Onionhead and Delilah Jones

Onionhead, it turns out, is not a new REM tribute band, but a reunion show of an old REM tribute band that existed roughly sometime between Flipside and the Vapor Rhinos, if you are a student of Dean Owen Band History. I came on the scene during Vapor Rhinos, the Al-Qaeda band for stuffed animals. Every show ended with multiple beheadings and a snowstorm of stuffing. Those were great days, when bands actually put on shows. When they wore costumes and makeup and made entrances.

The occasion was Owen's 43rd birthday (how can that be?) and the 16th anniversary of Onionhead, which excellently represented the REM catalog. It's good to see a man in eyeliner and mascara again. I have so missed that. Owen combined that with a suit, while the rest of the band did nothing in particular costume-wise. I thoroughly enjoyed it and regret I couldn't stay for the second set, but as is often the case with musicians, if my husband isn't playing, my husband isn't staying.

Tonight I dropped into Bleu Bistro for one set of Delilah Jones and to check on my husband who was staying for their whole show because he was running sound. This is a great room for bands because they've got their own spacious corner in the back of the bar. I dislike bars that put the band upfront, right next to the door, so every time someone comes in, they look like a guest vocalist. Bleu Bistro also does not have televisions showing soundless sports hanging over the band's head. It's a square room, so every seat can see fairly well, and there was a cool sofa area, although most of the people there were canoodling.

Delilah Jones does all Dead, including songs the Grateful Dead covered and that's all I can say since I am only vaguely familiar with the Dead. I do know, though, that any Dead cover band will always have an audience who will be there for the music; there will always be certain songs that will make people dance, alone or in groups; and the people there for the music will put the players on a Garcia-like pedestal. All of this was true once again. A nice touch was the light show going on behind the band. Remember those? A guy was running a loop of pulsating colors and Dead logos through his laptop, into a little projector and onto the wall. Back in the '60s, the light show guys actually used to mix colored oils on slides and put them under projectors, or something. It was more holistic and less high tech, but the results were the same. Much better than a soundless TV showing sports, anyway.

Joe Camel stole my identity

I was in Cary Street Cafe and two guys come in with satchels and little handheld computer-y looking things. The first thing you think is suicide bombers, right? I notice they carefully select people to talk to in the bar, and whoever they select opens their wallet for them. What are they selling? They never talk to me, but I see my husband open his wallet for them. I now notice they are approaching only people who are smoking. Then I figure it out. Then I am appalled.

"Did you just let those guys scan your license?" I asked my trusting, naive husband.
"Yes?" he says, already knowing he did something goofy.
"And you did this for....let me guess, a free pack of cigarettes?!"
"Yes," he says, now even more ashamed. And even he knows he screwed up. "And they're Camels!" my Marlboro Man adds. He sold out for not even his brand.
I'm desperately thinking what kind of information is on his license. They've got our address now, so I guess there will be plenty of mail coming. And if they want, they can reprint the license, replace his photo and now there will be hundreds of illegal aliens claiming to be my husband, living at my address.

I suppose there's some legal reason cigarette companies can't just hand out cigarettes to everyone in a bar like they used to; that they are now required to get and record ID, but it all seems sleazy and invasive. A machine that scans in your license for a pack of cigarettes. It's like Esau selling his birthright for a bowl of porridge. (Old Testament shout-out)

No Waffle for You!

For many musicians, Denny's probably means good memories, somewhere to go eat after a gig, even in Richmond (although here, it was often Toddle House, then Aunt Sara's, then Waffle House). But so far I am 0 for 2 for good memories at Denny's.

The first time was after a troublesome gig at a private party on the Potomac. Someone you all know booked our band, with many promises of money and great, free food and an attentive audience, and none of that materialized. The music was played in a corner. Most people ignored it. After the music, the food was gone and there was still the long drive back to Richmond, none the richer and very hungry. In desperation, all the band cars pulled into a Denny's where the waitress was too busy to attend to us for a very long time and the most drunken person in the group bellowed, "I need FUD," to no avail.

Last night we went to Denny's because we had a $5 off coupon. There were only a few people there, including our waitress, Dave Chappelle in a wig and dress. We ordered breakfast, and since I really, really wanted a Belgian waffle with strawberries and nothing else, I predicted I would not get one.

I didn't. After awhile, Waitress returned to say they couldn't get the waffle maker to work. I reluctantly switched to pancakes with strawberries. After awhile, Waitress returned with my husband's food, but she just waved my naked pancakes around without giving them to me. "You wanted strawberries, right?"

Right. I told my husband, "I'm not going to get them." Meanwhile, my pancakes are getting cold because she's walking all over the place with them.

Sure enough, after awhile, she comes back, without my now frigid pancakes and says, "You are gonna be hot!" (Unlike the pancakes.) There's no strawberries. Just give me the pancakes then. I have already written up this meal as not counting toward my life experiences. After another while, she brings back the pancakes, which by this time have congealed into dry, rubbery flaps of tasteless flour.

So I'm finished with Denny's, although as long as I am married to a musician, I have the bad feeling it is not a definitive finished.