's why attendance at tonight's Silent Music Revival was the lowest I've ever seen it in the 3+ years I've been going to it.
I walked into Gallery 5 to find friends in the front row though, so with music and movies on the way, I had everything I needed for the moment.
Showing tonight were three classics from 1903-04, "The Untameable Whiskers," "The Cook in Trouble" and "The Great Train Robbery."
Providing the music, although not improvised as it usually is for this event, were Prabir and the Goldrush sans their drummer.
In a first-ever twist, the trio set up directly in front of the screen instead of off to the side or behind the screen, providing the kind of head silhouettes typical of Mystery Science Theater 3000. It added a nice comic touch to the three comedies being shown.
They did a fine job with the soundtrack, especially to what we were told was the first-ever Western, "The Great Train Robbery," with its shoot-outs, celebratory dancing and horse chases. Leave it to the Goldrush to provide music to gallop by.
Walking home afterwards, I passed a couple of backyard parties (got invited to one) and heard fireworks not too far off, all no doubt part of the citywide celebration tonight.
Not being the gambling type, I'm getting a kick out of how VCU must be wreaking havoc with so many people's betting brackets. How many people were willing to wager that VCU would go so far?
Mom and Dad, I'm talking to you.
I know because when I drove home from Carytown around 6:30, the celebrating had begun. Bars were mobbed, porches were full of celebrants despite the cold, people were driving around with VCU flags on their cars with people hanging out windows and sunroofs shouting.
And rounding Stuart Circle, I saw that the police had closed Franklin Street from that point east. No entering VCU for a while, I suppose.
My guess is that that's why attendance at tonight's Silent Music Revival was the lowest I've ever seen it in the 3+ years I've been going to it.
I walked into Gallery 5 to find friends in the front row though, so with music and movies on the way, I had everything I needed for the moment.
Showing tonight were three classics from 1903-04, "The Untameable Whiskers," "The Cook in Trouble" and "The Great Train Robbery."
Providing the music, although not improvised as it usually is for this event, were Prabir and the Goldrush sans their drummer.
In a first-ever twist, the trio set up directly in front of the screen instead of off to the side or behind the screen, providing the kind of head silhouettes typical of Mystery Science Theater 3000. It added a nice comic touch to the three comedies being shown.
They did a fine job with the soundtrack, especially to what we were told was the first-ever Western, "The Great Train Robbery," with its shoot-outs, celebratory dancing and horse chases. Leave it to the Goldrush to provide music to gallop by.
Walking home afterwards, I passed a couple of backyard parties (got invited to one) and heard fireworks not too far off, all no doubt part of the citywide celebration tonight.
Not being the gambling type, I'm getting a kick out of how VCU must be wreaking havoc with so many people's betting brackets. How many people were willing to wager that VCU would go so far?
Mom and Dad, I'm talking to you.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Same Musicians, Different Songs
It isn't often that you can see two musicians perform with the Richmond Symphony and then head to Gallery 5 and see the same two perform in a rock band. But it happens.
But eating usually proceeds music, so I met my couple date at The Empress, a place they'd never been and one I always enjoy.
The Mr. of the couple ordered a bottle of the La Pere La Grolle Beaujolais for our drinking pleasure. The amuse bouche was a cheese wafer stuffed with chopped zucchini and peppers in pico de gallo. Very nice.
After an arugula salad with chick peas, Fontina cheese and pine nuts, I ordered the grilled rosemary lamb chops, crispy horseradish cheddar polenta cakes and roasted grape tomatoes. Is there anything better than gnawing medium rare lamb chops down to the bones? The female half of the couple referred to this as "eating Henry the Eighth style."
Couple dining guarantees extra dessert and tonight was no exception. We told our server not to even bother telling us any of the non-chocolate options and wound up with the chocolate banana crepes and the ginger/chili chocolate pate.
Call us crude, but there was finger-swiping involved to get the last of the chocolate filling off the crepe plate. I didn't say I was proud about it, but it sure was good.
We found a prime parking space at Fifth and Main and enjoyed the balmy walk to CenterStage. We'd barely taken our seats when the lights went down and some of the old men began dozing.
The first piece came courtesy of the Sphinx Organization,a group dedicated to getting more black and Latino composers symphonically performed.
Tonight's was by Haitian-American Daniel Bernard Roumain, also known as DBR, and was based on the 21-second dance between Ellen deGeneres and Barack Obama in 2007. TV-oblivious one that I am, I hadn't even known such a thing had happened.
Conductor Steven Smith introduced the piece, "Dancers, Dreamers and Presidents for Orchestra" by saying, "Fundamentally, this is a dance piece, so if you feel like it, get up and dance in the aisles."
The piece was interesting, by turn great and just okay. Let's say it was Shaft meets Pink Floyd meets Sufjan Stevens and that should give you some idea of the range of the piece. Sadly, no one danced.
The second piece, "Concerto for Trumpet" featured guest trumpeter Thomas Hooten of the Atlanta Symphony. Although written in 1948 by Tomasi, it had a decidedly 1950s feel and was over in the blink of an eye. What, intermission already?
Tchaikovsky's "Symphony No. 6 in B Minor" was the last thing the composer wrote before dying and an example of High Romanticism in classical music. It also confounded the audience who was never sure exactly what was going on.
A rousing round of applause burst out between movements (a no-no) and yet, when the symphony ended, there was a delayed reaction before the crowd knew to clap. Part of that may have been the way it ended with a whimper rather than the usual big symphonic bang.
As the woman behind me noted to her husband afterwards, "Well that certainly didn't follow the usual format of a symphony!" And while that was true, a lot of the appeal of tonight's program was the oddness of it.
My couple date was kind enough to drop me at Gallery 5 on the way home. I walked in shortly after Horsehead had begun their raucous rock set. Only the suit jackets the band wears give away that they're not straight out of 1975.
I'd missed Harsh Realm's set, but saw band member Jamie and asked him how it had gone. Apparently, the crowd was small and mostly confused about their full-on passionate Iggy Pop-like style. I was sorry to have missed that.
Eventually the handsome Matt, bassist for the Symphony, arrived minus his tux and I got a chance to ask him about the program he'd just played and I'd just heard. His favorite had been the Tchaikovsky for its sweeping romanticism.
Shortly afterwards, more symphony musicians arrived, recognizable for the instruments strapped to their backs, for music of a very different kind. I talked to them, too, to see what their take on the program had been and all agreed that Tchaikovsky was the hands-down favorite. Symphony musicians! They're so predictable.
With bassist Matt and symphony violinist Treesa finally in the house, Prabir and the Goldrush could start their set. Tonight was Prabir's birthday, so the show was even more lively than usual with toasting and drinking and tributes on stage.
Original material soon enough gave way to Beatles covers and guests on stage, including Amanda Robinson, director of Gallery 5, and Kevin Inge of Horsehead. They closed with "I am the Walrus," and it got no more dancers on the floor than "Dancers, Dreamers and Presidents for Orchestra" had.
Not that it mattered to the band. They were up there going at it, all of them singing, swigging and obviously having a great time.
Rock musicians! They're so predictable.
But eating usually proceeds music, so I met my couple date at The Empress, a place they'd never been and one I always enjoy.
The Mr. of the couple ordered a bottle of the La Pere La Grolle Beaujolais for our drinking pleasure. The amuse bouche was a cheese wafer stuffed with chopped zucchini and peppers in pico de gallo. Very nice.
After an arugula salad with chick peas, Fontina cheese and pine nuts, I ordered the grilled rosemary lamb chops, crispy horseradish cheddar polenta cakes and roasted grape tomatoes. Is there anything better than gnawing medium rare lamb chops down to the bones? The female half of the couple referred to this as "eating Henry the Eighth style."
Couple dining guarantees extra dessert and tonight was no exception. We told our server not to even bother telling us any of the non-chocolate options and wound up with the chocolate banana crepes and the ginger/chili chocolate pate.
Call us crude, but there was finger-swiping involved to get the last of the chocolate filling off the crepe plate. I didn't say I was proud about it, but it sure was good.
