RVA Volume 2 Issue 4

CO R R E C TION L a s t i s s ue M andy D u n n wrote our book re v i e ws.

S o r r y M andy!!

.August WTF. .parker.

.tony.

What you have here in your hands is a labor of love…tough love… complete with a little blood, a lot of sweat, not too many tears, but admittedly a few frustrating moments here and there along the way. You think putting together a publication such as this is easy? Think again, my friends… quite far from “easy”. The people who work on this magazine stay up many a night until the wee hours working on articles, editing, illustrations, designs, photo shoots, meetings, phone calls, emails, setting up interviews…the whole shebang. Why do we do this? We do this project because we see the potential of Richmond’s incredible culture. We want to showcase all the amazing talent and events happening throughout this city. We want the creative community to be noticed, respected and nurtured. We want the people who run this city to open their eyes and see that we no longer tolerate methods and mentalities that don’t promote progression. We want all of our voices to be heard. We want minds to open and not be afraid to change. We want RVA Magazine to continue to be a journey that we take each and every month, with barely a moment to rest. With every attempt and success in attaining these things, we continue to love every step of the way. RVA thanks you for joining us on this adventure, and for letting us become a part of yours.

I am working on this issue and thinking about going home to see my niece and mother.

Later, I am working on not working and watching the news.

Are we going to war again? Better question, are we going to war with everybody else? To what end?

I thought about mothers and nieces over there.

Just faces in between commercials for soap and vacuum cleaners.

Play some video games.

In the corner of my eye - the news channel is egging it on.

Breaking News! Prime Time!! Wolf Blitzer!!!

What kind of made up name is Wolf Blitzer?

He is having a great news day.

Stories about politics, religion, and victims.

We have our clear cut villains and good guys.

We have our morals and our “decider” making our decisions.

I can’t help that all this bothers me.

.ian.

The gentle breeze The murmer of a babbling brook The scent of plums Ah, the scent of plums.

- Zatoichi T’o Yojimo 1970

pick & choose stencil of Nina Simone by S. Preston Duncan

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Tobias Eggleston<happynudleboy@yahoo.com>

THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL 11

12 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

B r i en W h it e <w w w. b r i enwhi t e.c om >

b r u c e w i l h el m < b r u c ew i l h el m 2. b l o g s p o t . c o m > THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL 13

Richmond Illustrators Club writer : Rebecca Johnson images : Steven Walker, Kate McBride, Eric Collins, Karen Mullins

Every year, there is a new batch of graduates from VCU’s school of the arts.

Welcome to the real world. So what’s next? How do you find a job? Unfortunately, there is no post-graduation guide. There is, however, a place you can go to talk about freelancing and finding work. Check out the Richmond Illustrators club. It’s a haven for both recent grads and working professionals and it can help you springboard into the world of illustration. I recently attended one of their meetings and members had priceless words of advice for up-and-comers.

The Richmond Illustrators Club formed ten years ago by a small group of VCU professors and grads. They shared ideas and gave each other feedback, says VCU professor Robert Meganck, one of the founding members of the club. Meganck’s resume is stacked. His works have appeared in national publications like The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal. “I don’t know why illustrators are like this,” laughs Meganck. “We don’t look at each other as being in competition with one another... we tell each other who we’re working on, what we’re working on.”

The club has grown a lot since then. Almost a decade later, the roster now includes over forty people (some of them more or less active). President Kate McBride, a teacher at the Visual Arts Center, hopes to continue recruiting members. She joined the club in 2004 after graduating from the VCU illustration department. “When you graduate, you’re used to four years of somebody giving you assignments,” says McBride. That’s why club members started giving each other monthly illustration prompts. “It’s a little extra motivation,” she says. When I attended their meeting, the prompt was “purple.” Members passed around sketches and talked about purple hearts, bruises, wine stains, and Oprah Winfrey circa The Color Purple.

So why should someone join the illustrators club, especially a new grad?

The roster is a diverse one. Club members include a web designer, VCU

professors, and the art director for another local magazine--in short, people from different areas of the art community. This is great for making connections. “It’s a networking tool,” says McBride. “We try to drum up work for each other.” Sometimes members send e-mails to the group about illustration jobs. Steven Walker, VCU professor and longtime club member, says it has helped him to snag more than one freelance gig. He was commissioned to design a fish statue for the Virginia Historical Society though the club.

“Meganck gave me that Go Fish! project,” Walker says. Another perk is that greener club members can go to more experienced ones for advice. Recent grads may have questions about the business side of freelancing, such as copywriting work or how much to charge for a job.

Although many members hail from the VCU illustration department, it’s not a prerequisite. They welcome grads from other schools. There is one stipulation: no students allowed. The club is geared towards “professional illustrators,” says McBride. If you’re still in school and you’re looking for a way to get involved in the Richmond art scene, she suggests you check out the VCU illustrators club.

Members complain that hometown artists don’t always get the attention they deserve. They have to compete with artists from bigger cities like New York and D.C. for jobs. But McBride has high hopes for the future. “We’re going to put Richmond on the map,” she says. The club recently hosted an exhibit at the Richmond public library. Fairy tales inspired all of the illustrations.

Members want to compile those drawings into a book that they can send to galleries and other potential clients. McBride calls it “a promotional tool.”

The club has another exhibit slated for next spring at the library, and they’re in the process of arranging other gallery shows.

So if you’re a new grad looking for a start, or if you’re an artist already at work, check out the Richmond Illustrator’s Club. Meganck says, “It’ll help you build a career.”

The Richmond Illustrators Club meets twice a month. If you would like to attend a meeting, go to their page at www.myspace.com/richmondillustratorsclub for details.

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the paintings of

TIM WILSON

See Me, Feel Me, 2002-2003, oil on canvas, 42” X 156”

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Tim Wilson, Virginia born, is internationally known and respected. He graduated VCU in 1993 with a BFA in Painting and Printmaking and moved to Brooklyn soon after to make his way through the profession.

The following photo-realistic images are part of a growing visual vocabulary. It speaks of childhood innocence and curiosity laced at times with adult sexual innuendoes. He has an evolution of thought that is apparent in his body of work. With the first plastic toys, he created narratives that quietly implied his idealism. Then he moved onto studies of fabric and materials that follow through on every detail.

These had no story until you add the soap opera titles.

Now as of last year, he returns to plastic and his past realities - to break them, twist them, melt them into abstraction; a deconstruction of his previous ideals and a moving on to the future.

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<B ig R ed , 2002, o i l o n c a nv a s, 64x52”

R ush, 2002, oil o n c a nv a s, 52x64”>

Sh eol, 2 0 0 0 , oil on can vas, 42x72”>

Top Gu n , 2 0 0 0 , oil on can vas, 24x42”>

Ch e r r y M o o n , 2 0 0 0 - 2001, oil on can vas , 6 6 x 1 2 0 â&#x20AC;? >

O n e Li f e t o L ive , 2 0 0 3 , o i l on can vas , 2 0 x 3 6 ”

A s the World Turns, 2002, oil on canvas, 42x72”

The Am er ic a n N ig h t , 2 0 0 1, oil on can vas, 42x72”

Flow er I, 2003, oil on canvas, 14x24”

M a rque e M o o n , 2 0 0 5 , o il on can vas, 64x12â&#x20AC;?

Nothing Happened At Plant Zero

......and It Was Amazing! words : Ryan Mulligan image : Martin Bromirski

On Thursday July 13th from 1-5 The Black Factory performance artist William Pope L.’s humorously political wagon of blackness, made a special stop down at Plant Zero. Part library, gift shop, and performance stage, The Black Factory travels around the country on an extremely limited budget redistributing blackness to the community. Blackness of any sort: you define it and they repackage it. They claim this transaction never happens, you have blackness all along. Like racially proactive Tinkerbells they run on belief and applause. This street theatre and itinerant circus invite conversations, provocations, and outrageous questions about suspicious racial issues.

Most racially conscience art leaves a sour taste in my mouth. The overtly naive work made by students focus on literalism and generalization. William Pope L. prefers to make bold gestures that fart and mold in the pristine cubes of commercial galleries.

He makes performances out of actions like eating newspapers, crawling in a cape-less superman suit, and walking through NYC with an elongated bunny penis. The self-described “friendliest black artist in America©,” Pope L. drives home his metaphors and statements with direct, guttural action (explaining what friendliest black artist means would take 10 pages with annotated notes so let us skip that for now). Not to mention his art encourages an uncomfortable amount of viewer awkwardness and self-deprecating humor. To those outside of the art world he is completely crazy and deranged. A disarming older black man with glasses and beard sitting on an American Flag eating the Wall Street Journal isn’t something you experience every day, but perhaps you should.

As an icon for young performers and social provocateurs, he is miles above most spectacle-driven protests. His work is humorous and extremely physical. His piece for the 2002 Whitney Biennial was a 30 mile belly crawl from the Statue of Liberty to the Bronx, with many months between stages because quite frankly, it would kill a person to do the whole thing at one time!

This final tour of The Black Factory was a huge success in numerous cities. Reports from Chicago say many exuberant artists and citizens came in droves to witness this once-in-a-lifetime event. The Richmond stop happened because of Linda Grey, their tour manager, Vaughn Garland who co-curated the Artspace Sculpture Invitational, Artspace, and Richmond’s fantastically fanatic art blogger, Martin Bromirski. In most 26 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

cities, large crowds came out to witness a shamanistic passion play about race while “buying” products of extreme blackness. Their Richmond stop at Artspace drew a small crowd of fewer than 20 people. With limited foot traffic, not to mention this was a Thursday, and only word of mouth advertising, what do you expect? The diligent crew took an inspired secondary mission of redistributing blackness and “orange-ness” to the good people of Burger King next door. They were kicked out almost instantaneously.

Back at the factory they broke out the PPWTT (pulverization podium workshop table and tabernacle) a hybrid cranking smashing station and stage for experimental dance speeches. They engaged people directly, caused mayhem, continued to get things wrong in an effort to ask really big questions that would take years to answer. CEO Pope L. believes the BF is a vehicle that does nothing without initiative from communities, in fact they do nothing, make nothing and nothing happens when they come to your town. It’s confusing, so you should have stopped by.

With four hours of lengthy performance skits, “nodes” and actions, the crew struggled with taking down the gargantuan setup and headed to their local host’s house for some much-needed sleep. But don’t worry, Richmond, thanks to the amazing efforts of Paul Thulin of the Photo Department at VCU, Pope L. will be guest lecturing in the fall.

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NO SIGNAL RVA!! words : Andrew Necci image : Michele Dosson

During the decade in which I’ve been participating in Richmond’s underground music community, I’ve seen some ups and downs, but through it all, Richmond has had one of the best music scenes in the country. To some extent, we’re lucky; there are plenty of big, ramshackle houses around town that kids can rent for cheap. Then they can get part time jobs, and with their extra time, form bands and put on shows in their basements or living rooms. It’s a situation that’s particularly conducive to artistic creativity, one that draws former residents back with such regularity that people talk about a ‘Richmond curse’: all who leave here are doomed to someday return. The real reason people come back, though, is because the scene’s better here.

After my band broke up in summer 2002, I spent a couple of years away from the scene. I returned in early 2005 to find it undergoing a creative renaissance. When I’d left, there had only been a few active bands in town, and hardly any places to do shows except for one or two established clubs. This left no options for new bands who hadn’t built up a following -- you can’t get club gigs if you don’t draw people, but you can’t draw people if no one’s ever seen you play. But while I’d been away, this situation had turned around. The clubs that were always here are still going strong, but there are several other venues that have opened up in the intervening years. Most importantly, a bunch of houses are doing shows regularly.

House shows are the lifeblood of any good music scene. Sure, they have their drawbacks; for one thing, they’re vulnerable to being shut down by cops. For another, they’re a lot of work for the kids who live at the houses where they happen. But house shows have their own rewards, both in the relaxed atmosphere and in the support they provide to a musical community. At house shows, bands are paid from donations rather than admission charged at the door. This might seem like a flawed

model, but it can actually work to a touring band’s advantage. Because kids know they can donate whatever they can spare instead of having to worry about coming up with $5-10 just to get in the door, they’re more likely to go, even if they’ve never heard of any of the bands playing. And because more kids come, a house show will often provide greater support to a touring band than a club show. Also, if 30 or 40 kids come to a club show, it looks empty, which can be demoralizing. But put that same amount of kids into a basement or a living room, and the show looks packed. They’re also a big help to local bands just starting to play out, giving them a chance to play their first few gigs for appreciative crowds instead of empty clubs.

When the scene in a town gets too big, one of the dangers is that it will become too stratified, that every small variation in musical style will spawn its own scene, and that all of the different scenes will become completely segregated from one another. Richmond in the late 90s was in danger of this exact thing. These days, though, while some kids are still more likely to go see one group of bands than another, lines between genre are becoming more blurred. The kids booking house shows support this, making sure to put bands who appeal to different groups of kids on the same bill, and thus opening people’s minds to new things. f you want to learn more about the current Richmond scene, the first thing you need to know is where shows are happening. Long-running clubs Nanci Raygun (929 W. Grace St, www.nanciraygun.com) and Alley Katz (10 Walnut Alley, www.alleykatzrva.com) are still going strong, and are your place to see the biggest local groups (Avail, Municipal Waste) as well as established touring acts. Gallery 5 (200 W. Marshall St., www. gallery5arts.com) hosts shows at least once or twice a month, generally on the more indie rock end of things. Nanci Raygun does host some of the middle-tier underground groups on a fairly regular basis, but to get into the underground scene, you’re generally going to have to dig deeper, which is where house shows come in.

