The UVA men’s lacrosse team won its second consecutive national championship on Monday. The Hoos topped Maryland 17-16 in the final match, with a last-second save from goalie Alex Rode making the difference. Redshirt freshman Connor Shellenberger and junior Matt Moore each had four goals and two assists in the title game.
UVA entered the tournament as the country’s fourth-ranked team, and dispatched Georgetown and top-ranked UNC in its run to the final.
It’s the seventh title for the Cavaliers since the first NCAA lacrosse tournament was held in 1971. Only Johns Hopkins and Syracuse have more wins than the Hoos. Coach Lars Tiffany was hired in 2016, and has already picked up two national championships.
The core of the current Cavaliers’ team has been through a lot together, winning the 2019 national championship, sitting through a canceled COVID season, and then going on another run in 2021. “At the end of the day, it just came down to our chemistry,” said star midfielder Jared Conners. “Being able to look at each other and knowing that we could rely on each other.”
“We can see in real time that the more people get vaccinated, the fewer people get COVID. It is very simple math.”
Governor Ralph Northam, speaking alongside Joe Biden at a press conference in an Alexandria climbing gym last week.(Props, Gov, for resisting making a “climbing out of the pandemic” pun. We wouldn’t have had the same restraint.)
News Briefs
Memorial Day cemetery cleanup
A group of Charlottesville volunteers spent Memorial Day in Oakwood Cemetery, reflecting on the service of our veterans through acts of service of their own—the volunteers spent the morning cleaning the gravestones of the roughly 400 veterans buried there. Do Good Cville and The Chris Long Foundation helped coordinate the effort, and Hathaway Paper, Packaging and Janitorial donated the cleaning supplies.
Northam lifts restrictions
All of Virginia’s social distancing and indoor capacity restrictions were lifted by Governor Ralph Northam on Friday. “With #COVID19 vaccines now widely available, it is time to begin our new normal,” Northam tweeted. The state government continues to urge people to wear masks, especially in schools where most young students have not yet been vaccinated.
Let’s talk about land use, baby
Charlottesville has extended the public comment period on the Future Land Use Map to June 13. The map, a non-binding, advisory document, lays out which neighborhoods in the city could be considered for increased housing density when the city rewrites the zoning code in the coming months. To learn more about it, read our cover story from last week, and to submit a comment, email engage@cvilleplanstogether.com.
They’re doing whatwith the cicadas?
Central Virginia has been spared of this year’s cicada swarm, and it’s a good thing, too—northern Virginia has cicada fever. One Leesburg chef started serving cicada tacos in his restaurant, reports the Loudoun Times-Mirror…until the health department put the kibosh on it. Apparently, you’re only allowed to serve cicadas if they’re sourced from an inspected and certified farm.
TV station apologizes
A Richmond TV station formally apologized to Delegate Sam Rasoul for asking an Islamophobic question during a lieutenant governor forum last week. A moderator asked Rasoul if he could “represent all Virginians regardless of faith or beliefs” after having received significant campaign contributions from Muslim groups. The question was widely condemned by VA politicos. After the debate, Rasoul tweeted a photo of the Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom, which hangs in the House of Delegates.
The majority of Piedmont Virginia Community College students will not have to pay tuition and fees during the 2021-2022 school year.
PC: Skyclad aerial
While the daily decrease in coronavirus infections offers a light at the end of the tunnel, the nation’s economy continues to struggle to recover from the ongoing pandemic. Millions of Americans remain unemployed, including over 60,000 Virginia residents. Now more than ever, many are looking to start a new job or career, but may not have the right skills or education to get their foot in the door.
For people who want to return to school—or go for the first time—cost in the Charlottesville area no longer has to be a barrier. Piedmont Virginia Community College is offering free tuition and fees for the majority of its students during the 2021-2022 school year.
“There are a lot of people out there in central Virginia that are saying to themselves, ‘What am I going to do next? What’s my next job [or] career?’” says PVCC President Frank Friedman. “They need to get a new skill set and prepare themselves for the future, but don’t have the money to enroll.”
“That’s when we sat down and said, ‘What can we do to help those people?’” he says. “How can we make PVCC even more affordable?”
The new program, dubbed PVCC.4u, is open to all Virginia residents who make less than $100,000 a year, or who were laid off or furloughed due to the pandemic. To get the free ride, students need to fill out a financial aid application and enroll in at least six credit hours this fall.
Those who earn a 2.0 GPA or higher will have their spring tuition and fees covered too, saving students up to $5,000 in total.
Since the pandemic hit, PVCC students have largely been learning over Zoom. Last fall, the school allowed a small portion of its courses to begin safely meeting face-to-face, but with only a handful students in the classroom at a time.
“Those are classes that require labs, are studio art classes, or are hands-on types of classes, where you have to interact with the equipment,” says Friedman. “Try learning to be a welder online!”
But thanks to Virginia’s successful vaccine rollout, the school plans to completely “return to normal” this fall, Friedman says. All classes will be offered in-person (with masks required), along with the typical online-only courses.
[Online learning] was very convenient for students, especially those who are parents raising kids.
Frank Friedman, President of PVCC
However, he anticipates a slight increase in online offerings at PVCC. Pre-COVID, nearly a quarter of the school’s courses were already taught online, making the transition to all-virtual learning a bit easier.
“Some faculty who had not taught online before but then had to during the pandemic, they realized it was a good mode of instruction,” says Friedman. “Their students were doing well in the course, and it was very convenient for students, especially those who are parents raising kids.”
Typically when unemployment rates go up, more people enroll in community colleges. But over the past year, enrollment has decreased by about 6 percent at PVCC, which currently has around 5,000 students enrolled in credit courses. Another 3,000 are enrolled in non-credit workforce training programs.
“People didn’t know how long [the pandemic] would last, what its impact would be, what jobs would exist or not exist,” says Friedman, explaining the drop in enrollment. “And people just didn’t have money.”
To help more Virginians get back to work, the General Assembly recently passed the Get Skilled, Get a Job, Give Back initiative, which will cover state community college tuition, fees, and books for low- and middle-income students pursuing high-demand careers, including health care, information technology, manufacturing, public safety, and early childhood education. The program, which goes into effect this fall, will also provide financial assistance for necessary expenses like food, child care, and transportation.
