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Pivot a chance

The COVID-19 pandemic forced so many to change their worklife. For some, it was working from home and Zoom meetings. For others, it was losing a beloved job and seeking employment elsewhere, or even in a new field altogether.

Then there are those among us who have taken on daring career pivots willingly. Those who have thrown caution to the workforce wind and charted a new course in life.

The following is a look at five folks who’ve forsaken longtime careers for new professional paths. Whether motivated by industry pressures, new perspectives, or milestone events, the pivoters all made opportunity out of change.

“The biggest thing I would say is people shouldn’t be afraid to pivot, especially this day and age,” says Justin Ide, who jumped helmet-long into firefighting five years ago after more than two decades working as a full-time photographer. “If you’re unhappy, just do it.”

Photo: Amy Nicole Photography

Sing it on

Lora Kelley now knows what she wants. During the 18 years she spent working as a full-time hair and makeup artist, it was in the back of her mind. And when she and her husband, local photographer Eric Kelley, founded Grit Coffee (formerly Para Coffee) in 2008, it was in the back of her mind then, too.

“I want to write songs for other people and with other people that tell a truer story,” Kelley says.

In 2017, Kelley took a sabbatical from hair and makeup—doing other people’s, that is. Along with focusing on her music career, she needed a source of income to keep her on key. Enter trauma-informed story coaching. According to Kelley, the process involves understanding what your story is and working to become the person you want to be. To write herself into story life coaching, Kelley earned certification from The Allender Center at the Seattle School of Psychology and Theology.

Music, however, remained her passion. In 2015, Kelley released her first EP (a record including more than a single but less than a full album), titled Dusty Wheels, and a second self-titled EP in 2018. Now, she’s eyeing June 10 to release her first full-length record, a pop-county and Americana hybrid titled Domystique.

Kelley, who has three kids, cites Patty Griffin, Lori McKenna, Natalie Merchant, Joni Mitchell, John Prine, and Brandi Carlile as influences. Her style sometimes calls to mind Taylor Swift’s country catalog, but Kelley hopes her songs provide a perspective popular music often misses.

“I am not falling in love and breaking up, and I’m not going out drinking on the weekends—there’s not a lot of heartbreak,” she says. “When I’m cooking food for my kids in the kitchen, I want a song that makes me feel really good about the present moment I am living in instead of pining for something else.”

So, how does one become a sought-after songwriter working for and alongside the best in Nashville? Kelley knows she has dues to pay. She figures she’ll have to keep writing songs—many of them bound to be not-so-great—and getting better. 

“I’m still learning how to write them. I think my best songs are still to come,” she says.

Photo: John Robinson

In the Navy no more

Sherrod Fisher saw a lot as a 21-year Navyman. He did six deployments, three in the West Pacific and three in the Mediterranean. He was in the Middle East when Saddam Hussein was deposed as Iraqi dictator in 2003. He sailed
the Suez Canal. He supplied munitions for the United States’ “shock and awe” campaign during the Gulf War. He met Tom Cruise.

“I was an armament guy, aircraft armament, F-14s,” Fisher says, referencing the fighter jet featured in Cruise’s 1986 film Top Gun. “They were in [Naval Air Station] Miramar. It was something interesting.”

Fisher had seen enough after he’d served his time, though, and in 2010 he retired from the Navy. While simultaneously going through a tough divorce, he decided to go to college on the advice of a former lieutenant. He enrolled at South University in Richmond and took a few psychology classes. It might be a calling, he thought. In the Navy, he’d always been the guy people came to to talk about stuff, and he was a good listener. 

Fisher completed his bachelor’s degree in 2013, about the same time his oldest daughter graduated from the University of Virginia. He visited her in Charlottesville at the end of the semester and sat in on a psych class. It further inspired him, and he decided to pursue a master’s in mental health psychology, also at South University. He completed the degree in 2016. “Those were grueling years,” Fisher says.

He landed an internship in Richmond when he graduated, but found himself jobless for several months in 2018. “I am a praying man, and that was my time to get prepared for the next step,” Fisher says. “I stepped out on faith and said, ‘Lord, if this is where you want me to go, I’ll go.’”

Fisher put in an application with the Region Ten Community Services Board and has been an outpatient clinician working with children and families ever since.

Along his journey from longtime soldier to civilian, Fisher remarried his wife in 2014. It was another significant pivot for a man accustomed to taking them on.

“When I retired and divorced in the same year, that was pretty traumatic,” Fisher says. “But there was a silver lining to all of that. It was like the beginning.”

Photo: Eze Amos

Out of the vault

Crystal Napier had enjoyed a steady, nearly 10-year career in banking when she started work on her master’s in business administration. She completed the degree in 2013 and continued on in her career. The MBA could only improve her prospects as she climbed the banking ladder, and her future was bright.

