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Appalachian Aggression: Heavy Music Is Alive In The Rural South

Jack Cooper III | May 7, 2020

Topics: Angel Dust, Appalachia, appalachian music, bailey stiltz, blue ridge, bluefield west virginia, Bracewar, Break Away, choose to suffer, clot, discourse, dread state, Forced Order, galax, gravity kong, hardcore, harlan kentucky, Harrisonburg, jack cooper iii, jesus piece, josh sison, late night zero, local music, metal, modern pain, music, nailcrown, Naysayer, Outsider, powerviolence, reality strikes, roanoke, Roanoke bands, roanoke music, roanoke shows, rock, RVA shows, shows, Southwest virginia, step off, The Golden Pony, the rocket club, the shanty, the spot on kirk

In the underbellies of Virginia’s smallest music communities, DIY scenes preserve hardcore and metal over generations in Roanoke and throughout Appalachia. 

Hardcore punk has been burning strong in the fabric of American music for nearly four decades now. What originated in the slums of Manhattan’s Lower East Side, and within the urban sprawl encompassing Los Angeles in the 80s, has now spread to every conceivable corner of the globe. The roots of this youth-centered subculture are widespread; they’ve taken a strong hold in cities across the nation, and emerged as music scenes in the bubbling undergrounds of lesser-known, isolated rural communities throughout the South.

Wherever there are groups of angsty and disaffected youth, you can be certain that a hardcore, metal, or punk-adjacent community also exists. 

When looking introspectively at the various music scenes in Virginia, it goes without question that Richmond is the epicenter of hardcore and metal. Its long-established scene has made a lasting impact on heavy music as a whole, from storied venues like Alley Katz and Strange Matter to notable acts like GWAR, Four Walls Falling, Avail, Down to Nothing, Lamb Of God, Municipal Waste, and more. With Richmond’s monopoly on heavy music, it can be hard to imagine another area in the Old Dominon where hardcore DIY (Do It Yourself) music is thriving, and very much alive — but it only takes a look westward, past the banks of the James. 

Nestled between the Blue Ridge and Allegheny Mountain ranges, just off Virginia’s I-81 corridor, lies the city of Roanoke. Because of its convenient geographic location, Roanoke has served for ages as a gateway for bands traveling west or north toward the densely-populated urban centers of New England. I’ve been a part of the local music scene here with Josh Sison, guitarist for Dread State and Step Off, for years now. He sees Roanoke’s location as part of the reason underground music has been able to survive here over the decades; legendary hardcore and punk acts like Sick of It All, Avail, Token Entry, and Green Day came through our town and first brought our scene to life in the early 90s. 

PHOTO: Via Jack Cooper III

From the beginning of the region’s hardcore and metal scenes until today, successive generations of locals have passed the metaphorical torch to the scene’s younger participants, designating them as the next custodians of Roanoke’s hardcore and punk scenes. The scene has stayed alive, but the frequent change of hands has made it difficult to establish a scene with longevity and enough name recognition to be on the forefront of people’s minds. The scene’s periodic instability is an unfortunate reality of life in smaller cities — with an underperforming local economy, limited job prospects, and large cities relatively close by, many Appalachian areas struggle to compete with the metro areas’ ability to book large touring bands on a regular basis. 

The government’s gradual shift in focus from rural agricultural communities to populous urban centers over the last century has led to a long-standing deprivation across Appalachia. While larger population centers in the region like Roanoke have more opportunity than the most rural areas, Appalachia’s smallest communities face even more challenges. The music scenes in the area tend to come together, creating a united feeling across cities rather than each city operating individually as areas like Richmond do. This style of “teamwork” allows even the smallest areas to grow, and it’s why DIY music is able to thrive here. Bradford Harris of Harlan, Kentucky — a coal mining town in the easternmost part of the state — speaks on the significant turnover rate within his own town’s music scene. 

“All those people who were involved in building up the scene here lacked the mentality to keep things going; they went off to get jobs,” he said. 

PHOTO: Via Jack Cooper III

With few job prospects, many young people in Appalachia have chosen to vacate their hometowns to seek out better educational and employment opportunities elsewhere. Over time, this created a cultural and intellectual vacuum in the countryside, stunting the growth of both local communities and their DIY music scenes. As many localities in Appalachia are starved of the necessary resources, they’re unable to grow with new cultural changes and expand the region’s musical palette — but many locals have taken it upon themselves to start heavy music scenes from scratch. In a town known for its annual Bluegrass competitions, Wil Sharpe and Denver Walker of Galax, Virginia are doing just that. 

“We want to put the aggressive style of music out there for people to hear, so we can start developing interest in building our own scene,” Sharpe and Walker said of their new powerviolence band, Clot. 

