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Bodies flood through the narrow entrance of a basement lined with graffiti. Basses start to thud as amps enliven the space with an electrifying murmur. The tight constraints of cement columns and a low hanging ceiling tempt trouble. Once the music starts, chatter dulls and the floor breaks into an intense mosh. Exposed pipes serve as obligatory handlebars that threaten to burst with every grasp. Through the pushes and breaks, even those on the outskirts of the space become uplifted. In a fleeting rush, the singer bursts out into the chaos. Her passionate melody is invigorated by the piercing energy. No one is an outcast within this space.

How did grimy basements across America evolve into spaces characterizing a movement of resistance against the status quo? Erin O’Hare, a local journalist with a passion for the Charlottesville music scene (which she highlights in her zine series from WTJU, Under The Table and Screaming) sets the scene describing one of the first of many DIY music venues that has characterized the prospering underground music scene in the small town.

“Pudhouse was in a small warehouse and it was a practice space. But then they held shows there and it became a really important space for the weirdo noise scene in America in the early 2000s. Which you wouldn’t ever think. There’s always been a music scene here,” says Erin.

Whether the development of this scene has been visible to the public or not, venues such as Pudhouse have undoubtedly been instrumental to building community. “They’re not just places for music. They’re spaces for community organizing,” says Erin. When space is provided to those artists who want to share their love for music with others, connection is made possible.

Historically, DIY venues have served as these spaces for diverse expression. These do it yourself venues are rooted in the 90s punk scene and provide inclusive spaces for artists and members of a community who typically fall outside of the mainstream. This was the case for the punk scene that sprang out of the basement of Muldowney’s Pub in 1983 when Lackey Die played Charlottesville’s first hardcore punk show.

Muldowney’s pub was Charlottesville’s first gay bar opened in 1980 by Joan Schatzman. At the time, the gay community within Charlottesville, a fairly conservative town, was pushed underground. Schatzman was aware of the pushback against gay communities and the restrictive ABC rules that “made gay bars illegal in Virginia.” She felt that opening the bar served as a “form of civil disobedience.”

“[Muldowney’s] was the only place that would host a punk show,” says Erin. “Why? Because [Schatzman] and her clientele were people kind of living on the fringes. Punks were too. So you just have this long tradition of that. With Black music too, there were Black music venues in town when things were still segregated” explains Erin

There is a level of devotion and commitment necessary to maintain these spaces. Space is not a given, as exemplified by the struggles of black and LGBTQ artists who have had to fight extra hard to create and maintain a space in the scene for themselves. “It’s unfair, and it’s wrong, but I also really admire their dedication to the music that they make and to the community around it. I think that’s amazing. They really help each other and are committed to building something together and breaking down the doors when they have to,” says Erin.

This is a scene constructed by and for locals.“To host shows in your home is serious stuff,” says Erin. Members of Natalie Blue, a local band performing within the Charlottesville DIY scene and for the UVA student body, emphasizes the commitment necessary to uphold these inclusive spaces. “There’s a lot of shit that can go wrong [at DIY venues,] but the energy is way higher than anywhere else I’ve played. People are there for the music specifically,” says Jamie, the lead singer for Natalie Blue.

When something inevitably goes wrong, the community surrounding the DIY scene is quick to jump in and offer support. Erin recalls “times when [Magnolia House raised a] GoFundMe for repairs. They were funded pretty quickly because everyone was like, Yeah, I’ll pay twenty dollars to make sure that we can go see shows there again.”

DIY venues exist due to this give and take relationship between organizers and community members who enjoy the scene and want to support it. In return, those running the shows do a lot to ensure that members of the community are actively supported and uplifted, especially during times of hardship. “Magnolia House did a fundraiser where all the proceeds went to [a band member’s] stroke recovery fund. They’ve done other nights for bail funds. I love that aspect of DIY culture. Music addresses so many different things, oftentimes social justice related issues. Music can be very political,” says Erin.

The punk tradition has always been extremely anti-establishment. This tradition is carried on by the DIY music scene’s lack of a commercial business model. “One reason we like the DIY venues is because you don’t have to deal with a business schemey type of scenario. Oftentimes the DIY venues pay better than the actual venues because the actual tickets and profits basically go 100 percent to the bands,” says Liam, the bassist for Natalie Blue.

