Once upon a time in the south, we took heat naps. I still do.
When by late afternoon it felt like an effort to research and write in the sunny front room (even with the shades angled down), I gave up and took to my bed.
With both a ceiling fan and an oscillating fan blowing directly on me, I stretched out on freshly changed sheets for a a bit of shut eye to escape the heat and restore my energy.
Only problem was that after my late night tiki adventure, I ended up sleeping longer than I intended, making for limited time to eat before going out for music.
Walking in to Magpie, I found a practically full house and claimed one of two empty bar stools, the only free seats in the house.
New-to-me Le Chaz Rose got me started while I listened to an annoying-sounding woman discuss with her fiance how they might invest some of their wedding gift money and waited for an order of charred asparagus with sauteed wild mushrooms, spring onion cream and Manchego crumbs to come out.
Next to me, two women were having a lively conversation and when I glanced over, one of the women smiled at me. A moment later, I heard her say, "I'm the problem," and I had to laugh at the sound of that statement and join in.
Leaning across her friend, the smiler said to me, "You are so lovely, I just had to tell you that." What can you say besides a heartfelt thank you when a random stranger says something so nice to you? Damned if I know.
But it was the start of a conversation with the two of them, who turned out to be librarians, well traveled and positively delightful to talk to. Before it was all over, we knew a surprisingly lot about each other despite the whole conversation lasting less than an hour.
One used to have a riverfront house on the Rappahannock until Hurricane Isabel had destroyed half of it. The other had lived all over the world and was amazed at how much there was to do in Richmond. Both loved to eat out and had been coming to Magpie since it first opened.
I got so caught up in our discussion that one of them finally had to remind me to eat my food before it got cold, but not before we discussed books and they suggested I join the library's summer reading club, something I haven't done since childhood.
When they got their check, one turned to me and said, "I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed talking with you," and asked how they could contact me for a future rendezvous.
It wasn't the first time I've given strangers my name and e-mail and it probably won't be the last. I couldn't help thanking them for providing such stellar company on a solo outing.
From there, I went to Scuffletown Park for the sunset concert series where I found a good-sized crowd gathering: kids in pajamas, pizza eaters, wine drinkers, a girl with lavender hair, two platinum blonds with pixie haircuts (one of whom I know) and several familiar faces including the musician whose band's first performance I'd recently seen.
With my fan in hand, I took a seat on a bench behind a trio munching on pizza sprawled out on a groovy-looking blanket.
Pedal Pops RVA was rapidly selling out, having already gone through avocado/lime and triple berry, but still offering strawberry, pineapple/mint and cherry chai. Given the heat, it was definitely Popsicle weather.
Organizer Patrick kicked things off by reminding us that the sunset series always begins 15 minutes before sunset, "So consult an almanac, go to your library or call City Hall to find out when sunset is and be here next Tuesday."
Playing tonight beside the Little Free Library box were the Trillions or at least half of them, including bandleader Charlie in shorts, something I don't think I've seen before.
With acoustic and electric guitars (and the smallest of amps), two voices and a catalog that took a lot of its cues from the Beatles (including the first song with its many "yea, yea, yeas"), the two members of the Trillions played and harmonized for our listening pleasure.
"There's usually more of us to make us louder, " Charlie explained to those new to the Trillions, although I don't know who in this town couldn't know about these masters of power pop.
As cicadas buzzed and fireflies flitted around, they played some new songs from their upcoming album and one about a sports bar with the line, "My friend are your friends, but your friends are bullshit," while Charlie danced around in the grass making it his own stage.
"What/When/Where" ("This song is kind of appropriate for this, kind of about Richmond") was vintage Trillions but I got even more excited when I heard the first few chords of the Beatles "Two of Us," but then they stopped. Fortunately, it was just a misfire and they went on to do a lovely rendition of the song as the night sky began giving way from blue to dusky black.
You and I have memories
longer than the road
that stretches out ahead
My evening ended with a nightcap of Le Petit Balthazar Rose at Lucy's and lazy hours of conversation with other bar sitters while Band of Horses, Ryan Adams and songs like the Sundays' cover of "Wild Horses" played.
This summer heat is all the permission I need to do whatever I want. Besides my summer reading list, of course.
Showing posts with label the trillions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the trillions. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Pleasures Remain
I wasn't the only one who needed it.
