You know I'm not myself when I can't recall the last time I saw live music.
I know I haven't seen any in 2018 and looking back at my calendar, if you don't count plays, looks like it was early November.
All I can say is, that may be the longest stretch I've gone in years without seeing a band and I'm not proud of it.
So tonight I was among the music lovers who crowded Sub Rosa Bakery to see the Low Branches reunion, not to mention Jonathan Vassar and the Badlands opening up for them. For those not familiar with these two stellar local bands, allow me to clarify: first we heard JV& TB, a male trio singing sad songs, followed by TLB, a female-fronted trio singing sad songs.
Because if there is anything I need these days to reinforce my mood, it's sad songs.
Chairs and stools had been assembled to face the twinkle light-draped front windows and door and the room hushed quickly once Jonathan strapped on his guitar, greeted the crowd made up of lots of old friends from the Listening Room days - where I'd gotten to know both these bands - and began with the instantly recognizable "Days Go By."
With Nate (of bagel fame) on upright bass and doing harmonies and Curtis on pedal steel, the band did "You Were Gone," one of several songs off their new EP just released last month. You know, I've been listening to Jonathan make music since 2007 and his songs still move me every time.
Meanwhile, people kept arriving, making their way to the counter for wine and wedging themselves into any available spaces left. Jonathan lightened the mood after a group came in and quickly found seats, saying, "Now that my in-laws are here, we'll restart that one!"
Favorite lyric: We both crossed the line, but I can't remember who pushed who.
They closed their set with the very new "The Truth" with the timeless acknowledgment, "Change is the only thing that stays the same." Please don't remind me.
The break afterward allowed the latecomers to mingle with the punctual crowd and before long, the volume was such that you had to lean in to hear the person you were talking to. Two friends I chatted with have gotten pregnant since I last saw them and another had her one month-old with her.
I was delighted to chat with the scuba-diving artist who used to keep bees because we hadn't seen each other in over a year. Curious about why that was, she posited that it's her early bedtime to accommodate an early morning yoga schedule, leading to a discussion of how we both require 9 hours sleep a night.
She thought it might also be related to her absence on Facebook now that her social media platform of choice is Instagram. Asking if I used it, she was tickled pink to learn I'd just joined the Instagram fam a week ago. "Now we'll see each other there!" she predicted.
A musician friend I've known for 8 years now came over and asked me sotto voce why I wasn't blogging. Her question caught me completely off guard, although I didn't hesitate to tell her how flattered I was that she'd noticed. "Of course I noticed," she exclaimed. "Reading your blog is a regular part of my day and I miss it!" She even uses it as a reference to check on when things happened.
It's not like other close friends haven't asked me about the absence of my daily posts, but she wanted to know why. Without having put it into sentences before, I answered with words I didn't know my brain had formulated.
I'm really low right now and if I were to blog, it would be with a very different voice than my readers are accustomed to. I couldn't feign a cheerfulness or optimism I'm not feeling anymore and I told her that I don't think my readers would want to read the words of this mood and that voice.
"Well, I want to read your words no matter what the voice," she said, offering up perhaps the kindest response imaginable.
Jonathan, talking to friends about when the last time the Low Branches had played, turned to me and asked when it was. I wasn't exactly sure, but when I saw Christina, the heart and soul of the Low Branches, she laughed and said, "Well, you would know because whenever it was, you wrote about our final show."
The blog again. Seems I've been charged with keeping a record of Richmond goings-on.
Then it was showtime. "We're going to play some old songs and some new songs," Christina announced, her guitar on her crossed legs. "I have a lot to say."
Like with Jonathan, I recognized old songs such as "Like a Glove" and loved hearing new ones like "Down to the Church" and "The Stranger." It's always moving when she sings her lament-like cover of Dolly Parton's "Jolene," which I hadn't heard in years. Fittingly, today was Dolly's birthday, so Christina wished her a happy birthday.
Christina's got such a beautifully effortless voice and hushed way of singing and she mentioned that she thought her guitar was too loud (it wasn't), but two guitars and keyboards complemented the band's serene, introspective and meandering aesthetic.
"Thanks to Jonathan Vassar and the Badlands," she said after her final song. "It's just like old times!"
In terms of seeing two of my favorite long-time local bands, yes. In terms of life, I only wish.
Showing posts with label the low branches. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the low branches. Show all posts
Sunday, March 11, 2018
Monday, January 20, 2014
Love 'Em and Leave 'Em Fast
Eat local. Drink local. Listen local.
The way I was brought up (with a Richmond grandmother in the house), Sundays meant fried chicken for dinner.
Conveniently for me, Saison, mere blocks from home, does fried chicken on Sunday nights. All the family tradition, none of the work. Like.
I found a seat at the bar, took note of the football score and ordered Espolon and a quarter chicken.
"Light or dark?" was the bartender's only inquiry, while one of the servers stood at the end of the bar mouthing "dark, dark" to me.
Don't waste your energy, friend, I was already going dark, despite once having had my hand slapped for that preference.
A date had cooked fried chicken for me and when I kept helping myself to the dark pieces, he finally called me on it, claiming the last thigh for himself.
Here there was no one to chide me, so I enjoyed my crispy dark pieces with cole slaw and long-cooked green beans, tonight's designated sides.
The couple next to me soon paid their bill to leave for dinner at Rappahannock, causing the bartender to ask them to wait.
He put a lidded condiment container in front of them and asked if they'd deliver the shot to one of the bartenders at Rappahannock.
Shot of what? Shot of...soda, he said.
They agreed and were off while I went back to sucking bones and greasy fingers.
There wasn't enough time for dessert because my ultimate destination was Gallery 5 for music, so after a brief discussion of the opening of J-Ward's latest, the Rogue Gentleman, I walked a block over to show my ID and see the Low Branches new single release show.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was a seated show, so I staked out a chair before mingling to chat with friends.
The instrument-maker talked about his long-term plan for a workshop. The historian wondered why she hadn't been sent the invitation to the show. The fuzzmaster said he was pleased with Friday's set.
Flu was a big topic because one of tonight's performers (Jonathan Vassar) had it, necessitating Annousheh doing a solo set to take his place.
I've seen her play with and without her band, but there's a purity to hearing just her voice and keyboards.
She did some familiar songs like the well-written "The Trouble I Find" and some equally impressive new ones done "against my better judgment," she said.
She finished with her exquisite slowed-down cover of "In the Air Tonight," a song that always reminds me of a Phil Collins interview where he said the only thing that will go on his gravestone is, "Phil Collins, He wrote "In the Air Tonight."
Truth is, her version is far more aching and haunting than Phil's ever was.
It was during that song that I looked over and saw a friend walk in, a friend who'd been on the other side of the world for the past seven months.
During the break I got up for a hug and a hello, hearing him describe that time as "tentative and exhilarating," probably an apt description for climbing rock faces, teaching schol and living without running water.
A baker at Aziza before he'd left, he's already taken up employment with Sub Rosa, detailing what a crazy re-opening weekend it had been for them.
The Low Branches' singer, Christina, had told me a little about the second band, whom I'd never heard of: Rodney "the soul singer" Stith.
Seems she and Rodney ran into each other at the grocery store many times and one of them, they discussed the song playing in the store, leading to finding out that they were both musicians.
Rodney had a backing band he referred to as "the soul system" for that voice, made up of drums, guitar, bass, keyboards and violin, leaving Rodney to sing and play guitar.
And sing he did, in a voice that channeled every vintage R & B singer worth his salt, and beginning with "Calling Out" to show how he could use that voice.
Saying he needed some participation, he then asked the crowd to sing out as the band did pieces of "California Dreamin," "Losing My Religion," "Little Red Corvette" and even the Backstreet Boys' "I Want It That Way," a song that had certain members of the audience, Christina included, dancing in their seats in delight.
Me, I was amazed that so few people knew the words to "Little Red Corvette," as masterfully metaphorical a rock song as has ever been written.
During their set, I saw more friends arrive, this time the formerly-prickly one and his charming girlfriend, so I waved them over to the two empty seats in front of me.
The band returned to original material with "a new one, hot off the press, so hot it still has ink smears on it," a song Rodney described as about how women take men for granted, hurting them and moving on.
"Just Leave Me" had him putting his guitar down to stand and sing emotively like a true crooner, all hand gestures and closed eyes.
Reminding the crowd that tomorrow is MLK day, they closed with "Free at Last," integrating U2's "Pride (In the Name of Love)" to great effect and again soliciting the audience to sing along.
Hearing the friend next to me belt it out, I now understand why she's a karaoke queen. Such a voice.
Fortunately, there were more U2 fans than Prince fans among the crowd and it was a rousing and fitting tribute to King.
Afterwards, I turned to a friend, commenting that we see a lot of bands, but never anything like straight-on soul. I'd really enjoyed it.
During the break, I chatted with an old rocker about my recent acquisition of a Grin CD, a band I knew he'd remember (he did) and with his girlfriend about the painstaking cinnamon rolls she'd made from scratch using the Cinnabon recipe.
She told me she loved my hair and he told me it was interesting and we discussed the difference in the two statements. Men and women, never the twain shall meet.
But things ended on a high note when another friend told me, "I need more you in my life."
When Low Branches took the stage, it was with Annousheh playing keyboards, a first for the many times I've seen the band play.
Now that they no longer have a drummer, Josh is back on cello instead of bass, a welcome treat since his playing adds so much to their sound.
Christina thanked everyone for coming out on such a cold night and I didn't have the heart to tell her I came to share body heat since there wasn't any extra at my house.
They played songs I knew but had never heard with the addition of keys, and then she said in her quiet voice, "This song goes out to all the ladies. This might have happened to you...yea," and trailed off.
Dolly Parton's "Jolene" gets 'em every time with its lyrics about knowing that your man secretly pines for another woman and Josh plucking that mournful cello.
For their new release, "Rain Song," Adam from Nick Coward and the Last Battle joined them on trumpet and with Annousheh playing keyboards, it was a beautifully lush sounding arrangement of a song I've heard a few times, but always far more pared down.
A friend had told me earlier that he thinks "Rain Song" was the best thing they'd ever done and not just "indie good," but the kind of song that could be a real hit, even with west end moms.
He's got a point there.
Partway through the song, Christina hit the wrong note, something I've not heard her do, and the look on her face was hysterical, but the band just paused and started a do-over, ending perfectly.
"We seem really serious up here but really, we're always just trying not to crack up," she explained.
This from a woman who prides herself on mournful songs. She once gave me a CD labeled, "Sad folk songs for Karen's birthday" and it was some of the loveliest sad stuff you can imagine.
But I've also seen her laugh plenty, too, so I understood what she meant.
Next they did "Rain Song" again, this time in Turkish, followed by a Turkish folk song, both appropriate because Christina leaves for vacation in Turkey soon where she'll no doubt eat, drink and listen locally.
And with any luck, come back knowing "Little Red Corvette" in Turkish.
The way I was brought up (with a Richmond grandmother in the house), Sundays meant fried chicken for dinner.
Conveniently for me, Saison, mere blocks from home, does fried chicken on Sunday nights. All the family tradition, none of the work. Like.
I found a seat at the bar, took note of the football score and ordered Espolon and a quarter chicken.
"Light or dark?" was the bartender's only inquiry, while one of the servers stood at the end of the bar mouthing "dark, dark" to me.
Don't waste your energy, friend, I was already going dark, despite once having had my hand slapped for that preference.
A date had cooked fried chicken for me and when I kept helping myself to the dark pieces, he finally called me on it, claiming the last thigh for himself.
Here there was no one to chide me, so I enjoyed my crispy dark pieces with cole slaw and long-cooked green beans, tonight's designated sides.
The couple next to me soon paid their bill to leave for dinner at Rappahannock, causing the bartender to ask them to wait.
