Their names were Billy Stewart and Van McCoy, and this weekend they’re remembered at a free event called “D.C.’s Unsung Native Sons.” It’s part of a larger remembrance project organized by filmmakers Beverly Lindsay-Johnson and Michelle Jones, who began their work when Jones — whose aunt served as the first president of Billy Stewart’s fan club — shared with Lindsay-Johnson her admiration of the two native Washingtonians and her desire to help preserve their legacies.

A panel of those who knew or studied Stewart and McCoy are expected to shed light on their music and lives at the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Library in downtown Washington Saturday afternoon.

One panelist — who will also sing — is Stewart’s first cousin, Calvin C. Ruffin, Jr. Eleven years younger than Stewart, he was dazzled by the singer’s chops. He used to watch him and his other cousins sing and fight over girls.

“He was my idol,” says Ruffin. “Always has been — even though he was my first cousin.”

A soulman, Stewart first achieved acclaim in the 1950s and reached the charts in the 1960s with his unique, upbeat take on George Gershwin’s “Summertime” and his own suave “Sitting in the Park.”

Stewart came from musicians on both parents’ sides, and he performed in family gospel and secular groups as a kid. These days, Ruffin looks back glowingly on his late cousin’s talents. But he acknowledges that Stewart had personal problems, too.

Discovered by Bo Diddley and signed to Chess Records, Stewart released a song in 1962 called “Fat Boy” that referred to his own large size. When others mocked him for his weight, it was a different matter.

“When I was with Billy he had an entourage, before we had even heard of the term ‘entourage,’” says Ruffin. “If someone called him ‘fat boy,’ he pulled out a gun on them. I was with him at that time. The only reason I know that is the gun’s barrel is about as big as I was. Real long. He would always get an attitude if someone called him that. He had a real complex when it came to his weight, as he was real heavy.”

While Stewart wrestled privately with his health, his fans seemed aware only of his multifaceted vocals. He harmonized with Marvin Gaye as fellow substitute members of The Rainbows, and developed a distinctive variation on jazz scatting, where he repeated words in a powerful yet sweet, church-developed manner.

“If someone called [Billy Stewart] ‘fat boy,’ he pulled out a gun on them.” — Billy Stewart’s cousin Calvin C. Ruffin, Jr.

“Billy did jazz, Billy did blues, he did lots of things that fit his style of music,” Ruffin says. “The thing that excited him most was when he did George Gershwin.” He adds that many people, including record-label executives, failed to understand Stewart’s desire to fit jazz, blues and R&B into his sound.

In January 1970, several months before his 33rd birthday, Stewart and members of his band were killed when their Ford Thunderbird collided with a substructure support of a bridge, then plunged into a river in North Carolina.

Ruffin says that two months before the crash, Stewart told him that, because of his struggles with his weight and with the record industry, he knew he hadn’t treated people as kindly as he once had.

“It was almost like Billy was confessing to me — all the people that he stepped on, all the people that he hurt, and that he was going to change and come back a different person,” Ruffin says. “He was going to help me out and some of my female cousins. He wanted to make amends.”

* * *

Van McCoy is best known for his huge 1975 disco hit “The Hustle,” with its distinctive flute melody. He also wrote and produced R&B songs for many artists throughout the 1960s. Like Stewart, McCoy learned to play the piano when he was young, sang in the church, and later emoted street-corner doo-wop in a high school vocal group. His ensemble was called The Starlighters.

McCoy later enrolled at Howard University, but after two years, music beckoned and he moved to Philadelphia where he started his own record label.

The D.C. native’s songwriting skills caught the ears of songwriter/producer greats Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, who hired him as a staff writer and arranger. McCoy was soon writing songs for Jackie Wilson, Gladys Knight and The Pips and Barbara Lewis. For the latter, he penned the hit “Baby I’m Yours,” later featured on the Bridges of Madison County soundtrack.

McCoy also worked with D.C. R&B artists such as Peaches and Herb and The Choice 4 before he scored his biggest hit with “The Hustle,” which he co-wrote in New York City after checking out the disco scene there.

