By Erik Wemple

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January 18, 2024 at 7:00 a.m. EST

David Halmon performs behind two speakers outside Capitol One Arena on Jan. 5. (Tom Brenner for The Washington Post)

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Last month, Ted Leonsis reached a handshake agreement with Virginia officials to move the Capitals and Wizards teams downtown Washington to Potomac Yard. If the deal goes through, the teams’ majority owner will get a new arena in a “world-class Entertainment District,” offices for his Monumental Sports & Entertainment and other goodies. He’d also get another perk often sought by folks who exit the District: a little peace and quiet.

For the past several years, Leonsis and his associates have been tormented by a sidewalk show at the mouth of Gallery Place Alley off 7th Street NW, alongside Capital One Arena. People who’ve frequented this bustling zone are familiar with the act, which consists of a man named David Halmon queuing up beats and singing along with his sidekicks, two boys who front the operation. All of this happens at earsplitting volume, courtesy of a pair of loudspeakers and an amplifier. The noise radiates into local homes, businesses and offices, including Monumental’s.

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Monica Dixon, president of external affairs and chief administrative officer for Monumental, says the noise “never factored” into Monumental’s decision to explore a move to Virginia. But the conflict with Halmon’s act has earned mention in the coverage of Leonsis’s possible move, with The Post reporting that he was “particularly bothered by buskers, who played loud music outside his office.” Monumental’s objections are focused solely on Halmon’s performances, the company says, and are shared by neighbors, including residents of a condo building and a Clyde’s restaurant on the alley.

Tight quarters lend themselves to noise disputes. In 2019, for instance, complaints about the go-go beats blaring from an electronics store in Shaw ignited a successful counterprotest from #DontMuteDC, a group that sprang up to preserve the city’s go-go heritage. And as The Post has documented, street performers around Gallery Place, where the arena has anchored the neighborhood since 1997, have generated complaints from residents for years.

But what the Leonsis case shows is how much the city’s approach to noise issues leaves residents to fight things out among themselves, essentially abdicating the responsibility to referee disputes among squabbling parties in a mixed-use neighborhood. Here, one act so dominates public space — in a way that frustrates local business owners and residents — that it merits inclusion in deliberations over the future of downtown. “Despite all of the common understanding of the harm it’s doing, the city has not been able to put any restriction whatsoever or compromise whatsoever on the musical performance of these individuals. They are holding this corner hostage,” says John McDonnell, president of Clyde’s Restaurant Group.

All the havoc has an adorable public face: Eleven-year-old J-Money, to use his stage name, has been rapping and singing for passersby on big nights for seven years, according to Halmon, who heads up the act. On a recent night, J-Money declined to give me his legal name, but he has appeared on local news since he was as young as 6.

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On big nights around Capital One Arena, J-Money and his group perform for hours. “The kid is very talented, and he can just go all day, all night,” says Kelvin Nwosu, former general manager of Clyde’s. The throngs respond by assembling in half-moon formations and taking video of the performances. A good number dig into their wallets and drop bills into the group’s white tip bucket.

(Video: Tom Brenner for The Washington Post)

The thing about those charmed fans, however, is that they eventually retire to their presumably more placid roosts elsewhere in D.C., the suburbs or beyond. Others hear the Halmon crew on repeat mode. Howard Marks, who lives in a condo building on 7th Street, says he paid more than $6,000 to soundproof his unit. Before taking that step, he says, “we could hardly watch TV or could hardly talk to each other without raising our voices.” Clyde’s management says it can’t use portions of its dining area on certain nights and that patrons on numerous occasions have asked for discounted meals because of the din. A Monumental official reports the amplified music has been so loud that employees “on phone calls deep within the building could hear it — even those on the other end of those phone calls.”

In 2021, the DowntownDC Business Improvement District, with funds contributed by Monumental and others, deployed professional musicians to bring some “structure” to the alley’s soundscape, according to DowntownDC BID President Gerren Price. The experiment collapsed, however, because BID musicians faced “competition” from others who “drown that sound out,” Price says. A top aide to Leonsis lays the blame squarely on Halmon: “Those artists were unable to continue beyond a few days of performances because of the harassment by this one individual,” Dixon says.

Halmon tells the same story from the other side. “They tried to drive us out,” he said in an interview on 7th Street over the holidays. Furthermore: Leonsis offered him a deal “to not be right here,” he said. However, these days, “everything’s good” at the Gallery Place Alley.

That, of course, is a matter of opinion. In early December, Halmon was arrested near his performance spot and charged with possession with intent to distribute cocaine. He was tossed in jail for nearly two weeks, a period of welcome quiet, according to neighbors. Halmon pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor drug-possession charge and was sentenced to 90 days’ probation. As of late December, the shows had resumed their usual cadence.