The two best and most regular house show venues in Richmond right now are the Fortress of Solid Dudes (www.myspace.com/dudeordie) THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL 29

and The Bonezone (www.myspace.com/thebonezonerva). There are several other houses in town that put on shows with varying degrees of frequency, and you might be able to find out about those shows at the Richmond house shows’ Myspace page (http://www.myspace.com/rvahouseshows), but really, it’s hard to know about every house show that happens. Even if you don’t hear about them all, though, there are still enough shows happening in any given week that you could go to one almost every night. Sometimes the options can be paralyzing: three or four different shows, all featuring completely different styles of music, is the norm for weekend nights.

There are plenty of local bands that are worth taking the time to see.

Where hardcore is concerned, the best bands currently playing the fast, angry style pioneered by Black Flag and Minor Threat are scene veterans Cloak/Dagger and high school wunderkinds Army of Fun. Both bands infuse their songs with rock n’ roll energy that sometimes makes them sound like sped up Chuck Berry records, and while Cloak/Dagger use their songs to vent frustrations with day to day working life, Army of Fun live up to their name with catchy sing-alongs about pizza and hanging out. My War are much darker, mixing Motorhead and Black Sabbath influences into their fast, thrashy attack to create a heavy, brutal monolith of sound. Government Warning mix fast hardcore with more of an old-school punk influence, and share members with Direct Control, who add a bit of post-Discharge crust-punk flavor to that same old-school template. Also worthy of note are Down To Nothing, Wasted Time, Razor Ramon, and The Goddamn Wolves, all of whom have their own take on the fast hardcore sound.

In addition to the traditional hardcore sound, there are a bunch of bands that have taken hardcore in less traditional directions. The Catalyst combine influences from prog-rock and the early 90s alternative boom with a driving rock sound fueled by the use of two drummers. Snack Truck also has two drummers (though no bass player), but pursue a jazzy, improvisational feel rather than a pounding rock groove. Ultra Dolphins mix mathematically complex song structures and heavy breakdowns with quirky, offbeat vocals. Brainworms feature a member of 30 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

Ultra Dolphins, but go in a more rock-oriented direction that is reminiscent of the mid-80s DC sound of Dag Nasty or Embrace.

Of the more melodic post-hardcore bands, Landmines are a particular standout, combining the beer-soaked emotional openness of bands like Jawbreaker and Leatherface with a harder, more punk edge. Single Spies have more of a big rock sound than Landmines, but mine similar emotional territory, in the style of Husker Du. Meanwhile, The Riot Before adds folk and country influences to a modern punk songwriting style, and wind up sounding like Billy Bragg and The Clash. Pink Razors play heartfelt 4-chord pop-punk and sing about real life situations instead of clichéd heartbreak. I Live With Zombies mine similar pop-punk territory, but with a more modern, metallic edge, complete with breakdowns and speedy tempo changes that make them perfect skateboarding music.

There’s plenty of metal being played around town too, and not just by nationally popular acts like Lamb of God, Alabama Thunderpussy, and Municipal Waste. Monarch carry the banner for modern American metal, mixing a post-At The Gates Swedish style with more brutal riffs descended from Pantera. Battlemaster have a more complex death/ black metal style and a particularly incredible drummer. Wartorn play in a brutal death metal style, but avoid predictability by incorporating the blasting speed of grindcore. This Time It’s War are a young band, and have a therefore unsurprising tendency towards metalcore, but their impressively-maned guitarists regularly bust out blazing solos worthy of Megadeth or Slayer.

There’s also an entire section of the scene that’s devoted itself to the slow, punishing sound of stoner/doom metal. Foremost among these groups are Lord By Fire (formerly known as Sword), who lay down slow, rolling grooves in the style of Black Sabbath, topped with throat-shredding screams. Cough are similar, but more devoted to a dark, ominous feel, playing swampy, repetitive riffs that invoke the ghosts of Cavity and Eyehategod. Both of the preceding bands will get the crowd’s heads banging, but Balaclava are the type of band who can play a 45 minute set consisting of only 3 songs, sometimes spending five or more minutes

VCR 01-30-06 NA NC I R AYGU N

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GOVERNMEN T WA R NING 11- 20- 05 NA NC I R AYGU N

AVA I L 0 4 -2 9 -0 6 A L L E Y K AT Z

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M U N I C I PA L WA S T E 0 7 - 0 3 -0 5 N A N C I R AYG U N

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on a quiet, ambient buildup before flooring everyone in the room with a super slow pounding riff of doom. Tigershark and Fred Gable are a couple of newer bands who mix the more drawn out tendencies of doom metal with metallic hardcore influences, creating a hybrid somewhat reminiscent of both Mastodon and Isis.

On the indie-rock side of things, Triple Twins are particularly good, playing power pop with female vocals in a style not unlike that of Rainer Maria. Now Sleepyhead’s noisy guitar solos and melodic keyboard parts recapture the feel of prime early 90s effects-laden British bands, like My Bloody Valentine. Then there’s A Roman Holiday, who combine the influences of Pavement and Nirvana, and sound like indie rock did back when ‘rock’ was the operative word. On the poppier side of things, VCR play catchy, keyboard-based pop with an indie sensibility, while teenage dance-punks Moon Boggle wear costumes and sing about famous scientists over disco beats and retro-futuristic synth bleeps.

Finally, there are several acoustic acts floating around the scene. Josh Small sings high-lonesome tunes that are entertainingly laced with profanities, accompanying himself on banjo and steel guitar. Liza Kate has a much more somber, quiet style, playing foreboding ballads reminiscent of Will Oldham’s records under the Palace moniker. Matt Seymour’s songs are constructed more like punk tunes, and have the socio-political lyrics common to that style. The drummerless combo Homemade Knives base their songs around Wil Loyal’s powerful vocals, backing him with melancholy-sounding acoustic guitars, keyboards, and cello.

There are even artists out there who don’t fit into any of the styles I’ve mentioned so far, from the alt-country of Mason Dixon Disaster to the heavy, instrumental post-rock of Souvenir’s Young America.

put out lots of traditional hardcore records, and have releases by Cloak/ Dagger, Down To Nothing, and Wasted Time. No Way Records (www. nowayrecords.com) doesn’t have a particular geographical focus, but is co-owned by members of Direct Control and Government Warning, and have released records by both of those bands. Finally, Concice Records (www.myspace.com/concicerecords) appears to be the place to go for Richmond-based hip-hop, releasing records by local MCs Swordplay and Murk One. Richmond has an incredibly active music scene, which extends much farther than I could ever document here. However, I publish a monthly zine called No Signal that attempts to cover the scene as it happens, reviewing local records as they’re released and local shows shortly after they occur. I try to leave a few in Plan 9 every month, and I’m always handing them out at shows when I have them, so if you want to find out more about the local scene than you’ve read in this article, keep an eye out for it.

Where local labels are concerned, there are several currently operating.

Robotic Empire (www.roboticempire.com) focuses more on the non-traditional hardcore end of things, and have releases by The Catalyst, Pink Razors, and Ultra Dolphins. Popfaction (www.popfaction.com) release lots of Richmond-based bands of all styles, from Monarch to I Live With Zombies to Josh Small. Grave Mistake (www.gravemistakerecords.com) RVA VOL.2 ISSUE 2 / MUSIC 41

SOUTHERN ROCK IS DEAD. words : Erin E. Bryant image : Ian Graham

We all know and love Plan 9 Records. When they announced that their 25th anniversary show would feature a cozy little in-store with the Drive-By Truckers, our love for them went to a whole new level. Playing for only a few cases of beer and a couple bottles of Jack Daniels, the band volunteered one of their days off of tour with the Black Crowes to come to the Carytown store and play a show benefiting the Brian and Kathryn Harvey Family Memorial Fund. Bringing their signature brand of rock and roll to Richmond was an easy decision for them, seeing as singer Patterson Hood grew up buying records from Plan 9 fixture Jay Leavitt. Before the show, Patterson, Jay and I hung out in the basement of Plan 9 records to talk about what the bandâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s been up to these days.

EB: Why don’t you start by telling me about the new album?

PH: Okay. Well, it’s called A Blessing and A Curse, and it was recorded last summer at Mitch Easter’s studio in North Carolina, with David Barbe again producing -- he’s produced our last several records -- probably a little more personal than the last few records. I mean, they’re all a little personal, in their own way, but it’s a little less story-driven. A lot of our records have sort of a narrative to them. And some of them have been even sort of concept records. And this one didn’t really do any of that. It was more of a collection of songs, a little more focused, more concise.

A lot less sprawling, as sometimes we tend to do. We recorded it-- most of it pretty much -- live in the studio, as we do all our records. Most of it was written either in the studio or in the weeks leading right up to recording it. It was all pretty much a fresh batch of songs.

EB: Some people are saying that this record is an attempt to move away from the label of “southern rock”. Was that an intentional move?

PH: I’ve never been crazy about the label, as far as I don’t... I’ve always felt that it was a specific period of time that happened... you know, between 69-77, there was something called “southern rock”, and between motorcycle and plane crashes, that was pretty much the end of it as really a viable era of music, in my opinion. There were still some bands doing it after that, but they tended to go this right-wing direction that to me, kind of changed the way that people perceived that label of southern rock. I mean, we are certainly influenced by the sounds of that era, and we did do a concept album about that era (the Southern Rock Opera ), of the political implications and the southern peoples’ perceptions of the south and of our people, but I didn’t... I don’t think of us as “southern rock”. We’re just a rock and roll band. I mean, I grew up listening to The Clash, and The Replacements probably more than I did Skynard. So the appropriate way of presenting those songs on the Southern Rock Opera was in that kind of musical context because that’s the way to tell that story, and I’m flattered if we did it, you know, seemingly legitimate

enough to have a label stick. But I never wanted to be hemmed in by a label, you know? Before we did that album, we were being called an Alt-Country band, and I didn’t really like that one either. No. We’re a rock and roll band and all those things are part of a rock and roll band. So this new record is definitely less geographically specific than the last ones, but we were ready to do an album like that. Our next record might be a concept record and it might be set in the south (laughs), but you know for now, this one was a chance to do something a little different.

EB: So do you find with three songwriters (Hood, Jason Isbell, and Mike Cooley), that finding clarity on a record is sometimes difficult?

PH: Usually not. I mean, there’s a wealth of songs. The hard part is figuring out what needs to be left off, you know. Because you get attached to certain songs, but they might not fit with the other ones. It’s kind of what sticks together, more than ‘well, is this the best song?’ It’s really the songs that kind of fit well together. And we’re really lucky: we’ve got three writers, and most of our work does gel together. We really value that over any individual contributions. Usually it’s the person who wrote the song that ends up cutting it from the record. More often than not, that’s how it ends up going. Someone else fighting for one of my songs, or me fighting for one of Cooley’s songs, more than against it.

EB: So you all are on tour with the Black Crowes right now. How’s that going?

PH: It’s good. You know... it’s been an adjustment for us. You know usually, it’s our show. We play for a couple of hours or so later at night. now, we’re playing in theaters... thousand, fifteen hundred seaters... and I like playing the music in the bigger spaces, because I think that the type of music we do works in that context, but you know... we play early. We play really short and really early. the sun’s up and people are coming in the door and we’re kind of the background music, so the goal is to pack as much into that forty minutes that we can, and hopefully not 36 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

just be background music. But it’s a constant struggle. And there’s a lot of waiting around. You’re in the back of an amphitheater, in almost like a Wal-mart parking lot. You’re not close to any sort of town, so you can’t just walk down the street and find that cool restaurant or you know... and catering can kind of go either way... I’m looking forward to our tour in the fall. And I’m excited to be playing tonight and tomorrow and having it be our shows. But it’s a cool thing to be doing for the summer.

EB: Where are you going on your tour?

PH: With the Black Crowes?

EB: No, this fall...

PH: Well, we’re doing the east coast in September and the Midwest in October. More or less, that’s kind of a generalization. And Bobby Barrett, Jr. and The Drams, which is some of the guys from Slobberbone…they’ll be playing with us some. It’ll just be good to stretch out and do our show again.

EB: Now the truckers are from Athens, Georgia, right?

PH: Well, I live in Athens, a couple of us live in Athens, but most of us come from northern Alabama, the Muscle Shoals area where Jay (Leavitt) comes from. I’ve known Jay since I was nine or ten.

Jay Leavitt: We’re very proud of where we come from.

PH: Yeah, I was telling someone the other day, Jay didn’t sell me my first record, but he probably sold me my first great record. I probably had a few records before Jay had his store, but Jay’s the one who sold me my first really great one.

JL: I ran a store in downtown Florence, Alabama, and what I remember

PH: I was fanatical. Anything I could get my hands on. I mean, I broke 100 records by the time I finished sixth grade. I was an avid, avid record buyer.

one of them. I can’t stand that stuff. I saw them in concert, years and years ago, when I’d go see anyone pretty much because there weren’t that many shows down there. My first wife was a huge Journey fan, and I bought her tickets for her birthday, and I saw Neil Shawn pantomime his guitar solo. The whole thing was sampled. And he was rocking out, and at one point he threw the guitar over his shoulder and my seats were so good that I could see his hand not moving. Man, fuck those guys.

