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 sundown at scuffletown. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sundown at scuffletown. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 3, 2019
Wednesday, June 12, 2019
Will You Ride Shotgun?
I recall when a friend facetiously suggested a t-shirt for the Chamber to give out:
Welcome to Richmond
We talk at shows
And unfortunately, we don't just talk at big shows at the National with 1500 other people, we talk at house shows and small venue shows. Hell, we even talk at intimate Sundown at Scuffletown shows, where the musicians are barely amplified and we're practically in strangers' backyards.
We're just rude that way.
And by "we," I hope you know I mean "they." Whether I pay for a music show or not, I am there to listen not talk. I'm considerate enough to know that I can chat before it starts and once it ends.
Not everybody seems to be so civil.
I'd wrangled Mac into joining me and my hired mouth at lunch today and during the course of the meal, she'd shared with our young server that we were going to hear music at Scuffletown Park tonight. She even explained that it was a word of mouth event not shared on social media, which he thought was very cool (and perhaps strange).
Translation: we were looking forward to it.
I met her there an hour before sundown and, as promised, she'd brought two cans of Lambrusco, a fitting red wine for a 70 degree evening. She'd also staked out a bench for us, so we were pretty much set for the evening. It was a big crowd, easily twice what it was two weeks ago when I was last there, and while I don't care about crowd size, I do resent people talking and laughing so loudly that I can't hear the music.
The crowd continued to grow and you could get a feel for who they were by their t-shirts: "Give Richmond the Byrd," "You Da Wild, Naughty Pines, CA," "Ice Cream for Strength" and more common sightings such as "WRIR" and "Bon Iver." Me, I was wearing my feelings, too, with my newest shirt: "My book smells better than your tablet."
Because it does.
Saying that we were witnessing history tonight because it was the first Scuffletown show featuring pedal steel, our emcee introduced Trey Hall and Friends, consisting of Trey on acoustic guitar and a guy whose name we couldn't hear on pedal steel. Before their set was over, two singers joined them.
"I have torn vocal chords," Trey explained. "So I thought I'd play songs that are very sad." Trey plays with Dharma Bombs, meaning I'd seen him before, just not without the rest of the Bombs.
"Say hi to Charley," Trey said about the young woman who came to the microphone after the first couple songs. "The best part of having torn vocal chords is having friends to help me out, like Charley." And while Mac and I would have loved to have heard Charley singing along, the gaggles of giggling girls directly across from us ensured that it wasn't easy.
Introducing "Canadian Tuxedo," Trey announced, "Charley's gonna sing it better than I can," a true statement.
The coolish weather was ideal for an outdoor show, never more so than when fireflies began flitting around and there was a break in the screaming children playing tag. The sound of the pedal steel in the dusky evening air was nothing short of beautiful...and historic, as it turns out.
For that matter, I recall the time they brought a piano in for a show at Scuffletown, so they don't mess around. But pedal steel is a distinct pleasure.
If I sound like the angry guy on his front lawn shaking his fist at the kids on his grass, it's because I've been a Scuffletown regular for the past five years and each year it seems like fewer people come for the music. They come to eat (although why anyone would bring sub-par pizza from PBR when a glorious pie from 8 1/2 is available next door escapes Mac and me) and see their friends, have some beer or wine, probably even see and be seen, but an annoyingly large percentage clearly don't care about the music or they wouldn't face away from it and chatter, right?
Rude people's noise made it tough to hear lyrics, but Mac and I cracked up when we thought we heard the lines:
She's an addict
But she's got toys in the attic
But for all we know, we're mishearing lyrics and he really sang something completely different. We'll never know.
Eventually Charley was replaced with Mackenzie from the band Pistol Sister and she sang on "Black Rose Tattoo," her big voice piercing the hum of random conversations.
The set closer was by far the most raucous song, as if Trey was willing to push past his torn vocal chords for the sake of the liveliness of the guitar and pedal steel parts on their swan song.
And here's the kicker: when the emcee got up to insist on another round of applause for the band and ask if there were any community announcements, everyone got respectfully quiet and listened.
No, no, no, kids, we stop talking for the music, not for the end of the music. It's enough to give a person have toys in the attic, if you know what I'm saying.
Gimme some ice cream for strength.
Welcome to Richmond
We talk at shows
And unfortunately, we don't just talk at big shows at the National with 1500 other people, we talk at house shows and small venue shows. Hell, we even talk at intimate Sundown at Scuffletown shows, where the musicians are barely amplified and we're practically in strangers' backyards.
We're just rude that way.
And by "we," I hope you know I mean "they." Whether I pay for a music show or not, I am there to listen not talk. I'm considerate enough to know that I can chat before it starts and once it ends.
Not everybody seems to be so civil.