He put a lidded condiment container in front of them and asked if they'd deliver the shot to one of the bartenders at Rappahannock.
Shot of what? Shot of...soda, he said.
They agreed and were off while I went back to sucking bones and greasy fingers.
There wasn't enough time for dessert because my ultimate destination was Gallery 5 for music, so after a brief discussion of the opening of J-Ward's latest, the Rogue Gentleman, I walked a block over to show my ID and see the Low Branches new single release show.
I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was a seated show, so I staked out a chair before mingling to chat with friends.
The instrument-maker talked about his long-term plan for a workshop. The historian wondered why she hadn't been sent the invitation to the show. The fuzzmaster said he was pleased with Friday's set.
Flu was a big topic because one of tonight's performers (Jonathan Vassar) had it, necessitating Annousheh doing a solo set to take his place.
I've seen her play with and without her band, but there's a purity to hearing just her voice and keyboards.
She did some familiar songs like the well-written "The Trouble I Find" and some equally impressive new ones done "against my better judgment," she said.
She finished with her exquisite slowed-down cover of "In the Air Tonight," a song that always reminds me of a Phil Collins interview where he said the only thing that will go on his gravestone is, "Phil Collins, He wrote "In the Air Tonight."
Truth is, her version is far more aching and haunting than Phil's ever was.
It was during that song that I looked over and saw a friend walk in, a friend who'd been on the other side of the world for the past seven months.
During the break I got up for a hug and a hello, hearing him describe that time as "tentative and exhilarating," probably an apt description for climbing rock faces, teaching schol and living without running water.
A baker at Aziza before he'd left, he's already taken up employment with Sub Rosa, detailing what a crazy re-opening weekend it had been for them.
The Low Branches' singer, Christina, had told me a little about the second band, whom I'd never heard of: Rodney "the soul singer" Stith.
Seems she and Rodney ran into each other at the grocery store many times and one of them, they discussed the song playing in the store, leading to finding out that they were both musicians.
Rodney had a backing band he referred to as "the soul system" for that voice, made up of drums, guitar, bass, keyboards and violin, leaving Rodney to sing and play guitar.
And sing he did, in a voice that channeled every vintage R & B singer worth his salt, and beginning with "Calling Out" to show how he could use that voice.
Saying he needed some participation, he then asked the crowd to sing out as the band did pieces of "California Dreamin," "Losing My Religion," "Little Red Corvette" and even the Backstreet Boys' "I Want It That Way," a song that had certain members of the audience, Christina included, dancing in their seats in delight.
Me, I was amazed that so few people knew the words to "Little Red Corvette," as masterfully metaphorical a rock song as has ever been written.
During their set, I saw more friends arrive, this time the formerly-prickly one and his charming girlfriend, so I waved them over to the two empty seats in front of me.
The band returned to original material with "a new one, hot off the press, so hot it still has ink smears on it," a song Rodney described as about how women take men for granted, hurting them and moving on.
"Just Leave Me" had him putting his guitar down to stand and sing emotively like a true crooner, all hand gestures and closed eyes.
Reminding the crowd that tomorrow is MLK day, they closed with "Free at Last," integrating U2's "Pride (In the Name of Love)" to great effect and again soliciting the audience to sing along.
Hearing the friend next to me belt it out, I now understand why she's a karaoke queen. Such a voice.
Fortunately, there were more U2 fans than Prince fans among the crowd and it was a rousing and fitting tribute to King.
Afterwards, I turned to a friend, commenting that we see a lot of bands, but never anything like straight-on soul. I'd really enjoyed it.
During the break, I chatted with an old rocker about my recent acquisition of a Grin CD, a band I knew he'd remember (he did) and with his girlfriend about the painstaking cinnamon rolls she'd made from scratch using the Cinnabon recipe.
She told me she loved my hair and he told me it was interesting and we discussed the difference in the two statements. Men and women, never the twain shall meet.
But things ended on a high note when another friend told me, "I need more you in my life."
When Low Branches took the stage, it was with Annousheh playing keyboards, a first for the many times I've seen the band play.
Now that they no longer have a drummer, Josh is back on cello instead of bass, a welcome treat since his playing adds so much to their sound.
Christina thanked everyone for coming out on such a cold night and I didn't have the heart to tell her I came to share body heat since there wasn't any extra at my house.
They played songs I knew but had never heard with the addition of keys, and then she said in her quiet voice, "This song goes out to all the ladies. This might have happened to you...yea," and trailed off.
Dolly Parton's "Jolene" gets 'em every time with its lyrics about knowing that your man secretly pines for another woman and Josh plucking that mournful cello.
For their new release, "Rain Song," Adam from Nick Coward and the Last Battle joined them on trumpet and with Annousheh playing keyboards, it was a beautifully lush sounding arrangement of a song I've heard a few times, but always far more pared down.
A friend had told me earlier that he thinks "Rain Song" was the best thing they'd ever done and not just "indie good," but the kind of song that could be a real hit, even with west end moms.
He's got a point there.
Partway through the song, Christina hit the wrong note, something I've not heard her do, and the look on her face was hysterical, but the band just paused and started a do-over, ending perfectly.
"We seem really serious up here but really, we're always just trying not to crack up," she explained.
This from a woman who prides herself on mournful songs. She once gave me a CD labeled, "Sad folk songs for Karen's birthday" and it was some of the loveliest sad stuff you can imagine.
But I've also seen her laugh plenty, too, so I understood what she meant.
Next they did "Rain Song" again, this time in Turkish, followed by a Turkish folk song, both appropriate because Christina leaves for vacation in Turkey soon where she'll no doubt eat, drink and listen locally.
And with any luck, come back knowing "Little Red Corvette" in Turkish.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Now Hear This
Everyone needed my ear today.
First came the message, "We need to talk," which we tried doing, although we really didn't need to.
You can only rehash certain subjects so many times.
Next came, "Do you need a dinner date for tonight?" which I did so we met at Lemaire.
It was Discovery wine night when they practically give away bottles for $15, so he ordered a California chardonnay and I went with an interesting-sounding blend.
M. Chapoutier Cotes du Luberon La Ciboise Blanc, a blend of Grenache Blanc, Vermentino, Ugni Blanc and Roussanne, delivered lemon and pear up front and a nice acidity on the finish and a desire to know more about Ugni Blanc (which turned out to be nothing more than Trebbianio according to a certain someone's smart phone).
Although we started out at the bar, we soon moved to a window banquette, the better to watch the street theater and the entirety of the back room, which was full to capacity.
Deal-makers ignored everybody else, businessmen checked out every PYT who walked in and pairs of women dotted the bar, talking non-stop.
Entertaining as it was, I'd have been happy to sit outside since I've yet to do so, but my dinner date was having none of it.
Seems he's yet another man looking forward to warm weather going away while I'm lamenting its gradual but inevitable exit.
We started with Virginia cheese and charcuterie plates garnished with the sweetest of strawberries as he told me about all the drama going on with his job.
Stories like his make me grateful to be self-employed.
Like me, he's a big fan of eating out so we compared recent restaurant meals and who's been impressing us with which dishes and who seems rather static.
Nothing like a dinner date who wants to discuss food.
I kept it simple for dinner, a hearts of romaine salad with shrimp, more than enough after all that meat and cheese.
That and it left more room for dark chocolate terrine with mint cream and candied cashews, which we sort of shared, although he ate far less of it than I did.
It's a good thing I wasn't born back when women only ate a few bites on dinner dates in order to appear more feminine.
Call me new-fangled, but I count on my dresses to convey femininity, not my appetite.
The banquette was comfy enough that we lingered for hours sipping wine and chatting about our found similarities - living in Dupont Circle, a disdain for nightwear, a lot of dancing in our past- before noticing the time.
I don't have to be up early, but he does, so we wound things down and said goodnight.
There was still plenty of time for me to catch some music, so I drove to Balliceaux to find it.
The Low Branches were just finishing their first song, so I took a seat on the steps (okay, partially on a guy's feet, but he was on his phone so what did he care?) to watch their set.
I love hearing Christina sing Dolly Parton's "Jolene," especially with the fleshed out sound provided by Josh's bass and Blasco's drumming.
The also did a new song, one Matt called beautiful and Christina warned they hadn't played much yet.
Matt was right on this one.
They closed with a haunting song Christina sang in Turkish and it was over too soon.
During the break, I heard about the Fall Line Fest, which I'd missed by being at the beach.
One of the best moments came when I saw a friend, someone I recently learned I now have barely any degrees of separation from, and we just grinned at each other, unsure how to begin the discussion of what we now know.
We managed and it was pretty funny, but both of us are still adjusting.
The music resumed with ...and The Wiremen, a quartet of guitar, drums, violin and trumpet with occasional bass.
With a singer who warbles like Bryan Ferry (and was as often off-mic as on), Paul Watson's soulful trumpet playing (which I've been following for years since a long-ago show at Ghostprint Gallery), interesting drumming (brushes, yes, but the handles also used on the rims of the drums) and a violinist making the most of the instrument's potential (when he wasn't playing the bass and laying down grooves), the atmospheric set kept the crowd engaged in the soundcsapes they were creating.
Which is to say, that I never moved from the staircase where I had a straight shot of these four terrific musicians making music that spanned genres.
Before the last song, the singer said, "That bag is full of CDs and you can take one and pay what you will. That's the end of my sales pitch. Any more and I'm a minister."
No, thank you.
Heathen that I am, that's one thing my ears have absolutely no interest in hearing.
First came the message, "We need to talk," which we tried doing, although we really didn't need to.
You can only rehash certain subjects so many times.
Next came, "Do you need a dinner date for tonight?" which I did so we met at Lemaire.
It was Discovery wine night when they practically give away bottles for $15, so he ordered a California chardonnay and I went with an interesting-sounding blend.
M. Chapoutier Cotes du Luberon La Ciboise Blanc, a blend of Grenache Blanc, Vermentino, Ugni Blanc and Roussanne, delivered lemon and pear up front and a nice acidity on the finish and a desire to know more about Ugni Blanc (which turned out to be nothing more than Trebbianio according to a certain someone's smart phone).
Although we started out at the bar, we soon moved to a window banquette, the better to watch the street theater and the entirety of the back room, which was full to capacity.
Deal-makers ignored everybody else, businessmen checked out every PYT who walked in and pairs of women dotted the bar, talking non-stop.
Entertaining as it was, I'd have been happy to sit outside since I've yet to do so, but my dinner date was having none of it.
Seems he's yet another man looking forward to warm weather going away while I'm lamenting its gradual but inevitable exit.
We started with Virginia cheese and charcuterie plates garnished with the sweetest of strawberries as he told me about all the drama going on with his job.
Stories like his make me grateful to be self-employed.
Like me, he's a big fan of eating out so we compared recent restaurant meals and who's been impressing us with which dishes and who seems rather static.
Nothing like a dinner date who wants to discuss food.
I kept it simple for dinner, a hearts of romaine salad with shrimp, more than enough after all that meat and cheese.
That and it left more room for dark chocolate terrine with mint cream and candied cashews, which we sort of shared, although he ate far less of it than I did.
It's a good thing I wasn't born back when women only ate a few bites on dinner dates in order to appear more feminine.
Call me new-fangled, but I count on my dresses to convey femininity, not my appetite.
The banquette was comfy enough that we lingered for hours sipping wine and chatting about our found similarities - living in Dupont Circle, a disdain for nightwear, a lot of dancing in our past- before noticing the time.
I don't have to be up early, but he does, so we wound things down and said goodnight.
There was still plenty of time for me to catch some music, so I drove to Balliceaux to find it.
The Low Branches were just finishing their first song, so I took a seat on the steps (okay, partially on a guy's feet, but he was on his phone so what did he care?) to watch their set.
I love hearing Christina sing Dolly Parton's "Jolene," especially with the fleshed out sound provided by Josh's bass and Blasco's drumming.