“I’d like for Clot to get big enough that they can play [outside of Galax] and bring attention to our town,” Walker said. The mixture of hometown pride and passion for hardcore and metal music drives them to carve out a space of their own, and mutual support from other rural areas helps each scene stay alive. 

PHOTO: Via Jack Cooper III

The same breed of barriers that exist in Galax are also prevalent throughout the Appalachian South; the most challenging being a lack of reliable venues to book shows. Jordan Musick, drummer for Late Night Zero and Choose To Suffer (both formed in Roanoke), discussed the ups and downs that his hometown scene in Bluefield, West Virginia has experienced. 

“From roughly 2007 until 2010, our scene was really big,” Musick said. “We had the Princeton Rec Center, which became our go-to spot for touring bands, and then bars like The Rocket Club that let us put on shows. Unfortunately, the Rocket Club closed its doors, and the Rec Center stopped allowing us to book there — nothing was sustainable for a long time after that.”  Unpredictable relationships with venues can be detrimental to a scene’s survival, and in this case, caused a multi-year lull where punk and metal nearly died off in the area. 

In my own experience booking shows in Roanoke, a majority of the venues and bars in town are apprehensive about booking DIY bands. Most event coordinators and business I’ve spoken with share the same concerns: they worry whether bands will draw enough attendees to make profits from door sales, they’re unsure if they’ll make any bar or food sales during the show, and they fear liability in the event that someone gets injured while moshing or stage diving. The possibility of sustaining damage to their property, or of a patron getting hurt, has stonewalled any chance for the scene to transition from booking basement shows to booking established venues. 

PHOTO: Via Jack Cooper III

These concerns are faced by music scenes everywhere. Even areas like Richmond and in cities like New York and Washington, D.C., local booking agents will share similar experiences. What separates the larger cities from areas like Roanoke and even smaller regions is their lack of venues — where Richmond has a substantial amount of places to host shows, the Roanoke scene has been limited with only a handful of venues for live music. Misunderstandings about hardcore ethics and the DIY mentality, alongside a general lack of faith in the music’s ability to bring in new business, has made it increasingly difficult for the scene to grow and expand heavy music in the region. But despite the hardships we collectively endured (and the grim realities we’ve had to face), many hardcore and metal scenes in Appalachia are beginning to thrive once more. 

Shows are happening consistently, new venues are becoming household names, and a genuine sense of scene unity is emerging. Nick Gekoskie, show promoter and guitarist for Brick, spoke with me about the rise of the Golden Pony in Harrisonburg. 

“It’s a wonderful place that serves as the music hub for our community,” Gekoskie said. “Paul Somers, the owner and operator of the Pony, is fully invested in the scene. He’s able to bring quality acts of all genres.” 

In 2019 alone, Eyehategod, Red Death, Ilsa, Murphy’s Law, and H.R. of Bad Brains came through Harrisonburg and drew huge crowds — and this isn’t the first time Harrisonburg has brought legendary acts to the Shenandoah Valley. Bane, Poison The Well, Converge, Fugazi, and The Bouncing Souls have played MACROCK, an annual festival hosted in downtown Harrisonburg that showcases regional and national DIY acts. 

PHOTO: Via Jack Cooper III

Meanwhile, Roanoke’s hardcore scene is still recovering from its near-death experience after losing the longest running DIY venue in its history, The Shanty. As the birthplace of many local bands, and the only safe space for hardcore/punk shows, The Shanty’s impact on Roanoke’s metal scene over the years is incalculable. To see hardcore bands like Bracewar, Naysayer, Angel Dust, Forced Order, Discourse, Jesus Piece, Break Away, or Modern Pain play in a venue the size of a small carport is mindblowing to those of us who have experienced it. And although many Roanokers are still grieving the loss of this acclaimed institution, the community has survived and adapted in a world without The Shanty. Since the beginning of 2018, the heavy music scene in Roanoke has seen a whirlwind of changes. 

A younger generation has started forming bands — like Gravity Kong, Choose to Suffer, and Reality Strikes — and the old heads have formed newer projects showcasing their perfected skillset, like Nailcrown and Dread State. 

They’ve started forming working relationships with venues in downtown Roanoke like The Spot On Kirk and VFW Hall 1264, and have hosted shows with bands like One Step Closer, Year Of The Knife, Facewreck, Stepping Stone, Outsider, and Drain. 

Bailey Stiltz (of Choose to Suffer, Outsider, and Reality Strikes), Josh Sison, and myself have taken the lead on booking shows. Show attendance numbers may not have returned to their former peak, but the metal scene in Roanoke is on a steady rise. 

“The scene has definitely receded a bit, but I see it growing slowly,” said Sison. “Even with attendance at shows being lower than what we’re used to, the kids that do show up put on for every band on the bill. There’s never a dull moment during a Roanoke show, and I think that’s partially the reason why bands continue coming back.” 

