This is an evening for people who love all forms of music and are most excited to see something unlike anything else out there. If you're a true music fan, you're not going to want to miss it.
~ RVA Mag "Shows you must see this week."
Tell me something I didn't already know.
I mean, how could you call yourself a music fan and not jump on an intimate show of a string quartet performing selections from Trey Pollard's new album "Antiphones?"
Throw in that hometown-boy-made-good Matthew E. White was opening and it was a benefit for Classical Revolution RVA and you'd have to be a musical fool not to snap up tickets early. And I'm no fool, or at least, no musical fool.
Besides, despite being strangers, Trey and I go way back. I'd seen Foxygen at the National last year, the same Foxygen who'd had Trey do the arrangements for the album, which is why I went (that and local musicians backing them on said arrangements). I was part of the enthusiastic audiences that saw him play as part of Ombak at Balliceaux in 2010 and 2014. That's right, I saw him backing Lydia Ooghe at Live at Ipanema in 2010, a cozy and memorable show. Back in 2011, I'd not only heard jazz sextet Old New Things do Trey's "Americana" at the Camel, but met a middle-aged man who'd recently begun taking guitar lessons from Trey and bragged about it to me, a stranger. Heck, in 2016, he'd been part of the appeal of hearing the Scott Clark Other Other 4-tet in the dim light of the Gypsy Tea Room. For that matter, there was the time I saw him as part of the Matt White hometown show at Strange Matter touring behind Matt's "Big Love" album just when it was breaking huge. And let's not forget the Richmond Symphony Pops performance in 2017 where Trey wrote the arrangements for all the performers - Tim Barry, Bio Ritmo, Clair Morgan - and I was in the nosebleeds for them all.
But if you really want to drill down, I was at the Listening Room in April 2010 when he'd been playing pedal steel instead of his usual guitar and found myself too curious not to go up to him afterward. Music novice that I am, I'd asked him about it and been surprised when he admitted that the instrument was new to him, so it still required every bit of concentration he had.
Who knew anything musical was ever difficult for Trey Pollard?
All of that's just a long way of saying that seeing the RVA Mag piece after I'd gotten tickets for last night's birthday week fundraiser for Classical Revolution RVA was just validation that I'd made the right call.
Not that I need validation, mind you, but it's always a nice bonus.
After dinner at Goatocado - me with a Californian, Mr. Wright with a Mediterranean - you can be sure we arrived moments after the doors opened so I could have my choice of seats (second row, center, behind family members in the front row) for an evening with Spacebomb founder Matt and longtime collaborator Trey.
Spotting the usual suspects - the DJ I'd just seen at "La Dolce Vita," the Bridgepark mastermind, assorted local musicians - I somehow managed to miss a favorite girlfriend who messaged me this morning, saying she'd seen me before the show and then I'd disappeared. How we missed each other, I'm not quite sure.
Next to me was a young couple, sounding new to each other because they were sharing their musical tastes. She explained that her taste was eclectic, although she couldn't abide country and he listened politely as she told him how much more music there was where she came from than here. Still, they agreed, Richmond was getting better and they were hoping they hadn't made a bad choice in coming tonight.
I didn't have the time or inclination for some real talk with them.
Matt came out and sat down at the piano with the uber-talented Alan Parker on guitar, explaining that it had been only last night when he'd asked Alan to accompany him. That's some serious chops right there. He then proceeded to play some of his new hushed and soulful songs, his back to the room because of the piano's placement.
"I was gonna tell a Trey story between every song - I've known Trey half my life - but I decided not to," he joked at the start, a shame for those of us who love a good yarn. His song about the current dictator in the White House was entitled "No Future in Our Frontman" and got a resounding round of applause, as much for the song's urgency as its message.
If not our musicians and artists speaking out against this abomination-in-chief, then who?
Eventually, Matt relented and shared a favorite Trey story, telling us how, as a teenager, his Virginia Beach guitar teacher was always holding up Trey as the local guitar pinnacle, which was meaningless because Matt had no idea who he was. At least he didn't until he realized that the cheesy Norfolk restaurant where he was hosting had a weekly band consisting of old guys playing rock and roll covers with one young guy shredding mightily on guitar.
Matt, meet Trey.
The string quintet - two violins, viola, cello and upright bass - joined Matt for the last couple of songs, with Trey warning the room that they'd not rehearsed together for this. But these were classical musicians and pros, and they nailed his arrangements, adding an incredibly lush note to Matt's music.
They were so good, in fact, that after the final note, Matt turned to them and Trey looking terribly impressed. "Hey, that was pretty good, Trey!" he marveled since he had just heard the arrangements for the first time, too.
Apparently when you've known someone nearly all your musical life, arranging for their songs is no big deal, or at least it isn't for someone as talented as Trey.
After a brief intermission, the string quintet returned to play selections from Trey's "Preludes and Fugues for String Quartet," a series of short pieces that delivered various moods and musical expectations, only to take off in a direction that felt fresher than any string quartet music you can remember hearing.
Trey introduced the musicians, then took up a spot standing off in a corner as they played.
Like an expectant father being asked to witness his baby's delivery, Trey's focus involved listening intently to the quintet while staring down with his eyes covered or up at the ceiling, at least until his young son approached him, arms extended. Trey took in the rest of the performance with his son's head nestled in his Daddy's neck. It was incredibly sweet.
But so was being on the second floor of the Hof with a small crowd of music lovers listening to homegrown Richmond music about to be released to the world. These guys represent Richmond impressively well and anyone who knew about the show and chose not to come had missed out.
