Read Drink & Be Merry

Last year the city was abuzz with the impending, and oft delayed, arrival of Gibson’s Grill.  Attached to The National, Richmond’s hot new music venue, it was billed as a showcase of good food for before and after the shows.  Speculation and anticipation was rampant as the owners had a reputation that made the hype more than just a bit believable.  Initial reports from various sources who attended the soft opening and the early months were mostly positive – both for the service and the food.  Sadly, we were not able to partake in all this as M was pregnant with Elias and the collapse of the economy last Fall caused us to become a bit more frugal.  Gibson’s was still on our hit list to visit and when a friend’s band, Three Sheets To The Wind, played The National we decided to take advantage of the evening at give Gibson’s a try….

The upstairs is quite nice and inviting.  It looks like the place you want to hang out at before a show.  Sadly, we were seated downstairs with wobbly tables, lounging staff and a very loud kitchen.  When the waitress finally realized she had a table to deal with she came to talk to us.  Inquiries about the types of gin were met with a blank look and a very long trip to find out what they had.  Turns out pretty basic stuff, nothing interesting or even what is being served at some of the mid-range restaurants in town.  Later, as we were leaving and I glanced at the bar stock, I found out she hadn’t really even bothered to tell me all of the offerings.  Note to waiters – you cannot drive up a check average it you do not even know what you have so you can make suggestions.  Note to managers – those expensive bottles you stock will not sell unless you educate and test your wait staff.  Had I been able to sample some of the Hendrick’s Gin I might have been a little happier.

Appetizers were the next disappointment.  The nachos were no better or worse then any casual dining chain, except for the slightly soggy chips from the puddle of liquid on the plate.  The salads looked to have been prepped during the afternoon and the dressing came in little plastic cups – how very Applebee’s.  My order of Panko Fried Scallops were the worst.  The first clue was being able to smell them before they even reached the table.  The wet-pack scallops made the fried panko soggy and the scallops themselves alternated between raw and cooked to the point of rubber.  I haven’t had scallops this bad since the 80’s at some coastal dive in a ‘basket’.

Entrees fared little better.  M and a friend both had the Steak Wrap.  Mediocre would be kind.  The chopped steak tasted as if it had been made in batches once every few days and returned each night to a steam table.  Either that or microwaved.  L had the French Dip.  What came out was enormous, at least five inches tall.  That was impressive till you looked at the interior of the two halves of the sandwich and realized it was all bread and a half inch of meat.  The only bright spot of the meal was my entree, which was actually off the appetizer menu, Mini Lamb Burgers.  The taste was excellent and the yogurt fennel sauce blended well with the lamb.  They would have been really memorable if they hadn’t been grilled past well done.

For a restaurant that was hyped as a showcase to compliment The National this was truly disappointing.  Hopefully visiting acts will seek their food elsewhere. Perhaps the owner’s other very good restaurants – Kuba Kuba and Kitchen 64 – and not what seems to be a complete afterthought from them.

Too often music venues are run by amateurs. Music lovers with no business experience or people who think it’s an easy way to make a quick buck. The National is an example of what happens when professionals get involved. A well trained staff. Clean floors. Very clean bathrooms – that actually work! Honestly, the only complaint (other than being gouged by Ticketmaster) would be that they need to run a phone line out to the T-shirt vendors table so you can charge that $25 dollar t-shirt or $20 mug. If you haven’t been go to their site and I bet you can find a show you want to see.

Last night found us at The National to see Weird Al Yankovic. We were running a bit late for the show and when we saw the line for will-call M dropped me off so we wouldn’t miss the beginning of the show. Yes, I know. I could’ve printed the tickets off of the Ticketmaster site rather than having them held at will-call. It just doesn’t feel right. I prefer the old-fashioned ticket. As far as missing the beginning of the show – there was no need to rush. A friend had warned us the Weird Al never started on time and he was true to form last night. About 45 minutes late.

The crowd was a little younger than I expected. A lot of teens, tweens, and pre-teens. OK, not an overwhelming number, just more than I expected. Perhaps that was a good thing as the lines at the bar were shorter than other shows we’ve been to their.

Weird Al started the show with a mash parody of hits over the last few years while playing his accordion. Weezer figured prominantly in this mash. I had heard that Weird Al was a bit of a perfectionist. This was obvious in how well timed the show on staged synched with the video playing above the stage. This began to bother me after a bit. They synched too well. I really began to wonder if they were actually playing or lipsynching. Is it live or is it Memorex? Couldn’t really tell.

After the mash he launched into his hits. Every song was completely choreographed, synched with video, and followed by long breaks for costume changes. Actually, if you took out the video filled breaks the hour and a half show probably only had less than 45 minutes of music. Over produced and lacking spontaneity it lacked the joy I had seen in videos of his earlier performances. It was much more Brittany Spears than Dr Demento.