But in 2014, she lost her steady job, and went straight to work trying to find a new banking gig. A grad school project had stuck with her: While working toward her MBA, she’d created a business plan for a fashion boutique and personal styling agency. Her husband suggested she stop the job search and pursue her passion.

“I just didn’t realize it was a sign for me to start,” Napier says. “Once I did, I just got out there.”

Napier leveraged a severance package from her previous job, personal funds, revenue from a rental property, her husband’s income, and belt-tightening to make ends meet while she struck out on her own way. Her goal? Help women—regardless of body type—dress themselves professionally and confidently without spending a fortune.

Napier launched Renee’s Boutique with a Facebook page in 2014 and a website in 2015. She traveled around Charlottesville and eventually up and down the East Coast, working directly with clients and hosting pop-up retail events. By mid-2015, she had enjoyed enough success to open a brick-and-mortar location on Water Street. The storefront stood for more than a year, but Napier pivoted again in late 2016, going back on the road for pop-ups and traveling sales and consultation.

In 2018, while six-weeks pregnant, Napier and her husband were involved in a bad car accident. “I was not able to do pop-up shops at all in 2018,” Napier says. “That was a tough year.”

She got back on her feet in 2019, and changed her business model again to focus on online sales and fashion consultations out of her home. She launched virtual styling sessions. The business model, along with several successful grant and loan applications, turned out to be one that would help her fight through the economic hardships brought on by the COVID-19 pandemic.

“It was very tight for our last year, and it’s been a lot of sacrifice,” Napier says. “It’s been a learning curve, but when you are an entrepreneur, there’s always going to be something.”

Photo: Tristan Williams

Flexibility is key

Allie Redshaw didn’t wait long to get back in the kitchen after a workplace accident took her hand in March 2017. But things weren’t the same. After an accomplished career as a chef, she was frustrated by not being able to take 100 percent ownership of her plates from start to finish.

Then, a culinary schoolmate and friend nudged Redshaw into what would become her new career. She gifted Redshaw a year of classes at Hot Yoga Charlottesville, where Redshaw says she was welcomed completely.

“I was in a fragile place,” Redshaw says. “But even if I wasn’t in a class, I loved being in the community and with the people. Everyone knew what my arm looked like, and I didn’t have to hide it. That led to learning cool ways my body could adapt.”

Redshaw was pregnant at the time of her accident but leaned hard into her yoga practice after the birth of her second child in 2017. She listened to her body and learned adaptations, she dove into the spiritual side of yoga, and she embarked on yoga instructor training. Redshaw reached out to other amputee instructors and attended a yoga retreat exclusively for amputees. She eventually discovered the limitations her right arm brought could actually be a blessing in a sport that focuses on inclusion and mindfulness.

“I liked that I could be a representation of difference,” Redshaw says. “Mindful practices…aren’t just for able-bodied people or skinny people.”

Redshaw now leads several classes per week at Hot Yoga Charlottesville and expects to teach more as people return to their regular schedules post-pandemic. Still, she retains her passion for cooking. Soon after her accident, she earned a sommelier certification to bolster her hospitality resume on the wine side, and more recently, Redshaw and husband Ian, also a well-regarded local chef, launched a catering business, Sumac Supper Club.

Never one to sit still, Redshaw also works at yoga retailer Lululemon and is nearing certification as an Ayurveda health practitioner. Ayurveda, which originated in India hundreds of years ago, is a wellness therapy combining yoga practice with a mindful approach to what we put in our bodies.

“I am so grateful that two things that have always been loves and passions of mine—food and yoga, being present in our bodies—have met in the middle to create this perfect place for me,” Redshaw says. “I am grateful for my past and where it has gotten me.”

Photo: Eze Amos

Photos to fires

The Boston Herald had 37 staff photographers in 1999. That’s the year Justin Ide made the number 36 by leaving the coveted job.

“When I left, they all said, ‘What? Are you crazy?’” Ide remembers. “I wanted to do something else.”

The craziest thing? It was a minor career change in the scheme of things. After leaving the Herald, Ide took a job taking pictures for Harvard University. He worked at Harvard for 12 years before his wife’s career as a hospital administrator brought the couple to Charlottesville.

Ide wasn’t able to snap up a new staff photo gig in C’ville, so he did some freelance work and ended up hanging around the Crozet Volunteer Fire Department. He liked the vibe at the firehouse, but he was nearing 50 years of age, and firefighting is known as a young man’s game. Still, maybe Ide had stumbled on his new path.

“One day I was talking to a career guy—Crozet didn’t have any career guys in the fire department, but he was there for something,” Ide says. “And he said, ‘Hey, Virginia is a right to work state. If you get all the certifications, they can’t not hire you.’”

Ide earned his emergency medical technician certification and got a job with UVA’s Medic V rescue team. Then, it was on to firefighting training. Ide was 51 by the time he began; some of his fellow trainees were as young as 19. Still, he persisted. And he was eventually hired by the Waynesboro Fire Department.

