KQED’s Arts & Culture desk brings daily, in-depth cultural commentary and coverage of the Bay Area with a mission to enrich lives and inspire participation. Who We Are
Here’s Everyone Caught in the Web of the Sean ‘Diddy’ Combs Allegations So Far
Twelve lawsuits have been filed against Sean Combs for sexual and physical assault. Here's who is officially involved.
Asian American Chefs Talk MSG (Making, Sharing, Gathering) in SF Chinatown
Six prominent chefs will share their stories — and tasty food — at Edge on the Square.
7 Bay Area Horror Movies For Your Halloween Viewing Pleasure
Skipping the parties for a movie marathon? Watch these locally filmed scary classics, available to stream or rent.
‘Disclaimer’ Is a Sprawling Thriller Built for the Streaming Age
Apple TV+’s series written and directed by Alfonso Cuarón stars Cate Blanchett as a successful documentarian with a secret.
Barry McGee Enters a New Era: ‘It’s a Rebirth, of Some Sort’
Separated from his wife and immersed in working, McGee discusses his first major San Francisco solo show in nearly 10 years.
Cal Shakes to Close Down, Citing ‘Insurmountable Financial Impasse’
The closure ends a 50-year tradition of outdoor theater in the Bay Area.
After Enduring Hurricane Milton, a Florida Director Shows Her Climate Film in Oakland
Shenny De Los Angeles joins a climate justice discussion and screening at the New Parkway on Oct. 17.
Funding for KQED Arts & Culture is provided by:
The William and Flora Hewlett Foundation, Akonadi Foundation, the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, Yogen and Peggy Dalal, Diane B. Wilsey, the William and Gretchen Kimball Fund, Campaign 21 and the members of KQED.
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Get daily Arts & Culture updates by following us on \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/kqedarts/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">Instagram\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.facebook.com/kqedarts/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">Facebook\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/KQEDarts\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">Twitter\u003c/a>, or \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13883176/hey-bay-area-have-a-story-to-share-we-want-to-listen\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">contact us\u003c/a>."},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-section-overview\">\u003c/div>\n","innerContent":["\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-section-overview\">\u003c/div>\n"]},{"blockName":"kqed/post-list","attrs":{"layout":"cardSeriesShowcase","query":"posts/?tag=thedolist&queryId=119d883d0d1","title":"The Do List","sectionUrl":"/thedolist","buttonText":"More from The Do List"},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/post-list","attrs":{"layout":"cardSeriesShowcase","query":"posts/bayareabites,arts,food?category=food&queryId=153e9ca226c","title":"Food","sectionUrl":"/food","buttonText":"More from Food"},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/ad","attrs":{"adType":"inHouse"},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/post-list","attrs":{"layout":"cardsRecent","query":"posts/arts?tag=tmw-latest&queryId=14eabae5786","title":"That’s My Word","sectionUrl":"/bayareahiphop","buttonText":"More Bay Area Hip Hop"},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/section-overview","attrs":{"html":"KQED’s Arts & Culture desk brings daily, in-depth cultural commentary and coverage of the Bay Area with a mission to enrich lives and inspire participation.\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"/arts/staff\">Who We Are\u003c/a>"},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-section-overview\">\u003c/div>\n","innerContent":["\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-section-overview\">\u003c/div>\n"]},{"blockName":"kqed/ad","attrs":[],"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/post-list","attrs":{"layout":"cardSeriesShowcase","query":"posts?tag=rebelgirls&queryId=800b2c5ce6","title":"Rebel Girls From Bay Area History","sectionUrl":"/rebelgirls","buttonText":"More about Rebel Girls From Bay Area History"},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/post-list","attrs":{"layout":"cardTextHeavyLarge","query":"posts/arts?&queryId=32da60a742","title":"More Arts","seeMore":true},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/funding-credits","attrs":{"text":"Funding for KQED Arts & Culture is provided by:\u003cbr>\u003cbr>The William and Flora Hewlett Foundation, Akonadi Foundation, the Andrew W. 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At the peak of this hysteria, in the ’80s and ’90s, the flavor enhancer was frequently \u003ca href=\"https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/its-the-umami-stupid-why-the-truth-about-msg-is-so-easy-to-swallow-180947626/\">maligned\u003c/a> as a grotesque transmitter of heart palpitations, migraine headaches and assorted other maladies — though, curiously, only when consumed in Chinese takeout and not, say, a \u003ca href=\"https://www.bonappetit.com/story/give-msg-a-chance\">bag of Doritos\u003c/a>. These days, of course, these sentiments have largely been debunked as \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2023/09/12/1197874002/umami-savory-taste-history\">bad science\u003c/a> (undergirded by a healthy dose of \u003ca href=\"https://www.cnn.com/2020/01/18/asia/chinese-restaurant-syndrome-msg-intl-hnk-scli/index.html\">racism\u003c/a>), and a new generation of young Asian American chefs have proudly taken up the MSG banner. (One \u003ca href=\"https://www.foodandwine.com/cook-with-msg-8421862\">trendy Cantonese American restaurant\u003c/a> in Brooklyn incorporates it into almost every dish.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s with a knowing and pointed wink, then, that \u003ca href=\"https://www.edgeonthesquare.org/\">Edge on the Square\u003c/a>, a contemporary art hub in San Francisco Chinatown, named its new series of food workshops “MSG\u003ci>” \u003c/i>— only in this case, the letters stand for “making,” “sharing” and “gathering\u003ci>.\u003c/i>” And while monosodium glutamate itself won’t be a primary subject of discussion, those kinds of broader cultural narratives around Asian Americans and food very much \u003ci>are\u003c/i>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In other words, says Edge on the Square head curator Candace Huey, “If food is your primary point of contact about this culture, what types of myths and stereotypes can we dispel?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Toward that end, \u003ca href=\"https://www.edgeonthesquare.org/msg\">\u003ci>MSG: Making, Sharing, Gathering\u003c/i>\u003c/a> will feature six talented Asian American chefs, cookbook authors and pop-up entrepreneurs from around San Francisco and the East Bay, each of whom have their own particular relationships to food nostalgia, the Asian diaspora and, in some cases, San Francisco Chinatown itself. Joyce Tang, the Chinese American pastry chef behind Oakland’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/bakesumpastries/?hl=en\">Bake Sum\u003c/a>, will kick off the series on \u003ca href=\"https://www.edgeonthesquare.org/joyce-tang\">Saturday, Oct. 19\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966499\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966499\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1.jpg\" alt=\"A box of assorted pastries with Asian American flavors.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1984\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1-800x794.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1-1020x1012.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1-160x159.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1-768x762.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1-1536x1524.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1-1920x1905.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A box of assorted pastries from Bake Sum in Oakland. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Joyce Tang)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Future editions will star Tracy Goh of the Malaysian restaurant \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13953078/curry-puff-malaysian-damansara-sf-noe-valley\">Damansara\u003c/a> (Dec. 8), chef Babo Waheed of \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/babosconceptkitchen/\">Babo’s Kitchen\u003c/a> (Jan. 18), James Beard Award–winning cookbook author \u003ca href=\"https://eatchofood.com/\">Kristina Cho\u003c/a> (Feb. 8), \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/batikandbaker/?hl=en\">Batik and Baker’s\u003c/a> Audrey Tang (April 12) and Taiwanese dumpling specialist Henry Hsu of \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/eatoramasama/?hl=en\">Oramasama Dumplings\u003c/a> (May 18).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The workshops are meant to provide a critical lens on how food acts as an “identity marker” and how it helps shape the narrative of Asian America, Huey explains. “We’re thinking about questions related to immigrants and the different threads of colonization, as well as when you move through the pathway of diaspora, how that changes the rituals and the practices related to food preparation.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cspan style=\"color: #2b2b2b;font-weight: 400\">[aside postID='arts_13962284,arts_13953078,arts_13924997']\u003c/span>\u003c/span>“Edge’s mission is always about how we can shift the narrative and how art” — and, in this case, food — “can be a vehicle for this widening of the aperture,” Huey says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Each session will be different, but at the most basic level, there will always be a personal storytelling component and a Q&A. Each chef will share samples of their food (either cooked while guests watch or prepared ahead of time) that connect in some way to the story of their immigrant experience or their cultural heritage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the inaugural workshop, Bake Sum’s Tang will pass out a small box of pastries to help elucidate her theme of “Past, Present and Future.” Attendees will receive a green onion croissant that evokes Tang’s childhood memories of eating green onion pancakes in Chinatown, an okonomiyaki Danish that speaks to the present day and her interpretation of a mooncake, which points toward the future of Asian American diasporic cooking.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Guests will sit at long banquet tables inside the gallery, in the heart of Chinatown, surrounded by the artwork in Edge on the Square’s current exhibition, \u003ca href=\"https://www.edgeonthesquare.org/walking-stories\">\u003ci>Walking Stories\u003c/i>\u003c/a> — which, fittingly, is also centered on stories and storytellers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13963121\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13963121\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000.jpg\" alt=\"image of crowd holding banners under Chinatown lanterns and an image of a projection on a building front\" width=\"2000\" height=\"864\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000-800x346.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000-1020x441.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000-160x69.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000-768x332.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000-1536x664.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000-1920x829.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Scene from ‘Under the Same Sun,’ a previous event hosted by Edge on the Square. \u003ccite>(Henrik Kam)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Tickets for the workshops are pay-what-you-can, with a suggested donation of $20 — though Linda Lui, the art hub’s communications director, stresses that they don’t want the cost to deter anyone from coming. Past Edge on the Square events, like a mahjong night and a concept barter shop, have drawn college students, prominent Asian American intellectuals and activists, and the local “popo” who walks past the Chinatown gallery every night.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While the \u003ci>MSG \u003c/i>series itself will run through May, that won’t be the end of the project. Edge on the Square is also collaborating with the \u003ca href=\"https://www.goodmedicinefilms.com/forever-chinatown\">Emmy-nominated\u003c/a> San Francisco director James Q. Chan, who will be on hand to film the workshops, with plans to turn them into a six-part documentary series.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>The \u003c/i>\u003ca href=\"https://www.edgeonthesquare.org/msg\">MSG: Making, Sharing, Gathering\u003c/a>\u003ci> workshops will be held approximately once a month, through May 2025, at Edge on the Square (800 Grant Ave., San Francisco). Tickets for each session will be released online 30 days in advance. The first workshop, featuring Joyce Tang of Bake Sum, will be on Saturday, Oct. 19, 4–5 p.m. Tickets are pay-what-you-can, but must be \u003c/i>\u003ca href=\"https://www.edgeonthesquare.org/joyce-tang\">\u003ci>reserved ahead of time\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003ci>, as seating is extremely limited.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Six prominent chefs will share their stories — and tasty food — at Edge on the Square.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728679139,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":15,"wordCount":891},"headData":{"title":"Asian American Chefs Talk MSG (Making, Sharing, Gathering) in SF Chinatown | KQED","description":"Six prominent chefs will share their stories — and tasty food — at Edge on the Square.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Asian American Chefs Talk MSG (Making, Sharing, Gathering) in SF Chinatown","datePublished":"2024-10-11T13:22:42-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-11T13:38:59-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"source":"Food","sourceUrl":"https://www.kqed.org/food","sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13966489","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13966489/asian-american-chefs-msg-event-series-sf-chinatown-edge-on-the-square","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>You don’t have to go far back to remember when MSG was the most vilified ingredient in America. At the peak of this hysteria, in the ’80s and ’90s, the flavor enhancer was frequently \u003ca href=\"https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/its-the-umami-stupid-why-the-truth-about-msg-is-so-easy-to-swallow-180947626/\">maligned\u003c/a> as a grotesque transmitter of heart palpitations, migraine headaches and assorted other maladies — though, curiously, only when consumed in Chinese takeout and not, say, a \u003ca href=\"https://www.bonappetit.com/story/give-msg-a-chance\">bag of Doritos\u003c/a>. These days, of course, these sentiments have largely been debunked as \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/sections/health-shots/2023/09/12/1197874002/umami-savory-taste-history\">bad science\u003c/a> (undergirded by a healthy dose of \u003ca href=\"https://www.cnn.com/2020/01/18/asia/chinese-restaurant-syndrome-msg-intl-hnk-scli/index.html\">racism\u003c/a>), and a new generation of young Asian American chefs have proudly taken up the MSG banner. (One \u003ca href=\"https://www.foodandwine.com/cook-with-msg-8421862\">trendy Cantonese American restaurant\u003c/a> in Brooklyn incorporates it into almost every dish.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s with a knowing and pointed wink, then, that \u003ca href=\"https://www.edgeonthesquare.org/\">Edge on the Square\u003c/a>, a contemporary art hub in San Francisco Chinatown, named its new series of food workshops “MSG\u003ci>” \u003c/i>— only in this case, the letters stand for “making,” “sharing” and “gathering\u003ci>.\u003c/i>” And while monosodium glutamate itself won’t be a primary subject of discussion, those kinds of broader cultural narratives around Asian Americans and food very much \u003ci>are\u003c/i>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In other words, says Edge on the Square head curator Candace Huey, “If food is your primary point of contact about this culture, what types of myths and stereotypes can we dispel?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Toward that end, \u003ca href=\"https://www.edgeonthesquare.org/msg\">\u003ci>MSG: Making, Sharing, Gathering\u003c/i>\u003c/a> will feature six talented Asian American chefs, cookbook authors and pop-up entrepreneurs from around San Francisco and the East Bay, each of whom have their own particular relationships to food nostalgia, the Asian diaspora and, in some cases, San Francisco Chinatown itself. Joyce Tang, the Chinese American pastry chef behind Oakland’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/bakesumpastries/?hl=en\">Bake Sum\u003c/a>, will kick off the series on \u003ca href=\"https://www.edgeonthesquare.org/joyce-tang\">Saturday, Oct. 19\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966499\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966499\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1.jpg\" alt=\"A box of assorted pastries with Asian American flavors.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1984\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1-800x794.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1-1020x1012.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1-160x159.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1-768x762.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1-1536x1524.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Joyce-Tang_@thejoycetang_1-1920x1905.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A box of assorted pastries from Bake Sum in Oakland. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Joyce Tang)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Future editions will star Tracy Goh of the Malaysian restaurant \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13953078/curry-puff-malaysian-damansara-sf-noe-valley\">Damansara\u003c/a> (Dec. 8), chef Babo Waheed of \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/babosconceptkitchen/\">Babo’s Kitchen\u003c/a> (Jan. 18), James Beard Award–winning cookbook author \u003ca href=\"https://eatchofood.com/\">Kristina Cho\u003c/a> (Feb. 8), \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/batikandbaker/?hl=en\">Batik and Baker’s\u003c/a> Audrey Tang (April 12) and Taiwanese dumpling specialist Henry Hsu of \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/eatoramasama/?hl=en\">Oramasama Dumplings\u003c/a> (May 18).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The workshops are meant to provide a critical lens on how food acts as an “identity marker” and how it helps shape the narrative of Asian America, Huey explains. “We’re thinking about questions related to immigrants and the different threads of colonization, as well as when you move through the pathway of diaspora, how that changes the rituals and the practices related to food preparation.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cspan style=\"color: #2b2b2b;font-weight: 400\">\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13962284,arts_13953078,arts_13924997","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/span>\u003c/span>“Edge’s mission is always about how we can shift the narrative and how art” — and, in this case, food — “can be a vehicle for this widening of the aperture,” Huey says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Each session will be different, but at the most basic level, there will always be a personal storytelling component and a Q&A. Each chef will share samples of their food (either cooked while guests watch or prepared ahead of time) that connect in some way to the story of their immigrant experience or their cultural heritage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the inaugural workshop, Bake Sum’s Tang will pass out a small box of pastries to help elucidate her theme of “Past, Present and Future.” Attendees will receive a green onion croissant that evokes Tang’s childhood memories of eating green onion pancakes in Chinatown, an okonomiyaki Danish that speaks to the present day and her interpretation of a mooncake, which points toward the future of Asian American diasporic cooking.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Guests will sit at long banquet tables inside the gallery, in the heart of Chinatown, surrounded by the artwork in Edge on the Square’s current exhibition, \u003ca href=\"https://www.edgeonthesquare.org/walking-stories\">\u003ci>Walking Stories\u003c/i>\u003c/a> — which, fittingly, is also centered on stories and storytellers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13963121\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13963121\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000.jpg\" alt=\"image of crowd holding banners under Chinatown lanterns and an image of a projection on a building front\" width=\"2000\" height=\"864\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000-800x346.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000-1020x441.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000-160x69.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000-768x332.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000-1536x664.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/HighFive_2000-1920x829.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Scene from ‘Under the Same Sun,’ a previous event hosted by Edge on the Square. \u003ccite>(Henrik Kam)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Tickets for the workshops are pay-what-you-can, with a suggested donation of $20 — though Linda Lui, the art hub’s communications director, stresses that they don’t want the cost to deter anyone from coming. Past Edge on the Square events, like a mahjong night and a concept barter shop, have drawn college students, prominent Asian American intellectuals and activists, and the local “popo” who walks past the Chinatown gallery every night.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While the \u003ci>MSG \u003c/i>series itself will run through May, that won’t be the end of the project. Edge on the Square is also collaborating with the \u003ca href=\"https://www.goodmedicinefilms.com/forever-chinatown\">Emmy-nominated\u003c/a> San Francisco director James Q. Chan, who will be on hand to film the workshops, with plans to turn them into a six-part documentary series.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>The \u003c/i>\u003ca href=\"https://www.edgeonthesquare.org/msg\">MSG: Making, Sharing, Gathering\u003c/a>\u003ci> workshops will be held approximately once a month, through May 2025, at Edge on the Square (800 Grant Ave., San Francisco). Tickets for each session will be released online 30 days in advance. The first workshop, featuring Joyce Tang of Bake Sum, will be on Saturday, Oct. 19, 4–5 p.m. Tickets are pay-what-you-can, but must be \u003c/i>\u003ca href=\"https://www.edgeonthesquare.org/joyce-tang\">\u003ci>reserved ahead of time\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003ci>, as seating is extremely limited.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13966489/asian-american-chefs-msg-event-series-sf-chinatown-edge-on-the-square","authors":["11743"],"programs":["arts_140"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_12276","arts_22313"],"tags":["arts_4672","arts_2654","arts_21727","arts_22101","arts_10278","arts_1297","arts_1146","arts_585"],"featImg":"arts_13966498","label":"source_arts_13966489"},"news_12009297":{"type":"posts","id":"news_12009297","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"news","id":"12009297","score":null,"sort":[1728860434000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"combo-tezeta-ritmos-interestelar","title":"Combo Tezeta: 'Ritmos Interestelar'","publishDate":1728860434,"format":"standard","headTitle":"Combo Tezeta: ‘Ritmos Interestelar’ | KQED","labelTerm":{},"content":"\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/sundaymusicdrop\">The Sunday Music Drop\u003c/a> is a weekly radio series hosted by the KQED weekend news team. In each segment, we feature a song from a local musician or band with an upcoming show and hear about what inspires their music.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Combo Tezeta is an East Bay band that plays cumbia music inspired by Peruvian psychedelic rock from the 1960s and 1970s.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Danny Snyder, from Berkeley, plays both the guitar and organ for the band. Abraham Aguilar is from Hercules and plays the bass. In the early 2000s, Snyder decided to start playing a style of music called surf rock, which incorporates electric guitars imitating the sound of waves crashing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“And at the same time, Abraham and his friends also decided to start playing surf rock,” said Snyder. “Even though I’m quite a bit older, we were in the same scene, and we became good friends early on.