Shake Some (Rainy) Action

The music gods have been smiling on me lately.

Witness free shows abounding.

Tonight's was the Garbers (because don't all bands name themselves after the building they practice in?) and the Green Hearts (whose early show at Sprout had given birth to the term "the prickly one") at Balliceaux and no steady rainfall was keeping me in.

That's what umbrellas are for, kids.

Walking into the back room, I got caught up in an hilarious discussion of last night's free show (Izzy and the Catastrophics), which inexplicably took a left turn into inter-generational personal hygiene.

You know someone has crossed a line when he starts a sentence with, "I'm not part of that generation that..."

A fellow music-lover and I took seats at a back banquette, where we found one of Richmond's favorite ukulele players absorbed in his phone while waiting for the show to start.

All at once he looked up and inquired of the overhead music, "Is this No BS?"

Affirmitive, I told him.

"Local bands on the stereo before a local band plays, I don't like it. Too matchy-matchy," he pronounced, sending me into fits of laughter.

The trio of the Garbers took the stage to shower us in pop goodness.

We heard a song about Thursdays and a couple of songs by drummer Gustino, one called "Wake Up, Allison" and another about watching TV.

When singer Allison kept mentioning that Gustino had written the songs, he finally piped up,saying,  "I feel like these are disclaimers!"

"No, no," Allison placated him. "I'm just trying to prove that drummers can write songs, too."

Cue music from "The Elephant Man" and Gustino saying, "I am not an animal, I am a drummer."

The Garbers kept up their sunny pop until Allison noted that, "All our songs end like that. Like trashcans banging."

Technically, that's an antiquated reference since most of us have big, plastic Supercans that do not sound anything like cymbals, but a minor point.

During the break I took stock of the crowd, finding an over-representation of WRIR DJs (like Allison) and local musicians amongst the gaggle of over-perfumed chattering women gathering for a birthday celebration in the back of the room.

You'd think a party of 8 to 12 birthday celebrants would have had the sense to stay at the front bar and take endless pictures of themselves there rather than in a room with bands playing in whom they had zero interest.

But you'd be wrong.

The Green Hearts sported their own DJ, Paul Ginder, and the husbands of several other DJs (very incestuous) and they rocked out a certain period in power pop history.

Songs like "Girl of My Dreams," "Shake Some Action," "Brickfield Nights" and their namesake song, "Green Hearts." Late '70s.

It didn't take long for people to start dancing right in front of the stage.

Before "Shake Some Action," Paul told the crowd, "This song is not new. I want to see you shaking it, though."

He handled the vocals, but he wasn't afraid to pick up a tambourine or cow bell when it was called for, either.

When they did the Jags' "Back of My Hand," exhorting the girl to write her name or number on the back of his hand, I reached over with my pen and wrote my number on the closest male hand.

I do what the music tells me to do.

By the end of their energetic set, Paul closed out by saying, "Thank you for dancing in whatever manner you chose to," a funny line given some of the inebriated dancing going on.

I'm talking to you, Girl Who Couldn't Get your Arm Out of Your Own Jacket.

As they said goodnight, one of the DJ/musicians in the audience called out, "I brought my W-2!"

Paul, ever the businessman, went back to the mic, to plug. "And we'll do your taxes."

You really can't ask for more than that on a rainy Thursday night.

Look, He Waved!

As lovely as Summer Solstice sounds, I think Midsummer Day sounds even better.

More poetic. More musical. More indulgent.

And how satisfying that it was a pagan holiday.

After a stop at Nick's Market for sandwiches ("You put these sandwiches to good use!" I was told) we celebrated Midsummer Day at the Summer Solstice Island Power Jam on Belle Isle.

Walking up the ramp to the suspension bridge, I paused as a CSX train approached overhead.

It must have made me smile because one of the trainmen caught my eye and waved.

My reaction was that of any four year old boy.

Over on the island, the rocks were covered in people spread out for a sunny afternoon's amusement as we made our way to the back of the island.

On the way, we passed two chessboards set up on a table with two guys engaged in play.

Nearby, the sign said, "Super Chess. Are you ready?"

Nope. I just want to get to the power plant.

In keeping with the spirit of the pagans, once there we took the side path, moving through bent saplings dappled with afternoon sunlight (fairy garden-like) before doubling over to go through a low half pipe and emerge at the power plant.

Inside the remains of the building, we found a spot against the wall to watch Bermuda Triangles set up.

Three drums, sax and xylophone (?) made enough sound to hear even in the high-ceilinged stone cave of a power plant.

Then there's the beauty of an all-acoustic show: set-up and breakdown are minimal.

