Barely Legal Bona Fide Human Beings

Okay, Byrd Park Roundhouse, get your act together.

When I attended my first show there a few weeks ago, I showed up at 7 because that was the time on the Facebook event page. But upon arriving, a sandwich board announced that the doors actually opened at 7:30 and music wasn't until 8. The change was an excuse to walk around the lake on a beautiful evening, so no big deal.

But needless to say, when I made plans to go hear the Hot Seats at the Roundhouse tonight, I knew enough to arrive just before 8:00. Stopped at a  traffic light on the way over, I saw a plane fly directly under the bottom of the nearly full moon, leaving a vapor trail that looked like it provided a ledge for the moon to sit on.

I took it as a good omen for the evening.

Walking from where I parked toward the Roundhouse, I saw young families scattered around the lawn outside the Roundhouse's open door, kids scampering as parents listed to the music.

All of a sudden, I could hear that the band had started, a bit of a surprise since it wasn't yet 8.

Walking in, money in hand, the guy at the door looks apologetic. "I think they're about to finish up their set," he explained. "But maybe if you let them see you putting money in, they'll play a little longer."

Glancing over at bandleader Josh, whom I've known for years, I made an exaggerated motion with my arm, bringing it up and over my head to deposit the cash, which, incidentally, all goes to the band, and smiled broadly.

"You just got us a few more songs, I think," the door guy whispered with a grin before I found a seat in the back row. It wasn't a big crowd, but they were mighty and clearly fans of bluegrass and new grass and everything the talented Hot Seats - guitar, upright bass, fiddle, mandolin and occasionally banjo played by a woman otherwise seated in the front row - were serving up.

I'm sure if I'd been there when the show began, I'd know who she was.

The first full song I heard was "Compliance," an original song Josh said was about "someone having their foot on your throat and asking if you mind if they kick you." Who doesn't like fast-pickin' with major attitude in the lyrics?

"We're the Hot Seats, in case I didn't mention it and we've been around a while," Josh said to laughter. "It's our eighteenth birthday as a band, which makes us barely legal."

There was another original song, during which a Dad came in with his two young girls and headed toward the bathrooms, the kids never even turning to look at the four men vigorously making music as they passed by. It made me a little sad considering the volume and the energy and their complete indifference to both.

After a song about "being bona fide human beings," Josh promised, tongue firmly in cheek, that they would "keep the uplifting songs going." Then they launched into another of his songs, this one called "When You Were Young," which he says he wrote to remind himself not to be so crotchety.

When you were young
Things were fun
You used to like things
It was exciting

After reminding his bandmates they were moving into songs in the key of A, the did a nice little murder ballad called "Willow Garden." When you're listening to a good murder ballad, it's hard not to appreciate a setting as lovely as tonight's: windows open to the park, the sunset sliding behind the trees, humidity so low as to be imperceptible (which means I had to wear leggings so I wouldn't be cold).

Practically perfect except for the absence of company.

Even Josh couldn't help but commenting on our surroundings, announcing that he'd been married in the Roundhouse, "Thirteen years ago? Fourteen? I should know, shouldn't I?" All I'm saying about that is, I'd bet his wife knows how many years it's been.

Part of the beauty of the Hot Seats is hearing multiple voices harmonizing, but also hearing an occasional plaintive lead vocal by the fiddle player.

They were doing a song about a rattletrap van not known for starting with certainty or frequency when two women arrived and sat down in the row in front of me. I wondered if they'd gotten the same warning that I had, that the show was about to wind down.

When that song ended, that was it and people began heading out after a reminder from Josh about future Roundhouse shows. Curious about why the show had started so early, I stopped to ask the table guy and he explained that all the shows there are supposed to start at 7 sharp. Since I'd only been to one previously and it had started at 8, I'd made an erroneous assumption, I told him

Standing nearby was a couple who joined our conversation to say that they'd done the same thing after the Luray show. "We'd have been much earlier if we'd known it was really starting at 7," she said. Finally, witnesses to back up my story.