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Snyder, who’s in his late 50s, says that many people at his age would be hanging up their guitars while he feels like he’s just getting started. The rest of the band members are in their mid-30s. Eventually, he and Aguilar’s friends all decided to switch from playing surf rock to Latin music in cumbia.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The transition for us came from listening to two albums in particular,” said Aguilar. “One of them is by a band from Mexico City called Sonido Gallo Negro and a compilation album called ‘The Roots of Chicha.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Traditional cumbia music uses brass instruments and an accordion, which Snyder says gives the music more of a folk feel to it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“In the early to mid sixties, rock and roll music was filtering down to Peru and it mixed in with the cumbias that they were playing there, which had filtered down from Columbia and all mixed together,” he said. “It created a new sound that kind of exploded.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Snyder says once the band was exposed to the “Roots of Chicha” and Sonido Gallo Negro, they felt more confident and incorporated surf rock into the music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Because we played surf music, which is an instrumental guitar style, at least the way we played it, we’re able to incorporate the instrumental guitar leads and melodies throughout the song,” he said. “Even if there’s singing going on, we interweave that.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Snyder says what separated that style of music from what Combo Tezeta was doing before is the fact that it’s designed to make people dance. Aguilar says that at the end of the day, “you just want to produce something cool, something fun.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The band’s members also include Franklin Aguilar, Jonathan Rodriguez, Tony Bald, Santiago Ruiz, and Cesar Flores.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you’d like to hear Combo Tezeta live, the band will be performing at Eli’s Mile High Club in Oakland on Nov. 23. To hear past episodes of the Sunday Music Drop, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/sundaymusicdrop\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"In this episode of the Sunday Music Drop, East Bay cumbia band Combo Tezeta share's their song \"Ritmos Interestelar.\"","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728864484,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":15,"wordCount":517},"headData":{"title":"Combo Tezeta: 'Ritmos Interestelar' | KQED","description":"In this episode of the Sunday Music Drop, East Bay cumbia band Combo Tezeta share's their song "Ritmos Interestelar."","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"NewsArticle","headline":"Combo Tezeta: 'Ritmos Interestelar'","datePublished":"2024-10-13T16:00:34-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-13T17:08:04-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png","isAccessibleForFree":"True","publisher":{"@type":"NewsMediaOrganization","@id":"https://www.kqed.org/#organization","name":"KQED","url":"https://www.kqed.org","logo":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}}},"source":"Sunday Music Drop","sourceUrl":"https://www.kqed.org/sundaymusicdrop","audioUrl":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/10/2024/10/SMD_COMBO-TEZETA.mp3","sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-12009297","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/news/12009297/combo-tezeta-ritmos-interestelar","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/sundaymusicdrop\">The Sunday Music Drop\u003c/a> is a weekly radio series hosted by the KQED weekend news team. In each segment, we feature a song from a local musician or band with an upcoming show and hear about what inspires their music.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Combo Tezeta is an East Bay band that plays cumbia music inspired by Peruvian psychedelic rock from the 1960s and 1970s.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Danny Snyder, from Berkeley, plays both the guitar and organ for the band. Abraham Aguilar is from Hercules and plays the bass. In the early 2000s, Snyder decided to start playing a style of music called surf rock, which incorporates electric guitars imitating the sound of waves crashing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“And at the same time, Abraham and his friends also decided to start playing surf rock,” said Snyder. “Even though I’m quite a bit older, we were in the same scene, and we became good friends early on.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Snyder, who’s in his late 50s, says that many people at his age would be hanging up their guitars while he feels like he’s just getting started. The rest of the band members are in their mid-30s. Eventually, he and Aguilar’s friends all decided to switch from playing surf rock to Latin music in cumbia.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The transition for us came from listening to two albums in particular,” said Aguilar. “One of them is by a band from Mexico City called Sonido Gallo Negro and a compilation album called ‘The Roots of Chicha.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Traditional cumbia music uses brass instruments and an accordion, which Snyder says gives the music more of a folk feel to it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“In the early to mid sixties, rock and roll music was filtering down to Peru and it mixed in with the cumbias that they were playing there, which had filtered down from Columbia and all mixed together,” he said. “It created a new sound that kind of exploded.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Snyder says once the band was exposed to the “Roots of Chicha” and Sonido Gallo Negro, they felt more confident and incorporated surf rock into the music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Because we played surf music, which is an instrumental guitar style, at least the way we played it, we’re able to incorporate the instrumental guitar leads and melodies throughout the song,” he said. “Even if there’s singing going on, we interweave that.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Snyder says what separated that style of music from what Combo Tezeta was doing before is the fact that it’s designed to make people dance. Aguilar says that at the end of the day, “you just want to produce something cool, something fun.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The band’s members also include Franklin Aguilar, Jonathan Rodriguez, Tony Bald, Santiago Ruiz, and Cesar Flores.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you’d like to hear Combo Tezeta live, the band will be performing at Eli’s Mile High Club in Oakland on Nov. 23. To hear past episodes of the Sunday Music Drop, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/sundaymusicdrop\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/news/12009297/combo-tezeta-ritmos-interestelar","authors":["11772","11784"],"categories":["news_29992","news_223","news_8"],"tags":["news_34453","news_31663"],"featImg":"news_12009298","label":"source_news_12009297"},"arts_13966505":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13966505","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13966505","score":null,"sort":[1728686565000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"heres-everyone-caught-in-the-web-of-the-sean-diddy-combs-allegations-so-far","title":"Here’s Everyone Caught in the Web of the Sean ‘Diddy’ Combs Allegations So Far","publishDate":1728686565,"format":"standard","headTitle":"Here’s Everyone Caught in the Web of the Sean ‘Diddy’ Combs Allegations So Far | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":137,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>Sean “Diddy” Combs remains in a Brooklyn jail while awaiting a May 5 trial on \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2024/09/16/g-s1-23363/sean-diddy-combs-faces-federal-charges-in-new-york\">federal charges of sex trafficking and racketeering\u003c/a>. The hip-hop mogul has pleaded not guilty on all charges and has been denied bail twice thus far.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13954740']Before and after his arrest, Combs has also been served \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13954740/diddy-allegations-sean-combs-raids-sex-trafficking-cassie-joi-rod-harve-pierre-jane-doe\">12 civil lawsuits \u003c/a> for physical assault, rape and more. The indictment and many of the lawsuits name Combs’ numerous business ventures and claim they are complicit in financing and enabling the rapper’s abuse inside and outside of the recording studio. They also detail how Combs allegedly used his position of power in the entertainment industry to lure, coerce and silence those around him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Here’s an ongoing list of notable people named in lawsuits and criminal investigations against Combs so far, excluding the accusers who have chosen not to reveal their names.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003ch2>The Accusers\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Casandra Ventura, aka Cassie\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13954776\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13954776\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/03/GettyImages-1780923026-scaled-e1711490898243.jpg\" alt=\"A Black man wearing a suit and very long couture coat stands holding hands with a Black woman wearing an elaborate black gown and purse in the shape of a skull.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1277\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Sean Combs and Cassie at the 2017 Met Gala. \u003ccite>(Clint Spaulding/ Penske Media via Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The R&B singer was in a personal and professional relationship with Combs for over a decade. In November 2023, Ventura filed a federal lawsuit against Combs alleging years of physical, sexual and emotional abuse. The lawsuit also named Bad Boy Entertainment, Bad Boy Records, Epic Records and Combs Enterprises. A day after the filing, the two parties settled the trafficking, rape and physical assault case out of court — but Ventura’s willingness to come forward opened the floodgates for nearly a dozen other lawsuits against Combs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The pair reportedly met in 2005, when Ventura was 19 and Combs was 37. The following year, Ventura signed a deal with Bad Boy Entertainment and released her self-titled debut album. Ventura’s lawsuit alleged this was the beginning of Combs’ coercion and abuse, which she said completely took over her life and included forcing her to take illicit substances, forcing her to participate in sex with male sex workers while Combs filmed her — encounters Combs referred to as “freakoffs” — and frequent beatings. The lawsuit stated that the beatings were often witnessed by Combs’ staff, employees of Bad Boy Entertainment and Combs’ affiliated businesses.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Earlier this year, CNN published \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2024/05/17/1252221941/sean-combs-cassie-ventura-cnn-video\">footage\u003c/a> \u003cu>\u003c/u> dated to 2016 that showed Combs repeatedly hitting and kicking Ventura in the hallway of a Los Angeles hotel. Shortly after, Ventura took to Instagram to address the video and subsequent public response. “The outpouring of love has created a place for my younger self to settle and feel safe now, but this is only the beginning,” \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/C7T6OCKRJ-W/\">she wrote\u003c/a>. “Domestic Violence is THE issue. It broke me down to someone I never thought I would become. With a lot of hard work, I am better today, but I will always be recovering from my past.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Joi Dickerson-Neal\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Days after Ventura’s lawsuit, a woman named Joi Dickerson filed a lawsuit accusing Combs of drugging, sexually harassing and abusing her and distributing “revenge porn.” The suit states that Dickerson was a psychology student at Syracuse University when she agreed to go on a date with Combs in 1991. She had appeared in one of the rapper’s music videos. After the pair had dinner, the suit alleges that Combs pressured Dickerson to keep the night going and drove them to a recording studio. There, Dickerson says she realized she had been drugged and was unable to get out of the car, since she could no longer stand or walk on her own. This is when the suit alleges that Combs took her to another location and proceeded to sexually assault her.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13964507']Days later, Dickerson was told by a male friend that Combs had recorded the assault and had shown it to him and several others. The lawsuit states that the ensuing feelings of violation and humiliation derailed Dickerson’s studies and have had prolonged effects on her mental health, career and economic opportunities. Like Ventura, Dickerson filed the lawsuit under New York’s Adult Survivors Act, which provided a one-year window for victims of sexual abuse who were age 18 or older at the time of the crime to file civil action regardless of the statute of limitations of the crimes themselves.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Liza Gardner\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Last November, Liza Gardner filed a lawsuit alleging that in 1990, she was raped by Combs and R&B singer Aaron Hall. The lawsuit says that days later, Combs assaulted and choked Gardner until she lost consciousness.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In an amended complaint filed Oct. 8, Gardner adds that she was 16 years old when she was invited to New Jersey from her home in North Carolina by her friends DeVante Swing and Dalvin DeGrate of the R&B group Jodeci. The lawsuit states that Jodeci’s housing, where Gardner was staying, was “subsidized” by their label, Uptown Records, a subsidiary of MCA and UMG. It goes on to allege that Gardner and her 15-year-old friend, Monica Case, met Combs and Hall at an MCA Records event in New York, where they were reportedly supplied with alcohol. Combs and Hall allegedly provided the minors with more drinks and with marijuana later that night.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lawsuit states that Gardner and her friends were later taken back to Hall’s apartment in New Jersey, where Combs raped Gardner. The suit states that unbeknownst to Gardner at the time, Devante Swing was in the room at the time and did nothing to stop Combs. Swing was added as a co-defendant in the new complaint for “aiding and abetting” the sexual assault.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lawsuit also names UMG Recordings, Universal Music Group and more.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Rodney “Lil Rod” Jones\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Producer Rodney “Lil Rod” Jones worked with Combs on his 2023 release, \u003cem>The Love Album: Off the Grid\u003c/em>. In February, Jones filed a lawsuit alleging that during the making of the album — from 2022 to 2023 — he lived with Combs, who he says repeatedly groped him, forced him to solicit sex workers, take illegal drugs, and more. The suit states that Combs would often walk around naked in front of Jones, and that the music mogul attempted to groom the producer into engaging in sex with other men in the music industry, allegedly promising Jones a Grammy if he complied. Jones also alleges that a cousin of rapper Yung Miami, who was dating Combs at the time, sexually assaulted him in Combs’ home in 2022 in front of Combs and his staff.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13962885']Jones’ lawsuit also names Combs’ son, Justin Dior Combs, Love Records, Combs Global Enterprises and Combs’ chief of staff, Kristina Khorram, as co-defendants. In addition to the allegations of abuse, the suit describes a shooting at a recording studio involving Combs, his son Justin Dior Combs and an unnamed victim. The suit also claims that Combs did not properly compensate Jones for his work on \u003cem>The Love Album.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lawsuit originally included Universal Music Group, Motown Records, former Motown CEO Ethiopia Habtemariam and UMG chairman and CEO Lucian Grainge as co-defendants. Lawyers for Grainge and UMG denied their involvement in the allegations, eventually leading Jones’ lawyer to drop Grainge and the labels from the charges.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Crystal McKinney\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966508\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966508\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc.png\" alt=\"A beautiful blond woman wearing a coat with a fur collar.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1326\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc-800x530.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc-1020x676.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc-160x106.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc-768x509.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc-1536x1018.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc-1920x1273.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Crystal McKinney. \u003ccite>(Arnaldo Magnani/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In May, Crystal McKinney filed a lawsuit against Combs, Bad Boy Entertainment, Universal Music Group (UMG) and Combs’ clothing company, Sean John Clothing. The charges against UMG Recordings were later dismissed, and Daddy’s House Recordings was added as a co-defendant.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The suit states that in 2003, McKinney was 22 years old and working as a model when an unnamed designer introduced her to Combs at a Sean John fashion show in New York City. Combs allegedly expressed interest in getting to know McKinney better and helping her modeling career grow.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Later that night, he invited her to a recording studio, where McKinney says Combs and several other men were smoking marijuana and drinking. She took a hit of a joint, which according to the lawsuit, she believes was laced with another substance. The lawsuit states that Combs pressured McKinney to continue drinking and smoking, and as she became more intoxicated, she was led to a bathroom by Combs, who forced her to perform oral sex on him. Afterward, McKinney lost consciousness and awoke in a taxi en route to the designer’s apartment. The lawsuit states that following the assault, McKinney became severely depressed. According to the lawsuit, she believes Combs “blackballed” her in the industry, which led to the downfall of her modeling career, and has had long-lasting effects on her mental health.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>April Lampros\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In May, April Lampros filed a lawsuit naming Combs, Bad Boy Entertainment and Arista Records, a subsidiary of Sony Music. Lampros met Combs in 1994 while studying at the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City. She says Combs often invited her to the Bad Boy studio, promised to mentor and help her advance her career and began “love-bombing” her. They started dating and Lampros would often travel to see Combs, though he asked that their relationship be kept private.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13956667']In the suit, Lampros accuses Combs of sexually assaulting her on four separate occasions and repeatedly threatening to harm her, both physically and professionally. In one such instance, Combs allegedly forced Lampros and his then-girlfriend Kim Porter to take ecstasy, forced them to engage in sex while he watched and then raped Lampros. Though she tried to distance herself from Combs as the relationship turned abusive, Lampros says Combs continually contacted her, and she feared the repercussions of rebuffing his advances. The lawsuit states that after Lampros’ relationship with Combs had ended, she was told by someone she knew that he had seen a video of her and Combs having sex, recorded without her knowledge.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Derrick Lee Cardello-Smith\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In June, a man incarcerated in Michigan filed a lawsuit against Combs alleging that the rapper drugged and sexually assaulted him in Detroit in 1997. During a hearing in September, a default judgment was granted to Cardello-Smith for $100 million after Combs and his lawyers failed to appear in court. Shortly after, the judgment was set aside on grounds that Cardello-Smith’s lawsuit, mailed to a Combs residence in Los Angeles, was not properly served. Cardello-Smith is currently serving sentences for kidnapping and criminal sexual conduct.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Adria English\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In July, a woman named Adria English filed a lawsuit against Combs, Bad Boy Entertainment, Sean John Clothing, Combs Global Enterprises, Tamiko Thomas, Jacob Arabov aka “Jacob The Jeweler,” \u003cem>VIBE\u003c/em> magazine, Penske Media Corporation and several unnamed defendants. The suit alleges that in 2004, English was working as a dancer at a club in New York City when she and her then-boyfriend, aspiring model Anthony Gallo, were hired to work at one of Combs’ famous “White Parties” in the Hamptons.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>English alleges that while working at the party, she was forced to drink alcohol, which she believes was laced with ecstasy, and forced to consume narcotics. The suit alleges that Combs and a Bad Boy Entertainment employee continued to hire her to work at “White Parties” in New York and in Miami. According to the lawsuit, around the third event, English alleges that she was asked to swap the usual white attire for a black mini-dress and forced to begin having intercourse with guests. She believes the black dress was meant to signal to guests that she was a “sex trafficked sex worker.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lawsuit names Jacob Arabov aka “Jacob The Jeweler” as one such guest she was coerced into having intercourse with, along with other unnamed defendants. English believes there are secret recordings of those defendants sexually assaulting her in Combs’ homes while she was unconscious.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Dawn Richard\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966509\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966509\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn.png\" alt=\"A Black woman wearng a gold jacket talks into a microphone.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1325\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn-800x530.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn-1020x676.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn-160x106.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn-768x509.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn-1536x1018.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn-1920x1272.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Dawn Richard. \u003ccite>(Josh Brasted/Getty Images for ESSENCE/Getty Images North America)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In September, singer Dawn Richard filed a \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2024/09/12/nx-s1-5110001/dawn-richard-diddy-danity-kane-lawsuit\">\u003cu>lawsuit\u003c/u>\u003c/a> against Combs for sexual assault and battery. The complaint also states that Richard witnessed Combs beat and abuse Ventura on many occasions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Richard first met Combs when she auditioned for the MTV show \u003cem>Making the Band \u003c/em>in 2004 and was selected to be a member of the group Danity Kane under Combs’ mentorship. The lawsuit alleges that Richard and her bandmates were subjected to inhumane working conditions during their time on the show and in the musical group, sometimes being forced to rehearse for up to 48 hours without food or breaks and often being berated by Combs. The complaint states that the abusive behavior continued throughout Richard’s professional relationship with Combs, and that he instilled a culture of fear in the women he worked with.