“The biggest thing about it is not so much in the daily stuff. During a fire, all hell is breaking loose for the first five minutes, and then it’s fine,” Ide says. “But we would go to certain trainings and things, and the 19-year-olds could do physical exercises repeatedly without a pause in between. When you’re 50-something, you need that pause.”

With more than 20 years of professional photography under his firebelt, Ide still misses taking pictures for a living. But firefighting’s on-and-off work schedule gives him time to pursue his passion, and he’s brought some of his skills to the firehouse, as well. He’s only a few classes short of a master’s degree in public information and serves as an informal public information officer for the Waynesboro FD.

“I’ve created a good working relationship with the local media,” Ide says. “It’s been a great addition, bringing my previous job experience to the forefront in this job.”

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434 Magazines

Truth, be told

The folks behind the art installation known as the Truth Farm want everyone to know the truth about immigration. 

But what is the truth? And could there be more than one?

Unveiled on Refugee Investment Network founder and managing director John Kluge’s family property within the Trump Winery, the Truth Farm installation first centered around a 120-foot sign spelling out “TRUTH” in mylar. Aid workers often give mylar blankets to refugees seeking asylum, and artist Ana Teresa Fernandez used the material to draw attention to wider immigration issues—namely, that worldwide systemic problems beyond people’s control drive them to flee their countries for safety.

The artist’s Truth Table is surrounded by chairs, places where those with different opinions might come to sit, literally break bread, engage, and talk through complex immigration issues. 

“When people become entrenched in their ideas, they pull a sound bite or barrage of sound bites that they have been spoonfed, and that becomes their understanding of an issue,” Kluge says. “When people harden their views, they lose their curiosity. You have to be curious to understand issues. Truth requires some inquiry and listening to others.”

Kluge is not an artist, he says, or even a professional curator. But he thought art might kindle at least some people’s curiosity. A U.S.-Mexico Foundation board member, Kluge conceived the Truth Farm project along with the group’s deputy director, Enrique Perret, and Fernandez. Fernandez had previously worked with mylar and thought it fit the Farm perfectly.

The installation grew from there. In addition to the Truth Table, the Truth Farm artwork includes a working adobe oven built by artist Ron Rael and portraits by undocumented dreamer Arleene Correa Valencia. Valencia’s pieces depict migrant parents and their children against black backgrounds. A friend of Fernandez’s and a professional artist herself, Valencia composes the parents using reflective material and fabric repurposed from her own family’s clothing. She etches the children in glow-in-the-dark thread, implying them only by an empty background.

“When you mix the two, you are seeing a full, embodied parent holding the idea of a child,” Valencia says. “The portraits start to create a conversation about separation and the layers that occur through immigration.”

The Truth Farm artwork itself has now begun a migration. Some of Valencia’s work is currently featured at the Instituto Cultural de México in Miami and will next travel to Wisconsin. Federico Cuatlacuatl’s Truth Farm contribution, sculptures in the shape of traditional Mexican kites, has moved to a museum in Toledo. The Truth Farm organizers hope to take Rael’s ovens on the road to host dinners over the next several months, while the Truth Table itself has traveled to Champion Brewing Company and the IX Art Park. 

Kluge, Valencia, and Fernandez hope the art’s impact extends even further. They are planning another physical installation in Napa Valley, California. While they positioned the first piece next to a Trump property to draw the former president’s attention, the work of pushing folks to talk through immigration issues continues, even as a new commander-in-chief has taken office.

“I think that one of the really interesting things that has been occurring is the shift in all the information coming out after what happened on January 6 at the Capitol,” Fernandez says, referring to this year’s armed insurrection at the U.S. Capitol in Washington, D.C. “There has been a lot of reconciliation with the facts, but all of this rhetoric is still permeating. It is still a tug of war with this word [truth], and with John being Trump’s neighbor, we enacted everything we want to see good neighbors doing—cooking together and bringing people to the table, being inclusive not exclusive.”

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434 Magazines

Point, click, bind

Matt Eich wanted a way to make photography less disposable. 

A Charlottesville- based photojournalist and photography professor at George Washington University, Eich has published extensively in the New York Times, The Atlantic, and Time. But he long ago became disillusioned with the short shelf life of photographs as an art form. He established Little Oak Press in response and has since published almost a dozen photography books and zines.

Eich recently spoke to 434 about his work, self-publishing, and brunch.

Pages from Seasonal Blues Vol. VIII. Supplied photo.

434: What’s that terrible noise? 

Matt Eich: I apologize for the noise. I’m scrambling some eggs. I was born in Richmond and raised in southeast Virginia. I studied photojournalism at Ohio University and started self-publishing portfolios and projects. Those were the analog days. Then we transitioned to digital, and that wasn’t ideal. So photo books have always been a big inspiration.

How did you get into self-publishing?