Finally fully armed with the correct information about future shows, I headed out, only to run into Josh, who gestured at the moon and observed that it was nearly full. When I told him about seeing the plane appearing to shave off the bottom of it earlier, he joked, "Oh, that's why it's missing that little part at the bottom." Who doesn't appreciate a clever musician?

Making my way to my car, I heard the distinctive strains of "Downtown," a song I love, so I stood by my car to finish listening to it. I couldn't tell where it was coming from because it was starting to get dark and the trees obliterated the source of the sound. Probably just somebody's boombox.

If I'd had any sense, I would have followed the music because as soon as I got home, I saw that a friend was at opening night of Dogwood Dell and the English Beat - purveyors of Brit pop, rock and prog from the '60s and '70s - were playing the night away.

I'd been within spitting distance of the amphitheater and not had a clue. So if they played my Petula Clark favorite, "Don't Sleep in the Subway, Darling," I'd rather not know about it.

I don't want to sound crotchety, but I hate missing out on double fun.

Going for Personality

Nobody tells you America's sweetheart was Canadian until you go to the VCU Southern Film Festival. O, Mary, I hardly knew ye.

This year's theme, "Screening Southern Music: Exploring Musical Traditions and Stereotypes in Popular Films" couldn't be any more up my alley. Music and film? I was so there.

"There" was the VMFA to see Mary Pickford in "Heart o' the Hills," a 1919 movie about a hell-raising mountain girl set to a live soundtrack created by the Hot Seats with banjo, fiddle, washboard and guitar.

As many times as the Hot Seats have impressed me, tonight took the cake.

Not long before the movie began, a guy sat down next to me, reeking so strongly of cigarettes I could hardly breathe. Luckily, the odor dissipated after a while, but then not half an hour in, he got up and left, never to return.

Mine was not to wonder why.

Of course a film made so long ago had plenty of dated tropes ("Mountain people were a primitive people"), although several people in the audience who'd grown up in Appalachia said they'd been pleasantly surprised that the film wasn't nearly as cliched or full of stereotypes as they'd expected.

They must have had very low expectations.

What took adjusting to were the scene cards telling the story because they were written in "Appalachian-speak," so it took a while to get used to all the misspellings (furriners for foreigners) and contractions. The phrasing - "It's so small in here ye cain't cuss a cat without getting hair in yer teeth" - was plenty colorful.

As one of the panel said after the movie, the Hot Seats really made tonight's experience. They'd worked out perfectly-timed music for every scene, using more traditional hillbilly music for the scenes in the mountains and southern music for the scenes set in the lowlands.

Naturally, "My Old Kentucky Home" showed up in the plantation scene with blacks serving cold beverages to the white folk. During what was described as a shindig, the played increasingly faster as the dancers at the gathering tried to out-dance each other.

One of the biggest laughs came in that scene when the old geezer stopped dancing to say, "Hold on, I lost my teeth!" Seemed a little corny to me, but I did laugh at the next story card that read, "After the jollification..."

The most uncomfortable scene for tonight's crowd was the one where people donned white robes and hoods (even for their horses) and set out as "night riders" to bring about some vigilante justice to the bad guys who'd bought up everybody's coal land. Too soon, still.

After the film there was a Q & A with history professors from VCU and UR, plus Josh from the Hot Seats, with many interesting questions asked and points made (including one by Josh's mother). Our VMFA host Trent said it was one of the best post-film discussions they'd ever had, probably because the crowd that stayed for it had lots to say about Pickford and the depiction of the people.

There was an afterparty at Grandstaff, but I passed on that to catch "What Was I Thinking?" at Richmond Comedy Coalition, a chance to hear real people read from their diaries before the improv troupe riffed on them.

Hysterical from the get-go.

Grace read from her 13-year old diary (complete with school photo inside), where she'd often made 3 or 4 entries in one day, talking about all the boys she liked. On one occasion, she'd made entries at 10:01, 10:08 and 10:21. That's a lot of teen-aged angst in 20 minutes.

Favorite entry: "I'm writing a soap opera called "Halls of Romance."

The comedy talent then skewered it all - the principal ("He was really good at running the school despite the allegations"), TV ("Next time on "Halls of Romance...") and 3-day relationships ("I don't feel like we connected on a connection-based level").