The also did a new song, one Matt called beautiful and Christina warned they hadn't played much yet.
Matt was right on this one.
They closed with a haunting song Christina sang in Turkish and it was over too soon.
During the break, I heard about the Fall Line Fest, which I'd missed by being at the beach.
One of the best moments came when I saw a friend, someone I recently learned I now have barely any degrees of separation from, and we just grinned at each other, unsure how to begin the discussion of what we now know.
We managed and it was pretty funny, but both of us are still adjusting.
The music resumed with ...and The Wiremen, a quartet of guitar, drums, violin and trumpet with occasional bass.
With a singer who warbles like Bryan Ferry (and was as often off-mic as on), Paul Watson's soulful trumpet playing (which I've been following for years since a long-ago show at Ghostprint Gallery), interesting drumming (brushes, yes, but the handles also used on the rims of the drums) and a violinist making the most of the instrument's potential (when he wasn't playing the bass and laying down grooves), the atmospheric set kept the crowd engaged in the soundcsapes they were creating.
Which is to say, that I never moved from the staircase where I had a straight shot of these four terrific musicians making music that spanned genres.
Before the last song, the singer said, "That bag is full of CDs and you can take one and pay what you will. That's the end of my sales pitch. Any more and I'm a minister."
No, thank you.
Heathen that I am, that's one thing my ears have absolutely no interest in hearing.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Everybody Dance Now
Luckily, you didn't have to be 100 years old to attend.
Tonight was the album release show for the Low Branches, that band that had been a duo when I first started paying attention to them two and a half years ago and has now grown to a quartet.
They grow up so fast, don't they?
It was a cold but fast walk three blocks to Gallery 5 to find all kinds of favorite people there: the stylish friend and her cute husband, the music buddy sans boyfriend, the scientist, the beekeeper, the musician and light show wizard.
All the fun kids.
Starting the show was Dogs on Main Street, also known as Mac, looking particularly dapper tonight in a shirt and vest.
I've seen Mac probably half a dozen times, but I continue to be impressed by how his craft has developed over time.
His interesting growl of a voice always commands the room and inevitably, when he pulls out his harmonica, someone near me notes, "I love harmonica."
Tonight it was two different female friends. I'd work that if I were you, Mac.
"This song is new. It's about me It's called "Sledgehammer," he announced with no further explanation.
The audience was surprisingly quiet for his set, no doubt caught up in his earnest songs.
Partway through he said, "I'm going to switch it up," and put down his acoustic guitar for his electric.
Favorite lyric: Love don't depend on the time of day.
Before his last song, "Reckoning," he said, "I want to thank Christina for asking me to play tonight. Annousheh is next and she's gonna be great. Much better than listening to me up here bleeding."
Mac's self-deprecation skills continue to develop right along with his music, a humorous bonus for his audiences.
During the break, the scientist came up to say hello and I immediately asked if he had chocolate (he usually does) in his pocket.
Instead he was carrying Gummis and proceeded to pull out a pocket knife to open the bag and willingly shared with the group.
All at once, a friend came trotting over, saying she was hungry and had seen the candy.
Another friend introduced me to his date, who surprised me by knowing who I was, having read my blog all last summer.
"I felt like I was in your life," said the lovely stranger.
Now there's a 21st century situation.
Next up was Annousheh and my love for her well-crafted pop songs is a matter of record.
It had barely been three weeks since I'd seen her play at Balliceaux, but the set list was rearranged for us groupies tonight and Depeche Mode was nowhere to be found.
That might have been just for the pretty people crowd.
A girlfriend and I had taken up spots right in front while another friend perched on the steps leading to the stage.
From the first notes on her keyboard, it felt like time to dance.
Friend and I proceeded to bop in place to the hook-heavy songs until the beekeeper came over to say she wanted to dance but her boyfriend didn't.
Isn't that always the way?
A glance around, though, proved that while there was some female swaying going on, most males were rooted in place like oak trees.
Given how dancey her new album "The Trouble I Find" is, it was tough to comprehend.
After the set, I asked a guy near me why more people hadn't danced.
"Everyone wanted to," he said seriously. "But you never know what people's reasons or reluctance are about."
Is there anything better than a Saturday night philosopher? I think not.
A friend came up during the break and joined our little group and before you know it, she was talking about her youth.
When she reminisced about smoking weed in her bedroom with her girlfriend and exhaling through a sock out the window, another friend about lost it.
"I don't know what we thought the sock would do," she said, laughing just as hard.
Memories light the corners of our minds.
It seemed to me that the crowd was even bigger by the time the Low Branches started their set.
Tonight was their first time playing as a foursome with the addition of Blasco on drums, so a fuller sound was inevitable.
Singer Christina, looking lovely with a rose in her hair, began by saying the unlikeliest of things," I know we don't exactly seem like a dance band, but you can dance if you want. I love to dance!"
I'm here to say that nobody danced, but then the achingly beautiful songs don't really have a dance beat, if you know what I'm saying.
"Our new album is called "100 Years Old" and it's dedicated to my parents," she said, then realized how that sounded. "But they're not 100 years old. Ooh, I'm glad they're not here."
The band sounded terrific with Josh on electric bass, Matt's full attention on guitar and Blasco filling things out on drums.
In fact, there were several songs which he took to a whole new level with his drumming.
At one point, feedback became an issue and Christina stopped singing so Josh could check the amp, meanwhile telling us, "Our bass player Josh is our technician," causing Josh's girlfriend to yell, "Woo!" from the middle of the floor.
In a perfect world, technicians would get as much audience love as musicians.
Their last song was a show-stopper, not because it was their last, but because the song was so incredible that the room felt like it stood still.
Favorite lyric: You can't stop a storm, can you?
Afterwards, everyone around joined me in raving about how strong/breathtaking/catchy the last song had been.
"I feel like that was like '70s A.M. gold," the photographer gushed.
Well put, my friend. Just don't ask me to exhale through a sock.
Tonight was the album release show for the Low Branches, that band that had been a duo when I first started paying attention to them two and a half years ago and has now grown to a quartet.
They grow up so fast, don't they?
It was a cold but fast walk three blocks to Gallery 5 to find all kinds of favorite people there: the stylish friend and her cute husband, the music buddy sans boyfriend, the scientist, the beekeeper, the musician and light show wizard.
All the fun kids.
Starting the show was Dogs on Main Street, also known as Mac, looking particularly dapper tonight in a shirt and vest.
I've seen Mac probably half a dozen times, but I continue to be impressed by how his craft has developed over time.
His interesting growl of a voice always commands the room and inevitably, when he pulls out his harmonica, someone near me notes, "I love harmonica."
Tonight it was two different female friends. I'd work that if I were you, Mac.
"This song is new. It's about me It's called "Sledgehammer," he announced with no further explanation.
The audience was surprisingly quiet for his set, no doubt caught up in his earnest songs.
Partway through he said, "I'm going to switch it up," and put down his acoustic guitar for his electric.
Favorite lyric: Love don't depend on the time of day.
Before his last song, "Reckoning," he said, "I want to thank Christina for asking me to play tonight. Annousheh is next and she's gonna be great. Much better than listening to me up here bleeding."
Mac's self-deprecation skills continue to develop right along with his music, a humorous bonus for his audiences.
During the break, the scientist came up to say hello and I immediately asked if he had chocolate (he usually does) in his pocket.
Instead he was carrying Gummis and proceeded to pull out a pocket knife to open the bag and willingly shared with the group.
All at once, a friend came trotting over, saying she was hungry and had seen the candy.
Another friend introduced me to his date, who surprised me by knowing who I was, having read my blog all last summer.
"I felt like I was in your life," said the lovely stranger.
Now there's a 21st century situation.
Next up was Annousheh and my love for her well-crafted pop songs is a matter of record.
It had barely been three weeks since I'd seen her play at Balliceaux, but the set list was rearranged for us groupies tonight and Depeche Mode was nowhere to be found.
That might have been just for the pretty people crowd.
A girlfriend and I had taken up spots right in front while another friend perched on the steps leading to the stage.
From the first notes on her keyboard, it felt like time to dance.
Friend and I proceeded to bop in place to the hook-heavy songs until the beekeeper came over to say she wanted to dance but her boyfriend didn't.
Isn't that always the way?
A glance around, though, proved that while there was some female swaying going on, most males were rooted in place like oak trees.
Given how dancey her new album "The Trouble I Find" is, it was tough to comprehend.
After the set, I asked a guy near me why more people hadn't danced.
"Everyone wanted to," he said seriously. "But you never know what people's reasons or reluctance are about."
Is there anything better than a Saturday night philosopher? I think not.
A friend came up during the break and joined our little group and before you know it, she was talking about her youth.
When she reminisced about smoking weed in her bedroom with her girlfriend and exhaling through a sock out the window, another friend about lost it.
"I don't know what we thought the sock would do," she said, laughing just as hard.
Memories light the corners of our minds.
It seemed to me that the crowd was even bigger by the time the Low Branches started their set.
Tonight was their first time playing as a foursome with the addition of Blasco on drums, so a fuller sound was inevitable.
Singer Christina, looking lovely with a rose in her hair, began by saying the unlikeliest of things," I know we don't exactly seem like a dance band, but you can dance if you want. I love to dance!"
I'm here to say that nobody danced, but then the achingly beautiful songs don't really have a dance beat, if you know what I'm saying.
"Our new album is called "100 Years Old" and it's dedicated to my parents," she said, then realized how that sounded. "But they're not 100 years old. Ooh, I'm glad they're not here."
The band sounded terrific with Josh on electric bass, Matt's full attention on guitar and Blasco filling things out on drums.
In fact, there were several songs which he took to a whole new level with his drumming.
At one point, feedback became an issue and Christina stopped singing so Josh could check the amp, meanwhile telling us, "Our bass player Josh is our technician," causing Josh's girlfriend to yell, "Woo!" from the middle of the floor.
In a perfect world, technicians would get as much audience love as musicians.
Their last song was a show-stopper, not because it was their last, but because the song was so incredible that the room felt like it stood still.
Favorite lyric: You can't stop a storm, can you?
Afterwards, everyone around joined me in raving about how strong/breathtaking/catchy the last song had been.
"I feel like that was like '70s A.M. gold," the photographer gushed.
Well put, my friend. Just don't ask me to exhale through a sock.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Saudade for a Flip Phone
You know, the traditional gift for a third anniversary is leather.
Tonight was the third anniversary installment of the Listening Room and I counted myself among a very few who were there on that first night at the Michaux House, but I saw no obvious celebration leather.
Instead, I saw lots of new faces for the monthly installment of music that requires rapt attention and absolute silence from the audience.
After a proper mingling period with cookies (raspberry chocolate brownies and pecan sandies, oh, my!) and long-lost greetings (I missed last month's performance while in Italy), the show began.
Emcee Chris, with his newly shorn locks, waxed nostalgic about the early Listening Room days before the first act began.
Daniel Levi Goans and his wife Laura seemed glad to be here, saying, "This is an ideal environment for us to be heard."
They did a Dylan cover for a friend who was seeing Dylan tonight, with Daniel noting, "71 and still got it. Bob Dylan, not me."
"Obviously," his wife Laura said from the stage floor.
It takes a good woman to keep a man in line.
Laura had also made songbooks for the attendeea with each song numbered so we could follow along.
It could have been a little like hymn numbers on a chart in church, except I don't actually know that for sure.
Introducing the song "Enemies," Daniel observed, "This is a song from a real and true story. Hope I remember the ending."
For the record, he seemed to.
I learned about the Portuguese word "saudade" and the longing it implies, so I'd have to say that the Listening Room makes you smarter.
Favorite lyric: "Symphonies of sideways glances, Hands grazed and midnight romances."
During the break, I said hello to the poet and her visiting admirer, the scientist in shorts on this November night, the running sax player and the smiling beekeeper who joined us in the second row.