We found a prime parking space at Fifth and Main and enjoyed the balmy walk to CenterStage. We'd barely taken our seats when the lights went down and some of the old men began dozing.
The first piece came courtesy of the Sphinx Organization,a group dedicated to getting more black and Latino composers symphonically performed.
Tonight's was by Haitian-American Daniel Bernard Roumain, also known as DBR, and was based on the 21-second dance between Ellen deGeneres and Barack Obama in 2007. TV-oblivious one that I am, I hadn't even known such a thing had happened.
Conductor Steven Smith introduced the piece, "Dancers, Dreamers and Presidents for Orchestra" by saying, "Fundamentally, this is a dance piece, so if you feel like it, get up and dance in the aisles."
The piece was interesting, by turn great and just okay. Let's say it was Shaft meets Pink Floyd meets Sufjan Stevens and that should give you some idea of the range of the piece. Sadly, no one danced.
The second piece, "Concerto for Trumpet" featured guest trumpeter Thomas Hooten of the Atlanta Symphony. Although written in 1948 by Tomasi, it had a decidedly 1950s feel and was over in the blink of an eye. What, intermission already?
Tchaikovsky's "Symphony No. 6 in B Minor" was the last thing the composer wrote before dying and an example of High Romanticism in classical music. It also confounded the audience who was never sure exactly what was going on.
A rousing round of applause burst out between movements (a no-no) and yet, when the symphony ended, there was a delayed reaction before the crowd knew to clap. Part of that may have been the way it ended with a whimper rather than the usual big symphonic bang.
As the woman behind me noted to her husband afterwards, "Well that certainly didn't follow the usual format of a symphony!" And while that was true, a lot of the appeal of tonight's program was the oddness of it.
My couple date was kind enough to drop me at Gallery 5 on the way home. I walked in shortly after Horsehead had begun their raucous rock set. Only the suit jackets the band wears give away that they're not straight out of 1975.
I'd missed Harsh Realm's set, but saw band member Jamie and asked him how it had gone. Apparently, the crowd was small and mostly confused about their full-on passionate Iggy Pop-like style. I was sorry to have missed that.
Eventually the handsome Matt, bassist for the Symphony, arrived minus his tux and I got a chance to ask him about the program he'd just played and I'd just heard. His favorite had been the Tchaikovsky for its sweeping romanticism.
Shortly afterwards, more symphony musicians arrived, recognizable for the instruments strapped to their backs, for music of a very different kind. I talked to them, too, to see what their take on the program had been and all agreed that Tchaikovsky was the hands-down favorite. Symphony musicians! They're so predictable.
With bassist Matt and symphony violinist Treesa finally in the house, Prabir and the Goldrush could start their set. Tonight was Prabir's birthday, so the show was even more lively than usual with toasting and drinking and tributes on stage.
Original material soon enough gave way to Beatles covers and guests on stage, including Amanda Robinson, director of Gallery 5, and Kevin Inge of Horsehead. They closed with "I am the Walrus," and it got no more dancers on the floor than "Dancers, Dreamers and Presidents for Orchestra" had.
Not that it mattered to the band. They were up there going at it, all of them singing, swigging and obviously having a great time.
Rock musicians! They're so predictable.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Being Turned On at the Camel
Guy: What do you want a shot of?
Girl: Um...uh...uhhhhhh...I want a shot of whatever.
Luckily, there were also musicians and Beatles fans in attendance at The Camel tonight in addition to shot seekers.
It was a late-starting show because of an earlier comedy show. It was after 11 when Lightfoot from DC took the stage, mentioning that it was their drummer's last night with the band before he leaves to seek fame and fortune in Hollywood. Seriously.
Fuzzy Baby followed them and made everything right with the world again. There's just something about the sound of a tuba and songs about instruments mating that makes a person appreciate the pleasures of Saturday night.
It was about 12:45 when Prabir and the Goldrush finally gathered their forces for the billed "I'd Love to Turn You On" show to include any number of Beatles' covers.
They did some original stuff first, including a kick-ass new song, before going back to the music of a band who broke up at least a decade before most of the people in the room were even alive. Just an observation, mind you.
It wasn't enough that they they were covering the Fab Four; they also had special guests join them throughout the evening. People like horn man Lucas Fritz, bar wench Melanie Rasnic, guitar player Kevin Wade Inge (of Horsehead) and Gallery 5 director Amanda Robinson all added to the musical mix.
When the tuning up portion of the show dragged on, Prabir explained, "All the songs we're doing, the Beatles never did live. Now we know why."
A sampling of what got covered: "Got to Get You into my Life," notable for Lucas' horn, a truncated "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band,"and "I am the Walrus," brilliantly executed on Kevin's guitar and with the audience helping out on the coo-coo-ca-choos, "Fixing a Hole," a personal favorite already, totally unexpected tonight and now memorable for Amanda's version, "Eleanor Rigby," always beautiful because of Matt's bass playing and a rip-roaring take on "Why Don't We Do It in the Road?" again by the awesome Amanda.
When the set closed, Prabir invited all the musical guests as well as Justin and Molly of Fuzzy Baby back up on stage for the final song. I was expecting "All You Need is Love" but instead we got the perennial Generation Z favorite "Bohemian Rhapsody."
We may have started in the 60s tonight, but we finished squarely in the 70s with the whole room singing along and swaying unevenly.
Proof positive that the Beatles' music lives on...and old Queen never dies, especially in a room full of people doing shots of whatever.
Guy: Here.
Girl: What is it? Doesn't matter. I don't care.
Girl: Um...uh...uhhhhhh...I want a shot of whatever.
Luckily, there were also musicians and Beatles fans in attendance at The Camel tonight in addition to shot seekers.
It was a late-starting show because of an earlier comedy show. It was after 11 when Lightfoot from DC took the stage, mentioning that it was their drummer's last night with the band before he leaves to seek fame and fortune in Hollywood. Seriously.
Fuzzy Baby followed them and made everything right with the world again. There's just something about the sound of a tuba and songs about instruments mating that makes a person appreciate the pleasures of Saturday night.
It was about 12:45 when Prabir and the Goldrush finally gathered their forces for the billed "I'd Love to Turn You On" show to include any number of Beatles' covers.
They did some original stuff first, including a kick-ass new song, before going back to the music of a band who broke up at least a decade before most of the people in the room were even alive. Just an observation, mind you.
It wasn't enough that they they were covering the Fab Four; they also had special guests join them throughout the evening. People like horn man Lucas Fritz, bar wench Melanie Rasnic, guitar player Kevin Wade Inge (of Horsehead) and Gallery 5 director Amanda Robinson all added to the musical mix.
When the tuning up portion of the show dragged on, Prabir explained, "All the songs we're doing, the Beatles never did live. Now we know why."
A sampling of what got covered: "Got to Get You into my Life," notable for Lucas' horn, a truncated "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band,"and "I am the Walrus," brilliantly executed on Kevin's guitar and with the audience helping out on the coo-coo-ca-choos, "Fixing a Hole," a personal favorite already, totally unexpected tonight and now memorable for Amanda's version, "Eleanor Rigby," always beautiful because of Matt's bass playing and a rip-roaring take on "Why Don't We Do It in the Road?" again by the awesome Amanda.
When the set closed, Prabir invited all the musical guests as well as Justin and Molly of Fuzzy Baby back up on stage for the final song. I was expecting "All You Need is Love" but instead we got the perennial Generation Z favorite "Bohemian Rhapsody."
We may have started in the 60s tonight, but we finished squarely in the 70s with the whole room singing along and swaying unevenly.
Proof positive that the Beatles' music lives on...and old Queen never dies, especially in a room full of people doing shots of whatever.
Guy: Here.
Girl: What is it? Doesn't matter. I don't care.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
On Not Escaping Queen
How great is it when the hardest choice I have to make on a Saturday night is which show to attend first? Well, that and who's worth saving a seat for.
My decision about where to start was actually a no-brainer because the CD release party show at the Camel was for Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird. Speckled Bird vocalist/accordion player Antonia is also Jonathan's wife and when Antonia is involved, shows start on time, even in a town notorious for late-starting shows. We love her for this.