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13918217']After Danity Kane disbanded in 2009, Richard continued to work with Combs in the trio Diddy — Dirty Money, along with singer Kalenna Harper — who allegedly also witnessed much of Combs’ abusive behavior and was subject to his numerous threats. The lawsuit alleges Combs would force Richard to take meetings while he was in his underwear, and he would barge into her dressing room unannounced and would grope her breasts and buttocks during stylist fittings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In one instance in 2010, the lawsuit states that Combs berated Richard and Harper in the lobby of SIR Studios and attempted to punch Richard when she asked him to stop calling them “bitches” in front of people. Richard alleges the women were then ushered into a company car and that Combs and Harve Pierre falsely imprisoned them in the vehicle for over two hours.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition to the allegations of abuse, Richard’s lawsuit demands unpaid salaries, royalties and wages for Richard’s work as part of Danity Kane and Diddy — Dirty Money. The complaint also names Harve Pierre, Remote Productions, Bad Boy Entertainment, Daddy’s House Recording Studio and a number of other music, publishing and finance corporations associated with Combs for enabling his violence.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Thalia Graves\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966510\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966510\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves.png\" alt=\"A light skinned Black woman sits on a white armchair wearing a white top.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1356\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves-800x542.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves-1020x692.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves-160x108.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves-768x521.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves-1536x1041.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves-1920x1302.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Thalia Graves. \u003ccite>(Rodin Eckenroth/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In September, a woman named Thalia Graves filed a \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2024/09/24/g-s1-24401/sean-diddy-combs-graves-rape-lawsuit\">lawsuit\u003c/a> accusing Combs and his bodyguard Joseph Sherman of raping her, recording the assault without her knowledge and distributing the video as pornography.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Graves alleges that the assault took place in 2001, when she was 25 years old and dating an unnamed record producer who worked with Combs. She says Combs and Sherman took advantage of her relationship with their colleague to lure her to a recording studio alone, where they gave her a drink she believes was laced with some kind of drug. The lawsuit says Graves lost consciousness and awoke to find herself bound and restrained; Combs and Sherman then proceeded to take turns raping her.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Graves says she did not report the alleged crime out of fear of Combs’ retaliation, and that her boyfriend at the time discouraged her from doing so because it might hurt his career. In November 2023, Graves alleges she learned the rape had been recorded by Sherman and Combs, who showed it to others with the purpose of humiliating Graves and her then-boyfriend. The lawsuit details how the crime and the knowledge of its recording has had dire, long-lasting consequences on Graves’ mental health.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003ch2>The Accused\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Aaron Hall\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966511\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966511\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall.png\" alt=\"A Black man onstage wearing sunglasses and a denim jacket.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1383\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall-800x553.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall-1020x705.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall-160x111.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall-768x531.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall-1536x1062.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall-1920x1328.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Aaron Hall. \u003ccite>(Paras Griffin/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The R&B singer is named in Gardner’s lawsuit, alleging that he and Combs raped her and an unnamed friend in 1990. Hall could not be reached for comment.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Harve Pierre\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966512\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966512\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre.png\" alt=\"A bald Black man in a suit sits at a dinner table.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1322\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre-800x529.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre-1020x674.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre-160x106.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre-768x508.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre-1536x1015.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre-1920x1269.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Harve Pierre. \u003ccite>(Thaddaeus McAdams/FilmMagic/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In December 2023, an unnamed woman filed a \u003ca href=\"https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/24193192-sean-combs-jane-doe-complaint\">lawsuit \u003c/a>accusing Combs, former Bad Boy Entertainment president Harve Pierre and a third man of trafficking and gang raping her when she was 17 years old. The suit states that the victim met Pierre at a lounge in Michigan in 2003 while she was still in high school, and that the record executive sexually assaulted her by forcing her to perform oral sex on him. Pierre allegedly called Combs, who convinced the underaged woman to board a private jet to New Jersey.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13934462']After the plane ride, the suit states that the unnamed victim, Pierre and two other men were driven to Combs’ recording studio in New York, where they “plied Ms. Doe with drugs and alcohol.” The lawsuit says that Combs, Pierre and another man proceeded to “gang-rape” the teenager, and that she has limited recollection of the trip back to Michigan the following day. The lawsuit also names recording studio Daddy’s House Recordings and Bad Boy Entertainment as co-defendants. Pierre denied the allegations in a \u003ca href=\"https://www.tmz.com/2023/12/08/diddy-bad-boy-president-harve-pierre-lawsuit/#:~:text=In%20a%20new%20statement%20obtained,desperate%20attempt%20for%20financial%20gain.%22\">statement\u003c/a> to TMZ.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Kristina Khorram\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Khorram is named as Combs’ chief of staff and a co-defendant in Jones’ lawsuit. Jones alleges that Khorram frequently solicited illicit drugs and sex workers for Combs and his guests, forced Jones to carry substances for Combs and ordered Jones to hire sex workers for Combs. He also accuses Khorram of “aiding and abetting” Combs’ sexual assault and helping Combs groom Jones. Though she is not listed as a co-defendant, Khorram is also named in a September 2024 sexual abuse lawsuit filed by an unnamed woman who says the Combs employee often paid for her to travel and “perform” for Combs — the complaint alleges Combs’ staffers would “send drivers to [the victim’s] home to pick her up before she agreed to travel, to the point where she did not believe she had a choice.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>NPR reached out to Khorram’s attorneys Thursday morning for comment and is awaiting a reply.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Cuba Gooding Jr.\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966514\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966514\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr.png\" alt=\"A Black man sits in court wearing a suit and red scarf, looking concerned.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1335\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr-800x534.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr-1020x681.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr-160x107.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr-768x513.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr-1536x1025.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr-1920x1282.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Cuba Gooding Jr. \u003ccite>(Alec Tabak/The Daily News via AP, Pool, File)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The actor, who \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2022/04/13/1092699710/actor-cuba-gooding-jr-pleads-guilty-to-forcibly-touching\">pled guilty\u003c/a> in 2022 to forcibly touching a woman and \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2023/06/06/1180421961/cuba-gooding-jr-settles-civil-sex-abuse-case\">settled\u003c/a> a civil sexual abuse case in 2023, was named in an amendment to Rodney “Lil Rod” Jones’ original lawsuit against Combs. The producer alleges that Gooding Jr. fondled and groped him on Combs’ yacht. The actor has denied the allegations. “It’s the most ridiculous thing ever,” \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WuZbTB0Fh24\">he said\u003c/a> in an interview with Extra TV. “Welcome to being a celebrity. Welcome to my world.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Justin Dior Combs and Christian Combs\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966515\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966515\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior.png\" alt=\"Two young, casually dressed Black men stand on a red carpet, smiling.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1765\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior-800x706.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior-1020x900.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior-160x141.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior-768x678.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior-1536x1356.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior-1920x1694.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Justin Dior Combs (left) and Christian Combs. \u003ccite>(Aaron Davidson/WireImage | Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Sean Combs’ son, Justin Dior Combs, is also named in Jones’ lawsuit against the rapper, which alleges that the producer witnessed the father and son solicit sex workers and admit underaged girls to a listening party where they laced the women’s drinks. The lawsuit also alleges that Jones witnessed Christian Combs, another son of Combs, drug and assault a woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Tyrone Blackburn, an attorney representing Jones, is also part of a separate lawsuit filed in April against Christian Combs on behalf of a plaintiff named Grace O’Marcaigh, alleging the younger Combs assaulted her on a yacht owned by Combs, who is named as co-defendant. Both Justin Dior Combs and Christian Combs have denied the allegations against them.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Jacob Arabov, aka “Jacob The Jeweler” aka Jacob Arabo \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966516\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966516\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov.png\" alt=\"A middle aged white man in a blue suit holds one wrist up to show his watch.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1336\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov-800x534.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov-1020x681.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov-160x107.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov-768x513.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov-1536x1026.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov-1920x1283.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jacob Arabov. \u003ccite>(Matthew Eisman/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The founder and chairman of high-profile jewelry and watch company Jacob & Co. is named as a co-defendant in English’s suit, which alleges he was one of the “White Party” guests she was forced to have sex with. Jacob & Co did not respond to NPR’s request for comment.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Joseph “Big Joe” Sherman\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Combs’ former bodyguard is named as a co-defendant in Graves’ lawsuit, along with Daddy’s House Recordings, Bad Boy Entertainment and more. Graves claims that Sherman actively raped her alongside Combs in 2001. The lawsuit states that when she attempted to escape the assault, Combs slammed her head into a pool table, causing her to lose consciousness. After waking up, she says Sherman continued to assault her and slapped her until she passed out a third time. Sherman has \u003ca href=\"https://www.nbcnewyork.com/investigations/former-celeb-body-guard-falsely-accused-raping-woman-with-diddy/5849264/\">denied\u003c/a> Graves’ claims, saying he no longer worked for Bad Boy in 2001 and never met the young woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>DeVante Swing\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In an amended complaint filed on Oct. 8, Liza Gardner added Devante Swing of the R&B group Jodeci as a co-defendant to her lawsuit. Gardner alleges that Swing, who was an adult at the time, was her “assumed co-guardian” when he invited the underaged Gardner to New Jersey. The suit alleges that Swing “trafficked and or coerced the child to travel across state lines from North Carolina to New York and New Jersey with the hidden intention of providing the child with alcohol, and marijuana and prostituting the child to his A&R Combs.” Gardner’s friend, Monica Case, also filed a sworn declaration alleging Swing was in the room “watching whatever Puffy was doing to Liza.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Swing could not be reached for comment.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003ch2>Other Names To Know\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Jimmy Iovine\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966518\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966518\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine.png\" alt=\"A white man wearing a white baseball cap, backwards and sunglasses.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1331\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine-800x532.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine-1020x679.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine-160x106.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine-768x511.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine-1536x1022.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine-1920x1278.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jimmy Iovine. \u003ccite>(Ronald Martinez/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In her lawsuit, Richard alleges that she attended a party where Interscope Records co-founder Jimmy Iovine witnessed Combs punch Ventura in the stomach. The lawsuit blames Iovine — and Interscope — for moving forward with a deal with Combs and Bad Boy Entertainment after becoming aware of his violent and abusive behavior. Separately, in 2022, Iovine was accused of sexual abuse and harassment by an unnamed woman under New York’s Adult Survivors Act. The woman later dropped the case.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>NPR reached out to Interscope and Iovine’s team but did not receive a comment.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Kid Cudi\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966519\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966519\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi.png\" alt=\"A Black man wearing a white t-shirt sings passionately into a microphone on stage.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1320\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi-800x528.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi-1020x673.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi-160x106.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi-768x507.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi-1536x1014.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi-1920x1267.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kid Cudi. \u003ccite>(Theo Wargo/Getty Images for Coachella)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Kid Cudi and Ventura were romantically involved in 2011. In her lawsuit, Ventura alleged that when Combs found emails between the two on Ventura’s phone, he became enraged and attacked her. Ventura attempted to run away but returned due to pressure from Combs’ staff; the lawsuit alleged that Combs then hit and kicked her.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lawsuit stated that in 2012, Combs told Ventura he wanted to “blow up” Kid Cudi’s car while the rapper was home. Kid Cudi corroborated to \u003cem>The New York Times\u003c/em> that his car exploded in his driveway around that time.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Caresha Brownlee, aka Yung Miami\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966520\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966520\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami.png\" alt=\"A glamourous Black woman performs on stage wearing a strapless leather dress.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1336\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami-800x534.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami-1020x681.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami-160x107.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami-768x513.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami-1536x1026.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami-1920x1283.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Caresha Brownlee, aka Yung Miami. \u003ccite>(Terence Rushin/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Yung Miami, half of the rap duo City Girls, dated Combs in recent years. In August, she denied knowing anything about the accusations that have surfaced against her ex. “I can’t speak on these allegations because I wasn’t around at the time,” she said on her Revolt TV show, \u003cem>Caresha Please\u003c/em>. “I don’t know that person, and that wasn’t my experience.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In September, however, Brownlee was named in a \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2024/09/27/g-s1-25157/sean-diddy-combs-jane-doe-pregnant-assault-lawsuit\">\u003cu>lawsuit\u003c/u>\u003c/a> filed against Combs by an unnamed woman. The lawsuit alleges that the plaintiff was forced to travel and “perform” for Combs many times from 2021 to 2024. Much of this travel was reportedly paid for by Combs’ staffer Kristina Khorram. The suit states that in 2022, the plaintiff was forced to take drugs and have sex with Combs. When she learned she was pregnant and told Combs, the lawsuit states that Brownlee — who is not a co-defendant on the complaint — harassed and called the plaintiff repeatedly, pressuring her to get an abortion. The stress allegedly led the woman to suffer a miscarriage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>NPR reached out to Brownlee’s representation Thursday morning and is awaiting a reply.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Tony Buzbee\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966521\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966521\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee.png\" alt=\"A white man in a suit.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1335\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee-800x534.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee-1020x681.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee-160x107.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee-768x513.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee-1536x1025.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee-1920x1282.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Tony Buzbee. \u003ccite>(Eric Gay/AP)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>On Oct. 1, Texas attorney Tony Buzbee held a press conference announcing that his firm will be filing at least 120 individual civil lawsuits against Combs in the coming weeks. “The biggest secret in the entertainment industry that wasn’t really a secret at all has finally been revealed to the world,” Buzbee said during the presser. “The wall of silence has been broken, and victims are coming forward.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Buzbee is known for representing clients in high-profile cases, including Texas attorney general Ken Paxton during his 2023 impeachment trial, the women who sued football player \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2022/06/21/1106409107/cleveland-browns-deshaun-watson-settles-20-of-24-sexual-misconduct-lawsuits\">Deshaun Watson\u003c/a> for sexual misconduct, and the victims of the \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2021/11/11/1054765905/what-went-wrong-at-astroworld-the-deadly-dynamics-of-crowd-surge\">Astroworld\u003c/a> deadly crowd surge. During Paxton’s trial, Buzbee took his own share of the spotlight for a \u003ca href=\"https://www.houstonchronicle.com/opinion/editorials/article/ken-paxton-trial-buzbee-altuve-bucees-18355320.php\">public spat\u003c/a> with the media over how they photographed his tan in the courtroom.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition to practicing at the Buzbee Law Firm, his professional ventures include property development, a short-lived THC-infused \u003ca href=\"https://www.chron.com/food/article/houston-buzbee-thc-seltzer-discontinued-19462337.php\">selzer company\u003c/a> and local politics. He self-funded \u003ca href=\"https://www.texastribune.org/2019/11/05/houston-mayor-race-sylvester-turner-tony-buzbee-runoff/\">a run for Houston mayor\u003c/a> against Democratic incumbent Sylvester Turner in 2019 and \u003ca href=\"https://www.texastribune.org/2023/11/07/tony-buzbee-houston-city-council-election-nan-huffman/\">ran for Houston City Council\u003c/a> in 2023, ultimately losing both races.\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Twelve lawsuits have been filed against Sean Combs for sexual and physical assault. Here's who is officially involved.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728686920,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":78,"wordCount":4220},"headData":{"title":"A List of Everyone Involved in the Sean ‘Diddy’ Combs Case | KQED","description":"Twelve lawsuits have been filed against Sean Combs for sexual and physical assault. Here's who is officially involved.","ogTitle":"Here’s Everyone Caught in the Web of the Sean ‘Diddy’ Combs Allegations So Far","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"Here’s Everyone Caught in the Web of the Sean ‘Diddy’ Combs Allegations So Far","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialTitle":"A List of Everyone Involved in the Sean ‘Diddy’ Combs Case %%page%% %%sep%% KQED","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Here’s Everyone Caught in the Web of the Sean ‘Diddy’ Combs Allegations So Far","datePublished":"2024-10-11T15:42:45-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-11T15:48:40-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprByline":"Isabella Gomez Sarmiento, NPR","nprStoryId":"g-s1-26981","nprHtmlLink":"https://www.npr.org/2024/10/10/g-s1-26981/diddy-sean-combs-cassie-kid-cudi-jodeci","nprRetrievedStory":"1","nprPubDate":"2024-10-11T05:00:00-04:00","nprStoryDate":"2024-10-11T05:00:00-04:00","nprLastModifiedDate":"2024-10-11T11:58:43.382-04:00","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","showOnAuthorArchivePages":"No","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13966505/heres-everyone-caught-in-the-web-of-the-sean-diddy-combs-allegations-so-far","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Sean “Diddy” Combs remains in a Brooklyn jail while awaiting a May 5 trial on \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2024/09/16/g-s1-23363/sean-diddy-combs-faces-federal-charges-in-new-york\">federal charges of sex trafficking and racketeering\u003c/a>. The hip-hop mogul has pleaded not guilty on all charges and has been denied bail twice thus far.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13954740","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Before and after his arrest, Combs has also been served \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13954740/diddy-allegations-sean-combs-raids-sex-trafficking-cassie-joi-rod-harve-pierre-jane-doe\">12 civil lawsuits \u003c/a> for physical assault, rape and more. The indictment and many of the lawsuits name Combs’ numerous business ventures and claim they are complicit in financing and enabling the rapper’s abuse inside and outside of the recording studio. They also detail how Combs allegedly used his position of power in the entertainment industry to lure, coerce and silence those around him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Here’s an ongoing list of notable people named in lawsuits and criminal investigations against Combs so far, excluding the accusers who have chosen not to reveal their names.