JL: You still are.

EB: What are you all listening to these days?

PH: Yeah, I’ve got a nice little stack going of good stuff upstairs.

PH: I’m about to buy the Rockin’ Bones box set, so as of tomorrow I’ll be listening to that. I’m pretty excited.

about Patterson is that he and his sister, when his mother came into town, they would come running in, and he would just be foaming at the mouth, because he was looking to get that record.

EB: So when is your solo record coming out?

PH: Probably in the spring; definitely next year. I haven’t got any specifics yet, like who’s going to put it out or anything, but I’m definitely thinking spring. You know, whenever it doesn’t conflict with the band. I’ll tell you though, I’m going to put together a rockin’ band to tour with. It’ll be sort of like what we’re doing now, but we’ll definitely have to get up here.

JL: It’s worth the wait. I’ve had it for about a year, and it’s definitely worth the wait.

EB: Which song would you rather have stuck in your head for the rest of your life? “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey, “Rock You Like a Hurricane”

by The Scorpions, or “Copacabana” by Barry Manilow?

PH: Oh god, do I have to have any of those?

EB: Yep. PH: Can I opt to blow my brains out? I think that’s my answer. You know, a lot of people have gotten softer on journey in the later years. There’s a certain faction that think that it’s hip to like journey now, but I’m not

Ian Michael Graham: I’ve got one last question. If the Drive-By Truckers were to enter the Thunderdome, you know, two bands enter, one band leaves, fight to the death kind of scenario, who would you choose to have to fight?

PH: Fight to the death? In other words, who’s the best band out there to go play against?

IMG: No. I mean like an all out brawl. Like in Mad Max. PH: We’re not as rough and tough as we look in our pictures… I have no idea…

EB: Pick Journey! Pick Journey!

PH: OOH! Journey. That’s what it is.

The Trucker’s played a phenomenal almost three hour set, slugging back the Jack Daniels and rocking out as only they can do. To find out more about the Drive-by Truckers you can check out their webpage at Http://www.drivebytruckers.com and definitely pick up their new album, THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL 37

M1 of Dead Prez What’s real. words : Ian Graham

I accidentally blindsided M1 of Dead Prez.

He wasn’t aware that he was going to be doing a phone inter view when I called him- the promoter down here talked to the promoter up there, and there was a missed connection, or something like that. That makes what follows all the more impressive to melike the best of hip-hop, what you’re about to read came off of the top of his head.

DEAD PREZ WILL BE ONE OF THE HEADLINERS FOR RVA’s “FALLING FROM GRACE” STREET FESTIVAL, AUGUST 26TH on GRACE STREET. TICKETS WILL BE AVAILABLE THROUGH PLAN9 IN CARYTOWN OR PLAN9 EXPRESS IN THE VCU BOOKSTORE!!

38 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

IMG : What would you say is the current state of hip-hop?

M1: The state of hip-hop is exactly what’s happening in the communities- the state of hip-hop mirrors reality, the state of the ‘hood, as it is not being reflected in music. I think a couple of things that are reflected in music are happening because of the effects of capitalism on the world, and our people. And I think that music is responding, but the state of hip-hop as it is today can be reflected in, say, the health system. People who know about it want something better, and things won’t be right in our music until things are right in our lives, and in our workplace.

IMG : You mention capitalism . . . Do you think the way that musicians make music is changing, in terms of working within or outside of the recording industr y?

M1: Well, it’s definitely not that way with ar t. In hip-hop, it’s not that way- there’s still an idea, a plantation mentality, “you’ve got to get signed”- but with ar t as music, there has been a creative surge, and a leap for ward in the way of independent stability… but overall, the plantation mentality prevails.

IMG : Are politics inherent to hip-hop?

M1: Politics are about putting ideas into people’s minds, and so is hip-hop.

my comrades. I don’t know too many people in the media. Other than that, accountability is the basis for trust.

IMG : Are there any truthful politicians in America?

M1: Charles Barron, brother from New York, former Panther, is a notewor thy man.

IMG : Two men- one white, college educated off of his parent’s money, and one black, who never had the oppor tunity to go to college. Both see America in the exact same way. What is the difference between these two men, and their ideologies?

M1: The difference in ideologies is based on class. A working class ideology doesn’t make for a working class reality, and won’t allow the oppor tunities for a black person to appreciate. College, maybe, could foster some college liberal theor y- I think if the white person had been born into a working class situation, he might see what can be done from that situation, instead of what to do about it. The main thing is the personal experience, in different established systems, the difference is class standpoint, and when I say working class, I’m talking about 90 % of the people in the world today. Manual laborers, and when you compare that to the other 10 % , those are people who don’t work at all. It effects how much can be understood.

IMG : That’s the truth. I think a lot of people are going to come out to y’alls show on the 26th.

IMG : Is there anyone in the media who can be trusted?

M1: We look for ward to it. How did you get my number?

M1: There’s nobody that I can name right now, in the media. I trust THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL 39

mornings of Third and Fourth Street, dank beer halls like The Village, the outdoors, the sun and summer break.

There isn’t a style or faction that dominates Best Friend’s Day. Kids covered in tattoos and piercings stand beside kids in collared tees and spiked hair. It’s the same people you meet on the streets, at rock shows and in local supermarkets and coffee houses.

Best Friend’s Day is our alternative to the dominant corporate culture of advertisement and suburbia.

Day One Thursday, instigates the long weekend at Skateland on 5212 Hull Street. The bands will be Kylesa, I Object, Environmental Youth Crunch, Hex Machine, and The Keyons.

Day Two begins at Chop Suey Books from 1 to 5 pm with a scavenger hunt around the city. The day concludes with a rock show at Alley Katz. Municipal Waste, DJ Assault (aka DJ Funk), Annihilation Time, Caustic Christ and Ultra Dolphins convene. Cost is six bucks.

Best Friend’s Day words: Daniel Crenshaw image : Harpal Sodhi

From August 18th to the 21st, Best Friend’s Day collides on Richmond. It is four days of fun with friends, booze with buds and lightly-organized mayhem.

There might be more order than is let on, but Best Friend’s Day is rooted in the chaos of letting kids do what they want. The event is flush with bands, bikes, boards, contests and various forms of liquefaction.

Last month’s Guitar Heroes event was a precursor to Best Friend’s Day. About seventy Richmond kids convened at Mojo’s for a competition of dueling plastic guitars.

In front of a big screen TV the crowd jeered and cheered as contestants wailed on the controller buttons.

It’s at these events where the spirit of Best Friend’s Day begins. It’s an aesthetic that expands on the common experiences of Richmond youth: the chrome and checkered 40 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

Day Three is the big event, all day at Hadad’s Lake, south down I-95 and at 1140 Mill Road. Bring your own food and drink, eight bucks. The night’s show is at the Nanci Raygun with Hit/Play’s Pink Razors, Brain Worms, Minuteman Cover Band (by Crimson Spectre), Triple Twins and Jokers of the Scene. A dance party is penciled in to occur on day three as well. Sign up at Hadad’s to get in on the action.

The last day is on Sunday the 21st. It’s a ramp kill at 512 E. 8th St. with a free concert.

Bring your bike and food to grill. Bands include Annihilation Time, The Ergs!, Savage Brewtality, and Whiskey and Company. For a grand finale, Richmond Lucha will put on a wrestling show.

Best Friend’s Day is about getting together with your friends, meeting new people and having some idiosyncratic fun. It might be the last event on this planet where people can have an anarchic good time outside of corporate control. Loosen up and breathe life. Show up for at least one day. You owe to it yourself.

You can check out Best Friend’s Day at www.myspace.com/bestfriendsday

HOMEMADE KNIVES

out pretension, and

Triple Stamp Records

Homemade Knives’ first full-length is a quietly beautiful acoustic album, combining the considerable talents of Wil Loyal, Shane Jenkins, Chris Carrol and Ryan Mclennan. A more lush and polished sound than their EP, it still contains the same earnest desire to present a sound unlike much of the music currently released by local bands Each song is obviously well-thought out; the music never overpowers the lyrics and vice-versa. Loyal’s lyrics are poetic, with42 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

PEDALS ON OUR PIRATE SHIPS Pop Faction Records

Seymour’s clear, distinctive voice easily regret and hope while provides strength to making both seem equally as enticing.

Pedals On Our Pirate- simply written yet Several of the tracks ships is the brainchild powerful lyrics about community involvefeature female harof Richmond music ment, a bit of politics, monies, which soften scene veteran Matt love, and friendship.

Loyal’s sometimes Seymour (Falling Standout tracks sharp-edged vocals.

Action, Attackula). include the title song Originally intended “Pedals On Our Pirate “Anyone At All” feato be a solo-project ships,” which features tures a haunting cello recorded to benefit a surprisingly sweet track humming in the Richmond Recycles, background, adding a it grew to include the harmonica riff courtefullness to the subtle talents of many of the sy of Daniel Rickeyand, harmonies by Adriharmonies of the song. musicians that make “Saltwater Shoes” has the local music scene enne Brown (Triple a great slide guitar so diverse. The result Twins), and “Good intro that sets the is a collection of thir- Friends, Good Times,” tempo for a slightly teen songs illustrating an ode to Richmond faster paced song. An the love/hate relation- and the friendships album worth buying ship with the city that that make it more than just another city. and listening to many so many of us have times over. cultivated through the Other musicians that -Erin E. Bryant years.

No One Doubts The Darkness manage to convey both

contributed to the making of the record include Casey Martin (Stem the Tide), Ian Cassidy, Joe Hunt, Nick Bergheimer (Landmines), Tim Carroll, David Hughes (The Hot Damns), Tim Barry (Avail), Joe Mager (Alright Already), Adam Thompson (the OK Bird), David Donaldson (Our Stable Violent Star), and Josh Small.

Truly a community project and worth picking up, not only for the tunes, but to help support a great cause.

-Erin E. Bryant.

PRABIR & THE SUBSTITUTES EP The first minute and fifteen seconds of Prabir & the Substitutes’ EP release is dedicated to the singing quality of Brian Wilson. As far as a dedication goes, a four click count off and a few bars of purely overdriven guitar vamping over steady rhythm can serve as a dedication to anyone who has played rock ‘n’ roll music over the last half of the 20th century (and this song delivers quite nicely live in regards to ‘rock’ and ‘loud’). Then, quickly one can see

why the affinity lie in Wilson’s singing and songwriting. No Substitute went untapped in providing vocal elements in the making of this EP. This band combines 60s drum style, thick bass tone, and guitar pop with vocal harmony.

While Brian Wilson was more of a composer, Prabir & the Substitutes deliver straight pop-rock (guitar, bass, percussion) in less than three minutes. In this age, there’s something to be said for that. Not only are all the songs short, but the first two, “Brian Wilson, I Love You” and “How Can

We Make This Ghost Happy?” are under two minutes and still manage to contain elements of verse, chorus, and bridge.

The first of those two and the EP opener, which boasts, “nobody sings the way that you do, breaks my heart in two every time,” assuming to be in reference to Brian Wilson, only lasts a minute and fifteen seconds.

Any longer and one may begin to wonder why Wilson is actually breaking someone’s heart. The vocal melody is irresistible regardless of whom it’s about, which is a trait to hold in comparison to the Beach

Boys. They may have been singing about surfing or California, but neither matter.

What matters is they knew how to write songs with pop sensibility, as do Prabir & the Substitutes.

“Keeping This Place Together Using Glue” showcases the band to a tee. The song starts with an acoustic guitar and a singular voice ‘do’-ing the melody.

Enter drum roll, handclaps, and clean electric guitar over the same singular ‘do’-ing voice, and top it off with a melody-riffing bass, background vocals,

and a slightly fuzzed guitar vamping the rhythm chords. This builds to a harmonized vocal crescendo, where thereafter a heavy jam is followed by a psychedelic guitar descent into the vocal, “we are keeping this place together…” The lyrics are lovable.

Are they keeping ‘this place’ together using glue? Or are they keeping ‘the song’ together with talent and integrity? The latter seems applicable and the band is worthy based solely on that assessment. All players are talented, vocally and instrumentally, without complexity, and all lend

themselves innocently to easily enjoyed poprock tunes. No matter the length of the songs, how infectiously poppy they appear to be, nor how psychedelic their starts and stops get, all of the songs seem to be written earnestly and with good intention.

This recording was released under Pop Faction as an EP and exists as a great introduction to a lovely Richmond band. Beginning in July, the band is recording a full length in Gallery 5, with plans for an autumn release.

Under the influence of their EP and live shows, the full length can be anticipated, even if it’s just in the spirit of the

musical scene of Richmond. In the pantheon of the Beach Boys, the Kinks, and Weezer, Prabir & the Substitutes promote a good time, while still holding bundles of integrity in the scope of pop and rock ‘n’ roll seriousness.- Frankie Lee TIM BARRY Laurel St. Demo 2005 Dancing In The Dark Records If you live in Richmond and haven’t yet heard some of Avail’s vocalist Tim Barry’s solo stuff, get with it! Taking the anthemic charm of his punk/hardcore roots and incorporating them with a much THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL 43

more rootsy, acoustic driven sound, Barry creates eight true-tolife gems. Touching on everything from development in his community to riding trains, nothing here is too surprising, but boy is it great. - Sean Patrick Rhorrer BETRAYED Substance Equal Vision Records When a band forms featuring members of Champion and Carry On, the results could be varied. Personally, I never really got the mass appeal of Champion, although it seems I was in the minority on that. Luck44 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

ily, Betrayed’s music comes across as better-written songs with stronger vocals.