People and music, that is.
I have to assume that's why all those warm bodies were pressed into Balliceaux tonight after a week of enforced holiday/family events.
The surprising part was that the show had already begun when I arrived.
I was assured that Anousheh was only on her second song, but I hate to miss even one song when it's as good as her band's are.
My trip to Italy had precluded me attending her CD release show back in October, so I felt owed.
Because her set had begun, I could only muscle so far before hitting a wall of people and being in the way of moving barbacks.
That lasted through a couple of songs where people came in and stopped right in front of Anousheh singing and had long, loud conversations that blocked the view and sound of her.
Fine, it's a bar, so talk away, but do you have to do it two feet from the singer/keyboardist?
All I'm saying is that it made it very easy to move in front of people like that and enjoy the rest of the set from the front, unobstructed.
"You might know this," Anousheh said late in their set, "if you're old."
I turned to the guitarist next to me and said, "I'll know it."
It took the crowd a bit before they began to recognize Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence," but I was getting it from the start.
As good as she sounded, she looked just as good in little leather shorts, leggings and booties with a drape-y cream shirt swinging as she sang and danced.
What was interesting was watching her low-key husband (and musician) watch her become a pop goddess in front of a roomful of pretty people.
Well, not just pretty because fans like me and others were there, too.
Lots of bangs, lots of earnest looking metrosexuals.
Coats stuffed into the rafters for lack of anyplace else to put them
A favorite drummer tapped me on the shoulder, the photographer walked in with me, the physicist said hello, the French singer looking brooding, the cute couple, he with his winter look on.
The neighborhood musician who usually just nods his head slyly when he sees me, but tonight spoke.
"It's never a shock to see you out, Karen."But it's always a pleasure."
Blah, blah, blah.
During the break, the DJ played songs like Lionel Richie's "All Night Long" and "Oh, Sheila."
Then came White Laces and by then the room had to have been at capacity.
As is my habit, I'd moved to the back banquette for the best view and I heard a guy comment on how big the crowd was.
I'd attributed that to the bands' avid fan bases, meaning less overlap and more distinctive subgroups.
After a sound check where White Laces' singer Landis inquired of the audience if they sounded too loud, too quiet or okay, we did our best Goldilocks and reassured him that it was just right.
"Thanks to Anousheh for playing that Depeche Mode cover," he said. "Way to stoke my ..."
You get the idea.
I'm a fan of the band and, granted, I was way in the back, but I didn't see nearly the rapt attention I have at other White Laces shows.
Not nearly enough applause from the distracted crowd.
After their set, the DJ chilled out with Washed Out and other more current music, getting a mini dance party going while others made beer runs and pit stops.
Wisely, I stayed put to keep my seat and a guy came up and asked if he could sit next to me.
I must have looked like the keeper of the banquette.
Alright, so I deigned to let him.
The Trillions were last and if anyone had any doubt who they were, they had to have been deaf.
Singer Charlie mentioned it several times in a row and between almost every song.
It was as if he sensed that the crowd wasn't paying attention or (horrors!) was a little too inebriated at this point to remember.
Naturally the four tallest men in the room congregated directly in front of me as I tried to see one of the shortest bands in town.
Meanwhile, the band hit us with their poppy rock assault and midway through the set they had a good-sized crowd of people dancing in the center of the room.
I'd already done my grooving during the first couple sets, but some people were just getting started.
People and music, that's all we needed tonight.
You might have known that if you were old.
People and music, that is.
I have to assume that's why all those warm bodies were pressed into Balliceaux tonight after a week of enforced holiday/family events.
The surprising part was that the show had already begun when I arrived.
I was assured that Anousheh was only on her second song, but I hate to miss even one song when it's as good as her band's are.
My trip to Italy had precluded me attending her CD release show back in October, so I felt owed.
Because her set had begun, I could only muscle so far before hitting a wall of people and being in the way of moving barbacks.
That lasted through a couple of songs where people came in and stopped right in front of Anousheh singing and had long, loud conversations that blocked the view and sound of her.
Fine, it's a bar, so talk away, but do you have to do it two feet from the singer/keyboardist?
All I'm saying is that it made it very easy to move in front of people like that and enjoy the rest of the set from the front, unobstructed.
"You might know this," Anousheh said late in their set, "if you're old."
