The Dave Matthews Band has announced that band member LeRoi Moore was injured yesterday in an ATV accident on his farm outside Charlottesville. The saxophonist was immediately transported to the University of Virginia Health System for treatment where he has been upgraded to fair condition.

Beginning tonight in Charlotte, Béla Fleck and the Flecktones saxophonist, Jeff Coffin, will sit in with the Dave Matthews Band while LeRoi recovers.

Our thoughts are with him.

Every summer I find myself asking some variation of the question, how is Nissan Pavilion allowed to exist?

As a venue, it’s great. Decent concessions (face it, any venue, anywhere, is overpriced, so that’s no different here), a giant, sprawling lawn that accommodates close to 15,000, and mammoth video screens that flank the stage.

But you would only know all of this if you actually got IN the venue, and therein lies the problem. Actually, the bigger problem is getting OUT.

For Saturday’s Dave Matthews show, my concert date and I left Richmond at 4:30 p.m. We made a brief stop at Baja Fresh in Fredericksburg (another superior chain that couldn’t survive in Richmond) and arrived at the road heading to the pavilion at 6:50 p.m.

DMB was slated to go on at 8:05 p.m.

That left an hour and 15 minutes to drive three miles.

Yeah, for a normal venue.

Around 7:45 p.m., we finally hit the turn for the parking lot. Then we crawled along some more as we followed the trail of cars into a parking lot that I’m pretty sure was neighboring San Diego.

That isn’t even the good part.

(Special Correspondent D.J. Letemps hit Nas’ show at Fridays at Sunset and offered the following report)

At sunset on Friday, the place to be was at Kanawha Plaza for the “Fridays at Sunset” concert series.

I looked forward to this show all day as I tediously toiled at my 9-to-5 getting by on pure zeal to see Nas –one of the most prolific emcees in hip-hop. 

>>>>> Nas (Credit: Kathryn Stewart)

It almost was “Fridays in Showers” as afternoon rain threatened the outdoor event. But by 7 p.m. the skies were clear and the weather was hot and humid –thanks rain. Without a folding chair of some sort, your only choices are to stand or sit in the damp grass. So I did the obvious.

Female emcee, Aynjul, opened the show with a fast flow over hard beats. Her thoughtful lyrics failed to move the crowd as people were finding places to set their folding chairs. She brought out fellow Round Table Entertainment artists Conflict and Wild Fire, which helped her get a few heads nodding and hands waving by the time she finished her half-hour-long set.

Being new to the DMV (D.C., Maryland and Virginia) area, I wasn’t familiar with the sound of go-go music. The first time I heard it I wasn’t really able to catch the beat. The melody was slow but the percussion is upbeat. So do I dance fast or slow? So confusing!

If you hope to follow the career path of David Cook, you’ll need to save up for some gas to travel to an “American Idol” audition city.

For the show’s eighth season, eight cities have been chosen for hopefuls to congregate, starting July 17 at the Cow Palace in San Francisco. That just might be my favorite name for a venue ever. Do they hold Chik-fil-A conventions there, too?

Anyway, the closest city for anyone with Elliott Yamin aspirations is East Rutherford, N.J., on Aug. 19 at the also-ridiculously-named IZOD Center at the Meadowlands Sports Complex. (Anyone remember when this place was named for an actual person who did something? You know - Brendan Byrne, the GOVERNOR of the state? We’ve gone from that to an airline – Continental – to an alligator stitched on a polo shirt).

Also within striking distance is Jacksonville, Fla., on Aug. 13 at Veterans Memorial Arena.

The rest of the dates, if you’re so inclined to travel:

Louisville, Ky., Monday, July 21 Freedom Hall

Phoenix, Ariz., Friday, July 25 Jobing.com Arena

Salt Lake City, Utah, Tuesday, July 29 EnergySolutions Arena

San Juan, Puerto Rico Saturday, Aug. 2 Coliseo de Puerto Rico

Kansas City, Mo., Friday, Aug. 8 Sprint Center

Random music notes:

The Verve will make a welcome return Aug. 19 with “Forth,” its first new album after a decade hiatus.

The first single, the surprisingly upbeat “Love is Noise,” is posted at http://www.myspace.com/thevervetv. Love the driving rhythm and the sublime chorus (singer Richard Ashcroft always sounds so beautifully pained), but a little lukewarm on that background chant/effect/weird instrument sound that makes a solid frame of a song too cluttered.

