If I wanted to be cool, it only made sense to go outside.
It's not like it wasn't a hot evening when I headed to Scuffletown Park for music, but it sure wasn't 90 degrees, which is what the thermostat read in my apartment when I left. Considering the afternoon high had been 95, the appeal of being outside where it was more like mid-80s and occasionally breezy was wildly appealing.
Despite hoping that the unpleasant heat would make tonight's turnout smaller than usual so I could score a bench close to the band, no such good fortune. I mean, I did luck into a bench but not one of the close ones, which was nonetheless good news since I'm just not willing to sit on the brick walkway like so many late arrivals do.
A band I didn't recognize was doing sound checks when I got there, but after a minute of testing vocals, the singer announced that they'd start playing in four minutes. Not five, four and if that sounds random, it's not. Part of the beauty of Sunsets at Scuffletown is that they begin exactly 30 minutes before sunset (so the start time changes every week) and end, more or less, as the sun sets.
Poetic, isn't it?
That said, the problem with being on a bench midway back in the park is that's hard to hear everything said or sung in the front. Oh, I heard the organizer announce, "Tonight we're counting down to sunset with (mumble, mumble)." So while I have no clue who the band was, I can tell you they had a lead singer, a horn section, a bassist, drummer and a couple of back-up singers.
Meanwhile, the two young women on the bench next to me never even looked up because they were so busy doing a sheaf of shared crossword puzzles from the time they sat down to when the show ended.
I'm going to assume they just wanted live background music for their word play.
Then the lead singer took the mic and announced that, "We're gonna do one long piece of music for the whole time," before the band launched into a comfortable jazz-inflected groove enlivened by strong vocals, not to mention the sheer pleasure of hearing horns played outdoors. It didn't hurt that a decent breeze kept stirring, moving the stale air around as the musicians played on, looking hotter and hotter.
Their salvation is that these shows only last half an hour, so relief is always in sight. Even so, the band members were passing around water bottles throughout the show attempting to cool down.
When their set ended, I made a beeline for the front because I'd seen my friend Xtina come in and sit down on the brick walkway just as the show was starting. Next to her was the Minimalist, whom I've known almost as long. As people were packing up to leave, we three sat down on a bench for a good girlfriend gab session.
Since both of them are introverts, they were congratulating each other on having forced themselves to leave the house and be among people. I told them Pru, also an introvert, refers to this as "peopling" and avoids it, causing them to nod in understanding.
Like me, they both work at home, though this extrovert has no problem seeking out humans on a nightly basis. That discussion led us straight to Myers Briggs and how enlightening it is understand the people in your life that way.
Talking about how we structure our work days at home, I mentioned that I always do my walk as soon as I finish breakfast because it's such a great prelude to whatever I have to do. The Minimalist was fascinated and both said they always feel obligated to jump right into work first thing in the morning.
Take it from someone older and wiser, ladies, you'll get over that.
But after hearing me describe the unique pleasures of beginning every day by the river with the sounds of the falls and rushing water, the Minimalist sweetly asked, "Do you mind if I steal your walk habit?" and asked for suggestions on how to get to the river from her (minimalist) house.
That's when Xtina piped up, telling us she had a vitamin D deficiency, so her doctor had prescribed a daily sun bath of 20 minutes. Although it sounds like something a Victorian doctor would prescribe for a woman recovering from the vapors, I love what a simple Rx it is. She puts on short shorts, pulls up her shirt to expose her midriff and soaks it in.
I recall my doctor complimenting me when she determined I didn't have a vitamin D deficiency - apparently it's pretty common in women - but it's tough to walk outside daily and not soak it up, whether you mean to or not.
So we sat there as the light faded, as two guys got into a shouting match and decided to take it to the streets and as others continued to sit on their blankets to finish their beverages before heading home, talking about the men in our lives, how the scene has changed since we first met and how much more confident we've all gotten as we get older.
By the time we parted company, we felt energized for having run into each other and talking for an hour, plus cooler than when we'd arrived at the park.
I'd like to say that I got home to find my thermostat had dropped, but you don't earn a $28 electric bill that way. Fact is, summer's supposed to be hot, it's healthy to sweat and there's no better time to walk through sprinklers like I did this morning. This is my time of year, so I don't want to hear how miserable you are.
I'm in good company on this one. No one says it better than the Bard: "Summer's lease hath all too short a date."
Sigh. Don't remind me.
Showing posts with label scuffletown park. Show all posts
Showing posts with label scuffletown park. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 3, 2019
Wednesday, September 6, 2017
Summer People
It's like the dome of post-summer/autumn/back to school responsibility has been lowered over the city.
At 8 1/2, we walked into an empty restaurant, where just a few weeks ago, there would have been an eager crowd looking to score takeout before heading to the park for music. We ordered our hoagies, sat down at one of the empty tables and waited for my date's name to be called.
I'm not going to lie, it was a little bit eerie being in 8 1/2 on a beautiful Tuesday evening an hour before sunset and not encountering a mob scene. The oddness continued in the nearby park where exactly three people sat: a couple eating at a table and a woman on a bench alternating between a book and her phone.
Where were all the usual suspects?
My guess was that they all were laboring under the misconception that the live music ended at the same moment when white shoes and clothing became verboten: Labor Day. Because no one mentioned anything about the music stopping come September.
You know what they say about presuming.