At points throughout the album, an almost tough guy vibe is present, yet the band never fails to keep the songs energetic, heartfelt, and dare I say melodic.

- Sean Patrick Rhorrer FAIR The Best Worst-Case Scenario

Tooth & Nail Records

With such a high, constant output of releases, Tooth & Nail is becoming one of those labels it’s impossible to love every release.

Yet, every few years, I find the label knocking me completely off my

feet with some new band I’ve never heard of before... this time it’s Fair. Started as a project band for producer Aaron Sprinkle (who has worked with the likes of Emery, Anberlin, and even MxPx), this dreamy rock outfit hits the nail on the head. As each song passes, a sense of eerie familiarity sticks without presenting a feeling of “I’ve already heard this song from someone else.”

Fair writes music that is both intense and beautiful at once.

- Sean Patrick Rhorrer THE SCARE Snakes Among Saints Lawnchair Records

Featuring former members of DC area punk/hardcore outfit Affront, The Scare really feels like the next chapter in Affront’s saga. This EP packs the same forceful yell as their previous band, yet the music seems ever-so-slightly more dark in nature, possibly to coincide with their new darker image. While there is definitely room for improvement, Snakes Among Saints marks a good beginning for this new band, especially appealing to those who liked the previous endeavor.- Sean Patrick Rhorrer

SINKING SHIPS Disconnecting Revelation Records Having first heard Sinking Ships via their Meridian release, a combination of an EP and their demo, I immediately felt a little something different going on with them. Unfortunately, that slight sense of originality that made this Washington band so appealing doesn’t get carried throughout their new album as successfully. Now, this isn’t to say Disconnecting isn’t a good release as it’s far better than a lot of hardcore coming out, yet I wish the band’s creativity and live energy would

have been carried into these new songs a bit more. Nevertheless, Disconnecting does rise above the hordes and should be given a chance for that, if nothing else.- Sean Patrick Rhorrer ZAO The Fear Is What Keeps Us Here

Ferret Music

At this point in their career, Zao have plenty of naysayers against them. Working with Steve Albini for this new album only seems to have fueled such criticism, yet the collaboration proves highly rewarding.

Always known for their

harsh and volatile sound, Albini might be the first engineer to accurately capture that edginess in the studio.

It surely helps that the new songs are all the more chaotic, jumping from blast beats to dark riffage within a split second. If the naysayers actually listen to this album, I have a feeling they’ll be quieted.- Sean Patrick Rhorrer WOLFMOTHER Selftitled Modular Records There’s very little music that (the crap known as) mainstream radio will play these days that I actually en-

joy. I cringe when the cheesy voice comes on the airwaves and claims to play more “new rock” than the “other station,” just before spewing out 40 minutes of early to mid-nineties tunes (25 minutes being commercials, of course).

I was pleasantly surprised when I took my Melvins CD out of the player to see which generic song the radio was slowly murdering via overkill of repetitive airtime.

Overcome with a moment of slight confusion, I thought I had stumbled onto the classic rock station.

But soon enough I

realized this song WAS from a newer band and I actually liked what I was hearing!

The song ends and Mr. Obnoxious Radio DJ announces the name of the band: Wolfmother.

I am in no way endorsing those soul sucking Clear Channel stations, but I had to investigate. I immediately purchased the album, played it nonstop for the next few days, and practiced my air-guitar moves in the mirror as I slipped on my Steven Tyleresque digs for a wild night of… ahem… never mind.

Wolfmother is, undoubtedly, one of the most fun rock n’ roll

bands I’ve heard in awhile. Let me warn you: you won’t hear anything groundbreaking or innovative on this album. What you will hear is the Australian trio digging into their daddies’ record collections from the 70s to pull out influences by rock gods Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, and even a little Pink Floyd. They mix it all together and make it their own via heavy guitars, simple and catchy lyrics sung with higher pitched vocals that would come out of an offspring of Ozzy Osborne and Jack White, and bits of psychedelic stoner rock riffs. Wrapping

the entire package up neatly is the album artwork, which admonishes fantasy artist Boris Vallejo, and looks like it could adorn a cover to a Dungeons and Dragons novel, which is by no means a bad thing.

Wolfmother doesn’t take itself too seriously and neither should you.

Succeeding in creating a monstrous rock album, Wolfmother blurs the divide between being amazingly honest and a wonderfully realized wink into the world of tongue-in-cheek.

PEEPING TOM Self-titled Ipecac From Faith No More,

Mr. Bungle, Lovage, General Patton Vs. the X-ecutioners, various projects with musical/sound pioneer John Zorn, and especially Fantomas, Mike Patton almost always pushes the envelope and sends the mail to the far reaches of the brain.

Since his Faith No More days, this is Patton’s most accessible record, which is both a good and bad thing.

Mike Patton is one of the most versatile musicians of our day. He can croon like a lounge singer, belt out operatic levels of sound, scream and thrash out indecipherable lyrics with intensity, and everyTHE UNCULTURED ANIMAL 45

thing in between… and that’s not even going into his musical talent. Sadly, Peeping Tom feels a little like Patton is holding back or dumbing things down to make a “pop” record (and no, I’m not talking about Britney Spears/Justin Timberlake “pop” ). It makes sense that the only tumultuously roaring songs are the ones where Mike’s more experimental tendencies shine through. “Five Seconds,” Peeping Tom’s opener within which he unapologetically and manically rips the chorus wide open, is a perfect example.

Peeping Tom has guests from all over the place: Massive Attack, Kool Keith, Dub Trio, Rahzel, and Norah Jones (yes, she does say “motherfucker” in her track “Sucker”--get over it) to name a few and that 46 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

E V ERY M ONDAY

R VA po s ts a “ Th i s We e k I n the R VA” b u l l e t i n f ro m o u r myspace a cco u nt a n d R VAMAG . co m .

Lo o k fo r th i s a n d c h e c k o ur c a l e n d a r to s e e w h at i s g o ing on i n R i c h mo n d fo r th e n ex t week .

very mixed bag may slightly hurt the cohesiveness of the album.

By my slight criticism you’d think I didn’t like this album, which is not the case. Six years of production built much anticipation, and it being Mike Patton’s work I expected a powerful masterpiece with the strength to change the direction of earth’s rotation. I’m being too harsh. Who knows, maybe this is his way of telling the world that his genius is more apparent when he sticks to being progressive. - Parker

DVD REVIEW THE VENTURE BROS. Season One DVD Boxset

up with an incredible formula. As the first Of all the Adult Swim season jumps from original cartoons, few one odd tale to the have come across as next, the characters simultaneously intel- are developed well and ligent and biting as their individual quirks successfully as The shine. Anyone looking Venture Bros. With for a pseudo-advenextremely well written ture cartoon geared stories, an imprestowards smart adults sively complex and should look no further. hilarious premise, And I can’t wait for and cool animation season two! that fits perfectly, - Sean Patrick Rhorrer the creators of The Venture Bros. came

E V ERY W EEK

R VAMAG . co m i s u p d ate d with n e w co nte nt. I f yo u a re i ntere s te d i n w r i ti n g o r i l l u s trati ng fo r t h e we b s i te p l e a s e e m ail pe te r @ r va ma g. co m.

E V ERY M ON t h

St a r t i n g i n S e p te m b e r R VA will b e h o l d i n g a g at h e r i n g at Blue M o u nt a i n Ca fe i n Ca r y tow n at 3 4 3 3 We s t Ca r y Stre e t.

Co m e o u t a n d e n j oy s o m e live m u s i c + gre at s p e c i a l s o n food a n d d r i n k s. Pu n c h N’ Pi e.

Grand Marshal words : Clay McLeod Chapman image : Jeff Smack

Popped my first shot in the backside of some majorette’s head, watching her skull combust through my cross-hairs. This pink mist fogged up the air in between her pig-tails. Nothing but red confetti and cerebral streamers showering down on the crowd. That girl had been twirling her baton as if it were some Molotov cocktail, all lit and ready to burst -- the entire high school pep squad looking like a group of insurgents, swarming around the front of the parade, ready to riot, their arms raised over their heads, brandishing their banners in tandem to one another. The whole fucking color guard’s praising Allah, shouting out obscenities at us soldiers.

Took another one down before she could catch her baton, watching the rod spin through the air as her body fell to the ground.

We’re rolling over Broad Street, heading into the center of town -- an entire cavalcade of cars and floats driving down the main drag, turning left on Elm, right on Vine, passing the courthouse, town hall, all the shops, even the grocery store I used to work at back when I was in high school, bagging these people’s sandwich meats for three and a quarter an hour, well before that recruiting officer waltzed into the back-room on my lunch break, well before he handed me his business card, scribbling his extension on the back so that I could talk to him personally -- because he saw the potential in me, the potential to kill. Well before I enlisted, kissing my mom goodbye and joining the Marines. Well before training at Paris Island, South Carolina. Well before being deployed to Kuwait with the 2nd Tank Battalion, 2nd Marine Division.

And worlds before making my way back home a war hero, the proud recipient of the Navy and Marine Corps Achievement medal with Combat Valor for action in Iraq -- nothing but this ribbon flickering against my chest, this medal pinned to my neatly pressed uniform, telling my home town that I’d been in direct combat with the enemy force.

Worlds before they threw me my own parade.

50 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

They’ve got me perched in the backseat of this classic ‘57 Chevrolet convertible, donated by Gentry’s Auto, located right off of Route 29 -- all wrapped up in ticker tape and paper chains, an American flag sprawled across the front hood. The roof’s peeled back, letting me sit topside -- just next to Miss Rappahannock, a tiara on top of her head, her sash wrapped over her shoulder, like a satin bandolier, holding enough ammunition to shoot all the way through Baghdad. Her elbow’s bent, hand cupped -- waving with her wrist to the crowd down below.

Our convoy sweeps passed this militia of shriners, their miniature cars sputtering under our line of fire -- all these geriatric guerillas tossing rock candy at the kids along the sidewalk. I learned that a medulla oblongata shot jerks their neck back quick, twirling the tassels on top of their heads -- so I see how many fezzes I can hit within a minute, plucking off shriners left and right, like some arcade game, where every bull’s eye wins you another ticket.

Bling, bling, bling.

People keep throwing handfuls of confetti into the air, these bits of paper picked up by the wind, scattering everywhere, like a sand storm hitting me right in the face, the desert digging into my skin. The particles burrow into my flesh, finding their way inside, through my ears, my mouth, my nose. I’m taking the desert with me wherever I go.

I spot old Miss Rollinger in the crowd, waving her flag at me. Picked her off with a single shot, thinking of her working behind the counter at the Cardinal Pharmacy -- where, when I was just twelve years old, she caught me shoplifting one of the dirty magazines off the rack in the back, slipping some Hustler under my shirt, banning me from stepping through the doors of that store for looking at such filth in the first place. The only kind of girls I’ve seen for the last year of my life are coming from magazines just like that, surrounding myself with air-brushed breasts and shaved pussies -- the kind of girl who won’t give you her heart, because there’s nothing beyond her

skin, all smooth and glossy. Only type of girl who’s willing to give up her cunt to a grunt comes packaged in a brown paper bag, willing to follow you in your pocket wherever you go.

Not like the girls back here at home. Not like my girlfriend -- who kept her legs squeezed tight my last night before I shipped off, sitting in the backseat of my car, pushing my hand away every time I slid it up her thigh, whispering to me that she wanted to wait, to save herself for when I got back.

And I remember thinking to myself, I’m never coming back. I’m as good as dead the second I say goodbye. Please, don’t make me go. Please, don’t let me leave.

I spot her in front of the post office, leaning against a mailbox. She’s smiling at me, waving her hand. Looking so proud, like I’m her hero. Some knight in shining armor.

I get her right between the eyes -- her head opening up in the rear, her brains blossoming over the eagle emblem painted across the front of the post office.

I’m a hero all right. I hear my name called out from the crowd, echoing through the streets. There’s this ringing in my ears, coming from the marching band up ahead -- and all I can see are these rows of coiled brass, these piles of twisted intestines exposed to the open sun, like an entire battalion’s worth of bodies left in the desert, days after dying, yellowed from decomposition. The hollow cylinders keep hissing with trapped gasses, a steaming pile of entrails sputtering up The Stars and Stripes Forever for the fifth fucking time in a row.

So I start sweeping my M16 through the street. I’m taking out everyone I see.

Mr. Simms, my high school principal. Mrs. Parker, my third grade English

teacher. Mr. Reynolds, my boss from the grocery store. Father Dervisham, from church. Miss Holland, from down the street. Sally Stanton, the first girl I ever felt up. Sean Thomas, her fucking boyfriend. Nancy Gladson, the check-out girl. Jimmy Hodgkin, my best friend from fifth grade. Even my own mom and dad, looking so proud of me. I wipe the smiles off their faces with a single shot through the mouth, their lips unraveling the second that bullet pushes passed.

I’m all out of rounds by the time my tank pulls up to the bandstand, the hollow discharge of my rifle clicking through the air. I can’t let go of the trigger, my finger locked into place -- only for the mayor to step up to a microphone, clearing his throat.