And how about Blake Lewis getting the drop kick from Arista Records after only one release?

Last year’s cutie-pie “American Idol” runner-up seemed to appeal to the cougar contingent that has fallen in love/lust with David Cook, but his beat boxing apparently didn’t lure them to the record stores (either the real ones or the online versions).

His “Audio Daydream” – really not nearly as embarrassing as some other “Idol” pabulum (hiya, Taylor Hicks!), – sold about 300,000 copies, but never ignited at radio, which is still a crucial medium for a certain genre of artist. And maybe that God-awful album cover sent people fleeing.

But hey, even though Lewis massacred Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love a Bad Name” during his run on the show, I still liked the guy with his goofy plaid pants, spiky blond hair and affinity for Doug E. Fresh.

Lewis is still attached to 19 Recordings, the entertainment company run by Simon Fuller that represents and manages many former Idols.

This is also another instance where Elliott Yamin can again be assured he made the right move by biding his time for an independent deal. His self-titled debut has sold more than Lewis’ (500,000-plus for E-Man), but is there any doubt that any of the “Idol”-related labels would have dropped him for not putting up Daughtry-like numbers?

It’s rough out there, kids.

One of my favorite arguments/discussions with my fellow pop culture freaks is the best TV show of all time.

Many of my guy friends pick “M*A*S*H,” while the girls go with “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.” I’ll admit that even as I’ve aged, the appeal of M*A*S*H has escaped me. But “MTM” I stand firmly behind, if only because it contains one of the best TV theme songs of all times and priceless opening credits.

But as much as I love Mary (and actually, while all of my female friends wanted to emulate her, I was always more the Rhoda), I love Lucy even more.

For whatever reason, it had been years since I found myself watching TV Land – probably because “Gunsmoke” and “Green Acres” never did anything but annoy me.

But a couple of months ago, while scrolling through the TiVo channel guide, I noticed TV Land’s daily airings of “I Love Lucy.” It’s worth pointing out that I actually own several DVD sets of the show – if I found a reason to buy season one of “Gimme A Break,” you can be sure I pulled out the plastic to buy some “Lucy.”

Still – who wants to remove the cat and the laptop, dislodge oneself from the couch and make the effort of putting the DVD in the player when a handy TiVo Season Pass will record any “Lucy” I want, and I can access it from my previously arranged position?

So that’s been my nightly 1 a.m. ritual, after Letterman and a Lifetime repeat of “Frasier.”

And you know what? “I Love Lucy” is as funny, sharp and smart as it was 50 years ago. I suppose part of my infatuation with the show is that it’s set in New York (SO much more glamorous than Mary in Minnesota). But no matter how many times I’ve seen Lucy pop her eyes out of her head or engage in an expert pratfall, or even watch her light her fake nose on fire when trying to disguise herself from William Holden (never was a big fan of those off-to-L.A.-so-Ricky-can-film-a-movie eps), I laugh out loud.

No other show has that effect on me – except maybe “Frasier” and “Everybody Loves Raymond,” and that one only because Doris Roberts’ mama Marie is so painfully genuine as the prototypical Italian mother, you just have to laugh because otherwise you’ll cry.

But I’ve noticed something in “Lucy” that I never picked up on before – and I’ve been watching these re-runs since I was a teen. There are an awful lot of references to Ricky physically hurting her – breaking an arm, giving her a black eye – if he finds out about whatever shenanigans she’s engaged in during the 20 minutes of the show.

If you watch several episodes in a row over a couple of weeks, you’ll actually find it a bit disturbing. Sure, that whole Man Rules The House mentality was the norm during the show’s 1950s run, but to hear any threat of violence – even if it’s in the comical way that Ralph Kramden was pow-ing Alice straight to the moon – is incredibly disconcerting.

But anyway, if you’re a TV Land fan, catch “Lucy” on there while you can. The channel’s licensing agreement ends with the show at the end of the year and the Hallmark Channel is expected to start airing it in January.

Hey, if it’s good enough for “Matlock,” it’s good enough for “Lucy.”

Funny how the right song by the right artist at the right moment can lighten your mood.

Nothing about Saturday’s jaunt to Virginia Beach to catch Billy Joel at the amphitheater – his first to the Hampton area in more than 20 years and his inaugural Va. Beach stop – was fun.

