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In The Toughest Year Ever, PJ Sykes Cuts An Album of Hope

Jason Olsen | April 16, 2021

Topics: Allen Bergendahl, Droopies, EarthQuaker Devices, fuzz, Holding On, Marcus-David Peters Circle, PJ Sykes, Shoney's Cactus

Veteran Richmond musician and photographer PJ Sykes releases his first solo album, Fuzz, on May 7. In the run-up to the album’s release, Jason Olsen caught up with PJ to talk gear, music, politics, and the old Shoney’s on Staples Mill Road, among other things.

It’s rare to find a voice that’s both smart and true, and rarer still to find one with real heart. Self-produced records are hard to pull off. I should know, I’ve been self-producing a non-existent record for 20 years or more. That PJ Sykes has written such a solid collection of songs, much less produced them himself, is a testament to his strength as an artist. The sheer cojones and will-power that it takes are all on the line in Sykes’ new solo album, Fuzz.

Where optimal riffage, tuneful optimism, and clever lyricism meet heartfelt delivery, Fuzz seems at once a banner wave to its possible influences — Dinosaur Jr., Built to Spill, Sugar — and also a hymn to the here and now. In “Holding On,” easily the catchiest bounce-across-the-walls paean to being stuck in a pandemic, “Our time is limited so let’s make the most of it” is a mantra. It’s one so many of us were repeating, trying to find joy in what felt like end-times. Not only do I get it, I live it. Every. Single. Day. It’s a bright spot where being hopeful, despondent, wistful, and suspicious all ride the line together. And that’s mostly the tactic of the first half of the record, after which we experience the hangover of the current world.

Thankfully, Sykes is capable of both the bludgeoned and melodic, interspersing a personal narrative that keeps the multiple riffs of “How to Germinate a Heart” from spinning off into space. The opening psychedelic sludge of “Real Life” sustains throughout but never meanders due to a pertinent question being held aloft. Most of the album rides the line between abject disdain for those that can’t wrap their heads around the current sad state, and the hope that maybe, just maybe, some of y’all could wake the fuck up.

And then I noticed his detailed, artful use of “gain-staging.” Scooping the frequencies on each take and comping them together. Stacking the sounds to make them stronger. Not division. Not subtraction. Cohesion. “Aerosol” blends overdubs tastefully, providing a wall of stacked action and more than a nod to the last real punk, one Kurdt Kobain [Jason’s views on punk do not represent RVA Mag editorial policy. Nirvana was cool though — ed.], at least from a lyrical and melodic perspective. “Another Frequency” squares up tones against each other and thematically lays out the curve of the record. The sad ambiguity of our America is exposed: why is there always an “other” when in fact we are all neighbors?

Whose finger is on the dial that is pumping fear into our homes, division into our interaction, and keeping citizens from looking each other in the eye and holding ourselves to account for our own sins? Sykes isn’t an interloper, he’s not out to take anything away from you. The questions that linger in his songs were as much for him as they might be for you. Are you ready to stop being afraid of everything and everyone you encounter? Are you ready to rock again?

I was lucky enough to get Sykes to agree to an interview prior to the album release Wednesday, May 7th.

Jason Olsen: So… Awkward first statement. I wasn’t aware of you as a musician. In fact, I’m having difficulty remembering how exactly I hit the follow button on your Twitter account. I’m fairly certain it was a result of seeing some of your live photography, but I won’t commit to that. Somehow, though, you became one of my go-to tastemakers when I clicked through on a “Best of 2020” playlist you made that really defied genre. It had a little bit of everything and seemed to bounce from the eclectic, to the enormously popular, to the singer-songwriter. I often say that I’m not a music snob, I don’t care for elitism, and I sensed that in you. I gleaned that you have a genuine appreciation for music and the spirit of artists.

Which brings us to Fuzz, your first solo LP. I was a little blind-sided. I’m thinking to myself, “Is this guy some kind of savant?” Like, already I was a little jealous. “What can’t he do?”

I guess that’s my first question. Is there anything you can’t do? Seriously, what gave you the legs to write and produce your own full-length in the past year, other than the obvious element of time?

PJ Sykes: There are no guilty pleasures and popularity doesn’t make something good nor bad. I really like artists that are looking to be free and are trying to be themselves as much as possible. Some of my favorites that are currently working are people like St. Vincent, R.A.P. Ferreira, Shamir, and Bob Mould.  

I’m definitely no savant, but thank you! It’s true that I’m best known as a music photographer, but that came as a result of playing live music. Ultimately I’m a musician first, it’s what I’ve had the most formal training with. However, I think about art holistically. What can I make with this tool? Or sometimes if I have a song in my head, an image, or an idea, how do I use different mediums to bring it to life? I’m not a technical person and I really don’t care what the gear is if I can use it to make something. It could be a crappy camera or a broken guitar. I don’t own a lot of really nice gear. What I struggle with the most is singing and writing lyrics. So I put the most time and effort into that process. I built a DIY vocal booth and did a bunch of demo takes to find what sounded good to me and was comfortable for my voice range. I worked on finding phrases that were more comfortable to sing to and crafted around the ideas and themes I wanted to express.

Jason: From a thematic perspective, I can’t help but think that this collection of songs is a reflection of our current political American system, which seems to be in a real-time tug of war between “the good ole days” and actually achieving a leadership role in the world again, and righting some of the inequities. How much of that was bleeding through into your creative process, especially as it pertains to constructing the songs? Were you actively moving toward, or trying to pull back from that?

PJ: I’ve been politically active for a long time but it has certainly been more intense leading into the Presidential election year and the pandemic. I don’t know how someone could possibly ignore politics for the last few years. Even before that, things were not great. For me, everything is politics. If you drink water, breathe air, or eat food, you should be engaged. Fuzz certainly addresses life from the vantage point of the last year or so, with a mostly optimistic edge that things can get better if we work at it.

Jason: “Dunkin’ on the General,” if I’m hearing it correctly, is directly connected to the outrage that was happening in Richmond, VA last summer, with nightly BLM protests that led to a number of unfortunate clashes with city police, and exposed the city to the international spotlight. As a former resident, and somebody who is sympathetic to BLM, I was really disheartened by the police response, and the violence that was happening. I definitely felt that it was detrimental to the message to the movement. I think you were there, in a photojournalist role, kind of a fly on the wall. Can you expand on how that made its way into the song? Talk to me about the line “expand the circle.”

PJ: First off I stand with BLM and as a cis white male I want to use my privilege to lift people up. “Dunkin’ on the General” is about the beautiful future we’re working towards and the ugliness we’re having to face to get there. “Expand the circle” means taking the idea of the diverse and equal public space, in our case Marcus-David Peters Circle, and spreading it past not just the physical boundaries (which are currently limited by police fencing) but also mental boundaries. We’ve all got work to do, starting with difficult conversations with friends and family members.

What I saw this summer through all the tear gas and violence was a diverse community coming together day after day and literally growing food, playing basketball, dancing, playing music, and sharing positive experiences on a plot of land that was originally intended as a monolith of white supremacy. I actually did not participate as a photojournalist because of my location and the pandemic. However, I would visit the area often, helped clean up the arts district, and helped spread the word on Twitter during some of the most turbulent nights, among other things.

Jason: A lot of the recording techniques you seem to employ aren’t necessarily new, but I was continually impressed at how deft a hand you took in their usage. The guitars especially sound great, with the gain-staging and overdubbing really precise and sharp. I can think of a handful of players that use this to great effect, but here it sounds like you just cranked it out. Tell me that you struggled a little bit, just to make me feel better.

I also want to talk about your rig. Tell me about the gear you were using, specifically the fuzz pedals and how often you were switching things up or tweaking. You have a knack for production; how did you land there?

PJ: I’ve been experimenting with recording most of my life. I was always interested in sound and trying to capture and manipulate it starting with my Fisher-Price tape recorder as a kid. Over the years I’ve moved from cassette four-tracks to various digital recording software. The basics are all very similar, they just get higher quality sounding and more expansive. I’ve hired and worked closely with Allen Bergendahl for years and picked up a lot of tips from asking questions and watching him record my projects, and other people too. As a photographer I’ve had the privilege to be in the recording studio with lots of artists, and I would watch carefully and pick up ideas.

To bounce off my earlier answer, I’m not a nerdy gear or tech person. I know generally how to do things, I learn quickly, but I’m not as interested in getting “technically perfect” recordings. I just want it to feel right to me. I will study things I like and see if I can break them apart to make them my own. Fuzz started out by playing my standard live guitar, a modified Fender Jaguar HH, through my typical live rig, which is an MXR Modified OD into a fuzz pedal of some sort into a delay pedal of some sort and my Ampeg Reverberocket. Once I came up with some song ideas, I broke them out into their own sessions and used all real pedals but Logic Pro amps. I would say it’s cheating not to use real amplifiers and microphones, but if you like how it sounds, who really cares?