In photojournalism, a photographer might spend weeks, months, even years to have an image go to print one day and be lining the litter basket the next day. A lot of us talk about putting sustainable work in the world that has some longevity and shelf life. A lot of us make photos because we want them to outlast and outlive us. But the internet is this black hole for images.

So publishing your own books was the answer.

Books are the ideal form. But they are expensive to make, and there’s really no way to make a profit. In 2010 I did a limited series book called Carry Me Ohio—100 copies through a publisher. There’s a certain process to making a monograph with a publisher. It’s costly and tedious, and I came up in the punk music scene where zines were a part of the culture. Jump to early 2019: I had been freelancing since 2005 and started teaching in 2017 to stabilize things. I’m an avid book collector and was experiencing this drought in work. I was talking to a buddy in D.C., and he encouraged me to slam something together and put it out to get out of my funk and depression. It was called Does Anyone Dare Despise This Day of Small Beginnings, and was a collection of my favorite photos from the year before. I sold enough of them to break even on the printing costs and sent the remaining copies to editors and magazines and curators that could support my career to come. The response was good.

Where did you go from there?

For the last two years I’ve been trying to put out these semi-regular zines called Seasonal Blues. They are collections of pictures from day one of a season to the last day. Those are the only rules. It’s a nod to our frequent hills and valleys and also blues music. Each one opens with a poem and unfolds into poetic visual correlations.

Have you continued to publish in the media?

Yes, but commissions are a double-edged thing. They can open up opportunities, but there are the limitations of time and editors’ expectations. Commission work has grown more and more complicated, and the industry has been deeply affected by the pandemic. It’s not an easy industry, and it is kind of ironic I am teaching photography and photojournalism at an institution. I’m transparent and honest with my students in a way that my professors probably weren’t. Most of them had been out of the industry as long as I’ve now been in the industry.

Matt’s faves

What I’m reading: I’ve been reading mostly poetry of late, including Terrance Hayes, Tim Seibles, Molly
McCully Brown, and Charles Wright.

What I’m listening to: A variety of things. Recently I’ve been enjoying songs by Danika Jones, Gregory Alan Isakov, Sylvan Esso, Mulatu Astatke, and Julia Stone.

What I’m watching: We’ve been plowing through too much TV over the past year. My kids are watching lots of baking shows. My wife and I rarely have the energy to watch anything by the time we get the kids in bed.

What I’m eating: We’ve been learning how to make omelets on the weekends. Our family favorite for takeout is Tacos Gomez.

What I’m buying: Too many photo books (always), pour-over coffee supplies (from Vessel Craft Coffee and George Howell Coffee), and photographic materials.

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Culture Uncategorized

Farm and fleet

City Market-goers know where they oughta get empanadas. Julio Quispe’s Pachamama Peru offers some of the market’s best prepared eats, and his baked and fried Peruvian pies, filled with local meats and veggies, are the standout.

But empanadas are only the beginning—not only of the menu at Pachamama, but of what Quispe does for the local food community. In addition to operating his food truck, he runs Earlysville-based Pachamama Farm, which recently received a mid-Atlantic Food Resilience & Access Coalition grant to give food to those in need.

C-VILLE: How did you get into farming?

Julio Quispe: I used to work at Sylvanaqua Farms in Earlysville. It all started with me farming, and then I started the food truck. When I was working with Sylvanaqua Farms, we were trying to make local food more accessible to the community. When I started the food truck, I thought another way to do that would be to prepare food using the meat we raised, and try to source local ingredients, as well.

How do you cook with quality ingredients while keeping prices down?

That is the struggle, but empanadas are a great fit. I try to use cuts that are a little bit cheaper and at the same time make it tasty. We use a lot of ground meats. And it’s the same thing when we make special dishes. But it’s not easy, and I’m still figuring it out.

It seems like you get some help from your family.

Yeah—so, we all come from Lima in Peru. And I mostly grew up in New York, so it has always been a learning experience, trying to do a lot of the things we are doing. I never expected to be farming and doing these things with animals. My grandma and grandpa came from the Andes, and they had a background in farming. They would keep animals in the back space of their house in Lima. So, I did grow up with some of that.

How does your background influence the menu at Pachamama Peru?

A lot of the recipes are traditional Peruvian, and some are a mix. One of the things that’s been a hit is our pulled pork, which I season with Peruvian ingredients. Pulled pork is not something you get in Peru. My favorite empanada is the beef, egg, and olive. That’s the traditional empanada. But there are so many options. On the veggie side, I like the mushroom.

How have you been getting through
the pandemic?

It has been good, and I can’t really complain. I have been working with Local Food Hub, and that’s been really helping. We’re looking into frozen empanadas, getting them into retail. We’re still figuring out the details. Being able to sell our own meats—ducks and chickens—has been really helpful, and we’re doing a few markets and small catering events.