Every now and then, a few guys would appear in the enormous upper windows, causing everyone below to wonder how they'd gotten up there.

Best line overheard in between sets,"You can steal a baby from a hospital."

I know I should have asked, but I didn't.

Second best: "I now have a fashion advisor."

Let the record show that the guy who said this looked better than I've ever seen him look.

The Milkstains came next and it was fascinating hearing their psych-rock done unplugged.

But it worked because I felt just as groovy as usual afterwards.

Between sets, I headed to the Port-a-John where two guys biked past me talking.

"That's where I got that big scar on my leg," one said, pointing to an almost 90-degree angled wall of jutting rocks.

A glance at the wall convinced me I was lucky not to have seen the scar.

Tyrannosaurus Awesome, a garage pop duo, had a good-sized crowd for their catchy drum/guitar earnestness.

Meanwhile, a guy lit a small grill in the corner with too much lighter fluid and the flame shot up two feet.

It seemed like a bad idea.

Next up were the Garbers and singer Allison had admitted that she was planning to use a battery-powered amp.

It's a fine line between unplugged and battery-powered, I said, but she wisely reminded me that she was the organizer of the show.

The Garbers were definitely the easiest band to hear in the cavernous space.

For what that's worth.

I mean, she did organize the whole delightful day of music.

We didn't stay late enough for the dog show, although certainly there were plenty of contestant possibilities sniffing around today.

Instead, we left out through the fairy path and lazily wound our way back toward the river in the late afternoon sunlight, belly and musical souls fed.

Surely that's how a pagan would celebrate.

Daylight Licked Me Into Shape

I practically qualify for mayor of Balliceaux lately.

Let's just say that when I paid my five bucks to get in, the door guy said he didn't need to stamp my hand because he knows me (should I decide I wanted to come and go).

For the fourth time in eight days, I was back in the back room to hear live music, a testament to how much terrific talent is passing through there lately.

Playing first was Peace Beast, a band I hadn't seen since last August.

With two members from the Diamond Center and two from Roanoke, all I recalled was a female-fronted band, but that was enough to get me there.

Tonight's show reminded me what else I'd liked about them.

Kyle's guitar playing, Kelly's songwriting and the overall dreamy psychedelic mood of the music add up to my kind of music.

Kelly is an enigmatic frontwoman, though. It's hard to tell if she's enjoying herself despite the compelling lyrics coming out of her mouth.

Honestly, I hope she is, but for purely selfish reasons.

I was really excited to see The Garbers for the first time. Born out of the ashes of Hot Lava, I'd heard nothing but great things about singer Allison Apperson's latest pop project.

To tell you the truth, I already knew that if it was anything like Hot Lava, I was going to love it.

It was. I did.

Sunny and bouncy with lots of harmonies and the kind of keyboards that make it impossible to stand still, The Garbers grabbed the attention of even the pretty people and chatters in the room.

Earlier, drummer Giustino had said hello and we'd discussed his choice of a (red) polyester shirt on a night where he'd be working up a sweat.

Any drumming is work, but his is especially frenetic and energetic(attributable perhaps to 20 years in Bio Ritmo?) .

Now onstage, he also admitted that his corduroy flares were interfering with his abilities on kick drum.

Never one to be shy about making a fashion statement (I once saw his other project, Fuzzy Baby, perform as the Red Stripes in all red polyester), Giustin just rolled up his pant leg and drummed on.

The Garbers don't have a lot of music yet because they've only been playing together since December, but what we heard, infectious and poppy as it was, sounded like a great start for a future album.

In anticipation of the last act, my girlfriend and I took seats on the back of the front booth, enjoying unexpected seating with a view over the crowd.

Snowy Owls finished out the night with a vocal mic that had a mind of its own, coming and going at will.

No matter how many times I see these guys, I always find myself grinning ear to ear at the fuzzed-out sounds that scream "music from a cave," a genre near and dear to my heart.

There were lots of new faces in the crowd and more dancers than usual, so word must begetting out that they're a band to experience.

Pshaw, how long have I been saying that?

Leader Matt had told me when I'd first arrived to expect a new cover, but declined to share what it would be, saying it would be obvious.

From the first seconds as Brandon's drums led off into the guitars and inevitable, "Show me, show me, show me," the crowd went wild.

Dancing began in earnest as a roomful of people who were probably being conceived or born when the song came out went crazy (perhaps that explains the instinctual response).

And, the fact is, if you can't go crazy over a good song by The Cure, when can you?

From there they went back to original music, finishing with "Could" and hearing the crowd calling for an encore.

Why, it was just like heaven.