Next, Joey read from several pieces he'd written for the high school paper, despite not being on staff. One was about how girls were everywhere - and not just good girls - and another about beauty versus personality ("The brain wants good looks but knows it should look for personality").

Someone should have told 17-year old Joey that it wasn't the brain that was seeking good looks.

Favorite entry: "Also, I'm going to give atheism a try."

I give people like Grace and Joey major props because they lay their history out there and allow it to be the stuff of mock game shows (three punk rock bachelors competing for a punk rock bracelet), skits about a Britney Spears Halloween costume ("I'll just shave your head") and worshiping Barney ("And then he gave the world Baby Bop").

And that, I learned, is how you end a night with some serious jollification and no hair in your teeth.

I'm Just Here to Get My Baby Out of Jail

Sometimes you need a mini-road trip.

Ashland Coffee and Tea was the ideal destination. We took a scenic drive up Route 301 under a low-hanging yellow moon, crossed the railroad tracks and joined the Saturday night revelers for some music and laughs.

Nobody delivers both better than the Hot Seats.

And while the food is not the point, it's perfectly serviceable, with sausage and shrimp jambalaya and chicken pot pie providing hearty warmth on a cold night. Walking in, we got our hands stamped and the door person said, "You've been here before, so you know the drill."

While both were true, I was still surprised to be remembered.

Two-tops are scarce at AC&T and those they have are directly in front of the stage, meaning we got front row seats by default. There was the usual P.A. announcement reminding us that this was a listening room environment (I did a silent cheer when I heard it) and that we didn't want to miss "a note or a lyric."

The Hot Seats, three beards, two faces, began with an old-timey tune (as they called it), "Sugar in the Gourd." The exuberant Josh Bearman wore a light blue suit coat and matching vest, making him the most dapper Seat tonight, despite soon shedding the coat.

With the Hot Seats, you're guaranteed funny lyrics, incredible musicianship and songs spanning the early 20th century to current. Songs like "Live Fast, Love Hard, Die Young," a motto to live by if ever there was one.

During a stage discussion of the five members of the band, a comparison to Voltron (and cats coming together) was made. Ed Brogan wryly noted that if they were Voltron, "That would make me allergic to myself."

I'm with you, Ed, but I'd be allergic to the whole lot of you.

"The Ace" was introduced as "having lots of words and it's really funny." And few bands do stage banter like the Seats. There were colon jokes, grammar jokes and daughter jokes.

"Everyone fancies us a bluegrass band," Josh observed about the song "Fun in Town."

"This is a little bluegrass pop for you. It's even got minor chords!" I live for minor chords, just saying.

Of another song, Josh said, "This is one of our newer songs. It features double banjos, so it's a hit." What made it a hit for me was the lyric, "Are you looking for love or the semblance of?"

Apparently the band took song requests on Facebook before the show and one fan volunteered "On the Road Again." "That makes me wonder if they'd ever seen us at all," Josh noted.

Instead they closed the first set with John Prine's "Sam Stone" abut the hole in Daddy's arm where all the money goes.

We decided to spend the intermission trying desserts, namely the mocha cake with cappuccino frosting and the chocolate cake. Nothing like a sugar buzz when watching the Hot Seats.

The second set began with more dueling banjos and the lyric, "I ain't a bit drunk, drunk, drunk, I'm just from Alabam." It explains a lot, doesn't it?

The crowd roared when Josh said, "Now that we're all grown up and mature, it's hard to believe we were ever a roving bunch of scamps," before leading into their seminal classic, "Peaches" with Ben doing the vocals that took the song over the top. We saw Ed play bass onstage for the first time and from where I sat he seemed to do just fine.

As is usual with the Hot Seats, there was a jail set because apparently there are plenty of good songs about being locked up.

There was the song Josh described as his mother's favorite, a tad surprising given the lyric, "From her cooter to her pooter." Actually, it makes me want to meet Josh's Mom.

It was the kind of show where we were told by the band, "We would be remiss if we didn't sing a song about cheeseburgers." It got meaty suddenly before they closed with the "Maybelle Rag."