We ate our hoagies, Italian and turkey, accompanied by Cherrier "Les Chailloux" Sancerre Rose on a bench, while singer/banjo/guitar player Kia Cavallaro got set up, a little girl in a smocked dress did interpretive dance and the wind picked up, causing the massive wind chimes on the power pole to commence ringing
For that matter, we bantered about how soul satisfying the sub rolls we were eating were. Neither of us could imagine being friends with anyone who didn't worship at the altar of these rolls.
When the flies arrived en massse (another stark difference to previous nights in the park), I saved the day by wiping mayonnaise dribbles from my sub with a wad of paper napkins and laying said wad on the ground for them to feast on.
In moments, the white napkins were covered in dozens of flies. Gross, certainly; effective, absolutely.
Once replete, the whole mess went in the Supercans and suddenly nary a fly had any interest in us or our Rose. Even so, we switched benches once the book/phone reader vacated hers, mainly for the better view it afforded.
Because tonight's crowd was small and because so many of them were tardy, the show kicked off late and only after organizer Patrick reminded everyone yet again the formula for when the show begins. If you can use your device for good - to research when the sun goes down - and count back 15 minutes, you can figure it out pretty easily.
We looked up from our fruit course of grapes and clementines to see friends with whom we'd been at the beach in July, so of course they spread their blanket next to our bench shortly before the set began.
Hearing a fretless banjo accompanying Kia's distinctive little girl voice would have been pleasure enough, but several of her songs were in French and I'm an absolute sucker for lyrics I can't understand.
Coupled with air that registered as Goldilocks just right (not too hot, not too cold) and a soft breeze, it was a glorious night for live music in a park. The thing is, there are weeks of outdoor music coming for those who haven't given up on life simply because Labor Day has come and gone.
That said, it was going on dark and a huge yellow moon was making its way up in the sky when we returned to the car after the show ended at 8:15. Shoot, it wasn't that long ago that the shows were starting at 8:15.
Every Summer has its own story and with mine still unfolding, I could put off Fall indefinitely. That, or accept that Summer is a state of mind.
But live under the dome of post-summer/autumn/back to school responsibility? Never.
At 8 1/2, we walked into an empty restaurant, where just a few weeks ago, there would have been an eager crowd looking to score takeout before heading to the park for music. We ordered our hoagies, sat down at one of the empty tables and waited for my date's name to be called.
I'm not going to lie, it was a little bit eerie being in 8 1/2 on a beautiful Tuesday evening an hour before sunset and not encountering a mob scene. The oddness continued in the nearby park where exactly three people sat: a couple eating at a table and a woman on a bench alternating between a book and her phone.
Where were all the usual suspects?
My guess was that they all were laboring under the misconception that the live music ended at the same moment when white shoes and clothing became verboten: Labor Day. Because no one mentioned anything about the music stopping come September.
You know what they say about presuming.
We ate our hoagies, Italian and turkey, accompanied by Cherrier "Les Chailloux" Sancerre Rose on a bench, while singer/banjo/guitar player Kia Cavallaro got set up, a little girl in a smocked dress did interpretive dance and the wind picked up, causing the massive wind chimes on the power pole to commence ringing
For that matter, we bantered about how soul satisfying the sub rolls we were eating were. Neither of us could imagine being friends with anyone who didn't worship at the altar of these rolls.
When the flies arrived en massse (another stark difference to previous nights in the park), I saved the day by wiping mayonnaise dribbles from my sub with a wad of paper napkins and laying said wad on the ground for them to feast on.
In moments, the white napkins were covered in dozens of flies. Gross, certainly; effective, absolutely.
Once replete, the whole mess went in the Supercans and suddenly nary a fly had any interest in us or our Rose. Even so, we switched benches once the book/phone reader vacated hers, mainly for the better view it afforded.
Because tonight's crowd was small and because so many of them were tardy, the show kicked off late and only after organizer Patrick reminded everyone yet again the formula for when the show begins. If you can use your device for good - to research when the sun goes down - and count back 15 minutes, you can figure it out pretty easily.
We looked up from our fruit course of grapes and clementines to see friends with whom we'd been at the beach in July, so of course they spread their blanket next to our bench shortly before the set began.
Hearing a fretless banjo accompanying Kia's distinctive little girl voice would have been pleasure enough, but several of her songs were in French and I'm an absolute sucker for lyrics I can't understand.
Coupled with air that registered as Goldilocks just right (not too hot, not too cold) and a soft breeze, it was a glorious night for live music in a park. The thing is, there are weeks of outdoor music coming for those who haven't given up on life simply because Labor Day has come and gone.
That said, it was going on dark and a huge yellow moon was making its way up in the sky when we returned to the car after the show ended at 8:15. Shoot, it wasn't that long ago that the shows were starting at 8:15.
Every Summer has its own story and with mine still unfolding, I could put off Fall indefinitely. That, or accept that Summer is a state of mind.
But live under the dome of post-summer/autumn/back to school responsibility? Never.
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
Ruby Tuesday
Time for my rating of today's zeitgeist.
+6
Sitting on a rock in the James, our bodies submerged from the hips down, my companion spots a blue crab barely a foot away. In all my years of river walking, I've never seen a crab in the river. He's small, so maybe he's too young to know he's a tad west of the brackish water crabs prefer. Still, we saw a blue crab.
+2
When we went to 8 1/2 to get heroes for a picnic, the counter guy knocked the wind out of our sails when he said they were all out of rolls, those incredible crusty rolls. Okay, so we ordered a white pizza with spinach and onion to accompany our J. Mourat Rose.
