RVA Volume 3 Issue 3 by RVA Magazine

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R VA V O L .3 ISSUE 3

WOLVES & SHEEP

cover image art direction R. Anthony Harris photos by Ken Howard

“I was thinking - do you really want to know what people truly feel in their heart of hearts?”

12 Aaron Farrington 18 Ed Gross 20 Incubation Period 24 Shentai 30 Medeski, Martin, & Wood 32 ATP 36 Then & Now 38 Fighting The Big Bull 42 BATTLES Mirrored - BATTLEMASTER Warthirsting - BJORK Volta - CHUCK RAGAN Los Feliz - CLUTCH From Beale Street to Oblivion - ELVIS COSTELLO The Best Of The First10 Years - Rock And Roll Music MASON DIXON DISASTER Two Doubles - PYGMY LUSH Bitter River - SWORDPLAY Cellars and Attics - TULSA DRONE Songs From A Mean Season - VARIOUS Labrador 100: A Complete History Of Popular Music 46 Fight The Big Bull 47 Mixtape 48 Pharr From Forgotten 50 Fireworks 52 Jonny Z 58 Death Rattle Of The Marginalized Canidates 62 The Reductivist’s Guide To Cannes 66 American Pastiche 68 Brownout At Westover 70 XF Factor 72 American Pop 80 Letters To Lazio

WRITERS R. Anthony Harris Lauren Vincelli publisher Cesca Janece Waterfield senior designer Antonio Garcia Andrew Clarke Parker J. Tobias Beard managing editor Jason Olsen creative director Ed Gross Mickael Broth Adam Sledd Jeff Byers manager Ian M. Graham Mike Rutz Christian Detres Nathan Joyce marketing Jimmy Wayland sales director Ryan Brosmer Tyler Bass Marisa Browne Paul Lazio Ryan Schell Rebekah Frimprong copy editor Teddy Blanks San Busan Jeff Smack Don Harrison designer Sean Patrick Rhorer Christian Detres AD TEAM Adam Sledd Christian Detres R. Anthony Harris R. Anthony Harris Jeff Smack PHOTOS Ian Graham Chris Lacroix Kim Frost Mickael Broth David Kenedy Jake Lyell Ken Howard Will May Ross Trimmer San Busan Doug Spooner Aaron Farrington Ollie Cortum Ian Whalen Rebekah Frimprong Grant Pullman Matt Ramsey Ian M. Graham Jay Smack John Yamashita Mickael Broth R. Anthony Harris ILLUSTRATION Scott Guion josephrosser Jeff Smack R.Anthony Harris

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THANK YOU.

“...photography stuck in a way I never expected. Its quiet, and you can do it all by yourself.“

Aaron Farrington

back to Virginia I wanted to return to a visual way of thinking, of thinking inside a frame. So I started doing a lot of photography. My idea was to wed the story-telling Amplified up to 11, or at least 9 aspects of novel writing with the visual aspects of phoBy R. Anthony Harris tography to get myself back into movie making mode, but I have been running around trying to hold myself togeth- photography stuck in a way I never expected. Its quiet, er. Life happens, then you’re dead. I kept forgetting to and you can do it all by yourself, neither of which are true with filmmaking. interview Charlottesville-based photographer, Aaron Farrington, and was getting shit for it. So under the wilting heat lamp that is my managing editor (i.e. Parker), To answer your question, though, I’ve never been taught I made some phone calls and got it done before he much about picture taking, but I’ve always been thinking about it. brought down the hammer. Aaron Farrington has developed a strong color sense – I’m a sucker for oversaturated pieces of photography like stills from the movie Domino. Give me that along with a few quiet, insightful, slice-of-life moments, some raucous rock moments, and you have a fan. Having worked with regional favorites the Hackensaw Boys (remember the RVA “Hackensaw Boys” article and cover a few months ago-volume 2 issue 11 “Pitstop While Soul Searching”?) to MTV darlings the Old Crow Medicine Show, he has some nuggets of wisdom to glean. Pay attention, there is a test after the interview.

RAH You describe yourself as making fine art, portrait, and rock & roll photography. Do you have a favorite out of the three? I am sure they all have a certain appeal.

AF It’s not an accurate description. I’m more of a travel photographer. I drive around, you know, and sometimes I find people I want to photograph, and sometimes I’m not too shy to do it. Or I find a tree in a desert or a mountain made out of nothing but rocks. I fuck around with my film to make things look the way I see them. Sometimes I ride around with the Hackensaws, which is nice, because they’ve taken me to some good photographs. And in reR. Anthony Harris In my research on you, I didn’t see turn I’ve taken some good photographs of them. any professional schooling in photography. Are you a Two summers ago I got a job riding the Amtrak train self-taught artist? around the country for a month. My first stop was New Aaron Farrington I went to film school at NYU for two Orleans and my last stop was New Orleans, just after Kayears. I dropped out. It just was not the right place for trina. Last summer I got a job to go back down to New me. I wanted to do something cheaper than filmmaking Orleans for the one-year anniversary of Katrina. The so I wrote a novel. It wasn’t very good as I remember, ineptitude of our leaders is more criminal than depressbut it didn’t cost me anything to write it. When I came ing, I think, and it is extremely depressing.

I do a lot of photo shoots for bands these days, based on... I don’t know, that I’ve done photo shoots for a lot of bands. Those are good shoots, because bands sometimes pay better than a mountain does. That’s being cynical, though. I love the rock ‘n’ roll. Its fucking fantastic to be sitting up on stage with a camera and watching a band just blow your mind, and to try to do it justice-- to convey the feeling of being there-- in a little photographic rectangle. RAH The Hackensaw Boys, King Wilke, Devon Sproule, how long have you been working with local Charlottesville bands? AF I went out on the first national Hackensaw tour, which was in the summer of 2001, and I guess that’s what started it all. But then, that winter, I moved down to New Orleans and didn’t do anything for a couple of years except drink and drink and try and fail to hide out from all of these shitty never-ending wars our country has been engaged in ever since. RAH How did this lead to working with Old Crow Medicine Show and Mike Doughty (formerly of Soul Coughing)? AF It didn’t really. I grew up in Harrisonburg with Ketch and Critter from Old Crow, so I’ve been taking pictures of them off and on for years. Mike Doughty is on ATO records, which is based in Charlottesville. I did some things

for them [ATO] around Jazz Fests when I was down in NOLA, so I hooked up with them again when I moved back to Charlottesville. RAH You are an artist on multiple fronts can you get into what The Karl Rove was all about? AF The Karl Rove was just about really loud heavy rock ‘n’ roll songs about the glories of war and deceit and fucking over your fellow man. I’m not a great musician, but being in a band like that, playing music like that is so visceral, so physical, its great-- there’s nothing cerebral about it. Which is very different than photography sometimes. Photography is very quiet and sometimes very thought out. I like that a lot, obviously, but music is a good counter-weight to that. RAH I get the feeling you are not proud of how our government is acting right now. Is there hopelessness in the way things are? Is that why you have to start bands like Karl Rove - as an outlet? AF I am not at all proud of our government, and nobody with a brain would be. But I’m not hopeless... This government will be all over, someday, and that’s hopeful. It will all be over, Hitler will be dead, we’ll live queasily ever after... You know, I couldn’t stand Bill Clinton when he

was president. He was a dope. But the motherfucker we’ve got right now makes it so hard to believe that somebody like Bill Clinton could ever be president. I mean, Bill’s a dope, but a smart dope, and maybe even a compassionate dope, which is so far from what we have today. I think alcohol is the outlet; projects like the Karl Rove are there just to slow the drinking down. RAH Do you make films too? AF I recently finished a documentary about the North Mississippi Allstars and the hill country blues that I made for ATO records. It’s a real cool little movie-- RL Burnside is in it, there’s a lot of old footage of the great fife player Otha Turner, there’s a lot of Mississippi in it, and that’s cool because Mississippi is amazing, a real heavy place. And I came to Mississippi, like a lot of outsiders do, with a bunch of preconceived notions and stereotypes that were completely blown away by spending time there. We were at a juke-joint-- the Club Disco 9000-- for a birthday party of one of RL’s sons. The place was completely packed with all sorts of people-- poor black farmers, the rich kids from Ole Miss, everybody... and everybody’s drinking moonshine, and getting drunk, and getting along and having a great time. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before. I learned so much while making that movie-- I knew next to nothing about the hill country blues when I started it-- and it was such an interesting way to learn. RAH Any other projects coming up, Aaron? AF Weddings, somehow. I guess I’m at the age where all my friends are hitching up for good and I have to take the pictures of that, of course. Everyone’s getting married somewhere cool, though- I just got back from Mexico and next month I’m going to dawdle around the west coast and shoot a wedding in Big Sur and another one down in Mexico. In between the weddings I’ll just be wandering around, camping, looking for things to see like I do. And my girlfriend keeps asking me to make a horror movie, which I’ll do as soon as she conjures up a story or script for me. RAH What are your, or do you have any, long-term goals? AF I would like to be making more movies. I would like to be showing at galleries outside of Charlottesville. Where I’m at seems pretty good, I would just like it to be amplified up to 11, or at least 9.

ED GROSS

moments of decision

I am interested in thoughtfully charged situations. The last moments spent in thought just before a decision is made is my focus. My goal is to capture this moment as a gift to the viewer to create suggestions of narrative possibilities, rather than a clearly resolved narrative. To achieve this I use color, light, and shadow involving a host of images from the profound to the absurd. This is used in an effort to provoke, ignite, and hopefully comically entertain the viewersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; thought process. To evolve this process I then combine found objects to create a shift between the imagined and the observed. Much of this process causes a collision of the two different qualities. This is to reference the last moments of deciding. The combination of elements is to make the image and reality one for the viewer to decide their past and future.

To see mor e go to myspace.com/ed w ar dalangr oss

I n c u b at i o n P e r i o d By Mickael Broth Rick Tatnall has plans to change the world… seriously. He’s the type of person who makes you realize just how much is possible to fit into a day. He’s got his hands, feet, money, and brains in so many things that it would take a warehouse just to keep all of his shit straight. So it’s a good thing that Rick has a warehouse to contain the chaos that is his life, his work, and his passions. I met with Rick at iNCUBATE, a warehouse that he runs as a “creativity incubator for the Richmond region’s artistic and non-profit communities.” My understanding was that I was to discuss the graffiti art gallery oper-

ating within iNCUBATE, and his motivation for attempting to put together a “graffiti” art show at the Virginia Library. The show was set to

space is without a doubt a warehouse; dark and bare with

open for June’s First Friday but has been indefinitely postponed as a result of the recent whimpering about etch tags along Broad Street.

oddly configured rooms and access, but its fairly isolated

It’s particularly interesting that Rick initially seems to be so supportive of graffiti when he is also in charge of an organization called Citizens

location makes it well-suited for events and activities that

Against Crime (CAC).

would never be tolerated in more residential areas. The few neighboring businesses have yet to complain about bands

CAC is exactly what it sounds like, people who don’t like crime and are putting in time and energy to end all manner of crimes. Rick himself

playing late into the night or the graffiti that covers the back

is not a huge fan of the name, (a product of the group’s founder, local community activist and spokesperson, Alicia Raisin), but he feels

of the building’s walls and the exterior of a roof wall.

that it gets the point across. If you are for crime, he doesn’t want you. Logical enough… but then how can he give graffiti writers a place to paint freely, something which any “expert in the field” will tell you does nothing to decrease the amount of illegal graffiti in a city? And

The graffiti art gallery itself was intended to be in the large

how can a guy who runs an anti-crime organization actually promote graffiti as a legitimate art form?

and open upstairs room of the warehouse. Happy the artist, a local personality and mural painter, suggested the idea to

Rick’s approach to this is similar to his thinking on the larger problems in society. He believes that setting up a positive environment before

Rick and he put out the word that people could come and

the problem occurs is the only way to actually solve the problem. With regards to graffiti specifically, Rick realizes that most of the people

paint. During one of the early painting sessions Rick left for

who have come to paint at the Gallery are probably already engaged in illegal painting and that giving them a legal space to paint will not

a few hours and returned to find that the exterior walls of

entirely curb their illicit activities. However, he hopes that kids, who aren’t already involved in painting illegally but find interest in the art

the building were being painted, something which he had

aspect of graffiti, will have a place to learn the skills involved. He hopes that he will be able to secure mural walls throughout the city, where

not planned on letting people do. Ha. Just goes to show what

artists who join as Gallery members may actually be able to get paid to paint. In turn he believes this will guide potential vandals in a direc-

selfish pricks most graffiti writers are. Nothing like biting the

tion where they can be successful in their art while also creating a more visually stimulating and crime-free city.

hand that feeds, is all I could think. This got me thinking about what it is that made me and my peers feel justified in

The warehouse known as iNCUBATE is located at 3412 West Leigh Street in Scott’s Addition, a historically industrial warehouse district

going around painting on other people’s shit (besides the

bounded by Broad Street, Boulevard, 195, and train tracks. Besides housing the offices of CAC, iNCUBATE is a practice space for a band, a

fact that it’s a lot of fun).

venue for music, home to the River City Burners, as well as storage for Rick’s business, the RSBA (Richmond Small Business Alliance). The 21