But the audience was having none of it and hooted and hollered until the boys came back out, closing with a Porter Wagoner classic, "Another Day, Another Dollar."

This is the second year in a row that I've seen the Hot Seats just before New Year's at AC&T and if it's a tradition-in-the-making, it's a fine one. I love a ringside seat for a bunch of guys talented enough to trade instruments all night long, sometimes even mid-song.

I like watching the quiet fiddle player Graham tear it up on the side while the others hog the limelight. I like watching Ben with his handsome David Bowie-like smile impress on banjo and sing so expressively. I like Ed's low-key joke-making, clever backing vocals and songwriting skills. I like Jake's ability to play washboard while drumming and giving the band "the look." I can stand some of Josh's corny jokes but mostly I like his energy and enthusiasm.

I especially like how even the band can't remember which of their songs are on which album. I guess I just like good music and laughing. And a nice road trip.

Hell, who wouldn't?

Eve Hands Off the Apple

Before Richmond had a Listening Room, there was Ashland Coffee and Tea.

It used to be the only place I knew of with a guaranteed no-talk policy during shows.

So with an invitation to head there to see The Hot Seats, we took a drive up 301 for an evening of bluegrass.

We got there in time to score a table right at the corner of the stage, affording a great view of the flying fingers of The Hot Seats.

Our waitress looked like Carole King in the '70s and had a low-key wit that made her endearing.

When she brought our food, we all noticed the absence of roll-ups.

Rushing off and returning with them, she said,: "And here's some silverware so you can eat with dignity."

I especially appreciated it since chili can be ugly when eaten with one's hands.

My partner-in-crime amused me with stories of a friend who had been busy "finalizing the loopholes on her New Year's Eve resolutions."

I found that to be laugh out loud-worthy. If I were going to make resolutions, I'm not sure I would have remembered that important step.

The Hot Seats have many strengths, not the least of which is their range.

From Flatt & Scruggs to Porter Wagoner to John Prine, they have a knack for finding the covers that most closely align with their original and hysterical material.

Introducing "Jail Song," banjo player Ben held them up a second, saying, "I'm not in tune. I got this one mixed up with the other jail song. Sorry."

I can't help but like a band with multiple jail songs.

The song "Peaches" provided one of my very favorite lines of the night (and there were many). "You can always find your type if you like 'em over ripe."

Fruit (low hanging or otherwise) as metaphor for women?

The song "Soft John Blues" got plenty of laughs with lines like, "Gotta get me some of those pills."

A statement of our time, Viagra references seem to be cropping up surprisingly often in songs, as in the zydeco tune "Can't Rooster like I Used To."

The band brought up guitarist Ed's brother Dave to add "traditional bluegrass trombone" to a few songs.

That brass and strings combination is one of my favorites and it's everywhere these days.

The Hot Seats' set moved along at a fast clip with a dozen songs in each set.

Introducing one, they said, "Not all bluegrass is supposed to be happy. Not only is this one not happy, but discordant."

Unhappy and discordant, what more could you need on New Year's Eve eve with trains whizzing by every few minutes?

Okay, house-made chocolate cake slathered in ganache, but we had that.

Another thing I loved about the band was their musicianship; they endlessly and effortlessly switched instruments, demonstrating the range of each performer.

After the encore, our server came back to bring us our check and thanked us for being such great customers.

Telling us that lots of shows brought in picky people, this one had not and she appreciated it.

Susan Greenbaum shows, she said, brought in the worst.

Why? I guessed that it was because the audience would be largely female.

Cracking wise, my dinner partner asked, "Aren't all women picky?"

"She's not!" the server said, pointing at me. "She's perfectly nice and reasonable. You should keep her."

As if I were up for keeping.

I'm not sure whose eyebrow went up higher, mine or my seatmate's.

We walked out into the mild late December air of Ashland and  began the leisurely drive through rural Hanover County homeward.

Among an evening of great lines, I'd have to give the honor of funniest yet deepest line to: "Can we just have intellectual honesty?"

Only if you're given the dignity of using silverware to eat while a talented and humorous band plays.

And a Honeycrisp apple.