You see the most interesting people at the Listening Room.
The second act had nostalgic value because the Low Branches had played that very first Listening Room.
As singer Christina admitted, "It was our first Listening Room and probably my fourth time singing out."
Well, judging by how her voice and stage presence have matured, I'd say that the L.R. made for a wonderfully auspicious start for her Richmond career.
Josh was playing electric bass tonight instead of cello, as always adding a depth to their stripped-down sound.
Christina said he was also the one mixing and producing their new album, "One Hundred Years Old," due out at the end of January.
Mid-song, Christina stopped singing and said, "There's an echo. It sounds like there's a lot of us up here."
A minor adjustment, she started up again and it sounded like Matt, Christina and Josh again, the echo faded away.
With a voice as beautiful and hushed as hers, echo is unwanted.
"It's really great to have you with us," Christina said before their last song. "Friends, new friends and friends of friends."
That's about as good a summation of the family tree of the Listening Room as I've ever heard.
The good-sized crowd milled around during the break, brought back to their seats when Chris began talking from the stage.
Next thing, organizer Jonathan was walking onstage with his phone open and in hand.
"Is that flip phone?" a young attendee asked incredulously.
Yes, it was, youngster.
On the line and being amplified through the mic from Portland, Oregon was Chris Edwards, one of the L.R. founders and the original emcee.
"Chris, you're onstage again," Chris 2 told him.
"Oh, god!" Chris 1 responded, clearly surprised.
"We wanted to make you part of our third anniversary," Chris said and applause broke out for the L.R.'s original and well-spoken emcee.
Dave Watkins played third and he surprised long time fans like me by announcing, "I actually have a set list. If you've seen me before, you know that's..." and fading out.
"Unheard of?" asked a loud-mouth woman in the second row.
Okay, I asked that but he agreed.
Dave was playing his acoustic dulcitar, looping endlessly and wowing old and new fans.
He introduced "Pangea's Revenge" as a song written for a girl from Scotland he met in Richmond.
As many times as I've heard him sing that song, I hadn't known its starting point.
You have to admire a man who reacts to not being to drive or ride his bike to see a girl by writing a song about the super-continent.
From Scottish lasses to Scottish bands, Dave covered Mogwai's "Helicon 2," much to the delight of Mogwai fans like my friend's cute husband.
He also referenced the Colloquial Orchestra as, "A band I'm in with everyone else in Richmond."
Several of them were in attendance tonight, like the violinist who usually ends their set by writhing on the floor.
Dave surprised us all by taking out his guitar and playing the song he'd written for his high school talent show, "Square Peg, Round Hole" ("It's pretty wacky") with great flamenco-like flourishes and tapping the body of the guitar.
If you know Dave, you weren't surprised that he won or that he used the prize money to buy prom tickets.
That's a hell of a date, ladies, talented and practical.
He finished with "Marshall Street" from his latest CD and my personal favorite on the album.
It began with Dave looping dulcitar, including blowing into the body, and then he went on to drum madly.
Just as the song was coming to a rambunctious end, his glasses slid off his face and landed on the stage.
Best. Finish. Ever.
I only wish I'd had some leather to show my appreciation for three fine years.
Tonight was the third anniversary installment of the Listening Room and I counted myself among a very few who were there on that first night at the Michaux House, but I saw no obvious celebration leather.
Instead, I saw lots of new faces for the monthly installment of music that requires rapt attention and absolute silence from the audience.
After a proper mingling period with cookies (raspberry chocolate brownies and pecan sandies, oh, my!) and long-lost greetings (I missed last month's performance while in Italy), the show began.
Emcee Chris, with his newly shorn locks, waxed nostalgic about the early Listening Room days before the first act began.
Daniel Levi Goans and his wife Laura seemed glad to be here, saying, "This is an ideal environment for us to be heard."
They did a Dylan cover for a friend who was seeing Dylan tonight, with Daniel noting, "71 and still got it. Bob Dylan, not me."
"Obviously," his wife Laura said from the stage floor.
It takes a good woman to keep a man in line.
Laura had also made songbooks for the attendeea with each song numbered so we could follow along.
It could have been a little like hymn numbers on a chart in church, except I don't actually know that for sure.
Introducing the song "Enemies," Daniel observed, "This is a song from a real and true story. Hope I remember the ending."
For the record, he seemed to.
I learned about the Portuguese word "saudade" and the longing it implies, so I'd have to say that the Listening Room makes you smarter.
Favorite lyric: "Symphonies of sideways glances, Hands grazed and midnight romances."
During the break, I said hello to the poet and her visiting admirer, the scientist in shorts on this November night, the running sax player and the smiling beekeeper who joined us in the second row.
You see the most interesting people at the Listening Room.
The second act had nostalgic value because the Low Branches had played that very first Listening Room.
As singer Christina admitted, "It was our first Listening Room and probably my fourth time singing out."
Well, judging by how her voice and stage presence have matured, I'd say that the L.R. made for a wonderfully auspicious start for her Richmond career.
Josh was playing electric bass tonight instead of cello, as always adding a depth to their stripped-down sound.
Christina said he was also the one mixing and producing their new album, "One Hundred Years Old," due out at the end of January.
Mid-song, Christina stopped singing and said, "There's an echo. It sounds like there's a lot of us up here."
A minor adjustment, she started up again and it sounded like Matt, Christina and Josh again, the echo faded away.
With a voice as beautiful and hushed as hers, echo is unwanted.
"It's really great to have you with us," Christina said before their last song. "Friends, new friends and friends of friends."
That's about as good a summation of the family tree of the Listening Room as I've ever heard.
The good-sized crowd milled around during the break, brought back to their seats when Chris began talking from the stage.
Next thing, organizer Jonathan was walking onstage with his phone open and in hand.
"Is that flip phone?" a young attendee asked incredulously.
Yes, it was, youngster.
On the line and being amplified through the mic from Portland, Oregon was Chris Edwards, one of the L.R. founders and the original emcee.
"Chris, you're onstage again," Chris 2 told him.
"Oh, god!" Chris 1 responded, clearly surprised.
"We wanted to make you part of our third anniversary," Chris said and applause broke out for the L.R.'s original and well-spoken emcee.
Dave Watkins played third and he surprised long time fans like me by announcing, "I actually have a set list. If you've seen me before, you know that's..." and fading out.
"Unheard of?" asked a loud-mouth woman in the second row.
Okay, I asked that but he agreed.
Dave was playing his acoustic dulcitar, looping endlessly and wowing old and new fans.
He introduced "Pangea's Revenge" as a song written for a girl from Scotland he met in Richmond.
As many times as I've heard him sing that song, I hadn't known its starting point.
You have to admire a man who reacts to not being to drive or ride his bike to see a girl by writing a song about the super-continent.
From Scottish lasses to Scottish bands, Dave covered Mogwai's "Helicon 2," much to the delight of Mogwai fans like my friend's cute husband.
He also referenced the Colloquial Orchestra as, "A band I'm in with everyone else in Richmond."
Several of them were in attendance tonight, like the violinist who usually ends their set by writhing on the floor.
Dave surprised us all by taking out his guitar and playing the song he'd written for his high school talent show, "Square Peg, Round Hole" ("It's pretty wacky") with great flamenco-like flourishes and tapping the body of the guitar.
If you know Dave, you weren't surprised that he won or that he used the prize money to buy prom tickets.
That's a hell of a date, ladies, talented and practical.
He finished with "Marshall Street" from his latest CD and my personal favorite on the album.
It began with Dave looping dulcitar, including blowing into the body, and then he went on to drum madly.
Just as the song was coming to a rambunctious end, his glasses slid off his face and landed on the stage.
Best. Finish. Ever.
I only wish I'd had some leather to show my appreciation for three fine years.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Living the Life, er, Dream
Best kind of day to hang around and goof off: a rainy day like today.
In fact, I could have happily stayed home after my walk, but of course I didn't.
No, I went back to see "Spring Awakening" for the second time. And once again, I saw it from a stage seat.
And the best reason to see it a mere three weeks after I last saw it?
I mean, besides the five dollar ticket?
To sit on the opposite side of the stage from last time and notice things I hadn't when I was experiencing the story for the first time.
Like how when the boys in the cast are onstage singing "The Bitch of Living" I could see some of the girls in the cast just offstage dancing with abandon.
From my new vantage point, I could see the band, too, like when the guitarist switched from an electric to an acoustic guitar in full view of me.
Or when I could see the music director, her back to the band and facing the cast onstage, keeping tempo enthusiastically during "Totally F**ked."
But probably the best reason for sitting on the left side of the stage was the up close and personal view of the hilarious masturbation scene.
I'll tell you what, it's moments like that that make lifelong theater fans.
By the time the matinee let out, we were overdue to eat so we headed to Lunch.
It was an ideal time: after the lunch crowd and before the dinner crowd.
Even better, their happy hour runs every day of the week, so our Martin Codax Albarino was a mere $3.50 a glass.
Hello hay and honeysuckle on the cheap.
The River City Smokehouse and the Fay (house made chicken salad on multi-grain) preceded the very berry pound cake with mixed berries and whipped cream.
Best part of the meal: the pulled pork with coleslaw on a bun.
Our soundtrack was pure '60s Motown ("Baby Love," "Ain't No Woman") and while it was suggested I dance, I didn't.
I did, however, compliment our server on her beautiful breasts and she thanked me, saying, "That means so much more coming from a woman instead of a man. Like a woman telling you how good your make-up looks."
Actually her make-up looked great, too, but I didn't want to push my luck.
The best reason to finish up at Gallery 5 for the Commonwealth of Notions show was to benefit WRIR and Gallery 5.
WRIR DJ Shannon Cleary had assembled a stellar cast of bands for our philanthropic dollar.
Best reason to get to a show on time: so you don't miss anything you'd love to have heard.
I missed Snowy Owls' set and they not only played a new song but covered a White Laces song.
Damn, I could have smacked myself for missing out on those.
Best substitute for what I missed: catching the end of White Laces' incredibly tight set from the ticket desk.
Best surround sound set: Colloquial Orchestra's dynamic smorgasbord of eight musicians placed around the room and following the lead of the amazingly talented Dave Watkins on electric dulcitar.
The 27-minute improvised piece featured some of my favorite people, including Adam of Marionette, Matt of Snowy Owls and PJ, a guy who changes from mild-mannered photographer to a beast of a guitar god when he has an instrument in his hand.
Also of note was Brandon, who entered the fray late in the game, setting up a drum and taking over percussion duties impressively a bit after the set had begun.
Best act to overcome technical difficulties: Swordplay.
Isaac's rapping over vinyl is always a testament to his lyrical skills, but tonight he had so much snap, crackle and pop that he finally gave up using the mic and just sang a capella.
Later he told me that he felt like the sound problems were smacking him in the face, fighting him even.
To his credit, he fought back and won.
Best instinctive crowd direction: when the Low Branches' Christina opened her mouth to sing, what sounded like a half dozen people immediately shushed the crowd.
And they stayed quiet for the most part, even (or especially) when she covered the Boss.
For that matter, her comment, "We're the Low Branches and we're living the life. Er, dream. This is why we don't do stage talk," had the crowd, and even fellow bandmate Matt, cracking up.
Best multi-tasking by one musician in three bands: Matt, who played in Snowy Owls, Colloquial Orchestra and The Low Branches.
I don't know how my favorite fuzz-master even had time to do a shot of whiskey.
Best way to get a crowd dancing: having Bermuda Triangles play on the floor in front of the stage.
Their tribal drumming and wailing sax sound immediately got everyone moving and eventually there was full-on dancing going on as people lost their inhibitions and let the music take them away.
Best seamless transition: during Bermuda Triangles' last song, the final band, Canary, oh, Canary, took the stage.