Knowing this, I began my night at the Camel, arriving early enough to score a front table (and even save a seat for a late-arriving friend who, when he finally arrived told me that saving him a seat was "the nicest thing anyone's done for me all year." That may be the best thank you I've had all year) and do some mingling before the musical magic happened.
It was then that one of my favorite musicians came over and said, "You know I stalk your blog, but what's the scoop on what's happening with you?" Fair enough; I do omit plenty of details, so I told her what was up lately and she was kindly supportive of my slow-moving pace. It was a nice shot of unexpected girl talk.
Low Branches kicked off the show after singer Christina had deadpanned to a few of us that, "We're doing some Queen and I'll be rapping." If you've ever heard her ethereal singing voice, that statement would be as hysterical to you as it was to me. Matt's drumming and guitar playing combined with her voice set the tone (and standard) for a beautiful night of music.
Zac Hryciak and the Jungle Beat played next and, honestly, I never tire of that beat. They'd added a second violinist, making for a much fuller sound, even as the crowd continued to grow in size. They're also in recording mode, hoping to be out in the spring.
By the time Jonathan Vassar and Speckled Bird played, the room was filled to bursting with friends, families and old high school buddies.
Antonia even acknowledged that, "I think I told a couple people that this is even better than a wedding," a statement which could be misconstrued, except that she explained what she meant about the assembled group (part of it was about alcohol being involved...but just a small part).
It was a true album release show, with the band playing the new one, "Signs and Wonders" in order, as if for consideration of the audience. The crowd clearly gave off an energy of devotion and admiration for the band as well as the excellent new material, with loud and enthusiastic applause after every song.
No question, it was a love fest. Camel owner Rand came up to me afterwards and said, "That was magic, wasn't it?" For devotees of Americana folk, thoughtful songwriting and mesmerizing harmonies, it was indeed that.
But like all good punctual shows, it was over at a reasonable hour, so a friend and I gathered our forces and went to Gallery 5 for the end of the Ghost of Pop 6 show. Since it featured seven bands, we felt sure that we still had time to catch at least two and maybe three. We were right.
I was pleased that we'd made it in time for Fuzzy Baby's set, because I love their unique sound and offbeat song topics. They're playing the next Listening Room ("No booze! No talking! It's going to be great!" Giustin told the audience, suggesting everyone come).
Those who had been there for Roctopussy's set (James Bond movie music covers) raved about what an amazing set we had missed. There was violin shredding! A French horn! Madness! I only hope they play again soon so I, too, can have the "Goldfinger" experience I missed tonight.
After Fuzzy Baby's set we ran into upright bass player extraordinaire, Matt Gold, of Prabir and the Goldrush, who was charmingly loopy but only slightly concerned about his ability to play next. I assured him he'd be fine, noting that his muscle memory would save the day. "Oh, you're a musician then?" he asked, his eyes lighting up at the thought that I understood. As if.
"No," I explained. "But I can talk to one." His concern was for naught because Prabir and the Goldrush played a rollicking set, ending with Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" and a crowd sing-along. One way or another, it looks like I was destined to hear Queen tonight after all.
Afterwards, a friend came up and asked if I wanted to go get drunk and ride the Bottom and Back bus with him tonight. Tempting as it sounded (and we consider ourselves soul mates since we show up at so many of the same places), I declined.
Later Andrew asked me if I would do it on another occasion, assuring me that the people-watching alone makes it well worth it. Not one to rule things out, I guess I'll have to put it on my bucket list.
Problem is that I always seem to be too busy to take the time to come up with the damn list...but I'm not sure that's a problem at all.
My decision about where to start was actually a no-brainer because the CD release party show at the Camel was for Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird. Speckled Bird vocalist/accordion player Antonia is also Jonathan's wife and when Antonia is involved, shows start on time, even in a town notorious for late-starting shows. We love her for this.
Knowing this, I began my night at the Camel, arriving early enough to score a front table (and even save a seat for a late-arriving friend who, when he finally arrived told me that saving him a seat was "the nicest thing anyone's done for me all year." That may be the best thank you I've had all year) and do some mingling before the musical magic happened.
It was then that one of my favorite musicians came over and said, "You know I stalk your blog, but what's the scoop on what's happening with you?" Fair enough; I do omit plenty of details, so I told her what was up lately and she was kindly supportive of my slow-moving pace. It was a nice shot of unexpected girl talk.
Low Branches kicked off the show after singer Christina had deadpanned to a few of us that, "We're doing some Queen and I'll be rapping." If you've ever heard her ethereal singing voice, that statement would be as hysterical to you as it was to me. Matt's drumming and guitar playing combined with her voice set the tone (and standard) for a beautiful night of music.
Zac Hryciak and the Jungle Beat played next and, honestly, I never tire of that beat. They'd added a second violinist, making for a much fuller sound, even as the crowd continued to grow in size. They're also in recording mode, hoping to be out in the spring.
By the time Jonathan Vassar and Speckled Bird played, the room was filled to bursting with friends, families and old high school buddies.
Antonia even acknowledged that, "I think I told a couple people that this is even better than a wedding," a statement which could be misconstrued, except that she explained what she meant about the assembled group (part of it was about alcohol being involved...but just a small part).
It was a true album release show, with the band playing the new one, "Signs and Wonders" in order, as if for consideration of the audience. The crowd clearly gave off an energy of devotion and admiration for the band as well as the excellent new material, with loud and enthusiastic applause after every song.
No question, it was a love fest. Camel owner Rand came up to me afterwards and said, "That was magic, wasn't it?" For devotees of Americana folk, thoughtful songwriting and mesmerizing harmonies, it was indeed that.
But like all good punctual shows, it was over at a reasonable hour, so a friend and I gathered our forces and went to Gallery 5 for the end of the Ghost of Pop 6 show. Since it featured seven bands, we felt sure that we still had time to catch at least two and maybe three. We were right.
I was pleased that we'd made it in time for Fuzzy Baby's set, because I love their unique sound and offbeat song topics. They're playing the next Listening Room ("No booze! No talking! It's going to be great!" Giustin told the audience, suggesting everyone come).
Those who had been there for Roctopussy's set (James Bond movie music covers) raved about what an amazing set we had missed. There was violin shredding! A French horn! Madness! I only hope they play again soon so I, too, can have the "Goldfinger" experience I missed tonight.
After Fuzzy Baby's set we ran into upright bass player extraordinaire, Matt Gold, of Prabir and the Goldrush, who was charmingly loopy but only slightly concerned about his ability to play next. I assured him he'd be fine, noting that his muscle memory would save the day. "Oh, you're a musician then?" he asked, his eyes lighting up at the thought that I understood. As if.
"No," I explained. "But I can talk to one." His concern was for naught because Prabir and the Goldrush played a rollicking set, ending with Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" and a crowd sing-along. One way or another, it looks like I was destined to hear Queen tonight after all.
Afterwards, a friend came up and asked if I wanted to go get drunk and ride the Bottom and Back bus with him tonight. Tempting as it sounded (and we consider ourselves soul mates since we show up at so many of the same places), I declined.
Later Andrew asked me if I would do it on another occasion, assuring me that the people-watching alone makes it well worth it. Not one to rule things out, I guess I'll have to put it on my bucket list.
Problem is that I always seem to be too busy to take the time to come up with the damn list...but I'm not sure that's a problem at all.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Walking in the Dark
It's an excellent night musically when I can start with one kind of music at 6:30 and end somewhere else with a completely different kind at 12:30.
It was the recent Folk Fest that landed me at Barrel Thief tonight for the Jason Jenkins Trio. At that mind-blowing Zakir Hussain show, I had sat next to a local drummer who had arrived as ridiculously early for the show as I had, so we'd had plenty of time to talk music, shows and audiences.
He had mentioned then that he was playing a show at Barrel Thief tonight and suggested I come by for some jazz to start my evening. I'll admit I was a little surprised when I arrived around 6:35 to find that most tables were taken and the remaining reserved. Luckily, there was a corner banquette with a low table in front of it with a great view of the band and I was ushered to it.
