Let the Music Play

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Virginia musicians discover creative new ways to reach their fans.

In March of 2020, singer-songwriter Ali Thibodeau was set to release her long-gestating debut solo album, Let It Leave. “I bought a van and had booked a big tour to promote the disc,” says the Mechanicsville-born indie-rock chanteuse, who performs under the name Deau Eyes. One of those dates was at the prestigious South by Southwest Festival in Austin, Texas, an established launching pad for emerging artists.

And then COVID-19 happened.

Thibodeau, 28, had been waiting a while for this. She had recorded her nine-song album in early 2018 after launching a successful crowdfunding campaign among her friends, fans, and patrons at gigs. Straddling rock, R&B, and just the right amount of Mechanicsville twang, her dynamic songs about identity, responsibility, and the working life were recorded with top-notch Nashville session musicians and helmed by co-producers Jacob Blizard and Collin Pastore, who have worked successfully with Thibodeau’s pal, singer Lucy Dacus.

Sidetracked by gigs singing country songs on cruise ship variety shows and tutoring at Richmond’s School for the Performing Arts, the singer held the disc back until she was able to promote it. “The whole culture, the way that it works, is that you go on tour and you sell merch, and meet people, and that gets you from place to place,” she says. “I had planned out this big tour, and it all came crashing down. I had to quickly think of some other ways to get the music out and connect with people.”

For musicians who depend on live promotion—and human contact—to disseminate their music, and especially those who earn their primary income from live performances, the pandemic’s bans on mass gatherings have been seismic. Like so many music-makers over the past year, Thibodeau has had to completely retool how she makes, promotes, and markets her art.

With no live appearances to promote her album, which came out in May on Egghunt Records, she and her brother Michael began to concoct a video companion to Let It Leave; shot and edited in three weeks on Ali’s iPhone, these charming lo-fi videos are available on YouTube. She also began a series of online Sunday morning virtual kitchen performances through Facebook Live—an exercise that, she says, brought her a slew of “virtual fans.”

Thibodeau has continued writing and singing, collaborating virtually with jazz-rock producer DJ Harrison for an infectious single, “Haven’t You Had Quite Enough,” which was released on Spotify, iTunes, and other music platforms in October.

As hard as it’s been, she says, this down period has been “extremely creatively fulfilling.”

“Playing South by Southwest would have been awesome, and meeting musicians and industry folks, but I was under no illusion that it was going to make me an overnight success. It wasn’t going to be something that was even financially viable.”

Recovery or not, independent music-makers are going to have to restructure how their business works, maintains Thibodeau. “It’s already happening. The pandemic has been kind of a wake-up call for all musicians.”

Early in the shutdown, Justin Trawick heard the alarm. With bar gigs and festival appearances cancelled, the Arlington-based Americana performer hooked up with his live-in girlfriend and “trusty sidekick,” Lauren LeMunyan, for an impromptu Facebook Live concert in their home. That and subsequent performances happened so early in the pandemic news cycle that the industrious duo got the attention of, among others, The Washington Post, Reuters, and CNN.

“I thought that if I couldn’t play live in person, maybe I can go online,” says the full-time guitarist and bandleader. “I spread the word through Instagram, and we had a huge turnout. I think people were just becoming knowledgeable about what was going on, so we made a ton of money on tips. I more than paid my rent that first night.”

A year has passed, and Trawick, LeMunyan, and their guests still broadcast their virtual show, usually twice a week. With its mix of breezy talk, listener input, and lots of songs, Trawick likens the show to a musical version of Regis and Kathie Lee. “We didn’t invent live shows on Facebook,” he stresses, “but because we did it so early [in the pandemic], it’s been a big success for us.”

At the start of last summer, Trawick could feel that people were itching to get out of their houses, so he started to do a live, socially distanced version of the virtual show. He began presenting ticketed outdoor concerts in the backyard of a friend, limited to 25 people, each assigned a specific block of the lawn. Trawick has sold out more than 30 of these performances, as well as created a larger street concert version in Falls Church—limited to 50 people—with his band, the Common Good; proceeds go to the Arlington Food Assistance Center.

