A Tempest in a Wine Glass

Summer has arrived and the Roundhouse has redeemed itself.

Or, more accurately, I now know the drill. So after dinner at Garnett's we knew enough to be at the Roundhouse before 7 p.m., arriving to find the band set up and having a relaxed chat about the set list. What makes me think others had not yet learned their lesson was how few people had their butts in seats when Quatro na Bossa started playing shortly thereafter.

And, honestly, why on earth wouldn't you be on time for Brazilian Bossa Nova music from the '50s, '60s and '70s? I mean, really?

The evening's performance was extra poignant because it was guitarist Bruno's last show with the band now that he's moving to South Carolina as a doctor of music theory. His exquisite guitar playing and lovely voice will be missed, at least until he realizes he wants to return to Richmond (like they all do).

During the first song, an instrumental, singer Laura Ann stood off to the side listening, eventually making the executive decision (like women do) that we didn't need no stinkin' overhead light and turning it off. She was right, with sun pouring through three windows (unfortunately not open, though, like last week) behind the band and the door wide open to light, we had all the early summer sunlight we needed.

Let's just that when she joined the band onstage, it the lighting was much more appropriate for Brazilian music.

Because the syncopated sounds Quatro na Bossa play are so danceable and because we were all sitting in folding chairs, there was a lot of toe-tapping and seat dancing going on as Laura Ann and/or Bruno's voices rose and fell with each samba or Tropicalia song.

Happily, people kept arriving to give the band the audience it deserved.

Once the sun finally got near setting, a firefly found its way into the Roundhouse, flying around and reminding us of its presence periodically with a green glow before then showing up on the far side of the room to dazzle someone new.

It says so much about the music that despite not being able to understand a word of the lyrics, everyone was rapt listening to the music.  All except the big galoot sitting in front of us, taking up three chairs by extending his arms across the two on either side of him and repeatedly staring at the ceiling, rubbing his face and looking bored out of his mind. Luckily, his date got the hint and they cut out early.

We stayed until the last note, reluctant to leave the magic of bossa nova and fireflies before retreating to J-Ward.

When it comes to Summer Solstice, that was celebrated outdoors by seeing Quill Theatre's production of "The Tempest" at Agecroft on a night when the weather could only be described as glorious. Breezy, low humidity and just warm enough, it was a night meant for being outdoors with just the right person, savoring the longest day of the year (also a bittersweet one now that days begin getting shorter).

We stopped at Goatocado to get dinner, bringing along birthday wine courtesy of my best friend in Texas (thanks, Buns!) and a slice of cake - my personal fave, chocolate with white icing - to celebrate multiple occasions. Spreading a quilt under a row of massive shade trees on Agecroft's back lawn, we had a view of the river, a breeze from multiple sides and live entertainment.

Four of Quill's costumed Young Players showed up, offering a song or a monologue for our pleasure. The first we chose was that of the melancholy Jacques from "As You Like It" and afterwards, they offered us another. The young man offering to do Puck in "A Midsummer Night's Dream" seemed especially animated and eager when he offered up his monologue, so I capitulated, telling him that it was obvious he was dying to dazzle us.

At several points, he was crouched on one knee or leaning forward looking about to spring onto us, so his antics were worth it.

Once inside, we chose seats in the third row center for best possible view. In the 20 past years of seeing Shakespeare at Agecroft, I have never tired of being close enough to see the actors spit, not to mention scale the nearby stone wall and deliver monologues. Translation: I like to be in the thick of things.

Sitting just behind us was a familiar acting face who now graces L.A. with his acting chops, but is back in town for a few. Last time I'd seen him at Agecroft, he'd been playing Sir Andrew Aguecheeck dressed in a brown suit. Hearing his guffaws throughout added a nice touch to tonight's show.

My standards for "The Tempest" are unusually high, only because back in the '90s, I saw Richmond Shakespeare (Quill's predecessor) do it on Fulton Hill with an approaching thunderstorm as backdrop and that's tough to beat.