Neighbors have sought relief from the city’s sound inspectors at the D.C. Department of Buildings, to little avail, they say. The reasons are multiple. An agency official notes in an email that violations of the noise ordinance are “extremely difficult” to prove because inspectors aren’t immediately available upon request and don’t work beyond normal business hours. High ambient noise levels at sites like Gallery Place — sometimes boosted by high winds — complicate enforcement efforts. Inspectors can’t request ID from a “noisy individual” and require assistance from D.C. police to do so; and First Amendment considerations might preclude enforcement actions. Not all jurisdictions have such limitations: In July 2020, after Halmon took his show to the boardwalk at Ocean City, Md., the police slapped him with a criminal summons including charges of disturbing the peace and disorderly conduct. One complainant told police that the “music was so loud that he could not hear himself think.” Halmon received six months of unsupervised probation.

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In previous legislative sessions, D.C. Council Chairman Phil Mendelson has proposed legislation to facilitate noise enforcement — including a provision to outlaw amplified music audible from 100 feet — though he says objections from the #DontMuteDC coalition have been instrumental in blocking such efforts. Those objections are steeped in racial politics stemming from the city’s go-go tradition and in the coalition’s commitment to promoting that cultural heritage in public spaces around town. Ron Moten, co-founder of #DontMuteDC, says people who settle downtown should be prepared for downtown life. “Ted does things the way rich White men do it — they come in and use money and say, ‘Get the hell out of here,’” Moten says.

Monumental’s Dixon responds, “That is completely false and we entirely reject every inference implied. Ted has been tremendously supportive of music downtown and will continue to be.” The goal, says Monumental, isn’t to shut down any particular act but to create an environment in which people can enjoy all performers. Mendelson says, “Sometimes politics gets in the way of good policy, and the goal is not to prevent music or to shut down culturally sensitive activities but rather to tone it down.”

In light of the tentative Monumental plan, Mayor Muriel E. Bowser (D) launched a task force on Jan. 8 to reenvision Gallery Place and Chinatown. She brushed me off when I approached her to ask about the noise complaints, and her spokeswoman said she’d have no comment. According to Mendelson, Bowser has been neither “oppositional” nor “helpful” on reforming noise laws.

For now, then, the message from D.C. government is to go right ahead and monopolize public space with strepitous tunes, even as awareness grows about the effect of noise on the health of humans and animals — you might call it today’s secondhand smoke. Though denizens of downtown must accept greater disruption and cacophony than their counterparts in Kensington, there are limits to what they should be asked to abide. Who could blame them for getting the hell out?

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Last month, Ted Leonsis reached a handshake agreement with Virginia officials to move the Capitals and Wizards teams downtown Washington to Potomac Yard. If the deal goes through, the teams’ majority owner will get a new arena in a “world-class Entertainment District,” offices for his Monumental Sports & Entertainment and other goodies. He’d also get another perk often sought by folks who exit the District: a little peace and quiet.

For the past several years, Leonsis and his associates have been tormented by a sidewalk show at the mouth of Gallery Place Alley off 7th Street NW, alongside Capital One Arena. People who’ve frequented this bustling zone are familiar with the act, which consists of a man named David Halmon queuing up beats and singing along with his sidekicks, two boys who front the operation. All of this happens at earsplitting volume, courtesy of a pair of loudspeakers and an amplifier. The noise radiates into local homes, businesses and offices, including Monumental’s.

Monica Dixon, president of external affairs and chief administrative officer for Monumental, says the noise “never factored” into Monumental’s decision to explore a move to Virginia. But the conflict with Halmon’s act has earned mention in the coverage of Leonsis’s possible move, with The Post reporting that he was “particularly bothered by buskers, who played loud music outside his office.” Monumental’s objections are focused solely on Halmon’s performances, the company says, and are shared by neighbors, including residents of a condo building and a Clyde’s restaurant on the alley.

Tight quarters lend themselves to noise disputes. In 2019, for instance, complaints about the go-go beats blaring from an electronics store in Shaw ignited a successful counterprotest from #DontMuteDC, a group that sprang up to preserve the city’s go-go heritage. And as The Post has documented, street performers around Gallery Place, where the arena has anchored the neighborhood since 1997, have generated complaints from residents for years.