“With the Facebook Live and backyard shows, I have made more fans in the last eight months than I did in my first 12 years,” says Trawick, who normally plays 200 live shows a year. “I will definitely continue live-streaming.”

He and the Common Good released an online single, “Back of the Line,” last year, but he’s holding on to a new album until things settle down. In light of the uncertain terrain, the baseball-cap-wearing troubadour is reconsidering the way he used to do things. “I think in the future, maybe I’ll do less bar gigs,” he says. “Instead, I’ll play more of these backyard shows, where it’s a listening experience and people are there to actually hear your music. I think it’ll make more sense.”

The music industry lockdown has been an even bigger challenge for those in larger musical groups. “I know people have pivoted to virtual, but I don’t know if that works for us,” says Reggie Pace, cofounder and trombonist for Richmond’s 12-member NO BS! Brass Band. “We can’t just go in a room and do a virtual concert.”

When the shutdown started, the exuberant New Orleans-style brass ensemble, known for marching and playing around their crowds, had just released a career compilation album, A Decade of Noise, and was about to enter the studio to start new sessions. They also had several dates, including a European tour, on the docket. “We’ve toured internationally for the past eight years, but no one’s going to let that happen now,” the horn player says. “Not without some serious visas.”

Bandmate Bryan Hooten recorded a solo album while in quarantine, and NO BS! has been rehearsing remotely and recording in small groups. In December, the group released a new video, performed live and outdoors at Brown’s Island in Richmond (the group is responsible

for the city’s unofficial anthem, “RVA All Day”). The band also played a “drive-in” concert at Sports Backers Stadium last summer, one of

several outdoor shows promoted by Broadberry Entertainment.

During the forced vacation, Pace, who has toured with national indie-rockers Bon Iver, has immersed himself in outside activities, such as recording an entertaining weekly podcast, “The Hustle Season,” with the members of his other band by the same name. An adventurous cook, he has also fired up an online food show, Eat with Pace, an inside look at his favorite eateries. The program features original songs on the soundtrack. “It’s another way to get the music out there,” Pace says. “All you can do right now is work and finish the art, and have some optimism that things will be back in the summer.”

The shutdown has made him rethink how he spends his professional time. “[Working musicians] normally fill the calendar up and go. Having to stop like this helps us put perspective on things. I think, when this is over, we’ll all be more picky about how we spend our time. Technologically speaking, I don’t think streaming shows and offering videos and other virtual things for fans are going away.”

Pace’s advice to his musical peers: “Learn how to use your computer. Playing your instrument is no longer enough, especially right now.”

OK Mayday went on a three-month, 42-date cross-country tour in 2019, the Virginia Beach band’s first as a headline act. They had hoped to repeat the experience in 2020. “We haven’t done a virtual show yet, but we might do that eventually. We’re itching to play again,” says bassist Stephen Lee. “Right now, we’re working on a new EP and videos, and hope to have all of that out by the first quarter of 2021.”

They also hope to do it with members on the other side of the country. Lead singer David Bollman and his guitarist brother Kelly have moved to Los Angeles to work in the studio and better promote the band “while we’re all still challenged by the pandemic.” David emphasizes that OK Mayday is not breaking up; they’re just taking it virtual, recording online and coming together to tour when they’re able. “A lot of bands today function this way,” he says.

When the pandemic began closing everything down last March, Kelly was in New Orleans, shooting video footage for the band’s soaring romantic anthem, “Blossoms.” “The airlines shut down and I was kind of stuck there,” he recalls. When he finally made it home, the band realized, thanks to Stephen’s wife Lauren, that “Blossoms,” with its themes of separation and longing, had a different meaning than the one intended. “The lyrics had more to say than about a couple in love,” says David. “We realized that the lyrics and the song reflected the new normal. It demanded something bigger.”

The guys reached out to friends and fans, and asked them to send quarantine videos and photos—everyday stuff. “It took about three bottles of mezcal and 1,000 GB of Facetime to keep up with, but friends from all over the world sent us clips,” Kelly says. “We had asked them, ‘What’s going on, how’s life?’ and people wanted to be a part of it.”