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Culture

Record time

Almost 10 years ago, Warren Parker figured out how to make a cool hobby a whole lot cooler. 

The local music industry lifer and collector got into vinyl around the time the format had a resurgence in 2010. He was drawn to rare record pressings and small runs. So what better way to get his hands on the rarest and smallest runs than to issue them himself?

Parker established WarHen Records with partner Mike Hennigar in 2012, with the goal of promoting local and regional music through his favorite format. He’d find bands he liked, genre be damned, and produce records in limited batches, strictly on vinyl.

Parker didn’t set out to make a pile of money or quit his day job—he was a production manager at The Jefferson Theater at the time—and he didn’t expect to be running his boutique label almost a decade later.

“It’s been a labor of love—something I would now consider a part of my identity,” Parker says. “I never really thought it would go for this long or become as popular or well known as it is.”

He admits his reach isn’t in the hundreds of thousands, but he’s proud of his standing in the music community. Over the years, he’s published work by a who’s who of central Virginia acts—Borrowed Beams of Light, Wrinkle Neck Mules, Sarah White, Sons of Bill, and more. And he says you’d be hard-pressed to find a Virginia band not aware of WarHen Records.

WarHen has also reached beyond Virginia on occasion. The label released Teenage Hallelujah by Alabama-based The Dexateens in 2016, and a version of Polygondwanaland, a 10-song LP for which Australia’s King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard made the master tapes publicly available, in 2018.

“Music has always been a constant for me,” Parker says. “The label has grown organically. It’s been a slow burn.”

Just how slow? Parker admits last year was the first time since he established WarHen that it turned a small profit. Breaking even has always been a win, and he says he’s had to put his own money into the hobby more than once.

The label faced some early setbacks: Hennigar left not long after WarHen launched, several bands on the young roster broke up, and Parker put things on hold for all of 2014. He rallied back in 2015, but COVID nearly stopped the turntable again. While many musicians found the pandemic a productive time, WarHen was beset by supply chain issues. Parker relies on third parties to press all his record runs, and COVID disrupted his materials flow and presented short-staffed warehouses. “It’s been an adjustment,” he says.

Parker’s own career as a musician didn’t last beyond college, but his love for sound and physical records has persisted. His philosophy for selecting albums to produce has also remained unchanged over the years.

“I celebrate a very diverse collection, and I take a lot of pride in it…I find joy in so many types of music,” he says. “I think ultimately, that’s the unofficial ethos of WarHen Records. So many labels adhere to a certain vibe, and their content is all similar to a degree. I love that WarHen over the years has turned into a weird cornucopia of all different types of music.”

If there’s a through-line in WarHen’s stable, it’s likely owed to its Charlottesville home. A good deal of the current pressings lean Americana, specifically alt country and folk. Dogwood Tales from Harrisonburg fits the bill, as does Mink’s Miracle Medicine, composed of Melissa Wright and Daniel Zezeski. “Melissa, their frontwoman, just has an unbelievable voice, and it floors me every time I hear it,” Parker says.

For the weird cornucopia part of WarHen’s roster, he points to bands like Opin, Virginia’s answer to The xx.

“They have a sound that is unlike anything I have done before,” Parker says. “I listened to their record, and it didn’t fall into any kind of subset I had heard. I wanted to do it because it was different.”

Bands come and go, but Parker says he hasn’t changed his approach since he started WarHen. He doesn’t insert himself in the music like major labels. He just wants to give bands he digs a platform. He has begun producing records himself, though, and he’ll offer his opinion on sound when asked. He works with two engineers, Rob Dobson and BJ Pendleton, “to clean things up” before transferring some digital recordings to vinyl, and Parker provides design work on albums.

In 2015, Borrowed Beams of Light frontman Adam Brock told C-VILLE, “We need WarHen…to grow and show off a town whose acts are making some great music.” WarHen released Borrowed Beams’ Do It Again last April. 

By most measures, it seems Parker’s fulfilled the need Brock pointed out. Next year, the label will commemorate its 10 years in business with releases throughout the year—both from flagship artists and new acts—and unique live events.

“I’m definitely still moving forward,” Parker says. “This year by design is going to be a little slower than usual only because next year I’m planning on celebrating all year long.”

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Best of C-VILLE 2019 Culture

Awoke to folk

Blake Layman’s solo offerings have been called “folk adjacent,” and he’s taken to the tag. Although the way he puts it is “almost folk.” The distinction’s subtle. But words are important to him.

Layman, a Charlottesville native who plays bass for Richmond’s hot indie pop foursome Frames, has come a long way in the last decade or so. Not much more than 10 years ago, he was playing bass in a C’ville metal band.

But Layman knew metal wasn’t his thing. “I enjoyed the music, but it didn’t really feel like the kind of music I wanted to write myself,” he says.