Taking Virginia Wine month to heart, I chose the Pollak Vineyards Meritage (a stellar blend of Cab Franc, Merlot and Petite Verdot) for my drinking pleasure throughout the evening and started with the olive tapenade, chevre and cucumber bruschetta.
Later, at my server's suggestion, I had the Chef's grilled cheese on rosemary foccacia, an interesting take on the standard, with multiple cheeses and sun-dried tomato spread. I do wish Barrel Thief had a wider menu.
My drumming friend and his cohorts were playing a variety of jazz standards to the obvious delight of the attentive audience, some of whom commented to the band between songs like old friends, or at least neighbors and frequent attendees.
During the break my drummer friend came over to get reacquainted and talk about what else we'd each seen at the Folk Fest after the tabla tour de force. He'd gotten to see Salsa Duro, the one group I'd really wanted to see and didn't, so he got to rub that in, telling me how amazing they were and why.
I left midway through the second set because I wanted to make the Wood & Steel acoustic show at Gallery 5 and I had to make a quick stop at home to exchange cute wine bistro platform shoes for standing-on-cement-for-hours shoes (boots, actually) before walking over; it was a most necessary transition.
I passed a utility repairman doggedly trying to restore power to the unlit street lights and asked him if there would be light by the time I walked home from the show; he assured me that there would be. Always good to hear.
When I arrived, Nick Woods was playing an earnest set, followed by Shannon Cleary, who sang his song about seeing Matt and Kim at the bike lot show and then seeing them Thursday night when the floor felt close to collapsing. Later we talked about the sinking feeling we shared that night about the strength of the Canal Club's flooring versus the enthusiasm of everyone's dancing.
Ophelia was next, but performing as a duo rather than a quartet. The crowd was too noisy as far as my friend and I were concerned, talking and laughing loudly over the heartfelt vocals of David and Jonathan.
My friend, who teaches at VCU, later told me that he could relate to being in front of a room full of people, many of whom were paying no attention to you. Still, it seemed a shame to drown out such beautiful harmonies.
Prabir and the Goldrush were next, doing their usual rock-your-socks-off set. When Prabir went to dedicate a song to a girl, violinist Treesa mentioned that her parents were in the audience, so the song instead went to them. Irreverently, it was followed by a song about smoking weed; no dedication necessary.
The final band was the trio Homemade Knives and they set up on the floor in front of the stage and the remaining members of the audience crowded around them, some sitting on the cold floor (not this girl) and others standing around.
Their haunting set ended with a much-slowed-down cover of Springsteen's Dancing in the Dark, because, according to lead singer Will, "covers are fun." It was an ironic comment considering that the somber and slow version they did of the up-tempo rock standard took the song to a whole new meaningful level and fun had nothing to do with it.
My friend offered to drive me home in case the street lights were still out, but I told him I was willing to go it alone. As I told him, what was going to happen, that I'd die on the streets of J-Ward on a Saturday night under a full moon?
"Worse things could happen," he grinned as he twirled his moustache, knowing I'd be just fine.
Do I have the option of being otherwise?
It was the recent Folk Fest that landed me at Barrel Thief tonight for the Jason Jenkins Trio. At that mind-blowing Zakir Hussain show, I had sat next to a local drummer who had arrived as ridiculously early for the show as I had, so we'd had plenty of time to talk music, shows and audiences.
He had mentioned then that he was playing a show at Barrel Thief tonight and suggested I come by for some jazz to start my evening. I'll admit I was a little surprised when I arrived around 6:35 to find that most tables were taken and the remaining reserved. Luckily, there was a corner banquette with a low table in front of it with a great view of the band and I was ushered to it.
Taking Virginia Wine month to heart, I chose the Pollak Vineyards Meritage (a stellar blend of Cab Franc, Merlot and Petite Verdot) for my drinking pleasure throughout the evening and started with the olive tapenade, chevre and cucumber bruschetta.
Later, at my server's suggestion, I had the Chef's grilled cheese on rosemary foccacia, an interesting take on the standard, with multiple cheeses and sun-dried tomato spread. I do wish Barrel Thief had a wider menu.
My drumming friend and his cohorts were playing a variety of jazz standards to the obvious delight of the attentive audience, some of whom commented to the band between songs like old friends, or at least neighbors and frequent attendees.
During the break my drummer friend came over to get reacquainted and talk about what else we'd each seen at the Folk Fest after the tabla tour de force. He'd gotten to see Salsa Duro, the one group I'd really wanted to see and didn't, so he got to rub that in, telling me how amazing they were and why.
I left midway through the second set because I wanted to make the Wood & Steel acoustic show at Gallery 5 and I had to make a quick stop at home to exchange cute wine bistro platform shoes for standing-on-cement-for-hours shoes (boots, actually) before walking over; it was a most necessary transition.
I passed a utility repairman doggedly trying to restore power to the unlit street lights and asked him if there would be light by the time I walked home from the show; he assured me that there would be. Always good to hear.
When I arrived, Nick Woods was playing an earnest set, followed by Shannon Cleary, who sang his song about seeing Matt and Kim at the bike lot show and then seeing them Thursday night when the floor felt close to collapsing. Later we talked about the sinking feeling we shared that night about the strength of the Canal Club's flooring versus the enthusiasm of everyone's dancing.
Ophelia was next, but performing as a duo rather than a quartet. The crowd was too noisy as far as my friend and I were concerned, talking and laughing loudly over the heartfelt vocals of David and Jonathan.
My friend, who teaches at VCU, later told me that he could relate to being in front of a room full of people, many of whom were paying no attention to you. Still, it seemed a shame to drown out such beautiful harmonies.
Prabir and the Goldrush were next, doing their usual rock-your-socks-off set. When Prabir went to dedicate a song to a girl, violinist Treesa mentioned that her parents were in the audience, so the song instead went to them. Irreverently, it was followed by a song about smoking weed; no dedication necessary.
The final band was the trio Homemade Knives and they set up on the floor in front of the stage and the remaining members of the audience crowded around them, some sitting on the cold floor (not this girl) and others standing around.
Their haunting set ended with a much-slowed-down cover of Springsteen's Dancing in the Dark, because, according to lead singer Will, "covers are fun." It was an ironic comment considering that the somber and slow version they did of the up-tempo rock standard took the song to a whole new meaningful level and fun had nothing to do with it.
My friend offered to drive me home in case the street lights were still out, but I told him I was willing to go it alone. As I told him, what was going to happen, that I'd die on the streets of J-Ward on a Saturday night under a full moon?
"Worse things could happen," he grinned as he twirled his moustache, knowing I'd be just fine.
Do I have the option of being otherwise?
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Street Art, Shoegaze and Strangers
Every now and then, a girl's got to cross the river...always, mind you, for a good reason. Tonight's incentive was Strassen Kunst, an exhibit at Artspace of ten graffiti artists whose work was painted, stenciled and projected on the walls, along with additional photographs of graffiti art from Berlin.
There was even a model of a graffiti artist in process, clad in a black hoodie and jeans, holding a can of spray paint (which fell mid-opening, amusing the artists in the room. "His hand went dead," one explained. "You know that feeling?").
Because so many of the images were from Germany, it was only natural that the occasional tag in English caught my eye. Among my favorites; "Smiling makes me thin" (great concept), "Catalonia is NOT Spain" (but what do you really think?) and "Too. Much. Thought." (a sin I am often guilty of). Some of the canvasses were floor to ceiling, impressive for their presence in the room, but even so, scaled back compared to buildings and walls as canvasses.
Seeing the proliferation of street art in Berlin, a city which would have been a blank canvas after the wall came down, was a thoughtful reminder that sometimes the best use of derelict and deteriorating buildings may be sanctioned public art. It's something I'd like to see addressed in RVA.
Heading back to the city, traffic was halted at the south end of the Mayo bridge for a flock of geese crossing. They took their sweet time about it and I could see drivers around me getting impatient. I just sat back and enjoyed watching their leisurely saunter and nipping antics with each other. It was still about 97 degrees so I understood them not being in a hurry.
