If We Ever Met

In the scheme of Monday nights, I could do far worse.

First there was Carytown's tequila bar, Don't Look Back, for some Cazadores and mariachi music, albeit only briefly.

But that was just setting the scene for a wide-ranging night of music at the Camel, where the topic of ticketed patrons (like me) is still very much a hot one.

I spoke to a friend who'd not discovered the ticket on his car for several days, meaning he'd been falsely lulled into thinking he'd escaped penalty.

It's going to be interesting to see how long it takes to get the outdated "No Parking 11 p.m. to 4 a.m." signs removed.

I can assure the city that as many times as I've parked along that strip to go to the Firehouse or the Camel, I've never once seen any "cruising," supposedly the reason behind the signs.

Inside the Camel, Dave Watkins and his mighty electric dulcitar were already in full epic mode when we walked in.

I joined a group of devotees a few feet from where Dave had set up on the floor.

Within minutes, I could tell who was experiencing Dave's magic for the first time by the look of amazement on their faces.

When his set ended, one of the guys turned around with his mouth hanging open.

"First time?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"Yea," he said, clearly still in awe. "What was that he was playing?"

Electric dulcitar, I explained as smoothly as any tour guide, mentioning that he also has an acoustic one.

With Dave's shows, it's not just that he loops endless sounds to create a lush soundscape coming from a one-man band.

He's also playing a highly unique instrument unfamiliar to most people. The combination is generally irresistible.

Next up was the reason for the show, the Nashville trio Paper Lanterns.

With an instrument arsenal that included, upright bass, guitar, mandolin, ukulele, glockenspiel and accordion, they impressed by trading off constantly.

And then there were the incredible three-part harmonies that defined their sound as they played a set and clearly had fun with it.

"We all have super hero alter-egos," they said by way if explaining the buttons they were giving away.

Before their last song, "Fool's Gold," they said, "Come see us at the merch table and give us a hug...or some money."

I thought they deserved both.

Zac Hryciak and the Jungle Beat followed and they're a good example of a local band with an amazing sound who don't play out often enough.

The affable Zac began by admitting, "I was drunk and then I had three cups of coffee, but I'm gonna be so good for you."

That was a promise he kept, as much because of his sweet-voiced singing as for the well-placed violin and distinctive drumming.

We were asked to pity the poor bass player who was doing a stellar job in spite of recent mayhem.

"He works on a food cart and they went to Bonnaroo and he chopped off part of his finger," Zac informed us.

Ouch. Well done, sir, considering the injury.

For my companion, who'd never heard the band before, it was a delight to hear the tempo changes, gypsy-like drumming and diverse song structures that are Jungle Beat.

And as many times as I've heard them, like here, here and here, I proudly wave my fan flag every time I get a chance.

During the break, I ran into Laney, recently returned from touring Europe and the musician who had organized the show months ago when her band, Lobo Marino, had played with Paper Lanterns.

I don't know which of us was happier to see the other, but it's always good when her positive energy is back in River City.

The last set of the night was by Moonbees and credit went to the fans who stuck around for the fourth band of a Monday night show.

And I don't mean me since what else did I have to do at that hour of early Tuesday morning?

I can never decide which appeals more to me about the Moonbees' sound: the epic guitar playing or the multiple male voices singing.

Songs one part psychedelic made for one melodic gem after another for a set that rewarded those of us who'd hung past midnight.

Luckily, we were parked legally, so we could. How better to ensure not having a Blue Monday?

Down Home Listening Room Reunion

It was like the old Brownies song, "Make new friends and keep the old."

After a two-month hiatus, the Listening Room returned tonight in fine form.

Walking in, the Romanian gypsy music chanteuse stamped my hand, the independent woman gave me a hug and the tweeting monster showed off her adorable thrift store skirt.

When I got into the theater to claim my seats, I found the dimpled M.C. on a ladder doing something official.

He hugged from on high.

My favorite J-Ward couple had already established a beachhead in the row behind me.

Life was good.

With everyone's Listening Room behavior a tad rusty after the break, the M.C. got laughs when thanking Apropos Roasters and their coffee "house call" service.

After an hilarious correction, he made that "home delivery."

The L.R. had an encore performance with Philly's Chris Kasper, whom I've seen a few times, including a command performance for just me, here.

Tonight he brought a different sound when he played electric guitar and utilized a pedal board, making for denser sound.

Starting one song, he abruptly stopped, saying, "I'm gonna change chords. Forget what you just heard."

Musical and funny? Irresistible.

Favorite lyric: "Find me when I'm older, My tongue a bit bolder."

During the break, I scored some King cake in honor of Mardi Gras before moving over to say hello to the scientist, who immediately offered me peanut M & Ms.

He has offered me chocolate at any number of shows and yet it was still unexpected. He even apologized for the lesser chocolate (it's usually some exotic dark chocolate).

You have to appreciate a friend who is never without the important things in life.

Moonbees played next and I thought their meditative psychedelia was a stellar direction for a Listening Room show to take.

Bassist Nate explained how he came to be in the band (by asking basically) and Clifton, long a personal favorite since Ilad, cracked wise about ignoring bass players,

Coincidentally, I'd seen both musicians play not long ago when I'd gone out for Romanian gypsy music.