This production got its points other ways, since the weather couldn't have been more un-tempest-like. The always-impressive Adam Turck made Ariel his own in gray-blue body paints, nervous tics and aim to please. Just watching him stand on the stone wall and react to what was happening onstage could have been a master class for a younger actor.

Jeff Clevenger has made a career of milking the humor in any character, making him the ideal person to play the jester Trinculo, besotted with wine and fearful of spirits. My fandom for Adam Valentine was born when I saw him in "Heathers" and tonight's turn as Alonso's butler "Stephano" showed that his take on humor is equal parts visual (that sad sack face he calls forth!) and gangly physicality. The scene of Trinculo and Stephano "hiding" in plain sight had the audience in stitches.

Sitting in the courtyard of a building that stood in Shakespeare's time, watching a time-honored play under a brilliant blue sky on the longest day of the year may take the cake in terms of exquisite ways to wile away the summer solstice a deux.

But then, anyone as stupidly happy as I am would think that. Just ignore me...

When We Two Parted

"I did it. You know what I mean."

If ever there was a cryptic e-mail, or a clearer statement of fact, it doesn't immediately come to mind.

It was a friend's way of letting me know that we needed to talk.

My only plan for the evening was the opening of "Summer Solstice," a group show at Reynolds Gallery, so we agreed to meet up afterwards.

Like any Reynolds show, the galleries were full of Richmond's old guard art elite, both on the walls and milling about.

The array of artists on display was a who's who of known names: Heide Trepanier, Sally Bowring, Richard Carlyon.

The late, great Theresa Pollak was well represented with four pieces in three mediums, a mini-retrospective of sorts spanning 1960-1992.

I was immediately taken with Jennifer Lauren Smith's "Untitled," an archival black and white pigment print done in triptych form showing an upside down beach umbrella floating on the waves.

Wind happens.

With one glance, Janet DeCover's "Lola" struck me as having been created by a woman.

The lipstick-colored background, the white lace doily-looking object and the delicate and feminine robin's egg blue ovals all seemed to have come from the hand and heart of a female.

Much time was enjoyed in front of Bill Fisher's "Untitled," an abstract-looking piece that seemed to me to resemble a houseboat floating on a background of beautiful blue water.

I'm sure the artist had nothing like that in mind when he painted it and I'm equally as sure he'd have no problem with whatever I saw in his oil and wax on panel.

And speaking of, Jack Wax's "Tum-tree," an enormous 80 by 50" was done with ink and coffee on paper, surely the most unlikely medium used in this show.

The tentacle-like roots of the tree extended up and across the enormous work pulling the viewer closer to better understand the visual.

By the time I finished the upstairs gallery's "Almost Famous" show of VCU MFA students, it was time to meet up with Mr. I Did It at Six Burner.

You know, at the corner of Main and Wine.

The place was bursting at the seams when we arrived.

The participants of Plein Air Richmond were meeting nearby at Brazier Gallery and between that and the Reynolds opening, there were lots of thirsty people on Main Street.

The Ghostlight Afterparty's personable host was tending bar and practically knew to pour me some Stefano Massone Gavi before the words came out of my mouth.

My accomplished friend arrived and got the same before I insisted he spill the beans.

Technically, he'd been right; I knew what he meant when he said he'd done it, but I wanted to hear how he'd put on his big boy pants (his words, not mine) and taken care of business.

And while I wanted to hear how it had gone down, mostly I was just happy that he was finally out of a situation that has been highly unsatisfactory for him for many months.

Let's just say he no longer has to lock up the breakfast cereal or the booze and that's as it should be.

What made me rally happy, though, was hearing that that was only one of several good things happening in his life since we'd last met.

He's found a studio interested in putting his many talents to use. He's started online dating and has an out-of-town date this weekend. He's moving back into the city where he belongs.

But my favorite piece of news was that he's decided to be more adventurous in his eating.

A long-time vegetarian, he's decided that if he doesn't start widening his diet, he may never. And he doesn't want to be that person.

Wasting no time, I got a menu and looked for something new for him to try, deciding on the grilled quail with roasted marinated plums.