Drummer Mark jumped into the drumming fray, playing along with the Triangles while CoC's guitarist and bass player held their instruments but stayed silent.
After Triangles' last note, they were thanked and Canary, oh, Canary began their set.
Theirs are some of my favorite bass lines.
Later in their set, guitarist Micheal announced, "Mark has broken his snare. Any drummer out there have a spare he can borrow?"
Not surprisingly, the show went on given the number of instruments in the room.
It was exceeded only by the number of musicians in the room.
Which made Gallery 5 the best possible place to spend my Saturday night.
And, just for the record, the light rain falling when I left made for the best possible walk home.
In fact, I could have happily stayed home after my walk, but of course I didn't.
No, I went back to see "Spring Awakening" for the second time. And once again, I saw it from a stage seat.
And the best reason to see it a mere three weeks after I last saw it?
I mean, besides the five dollar ticket?
To sit on the opposite side of the stage from last time and notice things I hadn't when I was experiencing the story for the first time.
Like how when the boys in the cast are onstage singing "The Bitch of Living" I could see some of the girls in the cast just offstage dancing with abandon.
From my new vantage point, I could see the band, too, like when the guitarist switched from an electric to an acoustic guitar in full view of me.
Or when I could see the music director, her back to the band and facing the cast onstage, keeping tempo enthusiastically during "Totally F**ked."
But probably the best reason for sitting on the left side of the stage was the up close and personal view of the hilarious masturbation scene.
I'll tell you what, it's moments like that that make lifelong theater fans.
By the time the matinee let out, we were overdue to eat so we headed to Lunch.
It was an ideal time: after the lunch crowd and before the dinner crowd.
Even better, their happy hour runs every day of the week, so our Martin Codax Albarino was a mere $3.50 a glass.
Hello hay and honeysuckle on the cheap.
The River City Smokehouse and the Fay (house made chicken salad on multi-grain) preceded the very berry pound cake with mixed berries and whipped cream.
Best part of the meal: the pulled pork with coleslaw on a bun.
Our soundtrack was pure '60s Motown ("Baby Love," "Ain't No Woman") and while it was suggested I dance, I didn't.
I did, however, compliment our server on her beautiful breasts and she thanked me, saying, "That means so much more coming from a woman instead of a man. Like a woman telling you how good your make-up looks."
Actually her make-up looked great, too, but I didn't want to push my luck.
The best reason to finish up at Gallery 5 for the Commonwealth of Notions show was to benefit WRIR and Gallery 5.
WRIR DJ Shannon Cleary had assembled a stellar cast of bands for our philanthropic dollar.
Best reason to get to a show on time: so you don't miss anything you'd love to have heard.
I missed Snowy Owls' set and they not only played a new song but covered a White Laces song.
Damn, I could have smacked myself for missing out on those.
Best substitute for what I missed: catching the end of White Laces' incredibly tight set from the ticket desk.
Best surround sound set: Colloquial Orchestra's dynamic smorgasbord of eight musicians placed around the room and following the lead of the amazingly talented Dave Watkins on electric dulcitar.
The 27-minute improvised piece featured some of my favorite people, including Adam of Marionette, Matt of Snowy Owls and PJ, a guy who changes from mild-mannered photographer to a beast of a guitar god when he has an instrument in his hand.
Also of note was Brandon, who entered the fray late in the game, setting up a drum and taking over percussion duties impressively a bit after the set had begun.
Best act to overcome technical difficulties: Swordplay.
Isaac's rapping over vinyl is always a testament to his lyrical skills, but tonight he had so much snap, crackle and pop that he finally gave up using the mic and just sang a capella.
Later he told me that he felt like the sound problems were smacking him in the face, fighting him even.
To his credit, he fought back and won.
Best instinctive crowd direction: when the Low Branches' Christina opened her mouth to sing, what sounded like a half dozen people immediately shushed the crowd.
And they stayed quiet for the most part, even (or especially) when she covered the Boss.
For that matter, her comment, "We're the Low Branches and we're living the life. Er, dream. This is why we don't do stage talk," had the crowd, and even fellow bandmate Matt, cracking up.
Best multi-tasking by one musician in three bands: Matt, who played in Snowy Owls, Colloquial Orchestra and The Low Branches.
I don't know how my favorite fuzz-master even had time to do a shot of whiskey.
Best way to get a crowd dancing: having Bermuda Triangles play on the floor in front of the stage.
Their tribal drumming and wailing sax sound immediately got everyone moving and eventually there was full-on dancing going on as people lost their inhibitions and let the music take them away.
Best seamless transition: during Bermuda Triangles' last song, the final band, Canary, oh, Canary, took the stage.
Drummer Mark jumped into the drumming fray, playing along with the Triangles while CoC's guitarist and bass player held their instruments but stayed silent.
After Triangles' last note, they were thanked and Canary, oh, Canary began their set.
Theirs are some of my favorite bass lines.
Later in their set, guitarist Micheal announced, "Mark has broken his snare. Any drummer out there have a spare he can borrow?"
Not surprisingly, the show went on given the number of instruments in the room.
It was exceeded only by the number of musicians in the room.
Which made Gallery 5 the best possible place to spend my Saturday night.
And, just for the record, the light rain falling when I left made for the best possible walk home.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Of Dogs and Men
This ain't a scene, it's a lifestyle.
Actually, it's getting to be enough of a scene that a music lover has multiple options on a Tuesday night.
I took bees and fish over Shakespearean tragedy and loud estrogen, but that was just me.
Well, me and the friends who said they'd seen enough really loud shows lately to want something more ear-friendly tonight.
Actually, I started at the bar at Bistro 27 where a group immediately took me in, saying, "Welcome to the party."
When they departed for a table, I stayed put for Meiomi Pinot Noir and a satisfying dish of vegetables, cannellini beans and duck confit.
You can never go wrong with duck poached in its own fat.
Or with a dessert plate that featured chocolate hazelnut torte and chocolate mousse.
But you can go wrong with a nearby bar sitter with deplorable manners.
Unfortunately, my dearly departed party was replaced with a girl on a cell phone.
And by that I mean from the second she walked in she was talking on her phone.
She talked on it through wine, carpaccio and cheesecake. She talked on it while ordering.
And eating.
Didn't our mothers teach us that that was rude?
In fact, she talked so non-stop that she never took off her jacket, scarf or hat. She ate with her right hand and held her phone with the left.
Unfortunately, it made it easier to leave because I was tired of hearing her incessant chatter.
The fact that I had a great show to go to didn't hurt, either.
Sponge HQ, on the top floor of the Anderson Gallery, was playing host to a double bill of the Low Branches and Brown Bird.
And one of the benefits of going to Sponge is the beehive. Another is the burbling fish tank, the lights of which dimmed only once the music started.
You just can't get that kind of ambiance at most venues.
Mingling before the show, I asked a musician friend where his lovely wife was.
She was home with their dog, a rescue he said had lost her skittishness with the magic formula , according to him, of "love and parameters."
Like what men need, I asked. Grinning, he agreed.
The Low Branches started the show with their achingly beautiful songs, four of which were new to even us long-time fans.
After the first song, lead singer Christina apologized, "The first song is always rough, then it gets better. It's not getting better yet, though."
Truth be told, it was mesmerizing everyone in the room with lyrics of love and longing.
The spell was broken only when Christina decided to do a song not on the set list, throwing off guitarist Matt who was still going with the plan.
"I'm usually the one who screws up," Christina laughed.
On my way to the bathroom during the short break, a guy looked at me and inquired, "Were you in Charlottesville recently?"
Why, yes, I was at the Other Lives show, I told him.
"I thought I saw you there!" he said before we discussed what an excellent show that had been.
I have no idea who he was or how he recognized me.
Break over, Rhode Island's Brown Bird took command of the room.
It wasn't my first time seeing them, although the last iteration had been as a trio and tonight they were a duo.
The friends sitting next to me hadn't seen them before, but knowing their taste, I was certain they'd love Brown Birds' genre-bending sound.
Part folk, part gypsy music, part bluegrass, part blues, the music benefits from two strong vocalists and more instruments than any two people should be able to play.
Upright bass, guitar, violin, cello, drum, percussion and banjo. The only thing I could think of that was missing was dobro which they'd had when they were a trio.
Leader Dave, who could apparently do at least three or four things at any point in any song, wore a most handsome black beard that got noticed in aroom city full of great beards.
After a couple of songs, he commented, "The percussion is rally loud in this room. I wish I could turn it down."
His band mate, MorganEve, looked at him wryly and said, "So do I."
But that percussion was central to their sound, at times as key to their eastern European-influenced sound as the string instruments.
Tonight was the first night of a three-month tour and before one song, Dave apologized, saying they'd only played this song out once or twice before and never with a violin.
I'd wager that not a person in the room would have known that had we not been told.
When their set ended, people made a beeline for their merch table, always a gratifying thing to see. I'd done the same after the first time I saw them.
A small group was going to Cous Cous afterwards, so I agreed to go along even though I usually limit my presence there to worthy shows.
In yet another unlikely twist, a couple of us celebrated our fine evening of music with Cokes.
Without a music crowd, the place was practically dead, but our little group made the best of it with any number of unlikely conversations.
Nutrition? Check. Living your passion? Check. Soccer branding? Check.Shoegaze gods in sunglasses? Check. Drawn-out birthday celebrations? Check.
But when it came time to go on the hunt for some pie, I bowed out.
I honestly didn't need another pleasure to close the book on tonight's chapter of lifestyles of the poor but passionate.
Besides, the pie will be there for me.
It's just another part of the scene.
Actually, it's getting to be enough of a scene that a music lover has multiple options on a Tuesday night.
I took bees and fish over Shakespearean tragedy and loud estrogen, but that was just me.
Well, me and the friends who said they'd seen enough really loud shows lately to want something more ear-friendly tonight.
Actually, I started at the bar at Bistro 27 where a group immediately took me in, saying, "Welcome to the party."
When they departed for a table, I stayed put for Meiomi Pinot Noir and a satisfying dish of vegetables, cannellini beans and duck confit.
You can never go wrong with duck poached in its own fat.
Or with a dessert plate that featured chocolate hazelnut torte and chocolate mousse.
But you can go wrong with a nearby bar sitter with deplorable manners.
Unfortunately, my dearly departed party was replaced with a girl on a cell phone.
And by that I mean from the second she walked in she was talking on her phone.
She talked on it through wine, carpaccio and cheesecake. She talked on it while ordering.
And eating.
Didn't our mothers teach us that that was rude?
In fact, she talked so non-stop that she never took off her jacket, scarf or hat. She ate with her right hand and held her phone with the left.
Unfortunately, it made it easier to leave because I was tired of hearing her incessant chatter.
The fact that I had a great show to go to didn't hurt, either.
Sponge HQ, on the top floor of the Anderson Gallery, was playing host to a double bill of the Low Branches and Brown Bird.
And one of the benefits of going to Sponge is the beehive. Another is the burbling fish tank, the lights of which dimmed only once the music started.
You just can't get that kind of ambiance at most venues.
Mingling before the show, I asked a musician friend where his lovely wife was.
She was home with their dog, a rescue he said had lost her skittishness with the magic formula , according to him, of "love and parameters."
Like what men need, I asked. Grinning, he agreed.
The Low Branches started the show with their achingly beautiful songs, four of which were new to even us long-time fans.
After the first song, lead singer Christina apologized, "The first song is always rough, then it gets better. It's not getting better yet, though."
Truth be told, it was mesmerizing everyone in the room with lyrics of love and longing.
The spell was broken only when Christina decided to do a song not on the set list, throwing off guitarist Matt who was still going with the plan.
"I'm usually the one who screws up," Christina laughed.
On my way to the bathroom during the short break, a guy looked at me and inquired, "Were you in Charlottesville recently?"
Why, yes, I was at the Other Lives show, I told him.
