In a city neighborhood minutes from Downtown, photographer Billy Hunt occupies a spacious, woodsy oasis: trees surround the 175-year-old house he shares with his wife Jocelyn and their 16-month-year-old son, William—so many trees that if you squint, you could almost think you were deep in Nelson County. “Every room is an addition,” Hunt says of the house, a jumble of gray-painted boxes in which corners, skylights and steps are always popping up as one traces a twisting path from room to room. There’s a fireplace in the bathroom and a working window between the living room and hallway.
William’s down for a nap, so Hunt whispers as he moves through the house. Out back, though, he can make some noise. In fact, he has a whole building for making noise. Steps from the main house, the crooked hut was once a mother-in-law apartment, but now the kitchen sink, bathroom and other domestic comforts are being left to their own devices. Instead, this is the spot where Hunt and his band, Straight Punch to the Crotch, practice. (Catch them at Zinc on October 13.) At least once a week, the five members squeeze in here (“It’s a little crowded,” Hunt says) and try to get some playing done, though their own conversations compete. “It’s hard for us to not talk about unicorns, monsters, zombies, playing the John Paul Jones Arena—a whole host of things,” Hunt says with a straight face.
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Hunt’s red drum kit is set up in front of the fireplace, which is flanked by two incredibly tiny windows; mic stands, trunks and monitors scatter over the wooden floor, and the plank ceiling skims low overhead. There’s a dummy wired into a drum machine, which is played by punching its shoulders, chest and (of course) crotch; on one beadboard wall is a poster for Hunt’s former band, The Karl Rove, at Atomic Burrito. Does he use this little building for anything else? No, he says: “This is all about the rock.”
“When I was in The Karl Rove [an all-male band] this was called The Man Palace. Now it’s the Unicorn Palace. We’re trying to get in touch with our feminine side.
“I practice drums in here. It’s pretty organic; if I hear a song I like, I’ll try to play it. But I don’t practice drums too much. The keytar is what I’m new to; that’s where my passion lies. I shoot fire out of the keytar. It’s custom.
“We practice at least once a week, often twice a week. We wish we were a little bit more efficient; we love each other so much that it’s hard for us to not chat the whole time. We try to be pretty solid about stopping at 9:30.
“[This building] is separated from the house so it keeps from bothering the baby. When I was 20 and playing in rock bands, I never thought about being 34 at all. But if I had it wouldn’t have involved me doing the exact same thing. This band’s got a lot of traction. I’ve played in a lot of bands that floundered around. …I think it would be funny to have success as I’m coming up on middle age. Trying to do this as a man as opposed to a boy—it’s complicated.”