Drummer Brian was poster-worthy and Gabe wooed ears with slide guitar.

The audience couldn't have asked for a better return show after a long two months without.

I'd hoped to get some girltalk in with the two cutest girls at the show, but they ditched me for their beds, so I headed to Secco solo.

There were only two couples there when I arrived, so I wasn't expecting much. Eventually another came in.

The music was set to She and Him on Pandora, although the pastry chef and I noted that it wasn't playing much besides She and Him.

Finally, City and Color came on and the music took off.

Atta girl, Pandora, you can do it.

Midway through my Domaine Brazilier Côteaux du Vendomois Rose, I overheard the latest arrivals mention "August: Osage County," which I'd just seen.

Now that I'm older and my tongue a bit bolder, I jumped right into that conversation. They'd seen it in NYC in 2008 and wanted to see it again here.

But of course. Turns out he's an actor in "The Lion King."

A hyena at that.

He and his mate had been at Secco last night drinking flights and had come back particularly for the Vina Sastre Flavus Blanco, a minerally white.

"Want to try some jaen?" the bartender asked when my rose was gone, offering up the Flavus and a grape I'd never even heard of.

And why not now that I had  this charming couple to talk to?

Since they're in town for the run of the play, they were eager for ideas on what to do and where to go.

As it happens, that's a subject with which I have some familiarity.

I recommended restaurants, venues, even events (Blood Brothers dj-ing 60s music, hello?) and they enthusiastically made notes on his phone for future reference.

We talked about his brother the playwright; we discussed the Elvis photograph he had seen in the back hallway of the Landmark.

I couldn't have asked for better company.

"You're a resource!" I was told after over sharing my opinion on the Jefferson, 3rd Street Diner and Amuse.

Yes, that's what they're calling me these days. A resource.

Or someone who can't keep her opinion to herself.

The way I figure, someone's got to help the hyenas who come to Richmond.

I like to think I'm qualified. After all, what are new friends for?

Stables, I Mean Loft

What could be more fitting than a Christmas party in a stable?

Okay,  former stable, but you get the idea.  The invitation came from a couple whose loft is part of the former Richmond dairy stables across from the milk bottle building.

And although we see each other out all the time, it was my first time inside the home they created out of a blank canvas of a space.

The ceilings were incredibly high and only the guest bathroom had a lowered ceiling. Otherwise, walls between rooms were 8' high and ceiling-less.

The host's "beer sculpture," an elaborate stainless steel beer brewing station with a separate fermentation tank full of his latest brew, sat next to a grand piano.

All of the art, he told me, was "from the 'hood." Old photographs of J-Ward in the '30s lined one wall.

There was even a daybed in the kitchen for enjoying the afternoon sun.

It was the perfect backdrop for a mix of interesting people to get to know each other.

I met a couple who had been homesteaders in the Ward, having put their offices here long before most people chose to be anywhere near this part of town.

They've since moved to bigger spaces across the river, but I didn't hold that against them.

A woman tried to convince me of the benefits and fun of the Navy SEAL classes she does daily.

Not my idea of fun.

A Colorado transplant explained her confusion when first faced with spoonbread when she moved here. Even her Georgia-born mate didn't know it till coming here.

I may have been raised further north but I did have a Richmond grandmother, so unlike her, I always knew spoonbread.

Meanwhile, I talked to party-goers about kite surfing, the demise of Kluge winery and how confusing UR's campus can be.

When I finally left the festivities, it was to go to a show at the Camel that was billed as starting on time.

And it almost did, especially for a Camel show.

It was the very first gig for Mermaids, I mean Whales, a one man act with somber songs and a room full of friends and family.

After two very sad-sounding songs, he said, "I'm going to take it down a notch." Down where?

He said he'd set a goal to play one cover song at every show he plays and tonight's was "Sixteen Tons," a song he'd heard his parents sing as a child.

It'll be interesting to see what he covers in future shows.

Moonbees played next and it was my first time hearing them, despite having heard good things about them.

Somewhat psychedelic and very melodic, I loved the harmonies of three male voices singing together.

They sang a song "We Are the Moonbees," as if to brand us with their name, although I can't imagine anyone who heard them would forget them or their name.

By the time headliners Lobo Marino got ready to play, the crowd was a good size but very talkative.

Lobo Marino was playing without mics and on the floor in front of the stage. They formed a semi-circle of chairs around them for anyone who wanted to hear.

You know I promptly took one of those chairs.

Beginning with two Christmas songs, "We Three Kings" and "Silent Night," they tried their hardest to be heard over the noisy crowd.

After those songs, horn and banjo player Nathaniel thanked the crowd for coming out and hanging around.

"I've been working fifteen hour days on the 'Lincoln' movie and I really didn't want to come here tonight," he admitted. "But now seeing all of you, I'm glad to be here."

He may have spoken too soon since the audience never really quieted down appropriately given that we were listening to folk music without mics, but what can you do?

Note to self: Karen, not everyone goes to a music show to listen.

Excuse me, what?