I grew up in a stable household with plenty of opportunities and parents who taught me to respect other people and their possessions… so where did I pick up the idea that I could say, “Fuck everybody. I can do what I want.”? Part of it was definitely just being a dickhead teenager but I guess the underlying feeling that I had the right to do whatever I felt like came from the culture that we live in. As far as I can tell, we live in a world where the message is “Take what you want because no one will give it to you. Oh, and fuck over anyone you have to on the way.” That ideology thrives in all levels of our society from our good ol’ boy sonofabitch President to greedy wait staff who snake good tables from their co-workers. You know… assholes. My wife Brionna and I recently spent three weeks in Japan, most of which we spent in Tokyo. The city is massive and completely insane. If any American city existed on the scale of Tokyo, people would be mowing each other down with assault rifles everyday… and yet it’s one of the safest, cleanest, most efficient cities in the world. Why??? I was actually shocked by the lack of crime given that I rarely saw any police and many streets were deserted at night. For a city its size, there was very little graffiti… and the graf that existed was generally concentrated along rail lines and in areas for youth shopping. Certainly, graffiti tends to be concentrated within specific areas in American cities but in Tokyo it seemed almost as though the locations were chosen with a great amount of respect, even if it was subconscious respect. I kept thinking the place looked like New York City if New York had been built and no one had ever been allowed to live there. It seemed to Bri and I that the real contrast boiled down to a general lack of respect for anything in America. For as much as the Japanese have clearly been influenced by American culture (and French pastry shops!), the people seem to maintain a firm belief that the common good trumps excessive individual freedom. Americans don’t seem to like the idea that they should have to take people beyond their immediate friends and family (and business partners) into consideration when making their decisions… just look at who we elect as our representatives. The example of Rick inviting people to paint the inside of his warehouse and them taking advantage of his goodwill is based in a way of thinking that permeates so much of modern life. It’s the same mindset that makes our elected officials believe that just because they happen to lie more convincingly than the person they were running against, they have a mandate to do whatever they please. Well, at least Rick understands that some people just are the way they are and giving them opportunities will do nothing… but he’s not giving up. Besides, it’s not as though giving people a legal place to spray paint is Rick’s main goal in life. “Society is hurtling toward the cliff of no return,” he told me, “We need to slam on the brakes. If we don’t, we’re doomed.” The metaphor of an approaching precipice is one that Rick strongly believes and it is something that he is dedicating his life to fighting. He has big, big ideas and in listening to him I found myself questioning whether any of the things he spoke of were actually possible. 22

Well apparently they are. An example that really struck me was a trip that Rick orga-

ening the region.” He hopes to achieve this target by recruiting members who will donate a minimum of 10

nized a few years ago to Richmond, Virginia’s transAtlantic twin, Richmond upon the

hours and $10 every six months. This is an incredibly small amount to ask from people and I felt ashamed when

Thames. He gathered a group of almost thirty students and teachers from Richmond

he was telling me about it. Wow… what a lazy ass piece of shit I am… and not just me. Rick hopes that once

public high schools and led them on a week long trip across the pond. During their

people join they will continue to stay active. He thinks that once someone becomes a member and understands

time abroad, they did the standard tourist deal, but they also put in volunteer hours

how easy and fulfilling it is to be a member of the community, they will feel inclined to become even more active.

cleaning up the banks of the river at Ham. It was all part of Rick’s larger project known

Rick believes that people need to stop making excuses and face the fact that either you are a positive member

as “Richmonds of the World,” which aims to open conduits of communication and

of society or else you just don’t care. Most people don’t like to be told that they don’t care about society but

participation between the 70+ cities and communities throughout the world with the

that really is what it all comes down to in the end. Every single person can spare $10 and 10 hours every six

name Richmond.

months, and for anyone to say that they can’t… is ridiculous.

To me, this really sums up Rick’s thinking. He believes that until people stop thinking

Rick left me with a few articles detailing some of his past efforts and successes as well as an application for

that what goes on in a neighborhood across town (or on the other side of the world)

CAC. So I guess I have been forced to decide whether I’m going to be part of the solution to society’s problems

has no effect on them, we will continue down a path of failure and pain. Rick says

that I’m so talented at moaning about… or whether I’m just a piece of shit who doesn’t care enough. God, I

that people living in upper income areas of the West End need to understand that

hope I’m not the latter.

the people living in lower income areas of the East End are part of their community, and vice versa. What goes on in one neighborhood affects all neighborhoods and it is

And on a personal note of summation to all the whiny bitches along Broad Street… People have been etching

the responsibility of society as a whole to affect positive changes. Rick’s goal is to get

windows along the “culture corridor” for years but none of you gave a fuck when it was just black-owned busi-

formal support for community activism in the shape of a membership organization.

nesses in an area where you never went. Don’t take it personally. Just think about what I just said in relation to what Rick is trying to get all of us (including me) to understand.

On July 7th, Rick is planning to host a “Slam the Brakes” membership drive and fundraiser for CAC in the streets outside of iNCUBATE. His year-end goal is to “have gener-

To find out more about Rick and to become involved in his plans, visit www.cacrichmond.org on the internet or

ated 1,000,000 hours of volunteer service and $1,000,000 in investment in strength-

go hang out with Rick in person at iNCUBATE. 23

S HEN TAI

An Extr a vag ant Par ade of Mut ant Mar vels and Omni-Sensual Oddities! Synes thetic Invasion! Exotic Theatr e A cts! Pr epos ter ous Games! Inexplicable Rides! Live Wor ms! Liquid Beer! Tattooed Ladies! Songs with Dance! Dance with Songs! F ir e and Water! Bizar r e r ituals! What went a wr y? What cr eatur es wer e bor n? What hath God wr ought? by J. Tobias Beard images by Will May

A strange and motley crew gathers in the industrial sprawl of the Ix building, Charlottesville’s favorite new location for art events. It is dusk, 7:00 on a Tuesday to be precise, and this is a gathering of what seems to be the vast majority of the artistic types in town; dancers, actors, musicians, all lithe and fit with the pronounced arched backs of people who regularly pay a lot of attention to how they move. They are all here for a “Shentai Social(ism) Sweat Shop,” and there is a table set up where three women are busy altering and creating costumes. They are building a strap-on megaphone, sewing fake dollar bills on a tutu, and repairing the fly on a skirt made of orange (faux) leather. Behind me people are sweeping the floor, moving large wooden structures, and setting up sound equipment. What this is, is Shentai. But what Shentai is, is not exactly clear. It all began about a year ago, when Charlottesville Wunderkammer ended in the long, hot summer of 2006. Wunderkammer had been a semi-success, or had at least had people talking, and Pepin, the megaphone-wielding bearded woman also known as Jennifer Hoyt Tidwell, began to plan something for the next year, something the same but, like, totally different, something called Shentai. According to the press release, Shentai is “thought to be a part-Japanese and part-Atlantean word that means (approximately, give or take) ‘strange appearance, then strange disappearance.’” And so, just as Wunderkammer had appeared strangely in our midst, now, shimmering mirage-like on the horizon, we have Shentai. If you ask Jen/Pepin what Shentai is all about, she will very likely talk to you loudly through her megaphone, telling you a story about the future, about ripples in the fabric of space time, and a far-out band of

misfits called Shentai, who are doomed to travel through time endlessly performing. This is also a story about a band of human misfits, dancers and the like, who are currently preparing to present an elaborate carnival here on earth. Bree Luck, the producer and event manager, strides around on loud clacking heels in a black garter and black, billowing, see through skirt. The purpose of tonight’s meeting is for all of the performers (close to 40) to gather together and refine their characters. A large tarp is spread out and covered with potential costumes: inflatable whale shaped inner tubes, helmets, tight things, furry things, and sparkly things. The floor is still being swept, and the dust smells slightly sweet, like old motor oil. Jessie Abbate, tiny and pixy-like, moved here from Richmond 8 years ago to get her masters in Biology. Her main role in the show is as a 25

fire dancer, but she will also be manning the Lost and Found booth. The theme of Shentai is that “something is missing” she tells me, but you’re not sure what it is, it’s a mystery. And so it is, the Lost and Found booth, where maybe you’ll find what it is you’ve been missing. Or maybe you’ll lose something, instead. Jen jumps up on a large wooden spool and the group, a jarring blend of business and foolishness, gathers around her in the buttery, shadow-casting light of naked bulbs. “I’m Erin and I’m a gumball and a fire dancer.” The Ix building is, at 300,000 square feet, enormous, and although half of it has been rebuilt and rented out to big business, the other half is a decaying ruin. A beautiful decaying ruin, all open walls and massive rusty beams. Think So-Ho meets Beirut. “I’m a Vampirate and I’ll be working the sexy talk tube.” After close to 10 months of planning, organizing and e-mailing, the individual groups of this many-headed monster have come together to begin the final preparations. The scale of the project is ambitious, with sideshows, music, an original play, and a human powered ride. “I’m Dinah and I’ll be directing and performing in the Natural History Peepshow.” Ambitious, and also a bit chaotic. I ask Dinah, one of the performers, if this all seems a bit disjointed to her. She tells me that the idea is for it to feel like everything is just about to go completely out of control. “It’s not about a single piece. It’s about creating an evening.”

Cindy Leal, a dance and theater major who has been in Charlottesville for about a year, is still agonizing over her character. “This is what I wear in real life!” she exclaims. Cindy has black hair, a wide grin, and rhinestone cats-eye glasses. She is wearing vintage clothes in many bright hues, and the clothes spread out for the performers to choose from look basically the same. For the actors involved, Shentai seems to be a kind of meta-theater. They must create a character and then that character must inhabit other characters. They are thrust into a story that is being written continually around them, a story they may not fully understand, a story that is itself about mystery, about “strange appearances and disappearances,” and they must figure out how to convey that mystery to the audience. Cindy continues to struggle with the mystery of her character and her character’s clothes. Finally, after oohing and aahhing over many crazy dresses and gaudy boas, the slips on a long black nightgown with a black fur collar. Suddenly she looks different, sleek and mysterious in a Marlene Dietrich kind of way instead of quirky and odd in a Cyndi Lauper kind of way. At first she doesn’t seem to realize it, doesn’t see the transformation, but then she does, and Cindy has disappeared, and someone else has reappeared. What it is, is Shentai. But what, exactly, is Shentai? Here’s what you need to know about those evenings: Shentai will begin Thursday, June 14th, and reappear every Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday through July 1st, starting promptly at 8:00pm. The Ix building is located at the corner of 2nd St. and Monticello Ave. in Charlottesville. Gates open at 7:30 and the show begins promptly at 8pm. No late entry allowed. Tickets are $15 in advance, $20 at the door on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Sunday evenings will be $15 in advance, Pay-What-You-Can at the door. Advance tickets available by walkup at the Live Arts box office at 123 Water Street, or online at www.livearts.org. Audiences should bring cash for concessions and favors at the carnival. No credit cards are accepted. Shentai, the press release tells us, is for mature audiences only.

MEDESKI, MARTIN, & WOOD In the LGBG

05 21 07

words/images by San Busan

In trying to write about the band, I was trying to come up a definition for their sound. Tall order if you have ever heard of these guys. When I saw they were playing Richmond, I raised an eyebrow. When I saw they were playing the Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden’s “Groovin’ in The Garden,” I got on the phone. After a twenty-minute conversation with promoters - I was in to cover it. Thanks guys. If you have been to the LGBG, you might argue that this place has the best outdoor area for playing music in the city. Bring a lawn chair, a beer cozy, your shades and a hippish attitude - “Groovin’” is all about it. Too bad I didn’t have the desire to inspect everything but I promise next time to smell the flowers and read the very long history. I blame beer and comfort. Damn you Yuengling! Damn you soft green grass! The “Groovin’ In The Garden” series has been ongoing in the LGBG for about 3 years. The promoters - brothers Tom and Jonas Beal have gone from lining up shows on the family farm to bringing their favorite root/jam/jazz/alternative music back to the Capital City. Do you

remember Big Head Todd and The Monsters? Cowboy Junkies? Big Bad Voodoo Daddy? All of these are playing later in the summer. Check out the website www.lewisginter.org for more info. When Medeski, Martin, and Wood took the stage, there were all kinds of people lined up and excited on the spacious lawn. Older to younger - the dread head, the occasional frat boy, the music student, were ready to dance it out and drink it up. MMW didn’t disappoint.

In describing their sound, “a unique blend of jazz/funk” is general but close – Check out MMW’s Last Dance To Dance Trance (1999). Their live set was so fresh in its weirdness, pushing into the unknown reaches of the genre and brisk in its pacing. I like not knowing where my jazz is going, and this trio pushed it there. Medeski was a dynamo on the piano; Billy Martin stretched the beat like it was a rubber band of sound, and Chris Wood’s stand up bass held everything together with a solid funk foundation. Is this Root Music or Jazz Music? Does it really matter? You should have been there and this short review is about rubbing it in a little.

Waves of nausea flow away. The band of Vikings known as Alabama Thunderpussy have invited me into their home and I will be safe with them. They will shred, slay, and lay waste while I shall remain unscathed.

relentles s r ocimages k rcour e vtesy i vaof liATPsts By Jason Olsen

Br yan Cox, founder and dr ummer of ATP, seems to be as relieved as I am. So I sense an impor tant approval. After all, he’s celebrating the sale of his house with one of his favorite bits of business in life. Band practice. “I just want to make the music that I want to kick back and listen to. Most of the fun of being a musician is coming up with it.”