Of course I could just be a bit bitter. We decided to leave a couple of minutes before the end to beat the crowd out the door and missed my favourite song – ‘White & Nerdy’….

Let me start by saying how happy I am that we finally have a decent venue for music in Richmond. Ever since the poorly run Flood Zone (where every Richmond teenager got their first alcoholic drink) closed and turned into STD ground zero the music scene has played second fiddle to C’ville or required major road trips north or to the coast. The speed and efficiency of restoration and transformation of The National by a private group makes you wonder what Mayor Wilder and the city are up to on their little ‘arts’ project just down the street that’s just a tad behind schedule and a bit over budget….

I can honestly say that I was a bit ambivalent about seeing the B-52’s. I do love the band but I have seen them 3 times. My favourite was at the end of their Cosmic Thing tour, in Atlanta, on Halloween night…. I wished we had blogging back then as the evening has become a bit blurry due to, but not limited to, age and time. The clincher on my decision came when I found out that the day of the concert would be Kate Pierson’s 60th birthday. How many tours do you think they have left? Online I went for tickets.

Ouch. When did concerts get so expensive? OK, adjusted for inflation, it is probably the same as it was when I was young but was I really ready to shell out $37 a ticket? And, just for the record, what kind of scam is Ticketmaster running? I thought scalping was illegal… What they do is highway robbery. Of course I am older and wiser than my younger self when I had to scrape together a little cash to see ABBA or Foreigner. I’ve got a ton of squirreled away Amex points. We got the tickets for free.

The opening act was Eagle Seagull. A fun little indie act featuring a girl on electric violin (it was blue!) and a guitarist trying to channel Angus Young sans schoolboy outfit. Yes, Dick, they had a good beat and you could dance to it. The bespectacled lead singer was good but left you with the impression that he took himself far too seriously. The kind of person who, in conversation, would tell you over and over again what a serious artist he is. Regardless, they were fun and set the mood.

Random Observations of Eagle Seagull -
~If your a lead singer wearing glasses do not start ‘head-banging’ to the music. Your glasses will fly off into the crowd…
~If you only have one tamborine to share and it needs to be lobbed to whoever needs it next – PRACTICE!

After an hour Eagle Seagull wrapped up and they started setting up for the B-52’s. Maybe I’m getting old but having to wait nearly another hour in between acts was a tad excessive, and, this being a Sunday night most of us had to work. Speaking of which, M and I took a little time to survey the crowd. We had discussed bringing Finn but had opted not to. There were a few kids but not as young as Finn. The rest of the crowd seemed to be late 30’s/early 40’s. We saw some pretty amazing comb-overs and swirlies. If you were in your 20’s and looking for a cougar, this was the place to be. M observed that the Tobacco Company must be pretty quiet and that every babysitter in the city must be working this evening. I made a quick run for the bathroom before the show started and there looked at a list of upcoming acts. Wow, the band Live and the Gin Blossoms preforming together. Ick, it’s at Innsbrook. Not going to happen.

I returned and the band took to the stage. Keith hasn’t aged nor has Fred, except for his hair colour. Cindy was wearing a wig and insisted on standing in front a fan (hot flashes?) that kept blowing chunks of the hair away. Kate looked great but the many birthday wishes were rebuffed – she either was not too thrilled with the landmark she had crossed or was too professional to allow something personal to interfere with the show.

Musically they were great. You forget that many of the sounds you hear in their songs, especially when Fred is doing spoken-word (he doesn’t really sing), are actually from Kate and Cindy and not a synthesizer. It amazes me that Kate, at her age, can sing and dance as she always has without getting winded. Funny how today’s stars, Brittany and her ilk, need to lip sync as they are unable to do two things at once. For an hour and a half they ran through their songs, mostly old but with a few from their new album. They even ad-libbed a bit when one line (I can’t remember the song) was sung ‘that it went on forever’ and Fred spoke ‘like this war’. Too soon it was over. Can’t really fault them, they’re older and so was the audience. The crowd roared and they came back for an encore. Planet Clair got the audience hopping, followed by a new song, and then, to finish, Rock Lobster. Some of the braver audience members even laid down on the floor (quite a bit of beer had been spilled) as Fred extolled ‘Down, down, down!!!!’.

The lights came up and it was over. The band lingered on the stage as the audience cheered then exited. We made our way to the door. Had they been able to take credit cards we would have got a t-shirt on the way out as we had drank most of our cash. We showed our age and got a coffee mug. Off to home.

Oh, and if I was 10 years younger I would’ve gone to the National the night before to see Lou Reed….