The resulting “Blossoms” video features a cascade of affecting images—of families praying at dinner, frontline nurses at work, socially distanced block parties, and shut-ins doing private dances. Its release earned the group both local TV and national music blog attention, and has earned more than a half million hits on YouTube. “Blossoms” is a time capsule of our collective humanity at a difficult time in history, and the band understands why people have responded to it. “We may be isolated and apart, but we’re all in this together,” says David. Lee echoes, “We may be a moody band writing moody songs, but artists should always offer some kind of hope.”

“For me, the quarantine didn’t change anything,” says Nathaniel Star. Eros, the latest album from Star—a.k.a., longtime Charlottesville music maker Lester Jackson—is a warm blast of melodic soul that sounds contemporary and immediate while harkening back to the classic stylings of Marvin Gaye and Smokey Robinson. The album arrived in August, on the third anniversary of the deadly march in his hometown. “It was the perfect time to infuse a little love into what was known as the summer of hate,” Star says from his home studio, his two small children playing around him. “I’m always working on, at the bare minimum, seven albums at one time, in different genres. That’s pre-pandemic and post-pandemic. So it hasn’t affected my creative process at all.”

If anything, Star is busier than ever. He has 11 albums in the can waiting for release—everything from the smooth soul and fiery hip hop he specializes in to a country music project and a set of West African-influenced songs. Jackson has also started working on the score for a to-be-announced movie on Netflix. “That’s that kind of passive residual income that changes your life,” he laughs. Last year, he wrote the music for the acclaimed documentary A Legacy Unbroken: Black Charlottesville.

To promote his songs, Star depends on social media and music videos—like a recent 30-minute documentary-style film, shot in Maryland, that previews different slices of his sound. While he has a band, Kinfolk, the longtime area musician doesn’t depend on live performances. He has a steady day job at the University of Virginia, working as an elevator mechanic. The studio is his after-hours playground. “I gigged a lot in my 20s, playing all over the place and doing studio sessions,” he says. “If I gig, it’s because I’m going to get a lot of money or it’s a festival. Or if it’s a place like the Front Porch, where I’m now a board member. I like that venue, and their Save the Music series is helping to keep live music going during the pandemic.”

Star’s sensuous, deep groove soul music can be found on Spotify, iTunes, and other platforms, but he saves his more experimental work—like El Negro, a sweeping suite of songs devoted to the black experience, released last year for Black History Month—for his Bandcamp site. “People can download it for free,” he says. “I’m really proud of it.”

For now, Star says he’s staying at home. “I’m just going to keep doing it,” he says. “Every day.”

Singer-songwriter Erin Lunsford was about to take a big leap when the pandemic struck. “I was releasing singles in advance of my first solo album. I was trying to create a little bit of a narrative, because the record is about finding myself in my family and in my music,” she says.

The lead singer of the energetic soul-rock band Erin and the Wildfire had recorded her stripped-down and rootsy album, The Damsel, at Scott’s Addition Sound in Richmond. The Stewart Myers-produced release was eight years in the making, she says, with original songs steeped in bluegrass and acoustic music—the singer’s earliest memories are of attending picking festivals with her mom, a guitar teacher in Fincastle.

The Damsel will startle those who only know Lundsford as a party band leader. Her expressive, melismatic vocals (she’s a vocal instructor on the side) perfectly suit the disc’s organic, languid sound, and her songs (especially the melancholy “How Many Birds”) reveal a singular talent.

Lunsford couldn’t wait to showcase this work. “I had booked band shows at the Southern in Charlottesville, The Camel in Richmond, and 5 Points Music Sanctuary in Roanoke, my three hometowns,” she recalls. “I was going to perform the album top to bottom, with an all-star cast of musicians waiting to perform, showing off different instrumentation than what’s on the album.” From there, she was preparing to play New York City, Washington, D.C., Pennsylvania, and the Carolinas. “I had an article previewing the album that was planned in American Songwriter magazine and had been working on radio spots sprinkled in amidst the tour that were all ideally going to help with promotion.”