Trey and the Classical Revolution musicians got a much-deserved and extended standing ovation and every time they tried to stop bowing and leave, the clapping kicked into a higher gear. Safe to say, everyone there knew they'd witnessed something extraordinary.
Making our way out, I ran smack into the handsomest bass player I know, surprising both of us since it had been a while and I'd missed his annual Halloween extravaganza because I'd been at a black tie gala dancing to "Brick House" instead of at his house.
"As I live and breathe, Karen Newton!" he exclaimed, hugging me while holding his wife's violin off to the side.
Just another part of a stellar evening I wouldn't have wanted to miss. As the DJ and I agreed, there was absolutely nowhere better to be in Richmond this Tuesday night.
P.S. Happy sixth birthday, Classical Revolution. Helluva celebration.
Showing posts with label trey pollard. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trey pollard. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 14, 2018
Wednesday, March 22, 2017
The Leader is You
Of course it was the familiar faces, too, but you can't overlook how much I enjoy theatrical types.
As I discussed with three different friends at the National, tonight's Foxygen show was a no-brainer for multiple reasons besides it was a beautiful night to be out.
Let's see, to start with, the trio was being backed up by members of the Spacebomb Records house band aka some of the best jazz cats (don't look at me, that's what they call each other) in Richmond, from the 5-piece horn section to the well-known rhythm section of Pinson and Cameron to the incomparable Trey Pollard on guitar, the very same who'd done the arrangements for the new Foxygen record.
That alone would have gotten me there, but I'd also heard singer Sam refer to the duo as "just theater kids," and history shows I'm a fan of onstage over-wrought millennial stage drama tunes (hello, how many times did I attend the Ghost Light afterparty just to hear such people belt out show tunes?).
A third reason that several of us also acknowledged was that it was only a $15 ticket and happening a Tuesday night where it was easily the most interesting thing going on in town tonight.
My favorite reason came from a fellow Yo La Tengo fan who said simply, "I love to dance." Enough said.
In any case, ding, ding, ding. We have a winner, folks.
The opener was Aussie Gabriella Cohen who came out alone, admitting she'd been worried she'd be late because she was still changing her blouse. She's apparently wearing a lot of blouses on this tour and tonight's was a stand-up collar, puffy-sleeved, cream colored one with lace trim, very Victorian and/or '70s, depending on your point of reference.
She tried to tell us she just wanted to come along as Foxygen's roadie, but they insisted she get onstage. Since she used to be the singer for the Furrs, she's obviously got some experience, although one friend thought she came across as not quite ready for prime time.
This was an interesting comparison since just before the show, I'd heard a snippet from a 1994 interview with the Dave Matthews Band, not long after they'd gotten their first record deal. Besides sounding incredibly young and excited (and not ready for prime time, either), they'd played "Ants Marching" right there in the studio and the passion and freshness of it was evident compared to how it undoubtedly sounds live now.
Sometimes, not quite ready for the big league is exactly when you most enjoy a band.
After the first song solo and an acknowledgement she worshipped Johnny Cash, Gabriella was joined by her band whom she immediately introduced, a nice touch, I thought. The quartet's songs were a combination of neo-country/western and girl group with lots of effects on the voice and guitars and a bit of underlying garage.
"Do you all live here?" she asked of the enthusiastic crowd. "Have you been to Australia? Do you want to?" When the crowd cheered, she laughed. "Do you think we all surf?" She rolls her eyes. "Not much."
Banter was minimal - "This is another song" and "Thank you" - and the other guitarist added her lovely vocals to Gabriella's, as did the bassist on occasion. "This is our last song which is a good thing because then you can hear Foxygen!" Maybe, but in the meantime, I was totally digging the screaming post-punk guitar behind lyrics like, "Why don't we get together?"
During the break, I heard from my musician friend about the satisfactions of teaching guitar (students noodling between lessons) and from a photographer friend about being smitten by someone who'd last significant other was an illustrator for the "New Yorker." Tough act to follow, man.
When he bemoaned the difficulties of a long distance relationship like the one on which he was embarking, I reminded him that if a long-distance one is better than none at all, he might want to keep his bellyaching to himself.
Then the lights went down and I lost my friend to the front rows so he could dance with the mob while I stayed directly in front of the sound board, shielded from behind and with a good view. Also, plenty of room to dance.
Foxygen came out, which meant three faces I didn't know and eight I did. When I think back to that first time I ever saw Trey Pollard at a Listening Room in 2010, I couldn't help but think how cool it was to see him as part of this.
Singer Sam, a theater kid if ever there was one, came out in a skinny white t-shirt and jeans with Todd Rundgren-like hair (short bangs, long hair), round sunglasses and all the moves. There was posturing, there was drama, there was showing off with kicks, mic stand manipulations and fists in the air.
And that was just in the first song.
He introduced the girl singer as Julie and her job, it appeared, was to flip her hair, dance in syncopation with Sam and sing back-up or harmonize while looking cute. She nailed it. On the second song, he sang, "I left my heart in San Francisco" and she sang back, "That's okay, I live in L.A."
Three songs in and the band's influences were clear: Bowie, Queen and a lot of Mick Jagger's dance moves. A friend heard prog rock influences while I heard psychedelic.
Potatoes, potahtoes.
"A lot of local boys on stage tonight," Sam shouted enthusiastically, referring to a group of musicians mostly older than himself. Too funny. "Give it up for the Spacebomb crew!" he directed and the crowd did.