While proudly serving your country, insurgents ambushed your unit on a routine tank patrol. You personally returned fire with your crew-served weapon, suppressing the enemy long enough to evacuate the wounded, saving the rest of your regiment from imminent danger. And for this, the Marines have honored you for your valor. For your sense of duty, loyalty, respect, selfless-service, honor, integrity, patriotism and personal courage in the face of danger -- we salute you, son. Welcome home.

I head back to my parents’ house after the parade. I make my way up to my room, closing the door behind me and locking it. I open up the top dresser drawer and push back my socks, pulling out my Marine-issue 9MM pistol from its holster. I watch my reflection in the dresser mirror as it slips the muzzle passed its lips, resting the barrel over its tongue. My reflection never flinches, never blinks, even when it squeezes the trigger -- watching the backside of its head burst, a tuft of sand spilling out from the exit wound, the desert spreading over the rest of my room, covering the walls, the carpet, the bed.

Sand seems to find its way in everything.

THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL 51

ima ge s c o u r te s y o f Fo u n d M a g a z i n e

Found Magazine’s

Davy Rothbart

words : Marisa Browne

Fragile. Do not shake, go slowly. NO RUSH!!

- FOUND in a puddle by Cindy Meyers

Hey Asshole, Thanks a ton for blocking off all those spaces. What about those people you’ve blocked in? Are they just shit out of luck if they have to leave? You would fully deser ve it if they were to vandalize your oversized shitpig-express, having found themselves trapped, you inconsiderate sack of garbage. I don’t care what your situation is, but rendering that many other spaces (which you aren’t even using) unusable, and during a transit strike no less, makes you a shit-sucking asswipe no matter what.

I deeply and sincerely hope you get gonad cancer.

Sincerely, Someone who hates you.

PS: I wish you all possible driving stress, traffic, bad passengers, etc. imaginable in the near future.

- FOUND by Tim McIlrath in Seattle, Washington

I want to buy you a lot of pretty things and shyly offer them to you one at a time.

- FOUND on the ground by ‘Eli’ in Berkeley, California

To the white couple last night: Black men are not criminals.

- FOUND and photographed by Emily Long, this notice was taped to a light pole in Chicago, Illinois

Annie- no vacation, but we expect you to get mysteriously ill on Thurs and have to go home. No kidding-this is how we’re doing it. I’ll figure out who is working when.

– FOUND scrawled on a piece of paper by Clint Gardner of Salt Lake City, Utah

My Dearest Beloved - I hope you go to hell.

– FOUND by Sean C. Bilby, folded between pages of an old book donated to a librar y.

Typed words on aged MCV letterhead.

52 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, but for Davy Rothbart of Found magazine, one can imagine after 5 years of his project and over 30,000 submissions, that he has a room with a diving board where he swims through such treasures a la Scrooge McDuck. Except these treasures are not fine metals and jewels. What Davy receives from strangers across the globe are priceless: windows into the lives of anonymous and unsuspecting humans. Much like admiring a fine gem, one can explore the depths and facets of the human condition upon inspecting the numerous items in Rothbart’s collection, but to obtain such gems requires little to no archaeological excavation—they’re gently lifted from the surface of the earth by acutely aware passers-by, tucked into one’s own pocket or purse before sending it off to Davy.

Plenty of these treasures are discovered in the gutter with little to no context clues or explanation surrounding the situation or meaning involved in their creation, and readers find their minds in the very same place when analyzing the content of such discarded scraps—was that first communication a coy love letter from a virgin to her soon-to-be lover, or a lost post-it from a shipped package?

Much like Frank Warren’s PostSecret project, where one may anonymously send in a secret on a postcard for potential website posting and book publishing, readers create an imagined world for these characters involved in the lost (and of course found) item, and feel an instant connection with the unknown authors and subjects. Hard on oneself all the while hopeful; dashes of unabashed honesty, boldness in the midst of confusion or fear -- the mystery authors of these lost-and-found lists, love letters and notes-to-self reveal honest, unedited, uncensored byproducts of their own existence, with little to no explanation. The beauty is left entirely up to the beholder’s perspective and inner reflections to create hypothesized realities for strangers. Even Rothbart loves analyzing the scraps, looking at them as riddles to solve. “To me, that’s the delight of finding a scrap on the ground – trying to take that fragment of a story and imagine what was really going on in that person’s life.” Inspired to begin this project and motivated to continue it, Rothbart’s story is personal but not uncommon: “I’ve always loved finding stuff ever since I was a kid. I used to cross this

debris-strewn field to catch the bus, and I’d pick up little scraps of notes and photos, amazed at how powerfully I could connect with a stranger just through some half-page love not I found blowing across the grass.

But I think what sparked the idea of doing the project was one particular note I found on the windshield of my car late one night in Chicago. My name’s Davy but the note was addressed to Mario! I opened it up and it said, Mario, I fucking hate you! You said you had to work, then why’s your car HERE at HER place?? You’re a fucking liar! I hate you. I fucking hate you! Signed, Amber. PS page me later. Something was so striking to me about that note, Amber’s mix of being so upset and angry but also sweet and hopeful and in love.”

Rothbart kept this note and showed it to friends, who were each quick to dig out and share their own treasures discovered on day-to-day journeys. Inspiration perpetuated as a found objects collection grew.

On June 10, 2001 Davy organized a release party at his apartment for the premier publication of Found #1, for which 800 copies were printed, and 100 sold that night.

“As I roamed around the country, visiting friends in different cities, I would always notice that folks would have one great prized find on their fridge - maybe a kid’s drawing or some funny Polaroid they’d found in the gutter. And it seemed like a shame to me that only the folks who trooped through their kitchen would get to see that stuff. So doing a magazine - Found Magazine - seemed like a natural way for everyone to be able to share all the great stuff they were finding with everyone else.”

The day after the release party of the first publication, Davy left for a month-and-a-half long trip, and when he got back, no magazine remained. Word spread like wildfire about his publication, and his roommate sold the remaining 700 copies while Rothbart traveled. Police arrived, responding to calls from neighbors believing drugs were being sold from the apartment, as friends and strangers were returning to pick up copies for their friends at all hours of the day and night.

“Now we receive 20 - 30 finds every day from all over the world. It’s a great joy to read through them. I’ve always loved reading the notes and letters I found on the ground, so now I feel like the luckiest guy in the THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL 53

world every time I go to the mailbox. It’s truly amazing to read through these incredible scraps and get a glimpse into so many other people’s lives. There’s a lot of sadness in some of the notes, and sometimes it takes a toll on me. I’ll actually start crying as I’m sitting there reading through the finds... I don’t think it’s that one note in particular is so acutely sad; it’s just the accumulated weight of all these crushed hopes, people not getting what they so desperately want. But I’ll never get tired of reading these finds. Every time I finish looking through a crate of mail, I always wish there were a couple more envelopes to open up. All the mail gets sent to my folks’ house, and when I stop by once a week to pick up the mail, my mom has always opened a few of the more interesting looking envelopes, and she’s usually waving a find in the air when I come through the door, saying ‘you gotta check this one out!’”

On occasion, Rothbart receives multiples of the same items, and hears from folks claiming to be the author of a published item. He mentions two deranged men who he’s crowned ‘Most Prolific Weirdos in America,’ after receiving numerous flyers printed by these men. “One is… a 45-year-old Irish virgin who lives with his mother in Truckee, CA, LOVES The Simpsons, and is looking for a soul mate ‘to make little Maggie Simpsons with.’ The other is… in New York City -- an aspiring DJ and James Brown impersonator who admits on his photocopied flyer that he has mental problems.” Of course, there are also less extreme submissions and claimers along with them, who maintain regular correspondence with Davy and the Found crew. A girl recognized her note in Found #1, in which she asked a friend for advice about a guy she was dating. Davy received an email from her and “She ended up giving me an entire UPDATE! She was like, ‘well, now I’m back with Kevin, but Chad’s coming up this weekend, so I still don’t know what’s gonna happen!’ It was pretty funny.” Rothbart plans for a ‘Where Are They Now?’ section in an upcoming Found issue, “to update some of the finds which’ve been reconnected to the person who wrote them.”

Not all items found and submitted consist of ink on paper. Dead animals and a child’s shoe are amongst some of the memorable and 3-dimensional items mailed to Davy. “Someone sent in a road-kill frog that had dried hard as a rock. My friend Sarah opened it and shrieked! So of course we put it back in the envelope, resealed it, and got a bunch of our 54 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

other friends to open it over the next few days. Heh heh, it was pretty funny. And yes, we published the frog.”

A US marine who worked aboard Air Force One affixed two Found Magazine bumper stickers to the plane. “I don’t think they lasted long, but I thought that was pretty funny.” Misplaced photographs are also popular submissions, and after so many nude pictures and journal entries that would make even Hugh Hefner blush were discovered and sent in, Rothbart was inspired to create a sister magazine to Found: Dirty Found . “We kept receiving found photos of people’s private parts.

I never realized how many people were taking pictures of their penises and vaginas! And then LOSING them!!” These photos were stored in a drawer at the Found office, deemed ‘too hot for Found magazine.’ It was Rothbart’s friend Mike Kozura who birthed the idea of Dirty Found in order to publish the more racy items. Once the brainchild developed, Jason Bitner and Arthur Jones organized the creation. To date, there have been two issues of Dirty Found released. “It comes sealed in plastic like any respectable porno mag! It’s quite dirty.”

On a cleaner note, Rothbart discusses the seriousness of some of the written material received, and the emotional catharsis involved in experiencing the content of such items. In the Found II Book , he published numerous found suicide notes. “It was an intense decision. I was wondering if it would be in poor taste, but I guess I felt like all these things are a part of people’s lives. I think life is like that, where the really tragic and the really mundane are intertwined all the time.” And still, the beauty and the reality is left up to the beholder, “You see some ripped up love note on the ground, you don’t know. Did the person who received it rip it up, or did the person who wrote it rip it up, like they never planned on giving it to them?” Suicide notes are no different. “Was this found because someone found it afterwards? Or maybe this person wrote this note… and didn’t go through with it. It’s just a fragment of the story. It’s up to you to piece together what’s really happening.”

Rothbart chooses to be cautious with the tone, well aware these are real people and their lives and byproducts of living must be dealt with in a respectful manner, no matter the subject matter. “With the notes, I think the simplest way to look at it is, ‘Oh, what an idiot.’ But I don’t think

there’s one note in the Found book that I can’t relate to in some way, that doesn’t express some emotion or feeling that I’ve experienced before.

Every one of them, I feel like I’ve been them.” In this emotional reflection, Rothbart became involved with the National Hopeline Center and 1-800-SUICIDE, “Which is a suicide prevention hotline I learned about from my friend Frank Warren from PostSecret , who is actively involved in all that they do.” Many letters affect Davy on deep levels, and one in particular stuck with him. “There’s a note in the new Found II Book that says, simply, ‘I’ll cry tomorrow – too much – too soon.” That one really affected me, just to see that someone was going through something so heartbreakingly difficult, even though I have no sense for what it is specifically they were dealing with.” Not all have a negative impact, as piles of humorous and confusing items arrive in Davy’s mailbox as well. “On a positive level, there’s a note in the first Found book that says, ‘It stayed on the grill, bitch!’ That one always makes me laugh, though I still can’t really make sense of it.”

Besides publications, the Found crew travels all over the country on tours, hitting around 53 cities in 58 days. Most recently, Rothbart has toured the states with Frank Warren of PostSecret , and even stopped in Richmond to the Firehouse Theatre at the end of May. Often times, Rothbart and company find themselves sleeping in their tour van in random parking lots. “One morning in New Haven, Connecticut, I woke up in the back of the van while the van was actually being towed down the street at 45 mph! I scrambled up front and started honking the horn and leaning out the driver’s window, all bare-bellied, in just my boxers, hollering at the tow truck driver!” After finally pulling over, Rothbart had to pay the driver $72 to unhitch the van. As the men completed the transaction, the driver grew curious and asked about all the Found stickers on the vehicle. “When I explained it to him, he ended up giving me two great found notes he’d been saving in his tow truck! They were pretty amazing finds, so I reasoned to myself that I’d paid thirty-six bucks apiece for them, which was a bargain.” Indeed, these treasures and people involved in the hunt and collection for Rothbart’s project are priceless treasures.

Found has become the lifeblood for Davy Rothbart and his crew, allowing for national tours each year and chances to meet people from all walks of life, and peer into the windows of strangers’ lives of the same kin, via their abandoned shopping list, love letter, note-to-self, or receipt.

Davy reflects upon the five years he’s been involved in developing and perpetuating the Found projects, and has a positive and forward-moving notion toward the publication and its growth and evolution. “I think I’ll just keep putting magazines out once a year or so! That feels like a good pace, and gives me time to work on some of the writing, radio, and movie projects that I’m also into.” To date, four Found magazines, two Found books, and two Dirty Found magazines have been published and are available on the shelves of bookstores nationwide.

Many found items consist of receipts, lists, letters, and notes-to-self, or the torn fragments of such items. Often written without a second thought in regards to the imagery these items can paint for an outsider, unadulterated honesty shines through from anonymous authors, as these pieces are rarely written with the intent of a large audience setting their eyes upon them. Currently, we’re used to the accessibility of online blogs and profiles to open windows into friends’ and strangers’ lives alike, but a glimpse of true honesty about one’s existence is found more in the mundane details of the evidence lost or left behind more than it could possibly be uncovered in hours of one’s telling. And those glimpses are small compared to reading an entire autobiography, but size isn’t what’s important, as such finds are comparable to discovering a diamond in a haystack.