Further up and waiting at a light, I saw a group of skateboarders practicing tricks over the canal walk. From the back, one looked awfully familiar and when he turned in profile, I saw it was one of Ipanema's low-key bartenders whom I know well. He must have felt my eyes boring into his back 'cause he turned and waved hello. And speaking of heat, skateboarding today? That's dedication, man.
I deposited the car in the Ward and walked over to Gallery 5 for music, eager to hear the Diamond Center again. I love their shimmery shoegaze sound (with two standing drummers even!) but they were having sound issues due to sweat. Taking a moment to fix it, the lead singer said, "This is the part of the show where I should probably entertain you, but I'm so awkward at it. Like now."
After their set I ran into Prabir (he and the Goldrush were playing later) and he showed me his current reading material. It was a thin red booklet called The Art of Kissing and published in 1936 with illustrations. Prabir said he'd taken it from a girl's nightstand in order to study it. He seemed to think I'd be interested and, okay, I was.
With chapters on French kissing, electric shock parties and lip size, there was a lot of information in this handy guide. I read it cover to cover during a set break and it generated a lot of conversation for me, as you might imagine. Here's a tip, guys: arrange it so that the girl is up against the arm of the couch for easiest kissing maneuvering.
Matt, bass player for the Goldrush, had earlier promised me a better sound mix for their set (in past shows his bass has been inaudible behind the drums, something he and I detest) and it wasn't an empty promise. When he waled on his giant bass I could hear it in the back of the room near the bar (where I'd taken up residence since it was the only place in the room where the air conditioning could be felt). If you're going to be a four-piece, all four instruments should be heard. Finally they were.
Walking home past Crossroads, a neighborhood place that must have been a nip joint in a previous incarnation, men were milling about everywhere. One guy said to me, "You're not done for the night are you?" and another, calling down from the stairs that lead to the second floor, said, "Are you coming up to join us?" I declined both offers, but appreciated the thoughts.
I was within a block of home when my former Whiskey Wednesday neighbor appeared on the sidewalk. After having moved to the Fan a while back, he missed the Ward so much that he's moved back. I'd told him that that would happen; once Jackson Ward is in your blood, nothing else will do.
Personal validation aside, it was still good to see him and hear about his latest antics, including a trip to West Virginia for the All Good Festival. Endless jam band performances and a cornucopia of drugs available (LSD and pink mushrooms seemed to be the crowd favorites, he told me) seemed to be the hallmarks of this obscure festival. Or perhaps it's just obscure to me because I'm not a jam band fan.
When I finally made it home, it was to find a message from a stranger complimenting my Facebook picture (it has a lot in common with my blog profile picture) which he'd found through random surfing. "Do I know you?" I wrote back challenging his nerve.
But just look at my blog posts...or my life. Random could be my middle name.
There was even a model of a graffiti artist in process, clad in a black hoodie and jeans, holding a can of spray paint (which fell mid-opening, amusing the artists in the room. "His hand went dead," one explained. "You know that feeling?").
Because so many of the images were from Germany, it was only natural that the occasional tag in English caught my eye. Among my favorites; "Smiling makes me thin" (great concept), "Catalonia is NOT Spain" (but what do you really think?) and "Too. Much. Thought." (a sin I am often guilty of). Some of the canvasses were floor to ceiling, impressive for their presence in the room, but even so, scaled back compared to buildings and walls as canvasses.
Seeing the proliferation of street art in Berlin, a city which would have been a blank canvas after the wall came down, was a thoughtful reminder that sometimes the best use of derelict and deteriorating buildings may be sanctioned public art. It's something I'd like to see addressed in RVA.
Heading back to the city, traffic was halted at the south end of the Mayo bridge for a flock of geese crossing. They took their sweet time about it and I could see drivers around me getting impatient. I just sat back and enjoyed watching their leisurely saunter and nipping antics with each other. It was still about 97 degrees so I understood them not being in a hurry.
Further up and waiting at a light, I saw a group of skateboarders practicing tricks over the canal walk. From the back, one looked awfully familiar and when he turned in profile, I saw it was one of Ipanema's low-key bartenders whom I know well. He must have felt my eyes boring into his back 'cause he turned and waved hello. And speaking of heat, skateboarding today? That's dedication, man.
I deposited the car in the Ward and walked over to Gallery 5 for music, eager to hear the Diamond Center again. I love their shimmery shoegaze sound (with two standing drummers even!) but they were having sound issues due to sweat. Taking a moment to fix it, the lead singer said, "This is the part of the show where I should probably entertain you, but I'm so awkward at it. Like now."
After their set I ran into Prabir (he and the Goldrush were playing later) and he showed me his current reading material. It was a thin red booklet called The Art of Kissing and published in 1936 with illustrations. Prabir said he'd taken it from a girl's nightstand in order to study it. He seemed to think I'd be interested and, okay, I was.
With chapters on French kissing, electric shock parties and lip size, there was a lot of information in this handy guide. I read it cover to cover during a set break and it generated a lot of conversation for me, as you might imagine. Here's a tip, guys: arrange it so that the girl is up against the arm of the couch for easiest kissing maneuvering.
Matt, bass player for the Goldrush, had earlier promised me a better sound mix for their set (in past shows his bass has been inaudible behind the drums, something he and I detest) and it wasn't an empty promise. When he waled on his giant bass I could hear it in the back of the room near the bar (where I'd taken up residence since it was the only place in the room where the air conditioning could be felt). If you're going to be a four-piece, all four instruments should be heard. Finally they were.
Walking home past Crossroads, a neighborhood place that must have been a nip joint in a previous incarnation, men were milling about everywhere. One guy said to me, "You're not done for the night are you?" and another, calling down from the stairs that lead to the second floor, said, "Are you coming up to join us?" I declined both offers, but appreciated the thoughts.
I was within a block of home when my former Whiskey Wednesday neighbor appeared on the sidewalk. After having moved to the Fan a while back, he missed the Ward so much that he's moved back. I'd told him that that would happen; once Jackson Ward is in your blood, nothing else will do.
Personal validation aside, it was still good to see him and hear about his latest antics, including a trip to West Virginia for the All Good Festival. Endless jam band performances and a cornucopia of drugs available (LSD and pink mushrooms seemed to be the crowd favorites, he told me) seemed to be the hallmarks of this obscure festival. Or perhaps it's just obscure to me because I'm not a jam band fan.
When I finally made it home, it was to find a message from a stranger complimenting my Facebook picture (it has a lot in common with my blog profile picture) which he'd found through random surfing. "Do I know you?" I wrote back challenging his nerve.
But just look at my blog posts...or my life. Random could be my middle name.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Like Cookouts. Love Music.
I didn't get invited to a cookout tonight, so I went to the Camel instead to hear music.
It worked out well because there were 100 other people who didn't get invited anywhere either and it made for an enthusiastic Sunday night audience.
Or perhaps it was the fact that a lot of people didn't have to work tomorrow; actually the reason matters not.
People were into it.
My farmer friend appeared, freshly showered and ravenous after a day working the land.
He squeezed into the booth I was sharing with Treesa, the violin-playing part of Prabir's Goldrush, her visiting mother and a woman who coincidentally had replaced me at a former editing job six years ago. Just another random booth in Richmond.
The show began with Lexi and Kate, sisters who harmonized in that beautiful way only kinfolk can.
One nearby guy made the astute comment that, "I love skinny girls with guitars" and another said, "We need more clean hippie chicks."
Once they began singing, though, no one mentioned anything but their voices, but the night was already shaping up to be an interesting one.
Prabir and the Goldrush played their usual energetic set with only a few mixing missteps.
Before their cover of "Eleanor Rigby." Prabir specifically said that he wanted the strings brought way up, but they ended up lost in the mix; too bad because the violin and upright bass playing on that song were rocking.
"Bohemian Rhapsody" again closed the set but the crowd was not of the singalong type tonight so it played as a hard-driving instrumental for much of it.
About this time, another friend came over to ask us if we knew that Amazing Ghost was playing the Republic tonight.
"That's why half the crowd just emptied out," the farmer explained.
I am most definitely a fan of Amazing Ghost and most definitely not a fan of the Republic, so it was never an issue for me.
