By Olivia DeWan, contributor
The sharp whine of an electric guitar slices through the crackling feedback of an amp. Then, it hits—a wall of sound: thundering drums, pulsing basslines, and raw vocals. Scuffed Doc Martens pound the floor. Bodies jostle and sway, gripping the low rafters for stability. In the cramped basement, people in the crowd press shoulder to shoulder, chest to back. Strangers, united only by the music, move as one.
Beneath the surface of Harrisonburg lies a vibrant community of punks, rockers and music lovers. They gather at showhouses, which are musical performances held in a private residence or small space, such as a basement or backyard. These showhouses are typically hidden in unassuming neighborhoods or apartment complexes.
“I started going to showhouses when I was fifteen in high school,” said Elias Wickline, the organizer of several Harrisonburg showhouses. “There’s so much expression and interesting music that goes through the houses.”
Showhouses have been a paramount aspect of Harrisonburg’s music culture for years. One of the most prominent houses was Crayola House, which local musicians established in the early ‘90s and earned a reputation for loud music, and vibrant shows.
“It was such a cool space with all the graffiti and stickers,” Wickline said. “It closed down earlier last year, and while Caryola is gone, it will never be passed into infamy. Losing Crayola hurt and it sucked, but it also made us flex our brains to find other places to host shows.”
After Crayola House shut down in July, organizers kept the music alive and created Lamp, kicking off the newest local showhouse era.
Lamp is one of three active showhouses, each hosting performances about once a month, while other venues host pop-up shows occasionally.
“There’s a lot of success going on,” Wickline said. “Daito, Lamp, and Pheasant Run are some of the current houses. People are really trying to make it work, and it’s good for the music scene.”
Anyone can create a showhouse—it just takes a room and a handful of bands. Wickline, who helps organize shows at Lamp, said showhouses often feature a mix of genres, including punk, metal, rock and shoegaze. Shoegaze, a subgenre of alternative rock, is known for its distorted guitars and heavy reverb.
“One thing I love about going to showhouses is how diverse the music scene is,” said Nico Samatar, one of the other organizers for Lamp. “It has really broadened my music taste and made me enjoy a lot of bands I wouldn’t have thought about listening to before.”
Most of the showhouses rely on donations at the door.
“We charge a ten dollar donation and whenever I book shows, that money goes to the bands,” Wickline said. “Some venues will take a portion of the band’s merch sales or a large portion of the door sales, so it’s cool to know that while it’s not a ton of money, the bands will get all of it.”
Booking bands for showhouses relies on strong communication. Touring bands often reach out with their schedules, and once they’re slotted, local bands are invited to round out the lineup.
“I’ve been in touch with bands from Miami and a handful of other people who come through regularly on tour,” Wickline said. “If you have a reputation for booking good shows, people will show up.”
The location and addresses for showhouses aren’t often disclosed and the information about shows is either spread by word of mouth, or from specific Instagram posts by the organizers of the showhouses.
“It creates more of an air of authenticity,” Wickline said. “At this point it’s just kinda a cool thing we do. Once the address starts getting out, it’s not too difficult to get a hold of them.”
However, one of the biggest challenges showhouses face are noise complaints.
“Ideally, your neighbors don’t care how loud it gets, but that’s not always the case,” Wickline said. “We sometimes register events with the city and provide contact info so they can call us if there’s a noise complaint. It gives us a chance to turn down the volume and keep the show going.”
Despite challenges like noise complaints or shut-downs, the music community remains resilient.
“People always want to put on and go to shows,” Wickline said. “It’s inspiring because it’s just normal people organizing it all. You see it happen and think, ‘I can do this too—I can host a show or play in a band.’”
The showhouse culture is not just do-it-yourself grunge with people packed in a basement; it connects different groups of people by highlighting their shared love of music.
“I love the great people I’ve met,” Samatar said. “I’ve made so many friendships from going to shows.”
The unique culture surrounding showhouses leads to many memories made along the way that wouldn’t be found anywhere else.
“I remember when I turned twenty, I hosted a show at Crayola on my birthday,” Wickline said. “My band, Machete, played, and all the bands were goofing around and singing happy birthday. The drummer from Headphone, one of the other bands, even tattooed me on the couch.”
Moments like these—often intimate, chaotic and deeply personal— tend to define Harrisonburg’s showhouse culture.
“There is so much potential every time you walk into a show,” Wickline said. “It’s a lot of excitement and anticipation. You never know how wild it’s going to get.”
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