With each song, we got another massive dose of theater kid drama, whether guitarist/keyboard player Jonathan's screaming guitar solo, one foot on his bench, the other on top of the piano, or singer Sam acting as much as singing, helicoptering his arms and dropping and catching the mic.
We heard songs that were Queen-esque and others that invoked ABBA big time while the bubbly crowd bopped four colorful balloons (no doubt supplied by the band) into the air. There were costume changes, during which the band competed: Jonathan's exuberant piano playing versus a percussive onslaught in return.
Then we also had a song called "Where the Red Fern Grows," which I'm quite sure refers to an old children's book title, and wildly theatrical-sounding songs with multiple-part arrangements that allowed Sam to pull out his best deep voice for emphasis.
So. Much. Drama. It was fully fabulous.
My musician friend concluded at the end that he'd liked about 65% of the songs we'd heard. Personally, I'd liked 100% of the overwrought songs that winked at themselves and and reached for grandiosity while eight of the most talented musicians I know backed them up.
Not only did I want to give it up for the Spacebomb crew, but we Yo La Tengo fans love to dance.
As I discussed with three different friends at the National, tonight's Foxygen show was a no-brainer for multiple reasons besides it was a beautiful night to be out.
Let's see, to start with, the trio was being backed up by members of the Spacebomb Records house band aka some of the best jazz cats (don't look at me, that's what they call each other) in Richmond, from the 5-piece horn section to the well-known rhythm section of Pinson and Cameron to the incomparable Trey Pollard on guitar, the very same who'd done the arrangements for the new Foxygen record.
That alone would have gotten me there, but I'd also heard singer Sam refer to the duo as "just theater kids," and history shows I'm a fan of onstage over-wrought millennial stage drama tunes (hello, how many times did I attend the Ghost Light afterparty just to hear such people belt out show tunes?).
A third reason that several of us also acknowledged was that it was only a $15 ticket and happening a Tuesday night where it was easily the most interesting thing going on in town tonight.
My favorite reason came from a fellow Yo La Tengo fan who said simply, "I love to dance." Enough said.
In any case, ding, ding, ding. We have a winner, folks.
The opener was Aussie Gabriella Cohen who came out alone, admitting she'd been worried she'd be late because she was still changing her blouse. She's apparently wearing a lot of blouses on this tour and tonight's was a stand-up collar, puffy-sleeved, cream colored one with lace trim, very Victorian and/or '70s, depending on your point of reference.
She tried to tell us she just wanted to come along as Foxygen's roadie, but they insisted she get onstage. Since she used to be the singer for the Furrs, she's obviously got some experience, although one friend thought she came across as not quite ready for prime time.
This was an interesting comparison since just before the show, I'd heard a snippet from a 1994 interview with the Dave Matthews Band, not long after they'd gotten their first record deal. Besides sounding incredibly young and excited (and not ready for prime time, either), they'd played "Ants Marching" right there in the studio and the passion and freshness of it was evident compared to how it undoubtedly sounds live now.
Sometimes, not quite ready for the big league is exactly when you most enjoy a band.
After the first song solo and an acknowledgement she worshipped Johnny Cash, Gabriella was joined by her band whom she immediately introduced, a nice touch, I thought. The quartet's songs were a combination of neo-country/western and girl group with lots of effects on the voice and guitars and a bit of underlying garage.
"Do you all live here?" she asked of the enthusiastic crowd. "Have you been to Australia? Do you want to?" When the crowd cheered, she laughed. "Do you think we all surf?" She rolls her eyes. "Not much."
Banter was minimal - "This is another song" and "Thank you" - and the other guitarist added her lovely vocals to Gabriella's, as did the bassist on occasion. "This is our last song which is a good thing because then you can hear Foxygen!" Maybe, but in the meantime, I was totally digging the screaming post-punk guitar behind lyrics like, "Why don't we get together?"
During the break, I heard from my musician friend about the satisfactions of teaching guitar (students noodling between lessons) and from a photographer friend about being smitten by someone who'd last significant other was an illustrator for the "New Yorker." Tough act to follow, man.
When he bemoaned the difficulties of a long distance relationship like the one on which he was embarking, I reminded him that if a long-distance one is better than none at all, he might want to keep his bellyaching to himself.
Then the lights went down and I lost my friend to the front rows so he could dance with the mob while I stayed directly in front of the sound board, shielded from behind and with a good view. Also, plenty of room to dance.
Foxygen came out, which meant three faces I didn't know and eight I did. When I think back to that first time I ever saw Trey Pollard at a Listening Room in 2010, I couldn't help but think how cool it was to see him as part of this.
Singer Sam, a theater kid if ever there was one, came out in a skinny white t-shirt and jeans with Todd Rundgren-like hair (short bangs, long hair), round sunglasses and all the moves. There was posturing, there was drama, there was showing off with kicks, mic stand manipulations and fists in the air.
And that was just in the first song.
He introduced the girl singer as Julie and her job, it appeared, was to flip her hair, dance in syncopation with Sam and sing back-up or harmonize while looking cute. She nailed it. On the second song, he sang, "I left my heart in San Francisco" and she sang back, "That's okay, I live in L.A."
Three songs in and the band's influences were clear: Bowie, Queen and a lot of Mick Jagger's dance moves. A friend heard prog rock influences while I heard psychedelic.
Potatoes, potahtoes.
"A lot of local boys on stage tonight," Sam shouted enthusiastically, referring to a group of musicians mostly older than himself. Too funny. "Give it up for the Spacebomb crew!" he directed and the crowd did.