Artists and organizers are not committed to creating these spaces for potential profit. They are focused on fostering a community based around similar inclusive values who may support each other. With less restrictions, these spaces offer a more fun and novel experience for artists looking to build connections. “It’s exciting [to play at DIY venues.] You never know what’s gonna happen. When we played at The Southern it was fun, but we also knew exactly what was gonna happen,” says Sean, the guitarist for Natalie Blue.

Along those same lines, the DIY music scene is continually changing. There is a regenerative nature to the scene dependent on those who are willing to make the space for groups who may simply have nowhere else to go. “It makes me so happy to see those places. You can never really have too many of them because you kind of never know what’s going to happen with one. It’s a miracle that Magnolia stayed open and was functional for as long as it was. The fact that it was on a corner and had no nighttime neighbors [was key],” says Erin.

Magnolia House served as a DIY show and community space from 2008 until 2020 when it shut down due to the COVID-19 Pandemic. The scene suffered during the pandemic, but some venues were able to prevail. Crayola House in Harrisonburg has been the longest-running DIY venue on the east coast.

Pat Jarrett from the Virginia Folklife Program offers insight to the legacy of Crayola House as a DIY Virginia punk house in an episode of his Folklife Fieldnotes podcast. “It has been active since the 90s which in house venue years is equivalent of an ancient artifact. This is like the Roman Colosseum having NASCAR races. Some of these houses in Harrisonburg would be active for a semester. They might be active for sometimes a show,” says Jarrett. There is no Instagram account for the venue or formal mechanism for advertising the shows—all information is spread by word of mouth. “You have to be part of the scene. The going phrase on the flyers is always “ask a punk for the address.”

Unfortunately, Crayola’s time as a DIY music venue has come to a close as of spring 2024. “It is so sad,” says Erin. Tyler Magill, one of Erin’s current band members and a former UVA student during the early 90s has reassured her that “someone is always going to want to do it. So whenever one place closes, another one is going to open. You don’t know what it’s going to be. It’s not going to be the same because it just can’t be. But there’s always going to be someone to carry on the DIY vision.” He has been around to see the scene evolve and change along with the Charlottesville community.

“He was here for Tokyo Rose, Pudhouse, early Tea Bazaar, Bra Satellite Ballroom, all these places. It’s hard to believe when you see all the changes that Charlottesville was going through. Creative people and artists can’t afford to live here anymore because our work is undervalued and housing is expensive,” says Erin.

Chinchilla Cafe is a modern DIY venue serving the Charlottesville community.

“At Chinchilla Cafe you can do anything. I feel like that is the most quintessential DIY thing. The people that live there and run the place are devoted to Chinchilla Cafe,” says Sean.

Chinchilla may appear to be a modest house on the outside, but on the inside, you’re in for a party—complete with a dust bath intermission by the resident desert rodents between sets. The walls of the cafe are lined with rainbow posters advertising past shows. Upon entering, you are greeted by a photo op to document the intimate and unique experience cultivated by Lane Raspberry, one of the house members who runs the venue and its online presence.

CJ, the drummer for Natalie Blue, emphasizes how considerate these spaces are towards the bands playing in their shows. “They were especially vocal about us playing only originals. At [other more traditional] venues, you’re trying to play hits and stuff that people know.” “They actually care about the artists playing there,” adds Sean.

Music is meaningful to those who run the venues, play at the venues, and to the Charlottesville community at large. Erin and the members of Natalie Blue are particularly vocal about the role that music serves in their lives. “[Local music] means everything to me,” says Erin. “I’ve met some of my best friends through music here.” Beyond writing about local music for C-VILLE Weekly and her zine series, Erin plays in a band herself.

“I interviewed Rene Rygaard, who has played music in town for a long time. I told her I’ve played music since I was like 15, but never played in a band. She was like, Well, why not? Charlottesville is a great place to do it. People are pretty nice, just try it. So I did. And now I’m going on tour,” says Erin.

Similarly, Jamie has met most of her friends through playing music. “I don’t think I have any friends that I haven’t met outside of music…I need to be a live musician for the rest of my life,” says Jamie. Sean grew up in an area with no live music and was determined to join a band after learning how to play guitar. “When I got [to Charlottesville I knew] I needed to be in a band or I was going to explode,” says Sean.

The DIY music scene offers a creative outlet to all who are passionate about music and supporting a message of inclusivity. The community’s love for music supersedes challenges that are placed onto the scene’s existence by mainstream society at large. “I don’t care how nice the houses [in Charlottesville] are. People need things to do, they need communities to belong to. And for DIY in particular, it’s a lot of people who don’t have a place otherwise,” says Erin.