Lunsford did get the prominent feature—the magazine called her “a vocal powerhouse”—and she was thrilled. “But it could have been so much more.” Feeling frustrated, she began broadcasting performances on Facebook Live. “I still had an album coming out in two weeks, even though I wouldn’t be able to put it physically in anyone’s hands now... I just wanted to capture people’s attention and keep people positive and motivated and interested in the music.”

Lunsford wasn’t interested in a loosey-goosey, off-the-cuff affair—she wanted to put on a show. “People were hungry for music, and hungry to support music, and interested in seeing what I would do in this new virtual setting.”

She thought of ways to enhance and promote the show and decided she needed graphic screensavers, so she asked 13 Virginia artists to make illustrations for the songs on The Damsel. “We sold prints of their work, with the funds going to the artists, and most of them chose to donate a portion of their proceeds to Cultureworks [in Richmond], which gives grants to people in the arts. It was promotional, but it was also helping the arts community.”

Lunsford prsesented her Stay Home Dangit feed once a week for three months before transitioning to once a month. She’s only played two outdoor gigs since the pandemic struck, and says she has “moral concerns” about performing in the immediate future. “I don’t want to do anything right now that takes people out of their homes where they risk exposure to see me.”

But she’s still making plans. “I want to record a new solo album. My crazy idea is to do a double album in 2021 or 2022.” Erin and the Wildfire are still a going concern, she adds, and ready to play. “Right now, we’re refocused on writing, getting creative with each other, and trying to find alternate sources of income. I think we’re in the same boat with the same paddle at this point. Doesn’t matter what the genre is.”

At first, Larry Keel couldn’t believe it. “The whole industry was shutting down.”

Last March, the 52-year-old flatpicking virtuoso and his wife, Jenny, took a vacation after months of cross-country touring. That vacation has lasted a lot longer than he planned. “We’d been working so hard on our tour that we took three or four days off at the end of it and went up to Wintergreen. When we got back home, everything was being locked down, and there were no music events. It really turned the light off on what I do.”

In late 2019, the Lexington-based Keel released an album, Keller & The Keels, with bass player Jenny and fellow Virginia Americana specialist

Keller Williams. The couple had booked concert dates with Williams and with their band, the Larry Keel Experience (which includes mandolin player Jared Pool). “We had booked Floydfest, Rooster Walk, Red Wing Roots, every major festival in Virginia, and we were going to eventually play in every state.” It was a continuation of their 2019 success, “the best year of booking we’ve had.” Instead, of course, they stayed home.

Keel’s response was to keep making music. With the help of engineer and road manager Steve Heavener, he set up equipment in his living room and recorded an album, American Dream, released in November. This is all Keel, overdubbing himself on acoustic and electric guitar, banjo, mandolin, and bass. He penned all 10 songs, a sort of an autobiographical triptych of his family history and his philosophy of life. One of the songs, “The Best of Man,” tells of Keel’s admiration for his older brother Gary—not a bad picker himself—and recounts how Gary bought young Larry his first guitar. “I had written a song for my mother, and one for my father. I wrote one for my wife. So I guess it was Gary’s turn,” he laughs.

The two-time winner of the flatpicking competition at the Telluride Bluegrass Festival used to refer to himself as a bluegrass artist. “Not anymore. I’m a singer-songwriter,” he says. “An entertainer.” Nevertheless, many claim him as one of the field’s singular talents. “Larry is a unique artist, in that he never settled as just being a guitar wizard, as so many young virtuosos do,” Bluegrass Today has written. “Instead,

he created his musical identity through his own personal vision.”

Keel hasn’t done many virtual performances during the pandemic. “Where I’m at, I don’t have a good signal,” he laughs. But he has been recording special videos for fans on his Instagram page. “It’s sort of a ‘fireside chat’ kind of thing. What I try to do is send out a positive message to everybody.”

He has played at some socially distanced outdoor shows—including a North Carolina drive-in—but the performer is not itching to get back on the road. He’s settled into quarantine life, which means more time for writing music, and for his other passion, sport fishing. “I’ve been touring for 28 years and, frankly, it’s been really nice to be at home, and go fishing and settle in for awhile. I’m basically doing more writing and homesteading these days. And that’s fine.”

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