I'd wrangled Mac into joining me and my hired mouth at lunch today and during the course of the meal, she'd shared with our young server that we were going to hear music at Scuffletown Park tonight. She even explained that it was a word of mouth event not shared on social media, which he thought was very cool (and perhaps strange).
Translation: we were looking forward to it.
I met her there an hour before sundown and, as promised, she'd brought two cans of Lambrusco, a fitting red wine for a 70 degree evening. She'd also staked out a bench for us, so we were pretty much set for the evening. It was a big crowd, easily twice what it was two weeks ago when I was last there, and while I don't care about crowd size, I do resent people talking and laughing so loudly that I can't hear the music.
The crowd continued to grow and you could get a feel for who they were by their t-shirts: "Give Richmond the Byrd," "You Da Wild, Naughty Pines, CA," "Ice Cream for Strength" and more common sightings such as "WRIR" and "Bon Iver." Me, I was wearing my feelings, too, with my newest shirt: "My book smells better than your tablet."
Because it does.
Saying that we were witnessing history tonight because it was the first Scuffletown show featuring pedal steel, our emcee introduced Trey Hall and Friends, consisting of Trey on acoustic guitar and a guy whose name we couldn't hear on pedal steel. Before their set was over, two singers joined them.
"I have torn vocal chords," Trey explained. "So I thought I'd play songs that are very sad." Trey plays with Dharma Bombs, meaning I'd seen him before, just not without the rest of the Bombs.
"Say hi to Charley," Trey said about the young woman who came to the microphone after the first couple songs. "The best part of having torn vocal chords is having friends to help me out, like Charley." And while Mac and I would have loved to have heard Charley singing along, the gaggles of giggling girls directly across from us ensured that it wasn't easy.
Introducing "Canadian Tuxedo," Trey announced, "Charley's gonna sing it better than I can," a true statement.
The coolish weather was ideal for an outdoor show, never more so than when fireflies began flitting around and there was a break in the screaming children playing tag. The sound of the pedal steel in the dusky evening air was nothing short of beautiful...and historic, as it turns out.
For that matter, I recall the time they brought a piano in for a show at Scuffletown, so they don't mess around. But pedal steel is a distinct pleasure.
If I sound like the angry guy on his front lawn shaking his fist at the kids on his grass, it's because I've been a Scuffletown regular for the past five years and each year it seems like fewer people come for the music. They come to eat (although why anyone would bring sub-par pizza from PBR when a glorious pie from 8 1/2 is available next door escapes Mac and me) and see their friends, have some beer or wine, probably even see and be seen, but an annoyingly large percentage clearly don't care about the music or they wouldn't face away from it and chatter, right?
Rude people's noise made it tough to hear lyrics, but Mac and I cracked up when we thought we heard the lines:
She's an addict
But she's got toys in the attic
But for all we know, we're mishearing lyrics and he really sang something completely different. We'll never know.
Eventually Charley was replaced with Mackenzie from the band Pistol Sister and she sang on "Black Rose Tattoo," her big voice piercing the hum of random conversations.
The set closer was by far the most raucous song, as if Trey was willing to push past his torn vocal chords for the sake of the liveliness of the guitar and pedal steel parts on their swan song.
And here's the kicker: when the emcee got up to insist on another round of applause for the band and ask if there were any community announcements, everyone got respectfully quiet and listened.
No, no, no, kids, we stop talking for the music, not for the end of the music. It's enough to give a person have toys in the attic, if you know what I'm saying.
Gimme some ice cream for strength.
Wednesday, July 26, 2017
Keeping You in Light
Timing is everything.
When Mac and I set out to walk this morning at 10 a.m., we were almost immediately passed by both a speeding cop and a speeding fire vehicle, but even that didn't prepare us to find several blocks of Franklin and Main closed to traffic as we walked down Second Street toward the river.
Now we know that's because at 10:05, police encountered a man in a kilt carrying a knife in one hand and an ax in the other at Third and Main Streets, tried to de-escalate the situation and wound up killing the man.
Honestly, I'm glad we were blissfully unaware of being a block from a situation, though I still feel we were a bit too close for comfort.
When we met up for dinner tonight at 8 1/2, the restaurant was as calm and serene as it had been harried and overcrowded last Tuesday.
Just when you make sure to allow extra time, it turns out you don't need it.
Not having to wait for my obscenely good turkey hero only meant that we could score a good bench and have a leisurely picnic in Scuffletown park before the music began. Mac showed off her mad picnicking skills by not only bringing cloth napkins but also a fat slice of chocolate espresso cake and two forks for sharing.
Originator of the music in the park series and tonight's featured performer Patrick arrived to unload his equipment with Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams" blaring in his car and setting the evening's tone. Before long, a woman came over and asked if she could place her chair next to our bench without obstructing our view.