Four years after “The Hustle” made it big, McCoy died suddenly of a heart attack at age 39.

Mark Puryear of the Smithsonian Folklore Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage, who will be moderating Saturday’s panel, describes McCoy as “very focused.” He “directed and mastered his craft,” arranging strings, horns, an orchestra and a rhythm section. Production-wise, Puryear says, “there was nothing he couldn’t do.”

“Billy Stewart and Van McCoy: D.C.’s Unsung Native Sons” takes place June 25 from 1 to 4 p.m. at the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Library.

Two albums into the most unlikely soul career of the millennium, Charles Bradley has neatly pivoted away from the hard-luck life story told in the documentary Soul of America, and toward a comparatively ordinary task: Creating a book of believable songs that showcase his unique vocal style.

This turns out to be a significant challenge. The 67-year-old singer’s last album, 2013’s Victim of Love, was a tad too reverent in its deployment of mid-’60s Stax/Volt tropes. It celebrated soul-revue generica in all its forms — at times, it was redeemed only by Bradley’s instant-on vocal drama and the buttoned-up arrangements of the Daptone crew. It was a pitch-perfect period piece, and it raised questions about how restrictive these revivalist endeavors can ever be: If you’re a great singer, and make no mistake Bradley is that, at what point are you limited by genre, the fastidious re-creation of a quaint classic style?

Bradley’s third album, Changes, continues in the general path of his previous work, with some key alterations. The rhythms inch closer to modernity, and the material suggests Bradley and his songwriting partners in the Menahan Street Band recognize there’s a limit to how many visits he can make to the well of autobiographical woe. The lyrics are a touch more upbeat — there are songs celebrating the redeeming power of love alongside ones that chronicle devastation.

The title track, a cover of the Black Sabbath tune Daptone offered as a Record Store Day trinket a few years ago, aligns well with Bradley’s hard-knock narrative, and it’s stunning. Bradley sings about unexpected twists in the road as though re-experiencing them as hyper-real and possibly haunting memories. He’s singing from deep within lingering emotions, yet somehow avoids sounding nostalgic — he gives each phrase, each new iteration of the “going through changes” testimony, a bracing resonance. If you want to make the argument that soul music transcends time and genre, play this.

The album opens with a short spoken preamble from Bradley, and then a verse of “God Bless America” that nods affectionately to Ray Charles. Then comes “Good To Be Back Home,” which finds Bradley giddily enthusiastic about returning to the U.S., the place of so much previous misery for him, after a tour. The groove sits on the front edge of the beat, and its wound-tight temperament contrasts with tremolo guitars and the renegade bleats of a horn section that’s been saturated with trippy jam-band effects. This particular sonic mashup sounds gaudy on paper; as a framework for Bradley’s earnest phrasing, it’s genius.

That track and the swampy “Ain’t Gonna Give It Up” show just how far Bradley has come since 2010, when Daptone’s Gabriel Roth discovered him working as a James Brown impersonator known as Black Velvet. Bradley’s developed into an authoritative singer with more than just a trademark “screaming eagle” move. From the beginning, his voice itself authenticated the rough road miles of his life; now, to go along with that, he’s added a sharp sense of timing, a bit more dramatic range, and a crucial ability to convey desperation without laying it on too thick. The expanded skillset makes him a more effective storyteller. When, on an early verse of “Ain’t It A Sin,” he proclaims, “I try to be a righteous man, talk to the Lord most every day,” you believe him — first because of his raspy gravitas, then because of the intensity of his phrasing. Delivering the title line, he somehow he bundles together traces of ferocity, resignation, disgust, pride and anger all at once.

Not all of the songs are as engaging as “Ain’t It A Sin” — a few pieces find the Daptone brain trust leaning too heavily on already overused R&B clichés, or engaging in the musical equivalent of mixed metaphor (see the horn section’s cheeky quote from Seals and Crofts’ “Summer Breeze”). At least those are the outliers. More often, the music pulses with 2016 energy, achieving an appropriate, and conceptually clever, balance of vintage and modern. It’s the perfect platform for a singer determined to make up for lost time, and Bradley seizes it, transforming the trappings of classic soul into music that’s thrillingly, undeniably alive.