I was able to track any time of day. So for months I would just record parts and rearrange the songs, set up a new track and play it again. Try new pedal combinations for each song and each part. I dusted off my 90s Epiphone Les Paul and had James Seretis (The Hustle Season) fix it up; I used that for almost every guitar that you hear on the record now. I used a 90s Black Russian Big Muff Pi and the silver 00s Big Muff Pi, what I call a “Viking Muff,” which is a modified Big Muff clone that Allen Bergendahl made for me. But the Fuzz secret sauce is a Grand Orbiter from EarthQuaker Devices, which is a great new (or new to me) pedal company that makes beautiful sounding pedals (please sponsor me!), and this weird fuzz pedal that has reverse attack sound called ZUFF, by Chris Harmon of the band Droopies. I would just mix these up depending on the part or song. When I got frustrated or tired of something I would unplug everything and change all the dials up so I couldn’t repeat myself.

Jason: From my view, staring at a blank page or DAW screen can be the most daunting thing, and really quite lonely. Listening to the record actually got me really inspired to plug in and turn the amp up. I recently purchased the BigMuff Pi Op-Amp ‘71 reissue, which is the famous Pumpkins sound, and I hadn’t really turned it up, you know? For about five minutes after playing really loud for two hours, I was just elated. And then I thought how great it would have been with two or three other players in the room to work off of. I’m wondering how you’re feeling about promoting the record without putting it on a stage? These songs sound stage-ready. Is that a disappointment you are going to have to live with, or are you figuring out a way to share it in another arena?

PJ: Hell yeah! If Fuzz makes you plug in a guitar and crank it up, I’ve done my job. I really miss live music and I really really miss performing. I don’t have a band right now and I have no plans to play live until it’s safe to do so. I know we’re starting to see announcements for large festivals this fall; to me that seems a little soon to be around thousands of people. I hope we can safely start doing outdoor gigs for a reasonable size audience by the fall. For now you’ll just have to blast Fuzz and play along!

Jason: And finally, I meant to ask about the album cover, which is a portrait of you, I think, that you manipulated and gave a saturated primary-color makeover. It seemed reminiscent to me of a lot of the early indie album covers that I grew up with, because on the one hand you have an image of innocence and yet there’s a wild aspect to it, sometimes almost suspicious. I’m thinking of Dinosaur Jr. and Violent Femmes, even Talking Heads. I kinda got a Houses of the Holy vibe, too. What was the impetus behind that design? Because it pops, and then I’m trying to figure out what’s going on in that kid’s head. Did you play around with a variety of ideas, or did this one stick right away?

PJ: Yeah, it’s a photo of me as a child. I’ve always loved this photo and before the pandemic my mom happened to send me a scan of it. So it was on my mind as I developed the record, and I was using it as a placeholder for the demos. I liked exploring the idea of manipulating a photo of myself as a child with the filter of what I know now and have experienced in my life since, especially given the topics of Fuzz. Lately I’ve been really into this primary color motif, and liked the added level of surrealism mixed with nostalgia and innocence it gave to the final artwork. I made some similar artwork that will be part of the CD packaging and on the digital single for “Holding On” that features “Shoney’s Cactus,” a prickly pear clipping from the old Shoney’s on Staples Mill road that I saved and posted about on my Instagram. 

—

PJ Sykes’ Fuzz will be available May 7 on Bandcamp at pjsykes.bandcamp.com. The first single, “Holding On,” is available to stream right now at Bandcamp, Spotify, Apple Music, and others. PJ also has a number of prints of other artists playing live available through his website, pjsykes.com.

Canceling The Confederacy

Rachel Scott Everett | February 1, 2021

Topics: branding, Confederate monuments, EVERGIB, George Floyd, Marcus-David Peters Circle, Robert E. Lee Monument, Virginia Flaggers

Dismantling the Confederacy’s legacy as one of the most ubiquitous brands in American history is not easy. But, as Rachel Scott Everett writes, progress is finally being made.

On July 1, 2020, I stood with hundreds of masked observers to witness history in my hometown of Richmond, Virginia: the official removal of the first Confederate statue in our city.

A deluge of rain poured down, but spectators didn’t budge. We watched as a crane plucked a century-old bronze statue of Confederate general Stonewall Jackson from its 20-foot pedestal on Monument Avenue. Immediately at lift-off, I felt a momentous shift take place. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Church bells tolled. Even the heavens offered a resounding approval with a loud clap of thunder.

This wasn’t just the removal of a statue. It was the elimination of a powerful symbol — a visual representation of a belief system with its own narrative, distinct set of values, and unique personality; in short, a successful brand. 

Having spent more than a decade working at ad agencies creating campaigns for national and global companies, I’ve seen firsthand the influence that brands have on people — for better and for worse.

Consider some of the top brands out there and the messaging they invoke.

Coke invites us to “Taste the feeling,” Apple inspires us to “Think different,” and of course, Nike motivates us to “Just do it.” These brands make us feel something, strongly and viscerally. In fact, our emotions play a big role in why we buy a brand’s products and services. It’s also how we inadvertently become “brand ambassadors.” People see our advocacy in the choices we make — what we drink, the phone we use, the clothes we wear, the conversations we have, even the posts we like on social media. 

The same holds true when a person, such as a celebrity or global figure, becomes a brand. Their audience, in the form of fans or followers, become unofficial spokespeople. It’s why a red MAGA hat denotes so much more than a political party. It says to the world that you not only support that particular individual, but you believe in what they do, stand for what they stand for, and subscribe to their ideology.

Branding is an effective marketing tool because it taps deep into our psyche, often without our realizing it.

It can confirm what we already believe to be true, or it can be so persuasive that it changes our mind. In some cases, a brand stretches or distorts the truth to appeal to its audience. Do we really think Pop-Tarts are part of a nutritious breakfast, as Kellogg’s suggests? Over time, the reinforcement of this skewed reality becomes accepted as the norm. It’s exactly how the rise of the Confederacy brand came to pass.

People congregate on Monument Avenue in Richmond, Virginia, to witness the removal of the J.E.B. Stuart Monument by city officials in July. Photo by EVERGIB.

Ultimately, behind every brand is an agenda — whether it’s turning a profit, gaining an audience, acquiring fame or power, promoting a cause, or perhaps all of the above.

The way that agenda comes to life is typically through a “brand story,” a compelling narrative that elicits an emotional response, which in turn affects behavior. While I’d like to say humans are smart enough to recognize this subliminal sales pitch, we’re simple creatures who can be won over easily. Charles Revson, founder of the makeup brand Revlon, once stated, “In our factory, we make lipstick. In our store, we sell hope.”

When the Civil War ended, the Confederacy should have, too. 

But a belief system was already in place — one that included the justification of slavery — and it was profoundly ingrained in the minds of most white Southerners.

The Confederates may have lost the war, but they were not about to give up on their version of America. They needed a way for the Confederacy to stay alive. In the world of advertising, it’s a well-known strategy for a business to launch a new campaign when its brand starts to lose relevance, gets tied up in bad press, or in the case of the Confederacy, faces extinction.

In 2016, Wells Fargo created millions of fraudulent savings and checking accounts on behalf of clients without their consent. The multinational financial company admitted to breaking the law and was fined $3 billion. To recover from the scandal, the company modernized its logo and released a campaign emphasizing a new and improved commitment to customers. Through empathetic language and a tone of humility, Wells Fargo attempted to transform its image from evil banking behemoth to trusted banking friend. Only time will tell if it proves successful.

Branding is a marathon, not a sprint. It can take years to build an impactful brand (or rebrand).

It’s why we know BMW is “The ultimate driving machine” and that we’ll be “in good hands with Allstate” — both slogans have been running for more than 40 years. De Beers has been telling us “A diamond is forever” since 1947. From “Have it your way” to “The happiest place on Earth,” the way brands become part of our cultural landscape is through the story they consistently tell us over time.

Graffiti messages cover what remains of the Jefferson Davis Memorial. The statue of Davis, the former president of the Confederate States, was unofficially removed by protestors in June. Photo by EVERGIB.

Enter the Lost Cause, an interpretation of the Civil War developed during post-Reconstruction by white Southerners, many of whom were former Confederate generals. The sole aim of this one-sided narrative was to paint the Confederacy in the best possible light. Marketers call this “brand positioning” — the way in which a brand is perceived in the minds of its audience. For the Confederates, this meant writing their own version of history.

The primary purpose of the Lost Cause was to establish the belief that the Confederacy fought for a just and heroic cause — specifically, states’ rights.

Downplaying support of institutionalized slavery, it emphasized Confederate bravery and the struggle for independence. In this romanticized version of the Old South, the “brand personality” of the Confederacy began to take shape.

By applying human traits and characteristics, the brand became more relatable, inspiring more empathy. Serving up Confederate war efforts as noble and virtuous strengthened the brand’s emotional connection to white Southerners by tapping into their longstanding pride. 

The Lost Cause also weaved in guiding principles to perpetuate a more honorable and respected image.

