Brother Sal & The Devil May Care

This is perhaps the most delayed post of all the delayed posts in all the blogs in all the world.  I first saw Brother Sal & The Devil May Care weeks ago.  I jaunted down to the Piano Bar one Sunday night in October to find Mr. Brother and his blues-meets-country band delivering their "warehouse gospel" to the many delighted souls crammed into the bar. 

I knew immediately that I wanted to tell the world (or, you know, the two of you that read this blog) about my new discovery: Brother Sal, the ivory-tinkling, husky-voiced troubadour from Virginia.  However, as the two of you know, I did not.  I have gone to see Brother Sal again since that night in October I still did not write about it. 

Here's the problem: I just get too damn busy having a good time. Too busy reveling in the melodies and effect of the songs to pay attention to the titles and specific content so I can accurately detail them here. Too busy dancing to adjust my camera settings, so I end up with blurred pictures like these:

{ The ghost-like figure on the right is Michael Starr, an amazing fiddler.  His fiddling deserves its own post. }

Brother Sal has a gift.  A gift in which my ears and my bootie delight.  However, as with all gifts, it comes with a curse.  Well, a curse on this blog anyway.  His gift disarms and distracts until I am left with only memories of good times and warm impressions of the experience.  I suppose as the South did to the North, I will have to cede to the old adage, "Details be damned."  That is an old adage, right?

So, there you have it.  A half-assed review of a full-assed band.  Full and round and firm. As all good asses should be.  I'm speaking metaphorically, of course.

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P.S. Brother Sal performs every Saturday and Sunday night at the Piano Bar.

P.P.S. I still need suggestions for my Drunk v. Sober comparative!  So far I have LACMA, reading, writing, and running.

Pianos and Pretty Ladies

After writing my first ever potentially controversial post yesterday, Dan and I went to Pasadena for a day of $2 movies.  I saw Super 8 (awesome) and Mr. Popper's Penguins (I know, I know.  $2 bucks, though!)  I found myself a little uncomfortable as I was watching Jim Carry get pooped on by a penguin - and not just because I was watching Jim Carry get pooped on by a penguin.  I was fidgeting in my seat because I was worried about upsetting someone with my views on the whole Sunset Junction Music Festival debacle.  You see, I'm a people-pleaser. That's a whole other post. 

As I fidgeted my way back to Hollywood I found myself wishing that I had the soothing sound of Jaime Black to accompany me home.  I discovered Jaime Black last week when I walked with a friend to The Piano Bar on a whim.  They have free music every night of the week and we were in the mood for some free and some music.

We were greeted with the sound of Jaime's soft voice and ethereal melodies.  I would describe her music as "yoga folk."  This is not usually my cup of tea, but her calming presence on stage coupled with unexpected instrumentation made for an engaging night of music.

 

Jaime's ReverbNation page describes her genre as "gothic folk."  I love that. Although I feel the recordings online do not do justice to her live performance, they do retain the calming effect. 

As you can see from the photo above, The Piano Bar is a cool little spot.  Would you like to see more photos of the space?  Why don't we start in the bathroom.

 

{ Very cool music sheet wall with a little added love. }

 Ok, I may have only taken 3 photos, 2 of which were in the bathroom.  Sorry about that.  I promise to be a better blogger in the future.  While you wait, check out Jaime's gothic/yoga/folk here.