“[G3] does not cover our students who are in what we call our transfer programs, which lead to a bachelor’s degree,” says Friedman. “That’s over 60 percent of our students.”
Thanks to stimulus money from the American Rescue Plan—combined with Pell grants, state funds, and community donations—PVCC is now able to waive tuition and fees for all students not covered by the G3 program.
While G3 has no expiration date, PVCC.4u will end after next spring. But Friedman remains hopeful the program can become permanent, pointing to President Joe Biden’s plan to make community college free nationwide.
“There is an opportunity here for Congress to act,” says Friedman. “We are very hopeful that they will.”
Charlottesville City Council recently approved new COVID-19 restrictions, which are stricter than those mandated by Governor Ralph Northam on July 1, when the state moved to Phase 3 of reopening. PC: Eze Amos / Mark Warner Flickr
By Emily Hamilton
On August 1, residents of Charlottesville and Albemarle became subject to a new set of coronavirus restrictions: in-person gatherings of more than 50 people are banned; restaurants and other venues such as wineries, breweries, and distilleries can operate at only 50 percent capacity; and face coverings are required in indoor public spaces. The state’s Phase 3 guidelines, which have been in effect since July 1, allow in-person gatherings of up to 250 people, and stores, restaurants, and bars have no capacity limits, as long as social distancing is enforced.
The new local rules, which were approved July 27 and will last for 60 days, are more strict than the current statewide guidelines, and demonstrate the power localities have been given in crafting policy to contain COVID-19.
As of August 3, the Virginia Department of Health reports 775 cases of coronavirus in Albemarle and 495 cases in Charlottesville. Much of the support for both ordinances comes from concerns surrounding the impending return of UVA students. As the community prepares for the influx, Charlottesville and Albemarle government leaders recognize the potential for a surge.
“Part of…the motivation for this is that nothing would be worse for the economy than for UVA students coming back…to be a super spreader event,” said City Councilor Michael Payne at the July 27 emergency meeting. “And to prevent that, I think, is a decision worth making.”
The Charlottesville and Albemarle County ordinances reflect the difficulty that local governments face as they mitigate the damage the pandemic has wrought upon their communities. Although Virginia entered Phase 3 more than a month ago, recent actions reflect the state’s piecemeal approach to virus control.
In late July, Virginia Beach Mayor Bobby Dyer wrote a letter to Governor Ralph Northam asking the state to impose harsher restrictions after cases surged in that area. Dyer requested that the governor mandate restaurants and bars close early, among other rules. Northam quickly assented, making the rules official the following day.
Historically, Virginia is no stranger to friction between state and local jurisdictions. Localities in Virginia generally do not have much power, thanks to the Dillon Rule, which limits the powers of local governments only to those expressed by the state government. Localities aren’t allowed to do things like ban firearms or (until this year) remove monuments.
In times of crisis, localities have a little more say. Although Charlottesville and Albemarle’s new guidelines depart from those set by the state, the ordinances are in line with the expectation for local governments to protect their citizens during a crisis. The city’s ordinance cites the continued state of emergency along with the fact that the COVID-19 pandemic remains a “disaster” under Virginia Code. In Northam’s executive order declaring the state of emergency, he stated that local governments have the power “to implement recovery and mitigation operations” to fight the virus.
At the July 27 Albemarle County Board of Supervisors meeting, Bea LaPisto Kirtley, who represents the Rivanna District, expressed her confidence in the board’s decision to move forward with the local ordinance. “I would hope that the public, our county, our citizens, our community, would look at this as what I call a Phase 2.5,” she said. “I think we’ve made a lot of adjustments that fit our community, that fit us, and then will help us help our businesses help keep our citizens safe.”
Former C-VILLE Weekly reporter Erin O'Hare joins other talented music writers for a chat about the state of live performance. Photo courtesy of WTJU.
Hear and there: It’s a question fans around the world are asking: Where does music go from here? As we navigate a reopening while keeping our distance, how do we commune around our favorite musical acts and enjoy concerts again? How do bands practice, record, and tour safely? What is the impact of our complex times on the creative mindset? WTJU’s Radio Talks brings together a lineup of locally connected experts, including Rolling Stone writer Rob Sheffield and former C-VILLE Weekly reporter Erin O’Hare to discuss where we are today and what we might hear in the future. Zoom required.
At 25, Blue O’Connell discovered she had partial hearing loss, but remained committed to a life as a musician. She’s just released Seven Songs of Solace, a multimedia songbook filled with both traditional and original music intended to bolster resilience. Photo by Amy and Jackson Smith
When Blue O’Connell sings an old song, she feels a strong connection to the past, to the person who wrote that song and all the people who’ve sung it before her.
“I often tell people…if you read a history book about [a] time, it was probably written by someone who didn’t live through that time,” says O’Connell. But in singing a song written during a certain period, there’s a sort of alchemy of time, space, and empathy that allows the singer to connect not just with a narrative, but with human experience and to lives and voices not always included in history books.
As we make our way through this latest historic moment, O’Connell’s looking to music as a means of comfort and hope, and she knows she’s not alone in that. She recently released Seven Songs of Solace, a songbook complete with sheet music, guitar tablature, and recordings of some of her own songs plus arrangements of traditional and popular tunes from different eras and places—seven songs that have resonated with O’Connell as she’s experienced longing, loss, grief, pain, peace, and resilience throughout her own life.
When O’Connell was a 25-year-old musician living and working in Chicago, afriend invited her over to hear his latest piano composition. She sat in the room with him for a while, waiting for the piece to begin. “When are you going to play it?” she asked.
Her friend paused. “I did.”
O’Connell hadn’t heard a single note. She’d lost the ability to hear certain frequencies, particularly higher ones, but she didn’t let that stop her from making music and writing songs. She moved to Charlottesville in 1989, and throughout the 1990s performed at Live Arts, The Prism Coffeehouse, First Night Virginia, and elsewhere, and was a folk music DJ at WTJU 91.1FM.
After September 11, 2001, O’Connell read a newspaper article about how people were coping with the tragedy. Some talked about “a song that gave voice to feelings they didn’t have, or validated their experience. Some said they went to a concert,” remembers O’Connell. Up until that moment, she’d understood the significance of music—she was a musician playing regular gigs after all—but those stories made her understand just how important, how personal, it is to so many people.