Imagine living as a recluse your entire life in the middle of the woods, and one day a pile of all these submissions came to your door as the only clue given to you about humanity on this planet. What kind of feeling would you get about mankind? It all depends on your inner reflection to decide how you will perceive these items, and in the words of lighthearted Davy Rothbart, “I’d get the feeling that life is full of sadness and hopefulness, and that Brandon is a retard, and that somebody badly needs chicken ramen noodles and a 12-pack of lubricated condoms.”

Mmm... Swim in that, Scrooge McDuck!

For some cathartic yet harmless voyeurism, or to send in your own golden treasures, check out www.foundmagazine.com and www.dirtyfound.com as well as the different publications available at the website and in bookstores all over the US, including the shelves of Richmond’s very own Chop Suey Books at 1317 W Cary Street (804) 497-4705.

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What Happened Blue Jean? words : Frankie Lee image : Holly Camp

A while back, an article of clothing that represented work, honesty, and everything along those lines was offered to the public in mass production as a symbol of just that. There was a brief golden period where anyone, given their willingness, could purchase the article and wear it in comfort, stability, and symbolism. Soon this idea was swallowed by the continuing change and evolution of the article into something more; the article was article no more, but an idea over a series of varied and altered articles, all representing their distinct version of the original.

Evolution got to the point where the original ceased to exist, save for a variation called â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;original.â&#x20AC;&#x2122; The movement is a wonderful example of human imagination and creation, but is a choice as important to identity as it is to economics? Originally the article was either chosen or not.

There was no need for more than one choice, like the economic principal would preach, to take advantage of the demand for such an article by offering more choices. Now it has become not a matter of whether or not to choose the article, but which combination of variations and alterations will desensitize oneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s opinion of oneself. As a matter of fact, it is almost impossible to wear the article in the comfort, stability, and pure symbolism that it once was. One must be husky, or riding low, or flared. Once that symbolism was used to exploit choice, all symbol was lost. No longer could the choice be made, whether or whether not to be in the blue jean, but what words, colors, styles, rips, stains, sizes, loops, patches, stitches, pockets, or brandof blue jean would surround your body (and psyche).

The

R. Kelly

Interview that Never Was.

words : Kevin Gallagher image : Parker

Richard Kelly, director of Donnie Darko, came to Richmond this past June and I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to be ignored by his publicist. Richard came to Velocity Comics’ new location on Broad Street to promote his new graphic novel that acts as a prequel to his newest film, “Southland Tales.” Reviews of the film were polemic so I was looking forward to being a bit of a snit and dredging up rumors of booing and of the exodus from the theatre during its premiere at Cannes. Without press credentials we were forced to line up with the proles to hold court with Rick. Once it was our turn he was quite pleasant but quick to pass us off on his publicist, who in turn made a not-so-convincing offer of an interview the next day. I left the event only mildly pacified. After consuming 22 ounces of confidence at a nearby bar I decided that if I ever wanted to get the interview, I needed to take advantage of his proximity and talk to Rich now. I stormed back to Velocity barely noticing the crowd that stood lingering outside the event. Inside I found Richard standing in the back, happy to enjoy the bands and some drink. I asked to speak to him then, maybe even a back alley interview in good RVA style. He understandably wanted to be left to relax. Thwarted for a second time, I walked out of Velocity with the same half promise of an interview the next day. My mind now clear of R. Kelly, I noticed an exciting impromptu event had begun on the sidewalk in front of the store.

You’re dead in your sins!

Atop a small stool stood a red faced man screaming into the crowd at a high cadence. His shirt shone with the same color of his face and proudly stated “Richmond Biblical Evangelical Team: We put the FUN

in fundamental! ” Below him two of his companions kept harmony as they argued with the drunk and frustrated audience. The majority of the crowd was comprised of the passively annoyed, those who cared only enough to watch but not participate. The next largest group were the drunken angry who had no need to be accosted in the mist of their good time but weren’t going to let themselves be bullied. And finally the smallest but most visible faction were the actively belligerent, who saw the futility in arguing with these warriors of god on their own terms.

The angry drunks were horribly unprepared to argue against the rhetoric of the Evangelical Team, whose members packed a long catalogue of cleverly worded half-truths and an entire book of reference. However, every bible passage that the Team cited held a strange similarity, John, 7:7, Corinthians, 7:7... The angry drunks weren’t easily able recite out of The Origins of Species, 7:7 so these members of the crowd were easily subverted. The actively belligerent were the most entertaining group but for all their dry humping and stool stealing they succeeded in only proving themselves to be assholes. Eventually the annoyed straggled away no longer intrigued or amused by the antics of all factions. The Team argued on until even the belligerent became bored with no crowd to amuse.

As the Team began to depart I was able to share a few words with the red-shirted member of the group, Rob, whose face had eased into a more comfortable shade of pink though there was plenty of disconcertion left in the look in his eyes. With all the adrenaline in his system it was difficult to keep him from spiraling off into his canned rhetoric. But, in between yet another invocation of John, 7:7 (How versatile can one passage be?) and declarations of god demanding justice for sins, I was able to gain a mild understanding of the Team.

Their basic M.O. is to get together once a week, typically on the week-

end, hop in the van and drive around looking for a crowd to stand against and accuse. They’ve endured court battles and punchy Hare Krishnas in order to spread their word. Rob appeared honest in his convictions and committed enough to have studied evangelical techniques at Christ For the Nations Institute, a bible college in Texas. However, his tone was distrustful overall and when I confronted him about how organized the Richmond Biblical Evangelical Team is he became defensive. Rob claims that there is no centralized organization and that it is simply a loose group of friends, in spite of having literature to hand out and t-shirts.

His guard came down briefly at the end of the conversation. A glimpse of a real human emerged as Rob chuckled about having to go retrieve his usurped stool, able to enjoy the prank that he was the butt of.

This Evangelical Team, which is not organized but meets regularly while wearing matching clothing and distributes a unified message, can often be found in the Bottom and around VCU. Hopefully, I will be able to track them down again to enjoy the good chaos that comes from a group that has the tenacity to stand in front of a crowd of volatile strangers and proclaim that not only are they all full of evil but that they deserve eternal suffering.

There is courage in their actions that is easy to admire though just as quick to incite frustration. The Team gets booed every week here in Richmond; Richard Kelly only managed to inspire that much emotion once. Though the Evangelical Team isn’t what got the crowd together they brought more out of it, pushing and manipulating further than most filmmakers have the gall for. Perhaps though, it is the filmmaker’s responsibility to remember how frighteningly wonderful fascism can seem; manic righteousness easily seduces and is quick to get a reaction. When Southland Tales reaches wider audiences this November, Rick will have a chance to regain the audience’s attention, without the sucker punches. Then again the film does feature Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson...

THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL 59

Hell on Wheels The River City Rollergirls words : Lauren Vincelli images : Michelle Dosson

My head cracked against the floor, hard. When I opened my eyes my skate-clad feet were still in the air, wheels spinning. I closed my eyes again immediately and heard my skates clatter on the rink floor. When I opened my eyes again I saw stars. Michelle Dosson lapped the rink and skated over to me along with a few other girls.

I closed my eyes again and I lay on the smooth hard wood floor. I was instantly slipped back to some frenemy’s elementary school birthday party at some roller rink. I remembered wiping out to the tune of thirty pre-teens laughing. I can still remember the smell of some terrible mixture of floor wax, feet and cake frosting from that day.

“Don’t try to get up,” said Dosson. I immediately try to get up.

“She said don’t get up,” someone barked. My head felt like a bag of sand and I fell back, totally winded. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath. The women around me are cooing comforting platitudes. “Just relax.” “You’ll be O.K.” “Take it easy.” By then a few other roller girls had skated over to me and so had coach Chris Cobb.

Cobb blew his whistle and directed the other skaters to take a break.

I could hear some of them talking quietly. “Did you see that?” someone said. “Yeah, she fell hard.” Bruises and tattoos peeked out of their stockings and from under their skirts and shorts as they glided away from me.

Did everyone here really just see me wipe out like that? Just moments ago I was hearing my name chanted like a champion as I slowly, unsteadily made my way backwards around the track. I could barely skate forwards, and here I was racing backwards. I had to push past

the pain in my shins and thighs. Their cheers kept me going. Now they were gasping as I lay flat on my back choking for air. I didn’t even realize how much it hurt yet. I blushed; I started crying. As I lay on the floor the women around me regaled me with their tales of “wiping out” “eating shit” and “busting ass.” I learned that at some point, everyone falls.

Hard.

Cobb held three fingers up over me. “How many?” he asked.

“Three,” I choked.

“How many now?

“Two.” And then he holds up his middle finger.

“How many now?” he smirked. I chuckled and swatted his hand away.

“You’ll be alright,” Cobb said as if it was a fact. That was when I realized that this is so far from that cruel birthday party so many years ago.

This is Roller Derby. This is one thousand times better. This is 100% a real sport and this is fucking hard work. As soon as I’m on my feet again I realize that it is worth it. I skate over to a table and watch the rest of practice, clearing my head and catching my breath. This is not that birthday party, but I can still smell the feet and the floor wax.

The River City Rollergirls are the newest women’s flat track roller derby hopefuls. They are building momentum and preparing to be a part of one of the biggest alternative sports comebacks in Richmond since Lucha Wrestling. Their goal is to become an active official member league of the Women’s Flat Track Derby Association, which currently includes about 30 member leagues across the country as well as several rookie leagues.

The sport is no longer scripted like it was in the 70’s and 80’s on TV. This is very much a real, full-contact sport that requires training and building up an intense level of athleticism, endurance and skill. New leagues of THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL 61

derby hopefuls are springing up everywhere each week and Richmond women are racing to get a part of the action.

The River City Rollergirls are an eclectic mix of about 70 women aged from their early twenties to late forties. The group is made of moms, teachers, punks, rock-a-billy women and more. Their reasons for joining are as varied as they are, but all are there for the love of the game.

I sat down with some of the River City Rollergirls on a balmy July afternoon to find out what makes them skate and why Roller Derby is making a comeback. The smell of fresh paint was thick in the humid air as I joined the founders of the RCR on the porch of one member’s new apartment.

After connecting on MySpace.com Emily “Hardnasty” Hardesty, 22, and Gina- Marie “Bonnie Blindside” Acosta, 24, gathered a ragtag group and began going to open skate nights at local roller rinks. The group was growing steadily and women from all skill levels were skating with them.

The girls were spreading the word via MySpace and postered the city looking for anyone and everyone interested. Soon, Hardesty and Acosta met Chris Cobb, 33, who jumped at the chance to be their Coach.

Acosta played for the Carolina Roller Girls in Raleigh and Cobb is a former assistant coach of the Rose City Rollergirls in Portland. After having been a referee for about three weeks he was asked by the Rose City Rollergirls to take over as an assistant coach. His career in radio brought him to Richmond and he started looking for a new derby team.

“It was kind of coincidental that around the same time they (Hardesty, Acosta and company) were skating I was trying to get people interested,” Cobb said. His voice is gruff and deep. “One of the girls I knew who skates with us said, ‘I know some girls who are doing (roller derby) now,’ and I said ‘where?’ And this is how it all ended up.”

As the weeks and months passed, the group grew and the girls got better at skating. But, even now there are girls from every skill level. Like many of the women involved, I hadn’t been on skates in years when I showed up for my first practice. Here’s a hint, ladies: wear a helmet.

“I think that when we got started, most people hadn’t been on skates for 62 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

a good 10 years,” said Hardesty. “The vulnerability that everybody had really brought people together. We were all kind of trying to shuffle along there and find out the best ways to fall and things like that. I think it really helped to build a sense of unity within the group. Right now, I think we all try to help each other as much as possible. We really encourage (the new girls) and just try and help them.”

Acosta agrees, adding, “It doesn’t matter how advanced you are, you’re still constantly working and conditioning. I’ve played roller derby for a year and there’s still stuff I need to work on. There are things I’m learning even from the newer skaters. We’re all kind of learning from each other.”

Nitika Collins-Achalam, 28, said she felt scrutinized as a new skater but has since found her niche in the group. “Now I think that we have gotten a chance to know each other. Everybody is cordial,” she said. “I still think we could do better when a new person shows up.”

Thea Brown, 33, a mother who runs World of Mirth, joined the River City Rollergirls in January with very little skating experience. Cobb said Brown’s progression from a skater has been steady. “(Brown) exploded out of nowhere,” Cobb said. “She doesn’t give up. To watch that in somebody is more important to me than watching a girl who’s been skating for years and can do everything I ask her to do and nail it all perfectly.”

Brown’s determination is important considering her rough start with the group. “(Brown) came out with me to Skate-A-Way when we were first getting started,” Hardesty said. “We were skating for 10 minutes (and) she busted her elbow and fractured it.”

Injuries are a part of roller derby, plain and simple. Acosta dislocated her shoulder twice while she skated in Raleigh, and then there’s my classic wipe-out mentioned above. Everyone comes to practice equipped with helmets, knee and elbow pads, wrist guards, et cetera. They even

THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL 63

64 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

bring extra safety equipment for new girls to use at their first few practices. Everyone skating can expect to fall. Hard. You should also expect to get up and try again.