I’m in the middle of the east end of Richmond-- Fulton Hill-And, along with guitarist Erik Lar son, he’s been doing it as Alabama cursing Google Maps with a slew of well-deser ved epithets. Thunderpussy for nine year s now. His band is as much a par t of the musical Why do I write down directions when I’m half-lit? Why does landscape and histor y of our fair capital as many of its peer s. They’ve shared the stupid web page tell you where you can stop and take a lot of stages over the near-decade of their evolution. RPG, GWAR, and Lamb a piss, but not make intelligent suggestions like “Make sure of God have been longtime friends and suppor ter s in a town that can often to bear to your left or you’ll end up in the ghetto.”? Freaked be cynical and jaded. out by my new sur roundings, I’m woefully considering a call to have anyone come to my rescue. It cer tainly doesn’t hur t to get a leg-up from a more established act, but it’s not as though they would have disappeared without it. ATP has Oh, God. That car has been following me for a while. Did suffered through multiple line-up changes, label meltdowns, tour mishaps he just honk? I’ve never met an east end pimp, I think to and general black voodoo vibes. But Br yan is more excited about the myself while gripping at my phone. Stopping at the cor ner, cur rent incar nation of ATP than any other. “With Kyle [Thomas] as our the guy pulls up beside me slowly. No, no, no, no. Go away, lead singer, we’ve entered a new phase with melody. This new record man. Ever ything’s cool here… is the best one we’ve ever done. Of cour se, you always say that, but we really feel that way.” Ryan Lake, guitar shredder/ninja, rolls down his window, laughing. “Are you OK, man? I can take you to Br yan’s house. Follow me.”

Open Fire (Relapse Records, 2007) was recorded and produced right here in Richmond by local sound engineer Ian Whalen. Br yan tells me extensive demos were cut before the band entered the studio, and this accounted for a more concise sound. “I would definitely consider outfitting our new practice space with a mixer and a computer to record. It could be a really simple way to wor k more efficiently,” says Bryan. The fir st single “Words of a Dying Man” has an accompanying video directed by DayByDay that encapsulates the tr ue spirit of a River City house rager, with member s from other prominent bands and friends acting as par ty-goers. “It wasn’t meant to be brainy. That’s not what we do.” I’m anxious to hear the band at wor k, so Ryan kindly offer s me a pair of earplugs. I’m not wearing these things. I’ll look like a wuss. I stuff them in my pocket, just in case. We walk out to the porch and back around the house to the basement door. It’s a tight squeeze for all of us, and so nothing but the bare essentials inhabit the space. A dr um kit, speaker cabinets, amplifier heads, and pedals are all that occupy the lowceilinged affair. Erik and Bryan finished the basement floor themselves with thir ty sacks of Quikrete. They are no stranger s to hard wor k for the sake of rocking, it becomes even more evident over the next hour and a half. Midway through the first song, I concede defeat and pop in the earplugs. This music demands that it be played loud and the boys obey. I’m picking out the interplay between Bryan and Mike. The rhythm section surges the songs forward. It’s Metal, cer tainly. But there are elements of Souther n Rock and definite blues leanings. Erik and Ryan have developed a dual-guitar attack that can be ferocious and fleshed out with one occupying the bass end of the range, and the other trebly and scorching. They mir ror riffs and veer off to solo, coming back to ser vice the song. The last song played is the newest and still under constr uction. It’s a rare treat to see a group in the bir thing phase of a proto-metal blues stomper. Br yan is singing new par ts to Ryan, with Ryan translating to his axe, a really beautiful Stratocaster r un through Mar shall cabinets. They decide to do a breakdown with a bass solo while Br yan doubles the time. It’s an extremely democratic system, with Erik vetoing a riff just for “not really digging it.” Ever yone has a say about the tune’s direction. All member s ar rive at agreements and they seem genuinely respectful of each other’s opinions. See? They’re not so scar y after all… until I’m hit with the final bar rage 3 4 ATP will be at Toad’s Place with Lamb of God and Hatebreed on Sunday, September 2nd. Look for the new album Open Fire in stores now.

of riffing carnage for the evening. Smiling, we make our way back to twilight on the front porch.

You),” as some variation of cosmic signification, my mind instantly throws me back to that cramped basement in Fulton Hill. I am watching Br yan Cox hit his cymbals so hard they seem in danger of flying off. One second his face wear s the expression of murder, the next, Days later I’m in the backseat of my best friend’s car, and it’s frightening mayhem. Ryan Lake and Erik Lar son are locked into electric waves. I can feel my fillings how good the songs on the radio are flowing, Foghat, Pink Floyd, Van Halen, loosen with the r umble coming from Mike Br yant’s bass cabinet as he dive bombs up and Black Sabbath, Skynyrd, in rapid fire succession, like volleys from a machine down the neck. Being witness to this band is a physical, visceral experience. You either gun jukebox. It occurs to me that Alabama Thunderpussy are a heady brew fly a pair of devil-hor ns and bang your head, or r un for dear life. with distinct flavorings from all of these ingredients. And when Angus Young plows in with the opening strains of “For Those About To Rock (We Salute They’re Richmond’s hometown rock bad-asses, and I salute them.

im a g e

n W h a le by I a n

n t t G u io by S c o

ima ges cour tesy of Lovitt Recor ds

THEN & NOW by Sean Patrick Rhorer

400 YEARS

DAT ES 1996-2000

D EF I N I T I V E R EL EASE Tr ansmit Failur e (1 9 9 8 , Lov it t ) IM POR TA N C E Fe a t ur ing fo r m e r G r o und w o r k m e m b e r D a v e J a c k s o n, 4 0 0 Ye a r s w e r e p o t e nt in a n e nt ir e ly ne w w ay. D e s p it e fo r m ing in Ar iz o na , t he b a nd ha s a lw ay s b e e n m o r e a s s o c ia t e d w it h R ic hm o nd , w he r e the bulk o f t he ir c a t a lo g w a s c r e a t e d . T he ir c o m b i na t io n o f p o lit ic s, e m o t io n, a nd int e r na l ly r ic a l d e b a t e s e t t o m us ic t ha t c o ul d b e c ha o t ic o ne m o m e nt a n d q uie t ly int e ns e t he nex t p us h e d po s t - h a r d c o r e to a n exc it ing ne w p o int .

L AST I N G I M P R ESSI O N B eyo nd m e m b e r s go ing o n t o fo r m Zet a M ale (lat er r ena m e d D e le g a t e ) , 4 0 0 Ye a r s le f t a n e nd ur ing m a r k o n t he musical landsca pe o f R ic h m o nd . T he ir innov a t i v e a nd uniq ue jux t a p o s it io n o f musical elements he lp e d fo r m ula t e a â&#x20AC;&#x153; R ic hm o nd s o und â&#x20AC;? w hic h b e c a m e imit at ed w or ld w ide. T hey a ls o p r ov e d a b a nd c o uld d e a l w it h p o w e r f ul c o nt e nt without an over t a nge r a l w ay s p r e s e nt in t he ir s o und . W H ER E AR E T H EY N O W ? D a r o n H o llo w e ll c ur r e nt ly r e s id e s in Ne w Yor k and D a v e J a c k s o n s t ill c a lls R ic hm o nd ho m e . T hey c o - r un a successful company t o ge t he r c o m p o s in g m us ic fo r c o m m e r c ia l us e . Sim ila r ly, Ash Br uce does f r e e la nc e a d v e r t is ing w o r k a nd Er in H o us h o ld e r c a n b e found these days at Vid e o Fa n.

ima ges by Chris Lacr oix

MOUTHBREATHER

DAT ES 2 006 - pr esent

N OTAB L E R EL EASE Demo (2 0 0 6 ) I M POR TA N C E I t c a n e a s ily b e s a id t he s e g u y s a r e a m o ng t he ha r d e s t w o r k ing m us i c ia ns in R ic hm o nd . N o t o nly d id t hey ha v e t he ir d e m o r e a dy in t im e fo r t he ir f ir s t s ho w, but t hey c o nt inua lly p lay s ho w s, go o n ill- f a t e d t o ur s, e t c . W hil e no t e nt ir e ly a s o n ic d e r i v a t i v e o f Fo ur H und r e d Ye a r s a nd o t he r p r e d e c e s s o r s, M o ut hb r e a t he r d e f init e ly c a r r y o n s o m e o f t he s a m e e t hic s p r e s e nt in t he la t e â&#x20AC;&#x2DC; 9 0 s s c e ne t ha t m a ny ha v e le t f a d e a w ay.

R EL AT ED B AN D S M e m b e r s ha v e b e e n o r c ur r e ntly play with Wow, O w ls ! , T ige r s ha r k , T he Se t u p, a nd M y Wa r. T hey â&#x20AC;&#x2122; ve also been known t o d o c ov e r b a nd s, s uc h a s Wif e t im e (L if e t im e c ov er band) and Built T hr o ug h T im e (a n a c o us t ic t r ibut e t o h a r d c o r e f avorites Count Me O ut ). G u it a r is t B r a nd o n Pe c k a ls o d o e s t he o c c a s ional s olo acous t ic s ho w. W H AT AR E T H EY U P TO N O W ? T he b a nd w ill b e r e c or ding a full length w it h C hr i s O w e n o f L o r d s in L o uis v ille , K e nt uc k y, as well as touring a b it t hr o ug ho ut t he c o m ing m o nt hs.

T he fir st time I’ d hear d about the band Fight T he Big Bull w as the night they wer e supposed to be covering Weezer’s T he Blue Album . As muc h as that album meant to me, I felt obligated to go. In addition to covering Weezer, I’ d hear d they wer e supposed to be a jazz band. Either w ay, it’s Ric hmond and the majority of us will have our inter ests piqued with anything attac hed to the name of that band and that album so I w as committed to going and on the w ay I w as thinking: O.K. Let’s see how they’ ll pull this of f. I ar rived at the Mediter r anean r estaur ant, Cous Cous, and the line w as near coming out the door. T his w as not a nor mal occur r ence for this par ticular bar, and any c hange in the nor m must be per ceived as something good and something exciting. I could alr eady hear them be ginning to play and it made me won der to myself w hen w as the last time I w as ur gent to get into a place in this city. When I finally got in I weaved my w ay over to a patc h of kids I r eco gnized and in the middle of the bar w as the eight per son band, spr awled out, instr uments maneuvering in the space allowed, and a gener al good vibe f loating ar ound the place. For the dur ation of the night we had fr ont r ow tic kets to a perfor mance of our favorite songs played right befor e us, the songs slightly alter ed just so that e ven though it w as a cover, the band had their name and their style imprinted on it. And of cour se, getting plaster ed at the same time alw ays adds to the magic. T hanks for the drinks, John. T he cr ow d sang along to e ver y song as loudly and as r aucously as they could. It w as a good feeling w hen I hear d the r ecor ding later and could hear e ver yone w ho had been ther e that night shouting in the bac kgr ound. It r eminded me, w hat a hell of a night. I don’t pr etend to be an exper t on the sound of jazz yet for some r eason w hen I listen to Fight T he Big Bull, I don’ t find that to be a r equir ement in enjoying their music. Having had conver sations with Matt White, their guitarist, you get the sense they’ r e not a typical jazz band in the fir st place. “I don’ t w ant to be just a jazz band. We’ r e not c lean cut. We have a band name, w hic h lends that cer tain ar tistic sensibility. Mor e than that, I like the r oc k and r oll aesthetic and I’m definitely influenced by that.”

F G T N THE BIG By Xavier Atkins

images by Jake Lyell

T he bandmates come fr om so many dif fer ent places and have so many dif fer ent influences and r anges, but in the w ay Matt brings them in and melds them to gether, that r oc k and r oll qual ity can be detected, and still mor e. I’ ve seen them se ver al nights since, right in the center of Cous Cous, and w hene ver I hear them I dr aw on ima ges that their music installs in my head. T he w ay they be gin some of their songs, slowly, gr owing momentum and bulk, r eminds me of some huge animal materializing fr om the air, looming over me. T he music can become so str ained and tense that it becomes border line uncomfor table to me and pushes me to endur e. And then when they get thick into what becomes just a jam session, though never that simple, you see ever y per son in the bar completely enthr alled and captiv ated by the band and bobbing their heads, and the band is getting into it too. Some of my favorite moments ar e watching Reggie Pace and Br yan Hooten, both of whom play the trombone. With completely differ ent styles, Hooten is angular and appear s almost mathematical in his perfor mance wher e as Pace embodies soul and it seems to possess his whole body on the par ts singled out for him or the two of them, standing up and weaving, his trombone waving in the air. T hey feed off each other, an unlikely pair but it stands out and sends a ripple of excitement through the crowd. Pinson Chanselle on dr ums and Cameron Ralston on bass ar e diligent and impr essive on their r espective instr uments. And leading all of them is Matt White on guitar, dir ecting the sound and path of the music like some meticulous scientist. Never theless, the band is mor e a unit r ather than made up of individual musicians and watching them play is like watching a single or ganism moving and continuously speaking to the audience. Each band member, however, has many other side projects and I speculate as to how difficult it will be for them to maintain consistency and whether or not this will be a band that will r un the distance or one that will fade within the year. Talking to White, he has no intentions of giving up any time soon. “It’s something that eventually I want to be suppor ted by. It was hard to get ever yone together in the beginning, but now that we have a solid spot at Cous Cous, we have this suppor t, we all have this place we can go, this place we can play, and people ar e noticing and coming out. So it’s nice to have people to play for.” T he band plays ever y other Wednesday at Cous Cous. We can only wait to see if Fight T he Big Bull has mor e tr eats like their Weezer cover night lined up for the futur e, but in the meantime come to enjoy this jazz band that isn’t your typical jazz band. 40

BATTLES

Mirrored Warp Records

The first time I heard Battles was in my car listening to the U of R radio station around the time their first EP came out. I thought it sounded cool and I later randomly read about them and their pedigree. They seemed funny in interviews but it wasn’t until I saw a live video for “Atlas,” the first single off of their first full length, Mirrored, that I took more musical notice of them. So you might have heard about Battles and what they could do so I decided to play Mirrored out loud at my work. Here are the reactions of the record from my boss who has no previous knowledge of Don Cab, The Locust, or whatever the kids are listen-

ing to. “What do you think of this?” “The Oompa-Loopas?” “Yea, them.” “They might be good musicians but there is nothing about it that would make me want to listen to it voluntarily. It’s not something I could see someone singing along to. Can you even sing along to it? It doesn’t sound like they are saying words. I guess I’m just getting old and stuck in my ways. It has a whimsical, childlike tone to it. It’s creepy. It sounds like something out of a weird musical. You remember that movie with Antonio Banderas and the kids were spies and there was an evil person trying to take over the world on the side? Spy kids? That’s what it reminds me of. You remember that the villain had a TV show