Soon after, an ad in a music magazine for a certified music practitioner program caught her eye. The training happened to be at Martha Jefferson Hospital, and O’Connell signed up right away. In 2003, she completed an internship at UVA hospital and was hired there as a musician-in-residence, playing for ICU patients as well as local nursing home residents.
In 2009, at age 50, O’Connell received a cochlear implant and started undergoing various therapies of her own to learn how to hear again. Hearing some of those frequencies, those notes, for the first time in many years was difficult, says O’Connell. But she persisted.
Playing therapeutic music, “in a lot of ways, is the opposite of what a [music] performer does,” says O’Connell. Performers aspire to entertain an audience, keep them engaged, excited, awake; therapeutic musicians aim to calm a listener to the point of relaxation, even slumber.
In the ICU, she plays unrecognizable music to avoid causing uncomfortable or painful memories that a person might associate with a particular song. Nursing home sets can be a bit more upbeat, and she fields requests to conjure happy memories and movement.
O’Connell imbues sensitivity and reassurance into Seven Songs of Solace, on the traditional songs she’s chosen—like “Shenandoah,” with its melody relating a “sense of longing and love,” and “Ode to Joy,” which Beethoven wrote after he went deaf—and in her originals.
She composed “Acceptance (for Mom)” after her mother died. O’Connell folded the five stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance) into the music, which transforms as the song progresses. When she considered what “denial” might sound like, she thought of an Irish jig. “I know when I’m in denial, I dance around,” she says with a laugh.
“Choose the Sky” came about as O’Connell drove alone on a highway in Arizona. “I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t even notice I was driving in the most beautiful place you could imagine.” The lyrics came after the music, and for O’Connell, the song is about stability, how the sky is always present and yet always changing.
“For me, that’s a metaphor for what’s going on now, about finding something that will sustain you, and knowing it’s going to be okay.”
When the pandemic broke in March, O’Connell’s full-time hospital and nursing home work was “suspended indefinitely.” She misses it, but she’s still got the music, and in sharing her songbook, she’s finding some solace of her own.
Dating while remaining socially distant can be unfulfilling, and the lack of human touch can lead to an aching desire known as skin hunger. Drawing by Elena Speidel
By Lisa Speidel
An estimated 25 million people use dating apps in the United States every year, with Tinder being the most popular way to click, browse, swipe, and meet. Dating apps in the best of times are not easy, whether we are looking for true love, are ethically non-monogamous, searching for another partner, or simply want to hook up for one night. The challenges of texting, filtering who may be safe to meet, and contending with random unsolicited dick pics can be frustrating. Sometimes the first date reveals a person who does not match up to his posted photo or stats, or maybe there’s just no spark. In other cases, it can lead to finding an amazing partner; at the very least, it allows for the possibility of finding what we want—but all of this has drastically changed with the current state of enforced social distancing.
A 50-year-old friend of mine, Jemma, revealed her own experience after she rejoined OkCupid, Bumble, and Hinge at the beginning of the year. Her typical process consisted of messaging potential dates in the apps, then sharing phone numbers for more texting or talking. If that went well, they would set up a time to meet in person. When the pandemic hit, the culture of dating apps took an extreme turn. “Now each conversation starts with, ‘How are you doing?’ and the initial interactions consist of caring and concern right off the bat,” she says. In one case, there was an immediate connection through the trauma of navigating COVID-19, but instead of continuing the trajectory of meeting in person, FaceTime and Zoom dates had to suffice. This was not particularly satisfying, so when an intense connection grew, she agreed to a social distancing date. They took a walk together, six feet apart, and on the next date, met at his house where she sat opposite from him around an outdoor fire. She did not want to enter his house, so she continuously used the other side of his truck as a toilet. The attraction was so strong, she says, it was difficult not to touch, but they resisted.
Some prefer to wait to be sexual when dating, but for many of us acting on attraction enables the connection to grow. Pandemic dating means a loss of physical contact across the board, which can be incredibly painful. “I realized how much I miss being touched,” Jemma says. “I am not being sexual with anyone, which is hard, but also I just miss being hugged.” This is known as skin hunger, a deep longing and aching desire for physical contact with another person. Our skin is our largest sensory organ, and touch can fulfill the necessity for comfort, emotional support, and physical and sexual needs. It is also calming, and during so much uncertainty, the lack of touch can add to the struggle as many realize how important it really is.
She has since decided that being on dating apps “feels like an exercise in futility,” and has shut them down. Kelly, 40, has done the same, and says, “I really don’t want to have a pen pal, so what’s the point?” At 26, John can relate to this sentiment, but he has not disconnected from his apps, with the exception of Grindr.
On Grindr, it felt as if the “horniness of men outweighed the emergency of the pandemic,” he says. “Many men were saying ‘it’s just us, I am not going anywhere, we can be safe,’ and I was feeling pressure to meet up.” He has used this opportunity to practice setting boundaries, but says he has found that some men have become “emboldened to be more direct and show a lot more pictures of naked body parts, as if some people just aren’t taking it seriously.” Despite making some real connections with men on Hinge, John says, “If you want to have an exclusive relationship, how can you really do that online?” The virtual getting-to-know-you is a barrier to physical chemistry, and it takes longer with texting and chatting, to get to the root of things. Although he continues to be in contact with men, it “feels like friendship with the vague possibility of getting laid in months. And that’s just not very titillating or exciting. But what else am I going to do? …There are only so many Zoom family meetings that are going to take up my time,” he jokes.
We rely heavily on the internet and apps to keep us connected during this time of isolation, and while there are many limitations to fulfilling all of our needs as humans, taking advantage of these virtual connections allows space to process a new dating reality as we support each other, and hold on to the hope of hugging each other soon.
Lisa Speidel is an assistant professor in the Women, Gender and Sexuality Department at the University of Virginia. She is an AASECT Certified Sexuality Educator (CSE) and co-author of the book The Edge of Sex: Navigating a Sexually Confusing Culture From the Margins.
Diarrhea Planet got rowdy at The Southern in April 2015. Photo by Tom Daly
Remember live music? Us, too.