As for the reputation that Roller Girls have developed -- you know, the one that says we’re all drunken hussies in fishnets or that we’re just in it to beat bitches up – it’s only half true and only for about 20 minutes, only in a bout. Girls in this league come from every walk of life. They are mothers, teachers, secretaries, bartenders, flight attendants and punks uniting for one cause: a love of the game.

Sara Marunde, 25, a full time mother of three said, “I joined because I had been away from town for two months dealing with a very stressful situation. I needed an aggressive outlet and to re-join some social aspect of life… It is a really supportive group.”

Lottie Dilley, 21, one of the league’s newest members says, “I joined because I hadn’t really met anyone since I moved here and figured it was a group I could be myself around. I was very nervous but I saw how wonderful everyone was. It wasn’t bad at all.”

Collins-Achalam was at the very first practice for the River City Roller Girls. “It was fabulous! [I] Learned new skills and techniques… I could see my improvement right away, though there is much work to be done.

RCR is going to be one of the best teams on this side of the Mississippi!

We have an awesome coach and some really motivated, committed team members.”

Don’t let the touchy feely stuff throw you too much. When the River City Rollergirls start bouting, you should expect the same kind of excitement you’d find at a wrestling match.

“This is a full contact, spectator sport,” Cobb said. “We are doing this to please the people out there ultimately. Granted that the rewards we reap from it far supersede anything they can ever give us, but that’s what we’re doing it for—the fans coming to see it. It’s not fake like it was in

the 80s.”

Currently the River City Roller girls are filing for non-profit status with the state of Virginia and the U.S. government. They are registered as a rookie league with the Women’s Flat Track Derby Association. They have not yet set a date to start bouting.

Right now the group is more interested in building a community of strong women, and some deep friendships have been forged in between falling on our asses. The laughter coming late at night from inside Ipanema and Bandito’s after practice or free-skates, the chatting and friendly hugs at fund raisers at the Nanci Raygun and yard sales outside of Vapor Salon where spiked belts are sold alongside baby clothes and purple frosted cupcakes, it’s all part of being a roller girl.

All of this sparked when several extraordinary women started from scratch with no money and a pair of roller skates. They have worked damn hard to get this far, and there is no stopping them now. I realize that I have joined more than a league of skaters. I have joined a community of badasses on a mission. I have made their mission my own, and not because I was told to. I’m doing this because I want to.

I want to work and laugh and skate and party with these girls. I can’t wait to bout and I’m expecting to fall, a lot, with lots of new girls in the next few months as we prepare to entertain the masses with jamming, blocking, collisions, short skirts and bruises. That beats the hell out of cake frosting.

For more info about joining, coaching, or supporting the River City Rollergirls be sure to check out http://www.myspace.com/rivercityrollergirls or www.rivercityrollergirls.com or call the RCR Hotline at 804-421-1760. The River City Roller Girls would like to encourage other non-profit organizations wanting to participate in RCR benefits to contact them as well.

For the rules of Roller Derby check out RVAMAG.com.

THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL 65

those walls in France, and the people scribbling, spraying, and tagging?

Is the difference in the laws, or in the people doing it? Would a public art space help? Is there a line between art and vandalism, or is there a grey area?

The Grey Area

Your Art Teacher Vs. The Police words & image : Ian Graham

Since mankind has built walls, people who didn’t build them have been writing on them.

Wait, I’m wrong.

Since before mankind has built walls, people have been writing on them.

If you’re ever in the vicinity of Lascaux, France, you can check up on that. Our art teachers use this site as the first example of art in history. But, this isn’t southern France, this is Richmond, VA, and there is graffiti everywhere. It’s in the alleys of the fan district, it’s downtown, it’s on overpasses. Sometimes it’s only there for a few hours before it’s power-washed off, and there are some pieces of graffiti that have been in place for years. Is there a difference between those first vandals, painting 66 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

And perhaps most importantly, who the hell is Goest? (More on that later.)

Even if Richmond had caves (which, to the best of my knowledge, we do not), I doubt that Commonwealth Attorney Alexander Taylor would be too concerned with people painting in them. Mr. Taylor has tried and convicted five cases so far this year, and was kind enough to meet with me regarding the vandalism that goes on in our city. The offices of the Commonwealth Attorney are in the Marshall building, a large black rectangle with a huge red brick front veranda. I was told not to bring my cell phone, as they wouldn’t allow it in the building. After being passed through security, I was told that I’d have to leave my messenger sack up front, but I could take some things from it that I needed. I gathered my audio recorder and notebook, and found myself waiting in the C.A.’s lobby underneath a five foot tall rendition of the great Seal of Virginia- Sic Semper Tyrannis- always comforting to know that the C.A.’s office feels the same way I do about tyrants.

Mr. Taylor met me promptly. He’s a fairly tall black man in good shape, with a warm smile and firm handshake. His office is of a decent size with white walls, diplomas, and very little art. He recently put three vandals away- he couldn’t give their actual names, obviously, however, their tags were Ace, Goner, and Derek. The charges work like this- if you’re busted, it’s a misdemeanor. If you’ve caused more than $250 in damage, it’s a felony. The city presses for however much damage you’ve caused- and if you get caught painting a CSX train, you’d better grab your ankles.

CSX, who operates the vast majority of transport trains on the east coast, is responsible for your delicious Tropicana orange juice getting where it needs to go. They also handed the city a bill for $4,000 worth of damage after two of the above mentioned bombers- I wasn’t told which two- were caught painting their train. CSX charges them not only for the paint and

labor required, but for the loss of business entailed with having that car out of service. The reasoning is that the vandals covered up the markings that CSX uses to identify their trains, and therefore the cars are inoperable, and cannot be used until they are re-painted entirely. They apparently can’t re-apply the markings, and let the paintings travel around the country. Which seems odd to me- because that’s exactly what they do. I know this for fact, because I have seen it with my own eyes- a train covered, end-to-end, “the size of a small house”, to quote Mr. Taylor- that’s had a small patch of grey paint applied so that the identification markings and serial numbers can be reapplied. And yet Mr. Taylor has to seek restitution upwards of $4,000, and moreover, the vandal is guilty of a felony.

Does Ace, Goner, or Derek get to see the re-painted train? Would it not be easier and cheaper for the courts and CSX to do, well, exactly what they do, but be honest with the courts about it? I think the reason is principle.

If they don’t prosecute to the fullest extent, it would be like saying that it’s OK to paint their trains- but does the pending threat of legal action actually deter illegal artists? Anyone who’s seen a freight train recently can answer that question for themselves.

And that’s just the money. Mr. Taylor can’t remember a case where anyone has served less than a month of hard time. A “reformed” illegal artist, Michael Broth, wrote an article for us last month about the ten months he spent repaying the public for his free art. Also, the nature of the arrest will partially determine how much time you have to serve- if you run from the police, you’ll be tried and convicted of resisting arrest, and various other things. The bottom line here, I guess, is be nice to the police if you get busted.

Mr. Taylor was able to clear up a lot of questions I had about the demographics of graffiti in Richmond. There is no clear link between gang activity and graffiti in our town, at least not a prevalent one. Most of the vandals are white, and either college students, or in the same age group.

won’t prosecute, and your record will remain clean. Two people showed up, and neither of them were willing to sign. They had a chat, though; apparently they were very helpful in saying that a public art space wouldn’t help the graffiti problem. Mr. Taylor shares this opinion that a public art space wouldn’t help.

I was also able to talk to detective Greg Sullivan, in the third precinct, who’s the graffiti expert for that precinct. He’s built like, as they say, a brick shithouse, and he’s got an accent that’s as much country as it is southern. He has a fairly common opinion: graffiti is not art. It is criminal vandalism, and there is no grey area. He says that he’s right behind Goest, as well, right on his heels, and had a message for him: you should’ve taken the amnesty offer. Detective Sullivan, also, does not think that a public art space would cause a decrease in graffiti.

Many other cities, in the United States and abroad, have art spaces like the ones I’ve mentioned- large tracks of publicly owned architecture that would otherwise just be grey chunks of concrete. It would cost nothing to establish- merely a change in policy. We have many places in the townespecially along the downtown expressway, and highway constructs in general- that beg to be painted. Overpasses, barrier walls, they are all often hit by taggers, and it’s doubtful that the painters will stop. I ask why we don’t simply let them have at it. What reason would a potential vandal have to paint over, say, the highway signs, when he can be an artist 10 feet away? We’ve got a lot of artists in this town, including ones who operate legally- and I’m sure they’d love to have some nice, big canvasses. Would Richmonders really mind changing these drab grey concrete slabs into huge works of art? The amnesty program was backwards. Instead of offering amnesty, I think we should offer freedom. Both Mr. Taylor and Detective Sullivan said that they don’t think that a public art space would help the graffiti problem at all. I pose you this, gentle reader- would it hurt?

He’s also the one who made the amnesty offer several months back. The deal was this- if you show up, turn yourself in, give details about the areas you’ve tagged and the surnames you’ve used, sign the dotted line, they

I would like to extend an offer to Goest. If you have anything you’d like to say, you could contact me, Ian@rvamag.com - Mr. Taylor offered you legal amnesty, with everything off the record. As you turned him down, I can only assume that you want to go on record.

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cinema

Love, Fashion and Architecture: The Summer So Far words : Teddy Blanks

It’s a paradox, but my favorite time to see movies is when they are at their worst: the summer. When fall and winter come around, Hollywood starts throwing their advertising money at movies they think might win awards, ones that will be received well and actually liked. In the summer, though, we are bombarded with ads for the schlockiest, most overblown shit; movies they’ve spent all year dreaming up and paying for, and that we will spend two and a half hours with and go home, unfulfilled. It’s a beautiful system, not for what is on the surface but for what you can find if you really go looking. To release a quality film like Scanner Darkly or The Proposition in the middle of the summer is to release a helpless orphan with a heart of gold onto the hot, mean city streets. The kid hasn’t got a chance, but if you find him, you can take him under your wing, teach him how to steal from street vendors, run from the coppers, and someday win the heart of a girl with a rich father and a thing for rough guys from the wrong side of town that made it on their own. Or something.

Anyway, here are my reviews:

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CLICK Director: Frank Coraci Starring: Adam Sandler, Kate Beckinsale, Christopher Walken David Hasselhoff

Adam Sandler as an architect—this summer’s profession-of-choice for lazy screenwriters and underdeveloped characters (see The Lake House )—who happens upon a magical remote control that can turn down the volume when his wife is nagging him, among other things, and I’m pretty sure I came up with this idea in the fifth grade. What kid hasn’t pointed the TV remote at his younger sister and pressed the power button hoping she would disappear? This deeply stupid premise is not surprising coming from Sandler and director Frank Coraci, with whom he worked on The Waterboy. What is surprising and perversely daring about Click is how morose it becomes.

It begins innocently enough, with Sandler banging on the same nü-slapstick fart-n-yell note he’s played for the last decade. He quickly exhausts the comic possibilities of his sci-fi gadget, adjusting the ‘color balance’ on his face to make himself look more like The Hulk, and pausing a conversation with his boss, David Hasselhoff,

so he can bend over and let one rip in his face undetected. When Sandler discovers the everdepressing fast-forward button, which he uses to skip the boring parts of his life—sex with his wife, dinner with his family, anything not related to his promotion at work—Click turns into an over-the-top It’s A Wonderful Life style fable of greed and loss, with Sandler suddenly skipping out on large portions of his life that he can’t get back, conscious only for notable career moments, abandoning all of his personal relationships. We find out that Christopher Walken, the strange man who gave Sandler the remote, is actually the Grim Reaper. Sandler, who long ago started making lifeless movies, has now made one that sucks the life out of its audiences as well. - Teddy Blanks THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA Director: David Frankel Starring: Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway, Emily Blunt, Stanley Tucci

The thing about Meryl is that she is such a great actress. She is such a great actress

that she demands to be the only one acting; anyone around her can’t do anything but shyly cue-card their lines and try to stay away from her blinding glory. There’s a word for it: Meryl is showy. Given the nature of her character, Miranda Priestly, the ruthless editor-in-chief of Vogue (or something), showy works in this movie. The victim of her acting this time is the very pretty Anne Hathaway, who is reduced to two facial expressions—a bright-toothed smile and a frustrated pout—which is probably okay.

The trailer is novel: no dumb voiceover, not even a quick succession of Devil’s cleverest lines. It is simply four minutes near the beginning of the movie, in which Anne Hathaway’s character, Andy, a journalism major, walks sheepishly into the magazine’s offices to interview for the position of Miranda’s second assistant, as the staff hurriedly prepares for their boss’s arrival. We get thirty seconds of Meryl sizing her up, knocking her down, and presumably giving her the job, then cut to the title. There is a reason they chose that scene

to advertise the movie. It’s about Meryl-anticipation, and I reluctantly admit that she delivers, that in fact she is fabulous in Devil. The all-gay audience I was in thought so too; I know because they applauded whenever she said something sassy.