Copyright 2016 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

“New York is a lot more inspiring, to be honest,” says the 21-year-old vocalist, who relocated to Astoria, Queens, last July. “Being here, everyone is out to get it, so you’re either inspired by it or you’re intimidated by it.”

It doesn’t seem like Abir is intimidated by much, especially when it comes to singing.

“Some artists, and I don’t mean to throw any shade, but they don’t really sing, they’re just riding the music,” Abir says, politely. “Me, I’m the complete opposite. I like to blow. I like to show my vocals off.”

That’s precisely what she does on “Wave,” her latest song, which debuted on the Fader‘s website in January. A sleek dance-pop track with accents of R&B and house music, it captures the gravitational pull of her vocals — she pushes and pulls, commanding a rolling tide of beats and bass. Fellow Virginian Masego wades in alongside her, bearing speedy verses and drags from his saxophone.

But Abir doesn’t need studio enhancements to sound this magnetic. She summons the same power over a simple backdrop of piano and strings.

That’s because the singer — who returns to the D.C. area Feb. 26 to open for The-Dream at Howard Theatre — moves with polished ease between genres.

When she began recording music at age 14, she focused on a more soulful sound. Now she’s working across styles. “I don’t like putting [my music] in a box,” she says, “but I’m kind of mixing jazz, a little bit of R&B and even a little bit of pop. So it’s like all three things that I grew up on.”

Though she was raised in the D.C. area, Abir moved to the U.S. from Fez, Morocco, at age 5. When Abir turned 6, her father introduced her to the music of Etta James.

“Her songwriting is, like, impeccable,” the vocalist says, a smile in her voice. “I would listen and literally try to mimic her. I would write out like, ‘She’s talking about this, she’s using this many syllables, she’s using this and this line’ — and I would go through and try to figure out ways on how to create a good song.”

She mingled her American influences with music from her home continent — particularly Egyptian singer Umm Kulthum, whom she describes as the “Aretha Franklin of Arabic music.”

“I could listen to Umm Kulthum all day long,” Abir says. “She doesn’t miss a note. I drew inspiration from that and I actually sampled one of her songs.”

Classic tastes notwithstanding, Abir has always turned an ear toward pop, hip-hop and R&B. In fact, she says, at an early public performance — her fourth grade talent show — she sang Jennifer Lopez’s “All I Have.” She even rapped LL Cool J’s verses.

Not that she foresees a future as a rapper. “Hell, no,” she says.

But Abir still keeps one foot in the hip-hop world — she cropped up on a song by Brooklyn rapper Fabolous in 2014 — and the stylish singer has dipped her toe into fashion, performing during New York Fashion Week in 2015. She gave her personal twist to ‘90s hits as models dressed in breezy Baja East designs walked the runway.

Breezy may also describe Abir’s current approach to releasing music. She came close to dropping an EP two years ago — she says it was finished and ready to go — but scrapped it. After playing some shows, she felt she’d progressed beyond the work on those recordings. She doesn’t have immediate plans for another EP or album; she says for now, she just wants to unveil new songs periodically.

Ultimately, it’s live performance — not long sessions in the studio — that keeps Abir infatuated with music.

“When I do a show, I’m singing to people and feeling their reactions, and that’s the best part about it,” she says. “In the studio, you’re thinking the worst — like, ‘When do we finish? How many more hours?’”

Abir performs Feb. 26 at Howard Theatre.

Throughout his career, Bryan J. Sledge has kept good company. Over the last decade and a half, under his stage name BJ The Chicago Kid, the R&B singer-songwriter has amassed an impressive discography, lending his vocal and writing talents to a who’s-who of hip-hop, R&B and gospel acts (including, among others, Shirley Caesar, Kendrick Lamar, Chance The Rapper and Kehlani) and releasing a handful of projects of his own. In My Mind, his full-length debut on Motown, is evidence of why some of music’s best and brightest are aligned with the versatile artist.