4 2 LOCAL RE VIE WS IN RED

and tried to brainwash kids. Never mind. I don’t know what I’m talking about.” As for this reviewer’s opinion, the Battles’ debut full-length sounds “tuff” like the ideal soundtrack for some weird jungle party. Or the perfect backdrop of white noise in the office as much as my boss’ discussions about her dating life or her dissection of Craigslist posts. “You’ve got to read between the lines, Jeff. Those men don’t want lunch they want DESSERT!” -Jeff Byers BATTLEMASTER

Warthirsting & Winterbound Forcefield Records

This is the kind of shit Dethklok would listen to. With a wide gamut of sounds, styles, and techniques from

across the Heavy Metal spec trum,Bat tlema ster’s new disc has range and rage. Andy Horn’s low-end vocals are reminiscent of American Death Metal, to the tune of Glen Benton (although a bit cleaner), and his high-end masterfully emulates Dani Filth. The music, as well, is a combination of American and European metal brutality, albeit sans synths (not something I’m complaining about). The riffage tends to stray more to the European side, and the drums have more of an American stomp (hear that bell?) to them. However, there’s certainly a good bit of post-hardcore sensibility, apparent in the breakdowns. The subject matter is classic metal fare: visions of frozen wastelands, ancient wars and magic, elves, brains flayed and chicks wandering

endless nights. Warthirsting & Winterbound is metal for metal’s sake, and solid at that. -Ian M. Graham BJORK Volta Atlantic

Perhaps I hold Bjork on too high a pedestal. Perhaps, in the back of my mind, I don’t think that the bright red color that dominates this album’s layout fits with Bjork’s style. I do not know why this album is a letdown. I do know that I don’t like Timbaland. And, even though tracks like “Earth Intruders” and “Innocence” consist of by far the most interesting beats that Timbaland has ever produced, they do not hold up as Bjork tracks. If the only song you liked on

Medula was “Where Is The Line,” or if songs like “Enjoy” and “I Miss You” (from Post) are up your alley, then you will probably enjoy this album more than I did. A lot of these songs feel urgent and forceful. There is an expedience in the beats and music, but a mixture of slowness and malevolence in her voice. “Vertebrae By Vertebrae” is too long. “Pneumonia” good, but also seems a bit lengthy. “Declare Independence” is just annoying. “My Juvenile” and “The Dull Flame Of Desire” are pretty good. Antony Hegarty’s (of & the Johnsons fame) vocals mix well on these tracks and offer an interesting, warbled blend against Bjork. Overall, this is a weak album

from Bjork. I am disappointed, but the more I listen to Volta, the more I enjoy the few songs that really caught my attention. The album is different; I’ll give her that. There are undoubtedly fans out there who will enjoy this a lot. -Nathan Joyce CHUCK RAGAN Los Feliz Side One Dummy

Following Hot Water Music going on hiatus and the formation of The Draft featuring everyone except Chuck Ragan, a lot of people were saying that exactly what they loved about the old band was missing in the new. In just the opposite way, Chuck Ragan’s solo material encompasses all the anthemic, heartfelt songwriting many fell in love with from Hot Wa-

ter Music. Ragan also seems to have tapped into the power of his live performances, having sold a live set CD-R on recent tours and now releasing this official live album as his first proper CD. While some might doubt the ability to pack the same punch fans have come to love over the years with a full band, these songs truly carry on his tradition of great musicianship. -Sean Patrick Rhorer CLUTCH

From Beale Street to Oblivion Drt

As Clutch continues their rugged evolution, the music they create becomes harder and harder to classify. Once upon a time they were metal, then came the “Stoner Rock” label, and now they’ve in-

corporated enough blues, funk, and country to avoid any established classification altogether. Truthfully, the new album leads me to believe they are becoming something akin to a new-age ZZ Top with an abundance of aggressive zeal and zany lyrics. While From Beale Street is a solid outing with a surefire hit “Electric Worry” creating buzz, it pales in comparison to the classic self-titled record and the throbbing treasure chest of heavenly glory that was Elephant Riders.

to see Clutch’s body of work blend together as part of a joyous jam session gone mad, it cannot be denied that there is a considerable divide between the current disc and the group’s earliest offerings. Surely those fans who were offended by the addition of an organ to the band will be equally displeased with the degree to which a country flair invades the mayhem this time out, steering the band closer to cowboy boots and ten-gallon hats than mullets and mosh pits.

Perhaps the biggest hurdle this visionary band faces in their continuing growth is the contrast between their new identity and the heavy niche they have soared beyond. While attending a show allows an audience the chance

Regardless, the artistry on display has definitely reached new heights. Vocalist Neil Fallon is supremely confident as he rumbles, howls, moans, and wails his way through the new disc. As always, Jean-Paul Gaster

rattles his kit to perfection and gives each track a lively rhythm that frequently veers from a light thumping to a fiery pounding. Dan Maines and Tim Sult provide their usual thick twang offset by some of the timeliest runs and progressions in the industry. While I’ve heard many fans voice their discontent, I continue to see Mick Schauer and his organ as an asset to the group. Harmonica maestro Eric Oblander from Five Horse Johnson shines on “Electric Worry,” perfectly meshing with the band and enriching the texture of the music with an energetic flair. Despite the shift in tone, From Beale Street to Oblivion is a cohesive selection of songs that speaks of a journey into the soul and

an occasional clash with the devil himself. Standout tracks include that smoking single, “Electric Worry,” the pulsing “Power Player,” the witty falling-out presented in “The Devil & Me,” and the record’s strongest song, the sweet but surly “When Vegans Attack.” The play list is intriguing, staggering the heaviest numbers amongst the most melodic. The art incorporated in the packaging is vibrant, but is far more reminiscent of the relatively tame Pure Rock Fury than more outlandish visions like those crafted for Blast Tyrant and Robot Hive/Exodus. The mix is perfect, expertly balancing the various elements in play and allowing the music to emerge in singular fashion—this isn’t an ensemble piece, but rather a tight band performing in 43

unison to stellar effect. In summary, Clutch’s newest album is yet another must-have for any true fan, but it is also a continuation of this bizarre outfit’s march toward a new sound all their own… as opposed to the old sound that was all their own. Though solidly put together and host to several slamming tracks and no glaring disappointments, this vigorous collection isn’t as powerful as some of the group’s past efforts. Still, it stands as one of 2007’s better releases to date and should satisfy the faithful while bringing new listeners into the fold. Clutch continues to shift gears, and while they may not drive quite as fast as they used to, they still take us on one hell of a ride. -Jimmy Wayland

ELVIS COSTELLO

The Best Of The First 10 Years Rock And Roll Music Hip-O

While the Elvis Costello catalog has been tapped for collection releases a number of times in recent memory, these two offer a more focused, thematic look at his music. The first, a retrospective of Costello’s first ten years includes both tracks from his work with The Attractions, as well as solo tunes and arguably represents his best years. The latter spans a wider timeframe, focusing on what could be called his “rock” songs (which seems like a bit of a stretch really). The former would serve as a good starting point for newcomers to Costello’s

4 4 LOCAL RE VIE WS IN RED

music, but beyond that fans have probably heard most of these songs elsewhere. Sean Patrick Rhorer MASON DIXON DISASTER Two Doubles

self-released masondixondisaster.com

Not that it ever went away, but there’s been a noticeable resurgence of Southern music here in the Capital of the South. Leading the way, Mason Dixon Disaster’s honky-tonk rock delivers a beer bottle to the head of today’s pop-country. Returning to Planet Red Studios for their full-length debut, Two Doubles builds on the success of their sold-out 5-song EP. Mason Dixon Disaster keep the twangy melodies simple and straightforward,

not unlike the many bands in a typical alt-country namecheck. They effortlessly tear through Southern rock ballads (“Best Intentions”), pining Americana (“Dixon Creek”), outlaw country anthems (“Endless July”), and rollicking rockabilly barnburners (“Thirteen Steps”), letting their punk roots shine throughout. What sets MDD further apart from the pack, both creatively and musically, are the dual female/male vocals of Erin Bryant and Fred Pinckard. Respectively rich and raspy, their smoky, soulful voices will have you envisioning a fantastic collaboration between June Carter Cash and Social Distortion’s Mike Ness. On Two Doubles, the Southern music of Mason Dixon Disaster will no doubt

stir your mind, your heart, and your drink. -Mike Rutz PYGMY LUSH

Bitter River Robotic Empire cassette

The nature of this release begs the question, “Which Lush do you prefer?” Being a fan of bands Malady and Mannequin, I was excited to hear that parts of each combined to form Pygmy Lush, the latest band in the northern Virginia musical lineage. Being that most of the members’ previous bands were “heavy” and “loud,” you could imagine my surprise the first time I saw them this year when they pulled out four acoustic guitars. The sixteen tracks on Bitter River are incredibly varied and mix up loud songs reminiscent of

past projects like a cleanedup Mannequin along with quieter songs that thankfully stray away from the hackneyed “alt-country” genre but instead create some really nice, original melodies. The cassette format works very well for this release as it “flows” well to the point where listening to this record as separate songs doesn’t seem like an option anymore. But again, the record draws a line in the sand whereas it’s only natural for the listener to prefer one Lush to the other: the loud Lush or the quiet Lush. The quieter side seems to dominate this release more, just as a heads up. My favorite part about Malady was Chris Taylor’s vocals and vocal patterns.

His voice strained in just the right places and exploded into well-pitched snarls. In Lush, Chris’ voice shines further on the quieter songs and explores a range beyond screaming to the point of no return. It would be pretty easy to throw around a bunch of names to compare this beast to, but the music speaks for itself. If you are familiar with the members’ previous bands and influences, you should know what to expect and a little more. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, I’d suggest that it’s worth your while to purchase the tape or wait for its release on CD and LP. -Jeff Byers

SWORDPLAY

Cellars and Attics Concise Records

Richmond’s own Swordplay, known to friends as Isaac Ramsey, takes listeners through a trip of the South’s grimiest city on his latest album, Cellars and Attics. This disc is thirteen tracks of truth spun together into a lyrical tapestry of crack addicts and world war in between lessons of love, life, and letting go. Swordplay is loved for his ability to let his rhymes flow fast and furious but with a sort of harmony that makes it all seem like a beautiful disaster. The gritty back beats and sometimes dark, often open-minded, and always on-target vocals come off as a perfect artist’s render-

ing of Richmond. Swordplay wields a vocabulary on par with an Ivy League English major that buries hilt deep in the ears of the listeners. Just by listening in, you’re liable to escape the experience a little bit smarter. Any longtime Swordplay fans will appreciate the classic track “Said Headies” being included on the new album, and at the same time will be opened up to twelve new favorites. Swordplay shows off shades of sorrow and soul with such heart that suggests he is a poet before performer.

Cellars and Attics dropped June 10 from Concice Records. Following the records release Swordplay will be representing Richmond up and down the East Coast

on the “Possibly Homeless Tour” which kicked off here at home on June 10 at the Camel. -Ryan Brosmer TULSA DRONE

Songs From A Mean Season The Perpetual Motion Machine

Tulsa Drone might easily be the best kept secret in Richmond’s music scene. Their beautiful music offers a journey that feels both powerful and passionate, while avoiding many pitfalls that can come from bands playing predominantly instrumental music. Although at times reminiscent of everyone from Neurosis to The Six Parts Seven, Tulsa Drone never seems like just a copycat of better known groups. Instead, they dabble in the

same notions without biting directly. This band should be drawing a lot more attention than it appears they have thus far, so expect to hear more from them in the near future… people have to catch on soon enough. -Sean Patrick Rhorer VARIOUS

Labrador 100: A Complete History Of Popular Music Labrador

When a label dubs their 100th release something as bold as A Complete History Of Popular Music it’s hard not to take notice. With four CDs worth of music contained in this box set, listeners are treated to a retrospective glance at the label’s first 99 releases. Ranging from danceable electronic songs

to mellow, acoustic tunes, Labrador have carved a niche within Swedish pop unlike any other label. Featuring music from such notable acts as The Acid House Kings and The Radio Dept, this box set also presents a number of lesser known musicians just as deserving (if not more so) of the spotlight: Permer with their New Order-like electro-pop goodness, the ‘60s style folk of Aerospace, and Suburban Kids With Biblical Names who perform energetic indie rock that would give Of Montreal or Matt Pond PA a run for their money. Honestly, Labrador put their music where their mouth is, earning the right, in jest, to claim these songs to be among the best in pop music… it’s a hard claim to dispute. -Sean Patrick Rhorer 45

even more for experiencing live at Cous Cous....