Layman learned the kind of music he did want to write in stages. He started a band called Raintree with his brother Gavin, making heady instrumental indie rock layered under dreamy lyrics. Along the way, he wrote songs here and there that didn’t necessarily work for Raintree and were never recorded.

Then in 2019, around the same time he joined Sarah Phung’s Frames, Layman decided to put his own writing together for a solo record. Cobbled from songs that were penned as far back as 2014, imagined as fully acoustic, and demoed in various oddball places (including a school bus that served as Layman’s one-time home), the result is Goodness, Littered, a nine-song LP released on June 25. 

“Over the years moving around Virginia, I had written half these songs, but I got busy and interested in other things,” he says. “Then COVID hit and it provided me the perfect opportunity to sit down and finish. It’s about little things from my life, mundane things. It’s almost a folk album, but not quite…It is a love letter, or a bookend, to my 20s.”

Mundane or not, Layman’s 20s have led to a solid set of tracks. On Goodness, the burgeoning songwriter is lyrically obtuse enough to maintain intrigue, and more times than not, the songs are musically moving. The final recordings feature Layman on multiple instruments (bass, acoustic and electric guitar and pump organ) with contributions from brother Gavin and other past band mates. While Layman produced the demos in multiple places—there was the furniture workshop where he was an apprentice in addition to the old bus—Jacob Sommerio tracked and mixed the finished album at Charlottesville’s English Oak Recording.

“It was something I felt like I needed to do for myself, and if nobody gets anything from it, I suppose that’s okay,” Layman says. “I had been sitting on these songs and I had gotten to the point where I decided I am just going to release this so I can say I completed something.”

Now a furniture maker by trade, Layman cites influences ranging from the ’40s jazz and country that his elderly mentor played during his apprenticeship, to older influences like Tom Waits and Billie Holiday along with modern nudges from Sufjan Stevens and The National. Listeners might also hear a breathy resemblance to Iron & Wine or a folk-ified Band of Horses.

“I had only really planned on it being an acoustic album [but decided] it would be fun to add some other instruments,” he says. “I like to think I tend to focus on the lyrics—that has always been really important to me. I play guitar and bass, but I don’t feel like I am exceptionally good at them. I am good enough to write a song and communicate what I want.”

The multi-instrumentalist is being modest, but in the end, it’s Layman’s ability to balance earnest lyric writing with a sense of humility and humor that makes Goodness feel genuine rather than overwrought. A whimsical spaghetti western thread runs throughout the record, driven in part by the use of a pump organ. And the thread is reinforced in the video Layman released for the LP’s first track, “Unhistoric Acts.” The video opens on a bucolic, sepia-toned scene and features two cowboys—Blake and Gavin Layman, one dressed in white, the other in black—facing off in an over-the-top, farcical duel.  

“I had thought I wanted to do a video that maybe communicated the lyrics of that song, then I got worried it would come across as too try-hard,” Layman says. “So I think the main point was to have fun with it. One of my pet peeves is artists that take themselves too seriously.”

Goodness is now available streaming, and Layman is working on a vinyl release, as well. In the meantime, Frames is also working on a new album with Layman on bass.

“I’ve always played bass in other bands, but I’m actually more of a guitar player,” he says. “I am trying to step out of my shell.”

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Culture

A glass act

Lizzy Trevor became wine director at Tilman’s on the Downtown Mall a year ago, coming to the position by sheer force of will. The oenophile, who recently aced the Wine & Spirit Education Trust’s level 2 examination, is completely self-taught and self-driven. She started working at Tilman’s two years ago as a team member and climbed into the wine director’s chair with no previous professional experience.

Trevor says her focus is on making esoteric wine varieties approachable to casual consumers. Courtenay Tyler, the restaurant’s co-owner, who also operates Tonic on Market Street, says she couldn’t be happier with Trevor’s programming, which involves setting the eatery’s wine menu, selecting wines for its wine club, organizing events, and training staff.

Prior to turning her hobby into a career, Trevor had been an esthetician. Now, she only has eyes for the vine and is looking ahead to taking the WSET level 3 and 4 tests. “I just love geeking out on wine,” she says.

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Culture

Collard greens for the soul

Vast culinary traditions influence Southern food—European, Native American, African, Caribbean. But if you’re thinking individually about those traditions when you’re thinking about Southern food, you’re kind of doing it wrong, according to food historian Leni Sorensen. Those traditions hit American soil in the 1600s and immediately began to mingle, even as they traveled south, she says.

“It happened fast, and it began to happen much earlier than it is ordinarily supposed to,” says Sorensen. “In the last quarter of the 17th century is when it begins to accelerate.”

The result in the American South was a European cooking tradition—staples from Great Britain tinged with French influences—vastly transformed by the indigenous and enslaved people of the New World. Where chefs in Europe may have had luxurious ingredients, clever cooks stateside had to coax flavors out of what the land provided, using seasoning (think plenty of fat and salt) and technique (think low-and-slow transformations).