In My Mind is a soul record, though not “soul” in the throwback sense we’ve come to expect. Informed by decades of influence, it is inspired by tradition, not mired in it. BJ’s brand of rhythm and blues is an amalgam of the history of black music: Gospel, blues, pop and jazz and, of course, hip-hop are all represented. Thematically, he covers familiar territory with songs about love, sensuality and infidelity, yet his approach is all his own. BJ juxtaposes the sacred and profane to illustrate a timeless tug of war — between faith and higher ideals on one side, and carnal needs and worldly pleasures on the other. “She say she wanna drink, have sex and do drugs tonight … but I’ve got church in the morning,” he sings, ultimately giving in to temptation in the aptly titled “Church” — but not before praying for salvation. He revels in depicting the imperfections of a man and the powerful emotions that arise when those flaws are exposed (see: “Fall On My Face”). In “Wait Til The Morning,” he pleads with his lover, not in an attempt to win her back, but to implore that she not to call his wife and reveal the adultery. As earnest as he is messy, the song’s philandering protagonist just wants to spend one last night at home before his infidelity ruins it all.

BJ has as much flair for the romantic as he does for the dramatic. In “Resume,” he seduces, using a job as metaphor for the “work” he’ll put in on the focus of his affection, while a looping backdrop of keyboards, finger snaps and Auto-Tuned vocals gives him a chance to coo like Ron Isley. That falsetto is also used to great effect in “The New Cupid,” which features a sample of Raphael Saadiq’s “Oh Girl” as part of a song about music where emotion has been replaced by bravado and bottle service; BJ figures, “Cupid’s too busy at the club,” so he takes it upon himself to bring love back. It’s a goal he fully accomplishes in the stirring ballad “Shine,” a tender moment that’s also great wedding-song material.

Yes, In My Mind is a soul record with all the ingredients that make R&B great: emotion, sex appeal, spirituality, vulnerability. The kid from Chicago is all right.

Copyright 2016 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

What you get from this Houston band is soul, straight from horn to heart. I’ve witnessed The Suffers’ magnificence on a tiny stage in a D.C. nightclub, on a big stage at the Newport Folk Festival, and behind my Tiny Desk. What happens on the band’s first album is something that rarely happens on debuts: This band is on fire when it’s in front of an audience, sure, but the intensity of its shows is also captured in the studio.

The Suffers’ sound is steeped in what the band calls “Gulf Coast Soul,” as well as elements of ska, Southern hip-hop, classic soul, rock ‘n’ roll and especially reggae. In fact, the group’s name comes from a line in a famous late-’70s reggae film called Rockers. What helps set The Suffers apart from most is the band’s sweet style of playing: No one is vying to show off, and everyone serves the song. It helps that singer Kam Franklin is at center stage — powerful and lovable and, like her band, careful not to overdo it. She seems to understand that there’s power in holding back or waiting for the perfect moment to let go. “Midtown” is a good example; the whole band at the end of “Better” is another.

There will be many new artists to discover in 2016, with lots of debuts. I suggest you start with The Suffers.

Copyright 2016 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

It sounds old fashioned, but Southern soul — in the voices and instrumentation of dance bands like Hardway — doesn’t imitate the past. “Southern Soul Rumpin” came out in 2008. The group combines synthesized sounds with soul and blues from the 1960s through the present day — not to mention risqué lyrics.

But that’s where Hardway Connection’s modernity ends. The band — which is opening for old-school D.C. singer Sir Joe Quarterman at Bethesda Blues and Jazz Jan. 31 — doesn’t make it easy to keep up with its saucy brand of R&B.

Southern Soul Rumpin, the group’s third and most recent album, is out of print. (Though the group still sells copies at shows and online.) Hardway rarely uses social media and its website doesn’t list any upcoming gigs. Yet that doesn’t seem to matter, because Hardway Connection is in high demand, according to Robert Owens, the group’s mild-mannered bandleader and guitarist.

The group has earned a loyal following on the Southern soul and beach-music circuits throughout the south, from Virginia to Texas. Their fans dance the shag, a swinging style with roots in classic R&B and rock ‘n’ roll. Hardway Connection’s 1999 album, It Must Be Love, proved to be a coastline hit.