FIGHT THE BIG BULL / LUCHE LA GRANDE BULL Self Titled Self Rele a sed

Soulful, but not R&B…not a jazz band, but with its freedom…always a pulse, but not always a beat... surprising, yet familiar...not a jam band, but with its passion...virtuosic, but not for show...to the point, but not without enjoying a good story...not New Orleans, yet with its seasonings...big sounds, but a small band...unspoken beat poetry...short (32 minutes), yet satisfying...enjoyable on CD, yet meant 46

With its self-titled debut CD, Fight the Big Bull succeeds in capturing in the studio much of the edge of a live performance. The four selections—all composed, arranged, and produced by Patchwork Collective co-founder and guitarist Matt White—make superb use of the his talents and those of fellow band members Adrian Sandi (clarinet), J.C. Kuhl (tenor saxophone), Bob Miller (trumpet), Bryan Hooten, Reggie Pace (trombone), Cameron Ralston (bass), Pinson Chanselle (drums), and Brian Jones (percussion). The four tracks are titled “Dying Will Be Easy,” “November 25th,” “Grizzly Bear,” and “In Jarama Valley”—not that this information would clue you in as

to the nature of the music associated with it. But it’s fun to guess (at least until you ask the composer). Is Jarama associated with the Spanish Civil War? Is November 25th related to the leap-day of the Gregorian calendar? JFK’s burial? The U.N.’s International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women? The date in 1867 on which Sweden’s Alfred Nobel patented dynamite? No? These are burning questions to savor among friends, but let the music guide you instead.

fits well into the tradition of Ellington and Mingus, along with modern and/or electronic composers who sought to shape their ensembles into one larger instrument that was as unique as the sum of its members could possibly be. Happily, having once posed the sonic question within a given tune, Fight the Big Bull is as good at the bigger challenge of providing its sonic answer—or the satisfaction of an even deeper sonic question than the one first offered.

This listener perceives an agenda of the band and its resident composer to be the creation of sonic environments that are at once aurally disorienting and curiously delightful. This

Full disclosure: nearly the entire band has been associated with VCU as a student, alumnus, and/or faculty member. Several of them have studied with Antonio García, the Director of Jazz Studies at Virginia Commonwealth University and a performer, composer, and author. Visit his web site at <www. garciamusic.com>.

Matt White has found his voice in both his instrument and his colleagues by presenting the band with rich musical possibilities, and each person responds in kind. The CD, recorded and mixed by Lance Koehler at Minimum Wage Studios, is well worth your listen and will soon be available at <www.Fightthebigbull.com> for $10 (including shipping). Or pick it up at the band’s steady gig every other Wednesday at 10 p.m. at Cous Cous (900 Franklin in the Fan, no cover, ages 21 and up, 358-0868). -Antonio García

THE SEASIDE MIXTAPE Ar tist 01 Cat Power / Myra Lee 02 Björk 0 3 Cornelius 0 4 Thrice 05 Islands 06 The Shins 07 Genesis 08 The Decemberists 09 Beulah 10 Neutral Milk Hotel 11 Beach Boys 12 The Detroit Cobras 13 Murder City Devils 14 Midtown 15 Modest Mouse 16 Jeff Buckley 17 Adventure Time 18 Etta James 19 The Shins 20 Jets to Brazil 21 Phil Phillips & the Twilights

“To myself I am only a child playing on the beach, while vast oceans of truth lie undiscovered before me.” –Isaac Newton

Track

“Sea of Love” “Oceania” (Remix) [Ft. Kelis] “Drop” “Atlantic” “ Tsuxiit” “Girl Sailor” “Home By The Sea” “Oceanside” “Calm go the Wild Seas” “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea” “Wipeout” “Hey Sailor” “Hey Sailor” “Empty Like the Ocean” “Ocean Breathes Salty” “Nightmares By The Sea” “ The Age of Aquariums” “How Deep is the Ocean” “Sea Legs” “Sea Anemone” “Sea Of Love”

Album Covers Record Oceania Single Matador at Fif teen CD1 Vheissu Return to the Sea Wincing The Night Away Genesis 5 Songs [EP] When Your Heartstrings Break In the Aeroplane Over the Sea Collection Life, Love and Leaving Empty Bottles, Broken Hearts Forget What You Know Good News For People Who Love Bad News Sketches for my Sweetheart the Drunk Dreams of Water Themes Mystery Lady: Songs of Billie Holiday Wincing The Night Away Orange Rhyming Dictionary Original Recording Unknown

Time 2 :18 2 : 57 4:53 4:00 4 : 05 3:44 5 : 07 3 : 29 3 : 01 3 : 21 2:40 2 : 26 2 : 06 4 : 27 3 : 49 3:53 2 : 55 4 : 20 5 : 22 5 : 20 3:45

Summer is almost here and I can’t wait to go sit by the ocean. I made this mix to tide me over until I can feel the salty air in my hair and the warm sand under my feet while I burn in the sun. If you have any suggestions for a mix tape topic let me know. - Lauren Vincelli – lauren.vincelli @ yahoo.com

PHARR FROM FORGOTTEN

A Richmond master of black crime fiction is rescued from obscurity By Don Har r ison

On C - Sp a n no t t o o lo ng a go, Af r ic a n- Am e r ic a n s c ho la r C o r ne l We s t w a s a s k e d by a c a lle r if he ha d r e ad anyt hing by t he a u t ho r Ro b e r t D e a n e P ha r r. “ N e v e r he a r d o f him , ” We s t a d m i t t e d . W he n info r m e d t ha t P ha r r w a s the writer of some t e r r if ic nov e ls, s uc h a s T he B o o k o f N um b e r s a nd G i v e a d a m n B r o w n, t he p r o m ine nt P r inc e t o n p r o f es s or c huc k led a pp r e c ia t i v e ly. “ Gi v e a d a m n B r o w n? I lik e t ha t . I ’ ll ha v e t o c he c k t ha t b r o t he r o ut . ” Fo r 3 0 ye a r s, Ro b e r t D e a ne P ha r r ha s b e e n unk no w n t o a ll but a ha nd f ul o f c r im e f ic t io n e nt h us ia s t s. Although he wr ote a n a c c la im e d f ir s t nov e l, r e le a s e d in 1 9 6 9 w he n he w a s 5 3 , m o s t o f t he Vir g inia - b o r n w r it e r ’ s w o r k r emained obscur e a n d o ut o f p r i nt unt il r e c e n t ly, w he n b o t h a U ni v e r s it y p ublis h e r a nd a m a jo r p ublis hi ng house r e printed his t hr e e m o s t p r o m ine nt b o o k s. If he is r e m em b e r e d a t a ll, it ’ s fo r his f ir s t nov e l, T he B o o k o f N um b e r s. To a ll w ho e nc ount er it , Number s is a s t unning e ns e m ble p ie c e t ha t c a s t s a n o b s e r v a nt eye o n t he Af r ic a n- Am e r i c a n underwor ld, set in a p la c e (“ t he Wa r d ” ) t ha t is a t hinly v e ile d R ic hm o nd o f t he 1 9 3 0 s. Re p ublis he d in 2 0 0 2 by t he U ni ver s it y Pr es s o f Vir g inia , it d e t a ils t he r is e o f t w o a m b it io us num b e r s r unne r s (D a v e and B lue boy) and t he c it iz e ns o f t he Wa r d w it h w ho m t hey d o bus ine s s, a r g ue , s o c ia liz e a nd t a ng le. Les s pr ecis ely, it ’ s a b o ut t he hu s t le a nd bus t le o f Se c o nd St r e e t , o nc e t he hub o f bla c k lif e in R ic hmond. Eloquent a n d c o l lo q uia l in e q ua l p a r t s, t he nov e l ha s s h a r p ly r e nd e r e d c ha r a c t e r s, q uo t a ble wor dplay, and a p a l p a ble s e n s e o f t im e a nd p la c e . T he s o n o f a m inis t e r f a t he r a nd a s c ho o lt e a c he r m o t he r, t he R ic hm o nd - b o r n P har r s hunned his r e la t i v e ly m id d le c la s s r o o t s a f t e r g r a d ua t ing f r o m Vi r g inia U nio n, s up p o r t ing himself for over 30 48

ye a r s a s a tr av eling w aiter — t he fo r m e r v o c a t io n o f D a v e ,

s q ua r e t a ble a t B o o k e r ’ s H o t e l in t he he a r t o f t he Wa r d . I t ’ s le s s a no ir piece t han a s ly s a-

Blue b oy and other pr ota gonis t s.

lut e t o e nt r e p r e ne ur s hip a nd t he a d v a nt a ge s o f t e a m w o r k . As Wa s hing t o n Pos t B ook Wor ld e d it o r J a b a r i As im w r it e s in t he a f t e r w o r d t o t he U ni v e r s it y P r e s s e d it io n of the book, “Dave

He a ppar ently had a pr oble m w it h a lc o ho l t hr o ug ho ut his l if e

and B lue b oy k no w t he ir s uc c e s s s t e m s f r o m t he ir m a s t e r y o f t he c o m p lex s cience of econom-

a nd suf fer ed m or e than one ne r v o us b r e a k d o w n. W hile w o r k -

ic s … o ne m us t f ind a ne e d a nd f ill it . ” T he w o r k is a ls o a ha ndy ho w - t o guide for r unning a

ing a temp shift at the Colu m b ia Fa c ult y C lub in N e w Yo r k , t he

s uc c e s s f ul num b e r s r a c k e t .

a ging amateur showed T he B o o k o f N um b e r s t o a n Eng l is h pr ofessor, w ho w as amazed e no ug h t o s ho p t h e m e t i c u lo us ly

Sa d ly, P ha r r d id n’ t fo llo w up o n t he s uc c e s s o f T he B o o k o f N um b e r s, a nd his lat er of f er -

wor ded manuscript ar ound. I t w a s p ublis he d t o g r e a t a c c la im

ing s w e r e m o r e e m b it t e r e d a nd im p r e s s io nis t ic . T he int e ns e , 6 0 0 - p a ge S. R . O. , av aila ble on

thr ee ye ar s later. “In Robe r t D e a ne P ha r r ’ s r ic h n e w nov e l , ”

N o r t o n’ s O ld Sc ho o l B o o k s im p r int , ha s b e e n c a lle d a bla c k v e r s io n o f H uber t Selby Jr.’s Last

Ne ws we ek ex c laim ed, “the he r o s t r i v e s fo r t he illus io n o f

Ex it t o B r o o k ly n fo r it s unr e le nt ing, r a nt ing lo o k a t N e w Yo r k ’ s d r ug c ult ur e . Not for t he s quea-

inde pendence w hile actually b e c o m ing t o t a lly d e p e n d e nt o n

mis h, r e v ie w e r s a t t he t im e a d m it t e d t hey c o uld n’ t f inis h it , w hile t o d ay it is hailed by s ome

other s.” T he ma g azine co m p a r e d P ha r r t o a c c la im e d A- lis t

as a m a s t e r p ie c e . 1 9 7 8 ’ s G i v e a d a m n B r o w n, r e is s ue d r e c e nt ly by N o r t o n, is a r elat i vely light

a utho r s like Jose ph Heller a nd B e r na r d M a la m ud .

bla c k c o m e dy (in e v e r y s e ns e o f t he w o r d ) a b o ut a r u r a l la d ’ s r is e t o t he top of the Har lem und e r w o r ld , p e o p le d w it h c h a r a c t e r s lik e B a by D o ll a nd Fox y L a dy. Sla p d a s h and s ur r ealis t ic ,

T her e is ver y little violenc e o r m e na c e in N um b e r s, w hic h

t his c y nic a l f a ble b e g s fo r a Sp ik e L e e o r Q ue nt in Ta r a nt ino c i ne m a t ic int e r pr etation.

w a s ma de into a blax ploitat io n f ilm in t he ‘ 7 0 ’ s. I ns t e a d o f knife fights and gunplay, t he r e is a la c o nic exub e r a nc e , a

Sa d ly, t ha t w a s t he e nd . T he m a n d ie d , s t il l c ha s ing t he t r a v e ling lif e , in 1 9 8 9 . T he Soul M ur der

te nd e r e v er yday quality w he r e p e o p le t a lk o ut lo ud t o he a r

C a s e a nd o t he r s in his c a no n s t ill r e m a in o ut o f p r int , but w it h Ro b e r t Deane Phar r’s most

themselves think. T his com m unit y — Wa r d num b e r s r unne r s,

pr o m ine nt w o r d s b a c k o n t he s he lf fo r r e - d is c ov e r y, t he r e ’ s no ex c us e fo r r eader s — pr of es -

their mistr esses, the stude n t s a nd f a c ult y a t t he lo c a l bla c k

s o r s o f Af r ic a n - Am e r ic a n s t ud ie s a s w e ll e v e r y b o dy e ls e — no t t o c he c k t his br ot her out .

colle ge, the townsfolk — s p e nd s e nt ir e c ha p t e r s in d ulg i ng in existential de bate on sub je c t s r a ng ing f r o m a c a d e m ia a n d

D o n H a r r is o n is a R ic hm o nd - b a s e d f r e e la nc e w r it e r, a nd t he c o - fo und e r o f

ca pitalism to love, r acism a nd t he la w, a ll s e t a r o und a huge

s a v e r ic hm o nd . c o m . 49

PART ONE OF TW O

by Cesca Janece Waterfield

said, Iif this food is any sign, well, yes it would.” He said his friend wor ked Clarke tells me the hostess is coming to four days on, three days off on a boat the wedding. We’re at the Video King and for a rich family. I said, “Oh, my, so far I pretend I don’t hear him over the movie. I away. That’s ver y brave.” study the new releases. When we’re picking out candy by the register, he reaches for my When the tiramisu–gelato cheesecake hand that’s holding the Twizzler s. He says, ar rived, he said that she (Oh, so the “You’re going to love her.” I sor t of yawn friend is a she…) was somewhere a sweet smile and take back the Twizzler on the Mediter ranean. She had sent hand. him a postcard, the hostess originally from Fayetteville. He pulled it from his Clar ke met the hostess in high school when billfold. It had a picture of a beach he worked at Mize’s Archery & Taxider my tucked away in rocks, shaded by out by the strip mall. She used to come in palms. Hanging in the azure sky was with her daddy and they would do target the word, Italia. practice. She was some kind of county champion with bow and arrow. But then, That was two year s ago this month. Cumber land County is filled with wild tur key. I thought Clar ke had seen the last of Draw, aim, hold, release. azure skies. Clarke talked about her on our second date. He said he had a friend who was in Italy and wouldn’t that be the coolest. We were at Olive Garden and I gestured with my for k, I 50