“Southern food is indigenous food,” says Ryan Hubbard, owner of Red Hub Food Co. “Southern food is not filets or T-bones or rib eyes…It captures more the cuts of meat you weren’t used to seeing.”

The history of the American South also led to a rapid alignment of Southern food into regions, Sorensen says. Just as quickly as the cuisine’s worldwide influences coalesced in the States, the influences redistributed with subtle differences into the Old South, Mid-South, Gulf Coast, and other sub-regions.

“That’s what makes it exciting,” Sorensen says. “You can go 200 or 300 miles, and you are in a different world.”

The regionalism sprung naturally from the different growing regions present across the South, says Sorensen, but it was also due to the new nation’s “immense peripatetic population.”

“Different groups and families were moving and looking for new land,” she says. “You had that tremendous exodus of the slave trade out of the Old South and eastern coastline. In one decade, 350,000 Black Virginians were sold to the rest of the Southern slave states.”

Nevertheless, Sorensen says four ingredients anchor Southern food: corn, rice, greens, and pork. Take hush puppies, one of Red Hub’s most popular menu items. Hubbard points to the Native American influence in the corn and the deep-frying tradition of Scotland coming together to make an inexpensive, humble dish found throughout the South.

Today, Sorensen says Southern cooking is enjoying newfound respect in culinary circles. But where does Charlottesville fit in the Southern culinary tradition? According to Sorensen, central Virginia lacks a specific focus because of its many bounties.

“Part of what it was known for was its fecundity,” she says. “We were a breadbasket and an apple basket…we were really producers—food that was transported to a lot of other places.”

Southern (con)fusion

New Southern cuisine is like putting ranch dressing on pizza. Everyone’s doing it, but no one admits it.

“When we set out to do Whiskey Jar, we specifically were not trying
to be ‘new Southern,’” local restaurateur Will Richey says. “We might make some tweaks in the new Southern vein, but I still say we are classically Southern.”

So what is new Southern? The South Carolina Encyclopedia defines it as “a culinary trend that developed during the final three decades of the twentieth century in the American South [when] a new affluence provided the climate to experiment with new foods or prepare traditional fare in new ways.” The University
of South Carolina-driven wiki cites grits made with milk, cream, or broth instead of water as an example.

According to Richey, new Southern is all about the extent of experimentation. Vinegar-based coleslaw instead of the traditional mayo base? Southern. Slaw with jicama and avocado? New Southern. Indeed, Richey says the easiest way to spot a new Southern dish is to look for Californian influence. Since Southern cuisine has long relied on farm-fresh produce, Cali’s 1970s-era farm-to-table movement fit right in.

So where does one find a new Southern supper in C’ville? Harrison Keevil’s Brookville was once the standard-bearer, Richey says, but since the restaurant closed in 2016, the genre has been underrepresented. “Maybe Ian Boden at The Shack, because he is so hyper-local in his sourcing,” Richey says.

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Culture

Take it from the top

When Sally Rose and her band Shagwüf take the stage for Fridays After Five at the Ting Pavilion on June 18, they’ll be the first musicians to play the venue since Jeff Tweedy and Wilco came to town on November 8, 2019.

Wait, the what pavilion?

A lot has changed in 19 months—including C’ville’s largest outdoor venue landing a new sponsor. 

By the time the pandemic hit in spring of 2020, Sprint Pavilion General Manager Kirby Hutto had a full slate of bands lined up for the venue’s Friday night concert series. He was forced to put the dates on hold and hoped that 2021 would harmonize with live music.

Fortunately, it has. With Governor Ralph Northam lifting distancing, masking, and gathering restrictions as of May 28, in-person jams are back—mostly. For its part, Fridays returns at full tenor. Hutto has booked 12 of the weekly dates, starting with opener Shagwüf and headliner Chamomile and Whiskey. September 10 and 17 are the only remaining open slots.

“That’s where I started, with reaching back out to those [2020] artists and seeing if we could get them a date for 2021,” Hutto says. “But you also had to ask the question if they were still a band, had they been rehearsing and ready to play. It made it a little more complicated.”

Take Shagwüf, for instance. Sally Rose’s rock ‘n’ roll trio wasn’t scheduled to play Fridays in 2020, but her Sally Rose Band, with its somewhat softer, singer-songwriter vibe, was. Rose has been more focused on the rock outfit the last several years, though, and the switch made sense.

Shagwüf completed a record, Dog Days Of Disco, just prior to the pandemic and was forced to release the LP digitally. After going into strict lockdown for a few months, dispensing with hopes of touring, and tracking down COVID tests as often as possible, Rose and her bandmates eased back into practicing in person. The band came up with another album’s worth of tracks by October 2020 and put out an EP on Halloween—“the most politically-charged album we’ve made, which is saying a lot for Shagwüf,” Rose says.

Then, another coronavirus surge hit and forced the band back apart. 