PHOTO: Via Jack Cooper III

Roughly ten years ago, I was beginning my assimilation into the hardcore/punk subculture. One person in particular spoke words that struck a chord in me during those formative years, and his name is Aaron Bedard. Bedard is the vocalist for Bane and Antagonize, and in Bane’s song “Superhero,” he talks about the ability inside everyone to make a difference. We’re able to better our own lives, and as Bedard vocalized, “the difference between hard and impossible is a thousand miles wide.” 

For those of us who are still actively engaged in the hardcore and metal scenes in Appalachia, the community can attest to the validity of his statement. From an outsider’s perspective, maintaining a heavy music scene in the region may seem like an impossible task — but to myself and those I work with to do it, the preservation of our scene is a worthwhile pursuit. 

What has been done in the past can be replicated and improved upon; the evidence is right here in front of us. Despite our lack of resources, networking challenges, and limited visibility, this region continues to find ways to keep our scene alive. Hardcore in Appalachia, and throughout the rest of the world, will survive as it always has: through struggle, persistence, and dedication. We will keep passing the torch, the flame will burn eternal. 

Check out Jack’s favorite bands from the area, who are all members of the Appalachian scene or have strong ties to its community. Support local music!

Step Off
The Mirror
Unnerve
Dread State
Grudgeholders
Compulse
BRICK
Reality Check
True Worth
Dbol
Gravity Kong
Force
Wiretap
L.I.P.S.
Clot

Wildlife Warriors

Jimmy O'Keefe | December 23, 2019

Topics: animal care and rehabilitation, bojangles, community, environmentalism, richmond va, roanoke, Roanoke County board of supervisors, roanoke va, RVA, Southwest virginia, southwest virginia wildlife center, stan seymour, stanley seymour, swva wildlife, swva wildlife center, wildlife, Wildlife Warriors

Roanoke’s Southwest Virginia Wildlife Center fights to stay open and save animals’ lives in the midst of lawsuits from a local Bojangles’ owner who claims the center “increases noise” and “increases traffic.” 

The Southwest Virginia Wildlife Center has been helping the animals of Roanoke, Virginia for nearly two decades: anyone who finds an injured animal can bring it to the center for rehabilitation free of charge. With emphasis on the care of native birds, the center has a small staff, largely relying on a team of volunteers to nurse animals — over 2,000 a year — back to health.

Photo via Southwest Virginia Wildlife Center

“[The center] helps injured and orphaned Virginia wildlife, with the goal of getting the animals that can survive back out into the wild,” said Martha Gish-Toney, who served on SWVA Wildlife Center board until this past September.

But for over a year now, the center has had more than just animals in need to worry about. In 2018, prominent Roanoke County business owner Stanley Seymour filed a complaint against the center, claiming that it was operating outside of county code. Seymour, who owns a Bojangles franchise, lives next to the center, and filed the complaint along with his wife and two others that neighbor it. The complaint came after the center was issued a permit to build a raptor rehabilitation building.

While Seymour’s original complaint was dismissed, it marked the beginning of a long legal battle for the SWVA Wildlife Center. In September 2018, Seymour, along with his neighbors, filed a lawsuit against the center. The lawsuit alleged that the center causes increased traffic along the private road the parties share, along with decreased property values and increased noise.

Photo via Southwest Virginia Wildlife Center

Another lawsuit was filed in Nov. 2018, complaining that the Roanoke County Board of Supervisors was wrong in approving a new raptor rehabilitation building. A third lawsuit, this time for defamation, was filed against the center during the summer of 2019.

In the midst of a legal battle, the center continues to rehabilitate animals. But the lawsuits present significant challenges for the non-profit.

“It’s very difficult on the center because of the amount of money that’s having to be diverted from the care of the animals,” Gish-Toney said. “These legal expenses are massive at this point — it’s over $75,000 today.”

This isn’t the first time Seymour has used complaints in an attempt to get rid of something inconveniencing him. In 2011, when Chick-fil-A had plans to open up in Salem, Virginia, Seymour filed a complaint regarding the zoning of the new restaurant with the Salem Board of Zoning Appeals.

“It’ll hurt my business, so I’m going to slow it down if I can,” Seymour said of the new Chick-fil-A at the time.

Photo via Southwest Virginia Wildlife Center

Seymour has twice run for a seat on the Roanoke County Board of Supervisors, in 2011 and in 2019. On both occasions, he came in last place.

“He does not have the support of the community,” Gish-Toney said, noting that the community has been very supportive of the SWVA Wildlife Center throughout the course of the legal battles.

“Different fundraisers, people sending in donations… there has been nothing but support from the community at this point.”