These “brand values” highlighted what was important to Southerners: devotion to family and state, faithfulness to Christian ideals, and preservation of the life and culture of the Antebellum South, characterized by plantation fields, sweet tea, good manners and “happy” slaves.

When brand values, personality and positioning come together, they work to promote what is known as the “brand promise.” This is the expectation a brand sets for itself to motivate its audience to support, and ideally, champion its cause.

For the Confederacy, that promise came to fruition in a brand slogan created by a Southern political coalition known as the Redeemers. “The South will rise again” became the Confederate rallying cry. Depending on whether you were white or Black, the phrase was either a vision for the future or a threat to your very existence. 

Declarations like this are on what’s left of the Confederate statues in Richmond. Other messages include “End White Supremacy,” “We Won’t Stop,” and “With Us or Against.” Photo by EVERGIB.

As the Confederate brand further solidified, its followers sought out the most effective way to push their agenda out into the world. Essentially a “brand launch campaign,” the Confederacy used specific mediums (“media channels”) to communicate its message to the widest audience possible.

Back in the late 1800s, there was obviously no social media, influencer marketing or commercials. However, the United Daughters of the Confederacy (UDC), a white Southern women’s “heritage” group, found a solution that would not only preserve the legacy of the Confederacy, but validate it. Their primary media channel: school textbooks.

The UDC argued that the historical narrative around the Civil War dishonored the South in a legacy of shame.

As such, they referred to the war as the War Between the States or the War for Southern Independence. This is an example of “rebranding” — a marketing strategy that allocates a different identity for a brand; one that works more in its favor.

By pushing for the Lost Cause narrative in the classroom, the Confederates were able to reach children at the origin point of their education, indoctrinating them with a biased perspective of U.S. history. This systematic method of changing attitudes or altering beliefs is often known by another term: brainwashing.

The Lost Cause still remains in some present-day textbooks. The goal of the UDC wasn’t just to rewrite history for the South, but for the entire nation. They wanted to ensure generations grew up knowing their version of the “truth.” But they didn’t stop there. There was a desire to build something permanent and highly visible to maintain the Confederacy’s relevance.

As such, the UDC led the movement to erect memorials to Confederate veterans in public spaces all over the country during two distinct time periods.

The first wave of Confederate statues was built during The Progressive Era (1890-1921). Slavery was abolished, but the South was determined to keep Black people oppressed through Jim Crow laws that legalized and enforced racial segregation. The proliferation of memorials to the Confederacy kept the brand visible, while serving as an intimidation tactic (for context, the UDC also built a memorial commemorating the Ku Klux Klan).

Around this same time, an unprecedented number of lynchings took place. These killings were public acts of racial terror committed by white Southerners to incite fear among newly freed slaves. In some cases, white people who enabled Black people were lynched as well.

The second wave of Confederate statues was built during the Civil Rights Movement (1954-68). Black people were justifiably fed up with the continued inequality stemming from the country’s inherent prejudice.

After World War II, a group of white Southern Democrats briefly formed their own far-right political party called the Dixiecrats. Opposing racial integration, they supported Jim Crow laws and pledged to uphold white supremacy. The party’s symbol: the Confederate battle flag (also known as the Rebel flag). Resurrected after nearly 100 years out of the public eye, it sent a message loud and clear: defiance against racial equality.

Armed defenders of the United Daughters of the Confederacy stand guard outside the national headquarters building after it was vandalized earlier this summer. Photo by EVERGIB.

Today, more than 1,500 Confederate symbols exist in the United States, with over 240 in Virginia alone, more than any other state. Most are statues of Confederate leaders or soldiers from the Civil War, put in prominent spaces for public display.

The Confederacy also found its way into the names of schools, roads, parks, bridges, and of all places, military bases.

Confederate museums popped up, serving as shrines to protect the “legacy” of the war, but again, only showcasing the point of view of the South. 

Until a few months ago, the Virginia Flaggers, a neo-Confederate group based in Richmond, would gather on a highly visible corner of Arthur Ashe Boulevard, near the UDC national headquarters (yes, the UDC still exists). According to an article in the Daily Beast, some members of the Virginia Flaggers are directly tied to white nationalist groups that openly promote white supremacy.

Typically, the scene would consist of a few older white men and a lineup of parked trucks flying multiple Confederate flags from 10-foot poles. In recent years, they had added a giant Trump flag to their collection. However, since the resurgence of the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement and protests, the Flaggers have been absent.

From a branding perspective, a lack of visibility is a sure sign a brand is losing relevance. Out of sight, out of mind.

For more than a century, the Confederacy built and strengthened its brand through textbooks, monuments, flags and more. Eventually, it made its way into pop culture.

In the 1980s, the country band Alabama released the song “Dixieland Delight.” The feel-good song became popular with students at the University of Alabama, who began singing it during football games. When they added their own profanity-laced lyrics, the school momentarily banned the tradition. Ironically, no one seemed to have a problem with the actual name of the song, “Dixieland,” a nickname referring to the 11 Southern states that seceded to form the Confederate States of America.

In fact, it wasn’t long ago that fraternities at the University of Alabama, and other Southern universities, held “Old South” themed parties and parades. Revelers dressed in Civil War attire with women in Scarlett O’Hara-like hoop skirts and men in Confederate gray military uniforms.

Growing up, I couldn’t get enough of The Dukes of Hazzard.

The action-packed TV show featured the adventures of cousins Bo and Luke Duke, two good ol’ boys who ran a moonshine business for their Uncle Jesse in rural Georgia. Mostly, the show was watching them evade the law by driving around in their 1969 Dodge Charger, named the “General Lee” after Confederate general Robert E. Lee. The car had a Confederate flag painted on the roof and a signature horn that played the first few notes of “Dixie,” the de facto national anthem of the Confederacy. 

In 2005, Warner Brothers released a feature film based on the hit series. Reruns of the show continued to play on TV Land until 2015, when white supremacist Dylann Roof stormed a church in South Carolina, killing nine Black people for the explicit purpose of starting a race war. Photos later surfaced of him posing at a historic Civil War site, holding the gun he used in the massacre, along with a Confederate flag.

Visitors climb on the graffitied steps of the Robert E. Lee Monument. In recent months, the area has seen a dramatic increase of people coming specifically to experience the monument. Photo by EVERGIB.

Brands are powerful because of the complex idea system behind them.

A quick search on Amazon shows the Confederacy’s fight to stay alive. Branded merchandise ranges from Confederate T-shirts and throw pillows to commemorative coins and face masks — even the Dixie Air Horn is available. From generation to generation, the Confederacy brand and its racist ideology have continued to exist. As a society, we’ve failed to bring the truth to the masses. Instead, we’ve succumbed to the branding.

Our tolerance, and in some cases indifference, has translated into acceptance. A brand reaches the pinnacle of success when it becomes a normal part of everyday life — when people carry around the ubiquitous Starbucks coffee cup, talk about their latest run to Targét [“tar-jay”], or when a reality show host becomes president of the United States and defends the statues of traitors proliferating our country.

But the normalization can end when the narrative changes.

And that’s precisely what happened on May 25, 2020, when Minneapolis police killed George Floyd. 

The momentum of protests that erupted across the country quickly made its way to Richmond, former capital of the Confederacy. Nowhere has the Confederacy been more visible in the city than on Monument Avenue, a grand, tree-lined boulevard featuring five enormous statues dedicated to Confederate military and political figures.

Over the years, numerous efforts have been made to remove or relocate the statues, or use historical plaques to provide context. It wasn’t until protesters began to tear down statues around town that Mayor Levar Stoney announced a proposal to officially remove all Confederate statues from Monument Avenue, stating that “Richmond is no longer the capital of the Confederacy — it is filled with diversity and love for all, and we need to demonstrate that.”

In less than a month, four of the five statues were removed. Now, only General Robert E. Lee remains, due to a court order protecting it that is expected to be lifted. The Confederate general on horseback sits perched atop a 60-foot pedestal covered in an impactful array of colorful graffiti.

Finally, “context” has been added.

While a few complain about the profanity, most recognize the profound meaning behind the messages. Centuries of pain, injustice, anger, grief, and trauma are finally being unleashed and recognized, culminating in a beautiful expression that is ultimately about hope. 

Photographer John Biggs used a drone to capture an incredible abstract aerial shot of the Lee Monument. A yoga friend of mine remarked that the colors and textures resemble a mandala, the sacred symbol in Hindu and Buddhist rituals that also represents a sacred space. It’s a poignant analogy that demonstrates how a change in perspective (both literally and figuratively) can open the mind to see things in an entirely new light. It’s precisely what we need right now.

A drone image shows the colorful messages surrounding the statue of Confederate General Robert E. Lee on Monument Avenue in Richmond. Photo by John Biggs.

A video clip has been trending from the beloved 1980s sitcom The Golden Girls, which focuses on the friendship of four senior women living in Florida. The clip shows one of the main characters, Blanche Devereaux (played by Rue McClanahan), being confronted by a young Don Cheadle, who gives her a lesson in racism prompted by her display of the Confederate flag.

