A Day with the Gentler Sex

Praise be for sunny January afternoons.

The kind that inspire a person to get in the car and drive to the norther neck to eat at Merroir.

Yea, I know Rappahannock is 3/4 of a mile from home, but it's not the same.

And getting there is a whole different thing, too.

Getting gas at the station just before the bridge in West Point (where a friend once did a sudden U-turn, announcing to the three surprised occupants of the car,"I can't drive over that bridge"), I saw  a sign on the fence.

Dangerous Tree Removal 
693-0998

Clearly this was an enterprise that doesn't mess around removing benign trees.

And don't we all feel safer knowing someone is on top of this risky task?

Crossing the bridge, it occurred to me what a shame it is that the picaresque billowing smoke coming out of factory smokestacks is a bad thing.

Seeing the six smokestacks all putting out cartoon-like puffs of white smoke against the white and gray buildings and bright blue sky was a study in shades of gray and blue, a lovely thing.

When my oyster-loving companion and I rolled up, we found the porch at Merroir draped in plastic and nearly every seat taken.

With back-up sweaters, we took a picnic table out back with a view of the bright blue river with its surface choppy in the afternoon breeze.

But it didn't last long; our server got as far as trying to set the wineglasses on the table when the wind demonstrated why drinking outside was not an option.

A sunny table on the porch provided a stellar view of the marina and a safe surface for the bottle of Thorny Rose and wineglasses.

We'd caught the end of the lunch rush, so the porch got progressively emptier as we ate and drank.

Given the stiff breeze, we started with the lamb and clam stew, a perennial favorite no matter the season.

Honestly, that tomato-based broth thick with bits of ground lamb is a thing of beauty and required extra bread for final sopping.

The eclectic music (The Fray to John Lennon) was much easier to hear inside, but sunglasses were still required.

In the spirit of a sunny afternoon and hopes for warmer days, we did the Wagyu beef and cheddar sliders with bacon jam, meaty little burgers that were going to a lot of tables near us.

About that time, it occurred to us that we'd be lying to ourselves if we didn't get some oysters, so a plate of them soon followed.

The briney liquid in the shells tasted a lot like I imagined the salty wind that had been whipping around the point outside did.

Say what you want about Rappahannock in the heart of Richmond, but it'll never beat the price or relaxed vibe of Merroir.

During a trip to the bathroom, I found my sex's room occupied, so I took advantage of the empty men's room next door.

Walking out afterwards, a short man in boots was lounging against the door frame.

Seeing me emerge, he raised an eyebrow over his mirrored sunglasses, but didn't say a word.

I quickly explained what had happened, hoping to mollify him.

"I'd've done the same," he drawled. "Have a nice afternoon, girl."

Girl?

He and his aging Madonna-lookalike girlfriend circa 1986 (right down to the scrunchy, sunglasses and boots) soon drove off in a little, red Corvette.

It was as satisfying a moment as seeing the dangerous tree sign.

A walk down to the dock is de rigueur after a lunch at Merroir, the better to admire the distinctive winter color palette of a January day on the northern neck.

But eventually, city slickers have to motor back to the city, so as to enjoy cultural activities, or they wither and die.

My chosen culture for the evening was the Silent Music Revival at Gallery 5.

What used to be a monthly event has become a much more occasional one as organizer Jameson has spent more time touring and traveling and less time teaching us neophytes about silent movie history.

Everything I know about silent movies I owe to Jameson and while it's not sizable (my fault, not his) it at least taught me how much I enjoy silent film.

But part of the magic of the SMR is that Jameson chooses a band he thinks will best complement the movie he's showing.

He's very, very good at this, which is really what makes the whole event so special, and tonight was no exception.

Sonic Nectar was hiding behind the movie screen, ready to improvise a score to "Hands: The Life and Love of the Gentler Sex," essentially an interpretive German film about romance using only hands

The hands met, flirted, grabbed and one even rescued the other's suicide attempt.

I thought the band's psychedelic instrumental rock was a fine match for the story of hands in love.

Usually at the SMR, there is one band and one movie, but tonight we got a double feature.

"Hands" ended up being merely the prelude for the main event, "Meshes of the Afternoon," an American avant-garde movie from 1943.

The film was a collaboration between Maya Deren and her husband Alexander Hammid and she starred in it.

While that may sound egotistical, the woman was an exotic beauty with a face you couldn't take your eyes off of, so watching her dream experiences that blended in with her real life was riveting.

Brilliantly, Jameson had chosen a woman to score this female-driven film in the form of Nelly Kate.

As many times as I've seen her perform (and not nearly enough in recent months), I love hearing her work magic with her voice, keyboard and a loop pedal.

Tonight, she used her voice to make all kinds of sounds and since we couldn't see her behind the screen, sometimes it was difficult to know whether she or her keys were responsible for what we were hearing.

Only afterwards did I hear from a photographer who'd been backstage that most of that had been created with her voice.

But having a woman's voice and words over a woman working her way through an interior life was nothing short of mesmerizing.

That was the great part. The less great part was that there won't be another SMR for months, probably not until April.

Leave 'em wanting, Jameson. Well done.

Because the SMR starts early and on time, it ends early, there was time to head to the Camel to see Scolaro, a band I had seen only once and that was a year and a half ago, here.

Not one to rush things, they were tonight doing their second live show.

I couldn't risk missing it since it might be mid-2014 before they bother to play out again.

I could tell as soon as I walked into the Camel that a lot of people must have tomorrow off because it was a fat crowd for a Sunday night.

There are two things you can count on at a Camel show: it won't start on time and all too often the sound is muddy.

Tonight we were two for two.

So much so that I changed locations, hoping for a better mix if I stood dead center in the room.

Sadly, no.

Scolaro, a sextet, has three vocalists and yet it placed a serious strain on my ear to hear the vocals in the mix, especially over the drums.

Not fair.

Josh, the leader and a long-time music buddy, began by saying, "I now it's silly to introduce ourselves 'cause I know most of you, but we're Scolaro."

I recognized several of the songs they played, including "Innervention," from some tracks Josh had sent me a while back.

They did a song so new it's still untitled, although they were referring to it as "Megan's song" because she sang it.

Although there was some question about Megan remembering all the words, we agreed as a group that it wouldn't matter since none of us had ever heard the song before.

It turned out to be one of my favorites tonight, with both women singing.

"Regift" shone brightest, sounding for all the world like well-produced, smooth R&B, a very good thing.

By the time they got to the end of their set, guitarist/vocalist Josh was obviously hot, wiping sweat from his face.

"Who'd like to hear another girl song?" he asked, steering the band toward his sister Megan singing again. "I would."

I would have too, although it would have been even better with the vocals higher in the mix.

But I'm not complaining because I was just happy to come back from the river and have so much fun stuff to do tonight.

I'd overheard a woman at Merroir today tell her friends that the great thing about visiting Richmond was that there was so much going on, that you could walk to bars, restaurants and music any night you go.

Isn't it the truth?

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.