I turned to the guitarist next to me and said, "I'll know it."
It took the crowd a bit before they began to recognize Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence," but I was getting it from the start.
As good as she sounded, she looked just as good in little leather shorts, leggings and booties with a drape-y cream shirt swinging as she sang and danced.
What was interesting was watching her low-key husband (and musician) watch her become a pop goddess in front of a roomful of pretty people.
Well, not just pretty because fans like me and others were there, too.
Lots of bangs, lots of earnest looking metrosexuals.
Coats stuffed into the rafters for lack of anyplace else to put them
A favorite drummer tapped me on the shoulder, the photographer walked in with me, the physicist said hello, the French singer looking brooding, the cute couple, he with his winter look on.
The neighborhood musician who usually just nods his head slyly when he sees me, but tonight spoke.
"It's never a shock to see you out, Karen."But it's always a pleasure."
Blah, blah, blah.
During the break, the DJ played songs like Lionel Richie's "All Night Long" and "Oh, Sheila."
Then came White Laces and by then the room had to have been at capacity.
As is my habit, I'd moved to the back banquette for the best view and I heard a guy comment on how big the crowd was.
I'd attributed that to the bands' avid fan bases, meaning less overlap and more distinctive subgroups.
After a sound check where White Laces' singer Landis inquired of the audience if they sounded too loud, too quiet or okay, we did our best Goldilocks and reassured him that it was just right.
"Thanks to Anousheh for playing that Depeche Mode cover," he said. "Way to stoke my ..."
You get the idea.
I'm a fan of the band and, granted, I was way in the back, but I didn't see nearly the rapt attention I have at other White Laces shows.
Not nearly enough applause from the distracted crowd.
After their set, the DJ chilled out with Washed Out and other more current music, getting a mini dance party going while others made beer runs and pit stops.
Wisely, I stayed put to keep my seat and a guy came up and asked if he could sit next to me.
I must have looked like the keeper of the banquette.
Alright, so I deigned to let him.
The Trillions were last and if anyone had any doubt who they were, they had to have been deaf.
Singer Charlie mentioned it several times in a row and between almost every song.
It was as if he sensed that the crowd wasn't paying attention or (horrors!) was a little too inebriated at this point to remember.
Naturally the four tallest men in the room congregated directly in front of me as I tried to see one of the shortest bands in town.
Meanwhile, the band hit us with their poppy rock assault and midway through the set they had a good-sized crowd of people dancing in the center of the room.
I'd already done my grooving during the first couple sets, but some people were just getting started.
People and music, that's all we needed tonight.
You might have known that if you were old.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
I'm A Believer
How to pick the highlight from a Friday par excellence?
The ink show for which I'd written the preview in Style? InLight with people I knew doing installations and live music? French pop until the wee hours?
"History Ink: The Tattoo Archive Project" was everything I'd tried to convey in my article about the exhibit and more. One girl's back and arms told her whole story: two ex-boyfriends and three states lived in. Personal history as body decoration.
One guy's back had a ram and a Nittany lion, symbolizing his undergrad work at Penn State and his graduate work at VCU. Academic career as body art.
I was taken by a picture of a tattoo where the artist and the decorated were the same person. As if that weren't cool enough, the artist/tattooed arrived at the picture when I did. After ascertaining that he was both, I asked him to stand like he was in the picture so I could verify his tattoo. He did. It was him.
Particularly striking was the confederate flag with ants marching over it tattooed on a black guy.
A favorite explanation of why one guy got his tattoo: "I wanted a big, awesome tattoo with a skull." Sometimes it's really that simple.
After eating and mingling at the DJ-fueled reception afterwards (Depeche Mode, Billy Idol), we checked out "Wickham House 200," a show of art inspired by the rooms of the historic Wickham House and executed by VCU students.
Two pieces struck me. "Oh, No We Never Mention Her" by Rachel Cohn was in the drawing room and used a song found in Mrs. Wickham's music book on a record player. The other, "Perpetual Dusk" by Sohail Abdullah was a light installation set in a slave's room.
Because the slave, Robin, left to work before sunrise and returned after sunset, he never saw the changing light in his small slave quarters. Abdullah's installation imagined the light he never saw. It was exquisite.
Plus it was the natural lead-in to the 2012 InLight along Broad Street.
