When people describe a musician as a throwback artist, they're usually hearing sounds and influences from two to four decades ago. To trace where Whitney Moore is coming from with her new music, you have to wind the calendar back nearly a century. "You get to the '50s and late '40s and '60s, and jazz becomes a thing for the elites," Moore said. "But the '20s through '40s, it was still the music of the people and it served a really sweet purpose, to transmute their suffering or cheer them up."

When people describe a musician as a throwback artist, they're usually hearing sounds and influences from two to four decades ago. To trace where Whitney Moore is coming from with her new music, you have to wind the calendar back nearly a century. "You get to the '50s and late '40s and '60s, and jazz becomes a thing for the elites," Moore said. "But the '20s through '40s, it was still the music of the people and it served a really sweet purpose, to transmute their suffering or cheer them up."

When people describe a musician as a throwback artist, they're usually hearing sounds and influences from two to four decades ago. To trace where Whitney Moore is coming from with her new music, you have to wind the calendar back nearly a century. "You get to the '50s and late '40s and '60s, and jazz becomes a thing for the elites," Moore said. "But the '20s through '40s, it was still the music of the people and it served a really sweet purpose, to transmute their suffering or cheer them up."

Six pastors walk into a brewery ... It sounds like the start of a bad joke. Instead, it's a Monday morning at the former Habitat Brewing in Asheville, and this is an improv comedy class. Clifton Hall is the co-founder of the Asheville Improv Collective and he's teaching this class--his first with the entire student base made up of pastors and ministers.

Six pastors walk into a brewery ... It sounds like the start of a bad joke. Instead, it's a Monday morning at the former Habitat Brewing in Asheville, and this is an improv comedy class. Clifton Hall is the co-founder of the Asheville Improv Collective and he's teaching this class--his first with the entire student base made up of pastors and ministers.

Six pastors walk into a brewery ... It sounds like the start of a bad joke. Instead, it's a Monday morning at the former Habitat Brewing in Asheville, and this is an improv comedy class. Clifton Hall is the co-founder of the Asheville Improv Collective and he's teaching this class--his first with the entire student base made up of pastors and ministers.

Six pastors walk into a brewery ... It sounds like the start of a bad joke. Instead, it's a Monday morning at the former Habitat Brewing in Asheville, and this is an improv comedy class. Clifton Hall is the co-founder of the Asheville Improv Collective and he's teaching this class--his first with the entire student base made up of pastors and ministers.

It's a midweek morning at Asheville's YMI Cultural Center . Upstairs, in a gallery featuring his wall-mounted sculptures, Dewayne Barton has just gotten off the phone, protesting his treatment earlier that morning at Buncombe County government office. "Being black here, being black anywhere, You have to have your own therapy to help you be able to move throughout the world," Barton said. "The thing I just dealt with this morning is crap. 'Oh, you need to take your bracelet off?' I need to take

It's a midweek morning at Asheville's YMI Cultural Center . Upstairs, in a gallery featuring his wall-mounted sculptures, Dewayne Barton has just gotten off the phone, protesting his treatment earlier that morning at Buncombe County government office. "Being black here, being black anywhere, You have to have your own therapy to help you be able to move throughout the world," Barton said. "The thing I just dealt with this morning is crap. 'Oh, you need to take your bracelet off?' I need to take your bracelet off to go through a metal detector? How many people do you tell to do that?"

It's a midweek morning at Asheville's YMI Cultural Center . Upstairs, in a gallery featuring his wall-mounted sculptures, Dewayne Barton has just gotten off the phone, protesting his treatment earlier that morning at Buncombe County government office. "Being black here, being black anywhere, You have to have your own therapy to help you be able to move throughout the world," Barton said. "The thing I just dealt with this morning is crap. 'Oh, you need to take your bracelet off?' I need to take