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003ch2>The Accusers\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Casandra Ventura, aka Cassie\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13954776\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13954776\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/03/GettyImages-1780923026-scaled-e1711490898243.jpg\" alt=\"A Black man wearing a suit and very long couture coat stands holding hands with a Black woman wearing an elaborate black gown and purse in the shape of a skull.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1277\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Sean Combs and Cassie at the 2017 Met Gala. \u003ccite>(Clint Spaulding/ Penske Media via Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The R&B singer was in a personal and professional relationship with Combs for over a decade. In November 2023, Ventura filed a federal lawsuit against Combs alleging years of physical, sexual and emotional abuse. The lawsuit also named Bad Boy Entertainment, Bad Boy Records, Epic Records and Combs Enterprises. A day after the filing, the two parties settled the trafficking, rape and physical assault case out of court — but Ventura’s willingness to come forward opened the floodgates for nearly a dozen other lawsuits against Combs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The pair reportedly met in 2005, when Ventura was 19 and Combs was 37. The following year, Ventura signed a deal with Bad Boy Entertainment and released her self-titled debut album. Ventura’s lawsuit alleged this was the beginning of Combs’ coercion and abuse, which she said completely took over her life and included forcing her to take illicit substances, forcing her to participate in sex with male sex workers while Combs filmed her — encounters Combs referred to as “freakoffs” — and frequent beatings. The lawsuit stated that the beatings were often witnessed by Combs’ staff, employees of Bad Boy Entertainment and Combs’ affiliated businesses.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Earlier this year, CNN published \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2024/05/17/1252221941/sean-combs-cassie-ventura-cnn-video\">footage\u003c/a> \u003cu>\u003c/u> dated to 2016 that showed Combs repeatedly hitting and kicking Ventura in the hallway of a Los Angeles hotel. Shortly after, Ventura took to Instagram to address the video and subsequent public response. “The outpouring of love has created a place for my younger self to settle and feel safe now, but this is only the beginning,” \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/C7T6OCKRJ-W/\">she wrote\u003c/a>. “Domestic Violence is THE issue. It broke me down to someone I never thought I would become. With a lot of hard work, I am better today, but I will always be recovering from my past.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Joi Dickerson-Neal\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Days after Ventura’s lawsuit, a woman named Joi Dickerson filed a lawsuit accusing Combs of drugging, sexually harassing and abusing her and distributing “revenge porn.” The suit states that Dickerson was a psychology student at Syracuse University when she agreed to go on a date with Combs in 1991. She had appeared in one of the rapper’s music videos. After the pair had dinner, the suit alleges that Combs pressured Dickerson to keep the night going and drove them to a recording studio. There, Dickerson says she realized she had been drugged and was unable to get out of the car, since she could no longer stand or walk on her own. This is when the suit alleges that Combs took her to another location and proceeded to sexually assault her.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13964507","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Days later, Dickerson was told by a male friend that Combs had recorded the assault and had shown it to him and several others. The lawsuit states that the ensuing feelings of violation and humiliation derailed Dickerson’s studies and have had prolonged effects on her mental health, career and economic opportunities. Like Ventura, Dickerson filed the lawsuit under New York’s Adult Survivors Act, which provided a one-year window for victims of sexual abuse who were age 18 or older at the time of the crime to file civil action regardless of the statute of limitations of the crimes themselves.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Liza Gardner\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Last November, Liza Gardner filed a lawsuit alleging that in 1990, she was raped by Combs and R&B singer Aaron Hall. The lawsuit says that days later, Combs assaulted and choked Gardner until she lost consciousness.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In an amended complaint filed Oct. 8, Gardner adds that she was 16 years old when she was invited to New Jersey from her home in North Carolina by her friends DeVante Swing and Dalvin DeGrate of the R&B group Jodeci. The lawsuit states that Jodeci’s housing, where Gardner was staying, was “subsidized” by their label, Uptown Records, a subsidiary of MCA and UMG. It goes on to allege that Gardner and her 15-year-old friend, Monica Case, met Combs and Hall at an MCA Records event in New York, where they were reportedly supplied with alcohol. Combs and Hall allegedly provided the minors with more drinks and with marijuana later that night.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lawsuit states that Gardner and her friends were later taken back to Hall’s apartment in New Jersey, where Combs raped Gardner. The suit states that unbeknownst to Gardner at the time, Devante Swing was in the room at the time and did nothing to stop Combs. Swing was added as a co-defendant in the new complaint for “aiding and abetting” the sexual assault.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lawsuit also names UMG Recordings, Universal Music Group and more.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Rodney “Lil Rod” Jones\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Producer Rodney “Lil Rod” Jones worked with Combs on his 2023 release, \u003cem>The Love Album: Off the Grid\u003c/em>. In February, Jones filed a lawsuit alleging that during the making of the album — from 2022 to 2023 — he lived with Combs, who he says repeatedly groped him, forced him to solicit sex workers, take illegal drugs, and more. The suit states that Combs would often walk around naked in front of Jones, and that the music mogul attempted to groom the producer into engaging in sex with other men in the music industry, allegedly promising Jones a Grammy if he complied. Jones also alleges that a cousin of rapper Yung Miami, who was dating Combs at the time, sexually assaulted him in Combs’ home in 2022 in front of Combs and his staff.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13962885","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Jones’ lawsuit also names Combs’ son, Justin Dior Combs, Love Records, Combs Global Enterprises and Combs’ chief of staff, Kristina Khorram, as co-defendants. In addition to the allegations of abuse, the suit describes a shooting at a recording studio involving Combs, his son Justin Dior Combs and an unnamed victim. The suit also claims that Combs did not properly compensate Jones for his work on \u003cem>The Love Album.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lawsuit originally included Universal Music Group, Motown Records, former Motown CEO Ethiopia Habtemariam and UMG chairman and CEO Lucian Grainge as co-defendants. Lawyers for Grainge and UMG denied their involvement in the allegations, eventually leading Jones’ lawyer to drop Grainge and the labels from the charges.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Crystal McKinney\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966508\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966508\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc.png\" alt=\"A beautiful blond woman wearing a coat with a fur collar.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1326\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc-800x530.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc-1020x676.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc-160x106.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc-768x509.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc-1536x1018.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/c-mc-1920x1273.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Crystal McKinney. \u003ccite>(Arnaldo Magnani/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In May, Crystal McKinney filed a lawsuit against Combs, Bad Boy Entertainment, Universal Music Group (UMG) and Combs’ clothing company, Sean John Clothing. The charges against UMG Recordings were later dismissed, and Daddy’s House Recordings was added as a co-defendant.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The suit states that in 2003, McKinney was 22 years old and working as a model when an unnamed designer introduced her to Combs at a Sean John fashion show in New York City. Combs allegedly expressed interest in getting to know McKinney better and helping her modeling career grow.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Later that night, he invited her to a recording studio, where McKinney says Combs and several other men were smoking marijuana and drinking. She took a hit of a joint, which according to the lawsuit, she believes was laced with another substance. The lawsuit states that Combs pressured McKinney to continue drinking and smoking, and as she became more intoxicated, she was led to a bathroom by Combs, who forced her to perform oral sex on him. Afterward, McKinney lost consciousness and awoke in a taxi en route to the designer’s apartment. The lawsuit states that following the assault, McKinney became severely depressed. According to the lawsuit, she believes Combs “blackballed” her in the industry, which led to the downfall of her modeling career, and has had long-lasting effects on her mental health.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>April Lampros\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In May, April Lampros filed a lawsuit naming Combs, Bad Boy Entertainment and Arista Records, a subsidiary of Sony Music. Lampros met Combs in 1994 while studying at the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City. She says Combs often invited her to the Bad Boy studio, promised to mentor and help her advance her career and began “love-bombing” her. They started dating and Lampros would often travel to see Combs, though he asked that their relationship be kept private.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13956667","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>In the suit, Lampros accuses Combs of sexually assaulting her on four separate occasions and repeatedly threatening to harm her, both physically and professionally. In one such instance, Combs allegedly forced Lampros and his then-girlfriend Kim Porter to take ecstasy, forced them to engage in sex while he watched and then raped Lampros. Though she tried to distance herself from Combs as the relationship turned abusive, Lampros says Combs continually contacted her, and she feared the repercussions of rebuffing his advances. The lawsuit states that after Lampros’ relationship with Combs had ended, she was told by someone she knew that he had seen a video of her and Combs having sex, recorded without her knowledge.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Derrick Lee Cardello-Smith\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In June, a man incarcerated in Michigan filed a lawsuit against Combs alleging that the rapper drugged and sexually assaulted him in Detroit in 1997. During a hearing in September, a default judgment was granted to Cardello-Smith for $100 million after Combs and his lawyers failed to appear in court. Shortly after, the judgment was set aside on grounds that Cardello-Smith’s lawsuit, mailed to a Combs residence in Los Angeles, was not properly served. Cardello-Smith is currently serving sentences for kidnapping and criminal sexual conduct.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Adria English\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In July, a woman named Adria English filed a lawsuit against Combs, Bad Boy Entertainment, Sean John Clothing, Combs Global Enterprises, Tamiko Thomas, Jacob Arabov aka “Jacob The Jeweler,” \u003cem>VIBE\u003c/em> magazine, Penske Media Corporation and several unnamed defendants. The suit alleges that in 2004, English was working as a dancer at a club in New York City when she and her then-boyfriend, aspiring model Anthony Gallo, were hired to work at one of Combs’ famous “White Parties” in the Hamptons.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>English alleges that while working at the party, she was forced to drink alcohol, which she believes was laced with ecstasy, and forced to consume narcotics. The suit alleges that Combs and a Bad Boy Entertainment employee continued to hire her to work at “White Parties” in New York and in Miami. According to the lawsuit, around the third event, English alleges that she was asked to swap the usual white attire for a black mini-dress and forced to begin having intercourse with guests. She believes the black dress was meant to signal to guests that she was a “sex trafficked sex worker.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lawsuit names Jacob Arabov aka “Jacob The Jeweler” as one such guest she was coerced into having intercourse with, along with other unnamed defendants. English believes there are secret recordings of those defendants sexually assaulting her in Combs’ homes while she was unconscious.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Dawn Richard\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966509\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966509\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn.png\" alt=\"A Black woman wearng a gold jacket talks into a microphone.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1325\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn-800x530.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn-1020x676.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn-160x106.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn-768x509.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn-1536x1018.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dawn-1920x1272.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Dawn Richard. \u003ccite>(Josh Brasted/Getty Images for ESSENCE/Getty Images North America)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In September, singer Dawn Richard filed a \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2024/09/12/nx-s1-5110001/dawn-richard-diddy-danity-kane-lawsuit\">\u003cu>lawsuit\u003c/u>\u003c/a> against Combs for sexual assault and battery. The complaint also states that Richard witnessed Combs beat and abuse Ventura on many occasions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Richard first met Combs when she auditioned for the MTV show \u003cem>Making the Band \u003c/em>in 2004 and was selected to be a member of the group Danity Kane under Combs’ mentorship. The lawsuit alleges that Richard and her bandmates were subjected to inhumane working conditions during their time on the show and in the musical group, sometimes being forced to rehearse for up to 48 hours without food or breaks and often being berated by Combs. The complaint states that the abusive behavior continued throughout Richard’s professional relationship with Combs, and that he instilled a culture of fear in the women he worked with.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13918217","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>After Danity Kane disbanded in 2009, Richard continued to work with Combs in the trio Diddy — Dirty Money, along with singer Kalenna Harper — who allegedly also witnessed much of Combs’ abusive behavior and was subject to his numerous threats. The lawsuit alleges Combs would force Richard to take meetings while he was in his underwear, and he would barge into her dressing room unannounced and would grope her breasts and buttocks during stylist fittings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In one instance in 2010, the lawsuit states that Combs berated Richard and Harper in the lobby of SIR Studios and attempted to punch Richard when she asked him to stop calling them “bitches” in front of people. Richard alleges the women were then ushered into a company car and that Combs and Harve Pierre falsely imprisoned them in the vehicle for over two hours.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition to the allegations of abuse, Richard’s lawsuit demands unpaid salaries, royalties and wages for Richard’s work as part of Danity Kane and Diddy — Dirty Money. The complaint also names Harve Pierre, Remote Productions, Bad Boy Entertainment, Daddy’s House Recording Studio and a number of other music, publishing and finance corporations associated with Combs for enabling his violence.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Thalia Graves\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966510\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966510\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves.png\" alt=\"A light skinned Black woman sits on a white armchair wearing a white top.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1356\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves-800x542.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves-1020x692.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves-160x108.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves-768x521.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves-1536x1041.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Thalia-Graves-1920x1302.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Thalia Graves. \u003ccite>(Rodin Eckenroth/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In September, a woman named Thalia Graves filed a \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2024/09/24/g-s1-24401/sean-diddy-combs-graves-rape-lawsuit\">lawsuit\u003c/a> accusing Combs and his bodyguard Joseph Sherman of raping her, recording the assault without her knowledge and distributing the video as pornography.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Graves alleges that the assault took place in 2001, when she was 25 years old and dating an unnamed record producer who worked with Combs. She says Combs and Sherman took advantage of her relationship with their colleague to lure her to a recording studio alone, where they gave her a drink she believes was laced with some kind of drug. The lawsuit says Graves lost consciousness and awoke to find herself bound and restrained; Combs and Sherman then proceeded to take turns raping her.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Graves says she did not report the alleged crime out of fear of Combs’ retaliation, and that her boyfriend at the time discouraged her from doing so because it might hurt his career. In November 2023, Graves alleges she learned the rape had been recorded by Sherman and Combs, who showed it to others with the purpose of humiliating Graves and her then-boyfriend. The lawsuit details how the crime and the knowledge of its recording has had dire, long-lasting consequences on Graves’ mental health.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003ch2>The Accused\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Aaron Hall\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966511\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966511\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall.png\" alt=\"A Black man onstage wearing sunglasses and a denim jacket.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1383\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall-800x553.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall-1020x705.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall-160x111.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall-768x531.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall-1536x1062.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Aaron-Hall-1920x1328.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Aaron Hall. \u003ccite>(Paras Griffin/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The R&B singer is named in Gardner’s lawsuit, alleging that he and Combs raped her and an unnamed friend in 1990. Hall could not be reached for comment.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Harve Pierre\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966512\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966512\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre.png\" alt=\"A bald Black man in a suit sits at a dinner table.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1322\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre-800x529.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre-1020x674.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre-160x106.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre-768x508.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre-1536x1015.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Harve-Pierre-1920x1269.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Harve Pierre. \u003ccite>(Thaddaeus McAdams/FilmMagic/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In December 2023, an unnamed woman filed a \u003ca href=\"https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/24193192-sean-combs-jane-doe-complaint\">lawsuit \u003c/a>accusing Combs, former Bad Boy Entertainment president Harve Pierre and a third man of trafficking and gang raping her when she was 17 years old. The suit states that the victim met Pierre at a lounge in Michigan in 2003 while she was still in high school, and that the record executive sexually assaulted her by forcing her to perform oral sex on him. Pierre allegedly called Combs, who convinced the underaged woman to board a private jet to New Jersey.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13934462","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>After the plane ride, the suit states that the unnamed victim, Pierre and two other men were driven to Combs’ recording studio in New York, where they “plied Ms. Doe with drugs and alcohol.” The lawsuit says that Combs, Pierre and another man proceeded to “gang-rape” the teenager, and that she has limited recollection of the trip back to Michigan the following day. The lawsuit also names recording studio Daddy’s House Recordings and Bad Boy Entertainment as co-defendants. Pierre denied the allegations in a \u003ca href=\"https://www.tmz.com/2023/12/08/diddy-bad-boy-president-harve-pierre-lawsuit/#:~:text=In%20a%20new%20statement%20obtained,desperate%20attempt%20for%20financial%20gain.%22\">statement\u003c/a> to TMZ.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Kristina Khorram\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Khorram is named as Combs’ chief of staff and a co-defendant in Jones’ lawsuit. Jones alleges that Khorram frequently solicited illicit drugs and sex workers for Combs and his guests, forced Jones to carry substances for Combs and ordered Jones to hire sex workers for Combs. He also accuses Khorram of “aiding and abetting” Combs’ sexual assault and helping Combs groom Jones. Though she is not listed as a co-defendant, Khorram is also named in a September 2024 sexual abuse lawsuit filed by an unnamed woman who says the Combs employee often paid for her to travel and “perform” for Combs — the complaint alleges Combs’ staffers would “send drivers to [the victim’s] home to pick her up before she agreed to travel, to the point where she did not believe she had a choice.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>NPR reached out to Khorram’s attorneys Thursday morning for comment and is awaiting a reply.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Cuba Gooding Jr.\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966514\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966514\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr.png\" alt=\"A Black man sits in court wearing a suit and red scarf, looking concerned.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1335\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr-800x534.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr-1020x681.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr-160x107.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr-768x513.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr-1536x1025.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Cuba-Gooding-Jr-1920x1282.