I Got My Flower, I Got My Power

Life kept me so busy I almost didn't make Halloween.

But once I got started on the rest of my life, I was off to eat for a living and then find some music.

If it's All Hallow's Eve in Richmond, it must mean there's a cover band show.

Tonight's was at the Camel and featured a David Bowie cover band (rumored to be The Men Who Sold the World) and my favorite guys in wigs, Zep Replica.

I'm no fool. I knew that the audience would be predominantly guys.

It was.

I had missed The Men and arrived to Zep just starting "Black Dog," a fitting first song for me since I distinctly recall it being my favorite song on the jukebox in my high school cafeteria.

No, seriously.

Costumes abounded and with a supposed $100 prize for the best, some were quite clever.

A bowl of spaghetti. An Hassidic Jew. Freddie Mercury. A priest.

Next to me in the second row was a girl with the best literary costume, at least in my opinion.

She was Ms. Frizzzle, you know, the Ms. Frizzle who had the magic school bus and was always taking her class on mad adventures.

We got talking somehow and she told me how much she was enjoying seeing the band for the first time.

I told her I'd seen them several times.

"Which one is your favorite?" she asked, reminding me of a game I play with certain girlfriends at the Listening Room.

I turned the tables and asked who her fave was. "The bass player!" she said.

It just so happens that the bass player is a good friend and a big part of the reason I was there, so her answer pleased me no end.

Meanwhile, the lead singer was inciting the crowd, saying, "So, yea, y'all are not giving me what I want."

I'd like to think we got better at giving him what he wanted because we definitely got into the one-two punch of "Dancing Days" followed by "Kashmir."

For the most part, I stayed put, meaning I saw a favorite former bartender when he bumped into me, the scientist showed up in gory costume and only later when I went for a tequila refill, did I happen on man-about-town Prabir.

When he heard I'd come to get some tequila, he pointed to a nearby glass of tequila.

"I got that for Treesa, but you can take it and I'll get her another one."

First rule of bar etiquette at a show: never turn down the gift of tequila.

I returned to the front in time for "Whole Lotta Love" and "Immigrant Song" before the costume contest judging began.

And judging is a loose term because owner Rand basically left it to the band to decide.

Shots were being passed from band member to band member so they may not have been the best judges.

Like I said, it was loose. And then back to the music.

"Heartbreaker" came off seamlessly, but it took three stabs to segue into "Living Loving Maid," to great hilarity.

There were lots of guys especially singing every word.

They were just as thrilled when Zep broke from the ubiquitous "Stairway to Heaven" into AC/DC's "Highway to Hell."

Don't get me started.

"Ramble On" had the crowd whipped into a frenzy and the singer said wearily, "Alright we'll play one more song."

When they had finished, he had,too. "Alright, I'm through," he said taking off into the crowd.

But the Halloween crowd wasn't ready to stop.

An audience member jumped onstage to replace the departing singer and did vocals on "Nobody's Fault But Mine."

The singer returned for one last song, maybe to re-establish himself as the superior Robert Plant imitator.

Dancing madly, the standing cans of  PBR onstage were kicked over and went bubbling all over the stage.

Like anyone cared.

Song over, it was time to acknowledge the truth: it was no longer Halloween.

It was All Saints Day.

I don't foresee any cover band shows to celebrate that. On with my life.

Living, Loving, She's Just a Woman

It's not often I start an evening with Nick Cave and end six hours later with Led Zeppelin.

Ghostprint Gallery's opening for the Richmond Illustrators IV National Juried exhibition was packed when I arrived. Considering that it's one of my favorite annual events, I wasn't in the least surprised.

The show is a terrific annual way to see what the state of the illustrative arts are and once again I was amazed at the array of talent on the walls.

The show's gold medal went to Jeffrey Alan Love's "Nick Cave and Warren Ellis," a monotype of the two men that became the show's poster.

Jenna Chew's "Washington, Elusive" had already sold when I arrived. It depicted General Washington amongst a group of shadowed soldiers; his was the only lit face. It was striking.

Demonstrating the range of the show, Josh George's "A Clinical Use of the Michelson Formula," done in mixed media on wood panel was four feet by three feet and visually stunning with its soft pastels and vaguely suggested images (and a price tag of $5,000).