With each song, we got another massive dose of theater kid drama, whether guitarist/keyboard player Jonathan's screaming guitar solo, one foot on his bench, the other on top of the piano, or singer Sam acting as much as singing, helicoptering his arms and dropping and catching the mic.
We heard songs that were Queen-esque and others that invoked ABBA big time while the bubbly crowd bopped four colorful balloons (no doubt supplied by the band) into the air. There were costume changes, during which the band competed: Jonathan's exuberant piano playing versus a percussive onslaught in return.
Then we also had a song called "Where the Red Fern Grows," which I'm quite sure refers to an old children's book title, and wildly theatrical-sounding songs with multiple-part arrangements that allowed Sam to pull out his best deep voice for emphasis.
So. Much. Drama. It was fully fabulous.
My musician friend concluded at the end that he'd liked about 65% of the songs we'd heard. Personally, I'd liked 100% of the overwrought songs that winked at themselves and and reached for grandiosity while eight of the most talented musicians I know backed them up.
Not only did I want to give it up for the Spacebomb crew, but we Yo La Tengo fans love to dance.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
The Devil's Time
My evening began with a lesson in self-appreciation.
On my way to dinner, I stopped at the drugstore where a woman gasped and pointed at my legs, "I loooove your tights, girl!" Thanking her, I said they were an inexpensive Target pair, a confidence that got her talking.
"I bought myself some cute ones like that and wore them to church with a sweater dress and not too hootchie-kootcie, either," she said, gesturing to a skirt length far longer than mine. "You should have seen the nasty looks I got in church. I told them don't hate on me because I got these nice legs"
She outweighed me by a hundred pounds minimum and she was as confident about her nice legs as I am about my old ones.
We were soul sisters, she and I.
On that high note, I went to Curry Craft for dinner, finding it satisfyingly busy with a lot of Indian people and a table of gabbing women, so I became the lone bar sitter.
My place in the universe is secure. While I am happy to be that person at the bar sitting alone, if I'd thought it through, I'd have brought some reading material.
One of the servers took pity on me, coming over after putting my order in to chat me up, asking what I do.
Poor thing, before my food arrived, he heard about my walking and music show going and took questions about how he fills his days (applying to graduate school and doing laundry).
I bet he was glad when my Juhu beach-style chaat, a medium-hot melange of puffed rice, potatoes, green chili, red onions, pomegranate and spices and naan arrived, saving him from further interrogation.
Karawali prawns made killer hot with roasted tomato, clove, chili and garlic masala was balanced by lemon/curry leaf vinaigrette drizzled on the plate for contrasting color and flavor.
Full as a tick after a lovely, albeit unusually quiet, meal, I left in the pouring rain to go to Balliceaux for music.
My first stop was the loo, where I found wall art saying, "Trouble, Come Home," with an arrow pointing toward the back room.
Underneath it, someone had scrawled, "Tried."
We can't always accomplish what we set out to do.
Ombak was just about to start and I wouldn't have wanted to miss any of their set. It's been close to three years since they played out and, having seen them three or four times before that, I knew what a treat they are.
The band is so full of A-list musicians that listening to them is like being privy to a master class.
All of them - bandleader Bryan Hooten, Brian Jones, JC Kuhl, Trey Pollard and Cam Ralston- are so amazingly good that it's fun just to watch them eyeball each other as they take off in unexpected musical directions.
Tonight I sat back to enjoy their intriguing sound full of odd time signatures, which takes its cues from just about everything: jazz, folk music, math rock and much of the musical landscape in between, with a couple of music lovers I knew.
On "Island," Brian Jones was so busy drumming on every possible part of his drum kit that I half expected him to reach over his shoulder and start playing on the wooden frame of the window above his head. Cam's sheet music kept getting knocked off the stand by the bows coming off his bass.
Introducing "Megatron," Bryan observed that it was obvious these were old songs by the cultural references; "Island" came from the TV show "Lost" and "Megatron" came from the Transformers series.
While the titles may have been a tad dated, the music was as fresh as a daisy.
Watching the musicians take such delight in each others' solos is a big part of the Ombak experience for the audience.
And tonight that small, jazz-loving crowd was as respectful as a listening room, an utterly rare occurrence at Balliceaux.
After intermission, they played an abbreviated but still stellar rendition of "Aware" off the "Framing the Void" album most of us in the room probably own.
Before launching into "Listen to the World," Cam looked at the music, shaking his head and saying, "Oh, man!" and causing Bryan to check with him to see if he still wanted to do it.
"Suuuure," the bassist said, evoking the anything goes philosophy of the night, also evident before they did Brian Jones' "R.H.," a nod to Pittsburgh drummer Roger Humphries.
"Let's vamp first," Brian instructed the band.
"It's cool, baby," leader Bryan agreed, head bobbing as the song exploded.
"Fresh out of the oven" he called the brand new song "Collapses," warning that it wasn't fully cooked before knocking everyone's socks off with a 5/4 beat that a musician near me identified as "devil's time."
Next time I'm having a difficult go of something, that's how I'll refer to it.
They finished with a Tuvan folk melody, with Bryan saying, "I don't know what it's about because I don't speak Tuvan."
It began with Cam bowing his bass for a change and Brian playing drums with no sticks and made all the better by guitarist Trey Pollard sliding notes into each other to mimic Tuvan throat singing.
God, these guys are good.
The best news is that Ombak is back and planning to play one night a month at Balliceaux for the foreseeable future.
If Ombak is trouble, they tried and have finally come home.
It's cool, baby. So cool.