But what the Leonsis case shows is how much the city’s approach to noise issues leaves residents to fight things out among themselves, essentially abdicating the responsibility to referee disputes among squabbling parties in a mixed-use neighborhood. Here, one act so dominates public space — in a way that frustrates local business owners and residents — that it merits inclusion in deliberations over the future of downtown. “Despite all of the common understanding of the harm it’s doing, the city has not been able to put any restriction whatsoever or compromise whatsoever on the musical performance of these individuals. They are holding this corner hostage,” says John McDonnell, president of Clyde’s Restaurant Group.

All the havoc has an adorable public face: Eleven-year-old J-Money, to use his stage name, has been rapping and singing for passersby on big nights for seven years, according to Halmon, who heads up the act. On a recent night, J-Money declined to give me his legal name, but he has appeared on local news since he was as young as 6.

On big nights around Capital One Arena, J-Money and his group perform for hours. “The kid is very talented, and he can just go all day, all night,” says Kelvin Nwosu, former general manager of Clyde’s. The throngs respond by assembling in half-moon formations and taking video of the performances. A good number dig into their wallets and drop bills into the group’s white tip bucket.

The thing about those charmed fans, however, is that they eventually retire to their presumably more placid roosts elsewhere in D.C., the suburbs or beyond. Others hear the Halmon crew on repeat mode. Howard Marks, who lives in a condo building on 7th Street, says he paid more than $6,000 to soundproof his unit. Before taking that step, he says, “we could hardly watch TV or could hardly talk to each other without raising our voices.” Clyde’s management says it can’t use portions of its dining area on certain nights and that patrons on numerous occasions have asked for discounted meals because of the din. A Monumental official reports the amplified music has been so loud that employees “on phone calls deep within the building could hear it — even those on the other end of those phone calls.”

In 2021, the DowntownDC Business Improvement District, with funds contributed by Monumental and others, deployed professional musicians to bring some “structure” to the alley’s soundscape, according to DowntownDC BID President Gerren Price. The experiment collapsed, however, because BID musicians faced “competition” from others who “drown that sound out,” Price says. A top aide to Leonsis lays the blame squarely on Halmon: “Those artists were unable to continue beyond a few days of performances because of the harassment by this one individual,” Dixon says.

Halmon tells the same story from the other side. “They tried to drive us out,” he said in an interview on 7th Street over the holidays. Furthermore: Leonsis offered him a deal “to not be right here,” he said. However, these days, “everything’s good” at the Gallery Place Alley.

That, of course, is a matter of opinion. In early December, Halmon was arrested near his performance spot and charged with possession with intent to distribute cocaine. He was tossed in jail for nearly two weeks, a period of welcome quiet, according to neighbors. Halmon pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor drug-possession charge and was sentenced to 90 days’ probation. As of late December, the shows had resumed their usual cadence.

Neighbors have sought relief from the city’s sound inspectors at the D.C. Department of Buildings, to little avail, they say. The reasons are multiple. An agency official notes in an email that violations of the noise ordinance are “extremely difficult” to prove because inspectors aren’t immediately available upon request and don’t work beyond normal business hours. High ambient noise levels at sites like Gallery Place — sometimes boosted by high winds — complicate enforcement efforts. Inspectors can’t request ID from a “noisy individual” and require assistance from D.C. police to do so; and First Amendment considerations might preclude enforcement actions. Not all jurisdictions have such limitations: In July 2020, after Halmon took his show to the boardwalk at Ocean City, Md., the police slapped him with a criminal summons including charges of disturbing the peace and disorderly conduct. One complainant told police that the “music was so loud that he could not hear himself think.” Halmon received six months of unsupervised probation.

In previous legislative sessions, D.C. Council Chairman Phil Mendelson has proposed legislation to facilitate noise enforcement — including a provision to outlaw amplified music audible from 100 feet — though he says objections from the #DontMuteDC coalition have been instrumental in blocking such efforts. Those objections are steeped in racial politics stemming from the city’s go-go tradition and in the coalition’s commitment to promoting that cultural heritage in public spaces around town. Ron Moten, co-founder of #DontMuteDC, says people who settle downtown should be prepared for downtown life. “Ted does things the way rich White men do it — they come in and use money and say, ‘Get the hell out of here,’” Moten says.

Monumental’s Dixon responds, “That is completely false and we entirely reject every inference implied. Ted has been tremendously supportive of music downtown and will continue to be.” The goal, says Monumental, isn’t to shut down any particular act but to create an environment in which people can enjoy all performers. Mendelson says, “Sometimes politics gets in the way of good policy, and the goal is not to prevent music or to shut down culturally sensitive activities but rather to tone it down.”

