Paying WRIR Forward

I went to the benefit music show at the Firehouse Theater tonight solely to support WRIR.

That's a lie. I went because WRIR DJ Shannon Cleary had curated a show of four of Richmond's finest bands, including one band's final performance. Contributing five bucks to my favorite indie radio station was just icing on the cake.

The show was late starting, as is unfortunately the norm here (the Listening Room and the Silent Music Revival being notable and appreciated exceptions), but I had good company in the form of the hatted man-about-town, two favorite couples, my usual seatmate when rating musicians on cuteness and Mr. Dulcitar. I even made a couple date.

Starting things off by kicking ass and taking names was Nick Coward and the Last Battle, a band that has grown by leaps and bounds over the past two years. With six talented members including brass and cello, this multi-instrumentalist sextet tore it up, especially with the material from their outstanding latest CD.

In the most wonderful kind of tribute to another local band, they covered Zac Hyrciak and the Junglebeat's "We are One" beautifully and unexpectedly.I was sorry to see them leave the stage.

Next up was Ophelia, aka Jonathan Vassar and David Schultz, tonight anyway. With their dark, melodic songs, Jonathan played guitar, harmonica and accordion while David played the guitar he'd been given as a high school graduation present (his former guitar having exploded recently).

He said he was really liking how the old guitar was sounding after being pulled out of disuse for so long. They pulled Josh Small onstage to play guitar and sing with them for the last two songs, placing Jonathan in the center standing position ("I'm in the awkward back-up singer position," he joked).

From sidekick to center stage, Josh Small played next, boisterously working his metal resonator guitar and stomping his foot. He covered Emmylou Harris and sang a song he'd written for his niece, "Patricia Noel."

Another interesting song he wrote, he said. was ripped off from a Maxwell song he admired ("shuffle beat and false ending"). He self-deprecatingly acknowledged the source material that inspired him in his songwriting again and again.

Tonight's finale was being billed as the Orioles' last show because Nick Woods (who is Orioles whether he plays alone or with four other people, like tonight) is moving to Nashville (at least he's not making the cliched move to Brooklyn, only to return).

Midway through their set, someone called out, "Don't move!" and he laughed. "Yea, that's what you and all the other people in Richmond who I owe money to say, but you can't fool me." He did say he may play a few solo shows before heading out.

Their set was a treat since I'd never heard him with a full band. Josh Hryciak (he of the amazing voice in Mermaid Skeletons) was playing drums, something I'd never seen before. He took the time to thank Nick Coward for covering his brother's song (and also reminded Nick Woods that it was almost Mother's Day, so to get on with the set).

Nick sang songs about being a flower delivery man, about canopies and, of course, failed relationships. When the show ended, the audience called for an encore as the band walked offstage. He came back but the band didn't.

"That's all the songs we know," he explained. "I do know one other short one." He then explained that the song was about his crazy great-grandfather who had a ghost dog who told him not to drink and a ghost lady who sat on a bench and talked to him.

"My family's crazy," he admitted. The great-grandfather had had six kids, his grandmother and six boys. One of the brothers killed another of the brothers he told us, and the room went silent. "That wasn't the reaction I was expecting," he said.

Likewise, the audience wasn't expecting one last stellar song, but we got it and rewarded it with thunderous applause. Richmond's loss is Nashville's gain.

Whereas with tonight's show, WRIR gained necesary finds and the audience gained four hours of some of RVA's best music.

I may have begun with a lie, but that's the truth...at least as I see it. To each her own reality.

Hot Music, Sweaty Musicians

"Hi everybody. I'm Dean Lee and this is the noise I make."

That brilliant line was the kickoff of the eighth installment of the Listening Room, which followed a bottle of excellent half-priced Alma Negra Malbec/Bonarda and pie at Sette with a good friend.

Unfortunately for her, she couldn't make the show.

When Dean made his pronouncement at the start, the crowd was actually sparser than usual, but by the middle of his set, the crowd had almost doubled, more chairs were being put out and things were warming up nicely with the warm bodies of assorted music lovers.

It was just Dean, his guitar and harmonica (he apologized for a couple of missing reeds) and a collection of interesting songs with offbeat lyrics.

Dean's songs had a way of ending surprisingly, even for him, which added a certain charm to his performance.

Favorite lyric:"Went to the show and they didn't play my song."

I know that feeling, Dean.

When his set was over, he ran off the "stage" with his arms overhead in a victory stance, as if to celebrate being finished.

Actually the audience was sorry to see him go.

Before the Orioles (Nick Woods and Matt Wirt) could play, a string of lights fell from the ceiling, as happens every month, causing MC Chris to say, "Now it's a real Listening Room show."

Then the audience was treated to two voices with two guitars and Matt's guitar had a thickness, a richness that made it pure pleasure to listen to.

When I asked him why it sounded so amazing, he downplayed it, saying it was just a pawnshop guitar.

"Maybe it's the person playing it?" he suggested. Maybe it was.

Nick said they'd been together for three years and, "we didn't conquer the world but we did make our first $5 CDs."

The lyrics were at times laugh out loud funny ("I wanted the bridge to sound like Nirvana Unplugged") and sometimes more introspective ("I feel the exact same as I did a year ago today").

Near the end of their set, Nick removed his shirt, using it to wipe sweat from his face.

"I feel like the bass player in the Roots. That's one sweaty dude." It was a tad warm for the audience and we weren't doing a thing, so it had to be hot as hell under the lights and playing their hearts out.

Frankzig referred to his band, the Music Club, as the Miami Sound machine and the duo was such a cool complement to the unique sounds of Frank's classical guitar playing.

"I know you're wondering and, yes, we were all extras in Carlito's Way," he said by way of introduction, telling us that Ray would play shaker things with his ham hock hands and Justin would play bongos.

And then a second strand of lights fell, as if to reiterate what a real show it was.

Frank and the Music Club played a Latin-influenced set with few lyrics and the most impressive Flamenco-style guitar playing the Listening Room has ever witnessed.

With percussion being shaken, scraped and turned and Justin's bongos anchoring it all, they were three mesmerizing musicians to watch.

Favorite song title, after a rough translation: "I miss my beer-drinking Mama."

Don't we all?

The set closed with Frank imploring the audience, "Hopefully that was remotely painless."

His shirt was soaked through from his energetic guitar playing and the audience completely wowed by their set.

As the band gathered up their stuff, I went up and asked a few bongo questions and was told that people who ask questions should have a drink bought for them as a reward for their musical curiosity.

How does the Listening Room keep topping itself?