It did my heart good to see him stepping out of his usual comfort zone enjoying a bird he said he couldn't identify in real life.

Now that's eating.

I always enjoy our discussions because in many ways, we see the world through the same romantic glasses.

Who else I know would bring up Lord Byron as an example of how to live a passionate life?

Or have the patience to explain a Fairlight synthesizer to me and how it impacted 80s music (hello Peter Gabriel)?

Or be excited abut his first floor apartment because in it his piano won't disturb those below him?

Only someone with a romantic soul, that's who.

When he said that he admired me for the way I choose to live my life, I assured him that he has all the necessary parts to do the same thing.

As he put it, "When I read a book, I think to myself 'That could happen" but other people say "It's just a book."

Not so, I told him.

When you stop thinking "That could happen," it stops happening.

All it takes a romantic soul to know what I mean.

The Longest Day

How I Spent my Summer Solstice.

1. I watched Balinese dancers in a garden.

They were moving to the Gamelan Raga Kusuma, a community-based ensemble who were playing new and old Balinese music outside the Anderson Gallery.

Which, as you might imagine, is a pretty amazing thing to experience on a very hot and long first day of summer.

The dancers were positively bewitching; they moved different body parts for each and every beat of the music.

And that includes facial gestures, fingers, eyebrows and eyes.

Even smiles came and went with the music, although always controlled smiles, never showing any teeth.

Impeccable timing with small movements allowed them to follow the fastest beat.

In one piece, two dancers squared off trading gestures, even flicking the scarves that hung from their costumes, in a call and response to each other.

And if it was sheen-inducing standing in the garden listening to a Gamelan orchestra play beautiful seven-tone melodies, the dancers in traditional costumes, which wrapped their bodies with heavy, jewel-covered fabrics, must have been sweltering.

They never let on, always appearing placid and pretty in the Summer Solstice sunlight.

Yet again, it was happy hour heaven thanks to the Anderson Gallery's summer series.

2. I had a champagne dinner with two Frenchmen.

Amour was doing a double celebration: their second anniversary and the Summer Solstice.

Best of all, they were doing it with bubbles from Champagne to Virginia.

But what they were really trying to prove is that bubbles pair with every kind of food.

Smoked salmon mousse on buckwheat blinis with candied lemon peel got us started.

Thibaut-Janisson Cuvee D'Etat Blanc de Blanc had the same bright, fresh flavors as the vegetable spring roll with orange/apricot sauce it accompanied.

When it was poured, the owner asked for votes on whether it was a true champagne or not and the majority said French.

The majority were wrong.

An amuse bouche of Comte in puff pastry followed and winemaker Claude Thibaut spoke in his charmingly-accented French to explain his passion for bubbles.

Sole fillet with white and green asparagus and a champagne sauce was paired with Janisson et Fils Brut Rose, a bone dry pink that cut the richness of the fish effortlessly.

From pink we went to blue with Janisson et Fils Brut Bleu and a raisin-stuffed quail on a vegetable nest.

On my way to the W.C., I was introduced to the winemaker and he admitted that this was his favorite pairing of the evening.

With golden raisins in a savory stuffing, and the Bleu enhancing every bite. it was mine, too.

If I were going to start a blue bottle tree, this is what I'd happily drink until I had my tree ablaze in blue.

Brie in puff pastry followed while Claude explained his final wine.

It was everyone's favorite everyday local bubbles, the Thibaud-Janisson Virginia Fizz, with dessert.

Puff pastry with coffee-flavored whipped cream, cherry clafoutis (using Julia Child's recipe) and red berries gratin all worked with the slightly sweeter Fizz.

Replete and completely convinced of the food-worthiness of bubbles, both French and Virginian, the long day sun had finally set into darkness.

By the time I said goodnight to the two Frenchmen, I felt like I'd had the ultimate summer repast.

There was only one way left to celebrate Midsummer Day.

3. I did not dance naked in the moonlight.

Because with all the clouds tonight, there was no moonlight. Luckily, the Druid police hadn't been out.

Anyway, tonight had been all about celebrating the sunlight.