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Cuba Gooding Jr. \u003ccite>(Alec Tabak/The Daily News via AP, Pool, File)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The actor, who \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2022/04/13/1092699710/actor-cuba-gooding-jr-pleads-guilty-to-forcibly-touching\">pled guilty\u003c/a> in 2022 to forcibly touching a woman and \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2023/06/06/1180421961/cuba-gooding-jr-settles-civil-sex-abuse-case\">settled\u003c/a> a civil sexual abuse case in 2023, was named in an amendment to Rodney “Lil Rod” Jones’ original lawsuit against Combs. The producer alleges that Gooding Jr. fondled and groped him on Combs’ yacht. The actor has denied the allegations. “It’s the most ridiculous thing ever,” \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WuZbTB0Fh24\">he said\u003c/a> in an interview with Extra TV. “Welcome to being a celebrity. Welcome to my world.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Justin Dior Combs and Christian Combs\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966515\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966515\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior.png\" alt=\"Two young, casually dressed Black men stand on a red carpet, smiling.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1765\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior-800x706.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior-1020x900.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior-160x141.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior-768x678.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior-1536x1356.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dior-1920x1694.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Justin Dior Combs (left) and Christian Combs. \u003ccite>(Aaron Davidson/WireImage | Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Sean Combs’ son, Justin Dior Combs, is also named in Jones’ lawsuit against the rapper, which alleges that the producer witnessed the father and son solicit sex workers and admit underaged girls to a listening party where they laced the women’s drinks. The lawsuit also alleges that Jones witnessed Christian Combs, another son of Combs, drug and assault a woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Tyrone Blackburn, an attorney representing Jones, is also part of a separate lawsuit filed in April against Christian Combs on behalf of a plaintiff named Grace O’Marcaigh, alleging the younger Combs assaulted her on a yacht owned by Combs, who is named as co-defendant. Both Justin Dior Combs and Christian Combs have denied the allegations against them.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Jacob Arabov, aka “Jacob The Jeweler” aka Jacob Arabo \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966516\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966516\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov.png\" alt=\"A middle aged white man in a blue suit holds one wrist up to show his watch.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1336\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov-800x534.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov-1020x681.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov-160x107.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov-768x513.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov-1536x1026.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jacob-Arabov-1920x1283.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jacob Arabov. \u003ccite>(Matthew Eisman/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The founder and chairman of high-profile jewelry and watch company Jacob & Co. is named as a co-defendant in English’s suit, which alleges he was one of the “White Party” guests she was forced to have sex with. Jacob & Co did not respond to NPR’s request for comment.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Joseph “Big Joe” Sherman\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Combs’ former bodyguard is named as a co-defendant in Graves’ lawsuit, along with Daddy’s House Recordings, Bad Boy Entertainment and more. Graves claims that Sherman actively raped her alongside Combs in 2001. The lawsuit states that when she attempted to escape the assault, Combs slammed her head into a pool table, causing her to lose consciousness. After waking up, she says Sherman continued to assault her and slapped her until she passed out a third time. Sherman has \u003ca href=\"https://www.nbcnewyork.com/investigations/former-celeb-body-guard-falsely-accused-raping-woman-with-diddy/5849264/\">denied\u003c/a> Graves’ claims, saying he no longer worked for Bad Boy in 2001 and never met the young woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>DeVante Swing\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In an amended complaint filed on Oct. 8, Liza Gardner added Devante Swing of the R&B group Jodeci as a co-defendant to her lawsuit. Gardner alleges that Swing, who was an adult at the time, was her “assumed co-guardian” when he invited the underaged Gardner to New Jersey. The suit alleges that Swing “trafficked and or coerced the child to travel across state lines from North Carolina to New York and New Jersey with the hidden intention of providing the child with alcohol, and marijuana and prostituting the child to his A&R Combs.” Gardner’s friend, Monica Case, also filed a sworn declaration alleging Swing was in the room “watching whatever Puffy was doing to Liza.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Swing could not be reached for comment.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003ch2>Other Names To Know\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Jimmy Iovine\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966518\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966518\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine.png\" alt=\"A white man wearing a white baseball cap, backwards and sunglasses.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1331\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine-800x532.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine-1020x679.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine-160x106.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine-768x511.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine-1536x1022.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Jimmy-Iovine-1920x1278.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jimmy Iovine. \u003ccite>(Ronald Martinez/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In her lawsuit, Richard alleges that she attended a party where Interscope Records co-founder Jimmy Iovine witnessed Combs punch Ventura in the stomach. The lawsuit blames Iovine — and Interscope — for moving forward with a deal with Combs and Bad Boy Entertainment after becoming aware of his violent and abusive behavior. Separately, in 2022, Iovine was accused of sexual abuse and harassment by an unnamed woman under New York’s Adult Survivors Act. The woman later dropped the case.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>NPR reached out to Interscope and Iovine’s team but did not receive a comment.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Kid Cudi\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966519\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966519\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi.png\" alt=\"A Black man wearing a white t-shirt sings passionately into a microphone on stage.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1320\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi-800x528.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi-1020x673.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi-160x106.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi-768x507.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi-1536x1014.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cudi-1920x1267.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kid Cudi. \u003ccite>(Theo Wargo/Getty Images for Coachella)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Kid Cudi and Ventura were romantically involved in 2011. In her lawsuit, Ventura alleged that when Combs found emails between the two on Ventura’s phone, he became enraged and attacked her. Ventura attempted to run away but returned due to pressure from Combs’ staff; the lawsuit alleged that Combs then hit and kicked her.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lawsuit stated that in 2012, Combs told Ventura he wanted to “blow up” Kid Cudi’s car while the rapper was home. Kid Cudi corroborated to \u003cem>The New York Times\u003c/em> that his car exploded in his driveway around that time.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Caresha Brownlee, aka Yung Miami\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966520\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966520\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami.png\" alt=\"A glamourous Black woman performs on stage wearing a strapless leather dress.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1336\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami-800x534.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami-1020x681.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami-160x107.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami-768x513.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami-1536x1026.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Caresha-Brownlee-aka-Yung-Miami-1920x1283.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Caresha Brownlee, aka Yung Miami. \u003ccite>(Terence Rushin/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Yung Miami, half of the rap duo City Girls, dated Combs in recent years. In August, she denied knowing anything about the accusations that have surfaced against her ex. “I can’t speak on these allegations because I wasn’t around at the time,” she said on her Revolt TV show, \u003cem>Caresha Please\u003c/em>. “I don’t know that person, and that wasn’t my experience.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In September, however, Brownlee was named in a \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2024/09/27/g-s1-25157/sean-diddy-combs-jane-doe-pregnant-assault-lawsuit\">\u003cu>lawsuit\u003c/u>\u003c/a> filed against Combs by an unnamed woman. The lawsuit alleges that the plaintiff was forced to travel and “perform” for Combs many times from 2021 to 2024. Much of this travel was reportedly paid for by Combs’ staffer Kristina Khorram. The suit states that in 2022, the plaintiff was forced to take drugs and have sex with Combs. When she learned she was pregnant and told Combs, the lawsuit states that Brownlee — who is not a co-defendant on the complaint — harassed and called the plaintiff repeatedly, pressuring her to get an abortion. The stress allegedly led the woman to suffer a miscarriage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>NPR reached out to Brownlee’s representation Thursday morning and is awaiting a reply.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Tony Buzbee\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966521\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966521\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee.png\" alt=\"A white man in a suit.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1335\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee-800x534.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee-1020x681.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee-160x107.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee-768x513.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee-1536x1025.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tony-Buzbee-1920x1282.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Tony Buzbee. \u003ccite>(Eric Gay/AP)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>On Oct. 1, Texas attorney Tony Buzbee held a press conference announcing that his firm will be filing at least 120 individual civil lawsuits against Combs in the coming weeks. “The biggest secret in the entertainment industry that wasn’t really a secret at all has finally been revealed to the world,” Buzbee said during the presser. “The wall of silence has been broken, and victims are coming forward.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Buzbee is known for representing clients in high-profile cases, including Texas attorney general Ken Paxton during his 2023 impeachment trial, the women who sued football player \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2022/06/21/1106409107/cleveland-browns-deshaun-watson-settles-20-of-24-sexual-misconduct-lawsuits\">Deshaun Watson\u003c/a> for sexual misconduct, and the victims of the \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2021/11/11/1054765905/what-went-wrong-at-astroworld-the-deadly-dynamics-of-crowd-surge\">Astroworld\u003c/a> deadly crowd surge. During Paxton’s trial, Buzbee took his own share of the spotlight for a \u003ca href=\"https://www.houstonchronicle.com/opinion/editorials/article/ken-paxton-trial-buzbee-altuve-bucees-18355320.php\">public spat\u003c/a> with the media over how they photographed his tan in the courtroom.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition to practicing at the Buzbee Law Firm, his professional ventures include property development, a short-lived THC-infused \u003ca href=\"https://www.chron.com/food/article/houston-buzbee-thc-seltzer-discontinued-19462337.php\">selzer company\u003c/a> and local politics. He self-funded \u003ca href=\"https://www.texastribune.org/2019/11/05/houston-mayor-race-sylvester-turner-tony-buzbee-runoff/\">a run for Houston mayor\u003c/a> against Democratic incumbent Sylvester Turner in 2019 and \u003ca href=\"https://www.texastribune.org/2023/11/07/tony-buzbee-houston-city-council-election-nan-huffman/\">ran for Houston City Council\u003c/a> in 2023, ultimately losing both races.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13966505/heres-everyone-caught-in-the-web-of-the-sean-diddy-combs-allegations-so-far","authors":["byline_arts_13966505"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_69","arts_235"],"tags":["arts_2798","arts_21822","arts_831","arts_4959","arts_2462"],"affiliates":["arts_137"],"featImg":"arts_13966506","label":"arts_137"},"arts_13904911":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13904911","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13904911","score":null,"sort":[1728674736000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"bay-area-horror-movies-to-stream-this-halloween","title":"7 Bay Area Horror Movies For Your Halloween Viewing Pleasure","publishDate":1728674736,"format":"standard","headTitle":"7 Bay Area Horror Movies For Your Halloween Viewing Pleasure | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":140,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>If your idea of a perfect Halloween is turning off all the lights, tucking yourself under a blanket, and snuggling up next to a bag of fun-size candy for a horror movie marathon, you’re not alone. It’s a strategy that effectively removes the pressure of coming up with a costume idea and picking a party to attend. But it does present one pretty major quandary: what the hell to watch?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To aid you in this decision, we’ve come up with a list of classic horror movies—all filmed in the Bay Area, all available to stream or rent, and all liable to make your Halloween better.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch4>\u003cem>Cujo\u003c/em> (1983)\u003c/h4>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFUD8b-BZCc\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>An entire generation of ’80s kids is still walking around with a lifelong phobia of St. Bernards because of the sheer terror wrought by \u003cem>Cujo. \u003c/em>It’s a simple but disarmingly realistic concept: a large dog gets rabies from a bat bite and descends into madness, ambushing humans as he goes. One mother and son get caught in his proverbial crosshairs, trapped in their broken-down car with no escape.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Filmed in locations around the North Bay (Petaluma, Santa Rosa, Glenn Ellen and Mendocino), the movie was given a different (less bleak) ending than Stephen King’s original text. Despite this—and the fact that in some “attack” scenes the dog is transparently trying to cuddle screaming actors—\u003cem>Cujo\u003c/em> remains one of the better Stephen King movie adaptations. Dee Wallace’s performance will stay with you long after the credits roll.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Cujo’ is streaming now on Tubi.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch4>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>It Came From Beneath the Sea\u003c/em> (1955)\u003c/strong>\u003c/h4>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oEm1c-sBRfY\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you’ve ever wanted to see a giant radioactive octopus throwing its tentacles around downtown San Francisco, this is the film for you. Having had its habitat in the Philippines destroyed by thermonuclear tests, and after authorities repeatedly attempt to electrocute it, the poor, unfeasibly massive octopus arrives in the city and promptly goes berserk. It wrecks buildings! It squishes men! It squeezes the Ferry Building’s clock tower to death! It even wraps itself around the Golden Gate Bridge like it wants to make babies with it. Yes, it’s completely preposterous, but if you can’t watch a giant furious octopus suction-cupping bystanders to death on Halloween, when can you?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘It Came From Beneath the Sea’ is streaming now on Tubi.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch4>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Burnt Offerings\u003c/em> (1976)\u003c/strong>\u003c/h4>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oo_6Fb5k2lo\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In its earliest stages, it’s tempting to view \u003cem>Burnt Offerings\u003c/em> as just another bog-standard haunted house movie. Don’t be fooled. By the time the story has spiraled to its (absolutely bananas) climax, you’ll realize the filmmakers have lulled you into a false sense of security on purpose, only to pull the antique rug out from under you.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='pop_106535']Filmed in Oakland’s Dunsmuir House (a location with \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dunsmuir_House\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">a tragic real-life history\u003c/a>), the home here—like the one in Netflix’s \u003cem>Haunting of Hill House\u003c/em>—has a character and motivation all of its own. All of which is compounded by some spectacular over-acting by Oliver Reed, Karen Black and Bette Davis. The moral of the story? Don’t take on a summer rental if it comes with an old lady in the attic that you’re obliged to feed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Burnt Offerings’ is streaming now on Tubi.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch4>\u003cem>Phantasm\u003c/em> (1979)\u003c/h4>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RIRVOepV9Ik\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Reanimated corpses. Hell portals. Severed fingers that turn into insects. Flying silver spheres with spikes. Horny teens getting stabbed in cemeteries. Evil minions that may or may not have been inspired by \u003cem>Star Wars\u003c/em> Jawas. Absolutely nothing about \u003cem>Phantasm\u003c/em> makes any sense at all. (\u003cem>At all\u003c/em>!) But if you want to see Dunsmuir House again, while also feeling like you’ve taken strong hallucinogens, this is a good one to watch back-to-back with \u003cem>Burnt Offerings\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Phantasm’ is streaming now on Pluto TV, the Roku Channel and Tubi.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch4>\u003cem>The Birds\u003c/em> (1963)\u003c/h4>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ydLJtKlVVZw\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Let’s be real. If seagulls and their tiny evil faces decided tomorrow that humans needed to be eradicated, they could probably pull it off. Throw every other bird on Earth into the mix and, as one Bodega Bay bystander states in the middle of this Alfred Hitchcock classic, “Why, if that happened, we wouldn’t have a chance.” (It’s worth also keeping in mind that \u003ca href=\"https://www.mercurynews.com/2015/12/07/this-hitchcock-movie-was-inspired-by-crab-toxin-frenzy-in-capitola/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">\u003cem>The Birds\u003c/em> was inspired by a real-life event\u003c/a> in which a Northern California town was attacked en masse by seabirds, in 1961.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid=’arts_[aside postid='arts_13936524']‘]Witnessing San Francisco’s Melanie Daniels (charmingly played by Tippi Hedren) slowly devolve from a self-assured, independent practical joker to a traumatized shell is genuinely perturbing here. And not a little harrowing now that we know about \u003ca href=\"https://variety.com/2017/film/news/tippi-hedren-alfred-hitchcock-the-birds-sexual-harassment-1202637959/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">Hitchcock’s appalling treatment of Hedren\u003c/a> in real life. But the lure of \u003cem>The Birds\u003c/em> remains (Bodega Bay continues to be a hotspot for Hitchcock tourists), as does the lore. Unsubstantiated rumors persist that the Bay Area’s crow population increased enormously after Hitchcock released the birds into the wild at the end of filming. Just pray they don’t turn on us one day…\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘The Birds’ is streaming now on Netflix.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch4>\u003cem>The Fog\u003c/em> (1980)\u003c/h4>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fUyunS1hGyQ\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>The Fog\u003c/em> is the kind of unintentionally hilarious horror movie that is best watched in groups, with some sort of drinking game fashioned after it. Drink every time someone says “Mrs Kobritz”! Drink every time a dead body lands on Jamie Lee Curtis! Drink every time some idiot doesn’t notice there’s a rotting, hook-handed pirate ghost directly next to them?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Primarily filmed in Point Reyes (with some Bodega Bay and L.A. thrown in), \u003cem>The Fog\u003c/em> is a movie that came really close to making some salient points about the sins of our forefathers, only to sacrifice it all for plumes of dry ice and a hearty amount of face-stabbing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘The Fog’ is streaming now on Amazon Prime.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch4>\u003cem>Invasion of the Body Snatchers\u003c/em> (1978)\u003c/h4>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vc_0dlmSq7I\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Did the disturbing \u003ca href=\"https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0049366/?ref_=fn_al_tt_3\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">1956 classic\u003c/a> \u003cem>need\u003c/em> a more high-tech do-over? Not really. But boy oh boy, did it get a good one. The casting for the 1978 remake was damn near perfect (hello, young Jeff Goldblum!), and paranoia and panic is so thoroughly seeped into every scene, you can’t help but feel completely immersed in the characters’ nightmare, as one-by-one they’re replaced with alien replicas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Invasion\u003c/em> is also that rare San Francisco movie that includes Things That Locals Like, including Sutro Tower, Bimbo’s, the Broadway tunnel, and even (\u003cem>gasp!\u003c/em>) the Tenderloin. Plus! It contains the Donald Sutherland scene—\u003ca href=\"https://tenor.com/view/donald-sutherland-pod-people-podpeople-body-gif-10811761\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">you already know the one\u003c/a>—that launched a thousand gifs. A true horror classic and a scary little love letter to San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Invasion of the Body Snatchers’ is streaming now on Amazon Prime. (The 1956 original is also free on the Roku Channel, should you fancy a double feature.)\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Happy Halloween, horror fans!\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Skipping the parties for a movie marathon? Watch these locally filmed scary classics, available to stream or rent.