Only problem was when we picked up the pizza, they'd made it red instead. "Want us to remake it?" they asked reluctantly. And wait another 35 minutes? Our bellies declined the offer. Still, it was a killer pizza, the meal rounded out with pasta salad and grapes.
+4
The group in front of us bought 2 bottles of wine but didn't have a wine opener. I asked if they were going to Scuffletown and when they said yes, I told them to look for my sunflower dress and they could borrow mine.
When she showed up, I learned that they were artists from NYC, down working on a virtual reality project with teens at Art 180, three blocks from my house. About 45 minutes later when he showed up to borrow it again and open their second bottle, he raved about what a cool town Richmond is. "You guys should keep this place a secret," he told me. We're trying.
+8
On a breezy July night, listening to a singing accordion player with a quietly dramatic delivery, accompanied by a Russian guitarist and a drummer playing in a park was just this side of sublime. Beginning 15 minutes before sunset, they played through the arrival of fireflies and the street lights coming on to a much smaller crowd than 2 weeks ago. Simply beautiful.
-9
Tonight's attendees were not an especially respectful bunch and many of them talked and laughed over the music being made. An accordion and acoustic guitars don't need competition from the noise made by people raised by wolves. Why come to a music show if you don't want to listen to the music?
+4
It's a who's who at the show. The traveling world musicians, just back from Vermont and leaving again in 3 days. The activist who tells me I look beautiful in my sunflower dress. The bolero singer we'd seen just Sunday night at Sub Rosato. The brains behind the kite-flying club, coincidentally also working on his own music series. The roadie (and best hugger I know), also just back from a tour. The songstress girlfriend I'm having brunch with Saturday. My favorite jazz metal guitarist and his cowboy roommate. The guy we'd met at the polo game 2 weeks ago.
Tuesday's score: 15
And that's not counting the afterparty, set to a soundtrack of cicadas and accompanied by warm breezes wafting through open windows.
As the Smithereens would say, groovy Tuesday.
+6
Sitting on a rock in the James, our bodies submerged from the hips down, my companion spots a blue crab barely a foot away. In all my years of river walking, I've never seen a crab in the river. He's small, so maybe he's too young to know he's a tad west of the brackish water crabs prefer. Still, we saw a blue crab.
+2
When we went to 8 1/2 to get heroes for a picnic, the counter guy knocked the wind out of our sails when he said they were all out of rolls, those incredible crusty rolls. Okay, so we ordered a white pizza with spinach and onion to accompany our J. Mourat Rose.
Only problem was when we picked up the pizza, they'd made it red instead. "Want us to remake it?" they asked reluctantly. And wait another 35 minutes? Our bellies declined the offer. Still, it was a killer pizza, the meal rounded out with pasta salad and grapes.
+4
The group in front of us bought 2 bottles of wine but didn't have a wine opener. I asked if they were going to Scuffletown and when they said yes, I told them to look for my sunflower dress and they could borrow mine.
When she showed up, I learned that they were artists from NYC, down working on a virtual reality project with teens at Art 180, three blocks from my house. About 45 minutes later when he showed up to borrow it again and open their second bottle, he raved about what a cool town Richmond is. "You guys should keep this place a secret," he told me. We're trying.
+8
On a breezy July night, listening to a singing accordion player with a quietly dramatic delivery, accompanied by a Russian guitarist and a drummer playing in a park was just this side of sublime. Beginning 15 minutes before sunset, they played through the arrival of fireflies and the street lights coming on to a much smaller crowd than 2 weeks ago. Simply beautiful.
-9
Tonight's attendees were not an especially respectful bunch and many of them talked and laughed over the music being made. An accordion and acoustic guitars don't need competition from the noise made by people raised by wolves. Why come to a music show if you don't want to listen to the music?
+4
It's a who's who at the show. The traveling world musicians, just back from Vermont and leaving again in 3 days. The activist who tells me I look beautiful in my sunflower dress. The bolero singer we'd seen just Sunday night at Sub Rosato. The brains behind the kite-flying club, coincidentally also working on his own music series. The roadie (and best hugger I know), also just back from a tour. The songstress girlfriend I'm having brunch with Saturday. My favorite jazz metal guitarist and his cowboy roommate. The guy we'd met at the polo game 2 weeks ago.
Tuesday's score: 15
And that's not counting the afterparty, set to a soundtrack of cicadas and accompanied by warm breezes wafting through open windows.
As the Smithereens would say, groovy Tuesday.
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Readers' Rendezvous
Once upon a time in the south, we took heat naps. I still do.
When by late afternoon it felt like an effort to research and write in the sunny front room (even with the shades angled down), I gave up and took to my bed.
With both a ceiling fan and an oscillating fan blowing directly on me, I stretched out on freshly changed sheets for a a bit of shut eye to escape the heat and restore my energy.
Only problem was that after my late night tiki adventure, I ended up sleeping longer than I intended, making for limited time to eat before going out for music.
Walking in to Magpie, I found a practically full house and claimed one of two empty bar stools, the only free seats in the house.
New-to-me Le Chaz Rose got me started while I listened to an annoying-sounding woman discuss with her fiance how they might invest some of their wedding gift money and waited for an order of charred asparagus with sauteed wild mushrooms, spring onion cream and Manchego crumbs to come out.
Next to me, two women were having a lively conversation and when I glanced over, one of the women smiled at me. A moment later, I heard her say, "I'm the problem," and I had to laugh at the sound of that statement and join in.
Leaning across her friend, the smiler said to me, "You are so lovely, I just had to tell you that." What can you say besides a heartfelt thank you when a random stranger says something so nice to you? Damned if I know.