On the way home from Video King, we go to the Dair y Freeze drive-through. It’s Betty Elliott’s voice in the speaker, “How can I help you would you like

to tr y our double combo today for four eighty-eight?” I lean over to tell my order to the cone. I am scootched right next to Clar ke, the long gear shift of the Bronco neatly between my sandals. After Clar ke pulls the little cardboard tray from the window, we par k so that we can be seen enjoying our milkshakes. “So what does Shayna do these days?” I ask Clar ke between sips of strawber r y. “Other than shoot at tur keys?” A whistle from the Silver Palm blows from the Amtrak station. “Still doing that wor k for boater s?” “Yeah. Still doing stewardess wor k.” “How did she get into that, anyway?” I ask, a bit of hair wrapped around my finger. “It was accident. She was waiting tables in Tallahassee and some business guy asked her to fill-in for somebody on his staff.” Clar ke sucks the last bit of his chocolate. The straw makes that sound sliding in and out of the cup top. I want to know more, but just like that! End of discussion! So I wait a minute or so and say, “Does she just follow rich people around?” “No, Bethaline. She gets jobs mostly through the private marina but sometimes those rich folks have a plane they need somebody to make drinks for their friends on.” Clar ke’s voice is telling me he is tired of the subject. “Like when they fly to Hilton Head or something, you know?” He throws his cup in the floorboard, tur ns the key in the ignition, and pats

my knee under neath my skir t. “You’ll under stand.” I don’t think so. On the way home, he adds absentmindedly, “And she don’t hunt.” A new song on the radio begins. “It’s more for spor t, I think.” Well, now I’ve heard it all. Archery for fun. The next night Clarke tells me that the hostess is coming into town, that she can’t wait to meet me. We’re at the Food Lion loading up for the July 4th cookout. I guess he wants me to buy something special. I look down into the car t. Hot dogs, hamburger meat, sloppy Joe sauce, buns, boxed pasta salad mix, Coor s Light, Cheerwine, etcetera. I think about this. What does a hostessfor-hire eat? Clar ke has always had some photos of her left casually in the old military trunk he keeps locked under the bed. In the pictures I’d seen, not that I went out of my way to look at them or anything, she looks like she doesn’t eat anything at all. I say, “She looks like she doesn’t eat anything at all,” but I drop another package of Ballpark Franks in. “And we’ll have plenty of leftovers from the cookout.”

“No, she only eats vegetables.” Clar ke says.

Shayna. What countr y is that name from?

So she’s one of them. I’d seen them at Golden Cor ral, picking through the collards, tur ning down their noses at the roast. They looked pale.

I walk over to the phone nook where our engagement photo, the one the paper ran, sits framed. I wonder how a gir l could live like that – with no mind toward tomor row or a man to mar r y.

That night I watch TV. Clarke stops abr uptly in the living room. What is so interesting to him on the E! Channel, I wonder. We watch the screen as big boats move across turquoise water, and then lower little boats onto the water from the side. The people step down into those boats and suddenly they’re at a row of old buildings, everybody grinning. Then walking through tiny shops, now they are eating in front of a sunset, and then a toast, instantly it’s night, some are dancing. I am thinking how fast things can go when Clar ke says, “So that’s Ibiza.” I know then. That’s where she is flying in from, the hostess-with-the-mostess. July 4th is the usual. Somebody brings a roast pig. There are three kegs, four cases of beer, cor n liquor and more food than could feed two ar mies. All I can think about is the one advancing west from Ibiza. I realize that this time tomorrow, Clar ke will be waiting at the Fayetteville Airpor t, and I will be waiting at home for them, Clarke and the hostess, gir l-gonegypsy, redneck who went jet set. The next afternoon, an hour before the plane is supposed to land, Clarke gives me a kiss, keys in hand, says “I can’t wait to see my gir ls hanging out together.” Today it’s the Silver Meteor train I hear. “Shayna is going to love you.” After he leaves, I watch E! Channel for a little while, until they cut to Hungary.

It seems forever I’ve been waiting on those postcards to stop showing up. Last summer came two in one month -- glossy pictures of Myr tle Beach. Before I lost them somewhere there in the post office, I read she was wor king as a nanny for the season. Why bother Clar ke with such? Myr tle Beach is only two hour s south. I wonder if anyone could ever war m up to a gir l so wrapped up in her self, that she won’t settle down and leave me alone. I envision Clar ke looking across the wide front seat of the Bronco past the spot where I usually sit up close. When he does, he sees a woman who’s fished with his brother s, but never gone shopping with his mama. A gir l who’s gotten dr unk with him at a Hank Jr. show, but never slow-danced with him in the living room. What man could see anything special in a woman who’s ridden three-wheeler s with him at Guilford Mountain but not lay under him at Cherokee Lake? (Oh, no, had they been to Cherokee Lake?) As I practice my smile in the reflection of

the microwave, I hear Clar ke in the hallway, using his happy voice. Before I can assume a relaxed way to stand, they are in the door. She seems a little ner vous. Clar ke is anything but. He smiles wide, he says, “Shayna, this is Bethaline.” He looks between the two of us, big grin on his face. “Bethaline, Shayna.” She comes at me: “So nice to meet you, Bethaline!” She hugs me tight. Well, I hug back. There is lots of polite talk but I’m waiting. Finally, she comes up; she holds my left hand with the thumb and index finger of her right. “Bella,” she says softly, almost to her self. Then she seems ner vous again and says in a hushed breath, “Be-au-tiful.” Even though I see she has a little tattoo on her wrist bone, I smile. Then she lets go, tur ns, and says loudly, “I didn’t know you had it in you, Weber!” She calls Clar ke by his last name. She slaps his raised hand like she’s a guy drinking a beer somewhere, not a hostess and a guest in our home. She didn’t even look long enough to notice the Empire cut or the Empress setting. Does she even hint around about how many karats? She does not. I get up and make us drinks, three Midori Sour s. Clarke and Shayna talk about Cumber land County High School Class of 94 and who ended up where. In the kitchen I say a little prayer that cable doesn’t go out again so I’ll have something to do while they blab. I bring in a platter of cor n chips sur rounding a bowl of hot cheese dip. Shayna looks up brightly and gestures for me to sit down. Well, it’s my home, after all. “So Bethaline, so when is the big day?” She seems to make a point to tur n to me. I answer, but I hope she doesn’t think she’s going to be in the wedding. I don’t want a boat hostess for a bridesmaid. Bad enough she’ll be standing there for all the good people of Liber ty Baptist Church to see.

BE LI K E J o n n y Z! ! by Andrew Clar ke

I keep telling myself it’s time to find the good in all of this.... and for once I am right. While we all are cr ushed to have lost such a wonderful, caring friend in Jonny Z., we have also been reunited, refreshed, and reminded of how we should live in his passing. In the single act of his death Jonny tur ned the entire city upside down, and I have watched old friends and new friends alike put the pieces back together forming an even stronger base. Never forget that Jonny put all other s before himself. Never forget Jonny and all of the good times we all shared. Never forget to tell the stories of how Jonny affected your life, and never forget to smile when you think about him. For me it happened at 821 Café (please pardon the food ser vice anecdote, but you’ve got to go with what you know). I was making a “to go” salad, and when I reached inside of the refrigerator there were no salad dressing cups filled. Instead of my usual response of “ God damnit!” I smiled because Jonny was the only person at 821 who ever filled up the “to go” dressings, and I knew he was laughing his ass of at me. Preser ve the memor y of Jonny, he was the greatest friend that many of us ever had. Car r y him with you always... The same train tracks were he was found run behind our house on the southside, and ever y time the train comes by I tell my son that the whistle is his uncle Jonny letting ever y one know he is all right and he loves them..... we love you Jonny.

On Monday, July 2nd from 6pm-9pm there will be an opening reception showcasing the ar twork of Jonny Z at 821 Cafe located at 821 West Cary St. Richmond, VA. There will be a week long silent auction with proceeds going to an organization (tba) Jonny was affiliated with. Jonny’s ar twork will be up the entire month until Sunday, August 5th. For more information call 821 Cafe at (804) 649-1042. Long Live Jonny Z! BUT BEFORE THAT... Municipal Waste, Tigershark, and Pink Razors will play a benefit show with proceeds going to Jonny Z’s family on June 30th star ting at 9pm at The Bike Lot (if you don’t know where that is you need to ask somebody) directly after C.L.I.T. fest 07.

R.I.P.JONATHAN ZANIN 1980-2007 Images cour tesy of friends and loved ones of Jonny Z. Ar twork by Jonny Z

DEATH RATTLE OF THE MARGINALIZED C ANDIDATES By Tyler Bass

In the manner of Pat Paulsen and Porky Pig’s secret love child, presidential candidate and Texas Representative Ron Paul announced from his podium that, hey, maybe we weren’t attacked on September 11th because we were rich or free. At that, the rest of the field and the audience at the South Carolina Republican debate was floored. That instant topped the YouTube News & Politics Most Viewed for weeks on end. But after all, up until that point, insanity had been leaking in from the ceiling and windows, and everyone had drowned. Former Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney had just suggested doubling the size of Guantanamo Bay prison. Colorado Representative Tom Tancredo, former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee, and Kansas Senator Mike Huckabee had asserted that evolution was nonsense. Everyone except Paul and John McCain had said that waterboarding was acceptable, McCain unable to shrug it off perhaps because the Vietcong had crushed his shoulder blade with the butt of a rifle. In a deft display of his knowledge of Arabic, former Wisconsin Governor Tommy Thompson had offered his projections for “the al-Maliki” government.

Giuliani’s immediate, hysterical response to Paul was, “As someone who lived through the attack of September 11th, that we invited the attack because we were attacking Iraq. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before, and I’ve heard some pretty absurd explanations for September 11th.” Not to get off the subject, but, my publisher wrote to me this week, and asked me what I thought of revisionist historians. Mr. Harris, they are delusionally self-serving, and that includes all of those 9/11 inside job wackos who think that the Feds not only knew about, but executed the attacks. (According to some polls, that’s been approximately 1/3 of Democrats nationwide.) Holy crap. That’s insane, untenable, uncorroborated. At best, it is using flimsy and unsubstantiated political means for what are probably desirable political ends: namely, to point out to the common man that Bush was lying his Massuchasetts ass off about the inspirations for a major terrorist attack. The commander-in-chief’s own conspiracy theories have inspired such a general, irrational fear in the populace that, to this day, Fox News can still be spotted collecting more than a cent of advertising, floating an up-to-the-minute terrorist alert color. If Giuliani had had even a toe to stand on, it was that some of Paul’s schizoid, Infowars-washed supporters do buy the 9/11 inside job lies. But the truth is, by now, those delusions are slightly less harmful to the well-being of millions than the sort of homicidal, jingoistic tripe warmongers preach.

Parroting that the terrorists went after us for our freedom has been like assuming that a postal employee shot up the office, not because he had just been fired, but because he hated stamps. In an era where money talks and the head of the Federal Elections Committee has pronounced any team without $100 million by January 2007 dead on its feet, it is sad that the candidates destined fastest for the graveyard are often the ones who can speak the pure, unvarnished truth. Perot did it with his slick charts, Nader with his Kerry and Bush debating puppets, Sharpton with his smooth rhymes; all looked forward to the golf course (or, in Nader’s case, the commune) early according to conventional, if not actual, wisdom. Paul has proven himself a serious policy analyst trying to make people think, and that is why he is a real shot in the dark. He has good company on the other side of aisle.