I narrowed my wish list to two prints (a Clifford and a Love but couldn't choose), unframed, of course, but still out of range for the moment.

The show is a stunner and I only hope that the smart people attending Broad Appetit Sunday take the time to wander into Ghostprint's air-conditioning and check it out.

My next stop allowed me to park once and party twice (or four times if you want to count bands).

The Camel was hosting not one but two shows and I already had plans to attend the second when a music buddy recommended the first. I can take a hint.

Singer/songwriter Tom Goss was playing as part of Gay RVA's Live series and with only acoustic guitar and keyboard, he created a lovely sound with his strong voice.

It was a particularly chatty show, with Goss telling extended stories in between every song and the audience eating it up.

He told of having been a seminary student, only to realize it was not his calling ("The thing with the seminary is they have this thing called celibacy") and move on. Fortunately it provided a lot of songwriting fodder.

Many of his songs were love songs, one was written during his seminary stay as a substitute for sex (afterwards he said, "Playing that song wears me out!") and another was a Christmas song (a genre he detests, he said).

With references to the Chicago Bears and Cubs, it was anything but a traditional holiday tune, but very funny.

When he finished, the crowd cleared out and a different one began settling in for the next show. I mingled.

First up was Scolaro and it was their first show in four years. Four years is an ice age in the music business, so they claimed to be nervous.

And then their set started and the crowd was blown away. Bandleader Josh Scolaro won the double award for his vocal talents and his superb songwriting.

As a musician noted, "You know there's a lot in his head when you hear their songs." High praise, indeed.

What I knew when I heard their sound was why Josh had been telling me for four months that I would find them "artistically mind-blowing." He knows my music taste well after years of music talk.

The Britpop-reminiscent sound is a personal favorite of mine, the use of reverb effects (as another friend noted, "Of course you liked it. It was music from a cave.") floats my boat and Josh's songwriting was eloquent and beautifully executed.

During their last song, a friend leaned over and summed up what I had been feeling. "That's what I want summer to feel like." It's true.

After their set, no less than three people told me that every time they looked at me during Scolaro's set, I was smiling. It was that good and I just couldn't help myself.

During the break, I got a chance to talk to all kinds of  people who'd unexpectedly made it out for music tonight. e cheese whiz Sara showed up, one of the illustrators from Ghostprint, Holly Camp (her whimsical "Things Fall Apart" at the show had been as lovely as she is), and my lecture buddy and fellow nerd James all showed.

Most surprisingly in attendance was one of my favorite chefs, currently cheffing in C-ville, but soon to return.

Running into him and his soon-to-be able assistant alone made for some great conversation in an already jam-packed evening.

Prabir and the Goldrush played next and although I've seen them countless times, they're always good entertainment.

When a song is about tequila shots, these guys take tequila shots. It's for the art, I know.

They played a couple of new songs and always with a sly aside.

"See you guys on other side of this song," Prabir joked to his bandmates before taking on a less rehearsed piece. "I'm back," he crowed afterwards. It was great to hear new material from them.

Headlining was Zep Replica or the band formerly known as Led Zepplica (until another identically-named band got nasty about it), a band I had missed at their Halloween show at Strange Matter.

These guys don't just cover Zeppelin, they put on their tightest pants and wigs for the full effect. They may do even more than that and I just don't know about it.

It's truly something to behold and within moments, they had the audience totally into it.

My friend Stephen (originally an avid reader and commenter of my blog whom I've since gotten to know socially) plays bassist John Paul Jones in the band and after donning his costume, I went up to talk to him again just before their set.

"You recognized me in my wig?" he asked, sounding surprised. It was quite charming.

Leading off with "Black Dog" and making their way through "Rock and Roll" all the way to  the one-two knockout punch of "Heartbreaker" segueing into "Living Loving Maid," they whipped the crowd into a frenzy and made it the 70s again (except for the damn cell phone picture-taking).  


Every person in the room, no matter the age, looked euphoric including the staff.


Nobody hears a single word you say.
Livin', lovin', she's just a woman.
But you keep on talkin' till your dyin' day.
Livin', lovin', she's just a woman.

Chances are I will keep on talking till my dying day. It's just that I always have so much to talk about.