Be Me and Report Back

Does anyone else really want to do what I do?

Tonight that would have started with the happy hour at the Anderson Gallery for a performance by the Bird and Her Consort.

For the uninitiated, that would be Jonathan and Antonia Vassar of JV and the Speckled Bird.

Using guitar, accordion and classical voice, the duo performed what was termed as "parlor music" with an open parasol sitting on the floor in front of them.

Before the show, the older gentleman sitting next to me in the gallery inquired if I knew what parlor music was and I was of no assistance, but we were both willing to find out.

After listening to their beautiful interpretations of vintage music in French, Italian and English, I would say parlor music involves sad songs of love, passion and longing, some of which I even recognized.

They had recently performed at Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden and after a sad French song, a French Canadian couple had informed them that it had been sung too slowly.

"But I think they're wrong," Antonia said defiantly tonight. She sang the song at the exact same tempo as she had the last time and it was stunning. What do French Canucks know anyway?

After the show, I was asked what was next on my agenda for the evening. But it was a devoted fan of Antonia's who asked me the question of the day.

"So have you ever considered having someone take over your life for a few weeks to give you a vacation?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

Silly me, my initial reaction was that she was suggesting that my life might get tiresome. Then I realized she was offering herself up.

"I'd need some advance notice," she qualified. "I'd have to rest up and go to the gym." All I had to do was hand over my itinerary and she was going to live it and blog it for me.

It was a most intriguing idea, even if she would need me to plot it out for her. Someone pointed out that she'd have to modify her 9:00 bedtime to be me. That's the least of her worries, I might add.

Stop number two was the Virginia Center for Architecture for a screening of "Visual Acoustics: The Modernism of Julius Shulman."

Had I known who Julius Shulman was a month ago? No, but once a little research divulged that he was the premiere architectural photographer of the twentieth century, I was in and interested.

Because architectural photography is the primary means by which most people see a given building, it is hugely significant.

And the twentieth century was an optimistic time when architects believed they could change the world and the photographs of their work shaped the world's perceptions of the West Coast and that lifestyle.

The film was made before Shulman's death in 2009 (he was nearly 100!) so it included his ruminations, jokes, and thoughts as well as visits to some of the houses he had shot decades ago.

Sadly, post-modernism drove Shulman  into retirement, but his photographs became invaluable for restoration projects of any number of modernist houses that had fallen into disrepair.

Eventually, his photographs were seen as fine art and he had gallery shows both here and abroad.

A fascinating observation made during the film was that "The houses in real life were not as beautiful as Julius' photographs."

From what was shown in the film, he clearly had a knack for picking the best possible angle of any given structure. Luckily, his legacy lives on in the archives of the Getty Museum in L.A.

Last, but not least, was dinner with a long-absent girlfriend at Pescado's China Street. She'd been traveling for work so much that it had been a month since our last rendezvous.

When I walked in it was after 8:30 and every table was taken, as was every bar stool. I'd never seen the place so crowded.

My friend had finally snagged a table after much waiting and our server immediately poured me a glass from her bottle of Santa Digna Sauvignon Blanc.

I didn't get too far into it before we were able to move to a couple of available stools and get settled in for some catching up.

Conch fritters made for a fine start and then I had the smoked Pacific marlin tostada with black beans, radish and roasted corn salsa.

While it qualified for "tall food" status, it was the trio of flavors; smokey fish, fresh corn salsa and hearty (and heart-healthy) black beans that got my taste buds singing.

My friend had the tetilla tamales of roasted chicken, masa, tetilla cheese, tomato/basil jalapeno sauce and cilantro aioli, which I had to taste because I'd never had them before.

Instead of the usual Latin music or reggae, we enjoyed a soulful mix tonight that even got our bartender busting a move at one point. Old-school soul certainly has stood the test of time well.

Co-owner Bob dropped by to talk restaurants and near West End development with us and we all got passionate about the possible demise of the Westhampton Theater. Now that would be a loss.

Eventually my friend went on to the delicious Los Cabos salad while I enjoyed the switch to Conde Villar Branco Vinho Verde, a fizzy little gem that was perfect given today's heat.

We were so busy catching up with one another that all of a sudden we looked up and the staff was putting chairs on top of tables. Oops, time to go.

And therein lies the challenge for my replacement. Sure, you can be me as long as you can hang until you've finished doing all the good stuff every night.

Only then is it okay to cut bait and go home and tell the world about it.

Well, except for the really good stuff, which doesn't happen nearly often enough, and that's what remains the great mystery.

Silver Tongues Offer Fool's Gold

I was chatting online with a friend, telling him about the show I planned to see tonight and he responded, "Well, I do want to see a show at Balliceaux one of these days."

Color me surprised because he's a show-going guy, much the way I'm a show-going girl (in fact, it's how we met; you can only see someone at shows so many times before introducing yourself), and yet he'd never been to Balliceaux for music? It was news to me.

If you've read this blog for more than a week, it's pretty obvious that Balliceaux is a regular destination for me and with good reason. The food is creative, the acoustics are good and a variety of musical genres (as well as film and storytelling) are booked in the back room.

Now let's see, I've seen rhythm and blues, free and experimental jazz, neo-soul, Ethiopian-style grooves, rock, '60s Asian pop, brass bands, New Orleans parlor-style jazz and that's just what I can remember off the top of my head.

Tonight's show was being called "1001 Nights: A Musical Tribute to Lhasa de Sela," the world music singer who died of breast cancer just over a year ago at age 37. The evening's proceeds were going to the Virginia Breast Cancer Foundation in her memory.

The event had been organized by Evrim Dogu, one of those people I admire for his multiple major talents. Besides being a devoted de Sela fan, he's a talented musician and the baking genius behind Sub Rosa Bread (if you've ever been to the Byrd House Market, you know the crusty perfection of his loaves).

He'd been planning the event since her death last year. Twelve local musicians and one out-of-towner were interpreting de Sela's catalog one song at a time. There were songs in English, French, Spanish and Arabic, all languages de Sela had used on her albums and in concert.

Some performers I was familiar with, like the Bird and her Consort (Jonathan and Antonia Vassar), Laura Ann Singh (Quatro na Bossa) and Chris Milk (the artist/musician/puppeteer, whose painting of a guitar player, "Song," hangs in front of me as I type this).

Others were new to me, but not to the large crowd of friends and fans who'd come to hear this dream bill; the place was packed. And one musician was familiar to me, but not on the program; playing his always-superb trumpet was Paul Watson.

It was a night of truly beautiful music and after each song, you'd wonder how the next could possibly match it, but it always did. At one point a friend turned and tapped me on my leg, whispering, "It's so amazing!"

And she'd had no idea who Lhasa de Sela was when she'd walked into the room; I say that because I had to tell her. On the other hand, I had known and I was every bit as impressed. You can't hear a song like "Fool's Gold" and not feel the passion inherent in her songwriting.

It's just too bad that my friend didn't choose tonight to have divested himself of his Balliceaux virginity with this once-in-a-blue moon performance.

Now use your silver tongue once more
There's one thing I'd like to know
Did you ever believe the lies that you told?
Did you own the fool's gold that you gave me?