There’s reason to be extra grateful for recorded music right now (and for all the artists streaming sets into our living rooms), but it’s not the same as packing into a whatever-sized room with a bunch of other people to hear some tunes played just for you. Sweating, swaying, swooning, swirling, swilling a beverage while the band plays (we better not catch you talking)…it’s an experience that’s on hold during social distancing. It’s just too risky.
We can’t convene in our favorite venues right now, and won’t for a while still, but we sure can wax poetic about when we could. Some pretty rad bands have played some pretty rad shows in Charlottesville, and local folks have these stories to prove it (and others, like City Councilor Sena Magill, have the cool, hard proof: outrageous memorabilia).
Scroll down for an update on local venues.
What’s your favorite show memory? Tell us in the comments.
Diarrhea Planet
The Southern Café & Music Hall, April 2015
When Diarrhea Planet (RIP) was on, no band mixed respect for the grandeur of rock with tongue-in-cheek jibes at the ridiculousness of “maximum rock ‘n’ roll” like they did. —Charlie Sallwasser
Toots and the Maytals
Starr Hill, early 1990s
Starr Hill was a 400 [-person capacity] club on West Main. There were maybe 600 people in attendance and, as Toots found out when he held his mike out to urge people to sing along, everybody there knew every single word to every song they played. I went downstairs for a drink and the floor was literally moving up and down eight or nine inches in each direction. It was his A-list band—the guys he records with—and they were so stoked that the crowd really knew the material. —Charlie Pastorfield
Against Me!
Champion Brewing Company, October 2016
Lead singer Laura Jane Grace came out in a Trump mask to sing “Baby, I’m an Anarchist.” —Nolan Stout
My Bloody Valentine and Dinosaur Jr.
Trax, February 1992
It was “immersive” and that’s an understatement. MBV was feel-it-in-your-spine loud and I am convinced that most of my current high-frequency hearing loss can be traced to that show. Then they turned on the strobe light and left it on for the duration of “To Here Knows When,” which felt like an hour [ed. note: the recorded version is 5:32]. The crowd, the bone-rattling, the sound, the blinding light all simultaneously induced euphoria and claustrophobia. It was honestly the greatest show of my life. I don’t remember the Dinosaur Jr. set at all. —Mike Furlough
A Tribute to Roland Wiggins
The Jefferson School African American Heritage Center, September 2019
Hands down, the Roland Wiggins tribute. I had to watch it on Facebook because I was out of town doing a gig, but the surprise performances from his best friend made my heart smile. Super close second fave was [soul-rock musician and theologian] Rev. Sekou at The Festy [2019]. Lawd hammercy…. —Richelle Claiborne
Neutral Milk Hotel
Tokyo Rose, March 1998
Won’t do the Pud (too many to count), so I’ll say [this one]. I bartended downstairs that night; they made everyone very, very, very happy and very hopeful. They stayed at our house. I went to work and then they JAMMED AND STEVE RICHMOND DIDN’T RECORD IT (forgave). —Tyler Magill
Jonathan Richman
The Southern Café & Music Hall, November 2015
Because every Jonathan Richman show is better than every show without Jonathan Richman. #RoadRunner —Siva Vaidhyanathan
Funk and soul act Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings played multiple memorable shows in town before Jones passed away from pancreatic cancer in November 2016. Photo by Jack Looney
Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings
Satellite Ballroom,
February 2006
The horns! Her voice! The dancing! The being young! —Nell Boeschenstein
Trey Anastasio Band
The Jefferson Theater, February 2010
It was insane. Working with a hero. They rehearsed in the venue the day before, which was a real treat. Basically a private show. We loaded in during a blizzard. Tom Daly snapped one of my all-time favorite photos of me during the show. I was 24 years old and like a kid in a candy shop. —Warren Parker
Muddy Waters
The West Virginian (the basement of The Virginian), 1976
Astonishing electric blues. I wrote a review of the show for the Tandem Evergreen, and got into an argument with the editor, who sniffed that “all the songs were in E.” —Hawkins Dale
Lightning Bolt/ Forcefield
The Pudhaus, 2001
One of the sweatiest, most energetic, and righteous shows I have ever experienced. A room so full that the floor bounced but just an ecstatic feeling. Felt like the building levitated. —Davis Salisbury
The Flaming Lips at The Sprint Pavilion. Photo by Tristan Williams
The Flaming Lips
The Sprint Pavilion, August 2019
Absolute and utter magic. The music. The energy of the crowd. The giant balloons and inflatable robot. I am not the same person I was before. —Emily Cain
University School
The Bridge PAI, March 2017
University School (Peter Bussigel and Travis Thatcher) played a live techno set, did the whole thing wearing crazy animal masks and making hot dogs for everyone while they played. They even had veggie dogs for the vegetarians out there, and everyone was eating and having a great time. Not saying the concert convinced me to move here, but it definitely helped. —Kittie Cooper
Sleater-Kinney
Tokyo Rose, April 1996
I bet a few people mention this one—for those who saw it, many probably remember it as one of the peak music moments of their lives, including me. It was a benefit for the Sexual Assault Resource Agency, right after the album Call the Doctor came out. Curious Digit opened—in honor of the riot grrrl occasion they did Bikini Kill’s “Carnival.” Sleater-Kinney were so glorious, my friend Jeanine (who MC’d the show, repping both SARA and WTJU) threw her bra up onstage, where it landed on Corin’s microphone. She left it dangling there the rest of the show. —Rob Sheffield
Public Enemy
Trax, early 1990s
I was a disaffected undergrad at UVA in the early ’90s when a friend told me Public Enemy was coming to Charlottesville. Why, to burn it down? Nope, to play a show, at Trax. I honestly couldn’t believe it; all I knew about Trax was that Dave Mathews played there all the time. This, was anti-Dave. But it was true, and we got tickets as soon as they became available.
The night of the show we walked over from our place with a Dr. Pepper bottle filled 50/50 with whiskey. Typical undergraduate idiots, not challenging any stereotypes. It was a packed house and the crowd was pretty…energetic? There was a sense that something crazy was about to happen but it was unclear what form it would take: a wild party, maybe a riot. Public Enemy didn’t show for a long time, and the crowd was getting more and more agitated. My friend went to sit down in the back, the whiskey and Dr. Pepper weren’t mixing well.