In light of the tentative Monumental plan, Mayor Muriel E. Bowser (D) launched a task force on Jan. 8 to reenvision Gallery Place and Chinatown. She brushed me off when I approached her to ask about the noise complaints, and her spokeswoman said she’d have no comment. According to Mendelson, Bowser has been neither “oppositional” nor “helpful” on reforming noise laws.

For now, then, the message from D.C. government is to go right ahead and monopolize public space with strepitous tunes, even as awareness grows about the effect of noise on the health of humans and animals — you might call it today’s secondhand smoke. Though denizens of downtown must accept greater disruption and cacophony than their counterparts in Kensington, there are limits to what they should be asked to abide. Who could blame them for getting the hell out?

QOSHE - At Gallery Place, it’s Ted Leonsis vs. one very loud street music act - Erik Wemple
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At Gallery Place, it’s Ted Leonsis vs. one very loud street music act

14 6
18.01.2024

By Erik Wemple

Media critic|AddFollow

January 18, 2024 at 7:00 a.m. EST

David Halmon performs behind two speakers outside Capitol One Arena on Jan. 5. (Tom Brenner for The Washington Post)

Listen8 min

Share

Comment on this storyComment

Add to your saved stories

Save

Last month, Ted Leonsis reached a handshake agreement with Virginia officials to move the Capitals and Wizards teams downtown Washington to Potomac Yard. If the deal goes through, the teams’ majority owner will get a new arena in a “world-class Entertainment District,” offices for his Monumental Sports & Entertainment and other goodies. He’d also get another perk often sought by folks who exit the District: a little peace and quiet.

For the past several years, Leonsis and his associates have been tormented by a sidewalk show at the mouth of Gallery Place Alley off 7th Street NW, alongside Capital One Arena. People who’ve frequented this bustling zone are familiar with the act, which consists of a man named David Halmon queuing up beats and singing along with his sidekicks, two boys who front the operation. All of this happens at earsplitting volume, courtesy of a pair of loudspeakers and an amplifier. The noise radiates into local homes, businesses and offices, including Monumental’s.

Advertisement

Monica Dixon, president of external affairs and chief administrative officer for Monumental, says the noise “never factored” into Monumental’s decision to explore a move to Virginia. But the conflict with Halmon’s act has earned mention in the coverage of Leonsis’s possible move, with The Post reporting that he was “particularly bothered by buskers, who played loud music outside his office.” Monumental’s objections are focused solely on Halmon’s performances, the company says, and are shared by neighbors, including residents of a condo building and a Clyde’s restaurant on the alley.

Tight quarters lend themselves to noise disputes. In 2019, for instance, complaints about the go-go beats blaring from an electronics store in Shaw ignited a successful counterprotest from #DontMuteDC, a group that sprang up to preserve the city’s go-go heritage. And as The Post has documented, street performers around Gallery Place, where the arena has anchored the neighborhood since 1997, have generated complaints from residents for years.

But what the Leonsis case shows is how much the city’s approach to noise issues leaves residents to fight things out among themselves, essentially abdicating the responsibility to referee disputes among squabbling parties in a mixed-use neighborhood. Here, one act so dominates public space — in a way that frustrates local business owners and residents — that it merits inclusion in deliberations over the future of downtown. “Despite all of the common understanding of the harm it’s doing, the city has not been able to put any restriction whatsoever or compromise whatsoever on the musical performance of these individuals. They are holding this corner hostage,” says John McDonnell, president of Clyde’s Restaurant Group.

All the havoc has an adorable public face: Eleven-year-old J-Money, to use his stage name, has been rapping and singing for passersby on big nights for seven years, according to Halmon, who heads up the act. On a recent night, J-Money declined to give me his legal name, but he has appeared on local news since he was as young as 6.

Follow this authorErik Wemple's opinions

Follow

On big nights around Capital One Arena, J-Money and his group perform for hours. “The kid is very talented, and he can just go all day, all night,” says Kelvin Nwosu, former general manager of Clyde’s. The throngs respond by assembling in half-moon formations and taking video of the performances. A good number dig into their wallets and drop bills into the group’s white tip bucket.

(Video: Tom Brenner for The Washington Post)

The thing about those charmed fans, however, is that they eventually retire to their presumably more placid roosts elsewhere in D.C., the suburbs or beyond. Others hear the Halmon crew on repeat mode. Howard Marks, who lives in a condo building on 7th Street, says he paid more than $6,000 to soundproof his unit. Before taking that step, he says, “we could hardly watch TV or could hardly talk to each other without raising our voices.” Clyde’s management says it can’t use portions of its dining area on certain nights and that patrons on numerous occasions have asked for discounted meals because of the din. A Monumental official........

© Washington Post


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