Besides, as someone pointed out, "Amazing Ghost will be around, but these guys are great and they may not."
Ophelia, a recent collaboration between Jonathan Vassar (he of the Speckled Bird) and David Schultz (of the Skyline) boasts the drummer from Thao and the Get Down Stay Down (and Diamond Center) as well as the bass player from the amazing Mermaid Skeletons.
They've already recorded a CD, due out late this summer, although tonight was only their second show live.
And it was every kind of impressive.
When you start with two great voices like Vassar and Schultz, add in some alt-country hooks, a melancholy accordion, harmonica, kick-ass drumming and a strong bass line, you get a sound that speaks to just about everyone in the room in one way or another.
Or at the very least, it speaks to the kind of people who don't get invited to barbecues on Memorial Day weekend.
It worked out well because there were 100 other people who didn't get invited anywhere either and it made for an enthusiastic Sunday night audience.
Or perhaps it was the fact that a lot of people didn't have to work tomorrow; actually the reason matters not.
People were into it.
My farmer friend appeared, freshly showered and ravenous after a day working the land.
He squeezed into the booth I was sharing with Treesa, the violin-playing part of Prabir's Goldrush, her visiting mother and a woman who coincidentally had replaced me at a former editing job six years ago. Just another random booth in Richmond.
The show began with Lexi and Kate, sisters who harmonized in that beautiful way only kinfolk can.
One nearby guy made the astute comment that, "I love skinny girls with guitars" and another said, "We need more clean hippie chicks."
Once they began singing, though, no one mentioned anything but their voices, but the night was already shaping up to be an interesting one.
Prabir and the Goldrush played their usual energetic set with only a few mixing missteps.
Before their cover of "Eleanor Rigby." Prabir specifically said that he wanted the strings brought way up, but they ended up lost in the mix; too bad because the violin and upright bass playing on that song were rocking.
"Bohemian Rhapsody" again closed the set but the crowd was not of the singalong type tonight so it played as a hard-driving instrumental for much of it.
About this time, another friend came over to ask us if we knew that Amazing Ghost was playing the Republic tonight.
"That's why half the crowd just emptied out," the farmer explained.
I am most definitely a fan of Amazing Ghost and most definitely not a fan of the Republic, so it was never an issue for me.
Besides, as someone pointed out, "Amazing Ghost will be around, but these guys are great and they may not."
Ophelia, a recent collaboration between Jonathan Vassar (he of the Speckled Bird) and David Schultz (of the Skyline) boasts the drummer from Thao and the Get Down Stay Down (and Diamond Center) as well as the bass player from the amazing Mermaid Skeletons.
They've already recorded a CD, due out late this summer, although tonight was only their second show live.
And it was every kind of impressive.
When you start with two great voices like Vassar and Schultz, add in some alt-country hooks, a melancholy accordion, harmonica, kick-ass drumming and a strong bass line, you get a sound that speaks to just about everyone in the room in one way or another.
Or at the very least, it speaks to the kind of people who don't get invited to barbecues on Memorial Day weekend.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Music Lust, Not (yet) Man Lust
"If you are free, we need to go to this show," said the e-mail from Andrew, my musical partner in crime. Fortunately, he gave me enough notice that I could guarantee my presence where it was needed last night. I'd just recently discovered Jukebox the Ghost so I was excited to have a chance to hear them live so soon. With the local additions of Prabir and the Goldrush and The Trillions opening, it looked to be a musical bonanza of an evening.
Garnett's was our choice for dinner and it worked out well because it wasn't crazily busy, so we got plenty of conversation from the staff as well as a visit from George, the cat, who once again had wandered down the four blocks from where he actually lives. His daily presence is thought to have something to do with Hunter feeding him salmon ("I just wanted a companion," he explained, "and someone to stroke." Ahem), but I've never seen a cat so nonchalantly work a dinner crowd. Having both doors open probably doesn't discourage George much, either.
Searching the menu for a new sandwich to try, (Andrew the smart-ass said, "You haven't tried them all yet?") I decided on the grilled cheddar (with hot mustard and red onions on rye bread) on Curt's recommendation, with a side of Mac's fresher-than-fresh gazpacho. It was a variation on a cliched theme, that of the grilled cheese and tomato soup lunch of childhood; there was absolutely nothing cliched about this combination. I'd like to dub Mac the Soup Master for his talent with liquids, but he already knows I worship him. Dessert was the luscious chocolate cake with coffee icing and then we headed down to the Bottom for music.
We were early, or the show was late starting, however you want to look at it, so we did a stroll since it was such a beautiful night, which resulted in one of those sublime moments that you wish you could capture, raved about here.
And then it was show time. It was our first time seeing Prabir and then the Trillions (his former Substitutes plus one) at Alley Katz. My only complaint was the sound mix; the recently-added drums of the Goldrush pretty much canceled out Matt's bass, which was a real shame. If there's going to be an instrument that big on stage and being played with that much verve and enthusiasm, I want to hear it and I couldn't, except when the drummer was playing the high hat.
Prabir, take note.
I'd run into several friends who, like me, were there for Jukebox the Ghost and they delivered in spades. A Philly trio with an emphasis on crazy keyboards, they were tight, melodic and completely engaging. Pianist Ben was also a ham, using elaborate hand gestures and high voices to dramatize their songs (almost Freddy Mercury-like).
The crowd had a clear contingent of fans who knew every word and danced pretty much non-stop. The band even introduced their first two songs as "dance sensations." A skinny older man in the front row provided a frenetic dance performance to many of the songs, amusing the band and entertaining the crowd. He was completely into following that frenzied keyboard and it was awesome to watch. Andrew had been exactly right, I needed to see this show.
My last stop of the evening was Ipanema to meet up with a friend for catch-up conversation and of course we ended up closing the place (not that I was drinking after the lunch I'd had, here). It was funny, we both had a story about how a guy we knew had misinterpreted one of my recent blog posts. Both guys had had reading comprehension issues about this post, here, reading into it a completely different meaning than what I wrote.
Luckily, my girlfriend had interpreted it exactly as it was intended when I wrote it (so I knew I wasn't crazy), but these guys saw a completely different and provocative meaning to it. Song lyrics, guys, they were just lyrics and I wasn't lusting after or propositioning anyone in that post. Hell, the point of that post was about all the various enjoyable guys she and I had run into that night.
Until I get this guy thing going right again, thank god there are girlfriends who get me without needing explanations. Believe me, if I'm lusting after someone, I will be clear as crystal and you won't have to read into anything I write.
I'll spell it out for you and, male or female, you won't be able to miss my meaning.
Garnett's was our choice for dinner and it worked out well because it wasn't crazily busy, so we got plenty of conversation from the staff as well as a visit from George, the cat, who once again had wandered down the four blocks from where he actually lives. His daily presence is thought to have something to do with Hunter feeding him salmon ("I just wanted a companion," he explained, "and someone to stroke." Ahem), but I've never seen a cat so nonchalantly work a dinner crowd. Having both doors open probably doesn't discourage George much, either.
Searching the menu for a new sandwich to try, (Andrew the smart-ass said, "You haven't tried them all yet?") I decided on the grilled cheddar (with hot mustard and red onions on rye bread) on Curt's recommendation, with a side of Mac's fresher-than-fresh gazpacho. It was a variation on a cliched theme, that of the grilled cheese and tomato soup lunch of childhood; there was absolutely nothing cliched about this combination. I'd like to dub Mac the Soup Master for his talent with liquids, but he already knows I worship him. Dessert was the luscious chocolate cake with coffee icing and then we headed down to the Bottom for music.
We were early, or the show was late starting, however you want to look at it, so we did a stroll since it was such a beautiful night, which resulted in one of those sublime moments that you wish you could capture, raved about here.
And then it was show time. It was our first time seeing Prabir and then the Trillions (his former Substitutes plus one) at Alley Katz. My only complaint was the sound mix; the recently-added drums of the Goldrush pretty much canceled out Matt's bass, which was a real shame. If there's going to be an instrument that big on stage and being played with that much verve and enthusiasm, I want to hear it and I couldn't, except when the drummer was playing the high hat.
Prabir, take note.