Gish-Toney said that a group called the Wildlife Warriors was created in October to raise money to offset legal fees the SWVA Wildlife Center faces. The group is totally separate from the center, and has plans to continue raising money for different wildlife causes after the SWVA Wildlife Center concludes its legal battles.

Photo via Southwest Virginia Wildlife Center

While the defamation suit is still underway, the SWVA Wildlife Center claimed victory in the two original lawsuits. However, the rulings could still be appealed.

“There’s only three centers in the state of Virginia,” Gish-Toney said. “They just want to be left alone to take care of the animals.”

Top Photo via Southwest Virginia Wildlife Center

No Lies, Just Bullshit: Homegrown in Harrisonburg with Virginia’s Underground Podcast

Caley Sturgill | November 8, 2019

Topics: Absolute Art, alley cat tattoo, Appalachia, avail, blue ridge, blues brothers, Bracewar, brian bruno, brie swartz, brother hawk, clifton forge, Harrisonburg, hori yoshi iii, jill bonny, kings avenue tattoo, marius meyer, mary jane, music, nick swartz, no lies just bs, old heavy hands, podcast, podcasts, politics, rural virginia, scott biram, scott sterling, Shenandoah Valley, Southwest virginia, strange matter, tattoo, tattoo artists, tattoos, tim barry, timothy hoyer

From announcing the Avail reunion shows in Richmond to interviewing tattoo artists, musicians, and hometown folks, No Lies Just BS Podcast host Nick Swartz opens a personal window into Virginian life from his Harrisonburg shop, Alley Cat Tattoo. 

“I don’t really do things in the conventional way.”

When he first started the No Lies Just BS podcast, host and owner of Harrisonburg’s Alley Cat Tattoo Nick Swartz had a lifetime of stories waiting to be told.

From humble beginnings in Clifton Forge to being kidnapped with his brother at eight years old, Swartz could have easily captured an audience with the tales of his own upbringing — but his stories weren’t the only ones Swartz wanted to tell.

“Not everyone is a great storyteller, but everyone has a story to tell,” Swartz said. “I’ve talked to people from all over the place… I’ve got a ton of stories that I haven’t told yet on the show, but I like to sprinkle them in when my memory is sparked by someone else.”

The podcast, which started three years ago this October, is a storytelling podcast with a focus on the tattoo community. From interviewing world-renowned tattoo artists to hometown folks from rural regions of Virginia, to hosting the original Avail reunion show announcement in its Tim Barry episode — which quickly ignited fans from Richmond and across the nation — Swartz made a point to highlight voices from all walks of life.

“The podcast has kind of grown on its own. And it’s weird, because I get recognized in Richmond a lot more than anywhere else — but I also have people look at the podcast and go, ‘What’s that?’ more than anywhere else.”

Swartz has come to know many of his friends and podcast guests through owning Alley Cat Tattoo. Since No Lies Just BS started, he’s sat down with tattoo artists like Richmond’s Brian Bruno at Absolute Art, Mike Rubendall of Kings Avenue Tattoo in New York City (according to Swartz, one of the most high-profile shops in the world), Jill Bonny of San Francisco’s Studio Kazoku, Virginia’s Scott Sterling, Timothy Hoyer, and more. He’s also hosted musicians like Scott H. Biram, Old Heavy Hands, and Ryan Braces of Bracewar.

“I was trying to tell these stories out about growing up in the mountains and having this crazy life,” Swartz said. “My brother and I got kidnapped when I was eight and he was eleven. We were left in an empty condominium in Florida for a month. We were around rednecks, bikers, and scumbags, drugs and crazy shit. I was telling these stories [as I started the podcast], but I was sort of directing them toward a tattoo audience, because that’s where I was known.”

An especially-beloved voice for Swartz is that of Mary Jane, a local artist in her 70’s who made her way into his shop seeking her first tattoo. Mary Jane had just seen the latest season of Stranger Things, and noticed the character with a fishbone tattoo on her ear. Sick of wearing earrings, Mary Jane decided to get her first tattoo on her earlobes.

“I hear her setting an appointment, and she has an incredible Southern accent from the far South. And I love accents — it’s something I’ve always been drawn to,” Swartz said. “I said to her, ‘Do you know what a podcast is?’ And she said, ‘Yes, of course. What am I, an idiot?’ I asked if she’d like to be on my podcast, and Mary Jane said, ‘Well, my friends will probably think I’m crazy for spending the day with some weirdo like you, but I’ll do it [laughs].’”

Mary Jane (Episode 98) went on to tell a remarkable tale of growing up in Alabama and living through segregation. Born in Tuscaloosa — at the time, the national headquarters of the Ku Klux Klan — she lived in the Deep South until 1969 before moving to Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. Her family included a black woman, Johnnie Mae Jones, who was her daddy’s best friend and worked as their live-in nanny for 50 years. In high school, Mary Jane and her friends used to get drunk and sneak into Klan rallies.