From the very first courtyard and BYOB (bring your own beamers), we were treated to a face on brick and a meandering pattern based on music. At Adams and Broad, we saw a tree up lit with lights going on and off to the beat of music.
A couple walked up to view it, read the artist's statement and walked away muttering, "I don't understand that at all." Here's an idea. Don't try to understand it, just enjoy it.
A bottom-lit tree on a cold evening was a thing of Fall beauty. Rebecca Najdowski's "Infinity Box #2" caught my attention because it had its roots in a science fair project done in grade school. Then, her father had helped and it had consisted of a shoebox, a mirror and a strand of lights. Tonight, I put my eye on the black box and saw my eye along with a swirling mass of psychedelic lights.
Down my beloved Henry Street I found "Meandering Dynamics," tied up to a tree and consisting of a series of used white buckets forming a sinuous and continuous chain of light. I walked my way through it.
Then how could I not be taken by an installation by two of my favorite musicians?
"Interstitial Transduction" had been brought to life by Dave Watkins and Nelly Kate, two fabulous musicians who can make themselves sound like a half dozen people. Each. Their installation was highly interactive, with a stand of "leaves" with concealed mics, meaning if you tapped them, the visual or sound changed in some way.
I told Nelly that the piece was a great resume builder and she corrected me. "And esteem builder!"
She said that early on before things got crowded, a little girl came through and took advantage of the absence of people to do it her way. She galloped around the structure, methodically tapping each leaf in turn to make her own music.
"It was the purest joy," Nelly told me smiling. "It was better than a month of therapy." We agreed that the beauty of the installation was the way it drew people in so they could experience the light and music however they chose to.
I stopped by the Trillions installation to hear them play, finding a large cadre of earnest yet tragic looking 18-year olds.
"We 're scared to do this song," lead singer Charlie told the crowd. "Should we?" When the crowd roared their approval he responded, "Yes, this is a democracy. The song is called 'Dead Meat.'" Afterwards, the band joked about InLight not being a competition.
"Yes, it is," the bass player corrected. "We really want to win." "Cut and Paste" was an upbeat boppy pop song I loved, the kind the Trillions deliver effortlessly. Meanwhile, light imagery played on the two side buildings and the curved screen behind them.
Favorite line: "You think too much."
We were told by Charlie that playing "You Gotta Be Kidding" would ensure that something onstage would explode, but nothing did. Well, that was a close one.
I could have gone home happy at that point, but why would I when Ipanema had DJ Sarah Gossett playing French pop songs from the '60s and '70s? I ordered some Franco Serra 10 Dolcetto D'Alba and ran into some friends I'd seen at InLight.
They joined me at my front table near the DJ "booth" although the sound wasn't as loud there as I would have liked. Sarah's music choices were brilliant, especially some of the covers she played.
Nancy Holloway doing, "Je veux prendre la main" was just one of many Beatles covers I heard. I want to hold your hand, too, Nancy. There was Danielle Denin's "Je Lis Dans les Yeux,'' recognizable as "I'm Looking Through You."
Soon backup arrived to augment the sound near the front of the bar. "The talent requested it," I was told. No, I requested louder music, I corrected. A guy nearby backed me up, "I want it up. We're out here to hear the jams."
Amen.
Erich Saint Laurent's "Je devine la Verite" registered immediately as "I'm a Believer" and I danced along as if it were the Monkees. There were so many covers of British invasion songs and American pop, things like "Turn, Turn, Turn," and My Guy," but sung in French. There was even a Petula Clark song and who knew Pet could sing in French?
"This is my brief foray into the '80s," Sarah said, playing Lio's "Le Banana Split," the record cover looking (and the music sounding) oh-so '80s. She returned to form with Les Gam's (the apostrophe mistake is their, not mine) and "Judy's Turn to Cry."
"I Only Want to Dance with You" came courtesy of Les Surfs, a group of four guys in matching sweaters and two girls in matching sweaters and red mini skirts. Adorable.
I noticed and Sarah told me, "I love the covers." Swinging mods and lots of bangs, who wouldn't?
Finally I saw a couple dancing to all this great French pop. It just kept coming with Eileen's version of "These Boots are Made for Walking" which was top notch. And who could argue with a French cover of Sonny and Cher's "The Beat Goes On"?