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728674664,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":true,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":24,"wordCount":1254},"headData":{"title":"7 Horror Movies That Were Filmed in the SF Bay Area | KQED","description":"Skipping the parties for a movie marathon? Watch these locally filmed scary classics, available to stream or rent.","ogTitle":"7 Bay Area Horror Movies For Your Halloween Viewing Pleasure","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"7 Bay Area Horror Movies For Your Halloween Viewing Pleasure","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialTitle":"7 Horror Movies That Were Filmed in the SF Bay Area %%page%% %%sep%% KQED","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"7 Bay Area Horror Movies For Your Halloween Viewing Pleasure","datePublished":"2024-10-11T12:25:36-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-11T12:24:24-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13904911/bay-area-horror-movies-to-stream-this-halloween","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>If your idea of a perfect Halloween is turning off all the lights, tucking yourself under a blanket, and snuggling up next to a bag of fun-size candy for a horror movie marathon, you’re not alone. It’s a strategy that effectively removes the pressure of coming up with a costume idea and picking a party to attend. But it does present one pretty major quandary: what the hell to watch?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To aid you in this decision, we’ve come up with a list of classic horror movies—all filmed in the Bay Area, all available to stream or rent, and all liable to make your Halloween better.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch4>\u003cem>Cujo\u003c/em> (1983)\u003c/h4>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/vFUD8b-BZCc'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/vFUD8b-BZCc'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>An entire generation of ’80s kids is still walking around with a lifelong phobia of St. Bernards because of the sheer terror wrought by \u003cem>Cujo. \u003c/em>It’s a simple but disarmingly realistic concept: a large dog gets rabies from a bat bite and descends into madness, ambushing humans as he goes. One mother and son get caught in his proverbial crosshairs, trapped in their broken-down car with no escape.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Filmed in locations around the North Bay (Petaluma, Santa Rosa, Glenn Ellen and Mendocino), the movie was given a different (less bleak) ending than Stephen King’s original text. Despite this—and the fact that in some “attack” scenes the dog is transparently trying to cuddle screaming actors—\u003cem>Cujo\u003c/em> remains one of the better Stephen King movie adaptations. Dee Wallace’s performance will stay with you long after the credits roll.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Cujo’ is streaming now on Tubi.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch4>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>It Came From Beneath the Sea\u003c/em> (1955)\u003c/strong>\u003c/h4>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/oEm1c-sBRfY'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/oEm1c-sBRfY'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>If you’ve ever wanted to see a giant radioactive octopus throwing its tentacles around downtown San Francisco, this is the film for you. Having had its habitat in the Philippines destroyed by thermonuclear tests, and after authorities repeatedly attempt to electrocute it, the poor, unfeasibly massive octopus arrives in the city and promptly goes berserk. It wrecks buildings! It squishes men! It squeezes the Ferry Building’s clock tower to death! It even wraps itself around the Golden Gate Bridge like it wants to make babies with it. Yes, it’s completely preposterous, but if you can’t watch a giant furious octopus suction-cupping bystanders to death on Halloween, when can you?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘It Came From Beneath the Sea’ is streaming now on Tubi.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch4>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Burnt Offerings\u003c/em> (1976)\u003c/strong>\u003c/h4>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/Oo_6Fb5k2lo'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/Oo_6Fb5k2lo'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>In its earliest stages, it’s tempting to view \u003cem>Burnt Offerings\u003c/em> as just another bog-standard haunted house movie. Don’t be fooled. By the time the story has spiraled to its (absolutely bananas) climax, you’ll realize the filmmakers have lulled you into a false sense of security on purpose, only to pull the antique rug out from under you.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"pop_106535","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Filmed in Oakland’s Dunsmuir House (a location with \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dunsmuir_House\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">a tragic real-life history\u003c/a>), the home here—like the one in Netflix’s \u003cem>Haunting of Hill House\u003c/em>—has a character and motivation all of its own. All of which is compounded by some spectacular over-acting by Oliver Reed, Karen Black and Bette Davis. The moral of the story? Don’t take on a summer rental if it comes with an old lady in the attic that you’re obliged to feed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Burnt Offerings’ is streaming now on Tubi.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch4>\u003cem>Phantasm\u003c/em> (1979)\u003c/h4>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/RIRVOepV9Ik'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/RIRVOepV9Ik'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Reanimated corpses. Hell portals. Severed fingers that turn into insects. Flying silver spheres with spikes. Horny teens getting stabbed in cemeteries. Evil minions that may or may not have been inspired by \u003cem>Star Wars\u003c/em> Jawas. Absolutely nothing about \u003cem>Phantasm\u003c/em> makes any sense at all. (\u003cem>At all\u003c/em>!) But if you want to see Dunsmuir House again, while also feeling like you’ve taken strong hallucinogens, this is a good one to watch back-to-back with \u003cem>Burnt Offerings\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Phantasm’ is streaming now on Pluto TV, the Roku Channel and Tubi.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch4>\u003cem>The Birds\u003c/em> (1963)\u003c/h4>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/ydLJtKlVVZw'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/ydLJtKlVVZw'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Let’s be real. If seagulls and their tiny evil faces decided tomorrow that humans needed to be eradicated, they could probably pull it off. Throw every other bird on Earth into the mix and, as one Bodega Bay bystander states in the middle of this Alfred Hitchcock classic, “Why, if that happened, we wouldn’t have a chance.” (It’s worth also keeping in mind that \u003ca href=\"https://www.mercurynews.com/2015/12/07/this-hitchcock-movie-was-inspired-by-crab-toxin-frenzy-in-capitola/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">\u003cem>The Birds\u003c/em> was inspired by a real-life event\u003c/a> in which a Northern California town was attacked en masse by seabirds, in 1961.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13936524","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>‘]Witnessing San Francisco’s Melanie Daniels (charmingly played by Tippi Hedren) slowly devolve from a self-assured, independent practical joker to a traumatized shell is genuinely perturbing here. And not a little harrowing now that we know about \u003ca href=\"https://variety.com/2017/film/news/tippi-hedren-alfred-hitchcock-the-birds-sexual-harassment-1202637959/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">Hitchcock’s appalling treatment of Hedren\u003c/a> in real life. But the lure of \u003cem>The Birds\u003c/em> remains (Bodega Bay continues to be a hotspot for Hitchcock tourists), as does the lore. Unsubstantiated rumors persist that the Bay Area’s crow population increased enormously after Hitchcock released the birds into the wild at the end of filming. Just pray they don’t turn on us one day…\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘The Birds’ is streaming now on Netflix.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch4>\u003cem>The Fog\u003c/em> (1980)\u003c/h4>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/fUyunS1hGyQ'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/fUyunS1hGyQ'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cem>The Fog\u003c/em> is the kind of unintentionally hilarious horror movie that is best watched in groups, with some sort of drinking game fashioned after it. Drink every time someone says “Mrs Kobritz”! Drink every time a dead body lands on Jamie Lee Curtis! Drink every time some idiot doesn’t notice there’s a rotting, hook-handed pirate ghost directly next to them?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Primarily filmed in Point Reyes (with some Bodega Bay and L.A. thrown in), \u003cem>The Fog\u003c/em> is a movie that came really close to making some salient points about the sins of our forefathers, only to sacrifice it all for plumes of dry ice and a hearty amount of face-stabbing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘The Fog’ is streaming now on Amazon Prime.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch4>\u003cem>Invasion of the Body Snatchers\u003c/em> (1978)\u003c/h4>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/vc_0dlmSq7I'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/vc_0dlmSq7I'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Did the disturbing \u003ca href=\"https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0049366/?ref_=fn_al_tt_3\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">1956 classic\u003c/a> \u003cem>need\u003c/em> a more high-tech do-over? Not really. But boy oh boy, did it get a good one. The casting for the 1978 remake was damn near perfect (hello, young Jeff Goldblum!), and paranoia and panic is so thoroughly seeped into every scene, you can’t help but feel completely immersed in the characters’ nightmare, as one-by-one they’re replaced with alien replicas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Invasion\u003c/em> is also that rare San Francisco movie that includes Things That Locals Like, including Sutro Tower, Bimbo’s, the Broadway tunnel, and even (\u003cem>gasp!\u003c/em>) the Tenderloin. Plus! It contains the Donald Sutherland scene—\u003ca href=\"https://tenor.com/view/donald-sutherland-pod-people-podpeople-body-gif-10811761\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">you already know the one\u003c/a>—that launched a thousand gifs. A true horror classic and a scary little love letter to San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Invasion of the Body Snatchers’ is streaming now on Amazon Prime. (The 1956 original is also free on the Roku Channel, should you fancy a double feature.)\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Happy Halloween, horror fans!\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13904911/bay-area-horror-movies-to-stream-this-halloween","authors":["11242"],"programs":["arts_140"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_74","arts_75","arts_22313"],"tags":["arts_3669","arts_928","arts_10278","arts_977","arts_1206","arts_1143","arts_3231","arts_1146","arts_2721","arts_585"],"featImg":"arts_13905395","label":"arts_140"},"arts_13966481":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13966481","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13966481","score":null,"sort":[1728673328000]},"guestAuthors":[{"ID":"13818263","displayName":"Eric Deggans","firstName":"Eric","lastName":"Deggans","userLogin":"eric-deggans","userEmail":"","linkedAccount":"","website":"https://www.npr.org/people/243254424/eric-deggans","description":"","userNicename":"eric-deggans","type":"guest-author","nickname":""}],"slug":"disclaimer-tv-review-apple-tv-cate-blanchett-thriller-kevin-kline","title":"‘Disclaimer’ Is a Sprawling Thriller Built for the Streaming Age","publishDate":1728673328,"format":"standard","headTitle":"‘Disclaimer’ Is a Sprawling Thriller Built for the Streaming Age | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":140,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>Ever since streaming became a thing, I’ve wondered why more people who make TV don’t take advantage of its freedoms.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sure, creatives talk often about how they’re making 10-hour movies. But that’s frequently just empty bluster to cover for projects which feel like skeletal ideas stretched over too many hours, or a jumble of plotpoints shoehorned uneasily into episodes aimed mostly at boosting engagement.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13965841']And then a project comes along like Apple TV+’s \u003cem>Disclaimer\u003c/em>. This seven-episode series uses the breadth and sophistication of streaming to tell a tale which evolves steadily, appearing to be one thing before morphing into something else.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the process, it subverts expectations to ask pointed questions of both the characters and its audience.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>A woman who has it all faces her deepest secret\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>It all begins with Cate Blanchett’s character Catherine Ravenscroft. She’s a journalist and documentary filmmaker successful enough to earn a high-profile award presented by CNN star Christiane Amanpour one moment, and credibly fool a co-worker into thinking Jodie Foster will star in a movie adaptation the next.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She is the sort of high-achieving, work-focused alpha female that Blanchett plays so magnificently — see 2022’s Oscar-nominated \u003ca href=\"https://video.kqed.org/video/tar-hd4vxb/\">\u003cem>Tar\u003c/em>\u003c/a> — flanked by a well-meaning but feckless husband and an emotionally floundering son.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966484\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966484\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis.png\" alt=\"A man and woman stand in a kitchen with large windows talking to their adolescent son.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1201\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis-800x480.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis-1020x613.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis-160x96.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis-768x461.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis-1536x922.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis-1920x1153.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kodi Smit-McPhee plays Nicholas, Catherine’s son, while Sacha Baron Cohen plays her husband, Robert Ravenscroft. \u003ccite>(Apple TV+)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Living a glamorously upper middle class life, Catherine is a character easy to envy and suspect — so when a novel shows up in her mail which presents a lightly fictionalized story of her extra-marital encounter with a young man decades ago, it’s tough to find sympathy for a woman who seems to have betrayed everyone in her life.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13966239']The book, titled \u003cem>The Perfect Stranger\u003c/em>, comes prefaced with an ominous, um, disclaimer: “Any resemblance to persons living or dead is not a coincidence.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The novel paints a picture of horrific self-absorption Catherine is desperate to keep hidden. It details how a woman had an affair with a young man who later drowned trying to save her son, leading the woman to tell police she didn’t know him to cover up their connection.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A journalist renowned for exposing others’ secrets seems to have a terrible one of her own.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=so6XoqZgbVM\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>A story that moves carefully\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>It is difficult to explain the many twists this narrative takes without dropping spoilers that will ruin the experience. And some may feel the plot — crafted with an auteur’s flair by writer/director Alfonso Cuarón, based on a 2015 novel by Renee Knight — is too predictable and outlandish to land with the power he so obviously intends.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13965835']But I found myself swept away by Cuarón’s patient, attentive style. (You’ll spend way too much time wondering about the inner life of a cat which constantly pops up in Catherine’s home at the oddest moments, framed artfully by the director’s lens.) This is a story that moves carefully in revealing its secrets, but never completes an episode without delivering forward momentum, leaving you with new clues, bigger questions and a desire to learn more.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cuarón, a Mexican filmmaker whose name is associated with ambitious movies like \u003cem>Gravity \u003c/em>and \u003cem>Roma\u003c/em>, assembles an ace cast here. Sacha Baron Cohen is convincingly emasculated as Catherine’s entitled husband Robert and Oscar nominee Kodi Smit-McPhee brings maximum emo energy as their drug-addled son, Nicholas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But it is Kevin Kline who is the revelation, even though he’s turned in Oscar, Emmy and Tony-winning work for decades. An American often cast as the prototypical yank, here Kline expertly plays a quietly caustic British widower — retired private school teacher Stephen Brigstocke, devastated after the loss of his wife.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966485\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966485\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk.png\" alt=\"A man with white hair leans across a table in a dark bar or restaurant.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1298\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk-800x519.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk-1020x662.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk-160x104.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk-768x498.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk-1536x997.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk-1920x1246.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kevin Kline as Stephen Brigstocke. \u003ccite>(Apple TV+)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>With an immaculate accent and disheveled style, Kline plays Brigstocke as a man grieving over a family life atomized by loss, stumbling on an ambitious, merciless plan for revenge.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He blames Catherine for the death of his son, which happened after the two met years ago. Brigstocke vows to make her pay, in part, by circulating the book.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>Shifting narrators bring different perspectives\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Even the narration is complicated here. While Kline’s character often reveals his thoughts by speaking directly to the viewer, Catherine’s ideas are rendered by an omniscient female narrator speaking \u003cem>about\u003c/em> her, sometimes sounding like the voice of the book itself. (And yes, it can be confusing, possibly on purpose). There are also flashbacks featuring Kline playing Brigstocke as a younger man and a different actress, Leila George, playing the younger version of Catherine.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13966394']It all services a tale exploring the power of storytelling and the danger of assumptions leveraged to make us believe.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Yes, the ending is dramatic while spotlighting those ideas in stark terms — some may even find it overly manipulative and a little too pat.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But I reveled in a well-told tale that truly earned every second of its seven-episode length, allowing a master filmmaker the time, talent and resources to weave a story perfectly suited for the streaming space.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Here’s hoping a few other folks working in this industry are paying close attention.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Disclaimer’ is streaming now on Apple TV+.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Apple TV+’s series written and directed by Alfonso Cuarón stars Cate Blanchett as a successful documentarian with a secret.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728673328,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":true,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":24,"wordCount":942},"headData":{"title":"TV Review: ‘Disclaimer’ on Apple TV+ Is a Sprawling Thriller | KQED","description":"Apple TV+’s series written and directed by Alfonso Cuarón stars Cate Blanchett as a successful documentarian with a secret.","ogTitle":"‘Disclaimer’ Is a Sprawling Thriller Built for the Streaming Age","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"‘Disclaimer’ Is a Sprawling Thriller Built for the Streaming Age","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialTitle":"TV Review: ‘Disclaimer’ on Apple TV+ Is a Sprawling Thriller %%page%% %%sep%% KQED","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"‘Disclaimer’ Is a Sprawling Thriller Built for the Streaming Age","datePublished":"2024-10-11T12:02:08-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-11T12:02:08-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprByline":"Eric Deggans, NPR","nprStoryId":"nx-s1-5146493","nprHtmlLink":"https://www.npr.org/2024/10/11/nx-s1-5146493/disclaimer-apple-tv-alfonso-cuaron-cate-blanchett","nprRetrievedStory":"1","nprPubDate":"2024-10-11T12:06:57.84-04:00","nprStoryDate":"2024-10-11T12:06:57.84-04:00","nprLastModifiedDate":"2024-10-11T12:06:57.84-04:00","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","showOnAuthorArchivePages":"No","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13966481/disclaimer-tv-review-apple-tv-cate-blanchett-thriller-kevin-kline","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Ever since streaming became a thing, I’ve wondered why more people who make TV don’t take advantage of its freedoms.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sure, creatives talk often about how they’re making 10-hour movies. But that’s frequently just empty bluster to cover for projects which feel like skeletal ideas stretched over too many hours, or a jumble of plotpoints shoehorned uneasily into episodes aimed mostly at boosting engagement.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13965841","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>And then a project comes along like Apple TV+’s \u003cem>Disclaimer\u003c/em>. This seven-episode series uses the breadth and sophistication of streaming to tell a tale which evolves steadily, appearing to be one thing before morphing into something else.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the process, it subverts expectations to ask pointed questions of both the characters and its audience.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>A woman who has it all faces her deepest secret\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>It all begins with Cate Blanchett’s character Catherine Ravenscroft. She’s a journalist and documentary filmmaker successful enough to earn a high-profile award presented by CNN star Christiane Amanpour one moment, and credibly fool a co-worker into thinking Jodie Foster will star in a movie adaptation the next.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She is the sort of high-achieving, work-focused alpha female that Blanchett plays so magnificently — see 2022’s Oscar-nominated \u003ca href=\"https://video.kqed.org/video/tar-hd4vxb/\">\u003cem>Tar\u003c/em>\u003c/a> — flanked by a well-meaning but feckless husband and an emotionally floundering son.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966484\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966484\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis.png\" alt=\"A man and woman stand in a kitchen with large windows talking to their adolescent son.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1201\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis-800x480.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis-1020x613.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis-160x96.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis-768x461.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis-1536x922.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/dis-1920x1153.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kodi Smit-McPhee plays Nicholas, Catherine’s son, while Sacha Baron Cohen plays her husband, Robert Ravenscroft. \u003ccite>(Apple TV+)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Living a glamorously upper middle class life, Catherine is a character easy to envy and suspect — so when a novel shows up in her mail which presents a lightly fictionalized story of her extra-marital encounter with a young man decades ago, it’s tough to find sympathy for a woman who seems to have betrayed everyone in her life.