“She said, ‘I remember going to these meetings as a little girl,’ and I thought ‘Oh my god, she’s gonna be racist, I’m gonna have to throw her out of here.’ Then she went, ‘The only thing I knew about these guys was they wore white… things… over their heads, and that they were white trash. You knew they were the lowest of the low,’ and I said, ‘Oh, thank God.’ I’ve had the gnarliest tattooers from all over the world reach out to me and say she’s their favorite episode — now, she has two full sleeves of tattoos and two half sleeves on her legs. And she’s part of our family, she comes to cookouts at my house.”

Stories like Mary Jane’s aren’t uncommon to No Lies Just BS. Swartz has hosted guests from tattooers to musicians and hometown locals — all telling their own little pieces of life with a laid-back, and usually comedic, flare.

“Anytime you have the opportunity to be friends with someone, it improves upon your life,” Swartz said of Mary Jane. “We’ve become the best of friends. She’s a special lady.”

As the owner of a tattoo shop nestled in the Shenandoah Valley between the Appalachian Mountains, Swartz has come to hear the wild and entertaining stories of his many customers, musicians, and tattoo artists in the industry.

“[Jill Bonny] came on, and told a story about visiting two Japanese tattoo masters in Japan, both of them in their 80’s. One of those gentlemen is Hori Yoshi III,” Swartz said. “He prepared a statement to be read on my show, which is mind-blowing. He’s been my favorite tattooer for years, and I never thought I would be in contact with him.”

Of the few people Swartz has pursued more than once to be on the show, Tim Barry was one of them. When he initially didn’t hear back, Swartz assumed it was because of his enthusiasm for Avail, a part of Barry’s life that was behind him. But out of the blue, he got a text from Barry that said, “I want to do the show, and I want to do it on this day.” 

“Avail is a big deal for me, they made a huge impact on me,” Swartz said. “I said I couldn’t do that day because I had someone flying in from LA to do the show and hang at the shop for a couple days, and he goes, ‘Well, it’s got to be this day. And if it can’t be this day, it can’t be at all.’ I was like, ‘fuck!’ [laughs], so I went to Richmond… And he said the real reason why you’re here is because Avail is playing in Richmond for the first time in 12 years.”

The episode quickly reached the music community in Richmond, sparking a wave of excitement for the reunion in Virginia and around the country. When he first announced the show dates on the podcast, Barry noted an episode of No Lies Just BS that hosted his bandmate, Beau Beau.

“Tim told me, ‘Listening to you talk to Beau on the podcast, and the way you described our shows, was inspiring, it made me feel good. Then I was opening for Hot Water Music in London, and they described the Avail shows the same way. I listened to Over The James again, and it sounded really good… so I decided to talk to the guys [about a reunion].’” Swartz said. “It was a face-melter for me. I didn’t know he was going to do that when I got to his house.”

At the beginning, No Lies Just BS got its name from the first Blues Brothers movie — Swartz’s favorite to date. His son’s name is Jake Elwood Blues Swartz, and the podcast’s name was no less intentional.

“It’s been a part of my life my whole life. After Jake gets out of prison, he asks, ‘When are we gonna practice?’ And Elwood tells him the band’s not together. Jake says, ‘You told me the band was still together, you lied to me!’ and Elwood says, ‘Ah, it’s not a lie, it’s just bullshit.’ My wife suggested the name for the podcast, and I agreed because I didn’t want to be the guy to discuss serious topics — there’s a place for those things, and I’m just not the guy to host that show.”

Swartz still tries to make a difference in the world, especially close to home. He just doesn’t like to make a big deal out of it.

“I’m the type of person that I believe as long as we take care of our own, and our own neighborhoods and communities, everything will be okay,” he said. “I do it here. Whenever it’s time to pack the bus for school, I go around and get everyone in the shop to pitch in for school supplies for kids in our area. It’s not a huge thing. But I feel it makes a difference here.”

As he became more involved in the culture over his 16 years owning Alley Cat Tattoo, Swartz came to meet many people with interesting backgrounds and stories he thought the world should hear. As No Lies Just BS grew its audience, he found that the most valuable piece of the podcast was its ability to share the jokes, tales, and personalities — the small, often overlooked facets of everyday life — that give a community its soul. Its underground and personal vibe makes listeners feel like they’re sitting in the room with their favorite artists and musicians.

“There’s this incredible tattooer out of Norway named Marius Meyer, and he was one of my early listeners,” Swartz said. “He said to me, ‘Nick, the draw for me is not the tattoo stuff, but it’s the window into Appalachian life from a country boy’s point of view. There’s no way I can get an authentic version of that where I live, unless I read a book that was written 50 years ago. It just doesn’t exist.”