Play that poppy French music, mod girl. It might just be the grooviest First Friday ever.
The ink show for which I'd written the preview in Style? InLight with people I knew doing installations and live music? French pop until the wee hours?
"History Ink: The Tattoo Archive Project" was everything I'd tried to convey in my article about the exhibit and more. One girl's back and arms told her whole story: two ex-boyfriends and three states lived in. Personal history as body decoration.
One guy's back had a ram and a Nittany lion, symbolizing his undergrad work at Penn State and his graduate work at VCU. Academic career as body art.
I was taken by a picture of a tattoo where the artist and the decorated were the same person. As if that weren't cool enough, the artist/tattooed arrived at the picture when I did. After ascertaining that he was both, I asked him to stand like he was in the picture so I could verify his tattoo. He did. It was him.
Particularly striking was the confederate flag with ants marching over it tattooed on a black guy.
A favorite explanation of why one guy got his tattoo: "I wanted a big, awesome tattoo with a skull." Sometimes it's really that simple.
After eating and mingling at the DJ-fueled reception afterwards (Depeche Mode, Billy Idol), we checked out "Wickham House 200," a show of art inspired by the rooms of the historic Wickham House and executed by VCU students.
Two pieces struck me. "Oh, No We Never Mention Her" by Rachel Cohn was in the drawing room and used a song found in Mrs. Wickham's music book on a record player. The other, "Perpetual Dusk" by Sohail Abdullah was a light installation set in a slave's room.
Because the slave, Robin, left to work before sunrise and returned after sunset, he never saw the changing light in his small slave quarters. Abdullah's installation imagined the light he never saw. It was exquisite.
Plus it was the natural lead-in to the 2012 InLight along Broad Street.
From the very first courtyard and BYOB (bring your own beamers), we were treated to a face on brick and a meandering pattern based on music. At Adams and Broad, we saw a tree up lit with lights going on and off to the beat of music.
A couple walked up to view it, read the artist's statement and walked away muttering, "I don't understand that at all." Here's an idea. Don't try to understand it, just enjoy it.
A bottom-lit tree on a cold evening was a thing of Fall beauty. Rebecca Najdowski's "Infinity Box #2" caught my attention because it had its roots in a science fair project done in grade school. Then, her father had helped and it had consisted of a shoebox, a mirror and a strand of lights. Tonight, I put my eye on the black box and saw my eye along with a swirling mass of psychedelic lights.
Down my beloved Henry Street I found "Meandering Dynamics," tied up to a tree and consisting of a series of used white buckets forming a sinuous and continuous chain of light. I walked my way through it.
Then how could I not be taken by an installation by two of my favorite musicians?
"Interstitial Transduction" had been brought to life by Dave Watkins and Nelly Kate, two fabulous musicians who can make themselves sound like a half dozen people. Each. Their installation was highly interactive, with a stand of "leaves" with concealed mics, meaning if you tapped them, the visual or sound changed in some way.
I told Nelly that the piece was a great resume builder and she corrected me. "And esteem builder!"
She said that early on before things got crowded, a little girl came through and took advantage of the absence of people to do it her way. She galloped around the structure, methodically tapping each leaf in turn to make her own music.
"It was the purest joy," Nelly told me smiling. "It was better than a month of therapy." We agreed that the beauty of the installation was the way it drew people in so they could experience the light and music however they chose to.
I stopped by the Trillions installation to hear them play, finding a large cadre of earnest yet tragic looking 18-year olds.
"We 're scared to do this song," lead singer Charlie told the crowd. "Should we?" When the crowd roared their approval he responded, "Yes, this is a democracy. The song is called 'Dead Meat.'" Afterwards, the band joked about InLight not being a competition.
"Yes, it is," the bass player corrected. "We really want to win." "Cut and Paste" was an upbeat boppy pop song I loved, the kind the Trillions deliver effortlessly. Meanwhile, light imagery played on the two side buildings and the curved screen behind them.
Favorite line: "You think too much."
We were told by Charlie that playing "You Gotta Be Kidding" would ensure that something onstage would explode, but nothing did. Well, that was a close one.
I could have gone home happy at that point, but why would I when Ipanema had DJ Sarah Gossett playing French pop songs from the '60s and '70s? I ordered some Franco Serra 10 Dolcetto D'Alba and ran into some friends I'd seen at InLight.
