July 31-- It was a mellow Monday night and I needed to write, but my brain was resisting all efforts to subvert its attention, so I biked down to the mall for a beer that never materialized. I don't know what happened-- I just... lost the urge.
At Miller's Michael Sokolowski had pushed the house spinet out into the room for two sets of his deep ambient classical piano jazz meditations-- honestly, some of the more thoughtful music being generated around here. When Mike plays, I enjoy sitting silently, staring at the floor and spacing out with him. He goes for these lush, intelligent, moody landscapes, and if you listen closely without distraction, it can be quite touching. Too touching for most people, I'd imagine-- things occasionally get so beautiful as to provoke teary-eye moments, and frankly, who wants to get all choked up in a smokey bar? Besides me?
He spends most of his time in drawn-out improvisations, but he also has an interesting affection for unusual tunage, like his instrumental exploration of Sting's "Fields of Gold" or the late set rendition of "Favorite Things" that morphed into a tender Grateful Dead "Stella Blue." (As it turns out, this was his first live stab at a Dead tune and it just happened to be the anniversary of Jerry Garcia's birthday.-- Too cool.)
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| steve norfleet blows for binder's group |
Sokolowski's record label, Breezeway Records, has just released Offering, a collaboration with Tim Reynolds and Worth Profitt taken from a live performance experiment in '91 with one new bonus studio track tacked on the end. I urge you to go pick up a copy. It's deep. Very deep. And you deserve the very best.
Tuesday night I found my way into Michael's Bistro for drummer Aaron Binder's jazz quartet. Smooth, sophisticated and mellow, Binder's Richmond-based jazz crew exemplifies the classic "white jazz" ethic, ala Chet Baker or Paul Desmond. It doesn't have the same get-sweaty push to it that some other jazz-forms have-- still impressive, just more subdued and... respectful. Big props to the inventive guitar work of bandman Colin McEnearny who kept me guessing all night.
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| brockman on the spot |
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Friday I decided to cruise the Fridays After Five scene for a little of the Danny Morris Band, but when I arrived, alas, no Danny. It appears that on the way to the show he totaled his brand new van and-- although unscathed himself-- was too shook up to make the gig. (I hope he didn't hurt that ancient Stratocaster he plays-- those things are rare.) As a result, Charlottesville Music owner Billy Brockman (of Billy and the Backbeats) sat in with Morris' crew and harp player Fulton Patrick to provide the Fridays crowd with rock 'n' blues diversions, demonstrating quite succinctly why Chuck Berry never traveled with a band: it's the blues. Just call out a key and tap out the tempo. Let's jam.
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| 10 penny nail and a hackensaw |
Later that night I was feeling antsy, so I took my newly scored apprentice ("See... this is how you stand around a concert... and this is how you sponge a free beer off the club-owner...") down to Miller's for some Hackensaw Boys. Though acutely paranoid and watching my back for fear of retribution from pointman David Sickmen's sister, I stood outside and witnessed Miller's devolving into a big greasy psuedo-hillbilly hoedown. (As you will recall, not all of my thoughts on Sickmen's new pop/rock Beau Prie release were exactly glowing, and the response it evoked from the band's manager (Sickmen's sister) was mildly venemous.)
Even from that angle, I feel comfortable concluding that the Hackensaws are easily one of the best old-timey posses roaming this region, although as one patron pointed out, there's far too many teeth in the band for them to be real hillbillies. Indeed, they are an overall-clad downtown hipster crew stripped to the waist, playing at white trashdom and doing a damn fine job of it. (-- If they were real hayseeds, it's doubtful they'd be so appealing to the downtown crowd. Sad but true.) Miller's drunken assembly danced and hootenannied, my apprentice flat-footed and I started to crave corn liquor.
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I couldn't resist hitting the reunion show of Johnny Sportcoat and the Casuals at the Outback Lodge the following night. The place was packed with frollicking baby-boomers getting down to the Casuals' original American rock and ska formula-- still solid despite their now infrequent performances. Gotta hand it to 'em-- they can wail. But I was feeling weird so I pushed on to Tokyo Rose where the Dawning was in full abysmal bloom.
There was a special buzz for the show since it featured a set by Fla.'s rising gothic stars, the Cruxshadows, who drew an extra 50 or so previously unseen goulies to the event. Bella Morte played a killer set-- way more pumped-up than I've seen them on their home court. (Charlottesville shows tend to be a little goofier than their away gigs.) The competition is clearly healthy for their will-to-rock.
The Cruxshadows are an impressive (I thought) little dark sampled synth and violin-based band with an engaging weirdo named Rogue for a frontman who spends much time roaming the audience with his wireless headset mic-- at one point even jumping up on the bar to deliver an a capella rendition of Jefferson Airplane's "White Rabbitt." (A hippy tune? By a goth band? What next-- Peter Frampton?)