On my way to dinner, I stopped at the drugstore where a woman gasped and pointed at my legs, "I loooove your tights, girl!" Thanking her, I said they were an inexpensive Target pair, a confidence that got her talking.
"I bought myself some cute ones like that and wore them to church with a sweater dress and not too hootchie-kootcie, either," she said, gesturing to a skirt length far longer than mine. "You should have seen the nasty looks I got in church. I told them don't hate on me because I got these nice legs"
She outweighed me by a hundred pounds minimum and she was as confident about her nice legs as I am about my old ones.
We were soul sisters, she and I.
On that high note, I went to Curry Craft for dinner, finding it satisfyingly busy with a lot of Indian people and a table of gabbing women, so I became the lone bar sitter.
My place in the universe is secure. While I am happy to be that person at the bar sitting alone, if I'd thought it through, I'd have brought some reading material.
One of the servers took pity on me, coming over after putting my order in to chat me up, asking what I do.
Poor thing, before my food arrived, he heard about my walking and music show going and took questions about how he fills his days (applying to graduate school and doing laundry).
I bet he was glad when my Juhu beach-style chaat, a medium-hot melange of puffed rice, potatoes, green chili, red onions, pomegranate and spices and naan arrived, saving him from further interrogation.
Karawali prawns made killer hot with roasted tomato, clove, chili and garlic masala was balanced by lemon/curry leaf vinaigrette drizzled on the plate for contrasting color and flavor.
Full as a tick after a lovely, albeit unusually quiet, meal, I left in the pouring rain to go to Balliceaux for music.
My first stop was the loo, where I found wall art saying, "Trouble, Come Home," with an arrow pointing toward the back room.
Underneath it, someone had scrawled, "Tried."
We can't always accomplish what we set out to do.
Ombak was just about to start and I wouldn't have wanted to miss any of their set. It's been close to three years since they played out and, having seen them three or four times before that, I knew what a treat they are.
The band is so full of A-list musicians that listening to them is like being privy to a master class.
All of them - bandleader Bryan Hooten, Brian Jones, JC Kuhl, Trey Pollard and Cam Ralston- are so amazingly good that it's fun just to watch them eyeball each other as they take off in unexpected musical directions.
Tonight I sat back to enjoy their intriguing sound full of odd time signatures, which takes its cues from just about everything: jazz, folk music, math rock and much of the musical landscape in between, with a couple of music lovers I knew.
On "Island," Brian Jones was so busy drumming on every possible part of his drum kit that I half expected him to reach over his shoulder and start playing on the wooden frame of the window above his head. Cam's sheet music kept getting knocked off the stand by the bows coming off his bass.
Introducing "Megatron," Bryan observed that it was obvious these were old songs by the cultural references; "Island" came from the TV show "Lost" and "Megatron" came from the Transformers series.
While the titles may have been a tad dated, the music was as fresh as a daisy.
Watching the musicians take such delight in each others' solos is a big part of the Ombak experience for the audience.
And tonight that small, jazz-loving crowd was as respectful as a listening room, an utterly rare occurrence at Balliceaux.
After intermission, they played an abbreviated but still stellar rendition of "Aware" off the "Framing the Void" album most of us in the room probably own.
Before launching into "Listen to the World," Cam looked at the music, shaking his head and saying, "Oh, man!" and causing Bryan to check with him to see if he still wanted to do it.
"Suuuure," the bassist said, evoking the anything goes philosophy of the night, also evident before they did Brian Jones' "R.H.," a nod to Pittsburgh drummer Roger Humphries.
"Let's vamp first," Brian instructed the band.
"It's cool, baby," leader Bryan agreed, head bobbing as the song exploded.
"Fresh out of the oven" he called the brand new song "Collapses," warning that it wasn't fully cooked before knocking everyone's socks off with a 5/4 beat that a musician near me identified as "devil's time."
Next time I'm having a difficult go of something, that's how I'll refer to it.
They finished with a Tuvan folk melody, with Bryan saying, "I don't know what it's about because I don't speak Tuvan."
It began with Cam bowing his bass for a change and Brian playing drums with no sticks and made all the better by guitarist Trey Pollard sliding notes into each other to mimic Tuvan throat singing.
God, these guys are good.
The best news is that Ombak is back and planning to play one night a month at Balliceaux for the foreseeable future.
If Ombak is trouble, they tried and have finally come home.
It's cool, baby. So cool.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Big Love Comes Home
There's a lot to be said for delayed gratification.
When I bought my ticket back on October 10th for the Matt White show tonight at Strange Matter, I knew I'd be in for an impressive night of music.
Even expecting a knock-out, I wasn't prepared for what a memorable night it was.
I arrived promptly at 9 because the word was "Sounds at 9." Okay, not 9 per se, but not long after, either.
Making my way to the bar, I found myself next to a guy who said hello and introduced himself.
He'd come in to pay his tab from last night and now was curious about what was going on tonight.
I explained who the magnificently-maned Matt White was, about his Spacebomb studio and house band, then he explained that he was just back from Yogaville and had his dog in his car and was now really sorry he couldn't stay.
Not long after, with no introduction, Matt and his band -all very familiar faces since I've been seeing them play in myriad configurations for years now- plus the Rosebuds' Howard Ivans walked out of the kitchen and through the crowd to reach the stage.
Explaining that he'd been doing some songs with the Spacebomb guys, he began singing the new material over some of the funkiest R & B grooves being made by white boys today.
He even thanked the crowd for coming out early, although the pleasure was all ours and a guy I knew who didn't show up until just after 10 missed a simply superb set by coming late, a fact I may have pointed out.