The podcast offers its listeners a look into the region’s culture. With little other outlets aside from local news, No Lies Just BS creates a way to tell Virginia’s stories from a personal view that many news stories don’t convey.

“The thing that I enjoy is bringing stories to the table that people would not hear otherwise,” Swartz said. “My brother and I lived in a place where, if you needed to, you couldn’t holler for anybody. It was just our house in the woods. We cut wood to stay warm, we killed deer and caught trout to feed ourselves, and we had a giant garden. It’s a point of view that I can provide and share that’s just not often touched on.”

Swartz feels that there’s a difference between his own perspective on life in the back country of Virginia that isn’t captured by most who choose to write about it.

“Often those little articles and news stories [about life in the area] are written from an outside perspective that is spoken to someone that they pity,” he said. “I’m proud of where I’m from, I’m proud of who I am. And the things that I’ve experienced, good and bad, equipped me for life.”

Swartz is interested in everyday people, and with them, he’s heard everything from the complicated to the humorous and bizarre. A passionate chef, Swartz takes a personal investment in cooking — and after cooking with Old Heavy Hands, Brother Hawk, and the artists of Absolute Art among others, his cooking and connections through tattoo communities helped him become close friends with many people from the tattoo industry, including Bracewar’s Ryan Braces.

“Ryan’s been my buddy for many years, and he was booking a show at Strange Matter for Brother Hawk and Old Heavy Hands,” Swartz said. “He asked if I’d come down there and cook, so I went with a buddy of mine. It was a blast. I hit it off with those dudes, we drank whiskey and smoked, and I gave them a ton of food for them to take on the road. So at that point, we decided to link up, and Bracewar booked a show in Harrisonburg. He’s a solid guy all-around — those dudes are my close friends, and they mean the world to me. That’s my family.” 

Another favorite musician of his guests on No Lies Just BS, Scott H. Biram, originally made an impact on Swartz the first time he saw Biram play. That happened back in the 90s, when Biram opened for Hank Williams III in Washington, D.C. When Biram played a show in his town years later, Swartz reached out to a friend at the venue about getting him into the show.

“He told Scott, ‘I think you guys are very similar, and you’d get along just fine.’ So Scott avoided me at all costs,” Swartz laughed. “A year later he comes back, and his manager tells me the reason he avoided me is because he plays a persona on stage — from my friend, he thought I was just like his persona. And he didn’t want to associate with anybody like that. But I’ve been to his shows and bought him drinks so many times, I said that if he sees me, he’ll know me. I texted Scott a picture of me, and immediately got a text saying, ‘Aw hell, man, I didn’t know it was you!’”

When Biram came on the show, he played a version of “Mule Skinner Blues” in the office. The old-time bluegrass song has been a favorite of Swartz’s since he was about 10 years old.

“For a moment, I was like, ‘This is unreal. I can’t believe it, he’s sitting five feet from me playing a song that I’ve listened to my whole life.’ That really made a big impact on me. He’s a solid guy, it definitely kind of blew my mind — he was also one of the first people that had no reason to give me a chance. In tattooing, you might know who I am, but in the rest of the world, I’m just a dude.”

After more than 160 episodes, there are still plenty of guests Swartz hopes to host on No Lies Just BS in its future. From tattooers like Baltimore’s Uncle Pauly and New York’s Rose Hardy, originally from New Zealand, to honky-tonk musician Wayne Hancock from Texas, the list keeps growing as Swartz meets artists from different walks of life. Most importantly, he wants to hear their stories; especially more from ordinary folks like Mary Jane and his Uncle Benny.

For many of us, the words of a passing stranger in our day-to-day encounters are nothing more than white noise in the background of life’s routines. But for Swartz, something as simple as an accent overheard from another room can open the door to a lifetime of stories shared, new friendships, and the sense of community that connects us all as individuals. The simple things are, to him, things to be valued — and whether it’s small talk or a big moment with our artistic heroes, he’s able to use No Lies Just BS as a means to bring people together.

Catch up with Swartz at Alley Cat Tattoo in Harrisonburg, with his shop’s artists including Chris Porter, Andrew Conner, Trevor Smith, Richie Stutler, and Jake Hockman, as well as piercers Katie Davis and Sarah Pennington (who also performs in Richmond as a popular burlesque artist by the name of Sindi Ray Boustier).

Listen to No Lies Just BS on Spotify or their website, and check out Alley Cat Tattoo on their Instagram. 

RVA #37 Is On The Streets Now!

RVA Staff | August 15, 2019

Topics: art, avail, Culture, entertainment, gayrva, graffiti, lee county, metal, music, nat geo, nat geo photographer, National Geographic, new magazine, News, photography, politics, print issue, print magazine, punk, richmond art, rva 37, RVA Magazine, rva37, skateboarding, Southwest virginia, street art, trevor frost, Unmaker, washington skate

Summer is alive in the River City, and the latest issue of RVA Magazine is here with it to tell the stories of arts, music, politics, and culture across Virginia.