There was a palpable sense of relief when the announcement was made that PE was in the building and they started setting up. Almost immediately there was another delay, Terminator X’s turntables were messed up somehow getting them onto the stage. Not great; things really started leaning towards riot. There was some pushing, scuffling, a lot of impolite shouting. I was trying to figure out how I was going to get the hell out of there when everyone heard the unmistakable sound of Flav shouting, “Yo, Chuck!,” and it was on. Every single person was immediately through the roof. What followed was a two-hour-long sonic assault; angry, political, righteous, and absolutely everything I’d hoped for. Maybe this Charlottesville thing was going to work out after all. When it was all over, I went to find my friend, still passed out sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. I had to wake him up, and he groggily asked what he had missed. Everything.
I learned later that night that another friend had his face slashed somewhere in the pushing and shoving. He stayed for the show and got quite a few stitches later. We all agreed it was worth it, and that he had likely done something to deserve it. —Steve Hoover
Taj Mahal
Trax, late 1980s/early 1990s
He told the audience they were the rudest mofos he’d ever seen and he left the stage. He was right. Maybe not my favorite memory, but one of the more stand-out memories. —Jamie Dyer
Ratatat
The Jefferson Theater, October 2010
Not counting EDM shows, Charlottesville crowds are typically on the more reserved side, but something was in the air that night. It was packed and yet I was able to move freely from bar to stage, dancing from person to person on my way. It felt more like a party where everyone was a friend and Ratatat were the house band. On multiple occasions I’ve recounted the show years later to someone and they’ll light up and say, “I was at that show!” They always agree it was a special one. —Jonathan Teeter
Fugazi
Trax, 1993
I still have the flier from that show. Trax became known as the beginnings of DMB, but they had a pretty stellar run of booking amazing indie bands in the late ’80s and ’90s—Ramones, Sonic Youth, Pixies, Pavement, Replacements, Smithereens, Jesus and Mary Chain, Bob Mould, Superchunk…Dinosaur Jr. and My Bloody Valentine on the same bill. —Rich Tarbell
Courtesy of Rich Tarbell
Nada Surf and Rogue Wave
Starr Hill, 2006
Used…someone else’s ID…and had my first craft beer at a show. One of my favorite memories. —Allison Kirkner
Memorial Gym, UVA, 1990s
All the dope shows at Mem Gym. Jane’s Addiction…or rap shows put on by UVA in the ’90s. All of James McNew’s Yo La Tengo shows were good, too. —DJ Rob A
Levon Helm
The Paramount Theater, 2008
With an amazing band in tow, from the opening romp of “Ophelia” onward, Levon was the happiest guy in the room and it just trickled down. We were all fortunate to have him in good voice that night. —Michael Clem
Gogol Bordello
Live Arts, 2004
The downstairs stage still had scaffolding and platforms up from whatever production, and the band kept pulling people out of the audience until it felt like there were more people on stage than off it. —Phil “dogfuck” Green
Nik Turner
Champion Brewing Company, October 2017
Nik Turner [of Hawkwind], free, outside, bit o’ rain, C’ville…Skulls split from grinning so much. A perfect storm in every way, and to be there with a novitiate who was gobbling it up like candy made it that much better for me. And it was with Hedersleben to boot. —Kevin McFadin
Phoenix
The Sprint Pavilion, September 2013
I had lived in Charlottesville from 1999-2002 as a recent college grad. I moved back in 2013, driving from Brooklyn in a U-Haul truck with a 2-year-old and a spouse who had never lived here before. It was very hot out, we were in debt, we missed our friends, and our stuff was in boxes in a too-small apartment. We went out for a walk on the Downtown Mall and saw a poster for Phoenix, playing at the Pavilion that night. I asked some people sitting on a bench “Is that Phoenix, the band from France?” They shrugged yes, and a few hours later I drifted over to the Ninth St. bridge, where I stood and watched. (I had no money for admission, and spouse and child were tired and stayed home.) The band played a set of songs I had gotten to know and love in my old home, and from where I stood I saw a sea of smiling faces. On their way offstage the band gave an amused wave to the bridge crowd, and I walked back to the apartment feeling for the first time in a while that it would be possible to make a life here work. —Jake Mooney
Fugazi
Trax, April 1993
-and-
Sleater-Kinney
Tokyo Rose, April 1996
I chose two, which occurred three years and one day apart. Fugazi: The first time I had ever seen them outside of D.C. Brilliant, dynamic and WAY too loud. Turns out it was the first date of a new PA, which left many a fan stone-deaf for a few days. This can be found as part of the Fugazi Live Series. The middle section, tracks 13-21, I would put up against any band, anywhere, ever. Then Sleater-Kinney: One of the very few times I have ever said to a band, “One year from now, you guys are gonna be huge.” I think that creeped out Carrie Brownstein (though I was right). Emotionally overwhelming set, even with the pre- Janet Weiss drummer. —Joe Gross
The Spinners
University Hall
I call this the “phantom concert” because even though I have a pretty reliable memory, I have not been able to find any evidence on Al Gore’s interwebs that this concert happened. But…I keep telling myself that I know it did, because I was there. Just like I “remember” seeing Ike and Tina Turner here in Charlottesville at 2, I’m pretty sure I saw The Spinners at University Hall at 6. Now, there is a record of The Spinners hitting the same stage in 1981, and at that time the two biggest memories from the show I believed I was at wouldn’t have happened:
A very nice man in front of my family volunteered to put me on his shoulders so that the little 6-year-old me could see (in 1981 I was 11 and almost six feet tall).
There was an opener at the show and they played “Easy” by The Commodores, which was a big hit at the time, but 6-year-old me was confused because that wasn’t The Commodores on stage. In 1981, Lionel Richie would be just about out of The Commodores camp so no opener would have played “Easy” to such a rousing reception.
What I “remember” of The Spinners was awesome. I kept saying to my 6-year-old self, “I’ve seen those guys on TV.”