The title song’s harmonies — delivered by gospel-rooted, powerhouse vocalists Jerome Mackall and Toni Love — attracted the attention of Carolina beach-music stations and promoters. Soon, the band was hearing from shaggers who wanted to bring them to the Southern coast.

Owens chuckles when he talks about getting nominated for a Cammy Award, the Grammy of the Carolina beach-music scene. Not knowing what beach music was, he says the band started listening to Beach Boys songs, figuring that’s what they’d get requests for.

Hardway Connection at Lamont’s in Pomonkey, Md. (Steve Kiviat/WAMU)

“When we got there, we learned it was just oldies-but-goodies set to a certain tempo,” Owens says. “It ain’t really nothing but hand-dancing. The beach-music stations play our music, but they speed it up or slow it down so you can shag to it. I was listening to one of our songs and I said, ‘Is that us or someone else?’ They had slowed Jerome’s voice down.”

But like a lot of current Southern soul artists, Hardway likes to get a little raunchy, writing songs brimming with double entendres and tales of cheating partners. On “Too Short (Peeping/Train),” Hardway transforms a Roy C song into a medley, adding lyrics about a woman who leaves Owens because of his, uh, physical inadequacy. That number helped establish Hardway’s Southern soul bona fides.

“Down south where we play, 22-year-olds come and see us. Black and white in the Carolinas. All the young ones will be right into it and calling out our songs,” Owens says.

In the D.C. area, Hardway plays many Sundays to a largely older audience at Lamont’s, south of National Harbor in Pomonkey, Maryland. They’ve also started alternating Sunday gigs at Cocoa’s Authentic Caribbean Jerk restaurant in Lexington Park, Maryland, in addition to various private events.

Currently a sextet that sometimes adds extra percussion, Hardway Connection hopes to self-release a new album by April. That project has been in the works for two years.

“It’s half-finished,” Owens says. “We’ve been so busy on the road on weekends.”

But while Hardway Connection has found success in a niche community, Owens doesn’t feel pressure to tailor their music to certain audiences.

“When I started doing it, I didn’t even know it was Southern soul,” Owens says. “I just did what I feel.”

Hardway Connection plays Jan. 31 at Bethesda Blues and Jazz, Feb. 14 and 21 at Lamont’s and Feb. 20 at Anacostia Community Museum.

Everything here hints at a “passion project”: It’s knowing like Grandma’s sugar cookies and proficient like a dad placing the star atop a tree — or lighting the menorah. Thematically, Jones’ “Ain’t No Chimneys In The Projects” updates the Godfather’s “Santa Claus Goes Straight To The Ghetto,” but stylistically it’s all Curtis and Philly (dig those strings) under a lyric about Mom’s gift-giving wisdom. Homer’s “Just Another Christmas Song” nods to everyone from Run-D.M.C. to James Lord Pierpont, and celebrates the very notion of seasonal hymns with some pure Dap-Tone joie de funkee, as well as a few kids at the end. (What’s Christmas without kids, right?). And because Mr. “Traditional” has got to get his stocking stuffed, there are carol versions and reinterpretations, too, including a wonderful sleigh-bell blues “Silent Night” and a “God Rest Ye Merry Gents” built on brassy ska-meets-Galt MacDermot vibes.
Sou
But the unquestionable centerpiece here, and the moment that seems destined to make this Party an annually revisited classic, is the opener. It’s not just that “8 Days Of Hannukah” fulfills a dire seasonal need (more rocking tunes celebrating the Festival of Lights). It’s also the style in which it operates — a soulful charmer that hearkens ever so slightly to a Moonglows hit, but shops for magical ingredients in its own aisle. There’s one line in particular, already cited by Bob Boilen, that speaks to everything that makes it a wonderful original; as the band and Jones call-and-response through the day-by-day activities, there’s this treasure, “Day 4 / We’re cooking up the brisket / the kosher butcher sold my Uncle Saul.” In that one line lies the spirit of the season — food, family, community, reaching across borders of tradition — which is to say, all the other rules that guide great holiday music.