It was all so retro-soul with Ivans' terrific voice and it was irresistibly danceable.
After several kick-ass original songs, Ivans said, "I'm going to do a Robert Palmer song, if that's okay."
Okay? I can't think of a more appropriate white boy to cover and "You Are in My System" benefited from the air tight rhythm and horn sections.
"You're listening to the best band in America," Ivans said, stating what Richmond music-lovers already know.
His set wound down far too quickly and suddenly we were at the last two songs.
One was a slow burner, the kind of song you want someone to slow- dance with to it and the last one, "Red Face Boy," was a barn-burner.
My dance party-loving friend looked at me, grinning ear to ear, "I feel like I should be doing the hustle," he enthused after the first few beats.
He was spot on; the silken groove was made to boogie to and there weren't many people resisting it, whether full-on dancing or grooving in place.
After the set ended, trumpeter Bob Miller walked by and said hello. Telling him how much I'd loved what they'd played, he expressed regret that they'd only had a half dozen chances to play with Ivans on tour.
"I'd love to play these songs more," he admitted, showing his true-blue soul side.
Strange Matter got more crowded during the break and by the time Matt, Cameron, Scott, Pinson, Gabe, Bob, Trey and Bryan returned, the feel-good energy in the room was palpable.
Hometown boy puts out record with local band, makes year-end best of lists, tours US and Europe (100-plus shows this year, Matt said) and finally comes back to play for long-time fans.
"It's good to be home," Matt said sounding quite sincere.
It was good to be hearing the band Paste, Pitchfork and practically every other musical tastemaker had raved as emerging fully formed.
Of note was that guitarist Trey Pollard was sometimes playing pedal steel, notable mainly because I'd seen him play it at the Listening Room back in April 2010 when he'd first been learning it.
Then, he'd told me it took every ounce of concentration he had to play it and tonight it appeared to be an extension of him, much the way his guitar is.
During one song, dapperly-hatted bassist Cameron and leader Matt showed off their best Motown-like dance moves, playing and turning in unison to face stage right and left, mirroring each other.
Title track "Big Love" got its rhythmic hand claps courtesy of the horn section, with Bryan and Bob using the instruments they were born with. Likewise, Cameron and Gabe did double duty singing back-up.
It's hard to convey just how tight these guys are and how full their soul-meets-Muscle-Shoals sound is, but their obvious pleasure in playing together was readily apparent.
"This show tonight is important," Matt said between songs. "This is a special music community and a great artistic community. You might miss it if you don't stop and appreciate it. This is a special place. We've done 122 shows this year and I talk up Richmond in every city we play, send love back here. That's because it's real. Special things happen here."
He said that since it was the end of the mini-tour with Howard, and they were at home, there was no reason not to play every song they had, including new material off the recent EP.
With percussionist Scott Clark double-fisting tambourines while grinning like he was having the time of his life, they did just that.
Matt explained that the next song was very quiet. "I'm just telling you that in other cities, I stare at people to make them shut up for this song. You can't do that in your home town, it's rude. But if you want to wrap up your conversations so you can hear it..."
I'm embarrassed to say that some people went right on blathering and shouting drunkenly while the rest of us shut up so we could hear the beautifully quiet song.
We got the two-song warning because, Matt said, it would be awkward to do an encore since there was no place to go or wait.
Not that this crowd wouldn't have willingly waited for more deep grooves and blaring horns.
But as he pointed out, when a seven-song record unexpectedly takes off and you start touring, it's a limited repertoire you have to pull from.
The beauty was that it's also a very satisfyingly danceable one and by the end of the show, the room-filling chorus made for the feeling of a tent revival.
Richmond-style, of course.
Best of all, these guys are representing us all over the globe, making this town look as good as some of us already know it is.
No delay in gratification there.
When I bought my ticket back on October 10th for the Matt White show tonight at Strange Matter, I knew I'd be in for an impressive night of music.
Even expecting a knock-out, I wasn't prepared for what a memorable night it was.
I arrived promptly at 9 because the word was "Sounds at 9." Okay, not 9 per se, but not long after, either.
Making my way to the bar, I found myself next to a guy who said hello and introduced himself.
He'd come in to pay his tab from last night and now was curious about what was going on tonight.
I explained who the magnificently-maned Matt White was, about his Spacebomb studio and house band, then he explained that he was just back from Yogaville and had his dog in his car and was now really sorry he couldn't stay.
Not long after, with no introduction, Matt and his band -all very familiar faces since I've been seeing them play in myriad configurations for years now- plus the Rosebuds' Howard Ivans walked out of the kitchen and through the crowd to reach the stage.
Explaining that he'd been doing some songs with the Spacebomb guys, he began singing the new material over some of the funkiest R & B grooves being made by white boys today.
He even thanked the crowd for coming out early, although the pleasure was all ours and a guy I knew who didn't show up until just after 10 missed a simply superb set by coming late, a fact I may have pointed out.
It was all so retro-soul with Ivans' terrific voice and it was irresistibly danceable.
After several kick-ass original songs, Ivans said, "I'm going to do a Robert Palmer song, if that's okay."
Okay? I can't think of a more appropriate white boy to cover and "You Are in My System" benefited from the air tight rhythm and horn sections.
"You're listening to the best band in America," Ivans said, stating what Richmond music-lovers already know.
His set wound down far too quickly and suddenly we were at the last two songs.
One was a slow burner, the kind of song you want someone to slow- dance with to it and the last one, "Red Face Boy," was a barn-burner.