But it was the start of a conversation with the two of them, who turned out to be librarians, well traveled and positively delightful to talk to. Before it was all over, we knew a surprisingly lot about each other despite the whole conversation lasting less than an hour.
One used to have a riverfront house on the Rappahannock until Hurricane Isabel had destroyed half of it. The other had lived all over the world and was amazed at how much there was to do in Richmond. Both loved to eat out and had been coming to Magpie since it first opened.
I got so caught up in our discussion that one of them finally had to remind me to eat my food before it got cold, but not before we discussed books and they suggested I join the library's summer reading club, something I haven't done since childhood.
When they got their check, one turned to me and said, "I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed talking with you," and asked how they could contact me for a future rendezvous.
It wasn't the first time I've given strangers my name and e-mail and it probably won't be the last. I couldn't help thanking them for providing such stellar company on a solo outing.
From there, I went to Scuffletown Park for the sunset concert series where I found a good-sized crowd gathering: kids in pajamas, pizza eaters, wine drinkers, a girl with lavender hair, two platinum blonds with pixie haircuts (one of whom I know) and several familiar faces including the musician whose band's first performance I'd recently seen.
With my fan in hand, I took a seat on a bench behind a trio munching on pizza sprawled out on a groovy-looking blanket.
Pedal Pops RVA was rapidly selling out, having already gone through avocado/lime and triple berry, but still offering strawberry, pineapple/mint and cherry chai. Given the heat, it was definitely Popsicle weather.
Organizer Patrick kicked things off by reminding us that the sunset series always begins 15 minutes before sunset, "So consult an almanac, go to your library or call City Hall to find out when sunset is and be here next Tuesday."
Playing tonight beside the Little Free Library box were the Trillions or at least half of them, including bandleader Charlie in shorts, something I don't think I've seen before.
With acoustic and electric guitars (and the smallest of amps), two voices and a catalog that took a lot of its cues from the Beatles (including the first song with its many "yea, yea, yeas"), the two members of the Trillions played and harmonized for our listening pleasure.
"There's usually more of us to make us louder, " Charlie explained to those new to the Trillions, although I don't know who in this town couldn't know about these masters of power pop.
As cicadas buzzed and fireflies flitted around, they played some new songs from their upcoming album and one about a sports bar with the line, "My friend are your friends, but your friends are bullshit," while Charlie danced around in the grass making it his own stage.
"What/When/Where" ("This song is kind of appropriate for this, kind of about Richmond") was vintage Trillions but I got even more excited when I heard the first few chords of the Beatles "Two of Us," but then they stopped. Fortunately, it was just a misfire and they went on to do a lovely rendition of the song as the night sky began giving way from blue to dusky black.
You and I have memories
longer than the road
that stretches out ahead
My evening ended with a nightcap of Le Petit Balthazar Rose at Lucy's and lazy hours of conversation with other bar sitters while Band of Horses, Ryan Adams and songs like the Sundays' cover of "Wild Horses" played.
This summer heat is all the permission I need to do whatever I want. Besides my summer reading list, of course.
When by late afternoon it felt like an effort to research and write in the sunny front room (even with the shades angled down), I gave up and took to my bed.
With both a ceiling fan and an oscillating fan blowing directly on me, I stretched out on freshly changed sheets for a a bit of shut eye to escape the heat and restore my energy.
Only problem was that after my late night tiki adventure, I ended up sleeping longer than I intended, making for limited time to eat before going out for music.
Walking in to Magpie, I found a practically full house and claimed one of two empty bar stools, the only free seats in the house.
New-to-me Le Chaz Rose got me started while I listened to an annoying-sounding woman discuss with her fiance how they might invest some of their wedding gift money and waited for an order of charred asparagus with sauteed wild mushrooms, spring onion cream and Manchego crumbs to come out.
Next to me, two women were having a lively conversation and when I glanced over, one of the women smiled at me. A moment later, I heard her say, "I'm the problem," and I had to laugh at the sound of that statement and join in.
Leaning across her friend, the smiler said to me, "You are so lovely, I just had to tell you that." What can you say besides a heartfelt thank you when a random stranger says something so nice to you? Damned if I know.
But it was the start of a conversation with the two of them, who turned out to be librarians, well traveled and positively delightful to talk to. Before it was all over, we knew a surprisingly lot about each other despite the whole conversation lasting less than an hour.
One used to have a riverfront house on the Rappahannock until Hurricane Isabel had destroyed half of it. The other had lived all over the world and was amazed at how much there was to do in Richmond. Both loved to eat out and had been coming to Magpie since it first opened.
I got so caught up in our discussion that one of them finally had to remind me to eat my food before it got cold, but not before we discussed books and they suggested I join the library's summer reading club, something I haven't done since childhood.
When they got their check, one turned to me and said, "I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed talking with you," and asked how they could contact me for a future rendezvous.
It wasn't the first time I've given strangers my name and e-mail and it probably won't be the last. I couldn't help thanking them for providing such stellar company on a solo outing.
From there, I went to Scuffletown Park for the sunset concert series where I found a good-sized crowd gathering: kids in pajamas, pizza eaters, wine drinkers, a girl with lavender hair, two platinum blonds with pixie haircuts (one of whom I know) and several familiar faces including the musician whose band's first performance I'd recently seen.
With my fan in hand, I took a seat on a bench behind a trio munching on pizza sprawled out on a groovy-looking blanket.