As Blanche attempts to defend her Southern heritage, she quickly realizes her predicament with the flag’s racist ties. Clearly having an existential crisis, she pleads, “What am I supposed to do and think about my family now? What am I supposed to think about all those people I love? What am I supposed to think about ME? Everything I grew up believing in, all my wonderful memories, they’re all tarnished now by …” She pauses for a moment to consider the weight of the moment. “Oh god … by the truth.”

For many, this time has been an awakening as a new, more accurate historical narrative takes shape.

In a display of poetic justice, the area where the Lee Monument stands on Monument Avenue in Richmond has been rebranded as Marcus-David Peters (MDP) Circle. The new community gathering spot is named after a 24-year-old local Black man and high school teacher, who was having a mental health crisis when a Richmond police officer shot and killed him in May 2018.

He is our George Floyd.

A couple embrace at the newly rebranded Marcus-David Peters Circle on Monument Avenue in Richmond. MDP Circle has recently become a celebrated community gathering spot. Photo by EVERGIB.

At the center of MDP Circle, makeshift memorials have been built, featuring Black people from across the country who have died from police brutality. Their photos are accompanied by bios that tell their stories and the injustice of their deaths.

On a daily basis, people come here to learn, cry, contemplate, and rejoice.

They take photos, have conversations, enjoy a picnic, and play pickup basketball games. The location has served as a venue for lectures, dance and music performances, and yoga practices. A community garden has been started, and volunteers under tents regularly offer water and snacks and information on ways to take action and register to vote.

In the evenings, a local lighting artist uses the Lee statue as a backdrop for the projection of the faces of Black victims, alongside Black activists, thinkers and politicians, to reclaim support for the BLM movement.

I wonder, if Lee were alive today, what he might think of his statue’s transformation. Considering he opposed monuments, specifically Confederate war monuments, my hope is he’d recognize the irony. Certainly his descendants do. Rev. Robert Wright Lee, a distant nephew of the Confederate general, has voiced support for removal of the statues for years, stating:

“I fully believe, along with a host of other amazing citizens of this great country, that Black lives matter — and for us to continue to celebrate a man who questioned the education, disparaged the right to vote of Black life, and had previously fought for the continued enslavement of Africans on the North American continent is an affront to those now suffering under the continued weight of oppression.”

Locals watch images of notable Black people projected on the statue of Confederate general Robert E. Lee, created by lighting artist Dustin Klein at MDP Circle in Richmond. Photo by EVERGIB.

This is how we begin to re-educate a nation. This is how we seek the truth.

Already we’re seeing visible signs of change nationwide. Confederate statues are coming down, Black Lives Matter murals are going up. Police reform and accountability are being discussed. Corporate America is taking a stance and rethinking policies and practices. And many are taking a serious look at their branding.

In just the last few months, NASCAR has banned Confederate flags at all races and events, the Dixie Chicks are now the Chicks, the Washington Redskins plan to change their name and logo, and Aunt Jemima, Uncle Ben’s, and Cream of Wheat are among a number of brands looking to update their image.

Finally, we’ve reached a tipping point that is changing our acceptance into action. This is the revolution our country needs.

Make no mistake, symbolic changes will not get rid of the systematic racism that continues to prevail in this country. Police brutality isn’t just happening in the South — it’s happening all over the country, including in liberal cities like Minneapolis. After all, our history of colonization and the racist ideology of white supremacy aren’t exclusive instruments to the Confederacy brand, but to the brand of the entire United States of America. 

Yet there is hope. Through these challenging times, our nation is evolving. We are beginning to acknowledge and understand our past, not from a single narrative, but from multiple perspectives. It’s human nature for people to believe what they want to believe, even if it means ignoring the truth. But there is no growth, empathy, or understanding in ignorance.

The only way of moving toward a more equitable future is by empowering ourselves — and others — through knowledge. 

Branding is not the truth. It’s an interpretation — in some cases, an illusion that holds great power, as witnessed by the rise of the Confederacy brand. We live in a time with incredible access to information, yet the lines between fact and fiction are blurred more than ever. That’s why it’s up to us to take individual responsibility — not only as responsible consumers, but as informed citizens.

We must question what is normalized, look past the persuasive narrative, and never stop seeking the truth.

To learn more about this topic, consider reading Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America by Dr. Ibram Kendi.

Top Photo: A biker rides along the perimeter of a heavily graffitied statue of Confederate general J.E.B. Stuart in Richmond, Virginia, former capital of the Confederacy. Photo by EVERGIB.

This essay was first published by Muse by Clio on July 29, 2020.

Richmond For The Win: From Making Ads To Making Change

Rachel Scott Everett | December 23, 2020

Topics: (the other) tim barry, Abu Ngauja, ADWEEK, ARCHITECTUREFIRM, Arts & Letters Creative Co, Ashley Sommardahl, Billboard House, Caley Cantrell, Charles Hodges, Creative Mornings, Danny Robinson, EVERGIB, Familiar Creatures, Girls for A Change, Hamilton Glass, history is illuminating, Kristen Cavallo, KT Schaeffer, Lauren Barry, Mad Box Made, Marcus-David Peters Circle, Mending Walls RVA, noah scalin, Old Navy, OnHoldAtHome, Overcoast Music, Quirk Gallery, Rainmaker Studios, Spang TV, Studio Two Three, Super Bowl commercials, The Martin Agency, Think, Tom Scharpf, Vann Graves, vcu, VCU brandcenter, VCU Institute of Contemporary Art, WORK Labs

In the midst of an extremely difficult year, increasing recognition for Richmond creative organizations like The Martin Agency, Arts & Letters Creative Co, and VCU Brandcenter have shown the rest of the world what locals have long known — that Richmond is one of the top creative cities the US has to offer.

In a dark year, Richmond’s creative scene is shining bright. 

A triple threat success from The Martin Agency, Arts & Letters, and the VCU Brandcenter has strengthened Richmond’s status as an epicenter for creativity.  

It’s no exaggeration. For the first time in over a decade, The Martin Agency has been awarded Adweek’s U.S. Agency of the Year, one of the highest accolades in the advertising industry. Newcomer Arts & Letters ranked #5 of Fastest Growing Agencies in the World, along with being named one of the Top 50 Best Places to Work in the U.S. And the VCU Brandcenter reported a record 26 alumni who contributed to 18 different Super Bowl commercials this year, solidifying the school’s reputation as the preeminent graduate program for creative problem solving. 

The achievements are remarkable given the backdrop of a global pandemic, a politically divided nation, and a resurgence for social justice. While many have been simply trying to survive, Richmond’s top creative entities have found a way to thrive.

According to Adweek, Martin was the only agency finalist to report double-digit growth this year. The agency won nine new accounts and created work for over 90 percent of their clients, involving 400+ productions. Kristen Cavallo, Martin’s CEO, attributes the success to a conscious decision to invest. 

“We played offense. The choice was intentional and required nerve,” states Cavallo. “In 2020, lots of things were in flux – this was true regardless of your industry or business model. If you didn’t harness the wind, you missed the lesson.”

Their core investment: People. Specifically, people who spanned a wide range of perspectives, backgrounds, beliefs – and yes, genders and races. In total, Martin welcomed 70 new hires, including 50 percent BIPOC talent.

“In nearly every study, diversity in leadership results in higher profits and engagement,” adds Cavallo. “It doesn’t matter whether you are a feminist, equalist, or capitalist, it’s to your benefit to change the way you run your company… Moreover, it’s riskier not to.”

The Martin Agency has been awarded Adweek’s U.S. Agency of the Year, one of the highest accolades in the advertising industry. Above, the agency’s leadership team. Photo courtesy of The Martin Agency.

Martin didn’t waste any time in their efforts to “Fight Invisibility.” Beginning at the top, they comprised their leadership team of 63 percent females and 38 percent people of color. They overhauled their candidate interview and talent onboarding experience to center the individual, rooting out exclusive aspects like language, bias, and hiring manager expectations. And in agency-wide conversations, they consistently spoke up around racial reconciliation, white supremacy, and injustice against Black and Brown Americans. 

“We force ourselves to be honest with ourselves, no matter how much bravery it requires,” states Abu Ngauja, Martin’s Associate Director of Talent & Culture. “Honest in our capabilities, in our weaknesses, in our ambition. We cannot be a place that lies. Our bar is too high.”

In short, Martin has become a living, breathing case study for a commitment to overdue structural change in advertising and beyond. 

“We were not awarded Agency of the Year because we were lucky,” states Cavallo. “We built ourselves for growth. Diversity, by race, gender, and thought is a not-so-secret ingredient. We made it a priority three years ago.”

Indeed, when Cavallo assumed leadership, alongside Karen Costello, the first female Chief Creative Officer in Martin’s 53-year history, the agency’s evolution began. In an industry notoriously known for being a boys’ club, having two women at the helm of Martin’s new chapter was a powerful, visible change. One of the first actions taken was conducting an internal audit of salaries to correct the wage gap and enforce equal pay. 