"I thought I saw you there!" he said before we discussed what an excellent show that had been.
I have no idea who he was or how he recognized me.
Break over, Rhode Island's Brown Bird took command of the room.
It wasn't my first time seeing them, although the last iteration had been as a trio and tonight they were a duo.
The friends sitting next to me hadn't seen them before, but knowing their taste, I was certain they'd love Brown Birds' genre-bending sound.
Part folk, part gypsy music, part bluegrass, part blues, the music benefits from two strong vocalists and more instruments than any two people should be able to play.
Upright bass, guitar, violin, cello, drum, percussion and banjo. The only thing I could think of that was missing was dobro which they'd had when they were a trio.
Leader Dave, who could apparently do at least three or four things at any point in any song, wore a most handsome black beard that got noticed in a
After a couple of songs, he commented, "The percussion is rally loud in this room. I wish I could turn it down."
His band mate, MorganEve, looked at him wryly and said, "So do I."
But that percussion was central to their sound, at times as key to their eastern European-influenced sound as the string instruments.
Tonight was the first night of a three-month tour and before one song, Dave apologized, saying they'd only played this song out once or twice before and never with a violin.
I'd wager that not a person in the room would have known that had we not been told.
When their set ended, people made a beeline for their merch table, always a gratifying thing to see. I'd done the same after the first time I saw them.
A small group was going to Cous Cous afterwards, so I agreed to go along even though I usually limit my presence there to worthy shows.
In yet another unlikely twist, a couple of us celebrated our fine evening of music with Cokes.
Without a music crowd, the place was practically dead, but our little group made the best of it with any number of unlikely conversations.
Nutrition? Check. Living your passion? Check. Soccer branding? Check.Shoegaze gods in sunglasses? Check. Drawn-out birthday celebrations? Check.
But when it came time to go on the hunt for some pie, I bowed out.
I honestly didn't need another pleasure to close the book on tonight's chapter of lifestyles of the poor but passionate.
Besides, the pie will be there for me.
It's just another part of the scene.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
On Not Escaping Queen
How great is it when the hardest choice I have to make on a Saturday night is which show to attend first? Well, that and who's worth saving a seat for.
My decision about where to start was actually a no-brainer because the CD release party show at the Camel was for Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird. Speckled Bird vocalist/accordion player Antonia is also Jonathan's wife and when Antonia is involved, shows start on time, even in a town notorious for late-starting shows. We love her for this.
Knowing this, I began my night at the Camel, arriving early enough to score a front table (and even save a seat for a late-arriving friend who, when he finally arrived told me that saving him a seat was "the nicest thing anyone's done for me all year." That may be the best thank you I've had all year) and do some mingling before the musical magic happened.
It was then that one of my favorite musicians came over and said, "You know I stalk your blog, but what's the scoop on what's happening with you?" Fair enough; I do omit plenty of details, so I told her what was up lately and she was kindly supportive of my slow-moving pace. It was a nice shot of unexpected girl talk.
Low Branches kicked off the show after singer Christina had deadpanned to a few of us that, "We're doing some Queen and I'll be rapping." If you've ever heard her ethereal singing voice, that statement would be as hysterical to you as it was to me. Matt's drumming and guitar playing combined with her voice set the tone (and standard) for a beautiful night of music.
Zac Hryciak and the Jungle Beat played next and, honestly, I never tire of that beat. They'd added a second violinist, making for a much fuller sound, even as the crowd continued to grow in size. They're also in recording mode, hoping to be out in the spring.
By the time Jonathan Vassar and Speckled Bird played, the room was filled to bursting with friends, families and old high school buddies.
Antonia even acknowledged that, "I think I told a couple people that this is even better than a wedding," a statement which could be misconstrued, except that she explained what she meant about the assembled group (part of it was about alcohol being involved...but just a small part).
It was a true album release show, with the band playing the new one, "Signs and Wonders" in order, as if for consideration of the audience. The crowd clearly gave off an energy of devotion and admiration for the band as well as the excellent new material, with loud and enthusiastic applause after every song.
No question, it was a love fest. Camel owner Rand came up to me afterwards and said, "That was magic, wasn't it?" For devotees of Americana folk, thoughtful songwriting and mesmerizing harmonies, it was indeed that.
But like all good punctual shows, it was over at a reasonable hour, so a friend and I gathered our forces and went to Gallery 5 for the end of the Ghost of Pop 6 show. Since it featured seven bands, we felt sure that we still had time to catch at least two and maybe three. We were right.
I was pleased that we'd made it in time for Fuzzy Baby's set, because I love their unique sound and offbeat song topics. They're playing the next Listening Room ("No booze! No talking! It's going to be great!" Giustin told the audience, suggesting everyone come).
Those who had been there for Roctopussy's set (James Bond movie music covers) raved about what an amazing set we had missed. There was violin shredding! A French horn! Madness! I only hope they play again soon so I, too, can have the "Goldfinger" experience I missed tonight.
After Fuzzy Baby's set we ran into upright bass player extraordinaire, Matt Gold, of Prabir and the Goldrush, who was charmingly loopy but only slightly concerned about his ability to play next. I assured him he'd be fine, noting that his muscle memory would save the day. "Oh, you're a musician then?" he asked, his eyes lighting up at the thought that I understood. As if.
"No," I explained. "But I can talk to one." His concern was for naught because Prabir and the Goldrush played a rollicking set, ending with Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" and a crowd sing-along. One way or another, it looks like I was destined to hear Queen tonight after all.
Afterwards, a friend came up and asked if I wanted to go get drunk and ride the Bottom and Back bus with him tonight. Tempting as it sounded (and we consider ourselves soul mates since we show up at so many of the same places), I declined.
Later Andrew asked me if I would do it on another occasion, assuring me that the people-watching alone makes it well worth it. Not one to rule things out, I guess I'll have to put it on my bucket list.
Problem is that I always seem to be too busy to take the time to come up with the damn list...but I'm not sure that's a problem at all.
My decision about where to start was actually a no-brainer because the CD release party show at the Camel was for Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird. Speckled Bird vocalist/accordion player Antonia is also Jonathan's wife and when Antonia is involved, shows start on time, even in a town notorious for late-starting shows. We love her for this.
Knowing this, I began my night at the Camel, arriving early enough to score a front table (and even save a seat for a late-arriving friend who, when he finally arrived told me that saving him a seat was "the nicest thing anyone's done for me all year." That may be the best thank you I've had all year) and do some mingling before the musical magic happened.
It was then that one of my favorite musicians came over and said, "You know I stalk your blog, but what's the scoop on what's happening with you?" Fair enough; I do omit plenty of details, so I told her what was up lately and she was kindly supportive of my slow-moving pace. It was a nice shot of unexpected girl talk.
Low Branches kicked off the show after singer Christina had deadpanned to a few of us that, "We're doing some Queen and I'll be rapping." If you've ever heard her ethereal singing voice, that statement would be as hysterical to you as it was to me. Matt's drumming and guitar playing combined with her voice set the tone (and standard) for a beautiful night of music.
Zac Hryciak and the Jungle Beat played next and, honestly, I never tire of that beat. They'd added a second violinist, making for a much fuller sound, even as the crowd continued to grow in size. They're also in recording mode, hoping to be out in the spring.
By the time Jonathan Vassar and Speckled Bird played, the room was filled to bursting with friends, families and old high school buddies.
Antonia even acknowledged that, "I think I told a couple people that this is even better than a wedding," a statement which could be misconstrued, except that she explained what she meant about the assembled group (part of it was about alcohol being involved...but just a small part).
It was a true album release show, with the band playing the new one, "Signs and Wonders" in order, as if for consideration of the audience. The crowd clearly gave off an energy of devotion and admiration for the band as well as the excellent new material, with loud and enthusiastic applause after every song.
No question, it was a love fest. Camel owner Rand came up to me afterwards and said, "That was magic, wasn't it?" For devotees of Americana folk, thoughtful songwriting and mesmerizing harmonies, it was indeed that.
But like all good punctual shows, it was over at a reasonable hour, so a friend and I gathered our forces and went to Gallery 5 for the end of the Ghost of Pop 6 show. Since it featured seven bands, we felt sure that we still had time to catch at least two and maybe three. We were right.
I was pleased that we'd made it in time for Fuzzy Baby's set, because I love their unique sound and offbeat song topics. They're playing the next Listening Room ("No booze! No talking! It's going to be great!" Giustin told the audience, suggesting everyone come).
Those who had been there for Roctopussy's set (James Bond movie music covers) raved about what an amazing set we had missed. There was violin shredding! A French horn! Madness! I only hope they play again soon so I, too, can have the "Goldfinger" experience I missed tonight.
After Fuzzy Baby's set we ran into upright bass player extraordinaire, Matt Gold, of Prabir and the Goldrush, who was charmingly loopy but only slightly concerned about his ability to play next. I assured him he'd be fine, noting that his muscle memory would save the day. "Oh, you're a musician then?" he asked, his eyes lighting up at the thought that I understood. As if.
"No," I explained. "But I can talk to one." His concern was for naught because Prabir and the Goldrush played a rollicking set, ending with Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" and a crowd sing-along. One way or another, it looks like I was destined to hear Queen tonight after all.
Afterwards, a friend came up and asked if I wanted to go get drunk and ride the Bottom and Back bus with him tonight. Tempting as it sounded (and we consider ourselves soul mates since we show up at so many of the same places), I declined.
Later Andrew asked me if I would do it on another occasion, assuring me that the people-watching alone makes it well worth it. Not one to rule things out, I guess I'll have to put it on my bucket list.
Problem is that I always seem to be too busy to take the time to come up with the damn list...but I'm not sure that's a problem at all.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Lend Me Your Layers
Sadly, tonight was probably one of the last nights suitable for a performance on the deck (at least for us thin-blooded types), so I had no intention of missing the potluck and music at the log cabin by the bamboo forest, even if it meant crossing the river.
The last such invitation had resulted in a perfect summer evening, here, ending in a thunderstorm that drowned out our applause. Tonight's show required extra layers, a fire pit and a quilt, but was no less impressive for the musical talent showcased.
We started by eating (chili, homemade pizza, artichoke squares, hot pepper pasta, deviled eggs, bread and Nutella, hummus and pita, mashed sweet potatoes, and pomelo, which we were told is meant to be shared by friends...and was) Mulled wine, hot cider and beer aided the mingling and prepared us for the outside.
The show began out back with most of us on the deck and the rest gathered in the yard just below to enjoy the crackling fire. Our hostess had made homemade marshmallows for toasting; if you knew her, this wouldn't surprise you in the least. When she serves s'mores, she also makes the graham crackers. As far as we know, she hasn't started making her own chocolate yet.
Low Branches gave another of their hushed and pretty performances, with Christina telling us it was only the second time she'd played electric guitar on stage (no one would have guessed had she not said that).
Their set ended with a Jonathan Vassar cover in tribute to his birthday tomorrow. Singer Christina called it "goofy" but the audience loved the rendition, very different from Jonathan's but just as spectacular.
Kentucky's Englishman were next and had added a drummer since I last saw them. Lead singer Andrew has a voice made for folk (sample lyric: "Sometimes I cope with absence with absinthe") and very reminiscent of 70s-era singer-songwriters. The group's harmonies were just beautiful and the addition of percussion to guitar and keys made a nice difference.
Watching the band play was enhanced by the drummer's movements which caused a nearby 5' plant's branches and flowers to move with his every stroke. It made for a lovely visual against the trail of smoke on a crisp fall night.
Their last song contained my favorite lyric, "I'm classically trained to find you in the end." (Hopeful sigh) After finishing, Andrew announced, "Let's drink...until our hosts want to go to bed!"
Driving home later was more successful than driving there; despite multiple previous visits I had gotten turned around in the dark on my way over, although I did finally get to see the river a few streets away. (Ooh, scenic! Boy, am I lost in the dark!)