Pedal Pops RVA was rapidly selling out, having already gone through avocado/lime and triple berry, but still offering strawberry, pineapple/mint and cherry chai. Given the heat, it was definitely Popsicle weather.
Organizer Patrick kicked things off by reminding us that the sunset series always begins 15 minutes before sunset, "So consult an almanac, go to your library or call City Hall to find out when sunset is and be here next Tuesday."
Playing tonight beside the Little Free Library box were the Trillions or at least half of them, including bandleader Charlie in shorts, something I don't think I've seen before.
With acoustic and electric guitars (and the smallest of amps), two voices and a catalog that took a lot of its cues from the Beatles (including the first song with its many "yea, yea, yeas"), the two members of the Trillions played and harmonized for our listening pleasure.
"There's usually more of us to make us louder, " Charlie explained to those new to the Trillions, although I don't know who in this town couldn't know about these masters of power pop.
As cicadas buzzed and fireflies flitted around, they played some new songs from their upcoming album and one about a sports bar with the line, "My friend are your friends, but your friends are bullshit," while Charlie danced around in the grass making it his own stage.
"What/When/Where" ("This song is kind of appropriate for this, kind of about Richmond") was vintage Trillions but I got even more excited when I heard the first few chords of the Beatles "Two of Us," but then they stopped. Fortunately, it was just a misfire and they went on to do a lovely rendition of the song as the night sky began giving way from blue to dusky black.
You and I have memories
longer than the road
that stretches out ahead
My evening ended with a nightcap of Le Petit Balthazar Rose at Lucy's and lazy hours of conversation with other bar sitters while Band of Horses, Ryan Adams and songs like the Sundays' cover of "Wild Horses" played.
This summer heat is all the permission I need to do whatever I want. Besides my summer reading list, of course.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Hitting My Stride
Contrary to what I was warned, it was not a #deathsentence.
As thunder and lightening got more intense in Jackson Ward, I debated going to Scuffletown Park for music.
On the one hand, one who lives mere blocks from the park messaged me, "It's thunderin' in these parts" and predicted certain death if I went to an outside show.
On the other hand, the park had to be cooler than my apartment, so the risk of sudden death seemed worth it.
#risktaker.
When I got there, plenty of people were already spread out on blankets, but I joined the bench-sitters with a clear shot of tonight's artist, the talented Josh Small.
After a few minutes, he inquired of organizer Patrick if it was time to begin.
"Not yet, wait three more minutes," Patrick said, adhering to the Scuffletown series rules he no doubt made up.
"Man, you're strict. Okay, I'll just vamp 'til then," Josh said, nonplussed, promising to dazzle us with an array of cover songs original material and sad songs.
A Tuesday night audience really couldn't hope for any more.
He started with the Liza Kate-like sad song, "Knife in My Belly," as the thunder rumbled and the lightening flashed.
Then he called up harmonica player Andrew Ali to sit on the grass beside his bench for the Rodney Crowell gem, "Bluebird Wine," a song Josh got so involved playing that he rolled back on the bench, his feet up in the air as he played.
And it's all right now
I've just hit my stride
Right off the bat
I'm drunk on bluebird wine
Don't I wish.
For "Moses," Josh invited Andrew to leave the grass and join him on the bench ("We're like Bert and Ernie") and they outdid each other stomping feet and playing.
Eventually, the thunder got more distant as Josh showed us his take on being a soul singer, told a story about cell phones in 2003 and how Swahili was different than Disney ("Hakuna Matata") and continued to sing his heart out as dusk descended.
Meanwhile, I'd been joined on the bench by a friend and musician and we marveled at how once the thunder and lightening moved on, a delightful breeze had arrived with a drop in temperature, almost as if it had rained.
About to cover a Maxwell song, Josh praised the original for its horn solo, but said to watch out for the fake ending (we did) before doing a song he wrote for his Dad ("Singalong"), a talented musician in his own right whom I'd seen play with Josh a few years back.
After "Comedown," Josh closed his sunset performance with, as he put it, "A song by a band called Little Feat. It's called "Trouble" and I wish I'd had the wisdom to write it."
Fact is, that's a 40-year old song, which I suppose is why he had to explain Little Feat to the crowd.
By then, it was almost dark and host Patrick reminded us to keep the gate closed as we left so we wouldn't provide an escape route for Scuffletown's resident turtle.
Like a turtle can make a quick getaway, someone cracked.
But we took note because no one wants to piss off the pocket park's neighbors and lose our slice of sunset summer heaven.
Because we all know that if the gate were left open, it would almost certainly be a #deathsentence for the tortoise and who wants that on their conscience?
Far better to spend Tuesday night under thundering skies drunk on bluebird wine.
As thunder and lightening got more intense in Jackson Ward, I debated going to Scuffletown Park for music.
On the one hand, one who lives mere blocks from the park messaged me, "It's thunderin' in these parts" and predicted certain death if I went to an outside show.
On the other hand, the park had to be cooler than my apartment, so the risk of sudden death seemed worth it.
#risktaker.
When I got there, plenty of people were already spread out on blankets, but I joined the bench-sitters with a clear shot of tonight's artist, the talented Josh Small.
After a few minutes, he inquired of organizer Patrick if it was time to begin.
"Not yet, wait three more minutes," Patrick said, adhering to the Scuffletown series rules he no doubt made up.
"Man, you're strict. Okay, I'll just vamp 'til then," Josh said, nonplussed, promising to dazzle us with an array of cover songs original material and sad songs.