For me, the transition was personal and poignant – not only because it was taking place in Richmond, but because Costello, a highly accomplished, well-respected industry leader, was my former creative director and mentor at Deutsch LA when I first started out in advertising. Having a big ad star, not to mention one of few female CCOs, in little RVA was proof our humble city was making headway. 

In August, Martin celebrated another milestone with the appointment of Danny Robinson, the agency’s first Black Chief Creative Officer, following Costello’s return to Los Angeles. Having been with the agency for 16 years, Robinson attests to the progress they’ve made. 

“I am so proud of the work we’ve done this year,” states Robinson. “But I am even more proud of the way we did it – with impatience and perseverance, and with support and belief in each other.” 

Arts & Letters ranked #5 of Fastest Growing Agencies in the World and was named one of the Top 50 Best Places to Work in the U.S. Above, the growing portrait wall of current employees. Photo by Mel Calabro.

Like Martin, Arts & Letters credits much of their success to people – employees, as well as client and production partners. 

In 2017, Arts & Letters opened as a small agency in Scott’s Addition. Founder & Executive Creative Director Charles Hodges, once a former Creative Lead at Google, retained the tech titan as a client, and later acquired ESPN and NBC News. With the increased work, the agency grew. This year, it doubled in size, expanding to a second office in Shockoe Bottom, with the majority of people starting remotely. 

“For the most part, we’re really a group of strangers who recently met and have had to come together in a very real way to navigate extremely challenging circumstances and find a way to still move forward,” states Hodges. “Our motto has always been ‘We’ll figure it out,’ from when we were eight people to now 145. As people, as companies, as communities, we’re all a work in progress. We’re excited that we have the chance to build something.”

Hodges believes Richmond plays an integral role in bringing that vision to life. He intentionally chose The River City as the agency’s headquarters for a variety of reasons – among them, the vibrant creative community and incomparable quality of life. 

“People can do major market work with global impact, but not live in a major market,” explains Hodges. “This allows people to really build their career around their life, instead of their life around their career. It’s an important distinction that we think would have been hard to find anywhere else in this part of the country.”

No doubt about it, Richmond is on the radar of top agencies, brands, and tech companies looking to recruit the best graduates coming out of the VCU Brandcenter. In 2018, Richmond native Vann Graves returned to his hometown to serve as the Brandcenter’s fourth Executive Director. 

“Richmond isn’t the same city that it was 20 years ago. The community has really rallied behind its arts district, food scene and the vast array of outdoor activities. It’s a cultural hub and a desirable place to live,” states Graves. “Plus, with the growth of employment opportunities – yes, at top-tier advertising agencies, but also at smaller creative shops, or major companies like Capital One, CarMax, Dominion, and SunTrust — Brandcenter alumni can build a challenging and rewarding career right here.” 

Richmond is garnering attention as a small, affordable city with a high quality of life. Above, locals enjoy the popular happy hour on the lawn at Virginia Museum of Fine Arts in pre-pandemic times. Photo by EVERGIB.

Caley Cantrell, Professor of Strategy and Creative Brand Management, agrees. “I believe RVA is absolutely right up there with what would have once been considered the only places to work: New York, Chicago, San Francisco, and LA. Richmond has a stellar advertising reputation wrapped up in an affordable and enjoyable city.” 

“More and more people are seeing the wisdom of living in a smaller market,” states Tom Scharpf, Professor of Creative and Brandcenter alum. “You don’t need to live in a big city to do big things. Martin has been proving that for decades, but back then, they were the exception. A lot has changed.”

The VCU Brandcenter (formerly the VCU Adcenter) opened its doors in 1996 and quickly gained recognition as one of the leading advertising and design programs in the country. Today, it continues to successfully prepare its students to work for some of the world’s biggest, most influential brands, all while adapting to a constantly evolving industry – even amid a global pandemic.

This year, the school launched three new endowed scholarships in support of a more diverse industry and maintained diversity and out-of-state numbers in its enrollment. Over the past two years, there’s been a 73 percent increase in diverse students, specifically more BIPOC and females.

“I think the Brandcenter has done a great job recruiting strong, diverse candidates,” states Ashley Sommardahl, Director of Student Affairs and Industry Outreach. “We need to work on raising more scholarship funds to help support them because we know that the biggest barrier to attending is the financial commitment.”

In addition to a focus on diversity, VCU Brandcenter Professor and Creative Director KT Schaeffer (also an alum) believes the school’s ongoing success can be attributed to the program’s multi-faceted approach to learning.

“We hold this polymathic view and know, based on experience from our faculty, staff, and alumni, that you don’t wear just one hat in your future job(s),” explains Schaeffer. “There are Strategists who shoot and edit films. Copywriters doing cinema 4D. Creative Brand Managers learning Adobe Illustrator. That crossover learning makes our students better creative problem solvers.”

The Brandcenter is one of 20 colleges, schools, and centers that make up the greater Virginia Commonwealth University, one of the nation’s premier urban, public research universities. Among a host of impressive rankings, VCU, Richmond’s largest employer, reports that 40 percent of its alumni opt to live and work in the city.

The VCU Brandcenter offers a two-year master’s program across five concentrations including art direction, copywriting, strategy, brand management and experience design. Photo by Rocket Pop Media.

Clearly, Richmond is doing something right. 

And yet, we always have been. For years, everyday Richmonders have been working to help this city come into its own. You can see their efforts in our incredible street murals, artisan stores, craft breweries, top-notch restaurants, and buzzing entrepreneurial scene. Creativity abounds.

Like many, I believe Richmond has always been creative, but its potential has yet to be fully realized by the rest of the country – in some cases, not even by the people living here. 

Finally, there is an awakening. Richmond is becoming known, not merely as a backdrop for creativity, but the inspiration for it. Our history less of a burden, and more an impetus for change. Just look to the events this summer. 

Amid BLM protests rising up and Confederate statues coming down, Richmonders got creative. 

One of the highlights was the transformation of the Robert E. Lee Memorial into Marcus-David Peters (MDP) Circle, an extraordinary graffiti-laden sanctuary dedicated to victims of racial violence and police brutality, created by the people of RVA. The reclaimed space received nationwide press and the iconic projections by artists Dustin Klein and Alex Criqui landed on the cover of National Geographic, putting Richmond front and center – no longer the Capital of the Confederacy, but of creativity. 

For Richmond transplant R. Anthony Harris, it’s been a long time coming. He believes we’re seeing the final stages of the city’s 15-year rebrand. He should know. Back in 2005, he instigated Richmond becoming RVA when he founded this publication. 

“RVA Magazine has always been a platform for creative and progressive thought in Richmond,” states Harris. “I am proud of what we have accomplished, with limited resources, for so long by encouraging everyone to be proud of who they are, the way they live, and how they work.” 

Like countless others, Harris has played a significant role in the city’s evolution through tireless work and an aspiration to be part of something greater than himself. That collective desire to shape, influence, and move our city forward, particularly in the face of a complex, fractured past, is exactly why Richmond and its people are so special. 

“There is an opportunity for Richmond to become a model for what a truly great city looks like,” states artist Noah Scalin. “That comes in part by supporting the creative community that already exists within its borders. We have no lack of talented, driven people who are great problem solvers here. They just need to be given the space, trust, and resources to do their thing.”

An image of George Floyd is projected on the statue of Confederate general Robert E. Lee at Marcus-David Peters Circle, a community gathering spot created earlier this summer. Photo by EVERGIB.

This year alone conveys the ambition of Richmonders. Along with the creation of MDP Circle, locals took action in other ways. Nonprofit arts center Studio Two Three led the charge on a variety of programming aimed at uplifting the voices and visions of RVA artists. Among the initiatives, History is Illuminating, a series of recontextualized signs on Black history in Richmond, and For as Long as Such Images are Needed, an exhibition in partnership with the Institute for Contemporary Art (ICA) at VCU. 

Artist Hamilton Glass developed Mending Walls, a public art project bringing together RVA artists from different cultures and backgrounds to create murals around racial and social justice. VCU Alum and digital strategist Altimese Nichole, partnered with nonprofit Girls For A Change to launch a scholarship opportunity for local African American youth. Photographer Tania del Carmen created #OnHoldAtHome, a photo series raising awareness on community challenges during the pandemic. And Tim and Lauren Barry turned their home into the Billboard House, featuring dynamic projections that reminded Richmonders, even those in suburbia, to get into good trouble. 

“Richmond is a creative hub,” says Lauren Barry, who works as an art director with event management firm, Markham. “The city has always been buzzing with creative energy – it’s one of the reasons we decided to put down roots here. You can’t escape art and creativity in Richmond.”

It’s true. And when Richmond’s creative worlds collide, amazing things happen. Such is the case when Martin tapped Scalin earlier this year to collaborate on an initiative to promote their client Old Navy. The national retailer planned to donate $30 million worth of clothing to families affected by COVID-19. The end result was a time-lapse video featuring Scalin in action, applying one of his signature techniques to create a large-scale portrait of an American family made entirely out of Old Navy clothing.