They joined me at my front table near the DJ "booth" although the sound wasn't as loud there as I would have liked. Sarah's music choices were brilliant, especially some of the covers she played.
Nancy Holloway doing, "Je veux prendre la main" was just one of many Beatles covers I heard. I want to hold your hand, too, Nancy. There was Danielle Denin's "Je Lis Dans les Yeux,'' recognizable as "I'm Looking Through You."
Soon backup arrived to augment the sound near the front of the bar. "The talent requested it," I was told. No, I requested louder music, I corrected. A guy nearby backed me up, "I want it up. We're out here to hear the jams."
Amen.
Erich Saint Laurent's "Je devine la Verite" registered immediately as "I'm a Believer" and I danced along as if it were the Monkees. There were so many covers of British invasion songs and American pop, things like "Turn, Turn, Turn," and My Guy," but sung in French. There was even a Petula Clark song and who knew Pet could sing in French?
"This is my brief foray into the '80s," Sarah said, playing Lio's "Le Banana Split," the record cover looking (and the music sounding) oh-so '80s. She returned to form with Les Gam's (the apostrophe mistake is their, not mine) and "Judy's Turn to Cry."
"I Only Want to Dance with You" came courtesy of Les Surfs, a group of four guys in matching sweaters and two girls in matching sweaters and red mini skirts. Adorable.
I noticed and Sarah told me, "I love the covers." Swinging mods and lots of bangs, who wouldn't?
Finally I saw a couple dancing to all this great French pop. It just kept coming with Eileen's version of "These Boots are Made for Walking" which was top notch. And who could argue with a French cover of Sonny and Cher's "The Beat Goes On"?
Play that poppy French music, mod girl. It might just be the grooviest First Friday ever.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Music Lust, Not (yet) Man Lust
"If you are free, we need to go to this show," said the e-mail from Andrew, my musical partner in crime. Fortunately, he gave me enough notice that I could guarantee my presence where it was needed last night. I'd just recently discovered Jukebox the Ghost so I was excited to have a chance to hear them live so soon. With the local additions of Prabir and the Goldrush and The Trillions opening, it looked to be a musical bonanza of an evening.
Garnett's was our choice for dinner and it worked out well because it wasn't crazily busy, so we got plenty of conversation from the staff as well as a visit from George, the cat, who once again had wandered down the four blocks from where he actually lives. His daily presence is thought to have something to do with Hunter feeding him salmon ("I just wanted a companion," he explained, "and someone to stroke." Ahem), but I've never seen a cat so nonchalantly work a dinner crowd. Having both doors open probably doesn't discourage George much, either.
Searching the menu for a new sandwich to try, (Andrew the smart-ass said, "You haven't tried them all yet?") I decided on the grilled cheddar (with hot mustard and red onions on rye bread) on Curt's recommendation, with a side of Mac's fresher-than-fresh gazpacho. It was a variation on a cliched theme, that of the grilled cheese and tomato soup lunch of childhood; there was absolutely nothing cliched about this combination. I'd like to dub Mac the Soup Master for his talent with liquids, but he already knows I worship him. Dessert was the luscious chocolate cake with coffee icing and then we headed down to the Bottom for music.
We were early, or the show was late starting, however you want to look at it, so we did a stroll since it was such a beautiful night, which resulted in one of those sublime moments that you wish you could capture, raved about here.
And then it was show time. It was our first time seeing Prabir and then the Trillions (his former Substitutes plus one) at Alley Katz. My only complaint was the sound mix; the recently-added drums of the Goldrush pretty much canceled out Matt's bass, which was a real shame. If there's going to be an instrument that big on stage and being played with that much verve and enthusiasm, I want to hear it and I couldn't, except when the drummer was playing the high hat.
Prabir, take note.
I'd run into several friends who, like me, were there for Jukebox the Ghost and they delivered in spades. A Philly trio with an emphasis on crazy keyboards, they were tight, melodic and completely engaging. Pianist Ben was also a ham, using elaborate hand gestures and high voices to dramatize their songs (almost Freddy Mercury-like).
The crowd had a clear contingent of fans who knew every word and danced pretty much non-stop. The band even introduced their first two songs as "dance sensations." A skinny older man in the front row provided a frenetic dance performance to many of the songs, amusing the band and entertaining the crowd. He was completely into following that frenzied keyboard and it was awesome to watch. Andrew had been exactly right, I needed to see this show.