A Tuesday night audience really couldn't hope for any more.
He started with the Liza Kate-like sad song, "Knife in My Belly," as the thunder rumbled and the lightening flashed.
Then he called up harmonica player Andrew Ali to sit on the grass beside his bench for the Rodney Crowell gem, "Bluebird Wine," a song Josh got so involved playing that he rolled back on the bench, his feet up in the air as he played.
And it's all right now
I've just hit my stride
Right off the bat
I'm drunk on bluebird wine
Don't I wish.
For "Moses," Josh invited Andrew to leave the grass and join him on the bench ("We're like Bert and Ernie") and they outdid each other stomping feet and playing.
Eventually, the thunder got more distant as Josh showed us his take on being a soul singer, told a story about cell phones in 2003 and how Swahili was different than Disney ("Hakuna Matata") and continued to sing his heart out as dusk descended.
Meanwhile, I'd been joined on the bench by a friend and musician and we marveled at how once the thunder and lightening moved on, a delightful breeze had arrived with a drop in temperature, almost as if it had rained.
About to cover a Maxwell song, Josh praised the original for its horn solo, but said to watch out for the fake ending (we did) before doing a song he wrote for his Dad ("Singalong"), a talented musician in his own right whom I'd seen play with Josh a few years back.
After "Comedown," Josh closed his sunset performance with, as he put it, "A song by a band called Little Feat. It's called "Trouble" and I wish I'd had the wisdom to write it."
Fact is, that's a 40-year old song, which I suppose is why he had to explain Little Feat to the crowd.
By then, it was almost dark and host Patrick reminded us to keep the gate closed as we left so we wouldn't provide an escape route for Scuffletown's resident turtle.
Like a turtle can make a quick getaway, someone cracked.
But we took note because no one wants to piss off the pocket park's neighbors and lose our slice of sunset summer heaven.
Because we all know that if the gate were left open, it would almost certainly be a #deathsentence for the tortoise and who wants that on their conscience?
Far better to spend Tuesday night under thundering skies drunk on bluebird wine.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
We'll Always Have Scuffletown
Some people have Paris, some have cicadas.
A friend had recently returned from gay Paree and I was just back from the beach so we necessarily scheduled a debriefing session.
I'd given up on Heritage months ago when they stopped their happy hour, but decided to give them another shot once I heard rumors they'd come to their senses.
When I arrived, there were three men at the bar and that was it.
I recognized one of the bartenders from Balliceaux and she confirmed that yes, Virginia, there is again a happy hour.
The happy hour wine choices were limited to one red and one white, both from California, so not my first choices, but one makes do.
With dated but enjoyable indie music playing - Arcade Fire, Interpol - Friend and I scanned the new bar snacks menu so we could order and move on to more important things like dishing about our trips.
Thanks to the miracle of technology, I could see all her photographs and marvel at the things she'd experienced.
"Winged Victory of Samothrace" at the Louvre. Notre Dame's windows. The Eiffel Tower with towering gray clouds behind it. Her, on a boat and looking very elegant, mouth open in song. And food of the most magnificent kind.
It was hard not to feel envious about the wonders she'd seen. And tasted.
Luckily, our snacks arrived and distracted us for a bit.
A summer veg plate featured feta and roasted garlic dip with radishes, celery, carrots and cukes, pretty but a tad meager in size.
White anchovy pizza layered housemade pita with romesco sauce, Pecorino and arugula, but the ingredients felt too disjointed and never really came together as a whole.
The best of the bunch was beef summer sausage with beer mustard, pickle and toast, a classic combination of flavors that satisfied on every level.
We'd been so busy blathering about our trips and eating that all at once we looked up and every seat in the house was taken.
Granted, after last week's mass restaurant closings it was hardly surprising that people were starved for a restaurant experience, but a full house by 7 on a Tuesday night in July was a good reminder that they didn't really need our business.
We moved on from France to relationship epiphanies, a topic that kept us busy for some time.
When we finally parted ways, my globe-trotting friend asked me where I was headed next.
Home, I told her, since I hadn't yet decided my plans for the evening.
That changed the moment I walked in the house and found a message from my favorite dulcitar player.
Playing a secret show tonight in Scuffletown park. I'll start a bit after 8 and end around 9. Come out if you can!
Can I!
I was in Scuffletown park within minutes, joining others already lazing on blankets on the grass.
Since I'd not had the sense to bring a blanket, I sat down on a bench and was immediately joined by a favorite historian who'd walked over.
She wasn't the only familiar face; there was the scientist, the metal lover/gardener, the dance party enthusiast, the banjo player.
Meanwhile a neighbor, an older guy with a small, white dog, continued to water the potted plants throughout the park as things got set up for the music.
Organizer Patrick greeted everyone, saying, "Welcome. This is a word-of-mouth event that happens every Tuesday night around this time. Tell all your friends about it, but not on the Internet."
He introduced Dave Watkins, tonight's performer, and Dave explained that he'd be playing right through sunset and until it got dark or his battery gave out, whichever came first.
Beginning to layer the sounds of his dulcitar, his music mingled with the buzzing of the cicadas in the trees and the band practice going on in a nearby garage.
It was hard to imagine there was anywhere more pleasant to be at that moment than in this little pocket park hearing live music.
As if on cue, I looked over and saw the scientist pull something from his pocket and knew what it was before I even saw it.
He is the most reliable source of chocolate at an event that I have ever met.
Fortunately, he saw me watching, grinned and began to amble over, bringing me several squares of high quality dark chocolate.