“It drew a ton of national attention not only to Scalin’s work, but to The Martin Agency and [innovation studio] SuperJoy,” states Amanda Russell, Co-Founder and Creative Director of motion graphics studio, Cream. “I love that they are choosing to highlight our city and the talent within, rather than hide from it.”

Director Adam Dorland of Quirk Gallery believes that Richmond is gaining attention by companies embracing and encouraging local artists. “Having organizations like The Martin Agency, Arts & Letters, and VCU’s Brandcenter based in Richmond promotes the idea that artists and creatives can make a life for themselves here.” 

“Richmond is exploding,” says Jason St. Peter, Founder & Creative Director of Think branding and creative agency. “And much of the credit is due to the creative minds here who influence positive change every day.” Cabell Harris, Founder & Creative Director of WORK Labs, agrees. “I always say create work you love, with people you like, in a place you want to be.” 

“The Journey Forward” is part of Mending Walls, a community project created by local artist Hamilton Glass that aims to facilitate dialogue and foster empathy through public art. Photo by Katrina Boone.

Richmond is definitely a place people want to be – and return to. 

“I spent six years with Martin and fell in love with the city,” states Executive Producer Scott Friske of animation studio Hue & Cry, who recently moved back, having spent over 20 years of his career in Los Angeles. “The success of these three organizations puts Richmond in the conversation with towns like Portland, Oregon and Austin, Texas, where you see a concentration of creative output.” Additionally, Richmond has retained its unique identity – an asset that has helped, rather than hinder, its growth. 

“Richmond truly seems to be experiencing a turning point in creativity,” says Macy West, Partner & Executive Producer at Mad Box Made. “There is a grit that has always run through RVA’s veins, but it is coming to the forefront, rather than only being the ‘underground’ movement.”

Executive Producer Melanie Cox says her company, Spang, was purposely built around working with agencies like Martin and Arts & Letters, as well as the innumerable other creative shops in town. “We designed our studio and edit suites to be an extension of creative agencies, a place where they can work, enjoy creature comforts and continue to churn out strong ideas,” she states. “The fact that Martin was founded in RVA and has chosen to stay in RVA has spawned work for an entire production community to flourish.”

J.L. Hodges, Partner & Creative Director of Overcoast Music + Sound says that people know they don’t need to leave Richmond to get extremely high quality work. His company applies a “locals first” approach as well. “Although we work with a global network of writers and composers, a large part of our talent pool is based right here in Richmond,” states Hodges. “We love that we are in a position to provide opportunities for the ‘home team,’ so to speak. We have always been proud ambassadors for Richmond.”

Danny MacNelly, partner at ARCHITECTUREFIRM, the local team behind the design of Arts & Letters’ new office space, states, “As a small business trying to do work in Richmond, we are amazed at what these groups are doing. Not amazed that the talent is here, but just in awe of their ability to create and communicate and attract some of the biggest clients anywhere to our town and keep them coming back. They are driving this city forward.”

After all we’ve endured in 2020, the concept of moving ahead – making progress, as well as an impact – feels strangely promising. Because let’s be honest, not everyone can look back on this year and feel successful. For many Richmonders, especially artists, entrepreneurs and small, minority- and women-owned businesses, this year has been a serious challenge.

Virginia Repertory Theatre is just one of countless creative organizations, along with local artists, entrepreneurs and small businesses, that will be relying on community support in the coming year. Photo by EVERGIB.

“My hope is that Richmond continues to work and thrive from within,” states Jolinda Smithson, Owner of Shapes & Colors and host of CreativeMornings Richmond. “That people decide to work, live and play here… found businesses, rent or buy their houses here, send their kids to local schools, and participate in local organizations.” She admits that Richmond is not always the easiest place to live, but feels optimistic seeing it grow and shift in positive ways. 

Unlike major cities, Richmond’s relatively low cost of living also allows people freedom and opportunity to take more risks. But for the success to continue, “Richmond needs governance and economic development that preempts, promotes, and supports this growth with smart planning strategies,” states Kristin O’Connor, Owner & Executive Producer of RainMaker Studios. She wants to see responsible development and the right support from local government to further advance the community in its many diverse districts, small businesses, and large corporations.

Justin Bajan, Co-Founder & Creative Director of ad agency Familiar Creatures, believes Richmond has become a viable and respectable spot to continue or start a career. “My hope for the future is that the growth and success of Martin and Arts & Letters is just the beginning of what’s to come here. That the great talent within those walls don’t use this town as a stepping stone, but instead stays in town and builds more agencies with individual flavors and capabilities. Agencies that reflect the independence and boldness you see all throughout Richmond.”

Having grown up in Richmond myself, I was pleasantly surprised to see how much it had changed after being away for 12 years. When my husband and I moved back in 2014 to start our creative studio, EVERGIB, what stood out most to us were the people – other local entrepreneurs and organizations who took time to offer us guidance and advice; who became allies, colleagues, and friends. After living in big cities like New York and LA, it reminded us about the importance of community. Looking out for your neighbors, as well as lifting them up.

The recent achievements of The Martin Agency, Arts & Letters, and the VCU Brandcenter are undoubtedly a collective win for our city, as are their efforts behind increased diversity, equity, and inclusion. But critical to the city’s ongoing evolution is a commitment to continued investment in Richmond and its people.

As we enter a new year of possibilities, let’s remember that we’re all working to build something special here. 

Together, we can make it happen.

Top Photo: The Martin Agency leadership team. Photo courtesy of The Martin Agency.

AARNxBRWN: The Prodigal Son

Robin Schwartzkopf | October 29, 2020

Topics: AARNxBRWN, Aaron Brown, George Floyd, Ghost, Marcus-David Peters Circle, protests, Save Me I'm Drowning, Value

Recording artist and producer AARNxBRWN dropped a new video and has a new album on the way. His musical journey over the summer coincided with a quest to find himself and justice for his people through protests and activism.

Before this summer, rapper/producer Aaron Brown, known to the music world as AARNxBRWN, didn’t consider himself an activist. But when protests started around the murder of George Floyd and people began taking to the streets to demand justice, Brown joined in. He wound up with a megaphone in his hand and a new way of thinking about his music.

Photo by LOSINGMYEGO

Since releasing his debut album, GHost, in 2019, Brown has built a reputation for his melodic production and expressive sound, as well as his dynamic lyricism. But his participation in the protests, where he marched alongside thousands of Richmonders for several weeks, made him want to record something as a means of expression. He produced the beat for his single, “Value,” and wrote the first verse after the first week or two, and returned to finish the track around a month in. 

“I finally felt like I had enough information and enough experience and enough of a story to finish,” Brown said. 

LOSINGMYEGO, a self-described “one woman multidisciplinary creative studio” and Brown’s friend, shot footage of the protests night after night using her phone and a Moment lens, unbeknownst to Brown. When he finished “Value,” she asked to make a video for the song. 

“When I finished the song she was like, ‘I need it, give me the song,” Brown said. “She put together this crazy video with all these shots I didn’t even know she had.” 

The end result is a powerful representation of the summer’s struggles. The black and white shots cut quickly from scene to scene, lingering in striking moments of visual symbolism — a fist raised in air filled with tear gas, a burning flag, masked protesters perched on the sides of the monument at Marcus-David Peters Circle. Between biting, emotional verses, Brown reminds his listeners, “know your worth / know your value.”

For Brown, knowing your worth means knowing who you are and what you deserve. He isn’t content to settle only for what bureaucracy and systems of injustice deem feasible. 

“A lot of the older folks and people were like, this is how you do it I guess, one small step at a time, and we just need to keep trucking along,” Brown said. “I think my mentality was like, I’m really tired of just piecing together equalities for us.”

Brown knows he’s new to the work of activism. His experiences in the protests and working with justice causes now have changed the way he thinks about his music, but for him, it still comes down to his talent for putting what he experiences into words and beats. It’s just that now, his subject matter is slightly different. 

“This is the first time in my life where I stepped out into the thick of something that was national, international attention,” Brown said. “A lot of my music is influenced, because I’ve been in new spaces and I’ve learned so much about my own culture and my own standing in America … It’s made my music more impactful, I think. It’s truer to me.”

Photo by LOSINGMYEGO

Taking risks has become a central theme of Brown’s upcoming album, Save Me I’m Drowning, which drops November 6. He talks about a kind of inspired urgency — a willingness to jump in the water and ignore others’ fears. 

“Now it’s like there’s a fire under my ass,” Brown said. “There’s a single off of the album … the whole concept is almost like a prodigal son story, the idea of going away and ‘jumping into water’… Taking that risk, whatever it is — whether it’s a social risk or a life risk or whatever that thing is — and people being scared of you taking that risk.”

In order to learn, the prodigal son had to leave, Brown explained. Even if it meant making mistakes, he could only gain and grow by venturing out before returning home. 