The script is okay, and I agree with its lesson, which is that the fashion world is ultimately vapid and personal relationships shouldn’t be neglected in favor of one’s career. The problem with the movie is that nobody involved in making it agreed with said lesson, so the scenes with Andy, her friends, and her boyfriend are so cheesy and cringe-inducing we end up wishing she’ll ditch them for the job after all. In fact, Devil is poorly made across the board, directed by some hack named David Frankel who has spent the last decade doing episodes of Entourage and Sex in the City. If you can get past the uneven pacing, lack of characterization by anyone but Meryl, sudden and unneccesary switches to grainy hand-held footage, and the worst and most relentless pop music soundtrack of all time, you might get a kick out of it. - Teddy Blanks

A SCANNER DARKLY Director: Richard Linklater Starring: Rory Cochrane, Robert Downey Jr., Mitch Baker, Woody Harrelson

After Waking Life, it is the second picture to which Richard Linklater has applied his rotoscoping technique, the most recent visual development in the apparently never-ending quest to make cartoons trippier. The technique, which involves a team of animators using a computer program to trace over individual frames of digital video after it’s been shot and edited into a feature, is even more appropriate for this, his adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s futuristic parable of drug-addiction than it was for Waking Life’s disjointed dream pseudo-philosophy. Linklater, too, is an appropriate pioneer for an animation style that makes you feel like you’re on drugs; despite the range he’s shown in his career, his name is forever linked to Dazed and Confused, his coming-of-age in the 1970s comedy, a film whose characters we can imagine going out on a Friday night to a drive-in to see Scanner Darkly, you know, on weed.

THEVOL.2 UNCULTURED RVA ISSUE 2 / ANIMAL LOCAL 6169

The plot details are too messy to dole out here, actually hard to follow, but hardly the point. In a future society addicted to surveillance and something called Substance-D, it’s the feeling you get that counts, and Scanner feels really good, man. The rotoscoping looks even better than before, seems to have more depth and sophistication—it’s easy to get lost in.

The folks being animated are no Austin locals this time, either. Scanner sports one of the most impressive big-name casts of the summer, with Woody, Winona, and Robert Downey all doing their best “about to be turned into a cartoon” faces. Thankfully, Keanu Reeves, the film’s hero, spends most of his time behind a magical suit that changes his appearance constantly, like Michael Jackson in the video for “Black and White.” Big names and a Philip K. Dick story usually spell blockbuster, but the rotoscoping gives Scanner a decidedly personal feel. And that’s the most remarkable thing about it: Linklater has figured out how to make sci-fi on a shoestring that somehow works. - Teddy Blanks 70 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

STRANGERS WITH CANDY Director: Paul Dinello Starring: Amy Sedaris, Greg Hollimon, Paul Dinello, Deborah Rush, Stephen Colbert

The other day, I was waiting for the subway in Brooklyn when an attractive redhead in her mid-twenties sat down beside me. I recognized her immediately, did a double take, and, because she is a relatively minor celebrity— you’re supposed to ignore the big ones—said, “Weren’t you in the Strangers With Candy movie?” She confirmed what I already knew to be true, and added, “I was in the show too.” I knew that already, too. Her name is Maria Thayer, she played Tammi Littlenut on the Comedy Central series, and reprised the role for the film version.

She asked me what I thought of the movie, and I told her I thought it was funny, but that it could have easily been shortened to the length of an episode. She agreed, but said that she had a lot of fun doing it. I said that I had always admired her ability to play it straight next to Amy Sedaris, Stephen Colbert, and Paul Dinello, who, as a team, it is probably very hard to not crack up around.

She thanked me, we exchanged goodbyes, and got on the train. - Teddy Blanks

If you haven’t guessed, I am a big fan of the series. The idea, a complete deconstruction and reversal of an after-school-special, and the style of comedy were completely original, existed almost completely within their own world. It ran for three solid seasons, and the film version, a good idea in theory, is superfluous. It is a prequel, opening when forty-something drug addict Jerri Blank gets out of jail and decides to go back and finish high school, in hopes that her turning her life around will somehow wake up her father from his coma.

The plot quickly devolves into trying to win the science fair, and the jokes are often stale retreads of material already covered on the show. What’s different is the look: the show was bright and cheery, and Flatpoint High was bustling, with extras in every shot. The movie, possibly because of a small budget, is dark and gritty, to the point of being depressing, and the school is virtually empty except for the principles (no pun). There are funny bits, but I say skip it: they just released the full series on DVD.

SKETCHES OF FRANK GEHRY Director: Sidney Pollack Starring: Frank Gehry

The working gag in the trailer is that we see one of Frank Gehry’s preliminary sketches, a shot of a squiggle crisp enough to make visible the tooth of the paper, and that it fades magically into a shot of the building itself. This leap in logic conjures very romantic thoughts about architecture and talent and the creative process. It is tempting to imagine Gehry assuredly tossing off one of his squiggles to an assistant and, a year later, a structure is erected that looks more or less like the drawing. Of course, that’s not how it works, and the best parts of this documentary are focused on Gehry’s entire process, from the sketch, to working with clients (many of whom are interviewed), to making models, to the actual construction. Sketches provides an explanation for the how-did-they-do-that quality Gehry’s best work seems to have.

Although the picture is engaging, and sometimes funny (Julian Schnabel, wearing a white bathrobe and holding a brandy glass, evokes Big Lebowski’s Dude), it never settles on a tone. Director Sydney Pollack, who narrates the film and apologizes to us that this is his first documentary, at first posits Sketches as a sort of portrait of his friendship with Gehry. But the scenes with the two together are few, vapid and self-congratulatory. Pollack also feels that in order to be fair he has to give voice to Gehry’s critics, of which there are many. The only one of them he interviews, though, comes off as effeminate and snaky onscreen, effectively rendering his opinion weightless. Better to deal seriously with Gehry’s critics, or to have ignored them altogether and made Sketches the unabashed shrine it wants to be. - Teddy Blanks THE LAKE HOUSE Director: Alejandro Agresti Starring: Keanu Reeves, Sandra Bullock, Shohreh Aghdashloo, Christopher Plummer

This is what happens when writers come up with what they think is an ingenious idea; a scenario so contrived and appealing Hollywood throws two blank-faced but bankable stars onscreen and lets the plot, like an assembly line, drag them along, squeeze and mold and

drop them into tiny packages. Casting Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock together again is an unbearably cute conceit, works only in a world where audiences consider their work together in Speed something worth revisiting.

Their two characters, Bullock a doctor and Reeves an architect (what else?), both live in the same lake house, but two years apart.

Somehow, one of them discovers that the house’s mailbox is some sort of time machine that transports their letters to one another across two years. They become quick pen pals, and fall in love.

Directed by Argentinean director Alejandro Agresti, this movie is spit-shined, has impressive camerawork and is paced perfectly, the plot moving along at a steady rhythm, unflinching, never stopping to worry about what its characters might actually say or do in any situation. In this way Lake House reminded me a little of Indecent Proposal, another movie with an architect protagonist. (Why is ‘architect’ the most nondescript upper-middle-class career?) In both movies, characters THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL 71

give speeches that seem extracted from the introduction of architecture textbooks, delivered with such passion and conviction that we wonder how the people who make and market our mainstream genre pictures have become so hopelessly unaware of what we want out of them. When I saw The Lake House, the audience left the theater laughing at it, knowing it to be effective at what it wanted to portray, astonished that anyone thought it was what they wanted. - Teddy Blanks

JUST FOR KICKS. Directors: Thibaut De Longeville & Lisa Leone Starring: DMC (Run-DMC), Cold Crush Brothers, Bobbito Garcia, Fabolous, Futura 2000, Fab 5 Freddy, Scoop Jackson, Raekwon, and others

One would think that a film dedicated to sneakers would feature an endless display of rare and never before seen kicks. Or perhaps the audience would get a good look of Nike’s vault or Rebel’s extended collection. We would have to think otherwise. The anticipation and the expectations were quite high for the sneaker documentary, Just For Kicks. Unfor72 THE UNCULTURED ANIMAL

tunately, like a pair of variant Jordans, the movie started out solid, but quickly fell apart on us.

The 88-minute flick was quite ambitious from the start. The sneaker culture has so many different parts to it. How could one movie cover it all? It didn’t. It just touched on the basics and presented the viewer with a crash course on Sneakers 101. The flick goes through the history of sneakers, starting with its early roots in hip-hop, up to the present day. They cover such topics as Run-DMC and their relationship with Adidas, the Jordan brand, sneaker customization, hip-hop’s influence on the sneaker industry, and the current sneaker craze.

Just For Kicks just didn’t seem like it was for the sneakerhead, but instead, aimed more towards the consumer.

It seemed to serve as an enlightenment tool, rather than a film for the enthusiast. At times, so many numbers, figures and business terms were thrown around that I felt like I was watching a marketing video.

One question repeatedly passed through my head as I viewed the movie: Where are all of the sneakers?

Besides the impressive opening of the movie, there weren’t as many kicks as a sneaker lover would like to

see. Instead, we are treated to the Cold Crush Brothers’ somewhat amusing 2 cents and regurgitated stories of the Run-DMC Madison Square concert and Jordan I fines. Granted, it was entertaining to hear straight from the source, but wasn’t there something else to talk about? It was like reading a novel, seeing the movie based on the novel and only saying the sad conclusion to yourself, “The book was better.” Besides, did we really need to see Cribs footage of Missy Elliot’s collection again and Dam Dash’s off-the-shelf stock?

Yeah, I may hate just as much as the next jaded sneaker kid, but after watching the joint with my girl and she says to me, “I didn’t learn anything new from it,” c’mon. That says something…or maybe I just talk too much. Overall, despite its shortcomings, Just For Kicks is entertaining with colorful, visual segments and good hip-hop tracks. Plus, the extras on the DVD have some decent chapters like some of the old Jordan commercials. It brought me back to when I was 12. Is it the shoes? It’s gotta be the shoes.- Rudy Lopez

From Exile to Eternity There are few cornerstones left in the village surrounding the upper-hundred blocks of West Grace. Anyone that has spent more than fifteen years in the tattooed embrace of the lower Fan can get misty over the losses of Metro, Jade Elephant, Bidders Suite, Biograph, Hole in the Wall and many other long-gone haunts of hipsters old. Fine establishments keeping the spirit of the Little Village have replaced these legends, but in large part themselves are winsome for a halcyon time before VCU’s kudzu crawl and frequent ABC crackdowns. Like a shell game performed by a master manipulator, the neighborhood has been shuffled with few constants. If you watch closely though, the center shell never moves.

Exile enters its twentieth year on Grace as one of the last triumphant retailers that can “remember when”. The store offers a wide array of objects, books, odd furniture, punk-inspired threads and vintage clothes that can satisfy any treasure-hunters shoplust. Owned and operated by Mimi (pronounced “Mimmi”) Regelson, Exile has remained on its granite pedestal amidst a weedy garden at 822 W. Grace Street. The building crouches crankily at the top of the steps sporting its everpunk black, white and red signage like a favorite t-shirt. Inside, Mimi relaxes behind a glass counter choked with a menagerie of unique fashion accents. One would be incredulous to learn she turns fifty this year.

Lately, it’s Chris Bopst on the radio and the “AC-unit that Could” provide the shops’ quaintly claustrophobic ambience.

Simple living and modest opinions of her place in the annals of Richmond counterculture history have done more than keep her physically well preserved. It has, in her view, kept the store alive as well. She attributes a portion of her success to wonderful landlords and never needing to have a new car.

“I’m a very low-maintenance person. When times have been tough, I’ve tightened the belt” Mimi says of her ability to weather the tides of feast and famine.

Mimi was born in Buffalo, NY and, at age ten moved to Richmond with her family. In 1973 she left Richmond to attend college, drop out after a year, go to Sweden for two and then to NYC for ten. Spending the bulk of her time as a East Village denizen during its’ most storied era proved to be an inspiration to plant a little of that punk rock spice in her coming-of-age hometown, Richmond. After four disastrous years of existence on W. Main Street (where Nara is now) she and her Tibetan expatriate husband moved the store to its’ current location. When asked about her remembrances of times gone past her smile remains ever steadfast.

“I don’t look back a lot. I appreciate the past but always forward to the future. I don’t believe in regrets. Everything you experience just takes you to the next thing.”

If Exile is ever to be categorized, vintage clothing would be central to its multi-hyphenated label. It has earned its place as a Mecca of “finds”, a reality that puts Mimi in an unusual and ironic situation.

“It amuses me that a lot of the people that work here, myself included, were the fashion and social outcasts of our adolescent peers and are now frequently asked by these very same social-gatekeeper types to answer the timeless question, “Is this cool?” Cool to me is when you no longer worry about what you have on and ask yourself if you’re comfortable in what you have on. The cool they find here, I guess, is the sense of individuality. For the most part, anything you get here should be a one-of-a-kind piece, and if it fits your fashion sensibilities – then you’ve struck gold. People tend to be very protective of their fashion discoveries here. They leave with an eagerness to rock their new mohair sweater/tuxedo vest/Lanvin dress with the satisfied air of a conqueror.

It’s interesting to see them leave so happy.”

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Editor’s Note:

Exile is moving at the end of August to its new location at 935 W. Main Street. As I will miss traversing the narrow, cluttered hallway leading to the shops inner door, I wish Mimi all the success in the world in her larger, more accommodating spot just steps away from the Raygun. Exile provided me nearly every pair of Doc Martens I’ve ever owned and was, at fourteen years old, the first store in Richmond I ever considered“cool.” Thank you Mimi for the decades of keeping the doors open and for providing me with an impassioned answer to “Where did you get that?”

P.S. If you need help moving, let me know!

Art Direction Christian Detres Photography Ken Howard Photo Assistant Dave Styling Mary Heffley + Missy Hair/Makeup Mary Heffley + Missy Models Edwin & Meggie