My dance party-loving friend looked at me, grinning ear to ear, "I feel like I should be doing the hustle," he enthused after the first few beats.
He was spot on; the silken groove was made to boogie to and there weren't many people resisting it, whether full-on dancing or grooving in place.
After the set ended, trumpeter Bob Miller walked by and said hello. Telling him how much I'd loved what they'd played, he expressed regret that they'd only had a half dozen chances to play with Ivans on tour.
"I'd love to play these songs more," he admitted, showing his true-blue soul side.
Strange Matter got more crowded during the break and by the time Matt, Cameron, Scott, Pinson, Gabe, Bob, Trey and Bryan returned, the feel-good energy in the room was palpable.
Hometown boy puts out record with local band, makes year-end best of lists, tours US and Europe (100-plus shows this year, Matt said) and finally comes back to play for long-time fans.
"It's good to be home," Matt said sounding quite sincere.
It was good to be hearing the band Paste, Pitchfork and practically every other musical tastemaker had raved as emerging fully formed.
Of note was that guitarist Trey Pollard was sometimes playing pedal steel, notable mainly because I'd seen him play it at the Listening Room back in April 2010 when he'd first been learning it.
Then, he'd told me it took every ounce of concentration he had to play it and tonight it appeared to be an extension of him, much the way his guitar is.
During one song, dapperly-hatted bassist Cameron and leader Matt showed off their best Motown-like dance moves, playing and turning in unison to face stage right and left, mirroring each other.
Title track "Big Love" got its rhythmic hand claps courtesy of the horn section, with Bryan and Bob using the instruments they were born with. Likewise, Cameron and Gabe did double duty singing back-up.
It's hard to convey just how tight these guys are and how full their soul-meets-Muscle-Shoals sound is, but their obvious pleasure in playing together was readily apparent.
"This show tonight is important," Matt said between songs. "This is a special music community and a great artistic community. You might miss it if you don't stop and appreciate it. This is a special place. We've done 122 shows this year and I talk up Richmond in every city we play, send love back here. That's because it's real. Special things happen here."
He said that since it was the end of the mini-tour with Howard, and they were at home, there was no reason not to play every song they had, including new material off the recent EP.
With percussionist Scott Clark double-fisting tambourines while grinning like he was having the time of his life, they did just that.
Matt explained that the next song was very quiet. "I'm just telling you that in other cities, I stare at people to make them shut up for this song. You can't do that in your home town, it's rude. But if you want to wrap up your conversations so you can hear it..."
I'm embarrassed to say that some people went right on blathering and shouting drunkenly while the rest of us shut up so we could hear the beautifully quiet song.
We got the two-song warning because, Matt said, it would be awkward to do an encore since there was no place to go or wait.
Not that this crowd wouldn't have willingly waited for more deep grooves and blaring horns.
But as he pointed out, when a seven-song record unexpectedly takes off and you start touring, it's a limited repertoire you have to pull from.
The beauty was that it's also a very satisfyingly danceable one and by the end of the show, the room-filling chorus made for the feeling of a tent revival.
Richmond-style, of course.
Best of all, these guys are representing us all over the globe, making this town look as good as some of us already know it is.
No delay in gratification there.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Listening for All the Right Reasons
You don't see a good friend for a few weeks and when you finally do your time is limited by prior committments, so all the Counoise and Malbec in the restaurant can't help you catch up on each other's lives any faster than you do. But we tried diligently, we really did.
The starting point was Six Burner (at her request but always a good choice for me) and while I was the sole customer at 6:00, within the hour, the place was bustling. By the time my friend arrived, I'd already regaled Josh with the details of last night's supreme soul show, knowing that as a musician he'd want to hear about such talent and showmanship and he did. His biggest regret was that I hadn't forewarned him since he'd been off by 9:30 and could have made it over. I keep forgetting that that's my job around here: tell people what to do.
My friend started by asking if I had the minutes of our last get-together and, sadly, I did not. Once we got rolling on the value of blog posts with depth, there was no stopping the words, though. Theater was next with a discussion of the hardest part of being an actor not being the actual acting, but the onstage listening and reacting (can you say Brandon Crowder?). Having just seen Tommy too, we compared notes.
She's recently started working out with a personal trainer who's been treating her respectfully and politely. much to her disgust. Tired of that nonsense, when he told her today to do another set of crunches after two previous sets, she responded, "Fuck you!" in an effort to loosen him up. After that, he seemed to finally get a feel for who she really is and how best to handle her; a well-placed expletive can do that for a woman.
Josh reappeared with an amuse bouche and we tucked into eel with roasted ramp in a mushroom sauce and what a delicious thing that was. We then ordered the salumi plate of cured meats and the risotto balls with mozzarella (that superb crust and creamy interior, what a beautiful contrast that was) to have some sustenance while we delved into heavier things.
She reads the blog so, as she pointed out, she knew the general framework of what had been happening, but wanted the full-on versions with the details I don't share publicly. It had been so long that entire chapters had closed, new intrigue had occurred and fresh fodder for discussion developed. Josh kept our glasses refilled and we talked right up until we went our separate ways on the sidewalk out front.
I had to get going because I was not willing to be late for the Listening Room; music starts promptly at 8 and I like to have a few minutes to socialize before zipping it for the sake of music.
The program began with the soft-voiced Lydia Ooghe, playing with Trey Pollard and Wells Hanley. "This is a song about wanting to go out and drink by myself," she informed the audience. Then turning to her musicians, she asked, "Do you guys know what song that is? It 's actually all of them." Favorite lyric: "I don't really care if you're a good boy/you're the only one for me."