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13966239","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>The book, titled \u003cem>The Perfect Stranger\u003c/em>, comes prefaced with an ominous, um, disclaimer: “Any resemblance to persons living or dead is not a coincidence.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The novel paints a picture of horrific self-absorption Catherine is desperate to keep hidden. It details how a woman had an affair with a young man who later drowned trying to save her son, leading the woman to tell police she didn’t know him to cover up their connection.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A journalist renowned for exposing others’ secrets seems to have a terrible one of her own.\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/so6XoqZgbVM'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/so6XoqZgbVM'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003ch3>A story that moves carefully\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>It is difficult to explain the many twists this narrative takes without dropping spoilers that will ruin the experience. And some may feel the plot — crafted with an auteur’s flair by writer/director Alfonso Cuarón, based on a 2015 novel by Renee Knight — is too predictable and outlandish to land with the power he so obviously intends.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13965835","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>But I found myself swept away by Cuarón’s patient, attentive style. (You’ll spend way too much time wondering about the inner life of a cat which constantly pops up in Catherine’s home at the oddest moments, framed artfully by the director’s lens.) This is a story that moves carefully in revealing its secrets, but never completes an episode without delivering forward momentum, leaving you with new clues, bigger questions and a desire to learn more.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cuarón, a Mexican filmmaker whose name is associated with ambitious movies like \u003cem>Gravity \u003c/em>and \u003cem>Roma\u003c/em>, assembles an ace cast here. Sacha Baron Cohen is convincingly emasculated as Catherine’s entitled husband Robert and Oscar nominee Kodi Smit-McPhee brings maximum emo energy as their drug-addled son, Nicholas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But it is Kevin Kline who is the revelation, even though he’s turned in Oscar, Emmy and Tony-winning work for decades. An American often cast as the prototypical yank, here Kline expertly plays a quietly caustic British widower — retired private school teacher Stephen Brigstocke, devastated after the loss of his wife.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966485\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966485\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk.png\" alt=\"A man with white hair leans across a table in a dark bar or restaurant.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1298\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk-800x519.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk-1020x662.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk-160x104.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk-768x498.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk-1536x997.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/kk-1920x1246.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kevin Kline as Stephen Brigstocke. \u003ccite>(Apple TV+)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>With an immaculate accent and disheveled style, Kline plays Brigstocke as a man grieving over a family life atomized by loss, stumbling on an ambitious, merciless plan for revenge.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He blames Catherine for the death of his son, which happened after the two met years ago. Brigstocke vows to make her pay, in part, by circulating the book.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>Shifting narrators bring different perspectives\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Even the narration is complicated here. While Kline’s character often reveals his thoughts by speaking directly to the viewer, Catherine’s ideas are rendered by an omniscient female narrator speaking \u003cem>about\u003c/em> her, sometimes sounding like the voice of the book itself. (And yes, it can be confusing, possibly on purpose). There are also flashbacks featuring Kline playing Brigstocke as a younger man and a different actress, Leila George, playing the younger version of Catherine.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13966394","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>It all services a tale exploring the power of storytelling and the danger of assumptions leveraged to make us believe.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Yes, the ending is dramatic while spotlighting those ideas in stark terms — some may even find it overly manipulative and a little too pat.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But I reveled in a well-told tale that truly earned every second of its seven-episode length, allowing a master filmmaker the time, talent and resources to weave a story perfectly suited for the streaming space.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Here’s hoping a few other folks working in this industry are paying close attention.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Disclaimer’ is streaming now on Apple TV+.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13966481/disclaimer-tv-review-apple-tv-cate-blanchett-thriller-kevin-kline","authors":["byline_arts_13966481"],"programs":["arts_140"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_75","arts_22313","arts_990"],"tags":["arts_9222","arts_769","arts_585"],"affiliates":["arts_137"],"featImg":"arts_13966482","label":"arts_140"},"arts_13966446":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13966446","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13966446","score":null,"sort":[1728660607000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"barry-mcgee-new-era-berggruen-interview","title":"Barry McGee Enters a New Era: ‘It’s a Rebirth, of Some Sort’","publishDate":1728660607,"format":"standard","headTitle":"Barry McGee Enters a New Era: ‘It’s a Rebirth, of Some Sort’ | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":140,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>Inside Berggruen Gallery, at the opening of his first solo show in San Francisco since 2015, Barry McGee stood against the front wall, surrounded by a crush of 20 people. The gallery’s lights dimmed for closing time, but its large crowd stayed put: art renegades with skateboards, backpacks, sketchbooks and denim jackets, drinking Modelo and smoking blunts outside, and then another, far smaller contingent of obviously wealthy art-world people.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This is not a new dichotomy for Barry McGee. A globally known artist shown in major museums and biennials all over the world, McGee has retained the artistic approach that made him a key figure in the Mission School. His style has immediacy, and constancy; as a holdover from his graffiti days, he still prefers to work under pressure.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966457\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966457\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barry McGee, at left, signs books for fans at the opening reception for ‘Barry McGee: Old Mystified’ on Sept. 27, 2024, at Berggruen Gallery in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>It’s a pivotal time for McGee. Having left the gallery Ratio 3 — now \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13925929/ratio-3-san-francisco-gallery-closing-after-20-years\">closed\u003c/a> — and separated from his wife, he’s immersed himself in working, often until 4 a.m. “It’s one of my favorite places to go, and just get lost and in the work somehow,” he told me. “With this new independence, I have to ground myself every now and then, and know when to stop, or to go outside and breathe.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At this moment, which, at age 58, he calls “a rebirth,” it was the right time to get McGee’s thoughts on the San Francisco underground, his unease at success in the art world, the current graffiti landscape and what his art practice looks like these days.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Interview has been edited for length and clarity.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966065\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966065\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barry McGee on KQED’s rooftop in San Francisco on Oct. 3, 2024, with the Mission District in the background. \u003ccite>(Martin do Nascimento/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>It’s been almost 10 years since your \u003ca href=\"https://www.sfgate.com/art/article/Barry-McGee-s-latest-exhibit-looks-at-his-Bay-6670485.php\">last big gallery show\u003c/a> here in San Francisco. Why has it been so long?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I’m not sure exactly why. I’ve done things in other places, like Los Angeles. The San Francisco gallery scene has done the shift where young galleries are artist-run spaces now, and there’s John Berggruen and maybe two or three others that are true San Francisco galleries, that are still kind of putting along.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Someone had dropped out of a slot at John Berggruen, and I could tell they were anxious to have it filled. And somehow, in the art circuit, people know I can do something within two weeks. I’m like the go-to when someone drops out. So it was about two and a half weeks, a quick turnaround.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Over 20 years ago, John and I had done a project. So it seemed like the right fit, and a nice time to do it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>I was really impressed by just how much work is in this show. What made this show so robust? Have you felt more productive lately?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I like making artwork. It’s what I do. And it comes pretty easy to me. I like the pressure, obviously. If someone needs something done within a week, or better yet, like three days, I can usually get something assembled pretty quickly.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966456\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966456\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The opening reception for ‘Barry McGee: Old Mystified’ on Sept. 27, 2024, at Berggruen Gallery in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>I want to get your thoughts on the current state of the art scene here in San Francisco. Rents are insanely unaffordable. \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/sfai\">SFAI\u003c/a> has closed, and the only other art school here \u003ca href=\"https://www.sfchronicle.com/entertainment/article/sf-cca-art-college-19717095.php\">is struggling\u003c/a>. And the underground, from which you sprung, is still alive, but, I think, nowhere near as strong. Are you worried about the future for artists in San Francisco? \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I used to be worried more, but I feel like the underground art scene is maybe the strongest I’ve ever seen it, right now. It feels diverse, and completely detached from the system that’s in place for artists. Even the nonprofits that I grew up on, like New Langton Arts, Southern Exposure, the Luggage Store — from art school, you’d get handed fairly softly to these nonprofits to show your work, or to help you develop your work, or write grants. But now it feels like that’s completely eliminated.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So from what I’ve seen, it’s just kids just having shows in garages, or in any space they can find. It feels good in the best way possible, like it’s not for the commerce. I mean, it’s always good to sell something, or for someone to love something enough to buy it. But it feels like it’s coming from a really honest place that I haven’t seen for a long time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966460\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966460\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Skateboards were a common sight at the opening reception for ‘Barry McGee: Old Mystified’ on Sept. 27, 2024, at Berggruen Gallery in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>It sounds like what you’re saying is, even in what was considered underground circles in the ’90s, there was an apparatus through smaller nonprofits to be in the system. And now people are saying, “We’re going to do our own thing, we don’t need you.”\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Yeah, I come from the generation where there were still NEA grants. Like, you could write grants, and a lot of times you could get them. And now that’s not there anymore.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I see shows that are as good as any gallery at, like, Adobe Books, or garages in Daly City. I think artists always know how to get the work out there. When the system’s not in place, or if they never grew up with the system, the kids will just do it naturally. They’ll find the place for it. They’ll do it outdoors if they have to. Some of the best shows I’ve seen were in outdoor abandoned spaces, where they just do it for one night and bands play.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I think it’s going to be a great couple of years coming up. And in my honest opinion, it feels like nothing I’ve seen before. Which is always a good thing in the arts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966455\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966455\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A crowd spills out onto Hawthorne Street at the opening reception for ‘Barry McGee: Old Mystified’ on Sept. 27, 2024, at Berggruen Gallery in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>I walked to your opening past YBCA and SFMOMA, these giant institutions that have been criticized for being more about money than about presenting Bay Area art. And it was great to walk down the block and turn the corner, and see so many people spilling out on the sidewalk, and be like, “Yes! Look at this happening, in such close proximity!”\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Yeah, that was nice. I mean, I think I understand the dilemma they’re in. They can’t be as spontaneous. Their decisions are like five years out that they’re making. So the art can be completely stale by the time it’s on the wall, or it’s not what kids are into. That’s how it was when I used to go to the museum, even when it was on Van Ness, in the old building. There was nothing that ever spoke to me, or connected. There’s fantastic museums in this country, but I feel like San Francisco’s a little bit still in New York or whatever the latest fashion is with artists.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>You mean adhering to national trends rather than having a finger on the pulse of the Bay Area?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I feel like the Oakland Museum does a much better job being in touch and in tune with the community. I think SFMOMA’s gotten a lot better. But I don’t know. I’m not running that place. I know they’re trying.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966458\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1333px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966458\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cc7c58ff98749cc2cb61bd96b0bc984c.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1333\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cc7c58ff98749cc2cb61bd96b0bc984c.jpg 1333w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cc7c58ff98749cc2cb61bd96b0bc984c-800x1200.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cc7c58ff98749cc2cb61bd96b0bc984c-1020x1530.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cc7c58ff98749cc2cb61bd96b0bc984c-160x240.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cc7c58ff98749cc2cb61bd96b0bc984c-768x1152.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cc7c58ff98749cc2cb61bd96b0bc984c-1024x1536.jpg 1024w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1333px) 100vw, 1333px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barry McGee, ‘Untitled,’ 2023; acrylic and vinyl on panel. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>At your opening, you were surrounded, filling sketchbooks and drawing on skateboards for fans and friends. And just 10 feet away was a price list that ranges from $6,000 to $250,000. I wondered: Do any of your old friends or people from the early Mission scene give you a hard time for essentially being too successful?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>They should, for sure. I mean, I’ve had mild success. I’m aware of it. I know John Berggruen is a blue chip gallery. I know that they sell work that’s much more expensive, and historically sits in art history in a much cleaner way than my work would. So that’s part of the fun of it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>You mean people talking shit about your success is part of the fun of it? \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>No, there’s truth to that! I mean, the idea of success in America is a very, very peculiar thing. I’m super uncomfortable with it. I know what I need to get by, and to make everything happen to keep my studio afloat. I wish I had a little more success — it would make things easier at this age — but it is what it is.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Obviously you have to sell stuff to keep afloat, but success to me is not being a pig about it, and not screwing people over to get ahead. All the principles that were instilled in me at a younger age.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966454\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1766px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966454\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1766\" height=\"2560\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-scaled.jpg 1766w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-800x1160.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-1020x1479.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-160x232.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-768x1114.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-1059x1536.jpg 1059w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-1412x2048.jpg 1412w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-1920x2784.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1766px) 100vw, 1766px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barry McGee, ‘Untitled,’ 2023; gouache on paper in artist frame. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>You’re one of the few visual artists I’ve talked to who seems conflicted about it. It’s refreshing that you acknowledge that tension. \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The idea of success in America is just insane. It’s like a successful war somewhere, you know, “a successful operation.” That idea is disgusting to me. I’m into the whole community rising up, ideally, in a perfect world. That’s what happened with graffiti. It started with a few thousand kids, and now it feels like 100,000 kids, worldwide, that are interested in having something to say, and doing it on their terms, for better or for worse. I’m not a big advocate for everything that’s out there, but it’s grown in this way that’s both beautiful and scary at the same time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Why do you say it’s scary?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sometimes I look at it and I’m just like, “This is insane, how kids are hanging off of buildings and rappelling off of upper decks of bridges just to get their name out there.” It’s daunting. That’s what you have to do today to get recognized. I mean, this is coming from someone that doesn’t even do graffiti anymore, but I still look at it all the time, and I’m still enamored by it. But you have to be rappelling off a building or hanging off a ledge, and making your final piece look like you’re not twitching or shaking.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966463\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966463\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The downstairs of Berggruen Gallery, showcasing the work of others, during the opening of ‘Barry McGee: Old Mystified’ on Sept. 27. 2024. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>You mentioned lifting up the community, and it made me think of the act of giving over space in your exhibition to others, in the downstairs room, which seems to be a tradition for you. Why do you do that? Why do you say, “I’m going to cram this with hundreds of small framed works and photos by my friends?” \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As I get older, a solo show is the epitome of the things that I don’t like in art. It doesn’t feel right to command that much space, or to have your name on that much square footage. My favorite shows are always group shows, or shows in a community center or bookstore, where it just looks good. And that’s one of the few things you can control in art, while you’re alive, is how you want your art to look. I like the way it looks when you have all that different visual energy in one room, sitting next to each other. I hate to say it in this way, but it feels healing to have that much visual information in a room. It feels warm, and inclusive. It feels the opposite of how the upstairs feels, with all the white walls and space, and the formula of selling artwork.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Is there a particular piece down there that you were especially happy to include? \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>John was kind enough to let us pull any of the artwork that he had in his inventory, which included these amazing Philip Gustons from the ’60s. There’s a Kiki Smith, who, when I was in art school, she was the blue chip artist at the time. And then there’s some Robert Crumbs in there that are two-sided, which I probably took out of a sketchbook, that are sitting next to some of my degenerate art friends. When I have the opportunity, it’s amazing to be able to put the work together like that, when it doesn’t belong, and when physically, it can’t happen in any other situation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>I like it as a sort of egalitarian equalizer. You have R. Crumb right next to Bozo Texino, you know? And, like, what really is the difference?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s no difference. They all hang equally in my world. I’ve studied line my entire life, and I like the Bozo Texino line just as much as Philip Guston’s. It’s just that one’s on a freight train, and one’s sitting in the vault of a museum for years and years, without people being able to see it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966461\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966461\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1346\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640-800x538.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640-1020x686.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640-768x517.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640-1536x1034.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640-1920x1292.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barry McGee, ‘Untitled,’ 2024; acrylic and gouache on panel. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>There’s a story a lot of people have heard about you, about quietly slipping your art into the piles of amateur art at thrift stores around the Mission, so people who stumble upon it can buy it for, like, 50¢. Do you still do that at all?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I don’t do that anymore. But I do work under aliases, which is fun, to do something similar, under aliases. Where you just leave stuff, or have a cafe show — that style, where it feels more detached from myself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Detached from Barry McGee, the personal brand that you probably never wanted to be a personal brand?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I definitely don’t want to be a personal brand, but yeah, it feels detached from that, which I like. That’s what graffiti is still good for. I like that you can still write a political statement about something, or about a shitty situation, along a wall, and nobody really knows who did it. Which I feel is one of the last great things. It’s amazing what a 99¢ can of spray paint can achieve still.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s someone close in my neighborhood in the Mission, an old anarchist type, that spray paints on bedsheets, ties shoes on the bottom and throws it over the freeway overpass. They get the message out there for the traffic coming into the city. And it looks good, it gets their point across, it gets you to think, and it sits there for a couple days before the city workers take it down. I like that crude, old-fashioned approach. It’s built into the DNA of San Francisco, a little bit. People in the Bay Area know how to get their point across, to get their dissatisfaction across in efficient ways. It’s better and faster than the internet, I feel like.