It’s August, it’s hot, and it’s only going to get hotter here in the River City with the arrival on the streets of RVA Magazine #37, our Summer 2019 issue! This one’s bursting all around, with plenty of art, music, news, politics, and more. From the far corners of the Commonwealth to right here in Rich! Mond! Vee! Ay!, RVA Magazine is on point with the coverage of Virginia’s street-level culture that you’ve known and loved for the past 14 years.

The biggest news of the summer here in Richmond was the reunion of Avail, the band who defined Richmond’s music scene in the 90s and helped put the river city on the musical map throughout the country and beyond. After 12 years away from the stage, they brought a hotly-anticipated two-night stand to the National and blew fans’ minds all over again. In the run-up to that memorable weekend of rock, we had an exclusive conversation about their reunion with vocalist Tim Barry, and you’ll find it all in this issue of RVA Magazine!

PHOTO: Ken Penn

We’re also bringing you an in-depth profile of Trevor Frost, a photographer and Richmond native whose work with National Geographic and other world-renowned publications has taken him to every corner of the globe. You’ll learn what Frost has seen and discovered in his voyages, and why he keeps coming back to Richmond every time.

Photo of Trevor Frost by Melissa Lesh

We don’t just focus on Richmond, though — our reporting takes us to the farthest reaches of the Commonwealth this issue, where we learn about Tennessee-adjacent Lee County’s attempts to create a policy based on comments from political leaders about arming teachers to prevent school shootings. Why does this rural county at the very tip of Virginia’s panhandle think such a policy is a good idea? And how do they intend to put it into practice? We’ll give you a deeper look.

Photo by John Donegan

We’ve got a lot more in store for you in this issue as well, from a GayRVA report on the recently-released documentary capturing and honoring the life of legendary Richmond cult figure Dirtwoman to an exclusive conversation with up and coming postpunk band Unmaker. We’ll also learn about the hip hop and skateboarding connection with Richmond’s own Washington Avenue Skateboards, and take a closer look at the history of the city’s underground graffiti scene — a major influence on the mural boom RVA is undergoing today.

All of that is in store for you when you grab your very own copy of RVA #37, available in all your favorite local businesses around town. Get yours now… they’re going fast!

Check out the digital version on Issuu here.

Southwest Virginians Need Healthcare, Not Scorn

Jo Rozycki | August 23, 2018

Topics: heathcare, remote clinics, Southwest virginia, trump, wise county

As a journalist, the Remote Area Medical clinic in Wise, VA, was an event teeming with stories and lives waiting to be uncovered. But as a sociologist, it was a textbook case of yet another rural community suffering from systemic disenfranchisement. Global and national forces have trapped the communities within Southwest Virginia in the cycle of poverty. Unemployment is high, wages are low, and medical care, education, and health lag behind the rest of the Commonwealth. The area has long been neglected by political representatives, and has become the subject of misunderstood stories that feed exploitative portrayals in media and entertainment.

Within sociology, I study access disparity, asking who, what, when, where, why, and how people are able to access the systems and concepts necessary to their well-being.

Setting out to Wise to cover the clinic with my reporting partner, Sarah Kerndt, we agreed that we wanted to tell the true stories of the community. Rather than exploit the residents and put them on display, we wanted to find out what they really needed, and share it in an informative, respectful manner. Understandably, we were met with skepticism and wariness. “Are you from the media?” Once, I was even seriously asked if I was part of the “crooked” media. What we found was a major disparity gap that drove these people to the fairgrounds for those three days, and personal experiences that have made them reserved when dealing with the media.

Rural Virginia, southwestern Virginia, and even more specifically, Wise, Virginia, have been grossly misrepresented by the media. The people who live in these communities are often seen as behind the times; backwards, toothless hicks that live in hollers. They are called desperate, which they often are, but are still spun as caricatures of rural America, as if they were the characters of the “Beverly Hillbillies” still stuck in their farmland homes.

These are inaccurate portrayals of the people of southwestern Virginia.

Photo by Sarah Kerndt

Policymaking often forgets those of low-populated, low-income areas. Although Wise isn’t as large as a metro area, I still struggle to find the logic behind forgetting a county that’s populated by more than 38,000 people. Yes, in the grand scheme of things, it is not the largest county by land area (Pittsylvania County) or population (Fairfax County) or by wealth (Loudoun County). But, no county is worth forgetting when it comes to baseline healthcare.