Copyright 2015 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

It’s not the first time Auerbach has stepped away from his main gig — he’s put out a solo record and produced albums for Dr. John and Lana Del Rey — but with The Arcs, he assembles a complete creative collaboration. Written and recorded quickly between working on other projects together, Auerbach sought out many of his longtime friends: Leon Michels, Homer Steinweiss and Nick Movshon are all frequent members of the Daptone family, and have played with artists like Sharon Jones and Solange. Then there’s Richard Swift, a distinctive songwriter and producer who’s served as a touring utility player in The Black Keys and The Shins. With contributions from guitarist Kenny Vaughan, Mariachi Flor de Toloache (the New York all-female mariachi band) and Tchad Blake, Yours, Dreamily, captures the spontaneity of players in a room as they come up with something new in the moment.

Right from the drop, Yours, Dreamily, ignites like a cigarette flicked on a stream of gasoline. The snarling melodies, warbling horn lines and in-the-pocket beats transport listeners into the album’s pulpy world of ’70s exploitation films and gritty biker-gang movies. Musically, The Arcs’ songs nod to an array of influences from the past: “Chains Of Love,” with its sweeping Mellotron strings and that wonderful chorus of female voices, or the seductive R&B jam “Nature’s Child” could both come straight out of Motown, or Stax, or a Curtis Mayfield film score. “Come & Go,” the record’s strangest piece, evokes a hazy late-night jazz loft party, complete with silky saxophone and distant sensual moans that drift in and out as if overheard through the walls of an old apartment building. But strip away all the cool genre trappings and the album reveals its depth: Like so many classic soul albums of the 1970s, Yours, Dreamily, offers a socially conscious depiction of race, privilege and opportunity, as in “Put A Flower In Your Pocket,” with its line, “The streets can see into your soul / It ain’t where you been, but where you’re gonna go.”

That said, this is primarily a breakup album, with practically every song using stand-in characters to personify the dramatic arc of love and commitment — and later the vitriolic feeling of being trapped in a relationship turned sour, and sadness once it’s gone. In “Outta My Mind,” Auerbach, or at least his poetic stand-in, delivers a stinging line (“I love the pictures on the wall / Reminding me of what I lost to get it all”) in which he wearily acknowledges the marriage, family and mental health he’s had to sacrifice to get to where he is now. He’s “made it,” but at what cost? Elsewhere, “Everything You Do (You Do For You)” details a painful confrontation when a couple admits that communication has decayed and both parties have retreated: “The milk inside the fridge, it turned / The bridge between us, it burned.” And in “Rosie (Ooh La La),” he laments, “It’s funny how you lose perspective when every inch of you is bruised and dented.”

Auerbach and company leave room to get romantic, too, especially in “Stay In My Corner,” which employs an extended boxing metaphor to express commitment: “I won’t always be a winner, babe / In fact, I’m bound to burn out / All these bumps in the road, dear / They’re just lessons we learned.” The band brings it all home with the slow and swaying torch song “Searching The Blue,” which finds Auerbach finally coming to terms with lost love as grief fades in the light of day: “War is over now, feel my mind is returning … every nerve was burning over you.”

Taken as a whole, Yours, Dreamily, is already one of Auerbach’s most ambitious and fully realized albums. But The Arcs’ formula is so winning and natural that the band already has, at least according to Auerbach, a backlog of as many as 75 songs. If even some of those come to fruition, it could prove to be an enduring, endlessly rewarding collaboration.

Copyright 2015 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

Composed by Jordyn Stubblefield, the beat feels light and atmospheric, and singers Emmanuel Kerry and Jaquay Smith call for creative freedom. The song speaks to pain, but implores listeners to not become consumed by it.

“It’s about finding joy in wherever you are,” says Bowie resident Haydn Smith (Jaquay’s brother), a producer and singer with Pilate — who, along with Stubblefield, tends to wear a mask in band photos. “It’s about being in that struggle, and trying to find a way out of it.”