Take an exchange that took place in the April 27 Democratic Debate, which starred among others handsome check-collecting dynamo Barack Obama and nursing home hopeful and Alaskan Senator Mike Gravel. In response to Rep. Dennis Kucinich’s concerns that Obama was making “provocative” statements toward war with Iran, the Illinois Senator retorted, “I think it is important for us to also recognize that if we have nuclear proliferators around the world that potentially can place a nuclear weapon into the hands of terrorists, that is a profound security threat for America and one that we have to take seriously.” Gravel would fire back a crucial note. “Who is the greatest violator of the Non-Proliferation Treaty? The United States of America. We signed a pledge that we would begin to disarm, and we’re not doing it.” Well, there you had it. Considering that the military has way more than enough nukes to bake humanity in general, I was shocked to see that Gravel’s barking such a pertinent point between hits of oxygen made so few waves. How could a president demand someone else hold to a treaty he could not, considering that his own constitution mandated he throw down, too? Obama has cut his teeth on foreign relations

examining a risky nuke material dispersion that occurred following the Soviet administration’s fall. Maybe I have been begging for a mushroom cloud speculating, but the Iranian situation smelled different. Why the terrorists attacked: national subsidization for Israel, and thousands of troops stationed in Saudi Arabia. Know why I seem more knowledgeable than that war-mongering tool Giuliani on why Bin Laden attacked “us”? Because that’s exactly why Osama Bin Laden fucking said he did it. End of story. Sheesh. This stuff should be common sense. If you do want to defeat an enemy of any kind, political, industrial, or military, you have to know them – and know them as well as a lover or spouse. What ever happened to that sinister adage, keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Any of the politicians who have supported for, or even retrospectively excused, authorization for the war in Iraq prove 59

themselves mind-bogglingly inadequate. According to a recent CBS/New York Times poll, six in ten Americans believe that going in in the first place was a mistake. No doubt the real prognosticators like Paul, Gravel and Kucinich are sick of having been right from the beginning on the most important issue, and then thrown to the bottom of the pile after being proven right. Ron Paul is the first candidate in a long, long time I can really dig. In what has felt like to me a dystopian era where the supposedly limited-government conservatives were vicious and intrusive enough to want to jail people for even growing or smoking marijuana, this guy stepped into the race, an old school, Goldwater Republican and a socially conservative and reserved Libertarian. In the places where the Democrats would agree with him, he would still be fairly enticing if he had a shot in hell. The Paul campaign is lacking in the 60

authoritarian ambition to shove any of his personal differences down libertine throats. It is just that all of those hefty gay marriage, gay adoption, abortion, and miscellaneous social issues would be tossed back onto the state governments for independent resolution. It smells like risky territory to some, but it is probably the only way to latch down the Evangelical conquest instinct abroad. If everyone thinks you are a douche, chances are you are indeed. But this concept has an all-important flipside, especially in the superficial social realms of high school and the average voter’s judgment systems: if everyone thinks you are just the cat’s pajamas for differing reasons, the chances are just as good you are a gangster of fantastic proportions. The latter personality is an unprincipled tool, your run-of-the-mill politician. Mike Gravel filibustered for weeks in the seventies to successfully stop the draft. Kucinich continued his facile, limping 2004 campaign persistently all the way into Delaware espousing his Department of Peace. Looking at Paul’s voting record, it is difficult to imagine him selling the American people down the river, or screw them in an epic way like Bush. Because truly loving someone means recognizing and respecting their complexity, their differences with you. Idealizing

politicians is creepy, and that’s the reason a top tier this early on is frightening, and the terminal are so adorable. I got on the phone with a Paul campaign spokesman, Jesse Benton, to listen to the wise wackdom. Tyler S. Bass [The Paul Presidency] would be a much lower tax burden on the American people. I’ve heard him say he would get rid of the DEA, the IRS [as well as, the Departments of Energy, Education, and Homeland Security]. What sort of other programs on the federal basis could we expect to see cut on a federal basis if Ron Paul becomes president? Jesse Benton You know, Ron’s stood the record before saying he’s never really seen a budget that he doesn’t think could be cut. But where he would really start is, he would look at our total federal outlay. He would look at probably about $3 trillion coming up this year. Nearly a trillion of that $3 trillion is going to go to our overseas expenditures, whether it be for wars or

subsidizing security of other nations, foreign aid. We have military bases in 130 countries around the globe, massive intelligence. We’d do away with things like that. Ron, he’d end the war in Iraq. He would withdraw troops from places like South Korea. He would stop policing the world, and stop supporting a foreign policy that we can’t manage and we can’t afford. We would return to a much more traditional, constitutional foreign policy that better fits the vision of the founders where we will be friends with the world, where we trade with the world, but we wouldn’t enter into entangling alliances and engagements. We wouldn’t try to police the world, we wouldn’t try to tell the rest of the world what to do because if you just look at – any time that we’re engaged in entangling foreign alliances, even our best intentions often create conditions where we have unintended negative consequences. And that’s where you can see, we take that trillion dollars in spending right now – he thinks we can slash that almost in half right away – and take the rest of that money and return it to the American people, and support lower taxes, and begin to use some of that money to wean Americans off from some of the burgeoning welfare state. TSB Do you see a difference between nationalism and patriotism? JB You know, I can only talk about that from my perspective. I couldn’t talk about how Ron feels about that. I’m going to have to pass on that question, unless you want my two cents. TSB Well, yeah. I’ll take your two cents. Why not? JB Basically, patriotism means to me that you love your country. American patriotism means that you think that America is really

something special, and that America is really what’s for you, and you want to do things in an American way. Nationalism means that you think that your way is the only way that’s acceptable for other people, and you would support to try to impose your will and the American way of doing things on other people. So I think that I consider myself a patriot, and I think Ron would, too. The neoconservatives were like vapid, rationalizing children when it came to examining why “they” hate us. People like Giuliani have kept playing that 9/11 card, and by that token, on the worst parts of the American psyche. The brain-dead notion that Giuliani tried to sell like a desperate vacuum salesman was that damning foreign policy is damning yourself. But the American people are not the policy. On and on for years, that neoconservative ilk has been trying to publicly rob those who questioned the status quo of their very patriotism, to pull from their arms a treasured Americanism, which their birth and education itself granted, if they dared not wrap themselves in the flag and cheer when cluster bombs tossed blood from the bodies of children into the mud. Contemporary polls of the Middle East, such as those conducted by Steven Kull at the University of Maryland, point out to today what is common sense abroad. A fat majority of the people in Egypt, Morocco, Indonesia, and Pakistan think that the U.S. military should get out of Muslim countries, and even that the American leaders’ intentions are to divide Islam itself. Freedom has essentially become synonymous with leisure in this country, and, as we all know, leisure is not free. But it is also not liberty. Ty l er Bas s l i k es l ong w al k s on the beac h a n d q u i e t t i me . -p u b .

The Reductivist’s Guide To Cannes

Everything You Need To Know About Attending The World’s Most Glamorous Film Festival In Five Easy Steps By Adam Sledd 1. Cannes is 90% industr y convention and 10% insane red-car pet star-humping. Not literally, of cour se, although watching the famous go at it right in front of the theater would at least be more enter taining. But, for the most par t, there are only a few major differences between the Cannes fest and, say, a real estate convention: the steady stream of film screenings (obviously), the main building is actually on the beachfront, and ever y couple hour s a massive crowd gather s to watch people in fancy clothes walk up a red-car peted stairway. Ever ything else is schmoozing at cocktail par ties and passing out promotional flyer s. And for shor t film cor ner par ticipants, this also means that most ever yone is too busy herding people into their own screenings to bother watching anyone else’s shor t film. 2. Forget about mingling with the star s. The only time Matt and I saw anyone famous was at the aforementioned premieres, and even then all they do is step out of the chauffeured car s, wave to the press, and go inside. Heady stuff indeed. The rest of the time they’re on yachts or in hotel suites doing publicity or off at a villa up the coast. Point being, unless you’re already impor tant or have a really good press credential (RVA magazine doesn’t cut it apparently), you will not find your self swapping war stories with George Clooney over freshly made sangria. Sor r y to bur st the bubble. 3. Bring nice shoes. Even though you can’t weasel into the super-exclusive par ties, you can still tr y and get into the semiexclusive watering holes. The official festival badge was good enough to gain entr y to any of the fancy hotel bar s, but I can’t count how many times we were tur ned away at the door of a club because one or more of our par ty wore sneaker s. Occasionally this led to the door man pointing at the offender’s feet and uttering a plaintive, “No.” More likely was the almost apologetic, “Sor r y; too spor ty”—as if we’d clear ly just come from a pick-up basketball game. Even better than simply wearing nice shoes is spor ting a tux ever y night, which also gives you the extremely long-shot chance of swiping a last-minute film premiere ticket.

AD A M MA TT

4. American greed r ules, even in France. One of the festival’s great amenities is the row of tents along the beach ser ving as the meeting grounds for two dozen plus countries represented at Cannes. Each tent, or pavilion, comes equipped with bar s, flat-screen televisions, inter net access, and more. The idea is that each countr y’s natives (as well as outsider s) will gather there to networ k in utter ly ideal conditions—sun, sand, and drink. There’s only one countr y in the bunch that charges for admission to its tent: America. Not only are we alone in our money-gr ubbing, but the lowest level “member ship” to the American pavilion r uns about $150. The high end is about $1,000. That Americans could be so brazenly capitalistic at an over seas ar ts event should have been shocking, but instead it was more like a bad joke that Matt and I had to repeat over and over again. So we became Cannes refugees, and spent most of our time at the British film tent. And you know what? The Brits were more than happy to welcome us with open ar ms, inter net access, and drink ser vice on the beach. 5. Happy hour is your best friend. Here’s the thing: except for house wines, drinks at Cannes are exceptionally expensive. A beer (the only choices being Heineken or Corona) costs roughly ten dollar s. A whiskey or tequila r uns from fifteen to twenty dollar s, and at several places any sor t of cocktail costs upwards of thir ty-five bucks. Therefore, your only shot at economical drinking lies in sniffing out the free booze at sponsored happy hour s. Thankfully the shor t film cor ner had its own happy hour, star ting at five. Even better, some of the national tents had their own free booze flowing just a little later. By day three of the fest we’d mastered the ar t of downing enough beer to schmooze with all comer s at the shor t film cor ner and then meander over to the Tur kish pavilion for more drinks and mingling until dinner. This, finally, is the stuff that separates Cannes from other film festivals: sipping Tur kish beer on the sand with foreign friends while lear ning new slang for “really, really dr unk.” I can’t wait to go back.

Adam Sledd and Matt West took their film Beer, Chocolate, or You to the 2007 Cannes Film Festival as one of 1,200 entries at the not-so-prestigious Shor t Film Cor ner.

DISPATCHES FROM CANNES: An Incredibly Brief Interview with ROB JOHNSON Rob Johnson’s Sometimes T he Smallest Places w a s o ne o f t h e b e t t e r s ho r t films that Matt or I w atc he d d ur ing o ur t im e a t C a nne s. H a iling f r o m C a n terbur y, England, Rob mad e t he t r e k t o C a n ne s w it h p a r t ne r in c r i m e L iz Per kins—and both wer e ve r y g r a c io us a b o ut my d r a g g in g t he m a r o un d in se a r c h of a dec ent danc e c lub. So he r e ’ s f i v e q ue s t io ns w it h a n int e r na t io na l filmma ker on the rise. Ada m Sl edd Wer e you satis f ie d w it h t he a ud ie nc e yo u w e r e a ble t o f ind fo r yo ur film ? Was it m or e or le s s t ha n yo u exp e c t e d ? Rob Jo hnson Not ex ac tly, but if e v e n if I ’ d t r ie d ha r d e r t he r e w as no t he a t e r to he r d people into. It w as im p o s s ible t o e v e n line up m a ny s cr e e ning s b e cause ther e wer e too many p e o p le t r y ing t o s ho w t he ir f ilm a nd no t t ha t m a ny scr eens. All in all it’s mor e a b o ut m e e t ing p e o p le t ha n ge t t ing s c r e e ning s a nyw ay. AS Ho w did the r eality of the f e s t i v a l c o m p a r e t o a ny no t io ns you m ig ht h a v e ha d going in?

I w o uld p r o b a bly j us t d o m o r e o f t he s a m e , unle s s I ha d a film in the of ficial s e le c t io n. I n w hic h c a s e I w o uld p r o b a bly d r ink e v e n m o r e . B ut t he Shor t Film C o r ne r is a g r e a t w ay t o m e e t p e o p le a nd ge t a c he a p a c c r edit at ion!

RJ It w as mor e of a big par t y t ha n a f ilm f e s t i v a l! E v e r yo ne f e lt t e r r ible a b o u t no t se e ing m or e film s, but t he w e a t he r a nd f r e e a lc o ho l is m uc h m o r e p le a s a nt tha n sitting in the c inema a ll d ay a nd nig ht .

AS W h a t k ind o f im p a c t d o yo u t hink t ha t t his s c r e e ning at the Shor t Film C o r ne r w ill ha v e a s yo u c o nt inue t o ge t yo ur f ilm o ut t o a udiences ?

AS Wha t w as the best par t o f t he exp e r ie nc e fo r yo u? C e r ta in ly, m eeting people I w o uld ne v e r o r d ina r ily m e e t . Wa t c hing t he s unr is e a t se ve n in the m or ning will d e f init e ly s t ay in my m ind fo r a lo ng t im e . St ill, getting the film seen by v ar io us p e o p le a nd no t ha v ing t he m r ip i t a p a r t w a s goo d for a c onfidenc e boos t . AS If you went bac k to Canne s w it h a no t he r f ilm , w ha t w o uld yo u d o d if f e r e nt ly the next tim e ar ound? 64

N o ne r e a lly, o t he r t ha n s t ic k ing t he lit t le SF C lo go o n f lye r s. T her e w er e mor e f ilm s p lay ing t he r e t ha n a nyo ne c o uld c o p e w it h, s o I d o n’ t know how muc h it he lp e d a nyo ne in t e r m s o f r e a lly f ind ing o r le a r ning a b out t heir audience. I t r e a lly is n’ t m uc h m o r e t ha n a m a r k e t w it ho ut m a ny buyer s. St ill, it ’ s been g r e a t f un a nd I ’ d go b a c k nex t ye a r … but w it h l e s s f lye r s !