—Ivan Orr
Southern Culture on the Skids
Gravity Lounge, November 2008
I’ve seen SCOTS a few times, but that was by far the best of the shows—long set list, really intimate environment, superb energy level. —Jeff Uphoff
Charles Bradley & His Extraordinaires
The Jefferson Theater, May 2014
That month, everything was technicolor. I’d been dumped a few weeks prior and mourned what was really nothing, for too long. The day was warm, the beer was cold, my cat-eye liner was sharp, and my black-and-blush-and-neon-green vintage dress made no sense and perfect sense. (“If you look good, you feel good?”) The band lived up to its name, keeping perfect step while Charles grinned and sang and wailed and wept and spun and sweated buckets in his custom stage suit. Music. What crowd? Music. What ex-boyfriend? Music, music, music. Time to move on. Thank goodness for soul. —Erin O’Hare
Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings
The Jefferson Theater, December 2009
It was my birthday, and I told her so in line after the (absolutely incredible!) performance while she signed a record. She stopped the line and serenaded me with the most beautiful and simple “Happy Birthday” rendition, and I was never the same. Maybe it was a combination of the venue or her verve or this sense that time stood still, but it became the benchmark against which I’ve measured performances—did it feel like it was just for me? My pantheon of performances have done exactly that. —Adrienne Oliver
“Oh there are so many.”
Oh there are so many. Gwar at Trax, had to be early ‘90s…they ended up graffiting a jacket I had graffitied in art class (I still have it). Jane’s Addiction at Mem Gym, had to be ’90 or ’91. Of course, the Tokyo times with The Pitts, The Eldelry, The Councilors, Hillbilly Werewolf. Dread Zeppelin, they were so much fun. Also going to hear The Band and others at Van Riper’s [Lake Music Festival] in the late ‘80s. The Black Crowes, before they really made it, at Trax. —Sena Magill
Detail of Sena Magill’s GWAR jacket. Photo courtesy of Sena Magill
Ben Folds
The Jefferson Theater, 2012? 2011?
He played Chatroulette and it was the funniest, most engaging show I’ve ever seen. So many people I knew were there, it was practically a party. —Marijean Oldham
The Magic Numbers
Starr Hill, 2006
There are three factors that make up the most memorable kind of concert: One, an intimate venue, two, the surprise factor—going to see a band you know little to nothing about and having your socks knocked off, and three, the magical band-audience feedback loop that manifests when you have a band that has lightning in a bottle, but is too green to know it yet— but the audience understands, and you get to watch the band’s wildest dreams come true in real time. The Magic Numbers gave me all three on a Tuesday night. I am a sucker for a bit of indie-pop perfection, and I heard their single “Love Me Like You” on the radio on my way to work, followed by the announcement that they would be at Starr Hill that night. I immediately changed my plans and it was one of the best concert decisions I’ve ever made. —Miranda Watson
Dave Matthews Band
Scott Stadium, 2001
The stadium had just been renovated and DMB played with Neil Young. I worked for the stadium event staff and got field passes. Also got to kick field goals with Boyd Tinsley during sound check the day before. —David Morris
Neutral Milk Hotel
The Jefferson Theater, 2015
They have been a favorite band since I was a senior in high school in 2003, and I couldn’t believe I actually got the chance to hear them live since they broke up in 1999 and I never thought they’d get back together. It was a school night, and I was beyond stressed from finals and job searching, but for two hours I forgot all of that and was completely enthralled. —Caroline Heylman
Dump/Girl Choir/Sloppy Heads
Twisted Branch Tea Bazaar, August 2011
Hats off to Jacob Wolf for booking this show and WJTU for presenting it, but it’s a very special night for me since I put the pieces in motion to make it happen. We got Brooklyn jammers Sloppy Heads and Dump (aka James McNew from Yo La Tengo) from NYC, with Charlottesville’s own mod enthusiasts Girl Choir in between —a Brooklyn/Charlottesville/Brooklyn via Charlottesville sandwich. Tons of great folks came from all over to see a very rare non-NYC set by Dump, which he played with his partner Amy. They covered all the bases and provided a nice mellow-ish counterpoint to the Heads’ shambolic choogling and Girl Choir’s frenetic anthemic. It was quite the magical evening for both music and human interaction. —Dominic DeVito
George Clinton & the P-Funk All-Stars
Trax, February 1993
The P-Funk legend was well into his 50s, but this cosmic slop raged on into the wee hours—I have never seen such a marathon with such relentless energy. George just gave up the funk for hour after hour, until every pair of hips was sore, except his. After four hours or so, I finally had to admit defeat and drag my weary bones home—but George and crew were still going strong onstage. To this day I still don’t know how much longer the show went on. An inspiration to us all. —Rob Sheffield
Show stopper
When will live music come back?
Charlottesville is really feeling the void left by the lack of live music, and Danny Shea’s got a theory as to why.
Ours is “a remarkable town in regards to support and appetite for live music. We have the luxury of having so much live music per capita, so I think [its absence] is felt more so than in other places,” says Shea, who’s booked music in town for over a decade and currently handles booking, promotion and venue management for The Jefferson Theater and the Southern Café & Music Hall, both owned by Red Light Management.
Local venues have been dark since the second weekend in March, when the World Health Organization declared COVID-19 a global pandemic. Everyone is eager to know when we’ll be able to gather again, but the reality is that nobody—not even venue operations folks like Shea—know the date. Though restaurants with outdoor seating will be allowed to reopen with restrictions on Friday, May 15, entertainment venues, including concert halls, must remain closed. And even when they are allowed to open, it may take a while for things to return to normal.
Emily Morrison, executive director of The Front Porch, a nonprofit music school and venue online, says she probably won’t feel comfortable holding classes and performances in the building until 2021 (they’re all online for now). When she does open, Morrison says she won’t fill the space to its 100-person capacity for a while. “If everybody rushes toward each other this summer as restrictions ease in the state, I’m worried we’ll just have this terrible spike, even worse than the one we’ve had in the spring,” she says.
Jeyon Falsini of local booking and management company Magnus Music shares that worry. Falsini books for a number of restaurant-bars in town, including The Whiskey Jar, Moe’s BBQ, Rapture, and Holly’s Diner, and he says that all of these venues will focus on food and drink sales before hosting live music. These spots typically don’t charge a cover, so musicians are paid from the register and/or a tip jar. “You can only have music if the place is packed, to justify paying out of the register,” says Falsini, who, unable to collect booking fees, is currently on unemployment.