I'd run into several friends who, like me, were there for Jukebox the Ghost and they delivered in spades. A Philly trio with an emphasis on crazy keyboards, they were tight, melodic and completely engaging. Pianist Ben was also a ham, using elaborate hand gestures and high voices to dramatize their songs (almost Freddy Mercury-like).
The crowd had a clear contingent of fans who knew every word and danced pretty much non-stop. The band even introduced their first two songs as "dance sensations." A skinny older man in the front row provided a frenetic dance performance to many of the songs, amusing the band and entertaining the crowd. He was completely into following that frenzied keyboard and it was awesome to watch. Andrew had been exactly right, I needed to see this show.
My last stop of the evening was Ipanema to meet up with a friend for catch-up conversation and of course we ended up closing the place (not that I was drinking after the lunch I'd had, here). It was funny, we both had a story about how a guy we knew had misinterpreted one of my recent blog posts. Both guys had had reading comprehension issues about this post, here, reading into it a completely different meaning than what I wrote.
Luckily, my girlfriend had interpreted it exactly as it was intended when I wrote it (so I knew I wasn't crazy), but these guys saw a completely different and provocative meaning to it. Song lyrics, guys, they were just lyrics and I wasn't lusting after or propositioning anyone in that post. Hell, the point of that post was about all the various enjoyable guys she and I had run into that night.
Until I get this guy thing going right again, thank god there are girlfriends who get me without needing explanations. Believe me, if I'm lusting after someone, I will be clear as crystal and you won't have to read into anything I write.
I'll spell it out for you and, male or female, you won't be able to miss my meaning.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Celebrating One Year of Music Madness at Ipanema
Allow me to give you the highlights from tonight's Live at Ipanema's first anniversary show featuring Long Arms.
During a discussion of adding a drummer to his band and being a former drummer, I express surprise to Prabir on just now learning these things about him.
"I'm like an onion, Karen. Peel me and cry." Or laugh hysterically at his melodrama.
Talking to a group of classical musicians, somehow the subject of instruments as smoking devices comes up.
"Man, a bassoon would work great and look really awesome, " one enthuses. "No, man, a French horn. You could stick your whole face in it to inhale."
During the performance, though, one sticks his fingers in his ears to protect his delicate hearing from the rock and roll.
Wow, seriously?
The small crowd before the show begins to grow and my girlfriend and I check out the new arrivals.
"He's attractive, don't you think?" I ask her. "It's spring. Everyone looks cute," she pronounces nonchalantly and I realize she's right.
It's mating season and everyone's feeling it.
A well-known scene face comes in and mentions his new bruise.
I apparently don't react in a sufficiently impressed manner, so he drops trou and shows me a black and yellow mess covering half his thigh and most of his ass.
Now I'm impressed.
Long Arms begins by playing a few songs with the addition of Prabir and then they're joined by the violinist and bass player from Prabir and the Goldrush.
James, the leader of Long Arms, notes that, "It's like being born up here. It's really tight." The trade off for the tight quarters is an enhanced sound and lots of energy.
The crowd eats it up.
To celebrate the first year of the series, cake is served after the show.
The moist yellow cake with coconut icing and blueberry filing is amazing and somehow gluten-free.
If I hadn't had that enormous piece of double chocolate cake right before the band played, I might have enjoyed it even more, but I'm not about to turn down cake.
For that matter, I'm not about to turn down live music, clever conversation or ogling new arrivals, either.
Having to admire hematomas though, that I could probably do without.
During a discussion of adding a drummer to his band and being a former drummer, I express surprise to Prabir on just now learning these things about him.
"I'm like an onion, Karen. Peel me and cry." Or laugh hysterically at his melodrama.
Talking to a group of classical musicians, somehow the subject of instruments as smoking devices comes up.
"Man, a bassoon would work great and look really awesome, " one enthuses. "No, man, a French horn. You could stick your whole face in it to inhale."
During the performance, though, one sticks his fingers in his ears to protect his delicate hearing from the rock and roll.
Wow, seriously?
The small crowd before the show begins to grow and my girlfriend and I check out the new arrivals.
"He's attractive, don't you think?" I ask her. "It's spring. Everyone looks cute," she pronounces nonchalantly and I realize she's right.
It's mating season and everyone's feeling it.
A well-known scene face comes in and mentions his new bruise.
I apparently don't react in a sufficiently impressed manner, so he drops trou and shows me a black and yellow mess covering half his thigh and most of his ass.
Now I'm impressed.
Long Arms begins by playing a few songs with the addition of Prabir and then they're joined by the violinist and bass player from Prabir and the Goldrush.
James, the leader of Long Arms, notes that, "It's like being born up here. It's really tight." The trade off for the tight quarters is an enhanced sound and lots of energy.
The crowd eats it up.
To celebrate the first year of the series, cake is served after the show.
The moist yellow cake with coconut icing and blueberry filing is amazing and somehow gluten-free.
If I hadn't had that enormous piece of double chocolate cake right before the band played, I might have enjoyed it even more, but I'm not about to turn down cake.
For that matter, I'm not about to turn down live music, clever conversation or ogling new arrivals, either.
Having to admire hematomas though, that I could probably do without.
Friday, April 2, 2010
First Fridays: Smile Like You Mean It
The crowds flocked to Jackson Ward night, not because I willed them to, but undoubtedly because of the best First Fridays weather in 2010.
I saw so many new faces and heard so many people talking about this being their first art walk. I also saw a lot of females shivering in cute summer attire as the evening wore on.
I walked right up Henry like I was going to the Belvidere and ducked into Henry Street Gallery for a group show of "Richmond Artists of the 80s."
It was probably my favorite show of the evening. I came to RVA in the late 80s, so I didn't recognize the artists' names, but stylistic ally, I was fascinated.
It didn't look dated, but it didn't look like current work, either. It definitely reflected a different era.
As I was leaving, the guy sitting by the door with a camera asked me stop and smile.
He may have been feeling a little guilty since his job was actually to warn people about the step down as you walk in the door and I'd tripped coming in.
Or maybe he could tell I really liked the show.
At ADA gallery, both John Coburn and Gian Pierotti had created objects that almost, but not quite looked like something in the real world.
It was interesting to dissect my first impression of each piece; no matter how I'd first interpreted it, upon closer inspection it wasn't exactly like it should look if it were that object. It felt a little like a mind f*#k, challenging your perceptions.
Of all things, it was horse-themed art at Ghostptint Gallery.
Some were in full color, but my favorites were in monochromatic shades of brown; they almost resembled Degas drawings for his racetrack paintings.
The show was "What are the Odds?" and Neal Iwan's brushstrokes were a thing of beauty.
Over at Lift, I ran into a friend who lost his front tooth this week to a bungee cord snap-back. He's heard a lot of West Virginia jokes the past few days, but the doctor said most people lose an eye when it happens, so he's actually pretty lucky, if a bit backwoods-looking until the reconstruction process begins.
Cue banjo music.
For anyone who saw the first InLight exhibit in 2008, the star of the show was back tonight.
The "Jackson Ward House," outlined entirely in light tubes was up and attendees were wandering through it in amazement, probably many of them seeing it for the first time.
You can tell that the creator, an Englishman, was as taken with the architecture of the Ward as yours truly.
Art 6 had a group show, all by women and using various formats, including poetry, which I found especially cool.
I believe it was part of the Minds Wide Open initiative currently going on.
I know better than to try to visit my neighborhood restaurants on the first Friday, but I plastered my face to the door at Tarrant's to give my bartender friend a big smile and before I reached the end of the block, was accosted by two of the Bistro 27 staff coming out to say hello and kiss my hand (and no doubt escape the teeming masses inside).
It was a big night for Gallery 5 because they're celebrating their fifth birthday, an enormous accomplishment for any gallery who doesn't receive outside funding.
They have begun their first membership drive and I can't think of a better cause to support than the arts.
It's an ongoing drive, so there's till plenty of time to jump on the G5 bandwagon and do good.
Downstairs was hung with posters made for many of the events at G5 over the past five years.
It was a walk down memory lane, full of reminders of the excellent art, music, poetry, burlesque, dance and film that has come through there.