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American Pastiche

B y Te d dy B la nk s

It’s no secret that the days of clearly defined genre pictures are long gone. Sure, American movies still operate within some vaguely defined categorization, but the dependably rigid stylization of the western, the film noir, or the war movie is rooted and remains in Hollywood’s early history. The endless send-ups and parodies of these classic genres haven’t stopped, and neither has our love of the rules of the movie game, of genre cliché. Hence, the proliferation of new mini-genre forms: the 70s exploitation flick, the 80s slasher film, the 90s buddy-cop movie. But these days the desire to postmodernize and reinvent usually quashes a genre’s chance for any kind of unadulterated tenure before it can even really get going. Earlier this spring, Quentin Tarantino and Rober t Rodriguez released Grindhouse , consisting of two exhilarating takes on their favorite exploitation genres from the 70s. All aspects of the drive-in double-feature are lovingly recreated, including the look of heavily scratched and warped film stock, a number of trailers for imaginary movies by guest directors like Rob Zombie and Eli Roth, and even a couple of strategically-placed “Reel Missing” title cards. Rodriguez’s Planet Terror is a George Romero-style zombie movie in which Texas townspeople are transformed into flesh-eating monsters by a biochemical weapon accidentally let loose by a scientist in a scuffle with Bruce Willis, an insane former military officer. Freddy Rodriguez is some kind of exper t gunslinger, and his girlfriend Rose McGowan is a go-go dancer who loses her leg, which gets replaced with a grenade launcher. Awesome. A friend of mine told me that he was going to skip Grindhouse, because even though he liked both directors, he couldn’t find anyone who could describe the movie in terms other than “fucking sweet” or “awesome,” and I’m not sure it can be done. Rodriguez’s contribution, at least, is extremely tense and cringe-inducing, but also a lot of fun. Tarantino’s film, Death Proof , is about a former stuntman played by Kur t Russell who likes to tor ture and kill women with his “death-proof” car, and the three tough bitches 66

who get revenge. The car chase at the end is fantastic, as is Kur t Russell, but the rest of the picture falls flat. Here’s the thing: I’ve seen plenty of these Roger Corman produced cheap movies from the 70s that Tarantino worships, and they aren’t very good. Many of them are enter taining, and as camp, they’re gold, but they are, for the most par t, rush jobs that plod along with a lot of boring downtime and enough bloodrush to keep you watching in between. Death Proof , while maybe the product of a complicated array of influences and sub-genres that only Tarantino himself truly knows of, comes

off as an exper tly made quotation of a Corman film. But what’s the point? Usually, directors begin their careers wearing their influences on their sleeves, and shed them as they go along, developing their own style and voice. Quentin Tarantino, one of the most talented contemporary American directors, whose love affair with 70s trash cinema has never ended, entered our culture with a strong, unique voice, and has been reduced simply re-making the geeky genre types he’s always drawn from. I doubt that this reversal of the formula is intentional. The Kill Bills were full of obscure kung-fu references, but the quick pace and the juxtaposition of such varied styles elevated the films to something more than the sum of their par ts. Death Proof , though, is so self-indulgent it’s almost painful to watch. There is a crude misogyny in the way Tarantino has his female characters talk about men and sex, and I don’t know if it’s a parody of the dialogue in the movies he’s drawing from, or if he just thinks it’s good writing. I’m also not sure if he knows, either. The girls actually talk about obscure 70s car movies, and, like Natalie Por tman with the Shins in Garden State, ruin a couple of very good songs by earnestly telling us the name of the band and why we should like it. I’m sure you are very pleased with your good taste in movies and music, but spare me the older-brother lecture, Quentin; I have a record collection, too.

the ser vice of comedy (but not rote Scary Movie -style parody), the same tactics are much more effective.

Grindhouse was a disappointment because of its pretension, its slavish devotion to a dead genre. Rodriguez, not as good a director as Tarantino, made the better movie if only because it was made more for our enjoyment than his. But even Planet Terror suffered from a limited vision.

Hot Fuzz is about a London police officer, played by Pegg, who is too good at his job, and is, out of spite, relocated to the sleepy, crimeless town of Sandford. His by-thebooks style angers much of the Sandford police force, but inspires his chubby and dumb par tner, played by Nick Frost, to be more like the cops in the movies he loves. Together, they uncover a series of murders and a vast town-wide conspiracy. Funny enough as a comic team, Frost and Pegg are only aided by Wright’s direction, a hilarious po-mo hodge-podge of tight shots, quick cuts, and loud sounds in the style of Hollywood’s coked-up cop movies.

But while everyone was buzzing about how “sweet” Grindhouse is, theaters saw a much less hyped genre-scraper, the excellent British comedy Hot Fuzz . It was written by Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright (and directed by Wright), who previously collaborated on their own zombie picture-cum-romantic comedy, the brilliant Sean of the Dead . Their new movie apes bad action films like Bad Boys and Point Break , and combines these references with a Law & Order serial-killer plot and a lot of wry Brit humor. Like Tarantino, Wright and Pegg have their characters talk a lot about the movie’s Hot Fuzz references, but in this case, it’s not because they are trying to be cool. Somehow, in

But Hot Fuzz does much more than make fun of American action movies: it grabs lines and shots from dozens of scenes and movies ingrained into our consciousness, and uses them to invigorate its comedy, and to break down the ideas we may have about rural life in England. This mixture of styles is ultimately more effective, and more meaningful, than the ultra-specific imitation of Grindhouse . We get the feeling that, more than Tarantino and Rodriguez, who are too obsessed with their subjects to be clear-minded, Pegg and Wright know what they are doing. It’s the difference in feeling like we’re being lectured to, and feeling like we’re in on the joke. 67

brownout at westover by Hector Stockton image by Jeff Smack It’s a warm Tuesday evening out at Westover Plantation, twenty miles outside the city off of rural Route 5. There’s a slight rain drizzle on and off all day. Lunch was at four and the crew is on the final stretch before shooting wrap for the day’s work. Then it begins. One by one, little by little, small critters begin appearing on pieces of gear and more notably, the riverside façade of the manor. Initially I identify what appears to be some form of yellow-green, flying crayfish. Moths look strange anyway and with a flick of my finger, it flutters off a C-stand. Peering up into the night sky, I witness the beginnings of a swarm. The air is energized with hundreds of thousands of the suckers. Less than an hour later, the back steps and entire side of the house is covered…completely. “Jesus, it looks like the Temple of friggin’ Doom!” a coworker comments. We watch in hysterics as the grips take turns swinging four-foot gel rolls at the bugs. With a flick of his knife into the air, one of them slices the wings off a stray, and it dive-bombs the grass. The humor is turned on me when I attempt to brave the steps to place a lamp into a bounce outside the front door. The crunching under my feet makes for an awkward sensation and I’m slightly sickened when I slip and cautiously regain my balance.

Gross. Yet I’ve seen it all before. It’s all just par t of filming nighttime exteriors in the state of Virginia. The Darwin award should go to the Mayflies. I’ve fought chiggers during The New World, and picked ticks off my body while working on Dismal. I smacked moths with foot and a half long wingspans out of a lift bucket eighty-feet in the air during a hot summer night on Evan Almighty. But I’ve never seen a bug so prone to its own destruction as the Hexogenia on John Adams. Born in the water, if they can survive being fish food, they have something akin to a for ty-eight our life span. When I learned this, I couldn’t feel terribly sorry for them. The bats were having a feast, swooping in and grabbing the biggest splotch on their radar. But soon it was clear that even the bats’ stomachs were quickly filled and the flying rats would do little to thin the fluttering cloud. “Go to the light!” seemed to be the only instinct they knew. This is understandable when the bank on other side of the river a kilometer away is pitch black and the stars are unpolluted with city glow. When they flew into our scalding hot, daylight-producing HMI lamps they were incinerated on the spot and dropped dead. But at wrap, when we set out some tungsten soft lights to work by, they piled up high as flammable debris, like dry leaves and star ted a fire in the fixture itself. A burnt, crispy bug smell permeated the air. Lovely. When we left, the locations depar tment was still sucking the ones that got inside off the walls with a vacuum hose. And this was just day one of our three-day stay at Westo-

ver. The next afternoon when we came back, they were still sitting all over the steps and our tarped gear. Their life being half over at this point, they fluttered away with a brush of the hand. Didn’t they have somewhere to go? Something to do? Did they ever get a chance to get something to eat? Or go to the bathroom? Three presidents and the man on the ten-dollar bill watched with amusement from the steps of the insect apocalypse from the night before as the grips had a chin-up contest out in the yard. Two stands and a steel pipe was the focus of hours of showmanship. The record was 23 (seventeen with a tool-belt on). I did three before I was called away on the radio to do something (save my embarrassment). That night the Mayflies were even thicker, but we saved our fixtures by putting gel on them so they couldn’t kamikaze our work lights. They still managed to blanket everything. And I mean everything. By the third night I was so used to the aerial par ty crashers that I barely flinched when my head was clipped or I felt a fluttering on the back of my shoulder. It was decidedly cool, but the mosquitoes were a bigger annoyance than those ill-fated bugs. I wonder what effect we may have had on our environs and how our encounter with the Mayflies could have put a noticeable dent in their population. But I remember how damn many of them there were; the marine ecosystem at that par t of the James was a vir tual cornucopia of Hexagenia: enough for the fish, the bats, enough for everybody. It was nice to be on location for a few days before going back to the stage in Mechanicsville. I’ll take the toasted bugs and the river view

moving back to Richmond my nights have included late night pizza and smoky bars with live music. I end up feeling fat and melancholy. But, Richmond does have entertaining events, and I do enjoy myself on occasion at local music shows and art exhibits. It’s just that I rarely enjoy dance performances anymore since they remind me of my own broken ballerina dreams. My ballet days (like for most ballet dancers) were filled with constant disapproval and minimum praise from a flamboyant ballet instructor. Although I loved ballet, the pressure to be astute was immense. Being a great dancer wasn’t enough. My most fond memories of dancing are more recent (dancing in Latin/Salsa clubs in Philadelphia and Washington D.C. while downing plenty of Mojitos).

The XF Factor By Re be kah Frim pong

im a ge by I a n M . G r a ha m

Hip-hop, Reggae, Bjork, Rock ‘n’ Roll, Broadway show tunes, and a Drag Queen are not usually on the itinerary for most dance productions. XF Company of Dance formulated this mix of music genres and stage antics for the recent show “RED” at the Firehouse Theatre during May 31June 2, 2007. The audience was an assortment of West End Richmond art supporters, dance enthusiasts, and girls who are aspiring to be back-up dancers for Britney Spears. The eclectic audience was perfect for the night of unpredictable choreography. I sat amongst this crowd anxiously anticipating another night to be poorly spent. Moving back to Richmond this month after spending a year in Philadelphia and then traveling constantly between New York and D.C., I am used to going to events showcasing some of the most amazing art and music. Since 70

But back to the show, “RED”. The lights were lowered and the first performance began, which was your typical modern dance number with slight elements of ballet. The musical composition of Bjork made the ambience of the night just little bit more special. The light design was amazing and one of my favorite elements of the whole production. Later in the performance Christina Fitch, the production’s choreographer, performed to the classic sounds of Redman and Method Man. She busted out every street dance move possible. She opened up with some pop-lockin’, Flash Dance moves; the Fat Albert/Rerun combination, and an unexpected Crip-walk to close. The next couple of numbers I noticed elements of Belly dancing and Burlesque. One number reminded me of a Broadway musical with slapstick gestures and comedic body movements. Almost every number had the color red infused in to the wardrobe, lighting, or set. At times even hues of blue beamed through. The most memorable part of the show was the male dancer in the company dressed in Drag gyrating in a red dress to the sounds of an R&B song about fake long hair. In summation, XF Company of Dance show “RED” was about entertaining and enjoying dance, elements that other dance companies neglect in productions. XF Company of Dance production’s playful take on dance opens the door for untraditional, slightly overweight, awkward, not-so perfectly-physiqued people to become celebrated dancers, similar to “Dancing with the Stars.”

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Michelle, You didn’t know that dogfighting still exists? Seriously? I just dropped five large at a dogfight in Chimborazo park last week and half your neighborhood was there. Why else did you think pit bulls suddenly became the hip dog to own? Christ, the things look like ‘roided up Chihuahuas with oversized shark jaws.

LETTERS TO LAZIO Dear Mr. Lazio, I don’t really follow sports much, but recently I’ve seen several articles about Michael Vick and a dogfighting compound in Surry county. I didn’t realize that sort of horrific animal cruelty was still going on in this country, much less my own state. What can be done to put a stop to dogfighting in Virginia? Sincerely, Michelle in Church Hill

Look, no one pretends that this isn’t a rough sport, but at least more than half the animals live through matches. Not so with bullfighting, much less some of the shit I’ve wagered on in South America. You ever see a trained monkey try to wield a knife with one hand and hold his guts in with the other? Now that’s animal cruelty. The only way to eradicate dogfighting in Virginia is to wrangle every last dog out of the trainers’ hands; and considering how greedy those blood-sucking bastards are, you’re looking at no less than cool million in cash to pry loose all those pound puppies. That may seem absurd, but I think I have a plan. Just send me a check for whatever you can muster—a thousand or two will suffice—and I’ll win the rest of the bread at next month’s throwdown outside Lynchburg. It’s poetic

justice, Michelle, using the perpetrators own money to put an end to their cruelty. As for me, I’ll just get my fix somewhere else. There’s some big time cat juggling action going down in Petersburg that I haven’t even checked out yet. Dear Lazio, As I turn 30 I am losing, nay my generation is losing its battle with man boobs! Look at all us!! Men shouldn’t have tits but I can’t get off my Xbox and smoking weed all day. Is there a support group for me and all of my 30 year old tittied friends? Thanks, Still Manly in The Fan Manly, You are not alone my rotund friend. The sprouting of unwanted man boobs is a phenomenon recognized around the world. In Germany you’d be facing “Mannbruste der Schande”, or “manbreasts of shame”. The Bolivian slang for your condition is, “la maduracion de la vaca del hombre”, which translates roughly to “the ripening of the man cow”. Honestly, I’m not really sure where I’m going with this one other than there are fat people everywhere and it’s no shock

to see another American join the ranks. I mean, if you weren’t already a lazy candyass you would’ve started jogging with tires tied around your waist years ago. Still, if you’re serious about a quick fix (albeit one that requires yearly repitition) I highly recommend some variation of the Bolivian solution: a week-long hike in the deep jungle armed with only a machete and a wealth of uncut cocaine. If the plane and the powder is a little heavy for your pocketbook, try substituting a fistful of truck stop speed pills and the Florida Everglades. Point is, if you really want to leave those boobs in the dust, you can. Otherwise, go ahead and enjoy your Xbox—no matter how many Portuguese snicker and call you, “homem home da gordura da moradia” (home dwelling fat man). Send your letters to Lazio via email by way of our very own leprechaun. parker@rvamag.com

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