We welcomed the company and just before things got started, her husband showed up to join her.
The dance party king (and the man who'd once described me as "part of the fabric of Richmond") played host tonight, announcing, "Welcome to this Fall night in July," a nod to temperatures in the low '70s, before introducing Patrick and his band: violin, cello and drums.
At that moment, the woman turned to us and announced proudly, "That's our son!" and the man whispered, "He gets his talent from his parents."
Ah, that explained the young woman I'd overheard saying to them, "I heard your house was the one for jamming!" Good parents don't mind a little ruckus when their kid's got talent.
"Happy Tuesday. Finally, the weather broke!" Patrick said by way of greeting an ever-growing crowd that ignored the "Stay off the grass" signs and sprawled out on, yes, the lawn, as well as on bricks, on tables and benches. The crowds seem to grow every week.
Tonight's delightful weather was the ideal backdrop for the exquisite sounds of violin and cello played in the great outdoors to the thrum of cicada harmonies and brushes on drums.
Patrick's songs had the singer\songwriter qualities of dreamy lost '70s gems.
When he announced he was going to play a really old song, it got his parents buzzing, so I asked if they were trying to guess which song he might play. "Trying to guess the era," his Dad laughed.
Saying he was about to play some songs from the EP he put out a couple of years ago, Patrick admitted that he didn't get to play them much anymore. Why? "They're not as loud as I feel like I wanna be now."
Definitely not loud but most assuredly well-crafted and beautifully sung (and played), Before long, his parents were wondering which of his angst-y songs was next, while I was curious if he'd ever sung anything but.
"He always played angst-y songs, maybe a little less these days, but he only sang happy songs when he was little," his Mom explained as the band began what could almost surely be called a somewhat happy song.
She turned to me, palms up in surprise and grinning when she heard how relatively upbeat - "In the long run, you're going to have to help yourself" - it sounded with the strings winding their way through the rustling tree branches.
When Patrick announced that the band would do one more, someone called out, "Two!" and his devoted Mom yelled, "Three!" but he dashed their hopes, saying, "Not gonna happen" and instead inquired of the crowd who knew Suzanne Vega.
All the hands of a certain age went up and he rhapsodized about her music being the stuff of his childhood before taking on Vega's "Night Vision."
When the darkness takes you
With her hand across your face
Don't give in too quickly
Find the things she's erased
Find the line, find the shape
through the grain
Find the outline
Things will tell you their name
Some sets run long at Scuffletown, others, like tonight's, aren't nearly long enough given how wonderful the music sounds.
The consolation was that when the show broke up, the post-show mingling began and it soon became obvious that lots of people are pairing up these days.
I finally got to meet the dance king's new Queens-via-Texas squeeze, a charming woman who'd spent two hours in the river with him today and was already taken with Richmond's quirky charms.
Group discussion of architecture, history, trees and cost of living followed, with someone even nerdier than me suggesting a book she might enjoy for reference.
The scientist, whom I hadn't seen in at least a year, arrived after a Boy Scout meeting and surprised us all by announcing he now has a girlfriend and that he's "following her all over town."
Mac assured him that we love when guys do that.
As the blues harmonica player was being introduced to me, I reminded him that we'd met nearly a decade ago and he blushed to have forgotten me. I reminded him that while I've seen him play plenty, there would be no reason for him to recall one more face in the crowd. Still, he apologized unnecessarily.
As I was walking out, I ran into the traveling tailor and artist who's moving to New Orleans on Monday. In an effort to lighten his moving load, he's been selling off his paintings - at a rate of at least one per day, to his amazement - including a large piece sold to Black Sheep, coincidentally his favorite restaurant.
Talking about the move, he admitted that he hopes the time is right to do it, the consolation being that he can always come back if it doesn't suit him.
"But I've got to find out," he said earnestly about pulling up stakes.
If the timing's right, you'll know, I reassured him. And if not, heaven knows Richmond welcomes back all who leave.
As the great Fleetwood Mac oracle reminded us earlier tonight, it's not only right that you should play the way you feel, but that you listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness.
Sometimes it's the best motivator when you've just got to find out. And timing truly is everything.
When Mac and I set out to walk this morning at 10 a.m., we were almost immediately passed by both a speeding cop and a speeding fire vehicle, but even that didn't prepare us to find several blocks of Franklin and Main closed to traffic as we walked down Second Street toward the river.
Now we know that's because at 10:05, police encountered a man in a kilt carrying a knife in one hand and an ax in the other at Third and Main Streets, tried to de-escalate the situation and wound up killing the man.
Honestly, I'm glad we were blissfully unaware of being a block from a situation, though I still feel we were a bit too close for comfort.
