Alva Review-Courier -

HARRISONBURG, Va. (AP) — By day, Grant Penrod peruses town in suit and tie as a lawyer, but when dusk falls he transforms into Gnat King Cruel, an alien come to Earth along with his trusty crew of bandmates who together are known as Crab Action. Smeared in face paint and illustrated by bizarre neon beasts, Crab Action is practically royalty for Harrisonburg's underground music scene.

In another dimension, Crab Action is still shredding and slashing to clusters of moshing, enthralled crowds most nights. But in this dimension, without venues and musty basements to roar under dimmed bulbs, the rocking aliens are damned to the same fate as the rest of the underground music world: finding refuge playing in basements and garages in wait for brighter (er, darker?) days ahead.

"It's simple — it sucks. There are no shows, the bands can't get together or do what we love to do," Penrod said.

Before the pandemic, Harrisonburg's do-it-yourself art scene was a lively, pulsing undercurrent welcoming all: the strange, obscure, funky and loud. Everything from metal to hip-hop and indie rock were genres that fell under the umbrella of independent and DIY music in the Shenandoah Valley, enthusiastically embraced by music lovers of all ages.

Across different sounds and styles, what connected the culture of underground music before was the harmony of acceptance. Without the ability to come together, Penrod said building connections across communities is paused.

"So much of what is done is just people doing things and a lot of it is done through word-of-mouth and personal connections, and a lot of times the next show is being planned at the current show," Penrod said. "People are coming together to watch the music and talk and that's how bands are formed. … When you take that in-person aspect out of it, that's going to be the challenge."

Krode is another thrash band born in the Blue Ridge that often opened for award-winning metal and punk troupes stopping in the Valley.

Praveen Chhetri, punk and metal guitarist for Harrisonburg bands Earthling and Krode, said losing himself to the music is his main social outlet, so he's found comfort in video chatting with friends over beers and listening to heavy metal radio shows.

"I've been playing shows most of my adult life, and that's my way of socializing," he said. "Harrisonburg being a place where international touring heavy metal and punk bands can come through and have a good show and have a decent support too, so that ecosystem, I miss that for sure."

Some bands have turned to virtual streaming of shows to maintain the rhythm missing from venues, but Penrod said the option simply cannot capture or replace the throbbing synergy that unifies the underground scene.

"No one wants to sit on their couch and watch a punk show; that's just not what the experience is," he said.

Infamous for its colorful bar, sizzling pizza and basement shows, the Golden Pony is Harrisonburg's primary music venue with a deep history of cultivating independent artists where all music genres can find a place on the bill. Owner Paul Somers said he misses "being in a room with a bunch of people experiencing the same artistic catharsis at the same moment" but feels abundantly proud of the underground arts community's handling and abidance to regulations.

"The underground arts community is one of the communities to take the pandemic the most seriously," he said. "It's doing a lot of damage and breaking the continuity of the network of touring bands around the country … but at the same time I have a lot of faith that given the freedom of safety to get together and commence, the scene will brighten back up pretty quickly."

All that is to say, if the Golden Pony can stay open. While some bands are being ripped apart by members moving home to their families to survive the financial strain of the pandemic, venues are no different than other businesses suffering from the inability to entertain and serve patrons. In the evening, the Golden Pony remains shrouded by the cloud of regulars puffing cigarettes on the patio, but community members fear the possibility of its closure. To help withstand blows, Somers has joined other venue owners in the national campaign #SaveOurStages to preserve its service.

On the positive side of things, with the music world holding its breath for shows comes additional time to invest and create for bands able to safely meet up. Penrod said he expects Crab Action will have a completed album by the end of the pandemic, while it usually takes five years for the band to record an album.

Jared Zimmerman grew up in the Valley's underground scene and plays for Krode and psychedelic rock group Paracosm. He said opportunities to play are barren, but some bands have remained internally active and focused on growth, so given that local venues can stay afloat, there will be music when the pandemic subsides.

"Venues have closed across the country, and that kind of sucks. There's less places people can go and play live. Locally, there are still venues in town that have not, thankfully, closed down, but I think it'll be a time that will be remembered," Zimmerman said.

Restlessly on an outbreak-induced hiatus, the Valley's DIY scene may be hidden from sight, but Penrod said he knows the community will rise from the ashes when the time comes.

"The history of underground music in Harrisonburg goes back to when I was a teenager, if not before, but I think it'd be hard to erase something that's that ingrained," he said. "If there are people who want to make it happen, it'll happen."