I fully intended to call it a night, but driving home up Lombardy, I was enticed by the thought of Fight the Big Bull playing at Balliceaux, so I made one last stop. I haven't seen them since they'd played at Duke University with Justin Vernon (aka Bon Iver) and now that they'd played with indie royalty, I couldn't resist seeing if they looked different.
The room was packed with lots of familiar faces and it wasn't long before one of my favorite cabin cohorts showed up, too. There were the usual jazz lovers, intently bopping their heads to every note, as well as the see-and-be-seen-crowd. My favorite bartender Austin had just gotten off so we discussed the show we're both eagerly anticipating next week.
FTBB played an intense set, as usual, and I was glad I'd stopped by to hear all that brass set off so well by upright bass, drums and jazz guitar. The music couldn't have been any more different than the cabin show and that was kind of the appeal. Two very different musical experiences back to back.
Okay, Jameson, it's not a port city, but where are you going to find all that Richmond has to offer?
Take your time. You can get back with me on that.
The last such invitation had resulted in a perfect summer evening, here, ending in a thunderstorm that drowned out our applause. Tonight's show required extra layers, a fire pit and a quilt, but was no less impressive for the musical talent showcased.
We started by eating (chili, homemade pizza, artichoke squares, hot pepper pasta, deviled eggs, bread and Nutella, hummus and pita, mashed sweet potatoes, and pomelo, which we were told is meant to be shared by friends...and was) Mulled wine, hot cider and beer aided the mingling and prepared us for the outside.
The show began out back with most of us on the deck and the rest gathered in the yard just below to enjoy the crackling fire. Our hostess had made homemade marshmallows for toasting; if you knew her, this wouldn't surprise you in the least. When she serves s'mores, she also makes the graham crackers. As far as we know, she hasn't started making her own chocolate yet.
Low Branches gave another of their hushed and pretty performances, with Christina telling us it was only the second time she'd played electric guitar on stage (no one would have guessed had she not said that).
Their set ended with a Jonathan Vassar cover in tribute to his birthday tomorrow. Singer Christina called it "goofy" but the audience loved the rendition, very different from Jonathan's but just as spectacular.
Kentucky's Englishman were next and had added a drummer since I last saw them. Lead singer Andrew has a voice made for folk (sample lyric: "Sometimes I cope with absence with absinthe") and very reminiscent of 70s-era singer-songwriters. The group's harmonies were just beautiful and the addition of percussion to guitar and keys made a nice difference.
Watching the band play was enhanced by the drummer's movements which caused a nearby 5' plant's branches and flowers to move with his every stroke. It made for a lovely visual against the trail of smoke on a crisp fall night.
Their last song contained my favorite lyric, "I'm classically trained to find you in the end." (Hopeful sigh) After finishing, Andrew announced, "Let's drink...until our hosts want to go to bed!"
Driving home later was more successful than driving there; despite multiple previous visits I had gotten turned around in the dark on my way over, although I did finally get to see the river a few streets away. (Ooh, scenic! Boy, am I lost in the dark!)
I fully intended to call it a night, but driving home up Lombardy, I was enticed by the thought of Fight the Big Bull playing at Balliceaux, so I made one last stop. I haven't seen them since they'd played at Duke University with Justin Vernon (aka Bon Iver) and now that they'd played with indie royalty, I couldn't resist seeing if they looked different.
The room was packed with lots of familiar faces and it wasn't long before one of my favorite cabin cohorts showed up, too. There were the usual jazz lovers, intently bopping their heads to every note, as well as the see-and-be-seen-crowd. My favorite bartender Austin had just gotten off so we discussed the show we're both eagerly anticipating next week.
FTBB played an intense set, as usual, and I was glad I'd stopped by to hear all that brass set off so well by upright bass, drums and jazz guitar. The music couldn't have been any more different than the cabin show and that was kind of the appeal. Two very different musical experiences back to back.
Okay, Jameson, it's not a port city, but where are you going to find all that Richmond has to offer?
Take your time. You can get back with me on that.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Jams and Omens for 100, Alex
If you go to a Belle Boggs reading, you will get jam. Maybe it will be blueberry mint or maybe hot pepper jelly or even strawberry preserves, but it will be named after one of the recurring characters in her short story collection, Mattaponi Queen.
At tonight's reading at Gallery 5, we were treated to part of a story involving the character Skinny, a divorced alcoholic druggie not long for this world. She ended the story by saying, "Sorry to read such a depressing story. They're not all that depressing."
All her stories are set in King and Queen County or King William County, the places she grew up and it is these places that inform all of her writing. Despite the diversity of the area, her writing never gives clues to a person's ethnicity, black, white or native American. Tellingly, race is never stated.
The way characters recur throughout the collection reminded me of John O'Hara's short story collections, where you never knew when a familiar name from Gibbsville was going to reappear in another story. It's a comforting device for short story collection lovers, a group in which I include myself.
After the reading, she offered up the jam she and her mother had made as a gift to the audience. Given the story we'd just heard, I couldn't resist Skinny's blueberry mint; I plan to have it on waffles tomorrow morning.
One of the attendees was part of the group I'd been with at Ipanema last night and she came up to say hello and tell me how much her visiting friend had said he'd enjoyed his extensive conversation with me last night. "She's so cool, " I was told he'd said.
Is there a better compliment than being told that someone raved about his enjoyment of a shared conversation, especially not knowing it would be passed on to me? Not sure that there is.
Conveniently for me, the reading was followed by the Silent Music Revival, an event that counts me as a regular attendee (except that time I was at the beach and I'll never hear the end of that).
We began with a short, Le Retour a la Raison, made by Man Ray, a brilliant man in so many ways. Favorite all-time Man Ray quote: "There is no progress in art, any more than there is progress in making love. There are simply different ways of doing it." True that.
Tonight's feature was 1947's Le Tempestaire, by Jean Epstein with music improvised by the Low Branches. The film was set in Brittany (the shoes and shore were a dead giveaway) about a girl who fears for her love's life when he sets out to fish for sardines right before a storm.
The Low Branches' music was the ideal sound for the endless shots of the surf crashing and the omens with which the girl was obsessed. At one point, lyrics about "saving them all" synched up so well with the unfolding story as to be uncanny.
The storm-tamer's black crystal ball eventually breaks, returning the man to his sweetheart and calming the sea, as the band's sound wound down and we were delivered from the French coast back to Jackson Ward.
It had apparently started raining some time after I'd arrived for the reading, so a friend offered me a ride, but we exited to find only puddles, so he instead walked me home, pointing out places of note.
A friend of his had had sex in one of the milk-bottles of the dairy building pre-renovation (and pre-marriage) and a bartender I knew had lived just around the corner from me.
And because he's a scientist-type, he somehow noticed in the dark that a passing tree branch had grown in a circle, doubling back on itself. "I don't know how I didn't notice that before," he said perfectly seriously.
I'm not the scientific type, but I could say the same here lately.
At tonight's reading at Gallery 5, we were treated to part of a story involving the character Skinny, a divorced alcoholic druggie not long for this world. She ended the story by saying, "Sorry to read such a depressing story. They're not all that depressing."
All her stories are set in King and Queen County or King William County, the places she grew up and it is these places that inform all of her writing. Despite the diversity of the area, her writing never gives clues to a person's ethnicity, black, white or native American. Tellingly, race is never stated.
The way characters recur throughout the collection reminded me of John O'Hara's short story collections, where you never knew when a familiar name from Gibbsville was going to reappear in another story. It's a comforting device for short story collection lovers, a group in which I include myself.
After the reading, she offered up the jam she and her mother had made as a gift to the audience. Given the story we'd just heard, I couldn't resist Skinny's blueberry mint; I plan to have it on waffles tomorrow morning.
One of the attendees was part of the group I'd been with at Ipanema last night and she came up to say hello and tell me how much her visiting friend had said he'd enjoyed his extensive conversation with me last night. "She's so cool, " I was told he'd said.
Is there a better compliment than being told that someone raved about his enjoyment of a shared conversation, especially not knowing it would be passed on to me? Not sure that there is.
Conveniently for me, the reading was followed by the Silent Music Revival, an event that counts me as a regular attendee (except that time I was at the beach and I'll never hear the end of that).
We began with a short, Le Retour a la Raison, made by Man Ray, a brilliant man in so many ways. Favorite all-time Man Ray quote: "There is no progress in art, any more than there is progress in making love. There are simply different ways of doing it." True that.
Tonight's feature was 1947's Le Tempestaire, by Jean Epstein with music improvised by the Low Branches. The film was set in Brittany (the shoes and shore were a dead giveaway) about a girl who fears for her love's life when he sets out to fish for sardines right before a storm.
The Low Branches' music was the ideal sound for the endless shots of the surf crashing and the omens with which the girl was obsessed. At one point, lyrics about "saving them all" synched up so well with the unfolding story as to be uncanny.
The storm-tamer's black crystal ball eventually breaks, returning the man to his sweetheart and calming the sea, as the band's sound wound down and we were delivered from the French coast back to Jackson Ward.
It had apparently started raining some time after I'd arrived for the reading, so a friend offered me a ride, but we exited to find only puddles, so he instead walked me home, pointing out places of note.
A friend of his had had sex in one of the milk-bottles of the dairy building pre-renovation (and pre-marriage) and a bartender I knew had lived just around the corner from me.
And because he's a scientist-type, he somehow noticed in the dark that a passing tree branch had grown in a circle, doubling back on itself. "I don't know how I didn't notice that before," he said perfectly seriously.
I'm not the scientific type, but I could say the same here lately.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The Rebel L
Low-key evening launches with libations and lepers and lingers through laughter and lyrics.
Lepers
Given the lower temperature, it seemed like a good night to walk over to the Black Sheep to eat. I'd run into Melissa recently and the first thing she'd said was "I haven't seen you in forever!"
And wouldn't you just know, she wasn't working tonight. No matter, the other servers know me and offered me a booth, which I was reluctant to take, being alone and all, but they insisted.
My server didn't ask what I wanted to drink, but instead, "Which wine looks good tonight?" I chose the Kluge Estate 2008 Albemarle Rose, figuring it was good match for the bowl of vegetarian chili I also ordered (it was the soup DJ). Pretty and pink and with a big floral nose, it was the right libation for dining alone.
The chili had garbanzo beans, black beans and Great Northern beans but definitely didn't qualify for vegan status given the enormous dollop of sour cream on top. But then I'm no vegan, either.
The chili was excellent, hearty and with just the right amount of heat, but so filling that it precluded dessert. Which probably made it a good thing that Melissa wasn't there, because she expects me to have my usual LaBrea tarpit and scolds me when I don't. I was just too full.
I'd brought my latest read, Who Walk Alone, about the author's life as a leper. It's so engagingly written, although its 1940 publication date makes for some dated vernacular ("It was a peach of a fight.") and some with which I'm just not familiar ("Some of those babies really came tough in the regulars." Huh?).
I lingered over my book taking time to digest and drink pink after my satisfying meal. And luckily I had the walk home to help that full feeling before going to Sprout for music.
Lobo Marino
I love this band's sound with its oblique lyrics and South American influences. When I first saw accordionist Laney tonight, the first thing she said to me was, "We're doing a longer set because you said to."
I laughed, knowing she was referring to a post I'd done about another show they'd done and I'd said it was wonderful but too short. "You don't have to listen to me, " I told her sincerely. "But you're wise," she said. Great then, I'd love to hear a longer set.
The crowd at Sprout was a lot of friends and fans of the band, making for an informal vibe with the audience talking back to the band. Guitarist and singer Jameson was playing especially exuberantly tonight and the new material (he referred to them as instrumental movements) between songs added a lot to the set.