“He had to go away to get enough wisdom to understand that everything he needed was home,” Brown said. “At some point of time he had to take that jump.”

Photo by LOSINGMYEGO

For Brown, the future is all about risking dangerous waters to emerge as the person he needs to be — a prodigal son seeking justice for all. 

You can pre-order Brown’s upcoming album, Save Me I’m Drowning, at Bandcamp, where you can also hear a two-track preview of the album.

Top Photo by LOSINGMYEGO

Op-Ed: Busted At The Circle

RVA Staff | September 29, 2020

Topics: black lives matter, Marcus-David Peters Circle, protests, Richmond police department, Virginia State Police

An anonymous protester tells the story of how they got arrested at Marcus-David Peters Circle, and reveals the essentially random and arbitrary nature of police enforcement throughout Richmond’s summer of protest.

It never hurts to show up with a case of beer, so I stopped at Lombardy Kroger on my way to the Circle and picked up some Blue Moons and a box of popsicles — both in response to the festive mood dancing through the air. That morning, the mayor had announced the resignation of our ten-day-old police chief, and while many understood the dense sociopolitical tactics implied with the decision, most celebrated the occasion as well. A Friday night at the top of summer will always carry with it feelings of excitement and reward.

I pulled my bike up to the normal spot at Marcus-David Peters Circle and recognized a few familiar faces in the soft afterglow of dusk’s light. The sun was just setting, leaving only about 30 minutes until full darkness and the cover that comes with it. At that moment, the sky shimmered with raspberry-lemonade tones and watermelon-marshmallow clouds. Around the turn of the Circle, a free concert was underway, made possible with just a microphone, a generator, and a few amps. We doodled with spray-paint or attempted freestyle tricks on our fixed-gear bikes as we sipped beers and mused on the day.

We were all rocking on the obvious cookout vibe, but we were tentative as well; we weren’t completely relaxed. We’ve seen things at the Circle turn from lax to chaos before, in only a second and for no reason at all, and we know it can happen again. When you’re facing an enemy that has full control over the definitions of combat and legality, it’s OK to feel nervous.

For the moment though, it’s good vibes and sunshine. And while our conversations dance around the protests, the police, police brutality, human rights, the mistakes of the generations before us, and our determination to fix those mistakes, mostly we just talk about Richmond. It’s hard to explain Richmond to someone who hasn’t stayed here for any amount of time. Richmond is like an oasis that’s also a black hole. Richmond is the place you’re trying to get out of, and also the place you can’t wait to be back in. Richmond is the place you think you deserve. Richmond is where a lot of us feel most at home, but it’s a home that needs sweeping renovations. 

As we expounded on the failures and accomplishments of the capital city, more and more of our friends arrived, skidding to stops at the periphery of our claimed area and increasing our settlement size. It’s easy to dominate a space when everyone arrives with a bicycle, and in our group it’s pretty much a necessity to show up with some wheels. Besides a general interest in protesting the state, bicycles have been the strongest common factor throughout the ragtag group of friends that I’ve been meeting with near-daily since the brutal murder of George Floyd at the end of May. 

Some of these friends, like Zach (our stoic, de facto captain of the group who seems to know everyone in town) and Twist (our resident artist and Big Wheel extraordinaire), I’ve known for a while and originally met because we were biking in the same parts of town. But others, like Maria (badass girl with a Wide Bars/Big Heart combo) or Rory (no fixie yet, just a road bike, but well-loved for his reputation of generosity and hilarious braggadociousness), I’ve only spent real time with since the protests began. All in all, there’s about 12 of us that have formed a little posse of itinerant protesters. Every summer brings with it something new, but something about the revolution marching down the streets had this summer feeling particularly seismic. And something about all that “newness” in the air made me feel like a kid again. 

Soon, a few men in assault rifles and military vests approached us, seeming threatened by their own lack of acceptance and camaraderie, reflected against our group of laughing friends.  

“Is this your tent? This tent’s gotta go!” one man began, unwilling to exchange pleasantries. 

“It’s not our tent but we don’t think it should go,” a few people responded. “That tent is covering a free community library.”

“Well, when the cops get here this is going to make them upset, and they’re going to come in here and destroy it anyway,” the man said. “So I’m just saying y’all should take it down before I come back with a few other guys with rifles and take it down myself…. because we don’t want the cops to come!”

Photo by Eric Everington

“You can do whatever you want, man, but we’re not going to take down some tent that isn’t ours just because you think the cops might come,” said our friend Marco, who’s always good for a giant smile and a fat joint. “And also, that whole theory doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.” He punctuated this last part with a tip of his head and a swig of his beer.

The man grumbled to himself and walked away, returning ten minutes later with his aforementioned rifled goons, as well as a lady that doesn’t really seem to fit in with them. 

“This lady owns the library so we’re getting her to take it down,” the man said, directing his speech towards our group for no apparent reason other than to start a conflict. He was clearly oblivious to how antithetical his aggressive, commandeering attitude was to the entire idea of the community space that is Marcus-David Peters Circle… or maybe he was just an asshole. Regardless, he was a blatant intimidator, and unless we’re talking about Number 3 (RIP), there’s just no room for that inside the Circle. 

We ignored whatever the guy was trying to serve to us and kicked back, but soon he was back again with an even larger group, now forcefully encouraging everyone to exit the interior of the Circle, under the assurance that “the cops can’t touch us if we aren’t in the Circle.” It’s hard to say no to a group of men with large guns in their hands, so the group was largely succeeding in their attempts to push people out of the area. Our group, though still not completely understanding or agreeing with the logic of the move, followed suit, packing up our blankets, beers, and popsicles. 

Not five minutes after the entire populace of the Circle had been cleared out of the area surrounded by graffiti-covered barriers, officers in riot gear began to arrive, just as the man earlier had “predicted.” Predicted! *Hmpf*! Predicted, or called down? Because I reckon it’s a hell of a lot easier to predict the future when you’ve got a direct line to the chain of command. I also reckon that the only person who would come up and complain about the tent covering up a free library would be someone who knew that the cops were coming that night, whether they had a reason to or not. 

Photo by Darrell Booker

And, of course, there was no reason that any amount of police officers, let alone 50+ outfitted in full riot gear, should have appeared that night. No reason for a city to sic a militarized pack of baton-wielding goons on its own people. No reason why the citizens of Richmond could not have just been left to be: listening to music, drinking beers, talking with friends. These were the crimes we committed before being attacked that night. 

As police announced to the crowd that the surrounding area had been declared an “unlawful assembly,” tempers began to flare — on both sides. Rubber bullets and flash-bang grenades sliced through the air, as chants and screams rose from the civilians. Suddenly, the space felt like a war zone, a battle with what seemed like completely lopsided enemies. On one side stood line after line of grown men adorned in battle armor, helmets, and shields. Some held assault rifles or guns meant for firing rubber bullets and smoke canisters; all wore heavy, polished, steel-toed boots. On the other side stood men, women, children, and pets equipped with nothing more than their wallets, sunglasses, tank tops, and shorts. Some held bottles of water for extinguishing smoke, others had gloves on for tossing tear gas canisters away; all wore a sense of fear, anger, confusion, and determination on their face.

These Richmonders, who had done nothing more than to enjoy the public space of their city, would not be deterred so easily. A feeling spread through the crowd: we would not be punished unjustly tonight. If we were going to have to face the consequences of merely existing in the street, then we weren’t going down without a fight.   

The ranks of G.I. Joe pretenders slowly increased their perimeter, pushing citizens further and further from the reclaimed art space at the epicenter of the Circle. Soon, we stood in the middle of Park Avenue, a block from Monument Avenue, and still we were being told to “back up” and “get out of the street,” by both Richmond Police and Virginia State Police. It seemed the boars with badges would not be content until they had claimed the whole neighborhood as their own Draconian hang-space. 

When my friend Mo shined his flashlight toward a group of suspicious looking officers, he was swarmed upon by a particularly dorky looking VSP officer.

“Whoah! Hey! You got lights for this bicycle here?” the officer asked, taking strides closer and closer to us, hand on his hip. 

“Two, actually!” was Mo’s response, as we all flipped our bikes around to put some space between the officers and ourselves. “You’re not gunna get us on some shit like that!” He shouted over his shoulder as we pedaled up the street towards a safer space. “Ya dumbass cop!”

With some distance between the commotion and us, we regrouped. Mo, Maria, Zach, Ryan, Rory, and I squadded up at a park only a block away. 

“Shit’s wild.”

“What even started this?”

“Oh, they’re definitely mad about the chief resigning.”

“I saw someone get hit right in the face with a rubber bullet.”

“Fuck!”

“I saw a couple kids with paint guns shooting at the cops, I think that’s what started it all.”

“I mean, the cops started it all when they showed up…”

“AGREED!”

Photo by Nils Westergard

Looking behind him, Rory said, “This car coming up is an unmarked cop car; anyone want to see where it’s going?”