And what would shows even be like? Will touring bands want to pile into their vans (even before the pandemic, touring wasn’t the most hygienic thing) riding from city to city where they might be exposed to the virus, and in turn expose their audiences? Will audiences want to go stand in a room with a band that’s been in 10 cities in two weeks? Will fans pay more for a ticket to offset lower capacities? If the venue marks off safe social distancing spaces on the floor with tape, will attendees obey them (especially after a few beers)? Who would enforce mask rules? Can people be trusted to properly wash their hands in the bathrooms?
With safety measures in place, a show just won’t feel the same, says Shea. “The idea of social distancing at a rock show is impossible. It would be so awkward. …Can you imagine being the band on stage? There’d be no energy created at all.”
With so many questions about how to balance entertainment with public health concerns, “we’re just a little bit on our own…and it feels a little scary,” says Morrison.
Shea expects some aspects of what venues have developed—like expertly produced concert streams—will stick with us once the pandemic’s over. “You can’t trick yourself into old ways of pursuing this stuff,” he says. And while he is unsure of whether scheduled shows will actually happen this summer, he’s certain that Charlottesville’s appetite for them will remain.
The documentary Jim Allison: Breakthrough premieres April 27 on PBS. "All the things thatprobably you wish you could see working in solving COVID right now … Jim embodiesall that," says filmmaker Bill Haney. Photo by LeAnn Mueller
No one could have predicted the global pandemic of COVID-19 when production began on Jim Allison: Breakthrough, but its foundational message is so resonant that there might not be a more perfect time for it to reach audiences. Chronicling the life and scientific research of Nobel laureate and trailblazing immunologist James Allison, whose work with T cells revolutionized treatment for immunodeficiencies and some types of cancer, the film is the opposite of the escapist binging that occupies many people’s queues in this moment.
There is no fantasy or fatalism in Allison’s tale. Instead, director Bill Haney navigates the harsh realities of devastation wrought by cancer (including one patient whose life was saved directly by Allison’s research) and the small-thinking minds that stand in scientists’ way, while maintaining a fundamental optimism that an answer can be found.
“When I was a little boy and I was late for dinner,” says Haney. “My mother would say to me, ‘What were you, out curing cancer? Get in here and sit down,’ because that was the impossible dream. Nobody would ever be out curing cancer. But Jim Allison, for 20 percent of the patients, and 20 percent of the tumors, did. And he did it by personal charisma, scientific insight, persistence, resilience, humor, warmth, teamwork. All the things that probably you wish you could see working in solving COVID right now…Jim embodies all that.”
Born in Alice, Texas, Allison’s extraordinary life was forged by early struggles. Losing his mother at a young age to lymphoma, and later losing a brother to melanoma, Allison deeply understood the human impact of his work. A bright student, he butted heads with the head of his school’s science department who blocked all discussion of evolution in the classroom, and gained confidence to confront those who stand in the way of progress. Whether he is determined or stubborn will be up to the viewer to decide, but his work ethic is an inspiring blend of long-term dedication and impatience with problems he knows can be resolved.
“There’s something magical about Jim,” says Haney. “None of us do everything the right way, but he’s trying to do the right things for the right reasons.”
An immunologist and blues harmonica player, Jim Allison sits in with Willie Nelson on occasion.
There is a careful balance filmmakers must strike when chronicling scientific breakthroughs and the trailblazers who made them happen. If they focus too much on the technical details, they run the risk of losing the audience. If they go too broad with metaphors and framing devices, the importance of hard work and scientific rigor is glossed over. On top of that, who knows how the world will look when the film finally premieres? Will new research negate the findings presented in the film?
Breakthrough sets the standard for how films about scientists can do justice to their subject’s work, their personality, and those around them. Allison is a lifelong blues harmonica player who has shared the stage with Willie Nelson. A detail like this might have been treated as a comical sidenote or postscript in other documentaries, but his zeal for life and his need to create are intrinsically linked.
Regarding the role of Allison’s creativity in his scientific work, Haney believes that “it’s central, absolutely central. And by the way, part of creativity is the willingness to follow the music wherever she takes you,” he says. “And if he had to ignore the convention and ignore the existing papers and change the way the FDA thought [about] it and persuade them, then that’s what he was going to do.”
“The next adult you speak to, ask them to name for you five or 10 creative Americans,” Haney says. “And they will name, I promise, musicians and poets and playwrights and novelists and actors and directors. How many will name a scientist? I think almost no one, and yet they are the people who invent the devices that become our daily lives, the folks who are reimagining life right now. …If you’re a 12-year-old girl and want to have a creative, soulful life, even if you just say creative, how many of those are going to think that that’s an engineer or a biologist? I’m afraid that it’s shockingly small. To their loss and ours.”
Though the film was completed before the novel coronavirus began to spread, it is not a far jump from watching Allison at work to being interested in the work of scientists on the front lines of the search for a COVID-19 vaccine. We have to follow facts, not leaders with conflicting interests. We have to challenge conventional wisdom about what problems are insurmountable, not succumb to them. A great film about a compelling man, Breakthrough may be the antidote to hopelessness in our current pandemic.
"Dreams" by Netherlandish artist Frijke Couman is one of the pieces featured in Second Street Gallery's "Bond/Bound," which address the complicated experience of adjusting to life during a pandemic. Image courtesy the artist
Throughout the month of March, sad email after sad email landed in Kristen Chiacchia’s inbox. Art fairs postponed, gallery shows canceled, museums closed to the public—and then there were the news reports.
The Second Street Gallery executive director and chief curator decided to close her gallery on March 13, but she didn’t want to contribute to the deluge of despair if she didn’t have to.
Instead of focusing on what SSG couldn’t do for patrons and artists at this time (they’ve had to postpone four exhibitions at this point), Chiacchia and Outreach and Events Coordinator Lou Haney decided to put expertly curated exhibitions online.
And on Wednesday, April 15, the gallery launched “Bond/Bound,” on a new site, virtualssg.org. The exhibit, which takes stock of the complex, complicated experience of adjusting to life during a pandemic, is the first show the gallery has curated specifically for the web.