When they finished and the applause died down, Jameson looked across the room at me and asked, "Was that better, Karen?" What band wouldn't appreciate a fan who wants to hear more? He later told me that they were tired of playing the same set, too, so it was good for them as well as me.
Low Branches
Lo and behold, when I'd walked into Sprout, Christina from the Low Branches had approached me and introduced herself. "I see you everywhere," she said in a voice as languid and delicate as her singing voice. Drummer/percussionist Matt extended his hand, reminding me that we had met before.
Waiting for Lobo Marino to start, I asked Christina about what she listens to and we had a good talk about folk music in particular. Not surprisingly, she's a big fan of 60s and 70s folk, despite her tender age. I gave her my take on why I like new music so much and she seemed to get it.
Their set, as in the past, was strong on evocative lyrics and lingering sounds. The dynamic of this band is hushed and sweet, the kind of songs (sung poetry?) you lean forward to hear. Christina's voice is a thing of beauty and there's just no better way to describe it.
I logged a lovely evening listening to lyrics both laugh-worthy and lush. Not even lonely. Lucky, aren't I?
Lepers
Given the lower temperature, it seemed like a good night to walk over to the Black Sheep to eat. I'd run into Melissa recently and the first thing she'd said was "I haven't seen you in forever!"
And wouldn't you just know, she wasn't working tonight. No matter, the other servers know me and offered me a booth, which I was reluctant to take, being alone and all, but they insisted.
My server didn't ask what I wanted to drink, but instead, "Which wine looks good tonight?" I chose the Kluge Estate 2008 Albemarle Rose, figuring it was good match for the bowl of vegetarian chili I also ordered (it was the soup DJ). Pretty and pink and with a big floral nose, it was the right libation for dining alone.
The chili had garbanzo beans, black beans and Great Northern beans but definitely didn't qualify for vegan status given the enormous dollop of sour cream on top. But then I'm no vegan, either.
The chili was excellent, hearty and with just the right amount of heat, but so filling that it precluded dessert. Which probably made it a good thing that Melissa wasn't there, because she expects me to have my usual LaBrea tarpit and scolds me when I don't. I was just too full.
I'd brought my latest read, Who Walk Alone, about the author's life as a leper. It's so engagingly written, although its 1940 publication date makes for some dated vernacular ("It was a peach of a fight.") and some with which I'm just not familiar ("Some of those babies really came tough in the regulars." Huh?).
I lingered over my book taking time to digest and drink pink after my satisfying meal. And luckily I had the walk home to help that full feeling before going to Sprout for music.
Lobo Marino
I love this band's sound with its oblique lyrics and South American influences. When I first saw accordionist Laney tonight, the first thing she said to me was, "We're doing a longer set because you said to."
I laughed, knowing she was referring to a post I'd done about another show they'd done and I'd said it was wonderful but too short. "You don't have to listen to me, " I told her sincerely. "But you're wise," she said. Great then, I'd love to hear a longer set.
The crowd at Sprout was a lot of friends and fans of the band, making for an informal vibe with the audience talking back to the band. Guitarist and singer Jameson was playing especially exuberantly tonight and the new material (he referred to them as instrumental movements) between songs added a lot to the set.
When they finished and the applause died down, Jameson looked across the room at me and asked, "Was that better, Karen?" What band wouldn't appreciate a fan who wants to hear more? He later told me that they were tired of playing the same set, too, so it was good for them as well as me.
Low Branches
Lo and behold, when I'd walked into Sprout, Christina from the Low Branches had approached me and introduced herself. "I see you everywhere," she said in a voice as languid and delicate as her singing voice. Drummer/percussionist Matt extended his hand, reminding me that we had met before.
Waiting for Lobo Marino to start, I asked Christina about what she listens to and we had a good talk about folk music in particular. Not surprisingly, she's a big fan of 60s and 70s folk, despite her tender age. I gave her my take on why I like new music so much and she seemed to get it.
Their set, as in the past, was strong on evocative lyrics and lingering sounds. The dynamic of this band is hushed and sweet, the kind of songs (sung poetry?) you lean forward to hear. Christina's voice is a thing of beauty and there's just no better way to describe it.
I logged a lovely evening listening to lyrics both laugh-worthy and lush. Not even lonely. Lucky, aren't I?
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Shut Up and Listen Up!
I hate going to a music show and having to listen to people around me shout, argue or even just converse while I'm trying to listen to the musicians.
Many is the time I wished my first grade teacher Mrs. Bixler, would happen by and give them THAT look, putting fear in their hearts and shutting them up.
Last night, I enjoyed a jabber-free evening of live music, thanks to the new free series, The Listening Room.
The show was held at the Michaux House on Franklin Street and while the organizers were expecting about 30 people, they easily had double that.
The set was simple and beautiful; there were four handmade wooden and fabric panels, with a plant and lamp in front and several Oriental-style rugs on the floor, creating an inviting ambiance.
The chairs were curved around this area for a cozy proximity to the audience.
There were three groups: Ferdinand Thomas, Englishman (from Lexington, KY) and The Low Branches.
All three bands played beautiful acoustic folky music and everyone in the audience observed the "No talking during performances please" rule stated on the program.
People arrived between 8 and 8:30, milled about socializing and at 8:29, as if on cue, sat down and just stopped talking. It was a beautiful thing.
Ferdinand Thomas' lyrics leaned toward the dark, with violin, keyboard and drum fleshing out the guitarist's vocals.
Englishman's vocal harmonies were a thing of beauty, very simple with just a guitar and keyboard.
The Low Branches, the only group I'd seen before, have the ethereal voice of Christina to anchor their haunting sound.
All three were ideal for a listening room setting and a rapt audience.
The Listening Room at the Michaux House is a concept overdue in Richmond.
We have so many fine musicians and the creation of an atmosphere in which they can be best appreciated is a gift to the music lovers of the city.
The kind of people who don't need a Mrs. Bixler to shut them up during the music portion of the evening.
The kind who want to shut up and listen.
Many is the time I wished my first grade teacher Mrs. Bixler, would happen by and give them THAT look, putting fear in their hearts and shutting them up.
Last night, I enjoyed a jabber-free evening of live music, thanks to the new free series, The Listening Room.
The show was held at the Michaux House on Franklin Street and while the organizers were expecting about 30 people, they easily had double that.
The set was simple and beautiful; there were four handmade wooden and fabric panels, with a plant and lamp in front and several Oriental-style rugs on the floor, creating an inviting ambiance.
The chairs were curved around this area for a cozy proximity to the audience.
There were three groups: Ferdinand Thomas, Englishman (from Lexington, KY) and The Low Branches.
All three bands played beautiful acoustic folky music and everyone in the audience observed the "No talking during performances please" rule stated on the program.
People arrived between 8 and 8:30, milled about socializing and at 8:29, as if on cue, sat down and just stopped talking. It was a beautiful thing.
Ferdinand Thomas' lyrics leaned toward the dark, with violin, keyboard and drum fleshing out the guitarist's vocals.
Englishman's vocal harmonies were a thing of beauty, very simple with just a guitar and keyboard.
The Low Branches, the only group I'd seen before, have the ethereal voice of Christina to anchor their haunting sound.
All three were ideal for a listening room setting and a rapt audience.
The Listening Room at the Michaux House is a concept overdue in Richmond.
We have so many fine musicians and the creation of an atmosphere in which they can be best appreciated is a gift to the music lovers of the city.
The kind of people who don't need a Mrs. Bixler to shut them up during the music portion of the evening.
The kind who want to shut up and listen.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
All Folked Up
What's the proper lead-up to a superb evening of folk music? Hell if I know, so here's how I went about it.
I went to the wine tasting at River City Cellars, as I so often do, with the usual result that I saw some people I knew and met a few new ones. They were pouring a selection of Louis/Dressner wines, mostly organic/biodynamic, low yield, hand harvested and sustainably raised. I ended up buying the Famille Peillot 2007 Bugey Pinot Noir from eastern France (owner Julia instructed me to decant it for a good while to fully enjoy it and I defer to her greater wine knowledge).
I've got a refrigerator full of white wine but with the cooler nights, I've been wanting something heartier to share with friends before an evening out. The tasting ended with one of my new acquaintances, Jason, telling me a particularly ribald joke; don't you love it when people can gauge how far they can go with you within moments of meeting?
Then there are the people who latch onto you despite there being no particular interest or connection on your part, as was the case for me at dinner last night at 27. The couple who sat down next to me at the bar mercifully arrived after I'd eaten and was just finishing my wine and proceeded to tell me way more about themselves than I cared to hear, even cajoling me to join them for a cigarette outside so we could continue our chat (I don't smoke, btw).
But the veal and mascarpone ravioli in sage butter sauce was divine, so I guess it was all some sort of cosmic trade off.
Lastly, I headed to Gallery 5 for the folk extravaganza of Paul Watson/Low Branches/Nick Coward/Vandaveer/Jonathan Vasser and the Speckled Bird show. I've seen Paul Watson, Jonathan Vasser and Low Branches before, so I already knew how terrifically talented they all were and I'd heard great things about Vandaveer.
This folk duet from DC was everything I'd read about them and more, with two beautiful voices, a guitar and some reverb. As the female half, Rose's voice was magnificent as a counterpoint to main guy Mark. He explained away her coughing, "Rose got the consumption in Burlington. You should hear her when she isn't coughing."
It was tough to imagine her voice sounding any more ethereal than it did. The audience kept telling them to move to rva; no doubt they'd be a stellar addition to our folk scene. Nick Coward's seven-piece ensemble was also wonderful: the back and forth of voices and all that instrumentation, soft and loud, was beautiful ear candy.
Walking home, the neighborhood was hopping; I got invited to two parties in full swing within a half a block of home.
All in all, I'd have to say it was a fine night.
I went to the wine tasting at River City Cellars, as I so often do, with the usual result that I saw some people I knew and met a few new ones. They were pouring a selection of Louis/Dressner wines, mostly organic/biodynamic, low yield, hand harvested and sustainably raised. I ended up buying the Famille Peillot 2007 Bugey Pinot Noir from eastern France (owner Julia instructed me to decant it for a good while to fully enjoy it and I defer to her greater wine knowledge).
I've got a refrigerator full of white wine but with the cooler nights, I've been wanting something heartier to share with friends before an evening out. The tasting ended with one of my new acquaintances, Jason, telling me a particularly ribald joke; don't you love it when people can gauge how far they can go with you within moments of meeting?
Then there are the people who latch onto you despite there being no particular interest or connection on your part, as was the case for me at dinner last night at 27. The couple who sat down next to me at the bar mercifully arrived after I'd eaten and was just finishing my wine and proceeded to tell me way more about themselves than I cared to hear, even cajoling me to join them for a cigarette outside so we could continue our chat (I don't smoke, btw).
But the veal and mascarpone ravioli in sage butter sauce was divine, so I guess it was all some sort of cosmic trade off.
Lastly, I headed to Gallery 5 for the folk extravaganza of Paul Watson/Low Branches/Nick Coward/Vandaveer/Jonathan Vasser and the Speckled Bird show. I've seen Paul Watson, Jonathan Vasser and Low Branches before, so I already knew how terrifically talented they all were and I'd heard great things about Vandaveer.
This folk duet from DC was everything I'd read about them and more, with two beautiful voices, a guitar and some reverb. As the female half, Rose's voice was magnificent as a counterpoint to main guy Mark. He explained away her coughing, "Rose got the consumption in Burlington. You should hear her when she isn't coughing."
It was tough to imagine her voice sounding any more ethereal than it did. The audience kept telling them to move to rva; no doubt they'd be a stellar addition to our folk scene. Nick Coward's seven-piece ensemble was also wonderful: the back and forth of voices and all that instrumentation, soft and loud, was beautiful ear candy.
Walking home, the neighborhood was hopping; I got invited to two parties in full swing within a half a block of home.
All in all, I'd have to say it was a fine night.
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