First was the blinding monsoon that nailed us from the airport area to Williamsburg. This wasn’t just rain. It was turn-on-the-hazards-and-actually-drive-15-mph weather. So what should have taken 20 minutes to drive clocked in around 40.

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Then came the obligatory stop at Fatburger in Chesapeake, four miles from the amphitheater exit and a necessity because this is the only Fatburger in the state – and the closest until New Jersey.

Make that, WAS the only Fatburger in the state, and now I’m glad I go to Jersey so frequently.

The best burger chain in the nation closed its sole area location last Tuesday. Sign on the door. Nothing but a counter and some chairs inside the vacant shell of a restaurant. You want to talk mopey? That was me.

So on we traveled to the amphitheater, skidding to a halt at least three miles from the turn into the venue’s parking area. This was at 7:25 p.m. By 8, we were still a solid mile away, inching in traffic, nervously glancing at the clock, since Joel was slated to hit the stage at 8:10. 

We scampered into the venue about 8:12 p.m., and quickly realized that somebody obviously told Joel to hold off for a few minutes. But, even with all of the people still jammed up in traffic, the amphitheater was overflowing with hordes of boomers – many with their kids, many more with their beers.

You could tell from some accents – and the license plates in the parking lot – that a lot of these folks came south (and east) just to see Joel. Usually, I’m the one traveling to see him (as I’ll do next month for his special “Last Play at Shea” concert in New York), so it was cool to only have a 100-minute drive to endure.

But, cranky as I was from the hard drive, mourning my favorite burger joint and getting nauseated from the stop-and-go traffic for 45 minutes, as soon as Joel thumped onto the stage around 8:20 p.m. and attacked his piano for the sweeping “Prelude/The Angry Young Man,” all of that aggravation dissipated.

Joel is playing a couple of outdoor gigs – he’ll hit Hershey Park in Pennsylvania July 10 – to fine-tune the sound for the Shea shows (July 16 and 18). Though the Virginia Beach Amphitheater is a third the size of Shea’s 55,000-plus capacity, the sound resonated crisply and cleanly, even in the back rows of the amphitheater.

At only midway through the year, it’s still early to christen the best album of 2008.

But few contenders are even in the same homestretch as Coldplay’s “Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends.”

From the French romantic painting by Eugene Delacroix that serves as the album cover (it’s a piece of work from 1830 titled “Liberty Leading The People”) to the majestic title track (its name taken from a Frida Kahlo painting) that is, no argument, the coolest, most soaring song of the year so far, Coldplay has crafted an intense, ambitious piece of work.

While 2005’s “X&Y” was brilliant in its own right – “Fix You” remains a sweeping embrace for the damaged, while hidden track “Til Kingdom Come” is the first indication that the knot of this band is melody, not overproduction – Coldplay’s musical growth here is acute.

By ushering in the taut 10-track set with an instrumental (another melodic study – “Life in Technicolor”), the band wisely keeps listeners eager for the next note, waiting to hear when the fullness of its sound and poetry of its lyrics will kick in.

It doesn’t happen on the second track, the brooding “Cemeteries of London” – and that is intentional, too.

With U2’s favorite producer Brian Eno guiding this project, Coldplay has learned the importance of restraint, of drawing a listener in with an unfolding of sound (i.e., U2’s “Where the Streets Have No Name”).

Chris Martin’s piano playing is as appealing as ever in its loveliness – the guy has always had an ear for a tantalizing melody – and the jangly backbone of “Lovers in Japan” is all his.

Martin is also willing to break his vocal habits. Rather than rely on his trademark falsetto, he drops several registers on “Yes” to the point of unrecognizability; the quirky song sounds like a throwaway cut from The Beatles’ “White Album,” with its flurry of violins interrupted by a few askew notes.

But even when Coldplay is experimenting with rhythms and unusual instrumentation, “Viva” boasts the rich textures of a movie score, all lush keyboards and whispering strings, evidenced perfectly on “Violet Hill.”

Most interesting is that none of these songs contain a standard anthemic refrain, yet, as the intoxicating title track proves, the verse-chorus-verse formula isn’t necessary when the other elements of the song (strings, piano, a marching band-style deep tom-tom – and yet no guitar) are so catchy.

Aside from the title cut, the most memorable offering is “Strawberry Swing,” a love song couched in soft syncopation, its dreamlike delivery creating a sonic pillow.

That mellowness and beauty are the hallmarks of the cohesive “Viva,” which finds Coldplay at the peak of its creativity.