Upstairs, the theme continued with dozens of photos taken over the last half-decade. Let's just say there were a lot of familiar faces.
Then it was time for music and a four-piece called Haints in the Holler took us on a bluegrass odyssey complete with washboard.
They were followed by Prabir and the Goldrush, usually a three-piece, but recently graduated to a quartet with the addition of a drummer.
Don't worry, they're still a rock band with classical musicians and loads of hooks.
I should mention Prabir's magnificent mane, but he complained to me tonight that the media always does, so it's trite for me to do so.
Consider it done with a smile.
I saw so many new faces and heard so many people talking about this being their first art walk. I also saw a lot of females shivering in cute summer attire as the evening wore on.
I walked right up Henry like I was going to the Belvidere and ducked into Henry Street Gallery for a group show of "Richmond Artists of the 80s."
It was probably my favorite show of the evening. I came to RVA in the late 80s, so I didn't recognize the artists' names, but stylistic ally, I was fascinated.
It didn't look dated, but it didn't look like current work, either. It definitely reflected a different era.
As I was leaving, the guy sitting by the door with a camera asked me stop and smile.
He may have been feeling a little guilty since his job was actually to warn people about the step down as you walk in the door and I'd tripped coming in.
Or maybe he could tell I really liked the show.
At ADA gallery, both John Coburn and Gian Pierotti had created objects that almost, but not quite looked like something in the real world.
It was interesting to dissect my first impression of each piece; no matter how I'd first interpreted it, upon closer inspection it wasn't exactly like it should look if it were that object. It felt a little like a mind f*#k, challenging your perceptions.
Of all things, it was horse-themed art at Ghostptint Gallery.
Some were in full color, but my favorites were in monochromatic shades of brown; they almost resembled Degas drawings for his racetrack paintings.
The show was "What are the Odds?" and Neal Iwan's brushstrokes were a thing of beauty.
Over at Lift, I ran into a friend who lost his front tooth this week to a bungee cord snap-back. He's heard a lot of West Virginia jokes the past few days, but the doctor said most people lose an eye when it happens, so he's actually pretty lucky, if a bit backwoods-looking until the reconstruction process begins.
Cue banjo music.
For anyone who saw the first InLight exhibit in 2008, the star of the show was back tonight.
The "Jackson Ward House," outlined entirely in light tubes was up and attendees were wandering through it in amazement, probably many of them seeing it for the first time.
You can tell that the creator, an Englishman, was as taken with the architecture of the Ward as yours truly.
Art 6 had a group show, all by women and using various formats, including poetry, which I found especially cool.
I believe it was part of the Minds Wide Open initiative currently going on.
I know better than to try to visit my neighborhood restaurants on the first Friday, but I plastered my face to the door at Tarrant's to give my bartender friend a big smile and before I reached the end of the block, was accosted by two of the Bistro 27 staff coming out to say hello and kiss my hand (and no doubt escape the teeming masses inside).
It was a big night for Gallery 5 because they're celebrating their fifth birthday, an enormous accomplishment for any gallery who doesn't receive outside funding.
They have begun their first membership drive and I can't think of a better cause to support than the arts.
It's an ongoing drive, so there's till plenty of time to jump on the G5 bandwagon and do good.
Downstairs was hung with posters made for many of the events at G5 over the past five years.
It was a walk down memory lane, full of reminders of the excellent art, music, poetry, burlesque, dance and film that has come through there.
Upstairs, the theme continued with dozens of photos taken over the last half-decade. Let's just say there were a lot of familiar faces.
Then it was time for music and a four-piece called Haints in the Holler took us on a bluegrass odyssey complete with washboard.
They were followed by Prabir and the Goldrush, usually a three-piece, but recently graduated to a quartet with the addition of a drummer.
Don't worry, they're still a rock band with classical musicians and loads of hooks.
I should mention Prabir's magnificent mane, but he complained to me tonight that the media always does, so it's trite for me to do so.
Consider it done with a smile.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Prabir Tells Me How to Do It/Part Deux
The whole town has already resigned itself to the inevitable; we're going to get another big snow and all the weekend's activities are going to be cancelled/postponed and there's nothing we can do about it...except have a rollicking good Thursday night as a precautionary measure.
Still craving Italian, my friend and I started at Edo's for dinner and arrived to a mob scene.
I used my superior bar skills to score bar stools before anyone else in the place even realized the occupants were abandoning them.
Dinner was a spicy oyster stew and then roasted red pepper and mozzarella for me; my friend had the stew and then calamari.
The bartender is a friend of hers, so we had an intimate discussion of tabloids, the uses of the History Channel and why a guy would ask a female friend to pimp for him.
Our next stop was Six Burner for music, but my friend was still hungry so we enjoyed even more food: crispy duck confit (to die for), risotto balls and a red velvet cupcake.
Before long, my friend Andrew showed up, followed by the masses for Prabir and the Goldrush's show and there was no looking back.
People continued to arrive non-stop until the owner had to do door duty and turn people away.
The temperature inside the restaurant climbed to summertime levels, the bartender stripped to a t-shirt (nice look, Josh) and eventually the air conditioning had to be turned on, despite it being barely above freezing outside.
Seriously, when I think it's warm, it's warm.
As usual, Prabir's show was great musical fun, including original material, of course the Beatles and ending with a robust sing-along version of Bohemian Rhapsody.
I couldn't believe how many in the audience knew every single word (I don't and I'd prefer Bohemian Like You any day, but it was an inspired choice, nonetheless).
And, let me tell you, they were into it, many of them singing at the top of their lungs to a song older than they were.
Laugh-out-loud-hilarious. If you haven't seen this trio tear it up, you should make a point to check them out.
Fortunately, Prabir and I had caught up before he took the stage so I could get the rest of his Grand Plan.
It seems that after steps one through six here, there is more for the lovelorn to attend to, namely:
7. Amend list to include late adds
8. Try out the late additions
9. Eliminate the unsuitable ones
10. Introduce a close, but platonic, friend to the late add who most impresses you.
And voila!
You have arrived at a new love who is acceptable to a trusted friend, who can also secure pertinent information for you from said new love.
I'm on it.
Still craving Italian, my friend and I started at Edo's for dinner and arrived to a mob scene.
I used my superior bar skills to score bar stools before anyone else in the place even realized the occupants were abandoning them.
Dinner was a spicy oyster stew and then roasted red pepper and mozzarella for me; my friend had the stew and then calamari.
The bartender is a friend of hers, so we had an intimate discussion of tabloids, the uses of the History Channel and why a guy would ask a female friend to pimp for him.
Our next stop was Six Burner for music, but my friend was still hungry so we enjoyed even more food: crispy duck confit (to die for), risotto balls and a red velvet cupcake.
Before long, my friend Andrew showed up, followed by the masses for Prabir and the Goldrush's show and there was no looking back.
People continued to arrive non-stop until the owner had to do door duty and turn people away.
The temperature inside the restaurant climbed to summertime levels, the bartender stripped to a t-shirt (nice look, Josh) and eventually the air conditioning had to be turned on, despite it being barely above freezing outside.
Seriously, when I think it's warm, it's warm.
As usual, Prabir's show was great musical fun, including original material, of course the Beatles and ending with a robust sing-along version of Bohemian Rhapsody.
I couldn't believe how many in the audience knew every single word (I don't and I'd prefer Bohemian Like You any day, but it was an inspired choice, nonetheless).
And, let me tell you, they were into it, many of them singing at the top of their lungs to a song older than they were.
Laugh-out-loud-hilarious. If you haven't seen this trio tear it up, you should make a point to check them out.
Fortunately, Prabir and I had caught up before he took the stage so I could get the rest of his Grand Plan.
It seems that after steps one through six here, there is more for the lovelorn to attend to, namely:
7. Amend list to include late adds
8. Try out the late additions
9. Eliminate the unsuitable ones
10. Introduce a close, but platonic, friend to the late add who most impresses you.
And voila!
You have arrived at a new love who is acceptable to a trusted friend, who can also secure pertinent information for you from said new love.
I'm on it.
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