Haney had the idea for “Bond/Bound” as she started contemplating the dichotomy of bonding with other people—either those we’re already physically and emotionally close to, or the millions of complete strangers suddenly sharing our experience—during a time when we are bound to our homes.
One-hundred-and-eleven artists from around the world submitted work, and SSG accepted a little less than half for the exhibition, which covers a variety of media, from sculpture to collage to video. Viewers can click on individual images for a closer look, and to read the artists’ statements.
“‘Dreams’ visualizes the feeling of self isolation for me. The desire for being close to other human beings,” explains Netherlandish artist Frijke Coumans of her photograph, in which a man lies sleeping on a bed in a pair of boxer-briefs, mannequin arms draped over his body. “Seeing videos of hugging friends and people being close to each other almost starts to feel unreal,” she writes.
Hanna Washburn, based in Beacon, New York, thought a lot about the term “shelter in place” as she created “Hive,” a soft sculpture hanging in a tree that “emulated a home, and [is] constructed from the materials of home,” including her old backpack, a rug from her childhood, two of her T-shirts, and a work blouse from her mom, all in hues of pink, red, and white.
Other statements explain how the pandemic has affected artists’ creative processes. “The gloom hanging over our global heads has filtered into my work,” writes Chris Gregson, a Fredericksburg, Virginia, artist whose black-and-blue sumi ink grid of shapes on paper is a stark departure from his usual work, which he describes as “life-confirming abstract oil paintings rooted in the joys of spring.”
“Fairies always did admire the crocodiles,” by Madeleine Rhondeau-Rhodes. Image courtesy of the artist
Charlottesville artist Madeleine Rhondeau-Rhodes submitted “Fairies always did admire the crocodiles,” a collage in which a human-rabbit figure, wearing moth wings both on its back and as clothing, carries a crocodile away from a house, against a purple-red-blue sky. “The pandemic has forced me to further retreat into my own imagination,” Rhondeau-Rhodes writes.
It’s unusual for artist statements to play such a prominent role in an exhibition, but for “Bond/Bound,” “in some cases, the statement was just as important as the work,” says Chiacchia.
Take Penny Chang’s 38-second movement piece, “If You Came This Way,” presented in black-and-white video. The camera focuses on Chang’s open palm as she spins around her bedroom, then wraps herself in an embrace, and holds her own hand. Chang’s statement deepens the viewer’s understanding of the piece: For the past 10 months, she’s been home alone, recovering from a traumatic brain injury sustained after a tree branch fell on her head in New York City’s Washington Square Park. Even before the pandemic, she knew the difficulty of isolation.
Chiacchia anticipates that COVID-19 will change the way we look at, and interact with, art. “We’ve taken for granted being able to just pop into a gallery on a Saturday afternoon, or go to a museum,” she says. And though she hopes people will once again fill those spaces when it’s safe to do so, she plans to continue adapting SSG’s exhibits for the web. SSG may even hold more online-only exhibitions.
At this point, it’s cliché to declare that a lot of great art will come out of this period in history; artists always create work as a response to the world around and within them, and the coronavirus pandemic will be no different. “Bond/Bound” offers an early look at some of this work, and how it will evolve from here. Whether some of these images become tropes of this period in time, or stand as original reactions, is impossible to tell, says Haney. But in this moment, they’re evidence of the ties that bind us.
The Becerras are trying to make up for the loss of City Market business by serving Mexican tacos in their own neighborhood, and at IX Art Park on Saturdays. Photo by Sanjay Suchak
April in Charlottesville is when the food truck business kicks into high gear. For Ignacio and Maria Becerra, the warm weather typically signals the return of long lines of customers snaking around the perimeter of the Charlottesville City Market, waiting for their Mexican Tacos. But there’s nothing typical for the local food industry this spring. Mexican Tacos now operates Thursday evenings in the Becerra’s neighborhood, as well as at IX Art Park on Saturday mornings, says truck manager Luis Becerra.
Food truck proprietors have had to be inventive to keep serving customers who crave anything but another home-cooked meal while honoring Virginia’s distancing guidelines. Whitney Matthews runs the seafood truck SpiceSea Gourmet, and says the timing couldn’t be worse. “Spring is when wineries and breweries start to host events with food trucks and music,” she says. “All events have been canceled or postponed…and corporate lunch spots have also stopped food truck visits because workers are home.”
The Angelic’s Kitchen truck parks at the high-profile Freebridge area of Pantops, where 250 meets High Street, and it’s still bringing in customers. But owner Angelic Jenkins is scrambling to make up for other losses by adding new delivery options and increasing her marketing. “I had to sign up for DoorDash, GrubHub, and Uber Eats,” says the soul food chef. “I also put together a family meal plan special to pick up from the food truck, and did lots of advertising on social media.”
Sussex Farm food truck owner Jen Naylor ensures her customers can access her mobile food by sending regular emails to let everyone know about availability. All Sussex Farm items are preordered and paid for in advance to ensure less contact at pick-up.
Kelsey Naylor (Jen’s daughter) and Anna Gardner opened the Pye Dog pizza truck last fall. “We’ve switched our business model from wood-fired pizzas to take-home Chicago deep-dish pizzas for now,” says Naylor. “And we’ve been donating all our profits from our sales to the Charlottesville Restaurant Community Fund to try to help out where we can.”
Despite food truck owners’ best efforts, sales have taken a huge hit, and coronavirus fears have transformed how business is conducted.
“My business has been cut by 80 percent,” Matthews says. “I’m also trying to be cautious about my own exposure to the virus. I’m working alone in my truck doing everything. If I get sick, the business stops completely. So I try to limit my time and exposure to being around others.”
Farmacy food truck’s Jessica Hogan and her husband have lost their day jobs and are now solely reliant upon Farmacy’s income. They’ve adapted quickly to the new reality, creating family-sized meals and using the truck to deliver to people’s homes. Hogan looks at the ability to continue connecting with the community as a silver lining.
“We are having to adapt and flow with what the universe is telling us to do,” she says. “We have been wanting to do the food truck full-time for a while now and just couldn’t because of our other jobs. Now we are forced to, but in a way that’s kinda cool. I respect the change. And embrace it. Nothing wrong with getting creative.”