What is probably the largest misconception about the region is that the residents are all hateful, ignorant, and full of racist vitriol toward people of color, especially immigrants from Central and South America. While residents did want jobs to come back, they didn’t describe the loss as an immigration issue. “It’s ridiculous because people can’t get jobs because all of the coal mines are closing and everything, and what jobs that are there are pretty much gas stations and stores,” said Melody Austin, a resident of the area. She was standing in line waiting for general medical. “Everybody’s needing jobs, can’t get jobs, so you can’t get healthcare because you can’t pay for healthcare. It’s a cycle that feeds itself.”

While a lack of funding for schools and educational programs impacts people in rural communities, I came to find that this did not mean that people did not know how to take care of themselves. Sandra Schwaner, an RN from UVA, told me a story about an eye-opening experience she had during one of her first years volunteering for RAM. “From the dental perspective, dental care down here is horrible. I used to think it was because nobody brushed their teeth. Then somebody pointed out to me, “You know we’re not all idiots down here, don’t you? I do know how to take care of my teeth, but with all the fracking and coal mining runoff…”

 She said the contaminated water would collect in the wells, impacting dental health. Chewing on sediment and drinking poisonous water has taken a toll on the lives of these people.

Photo by Sarah Kerndt

People wonder why these folks just don’t get a better job or apply for health insurance, or even just move to a new area with better opportunities. For many, generations of their family have lived in this area. Additionally, the conditions they live in are not their fault.

“The folks that are here are mainly the folks that have fallen through the cracks of the expansion,” said RJ Briscione, regional vice president and Medicaid business development leader at Aetna. Aetna, a healthcare insurance company, was the local partner sponsor that year for RAM. “Most of the folks that you see here either don’t have or can’t get Medicaid or can’t afford other coverage.” As part of their analytics, Aetna partnered with US News and discovered that Wise has some of the worst healthcare coverage in the state. Falls Church was first on the list.

Just a few weeks before RAM, the Virginia legislature passed Medicaid expansion, granting necessary health insurance to nearly 400,000 low-income Virginians. According to the act, states are allowed to “to open their Medicaid rolls to people with incomes up to 138 percent of the federal poverty level, which is $16,643 for an individual. The federal government pledged to pay at least 90 percent of the cost, which in Virginia would amount to about $2 billion a year.” What has existed as a longstanding problem has been the lack of insurance for specialists, an often forgotten step in the role of healthcare. “A lot of the specialties and the subspecialties that you see here represented at all these different trucks…it’s really hard for people to find that kind of care,” said Briscione, gesturing to the different tents and trucks providing medical services at RAM. “We hope, in coming years, we wouldn’t see as many chronic cases here because the Medicaid expansion would help cover some of these folks.”

Chronic pain, in particular, has run rampant in southwest Virginia due to the looming yet decaying coal industry. On the drive down to Wise, you pass a behemoth of a coal plant run by Dominion. The cars leave with a thin layer of dust from the plant. “Southwest Virginia is kind of unique because we have a lot of coal mining industry workers, so we have a lot of chronic pain injury,” said Sarah Melton, professor of pharmacy practice at the Gatton College of Pharmacy at East Tennessee State University. She said this results in the abuse of opioids to treat their chronic or acute pain.

Photo by Sarah Kerndt

The dangerous field of coal mining leaves many with unbearable pain, work-related injuries, and black lung, which has been making a comeback since President Trump promised to bring back the coal industry. But as many have seen across the Appalachian Mountains, where many plants are located, his promise hasn’t brought back jobs. Nearly 20 percent of coal plants have closed since Trump took office, and coal consumption has fallen 2.4 percent, the lowest it’s been in 40 years.

What is hard to fully capture in this piece is how much passion the people of Wise hold. Their desire to work, to care, and to help is evident. As one woman, who wished to remain anonymous, told me, “All we want are jobs. A way of life.” Their sense of heart and pride was palpable. “The people are amazing. To a person, every single person here will [say] ‘thank you’ for volunteering. We don’t go 10, 15 minutes without somebody saying thank you even though they’ve got [to] sit and wait in the heat, which isn’t the best way to get healthcare,” said Briscione. Autumn, who drove all the way from North Carolina with her husband to seek care, was a former resident of Wise. “Everybody here would give you the shirt off their back if you needed it. [They’re] willing to help each other [and are] friendly.”

I refuse to accept the rationale that because a certain group of people voted a certain way means they shouldn’t receive the same treatment as everyone else. For many, the promises that President Trump boasted during his campaign was a sign of hope for the people of Wise. You can’t blame them for clinging to the only hope they have. Many people from Richmond barely know where Wise is located, much less that it’s a county within our Commonwealth. It is about time that people on this side of the region gave a damn about the folks on the other side of the mountains who need care. With the expansion of Medicaid and the looming elections ahead, perhaps we will see changes that are truly needed to aid those in southwestern Virginia.

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