Dave played on, strumming, tapping and blowing into the dulcitar to elicit every possible sound.
The old guy and the dog were soon sucked in, taking a seat on a concrete bench and becoming part of the audience just outside the gate.
Fireflies began appearing as the sky darkened and Dave, lit from behind by a nearby street light, treated the small crowd to his beautifully textured songs, creating as he went.
Pausing for a moment, he thanked Patrick for asking him to play. "It's not too hot. Plus that band is killing it over there!"
By the last couple of songs, the sky was a deep, velvet blue, the bugs had ceased their racket and the band had stopped rehearsing.
It was just Dave, the dulcitar and a grassy enclosure full of people raptly listening to music on a summer evening.
A friend had recently returned from gay Paree and I was just back from the beach so we necessarily scheduled a debriefing session.
I'd given up on Heritage months ago when they stopped their happy hour, but decided to give them another shot once I heard rumors they'd come to their senses.
When I arrived, there were three men at the bar and that was it.
I recognized one of the bartenders from Balliceaux and she confirmed that yes, Virginia, there is again a happy hour.
The happy hour wine choices were limited to one red and one white, both from California, so not my first choices, but one makes do.
With dated but enjoyable indie music playing - Arcade Fire, Interpol - Friend and I scanned the new bar snacks menu so we could order and move on to more important things like dishing about our trips.
Thanks to the miracle of technology, I could see all her photographs and marvel at the things she'd experienced.
"Winged Victory of Samothrace" at the Louvre. Notre Dame's windows. The Eiffel Tower with towering gray clouds behind it. Her, on a boat and looking very elegant, mouth open in song. And food of the most magnificent kind.
It was hard not to feel envious about the wonders she'd seen. And tasted.
Luckily, our snacks arrived and distracted us for a bit.
A summer veg plate featured feta and roasted garlic dip with radishes, celery, carrots and cukes, pretty but a tad meager in size.
White anchovy pizza layered housemade pita with romesco sauce, Pecorino and arugula, but the ingredients felt too disjointed and never really came together as a whole.
The best of the bunch was beef summer sausage with beer mustard, pickle and toast, a classic combination of flavors that satisfied on every level.
We'd been so busy blathering about our trips and eating that all at once we looked up and every seat in the house was taken.
Granted, after last week's mass restaurant closings it was hardly surprising that people were starved for a restaurant experience, but a full house by 7 on a Tuesday night in July was a good reminder that they didn't really need our business.
We moved on from France to relationship epiphanies, a topic that kept us busy for some time.
When we finally parted ways, my globe-trotting friend asked me where I was headed next.
Home, I told her, since I hadn't yet decided my plans for the evening.
That changed the moment I walked in the house and found a message from my favorite dulcitar player.
Playing a secret show tonight in Scuffletown park. I'll start a bit after 8 and end around 9. Come out if you can!
I was in Scuffletown park within minutes, joining others already lazing on blankets on the grass.
Since I'd not had the sense to bring a blanket, I sat down on a bench and was immediately joined by a favorite historian who'd walked over.
She wasn't the only familiar face; there was the scientist, the metal lover/gardener, the dance party enthusiast, the banjo player.
Meanwhile a neighbor, an older guy with a small, white dog, continued to water the potted plants throughout the park as things got set up for the music.
Organizer Patrick greeted everyone, saying, "Welcome. This is a word-of-mouth event that happens every Tuesday night around this time. Tell all your friends about it, but not on the Internet."
He introduced Dave Watkins, tonight's performer, and Dave explained that he'd be playing right through sunset and until it got dark or his battery gave out, whichever came first.
Beginning to layer the sounds of his dulcitar, his music mingled with the buzzing of the cicadas in the trees and the band practice going on in a nearby garage.
As if on cue, I looked over and saw the scientist pull something from his pocket and knew what it was before I even saw it.
He is the most reliable source of chocolate at an event that I have ever met.
Fortunately, he saw me watching, grinned and began to amble over, bringing me several squares of high quality dark chocolate.
Dave played on, strumming, tapping and blowing into the dulcitar to elicit every possible sound.
The old guy and the dog were soon sucked in, taking a seat on a concrete bench and becoming part of the audience just outside the gate.
Fireflies began appearing as the sky darkened and Dave, lit from behind by a nearby street light, treated the small crowd to his beautifully textured songs, creating as he went.
Pausing for a moment, he thanked Patrick for asking him to play. "It's not too hot. Plus that band is killing it over there!"
By the last couple of songs, the sky was a deep, velvet blue, the bugs had ceased their racket and the band had stopped rehearsing.
It was just Dave, the dulcitar and a grassy enclosure full of people raptly listening to music on a summer evening.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Acacia Awesomeness al Fresco
It's been over three months since Acacia had done one of their "too good to be true" bagged lunches, so I didn't even have to think about it for a nanosecond before reserving two bags, one for me and one for a friend for today's offering. Scuffletown Park, here we come. The cooler day and gray sky were a bonus for our al fresco eating plans.
I still had fond memories of that last bagged lunch of soft-shelled crabs, here. back in May, anticipating, as it did, the summer ahead. Now, on an overcast day just before Labor Day weekend and with autumn (unfortunately) breathing down our necks, Dale was doing brats for lunch.
The menu included house made bratwurst with braised red cabbage, slathered with Acacia mustard, all on a house made pretzel roll. House made brats alone would have been enough, but with that wonderful sweet cabbage and shiny pretzel roll, it had every element necessary for the ultimate taste combination.