“1000 Leagues” (listen below) is the first single from Pilate’s forthcoming EP, Like Gold, expected out Thanksgiving Day. The instrumental was created at least six years ago and was the last song completed for the project.

Smith, 28, says the group calls its message-driven blend of soul “trap gospel.” (It’s already a controversial descriptor in the gospel world.)

Citing OutKast, Goodie Mob and Nas as inspiration, the crew puts socially conscious lyrics on top of electronic trap beats: EP cut “Area 51” details America at war. “Runway,” Smith says, is an upbeat dance number about a womanizer who finds joy in the pursuit. But above all, Smith hopes that the EP can bring peace to its listeners.

“You have to learn to be happy with nothing,” Smith says. “Everything is a process, and everything is a learning experience.”

Warning: Explicit lyrics.

The National Park Service, which oversees both series, distributed the latest concert schedules today. But for longtime attendees used to catching big names at the parks each summer, this year’s schedules might seem pretty anemic.

That’s because — as Steve Kiviat reported for Washington City Paper — the National Park Service has struggled to maintain the clout that both series once had. Until recently, Carter Barron and Fort Dupont enjoyed a reputation as summer hot spots for funk and R&B, booking legacy acts including Peabo Bryson, Cameo, The Ohio Players, B.T. Express, Deniece Williams, Midnight Star, Gil Scott-Heron, Zapp and Fort Dupont regular Roy Ayers, who even wrote a song about the park. (“Fort Dupont Park, Fort Dupont Park, the party to remember…”)

In its heyday, Fort Dupont’s biggest gigs could draw tens of thousands of concertgoers, according to a 2012 story in the Washington Post.

These days, that doesn’t seem as likely, with Fort Dupont cutting back on glitz and shortening its schedule. Carter Barron has done the same.

That doesn’t mean both parks have lost their picnic appeal, though. See both of their schedules below.

Carter Barron Amphitheatre
All shows are free. Gates open at 7 p.m., shows begin at 7:30 p.m. unless otherwise noted. Movies begin at dusk. 4850 Colorado Ave. NW.

July 17: Classic Soul Night with Mousey Thompson and the James Brown Experience, Skip Mahoney & The Casuals and William DeVaughn (presented by the Washington Post Going Out Guide)

July 24: Reggae Night with Monsoon & S.T.O.R.M. Reggae Band, Puma Ptah, Ras Biruk and Ras Band (presented by the Washington Post Going Out Guide)

Aug. 16: Joint Service Jazz with U.S. Army Blues, U.S. Navy Commodores and U.S. Airmen of Note

Aug. 21: 15th Annual DC Poetry Festival honoring Gil Scott-Heron. The music of Gil Scott-Heron, featuring Giacomo Gates. Hosted by Charlotte Fox with house band Steven B and Friends. Presented by Genesis Poets.

Aug. 22: To be announced

Aug. 28: Movie night with a showing of Rear Window (movie may change due to availability)

Aug. 29: Movie night with a showing of The Wiz (movie may change due to availability)

Sept. 5: 27th Annual DC Blues Festival with Sharrie Williams, James Armstrong, Full Power Blues, Mojo Priests and Jackson & Oziel. (Gates open at noon)

Fort Dupont Park
All shows are free. Gates open at 5:30 p.m. and shows begin at 7 p.m. 3600 F St. SE.

July 18: World Music Night with Clan Salsa DC, Eme and Heteru and DJ Lance Reynolds of WPFW’s House of Soul. Concert MC/host: WPFW’s Nancy Alonso.

July 25: Dance and Club Night with CeCe Peniston, DJ Jahsonic and special guest performances. Concert MC/host to be announced.

Aug. 1: Rhythm and Soul Music Night with Cherelle and DJ Lance Reynolds of WPFW’s House of Soul. Concert MC/host: Michel Wright of Majic 102.3.

Aug. 8: Jazz in the Park Night with Marc Cary, Steven B. and Friends, DJ Jahsonic and the Boys & Girls’ Club of DC Jazz Band featuring Tariq. Concert MC/host to be announced.

Photo by Lionjack used under a Creative Commons license.