“Let’s do it,” I said. 

And we took off, the two of us darting after this beefy-looking tinted black SUV, keeping close but keeping our distance. 

After a few blocks Rory turned to me and said, “They aren’t going anywhere interesting. Let’s head back.” We reversed course back towards the way we came. 

Coming back up towards the intersection where we left the rest of our friends, I can’t say that anything felt particularly off, though it did seem a little quiet; not a simple quiet but a stifled one. 

As Rory and I made our way through the shadow left in the space between two light posts, we heard, “GRAB HIM!” and a hidden mass sprang from the darkness. I watched as Rory’s bike found the space between the charging homunculus and a row of cards and skirted through it successfully, just as the same cop changed direction to tackle me off my bike (FUCK!). The goon leaped into the air as gracefully as an anemic hippopotamus, and tackled me off my bike with the ease of a drunken uncle at Thanksgiving.

“All right, big guy, you got me! You can chill out,” I said to the panting officer, who was shoving my arms into positions not familiar to them, restraining my non-resisting body with the help of three or four buddies. “I appreciate all the attention, but it’s really not necessary.” 

“It’s for both of our safeties,” the stormtrooper said to me without looking at my face, instead holding his nose high with eyes darting around the perimeter like some cracked-out hound-dog. 

“Oh yeah, I bet,” I said, laughing a little. “Hey man, you having any fun?”

The officer just grunted.

“Aw, c’mon man, what’s your name?”

“Officer Harris.” Still no eye contact.

“Hey, officer Harris, you having any fun out here? It’s ok to have fun; I’m having some fun. Are you having fun?” 

Officer Harris shifted his weight from one foot to the other, rolled his tongue across his upper teeth, and said out of the side of his mouth, “Yeah, I’m having a little fun… but you guys are making it hard for us out here.”

“GROSSSSSSS!” I say laughing from the pit of my stomach, “Oh, Officer Harris, we’ve got real problems. I can’t believe you just said that.” And I continued to laugh as this confused cop looked down on me, still zip-tied at his feet. I was beyond affable at this point, due to the insane amount of adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream, and while the fear of this cop and his gang of buddies crossed my mind, I figured if I was in for a penny, I was in for a pound. Being arrested for protesting the police force already put me in a vulnerable position, and I figured the policeman’s image of me couldn’t be altered much in the short time we were interacting with each other. But I wanted to say one more thing before Officer Harris cast me aside as some wanton rioter.

Photo by Erin O’Brien.

“I hope you don’t think I’m just some white punk, some revolutionary with no cause. I’m fighting for what I believe in, protesting with love in my heart. And I sleep well every night, Officer Harris. Do you?”

“I try,” Officer Harris said with a giant sigh as he put me in a cage in the back of a van. 

“Now, watch your head.”

This piece was submitted anonymously by a protester who was arrested this summer. All names have been changed. Though the protester’s case has since been dismissed, and they are no longer being prosecuted by the City of Richmond, they chose to remain anonymous to avoid further prosecution.

Note: Op-Eds are contributions from guest writers and do not reflect RVA Magazine editorial policy.

Top Photo by Domico Phillips

“Creative Protests” At Marcus-David Peters Circle Combine Music, Art, and Resistance

Anya Sczerzenie | September 3, 2020

Topics: black lives matter, Creative Protests, George Floyd, Julia Seliavski, Marcus-David Peters Circle, Marwa Eltaib, Nolef Turns, protests, RVA26, Sheba Williams

Organized by RVA26, monthly “Creative Protests” at Marcus-David Peters Circle have given creative voice to a community hungry for positive change, even as the space remains the focus for civil disobedience in Richmond.

It’s a place where you can play a pick up game of basketball outside. It’s a place where a community garden grows, nurtured by volunteers.

It’s a place covered in graffiti: “Black Lives Matter.” “ACAB.” “Fuck 12.”

It’s a place where you can take your kids, your dogs, even your babies. It’s a place where people listen to live music, socially-distanced, and laid out on blankets.

Morning yoga at Marcus-David Peters Circle. Photo via RVA26/Twitter

It’s a place with a giant statue of civil war general Robert E Lee, which, unlike Richmond’s other confederate statues, remains standing on its pedestal (for now). 

It’s a place of fun, and it’s a place of protest. It’s a place where groups gather to begin marches.

It’s a place that was once simply called the Lee Circle, or the Lee Monument, but has been reclaimed and re-named by community members and protestors. Marcus-David Peters circle, or MDP for short. It has become a community space for many Richmonders.

“Like any birth story, it was birth and then chaos,” said Marwa Eltaib, organizer of the Creative Protests and founder of the anti-incarceration group RVA 26. 

RVA 26 is a group of people who were arrested on May 31 during protests, including those at what would become Marcus-David Peters Circle. The group now describes themselves, according to their instagram page, as “organizing against Black incarceration and for Black liberation.”

Lady E And Friends perform at Marcus-David Peters Circle. Photo via RVA26/Twitter

In addition to other events, RVA 26 has hosted one Creative Protest event every month of this summer. Along with speeches by activists and organizers, these events feature live performances by local black artists.

“Some are up-and-coming, while some are more established,” Eltaib said. “We try to get new artists out there. We have such a beautiful, eclectic, and diverse array of black artists in Richmond.”

These Creative Protests took place on June 13, July 18, and August 22. They hosted musical artists such as rappers Jason Jamal and Skinnyy Hendrixx, and blues musician Lady E. Some visual artists — such as live painters — have been involved in these events, but the difficulty of doing live art, coupled with fears that the police may come and confiscate the finished product, means that few visual artists have performed. 

“If we have a project like that, we need to take more precautions,” Eltaib said. 

Performance art, including fire-spinner Venus Riley’s dance with a flaming hoop — the grand finale at the August 22 protest — is better suited for the circle. Eltaib says that she hopes to involve more performance artists, such as dancers, in future Creative Protests.

Police have been removing items from the circle since its inception. Some of the art pieces from previous Creative Protests, as well as a small lending library, were removed earlier in the summer, according to Eltaib. A sign marking the circle as “Marcus-David Peters Circle” was removed in mid-August, though the Richmond police department denied involvement in removing the sign. Recently, a new sign arrived at the circle, declaring its name once again.

The new Marcus-David Peters Circle sign. Photo via JusticeforMDP/Twitter

The atmosphere during musical performances was that of an outdoor concert, with people sitting on blankets, talking to friends, and eating. Almost everyone wore a face mask.

Because of the coronavirus pandemic, in-person community events can be few and far between. The spontaneous, decentralized and community-driven nature of the MDP circle makes it so that community is happening all the time. 

“That wasn’t our main goal, but it’s a natural effect,” said Eltaib. 

The main goal of the space, and of the Creative Protests, is to send a message.

“We founded the first Creative Protest to utilize art to continue the conversation of Black liberation,” Eltaib said. “It’s a wonderful way to get the message across.”

At the Creative Protest, organizers wanted to make this purpose clear. Between musical performances, speeches by organizers reminded people that they weren’t at any ordinary concert. At one event, Sheba Williams, director of the group NoLef Turns, spoke at the event about the difficulties of being labeled a felon, especially as a Black person.

When night fell on the circle, projections were shone onto the Lee monument behind the performers. One was the face of Marcus-David Peters, superimposed with the words “reopen the case”. Another was the label “second place — you tried” on the Lee statue’s base, making it look like a gigantic participation trophy.

Photo by Landon Shroder

The circle, which has been occupied by protestors since the killing of George Floyd, may have seen a lot of artistic creativity on display in the months since, but it is still a protest space.

On August 24, two days after the third Creative Protest, people dressed in black gathered in the circle. They all planned to march in solidarity with protestors in Kenosha, Wisconsin after the shooting of Jacob Blake. 

The circle was both the starting and ending point of the march, which wound through neighborhoods before spilling out onto Broad Street, where bike marshals blocked traffic and a few people in cars passed out ice-cold bottles of water to marchers.

Some marchers came on foot, some brought bikes. A few brought dogs on leashes. One protester held a rainbow flag, superimposed with a black power fist. Another protester held a sign painted to look like a spiky coronavirus molecule, which read, “Racism is deadlier than the pandemic.”

Photo via RVA26/Twitter

Julea Seliavski, who co-organized the Creative Protests with Eltaib and is another founding member of RVA 26, said that she hopes the creative protests can bring more of an audience to the Black Lives Matter cause.

“It comes down to care, it comes down to supporting the Black community,” Seliavski said. “People can come in and be radicalized through art. By radicalized, I mean radical softness, radical love.”

Regarding the future of the MDP circle, Marwa Eltaib said that she wants it to become a healing space for the Richmond community to gather.

“You can find food, you can find friends, you can find someone to have a conversation with,” Eltaib said. “If you’re homeless, home-insecure, anyone. I want everyone who comes to feel pride in what Richmond did together. And, I would like the police to stay out of it.”

Top Photo by R. Anthony Harris

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