When we met up for dinner tonight at 8 1/2, the restaurant was as calm and serene as it had been harried and overcrowded last Tuesday.
Just when you make sure to allow extra time, it turns out you don't need it.
Not having to wait for my obscenely good turkey hero only meant that we could score a good bench and have a leisurely picnic in Scuffletown park before the music began. Mac showed off her mad picnicking skills by not only bringing cloth napkins but also a fat slice of chocolate espresso cake and two forks for sharing.
Originator of the music in the park series and tonight's featured performer Patrick arrived to unload his equipment with Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams" blaring in his car and setting the evening's tone. Before long, a woman came over and asked if she could place her chair next to our bench without obstructing our view.
We welcomed the company and just before things got started, her husband showed up to join her.
The dance party king (and the man who'd once described me as "part of the fabric of Richmond") played host tonight, announcing, "Welcome to this Fall night in July," a nod to temperatures in the low '70s, before introducing Patrick and his band: violin, cello and drums.
At that moment, the woman turned to us and announced proudly, "That's our son!" and the man whispered, "He gets his talent from his parents."
Ah, that explained the young woman I'd overheard saying to them, "I heard your house was the one for jamming!" Good parents don't mind a little ruckus when their kid's got talent.
"Happy Tuesday. Finally, the weather broke!" Patrick said by way of greeting an ever-growing crowd that ignored the "Stay off the grass" signs and sprawled out on, yes, the lawn, as well as on bricks, on tables and benches. The crowds seem to grow every week.
Tonight's delightful weather was the ideal backdrop for the exquisite sounds of violin and cello played in the great outdoors to the thrum of cicada harmonies and brushes on drums.
Patrick's songs had the singer\songwriter qualities of dreamy lost '70s gems.
When he announced he was going to play a really old song, it got his parents buzzing, so I asked if they were trying to guess which song he might play. "Trying to guess the era," his Dad laughed.
Saying he was about to play some songs from the EP he put out a couple of years ago, Patrick admitted that he didn't get to play them much anymore. Why? "They're not as loud as I feel like I wanna be now."
Definitely not loud but most assuredly well-crafted and beautifully sung (and played), Before long, his parents were wondering which of his angst-y songs was next, while I was curious if he'd ever sung anything but.
"He always played angst-y songs, maybe a little less these days, but he only sang happy songs when he was little," his Mom explained as the band began what could almost surely be called a somewhat happy song.
She turned to me, palms up in surprise and grinning when she heard how relatively upbeat - "In the long run, you're going to have to help yourself" - it sounded with the strings winding their way through the rustling tree branches.
When Patrick announced that the band would do one more, someone called out, "Two!" and his devoted Mom yelled, "Three!" but he dashed their hopes, saying, "Not gonna happen" and instead inquired of the crowd who knew Suzanne Vega.
All the hands of a certain age went up and he rhapsodized about her music being the stuff of his childhood before taking on Vega's "Night Vision."
When the darkness takes you
With her hand across your face
Don't give in too quickly
Find the things she's erased
Find the line, find the shape
through the grain
Find the outline
Things will tell you their name
Some sets run long at Scuffletown, others, like tonight's, aren't nearly long enough given how wonderful the music sounds.
The consolation was that when the show broke up, the post-show mingling began and it soon became obvious that lots of people are pairing up these days.
I finally got to meet the dance king's new Queens-via-Texas squeeze, a charming woman who'd spent two hours in the river with him today and was already taken with Richmond's quirky charms.
Group discussion of architecture, history, trees and cost of living followed, with someone even nerdier than me suggesting a book she might enjoy for reference.
The scientist, whom I hadn't seen in at least a year, arrived after a Boy Scout meeting and surprised us all by announcing he now has a girlfriend and that he's "following her all over town."
Mac assured him that we love when guys do that.
As the blues harmonica player was being introduced to me, I reminded him that we'd met nearly a decade ago and he blushed to have forgotten me. I reminded him that while I've seen him play plenty, there would be no reason for him to recall one more face in the crowd. Still, he apologized unnecessarily.
As I was walking out, I ran into the traveling tailor and artist who's moving to New Orleans on Monday. In an effort to lighten his moving load, he's been selling off his paintings - at a rate of at least one per day, to his amazement - including a large piece sold to Black Sheep, coincidentally his favorite restaurant.
Talking about the move, he admitted that he hopes the time is right to do it, the consolation being that he can always come back if it doesn't suit him.
"But I've got to find out," he said earnestly about pulling up stakes.
If the timing's right, you'll know, I reassured him. And if not, heaven knows Richmond welcomes back all who leave.
As the great Fleetwood Mac oracle reminded us earlier tonight, it's not only right that you should play the way you feel, but that you listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness.
Sometimes it's the best motivator when you've just got to find out. And timing truly is everything.
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.
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