“There are so many layers to unpack,” Rose says. “Just being able to see each other again, fully vaccinated and being able to hug each other—that takes 20 minutes to process.”

Shagwüf was also recommended by friend and Chamomile and Whiskey frontman Koda Kerl.

Much like Rose and company, Chamomile and Whiskey took its lockdown licks but came out creating (with a new bass player). The band’s latest record, Red Clay Heart, dropped last fall, and Kerl says he’s ready to get out and play—even in front of a crowd that might be as interested in socializing as listening to every note.

“Fridays is a really unique audience. It’s a really broad group,” Kerl says. “When [Kirby] called us to do the first one in almost two years, we viewed it as a challenge. We’re lucky to have fans in town, and we think we can connect with the audience and get people down to the stage.” Rose and Kerl both said their bands would be riffing new material most people haven’t heard.

Other notable 2021 Fridays acts are headlining newcomers Ebony Groove—a Charlottesville High School pep band-cum-gogo-troupe playing July 2—and indie rockers Dropping Julia, due on July 9. Mainstay Erin & the Wildfire will bring power pop on July 16, and veterans The Skip Castro Band will anchor the lineup with uptempo blues-inflected rock on September 3.

Both of the latter bands will have played the pavilion under all three of its sponsored names. “That’s part of the puzzle, getting some of those familiar bands that are going to pop off the schedule, and rotating in the new names and some you haven’t seen in awhile,” Hutto says.

Still, it won’t be all vaccines and rainbows. While Northam’s lifted the mask mandate, public health guidelines are still in effect statewide. That means the vaccinated are welcome with open aisles—though encouraged to wear masks in crowds—while the non-vaccinated must wear masks in all venue areas.

The Ting Pavilion offers the standard post-COVID suggestions to keep problems to a minimum: Stay home if you’re sick or in contact with the sick, respect others, and know the concert organizers have done everything they can to prevent the spread of the virus. That includes installing a new HVAC system in the pavilion loo, regularly cleaning high-touch areas, and adding hand sanitizing stations and no-touch food and drink ordering and payment options.

Hutto admits getting back into the swing of things might be a challenge, but he expects the spacious Pavilion grounds to make folks comfortable. 

Kerl says he doesn’t mind the restrictions, and Rose just wants to see her Charlottesville friends.

“During the lockdown, I wasn’t playing shows or touring—I wasn’t seeing people,” she says. “Just being able to play loud, fun rock-and-roll with my boys again, nothing touches it…I can’t even begin to imagine what it is going to feel like stepping onto that stage.”

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Culture

Straight talk

Want to know what to order from the new Café Frank, acclaimed chef Jose de Brito’s newest proving ground? Don’t ask acclaimed chef Jose de Brito.

“I am never happy with my dishes, and I usually do not taste my finished plates,” de Brito says. “I am way too scared to find out how bad I am. But it is not exactly my first rodeo, so I know pretty much what works or does not.”

The modesty is almost comical coming from de Brito, arguably C’ville’s most acclaimed chef. He began his career opening cult favorite Ciboulette in 2006, did stints at Trinity and Fleurie, and landed at The Alley Light, where he and restaurateur Wilson Richey drew accolades from the James Beard Foundation (Alley Light was one of 25 semifinalists for the coveted Outstanding Restaurant title; de Brito was a semifinalist for Best Chef Mid-Atlantic), Washington Post, and Washingtonian. After what would have been a pinnacle for many chefs, de Brito went to work cooking with Patrick O’Connell at the three-Michelin star Inn at Little Washington.

A second collaboration with Richey, Café Frank will give de Brito the chance to experiment with a seasonal menu of appetizers like meat pies, long-simmering soups, classic French salads, and entrées such as steak Diane and wagyu beef pot roast. According to de Brito, it’s all about flavor, not pretension.

“I do not have the team, time, space, and ability to make elaborate gardens on plates and play with tweezers, so my only saving grace is flavor,” he says. “I build and layer flavors like a maniac.”

Take Café Frank’s sauces. Each one starts with a base 20 years in the making—he freezes the bases and moves them from restaurant to restaurant as his career progresses. De Brito likens the strategy to the “solera” winemaking technique or the method for creating real balsamic vinegar.

“What is good about Café Frank is that I stay in my kitchen,” de Brito says. “I like dogs a lot, but I can really do without most people, so I rarely go into the dining room. I stay where I belong, talking to my shallots, listening to my sauces, getting aroused by my chicken stock, smelling my herbs. I like a perfectly silent kitchen so I can hear my ingredients.”

The food at Café Frank is classic and casual, “with a lot of TLC,” de Brito says. The new restaurant is truly an outlet for him to “get back into [his] madness.”

“Opening Café Frank was a way to fuel my obsession with making dishes. Hopefully in between I can give a few good nights out to some people. I am busy—extremely busy. I hope my wife will forgive me one day.”