When I was younger a major night out just happened. Now it takes weeks of planning, emails back and forth, clarification and re-clarification, quite possibly more time than the actual event. Mid-life and family obligations require the need for setting expectations (yes, I will be drunk when I come home) and communicating contingencies (yes, if it goes too late and I get tired I will be calling you to come get me). In this age of project planning to the nth degree we removed all randomness and scheduled from the first drink to the hangover recovery. That being said, here’s the recap…

M and I drove over to Cy’s to pick him up. To ensure silliness and start the music bar at the lowest possible rung we listened to Pat Boone singing Van Halen’s Panama from his ill-advised album, I’m In A Metal Mood. Finn, a budding music lover, looked horrified. M dropped us off at Capital Ale to begin the pickling of our livers. It had been a couple of years since I had been to Capital Ale but it had been a number of times so thought I knew what to expect. I was wrong.

The initial bartender blamed it on shift change (and actually joked that he would hear about all this on a blog – little did he know…) but the problems went deeper than that. I have never seen so many staff, so many manager types, accomplish so little. Drinks would get made and then sit on the bar while the bartender went off to do something else. Food would sit under heat lamps while a gaggle of waiters would stand inches away chatting. Drinks and food ordered once, twice, thrice… Our group of two swelled to nearly twenty and we moved downstairs. There was no shortage of staff. They just had no clue what to do. Throwing bodies at a staffing problem doesn’t help if they don’t know what to do. Having a huge number of manager types doesn’t help either if they don’t lead or direct the action. It was a mess. What they actually need is a senior McDonald’s manager who at least knows how to manage a large group and keep things flowing.

I did discover a new gin there. Spruce, from a winery in the Rogue River Valley in Oregon. Very in your face gin. My first thought was that it was like drinking a tree. Very heavy juniper flavour. I actually enjoyed it as both a martini and in a gin and tonic. Good strong flavours without too much alcohol heat.

From there we went over towards the National and bent the law a bit. A little tailgating in the parking deck across the street. In high school that would have meant lukewarm PBR bought with the help of a kind stranger at a mini-mart or from a clerk too dumb to do the math on an 17-year-olds drivers license. Today it means well-chilled Stella Artois from a cooler. Once we were sufficiently lubricated we entered the theater.

This was my first visit to the National since the remodel and I was impressed. This cleaned and restored theater had been opened up to create a music venue that Richmond has been lacking. The lobby area has simple raised Wedgewood-style reliefs. Simply painted the wall has been removed so you can walk right into the main floor area. The chairs have all been removed opening up the main floor for listening, dancing, or getting close to your friends and strangers. Bars upstairs and down serve beer and hard alcohol at slightly inflated prices ($6 for a gin and tonic). I saw a food menu at one point but was unable to focus on it. They kept the seats upstairs, part of which is a VIP area. The four balconies are available for $5k per season, not sure how many tickets that includes.

For those of you who don’t know; The Machine is a Pink Floyd cover band. The crowd reflected this. Nearly all 30 and 40 somethings, only a couple of teens with big black X’s on their hands identifying them as underage. Quite a number of people had brought their kids (5-10 year olds) and had them upstairs away from the swaying crowd below.

The band took the stage and started playing. With the precision of studio musicians they played Pink Floyd music, from the famous to the obscure. The crowd was fun and I do enjoy live music but at times, if you closed your eyes, you wouldn’t have told the difference between the band and a recording. The keyboardist, I believe his name is Scott, brought life to what may have otherwise been a flat performance. Slack jawed and eyes rolled back he swayed back and forth in a kind of fugue state doing justice to the decades old music.

The concert ended rather abruptly, the old and tired crowd ready for bed and unable to muster the energy to get the band back for an encore. Phones came out to alert sober drivers waiting at home to come collect us. The level of inebriation evidenced by the level of laughter when a friend, calling home, dropped his BlackBerry into his cocktail mid-sentence. That should make an interesting replacement report at work this Monday morning… (actually it kept working so no report will probably be filed)

At home, to sleep.

The next morning it was off to RVAFoodies for brunch. Prior planning had allowed for some recovery time so we arrived at noon. Fresh ground coffee and strawberry-banana smoothies from Foodies blender helped take the edge off. Amuse Bouche of grilled nebulsi cheese was a hit, especially with Finn. It reminded me of something but, as my taste buds were fried from the night before, I couldn’t quite pin it down. Brunch was homemade tortillas, eggs with special bits and Mexican acoutremont, mole (think chocolate Mexican not the rodent) roasted potatoes, Bayless refried beans, and a colourful fruit salad. All were excellent but you need to go to Foodie for the recipes. Finn ended up not eating brunch as that was the point he finally became friends with Foodies pug, Frankie, and much noise ensued. Foodie, for a moment, questioned his choice to reproduce. Regardless, a nice way to recover from the night before.