And, like last time, and probably even more important this time given the sandwich, Miller High Life pony bottles were available to complement the meal. Beer and brats, they're like yin and yang, right?
For the side dish, Dale had made the best potato salad I've had in my entire life (it wasn't just me; my friend enthusiastically agreed). The combination of skin-on new potatoes, bacon, green onion, fennel seed, grainy mustard and sherry vinaigrette made us both wish we had a quart of this stuff to take home and stash in the fridge for later. Of course, me being the non-fan of mayo that I am, a potato salad like this one was tailor-made for my taste.
Dessert was a tartlet cookie, sweet but not overly so and the loveliest way to wrap up such a savory meal. A $10 meal, by the way, and that even included tax.
My sincere hope is that I don't have to wait three plus months for another bagged lunch from Acacia. I will, make no mistake, but I wouldn't mind a monthly bag. Or would that be just too good to be true?
I still had fond memories of that last bagged lunch of soft-shelled crabs, here. back in May, anticipating, as it did, the summer ahead. Now, on an overcast day just before Labor Day weekend and with autumn (unfortunately) breathing down our necks, Dale was doing brats for lunch.
The menu included house made bratwurst with braised red cabbage, slathered with Acacia mustard, all on a house made pretzel roll. House made brats alone would have been enough, but with that wonderful sweet cabbage and shiny pretzel roll, it had every element necessary for the ultimate taste combination.
And, like last time, and probably even more important this time given the sandwich, Miller High Life pony bottles were available to complement the meal. Beer and brats, they're like yin and yang, right?
For the side dish, Dale had made the best potato salad I've had in my entire life (it wasn't just me; my friend enthusiastically agreed). The combination of skin-on new potatoes, bacon, green onion, fennel seed, grainy mustard and sherry vinaigrette made us both wish we had a quart of this stuff to take home and stash in the fridge for later. Of course, me being the non-fan of mayo that I am, a potato salad like this one was tailor-made for my taste.
Dessert was a tartlet cookie, sweet but not overly so and the loveliest way to wrap up such a savory meal. A $10 meal, by the way, and that even included tax.
My sincere hope is that I don't have to wait three plus months for another bagged lunch from Acacia. I will, make no mistake, but I wouldn't mind a monthly bag. Or would that be just too good to be true?
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Bag Me a Lunch, Acacia
When I get an e-mail saying "too good to be true," I sign up immediately and when it turns out to be as good as it sounds, I call it a score. For an hour today, Acacia's Dale Reitzer was making soft-shelled crabs, one of his personal favorites, and creating a lunch-to-go around them. I couldn't think of a single reason not to avail myself of such an offering; I immediately thought of a friend who likes softshells as much as I do and invited him along.
The menu was simple: a softshell sandwich with slaw (say that three times fast), housemade potato chips and a cookie. The e-mail said, "Take Acacia home with you, to the office, or enjoy your bagged lunch in the park." There was never any question that we'd be eating ours anywhere but in the park.
Stopping at Acacia to claim our reserved bags, we were delighted to discover that a limited array of beverages were for sale, mainly soda and water, but also chilled Miller High Life ponies. Can you imagine a more ideal brewed accompaniment for an outdoor lunch? Just a little beer to wet your whistle with your softshells; I thought it was brilliant and told our server so. She explained it by saying, "It's just what I'd want to drink with my lunch in the park."
So we were off to Scuffletown Park with our aromatic white bags to see what Dale had wrought. The sandwiches were large and on the most divine flour-dusted chewy roll you can imagine. The crab and slaw were arranged generously within that show-stopping bread. The housemade chips came in their own lined bag with just the right amount of saltiness. The cookie was molasses and rolled in sugar, providing the perfect sweet (but not too rich) ending to a lovely lunch.
I'm not so foolish as to wish that Acacia did bagged lunches all the time. But when a delicacy like softshells are in season, it's like a gift from the food gods to have someone willing to bag them up to be enjoyed in nature. And at only $10 (including tax, btw), it does border on too good to be true.
Luckily, some things (and people) are too good and true. Those are the things and the people I'm more than happy to experience.
The menu was simple: a softshell sandwich with slaw (say that three times fast), housemade potato chips and a cookie. The e-mail said, "Take Acacia home with you, to the office, or enjoy your bagged lunch in the park." There was never any question that we'd be eating ours anywhere but in the park.
Stopping at Acacia to claim our reserved bags, we were delighted to discover that a limited array of beverages were for sale, mainly soda and water, but also chilled Miller High Life ponies. Can you imagine a more ideal brewed accompaniment for an outdoor lunch? Just a little beer to wet your whistle with your softshells; I thought it was brilliant and told our server so. She explained it by saying, "It's just what I'd want to drink with my lunch in the park."
So we were off to Scuffletown Park with our aromatic white bags to see what Dale had wrought. The sandwiches were large and on the most divine flour-dusted chewy roll you can imagine. The crab and slaw were arranged generously within that show-stopping bread. The housemade chips came in their own lined bag with just the right amount of saltiness. The cookie was molasses and rolled in sugar, providing the perfect sweet (but not too rich) ending to a lovely lunch.
I'm not so foolish as to wish that Acacia did bagged lunches all the time. But when a delicacy like softshells are in season, it's like a gift from the food gods to have someone willing to bag them up to be enjoyed in nature. And at only $10 (including tax, btw), it does border on too good to be true.
Luckily, some things (and people) are too good and true. Those are the things and the people I'm more than happy to experience.
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