Worth noting is that Trey was not playing his usual guitar, but instead the pedal steel, an instrument whose sound I love but don't really understand. I corrected that tonight by going up to him after the performance and asking my dumb non-musician questions. Unlike the guitar, which he's played since childhood, the pedal steel is fairly new to him. "It takes every ounce of concentration I have to play this thing," he told me, saying it was well worth it. Ah, but the sound is so wonderful we both agreed.
Nick Coward played next and up until tonight, I'd only seen him with his band, the Last Battle. He played a song from his upcoming EP and mentioned that it had horns, but that he was going to sing the horns, which he did beautifully; he also covered the Arcade Fire's Ocean of Noise. Best lyric: "Blaming the past/for what the future lacks/in this backward waltz."
Last up was Moruza (it means mish-mash and was the leader's middle name), a quintet of three women and two guys (keys, fiddle, bass, drums, singer). Saying she was nervous and babbling, a song was introduced with, "This is a song about liars...which is almost everybody." She paused to let the audience react. "No, she didn't," she said smiling at her pronouncement.
The band had beautiful harmonies with two and sometimes three female voices and claimed that usually they were the quietest band, although that was not the case at the Listening Room. Favorite lyric: "And you loved me/just the way I'd hoped you could/And you followed me/just the way I'd hoped you would." That's from a song entitled Richmond, written, they said, because the band is from here, lives here and loves it here.
I can relate. While I'm not from here, evenings like tonight are exactly why I live here and love it here. Some people would call it a big, stupid city, but I feel lucky enough to think I'll find someone amazing here.
And in the meantime, I have nights like this.
The starting point was Six Burner (at her request but always a good choice for me) and while I was the sole customer at 6:00, within the hour, the place was bustling. By the time my friend arrived, I'd already regaled Josh with the details of last night's supreme soul show, knowing that as a musician he'd want to hear about such talent and showmanship and he did. His biggest regret was that I hadn't forewarned him since he'd been off by 9:30 and could have made it over. I keep forgetting that that's my job around here: tell people what to do.
My friend started by asking if I had the minutes of our last get-together and, sadly, I did not. Once we got rolling on the value of blog posts with depth, there was no stopping the words, though. Theater was next with a discussion of the hardest part of being an actor not being the actual acting, but the onstage listening and reacting (can you say Brandon Crowder?). Having just seen Tommy too, we compared notes.
She's recently started working out with a personal trainer who's been treating her respectfully and politely. much to her disgust. Tired of that nonsense, when he told her today to do another set of crunches after two previous sets, she responded, "Fuck you!" in an effort to loosen him up. After that, he seemed to finally get a feel for who she really is and how best to handle her; a well-placed expletive can do that for a woman.
Josh reappeared with an amuse bouche and we tucked into eel with roasted ramp in a mushroom sauce and what a delicious thing that was. We then ordered the salumi plate of cured meats and the risotto balls with mozzarella (that superb crust and creamy interior, what a beautiful contrast that was) to have some sustenance while we delved into heavier things.
She reads the blog so, as she pointed out, she knew the general framework of what had been happening, but wanted the full-on versions with the details I don't share publicly. It had been so long that entire chapters had closed, new intrigue had occurred and fresh fodder for discussion developed. Josh kept our glasses refilled and we talked right up until we went our separate ways on the sidewalk out front.
I had to get going because I was not willing to be late for the Listening Room; music starts promptly at 8 and I like to have a few minutes to socialize before zipping it for the sake of music.
The program began with the soft-voiced Lydia Ooghe, playing with Trey Pollard and Wells Hanley. "This is a song about wanting to go out and drink by myself," she informed the audience. Then turning to her musicians, she asked, "Do you guys know what song that is? It 's actually all of them." Favorite lyric: "I don't really care if you're a good boy/you're the only one for me."
Worth noting is that Trey was not playing his usual guitar, but instead the pedal steel, an instrument whose sound I love but don't really understand. I corrected that tonight by going up to him after the performance and asking my dumb non-musician questions. Unlike the guitar, which he's played since childhood, the pedal steel is fairly new to him. "It takes every ounce of concentration I have to play this thing," he told me, saying it was well worth it. Ah, but the sound is so wonderful we both agreed.
Nick Coward played next and up until tonight, I'd only seen him with his band, the Last Battle. He played a song from his upcoming EP and mentioned that it had horns, but that he was going to sing the horns, which he did beautifully; he also covered the Arcade Fire's Ocean of Noise. Best lyric: "Blaming the past/for what the future lacks/in this backward waltz."
Last up was Moruza (it means mish-mash and was the leader's middle name), a quintet of three women and two guys (keys, fiddle, bass, drums, singer). Saying she was nervous and babbling, a song was introduced with, "This is a song about liars...which is almost everybody." She paused to let the audience react. "No, she didn't," she said smiling at her pronouncement.
The band had beautiful harmonies with two and sometimes three female voices and claimed that usually they were the quietest band, although that was not the case at the Listening Room. Favorite lyric: "And you loved me/just the way I'd hoped you could/And you followed me/just the way I'd hoped you would." That's from a song entitled Richmond, written, they said, because the band is from here, lives here and loves it here.
I can relate. While I'm not from here, evenings like tonight are exactly why I live here and love it here. Some people would call it a big, stupid city, but I feel lucky enough to think I'll find someone amazing here.
And in the meantime, I have nights like this.
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