My last stop of the evening was Ipanema to meet up with a friend for catch-up conversation and of course we ended up closing the place (not that I was drinking after the lunch I'd had, here). It was funny, we both had a story about how a guy we knew had misinterpreted one of my recent blog posts. Both guys had had reading comprehension issues about this post, here, reading into it a completely different meaning than what I wrote.
Luckily, my girlfriend had interpreted it exactly as it was intended when I wrote it (so I knew I wasn't crazy), but these guys saw a completely different and provocative meaning to it. Song lyrics, guys, they were just lyrics and I wasn't lusting after or propositioning anyone in that post. Hell, the point of that post was about all the various enjoyable guys she and I had run into that night.
Until I get this guy thing going right again, thank god there are girlfriends who get me without needing explanations. Believe me, if I'm lusting after someone, I will be clear as crystal and you won't have to read into anything I write.
I'll spell it out for you and, male or female, you won't be able to miss my meaning.
Garnett's was our choice for dinner and it worked out well because it wasn't crazily busy, so we got plenty of conversation from the staff as well as a visit from George, the cat, who once again had wandered down the four blocks from where he actually lives. His daily presence is thought to have something to do with Hunter feeding him salmon ("I just wanted a companion," he explained, "and someone to stroke." Ahem), but I've never seen a cat so nonchalantly work a dinner crowd. Having both doors open probably doesn't discourage George much, either.
Searching the menu for a new sandwich to try, (Andrew the smart-ass said, "You haven't tried them all yet?") I decided on the grilled cheddar (with hot mustard and red onions on rye bread) on Curt's recommendation, with a side of Mac's fresher-than-fresh gazpacho. It was a variation on a cliched theme, that of the grilled cheese and tomato soup lunch of childhood; there was absolutely nothing cliched about this combination. I'd like to dub Mac the Soup Master for his talent with liquids, but he already knows I worship him. Dessert was the luscious chocolate cake with coffee icing and then we headed down to the Bottom for music.
We were early, or the show was late starting, however you want to look at it, so we did a stroll since it was such a beautiful night, which resulted in one of those sublime moments that you wish you could capture, raved about here.
And then it was show time. It was our first time seeing Prabir and then the Trillions (his former Substitutes plus one) at Alley Katz. My only complaint was the sound mix; the recently-added drums of the Goldrush pretty much canceled out Matt's bass, which was a real shame. If there's going to be an instrument that big on stage and being played with that much verve and enthusiasm, I want to hear it and I couldn't, except when the drummer was playing the high hat.
Prabir, take note.
I'd run into several friends who, like me, were there for Jukebox the Ghost and they delivered in spades. A Philly trio with an emphasis on crazy keyboards, they were tight, melodic and completely engaging. Pianist Ben was also a ham, using elaborate hand gestures and high voices to dramatize their songs (almost Freddy Mercury-like).
The crowd had a clear contingent of fans who knew every word and danced pretty much non-stop. The band even introduced their first two songs as "dance sensations." A skinny older man in the front row provided a frenetic dance performance to many of the songs, amusing the band and entertaining the crowd. He was completely into following that frenzied keyboard and it was awesome to watch. Andrew had been exactly right, I needed to see this show.
My last stop of the evening was Ipanema to meet up with a friend for catch-up conversation and of course we ended up closing the place (not that I was drinking after the lunch I'd had, here). It was funny, we both had a story about how a guy we knew had misinterpreted one of my recent blog posts. Both guys had had reading comprehension issues about this post, here, reading into it a completely different meaning than what I wrote.
Luckily, my girlfriend had interpreted it exactly as it was intended when I wrote it (so I knew I wasn't crazy), but these guys saw a completely different and provocative meaning to it. Song lyrics, guys, they were just lyrics and I wasn't lusting after or propositioning anyone in that post. Hell, the point of that post was about all the various enjoyable guys she and I had run into that night.
Until I get this guy thing going right again, thank god there are girlfriends who get me without needing explanations. Believe me, if I'm lusting after someone, I will be clear as crystal and you won't have to read into anything I write.
I'll spell it out for you and, male or female, you won't be able to miss my meaning.
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