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966464\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966464\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barry McGee, ‘Untitled,’ 2024; acrylic, gouache, ink and aerosol on paper.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>It seems like you’re in a prolific stage — what’s next for you?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Probably some things that you wouldn’t know that I did, for sure. I feel like I’m an activist in that way. And I’m mad that I still am, at 58. Because from 17 ’til now, it’s been nonstop protests with very little change. I understand change takes a long time, but there’s nothing that I could gauge in my lifetime that was just like, “Wow, that worked. That changed something.” Which makes me think that history just completely repeats itself, and so you have to do it constantly.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Barry McGee: Old Mystified’ is on view through Nov. 7, 2024, at Berggruen Gallery in San Francisco. Details here.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Separated from his wife and immersed in working, McGee discusses his first major San Francisco solo show in nearly 10 years.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728685375,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":47,"wordCount":2886},"headData":{"title":"Barry McGee Enters a New Era: ‘It’s a Rebirth, of Some Sort’ | KQED","description":"Separated from his wife and immersed in working, McGee discusses his first major San Francisco solo show in nearly 10 years.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Barry McGee Enters a New Era: ‘It’s a Rebirth, of Some Sort’","datePublished":"2024-10-11T08:30:07-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-11T15:22:55-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13966446","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13966446/barry-mcgee-new-era-berggruen-interview","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Inside Berggruen Gallery, at the opening of his first solo show in San Francisco since 2015, Barry McGee stood against the front wall, surrounded by a crush of 20 people. The gallery’s lights dimmed for closing time, but its large crowd stayed put: art renegades with skateboards, backpacks, sketchbooks and denim jackets, drinking Modelo and smoking blunts outside, and then another, far smaller contingent of obviously wealthy art-world people.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This is not a new dichotomy for Barry McGee. A globally known artist shown in major museums and biennials all over the world, McGee has retained the artistic approach that made him a key figure in the Mission School. His style has immediacy, and constancy; as a holdover from his graffiti days, he still prefers to work under pressure.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966457\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966457\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_8391-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barry McGee, at left, signs books for fans at the opening reception for ‘Barry McGee: Old Mystified’ on Sept. 27, 2024, at Berggruen Gallery in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>It’s a pivotal time for McGee. Having left the gallery Ratio 3 — now \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13925929/ratio-3-san-francisco-gallery-closing-after-20-years\">closed\u003c/a> — and separated from his wife, he’s immersed himself in working, often until 4 a.m. “It’s one of my favorite places to go, and just get lost and in the work somehow,” he told me. “With this new independence, I have to ground myself every now and then, and know when to stop, or to go outside and breathe.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At this moment, which, at age 58, he calls “a rebirth,” it was the right time to get McGee’s thoughts on the San Francisco underground, his unease at success in the art world, the current graffiti landscape and what his art practice looks like these days.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Interview has been edited for length and clarity.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966065\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966065\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/241003-BARRY-MCGEE-MD-01-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barry McGee on KQED’s rooftop in San Francisco on Oct. 3, 2024, with the Mission District in the background. \u003ccite>(Martin do Nascimento/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>It’s been almost 10 years since your \u003ca href=\"https://www.sfgate.com/art/article/Barry-McGee-s-latest-exhibit-looks-at-his-Bay-6670485.php\">last big gallery show\u003c/a> here in San Francisco. Why has it been so long?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I’m not sure exactly why. I’ve done things in other places, like Los Angeles. The San Francisco gallery scene has done the shift where young galleries are artist-run spaces now, and there’s John Berggruen and maybe two or three others that are true San Francisco galleries, that are still kind of putting along.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Someone had dropped out of a slot at John Berggruen, and I could tell they were anxious to have it filled. And somehow, in the art circuit, people know I can do something within two weeks. I’m like the go-to when someone drops out. So it was about two and a half weeks, a quick turnaround.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Over 20 years ago, John and I had done a project. So it seemed like the right fit, and a nice time to do it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>I was really impressed by just how much work is in this show. What made this show so robust? Have you felt more productive lately?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I like making artwork. It’s what I do. And it comes pretty easy to me. I like the pressure, obviously. If someone needs something done within a week, or better yet, like three days, I can usually get something assembled pretty quickly.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966456\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966456\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000636-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The opening reception for ‘Barry McGee: Old Mystified’ on Sept. 27, 2024, at Berggruen Gallery in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>I want to get your thoughts on the current state of the art scene here in San Francisco. Rents are insanely unaffordable. \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/sfai\">SFAI\u003c/a> has closed, and the only other art school here \u003ca href=\"https://www.sfchronicle.com/entertainment/article/sf-cca-art-college-19717095.php\">is struggling\u003c/a>. And the underground, from which you sprung, is still alive, but, I think, nowhere near as strong. Are you worried about the future for artists in San Francisco? \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I used to be worried more, but I feel like the underground art scene is maybe the strongest I’ve ever seen it, right now. It feels diverse, and completely detached from the system that’s in place for artists. Even the nonprofits that I grew up on, like New Langton Arts, Southern Exposure, the Luggage Store — from art school, you’d get handed fairly softly to these nonprofits to show your work, or to help you develop your work, or write grants. But now it feels like that’s completely eliminated.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So from what I’ve seen, it’s just kids just having shows in garages, or in any space they can find. It feels good in the best way possible, like it’s not for the commerce. I mean, it’s always good to sell something, or for someone to love something enough to buy it. But it feels like it’s coming from a really honest place that I haven’t seen for a long time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966460\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966460\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/roseskateboards-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Skateboards were a common sight at the opening reception for ‘Barry McGee: Old Mystified’ on Sept. 27, 2024, at Berggruen Gallery in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>It sounds like what you’re saying is, even in what was considered underground circles in the ’90s, there was an apparatus through smaller nonprofits to be in the system. And now people are saying, “We’re going to do our own thing, we don’t need you.”\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Yeah, I come from the generation where there were still NEA grants. Like, you could write grants, and a lot of times you could get them. And now that’s not there anymore.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I see shows that are as good as any gallery at, like, Adobe Books, or garages in Daly City. I think artists always know how to get the work out there. When the system’s not in place, or if they never grew up with the system, the kids will just do it naturally. They’ll find the place for it. They’ll do it outdoors if they have to. Some of the best shows I’ve seen were in outdoor abandoned spaces, where they just do it for one night and bands play.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I think it’s going to be a great couple of years coming up. And in my honest opinion, it feels like nothing I’ve seen before. Which is always a good thing in the arts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966455\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966455\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000657-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A crowd spills out onto Hawthorne Street at the opening reception for ‘Barry McGee: Old Mystified’ on Sept. 27, 2024, at Berggruen Gallery in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>I walked to your opening past YBCA and SFMOMA, these giant institutions that have been criticized for being more about money than about presenting Bay Area art. And it was great to walk down the block and turn the corner, and see so many people spilling out on the sidewalk, and be like, “Yes! Look at this happening, in such close proximity!”\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Yeah, that was nice. I mean, I think I understand the dilemma they’re in. They can’t be as spontaneous. Their decisions are like five years out that they’re making. So the art can be completely stale by the time it’s on the wall, or it’s not what kids are into. That’s how it was when I used to go to the museum, even when it was on Van Ness, in the old building. There was nothing that ever spoke to me, or connected. There’s fantastic museums in this country, but I feel like San Francisco’s a little bit still in New York or whatever the latest fashion is with artists.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>You mean adhering to national trends rather than having a finger on the pulse of the Bay Area?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I feel like the Oakland Museum does a much better job being in touch and in tune with the community. I think SFMOMA’s gotten a lot better. But I don’t know. I’m not running that place. I know they’re trying.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966458\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1333px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966458\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cc7c58ff98749cc2cb61bd96b0bc984c.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1333\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cc7c58ff98749cc2cb61bd96b0bc984c.jpg 1333w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cc7c58ff98749cc2cb61bd96b0bc984c-800x1200.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cc7c58ff98749cc2cb61bd96b0bc984c-1020x1530.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cc7c58ff98749cc2cb61bd96b0bc984c-160x240.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cc7c58ff98749cc2cb61bd96b0bc984c-768x1152.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/cc7c58ff98749cc2cb61bd96b0bc984c-1024x1536.jpg 1024w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1333px) 100vw, 1333px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barry McGee, ‘Untitled,’ 2023; acrylic and vinyl on panel. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>At your opening, you were surrounded, filling sketchbooks and drawing on skateboards for fans and friends. And just 10 feet away was a price list that ranges from $6,000 to $250,000. I wondered: Do any of your old friends or people from the early Mission scene give you a hard time for essentially being too successful?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>They should, for sure. I mean, I’ve had mild success. I’m aware of it. I know John Berggruen is a blue chip gallery. I know that they sell work that’s much more expensive, and historically sits in art history in a much cleaner way than my work would. So that’s part of the fun of it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>You mean people talking shit about your success is part of the fun of it? \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>No, there’s truth to that! I mean, the idea of success in America is a very, very peculiar thing. I’m super uncomfortable with it. I know what I need to get by, and to make everything happen to keep my studio afloat. I wish I had a little more success — it would make things easier at this age — but it is what it is.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Obviously you have to sell stuff to keep afloat, but success to me is not being a pig about it, and not screwing people over to get ahead. All the principles that were instilled in me at a younger age.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966454\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1766px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966454\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1766\" height=\"2560\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-scaled.jpg 1766w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-800x1160.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-1020x1479.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-160x232.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-768x1114.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-1059x1536.jpg 1059w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-1412x2048.jpg 1412w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8186eeb5005d1c9744a75922c12618ef-1920x2784.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1766px) 100vw, 1766px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barry McGee, ‘Untitled,’ 2023; gouache on paper in artist frame. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>You’re one of the few visual artists I’ve talked to who seems conflicted about it. It’s refreshing that you acknowledge that tension. \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The idea of success in America is just insane. It’s like a successful war somewhere, you know, “a successful operation.” That idea is disgusting to me. I’m into the whole community rising up, ideally, in a perfect world. That’s what happened with graffiti. It started with a few thousand kids, and now it feels like 100,000 kids, worldwide, that are interested in having something to say, and doing it on their terms, for better or for worse. I’m not a big advocate for everything that’s out there, but it’s grown in this way that’s both beautiful and scary at the same time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Why do you say it’s scary?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sometimes I look at it and I’m just like, “This is insane, how kids are hanging off of buildings and rappelling off of upper decks of bridges just to get their name out there.” It’s daunting. That’s what you have to do today to get recognized. I mean, this is coming from someone that doesn’t even do graffiti anymore, but I still look at it all the time, and I’m still enamored by it. But you have to be rappelling off a building or hanging off a ledge, and making your final piece look like you’re not twitching or shaking.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966463\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966463\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/P1000608-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The downstairs of Berggruen Gallery, showcasing the work of others, during the opening of ‘Barry McGee: Old Mystified’ on Sept. 27. 2024. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>You mentioned lifting up the community, and it made me think of the act of giving over space in your exhibition to others, in the downstairs room, which seems to be a tradition for you. Why do you do that? Why do you say, “I’m going to cram this with hundreds of small framed works and photos by my friends?” \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As I get older, a solo show is the epitome of the things that I don’t like in art. It doesn’t feel right to command that much space, or to have your name on that much square footage. My favorite shows are always group shows, or shows in a community center or bookstore, where it just looks good. And that’s one of the few things you can control in art, while you’re alive, is how you want your art to look. I like the way it looks when you have all that different visual energy in one room, sitting next to each other. I hate to say it in this way, but it feels healing to have that much visual information in a room. It feels warm, and inclusive. It feels the opposite of how the upstairs feels, with all the white walls and space, and the formula of selling artwork.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Is there a particular piece down there that you were especially happy to include? \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>John was kind enough to let us pull any of the artwork that he had in his inventory, which included these amazing Philip Gustons from the ’60s. There’s a Kiki Smith, who, when I was in art school, she was the blue chip artist at the time. And then there’s some Robert Crumbs in there that are two-sided, which I probably took out of a sketchbook, that are sitting next to some of my degenerate art friends. When I have the opportunity, it’s amazing to be able to put the work together like that, when it doesn’t belong, and when physically, it can’t happen in any other situation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>I like it as a sort of egalitarian equalizer. You have R. Crumb right next to Bozo Texino, you know? And, like, what really is the difference?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s no difference. They all hang equally in my world. I’ve studied line my entire life, and I like the Bozo Texino line just as much as Philip Guston’s. It’s just that one’s on a freight train, and one’s sitting in the vault of a museum for years and years, without people being able to see it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966461\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966461\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1346\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640-800x538.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640-1020x686.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640-768x517.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640-1536x1034.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/1152c3e1588d327899c433cd3b18e640-1920x1292.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barry McGee, ‘Untitled,’ 2024; acrylic and gouache on panel. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Berggruen Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>There’s a story a lot of people have heard about you, about quietly slipping your art into the piles of amateur art at thrift stores around the Mission, so people who stumble upon it can buy it for, like, 50¢. Do you still do that at all?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I don’t do that anymore. But I do work under aliases, which is fun, to do something similar, under aliases. Where you just leave stuff, or have a cafe show — that style, where it feels more detached from myself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Detached from Barry McGee, the personal brand that you probably never wanted to be a personal brand?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I definitely don’t want to be a personal brand, but yeah, it feels detached from that, which I like. That’s what graffiti is still good for. I like that you can still write a political statement about something, or about a shitty situation, along a wall, and nobody really knows who did it. Which I feel is one of the last great things. It’s amazing what a 99¢ can of spray paint can achieve still.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s someone close in my neighborhood in the Mission, an old anarchist type, that spray paints on bedsheets, ties shoes on the bottom and throws it over the freeway overpass. They get the message out there for the traffic coming into the city. And it looks good, it gets their point across, it gets you to think, and it sits there for a couple days before the city workers take it down. I like that crude, old-fashioned approach. It’s built into the DNA of San Francisco, a little bit. People in the Bay Area know how to get their point across, to get their dissatisfaction across in efficient ways. It’s better and faster than the internet, I feel like.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966464\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966464\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/3b0a3d750ff8476889489fb0097ed3fd-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barry McGee, ‘Untitled,’ 2024; acrylic, gouache, ink and aerosol on paper.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>It seems like you’re in a prolific stage — what’s next for you?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Probably some things that you wouldn’t know that I did, for sure. I feel like I’m an activist in that way. And I’m mad that I still am, at 58. Because from 17 ’til now, it’s been nonstop protests with very little change. I understand change takes a long time, but there’s nothing that I could gauge in my lifetime that was just like, “Wow, that worked. That changed something.” Which makes me think that history just completely repeats itself, and so you have to do it constantly.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Barry McGee: Old Mystified’ is on view through Nov. 7, 2024, at Berggruen Gallery in San Francisco. Details here.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13966446/barry-mcgee-new-era-berggruen-interview","authors":["185"],"programs":["arts_140"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_22313","arts_70"],"tags":["arts_10342","arts_10278","arts_903","arts_1257","arts_1146"],"featImg":"arts_13966066","label":"arts_140"},"arts_13961188":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13961188","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13961188","score":null,"sort":[1721296854000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"rightnowishs-grand-finale-words-of-wisdom-from-timothy-b","title":"Rightnowish’s Grand Finale: Words of Wisdom from Timothy B.","publishDate":1721296854,"format":"audio","headTitle":"Rightnowish’s Grand Finale: Words of Wisdom from Timothy B. | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":8720,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"#episode-transcript\">\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">View the full episode transcript.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On this final episode of the Rightnowish podcast, we end back where we started — but with some pretty significant updates.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the fall of 2019, renowned visual artist \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/timothyb_art/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Timothy B.\u003c/a> gave us the first full Rightnowish interview for an episode titled ‘\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13868502/from-d-boys-to-dope-art\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">From D-Boys to Dope Art.\u003c/a>’\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During that interview, Timothy B. was flanked by his mother Dana Bluitt and his father Timothy Bluitt Sr. as he shared with us his perspective on mural making, community building and his work in Oakland. We also discussed how Timothy B.’s colorful paintings on the streets of the Town differ drastically from the work his father did in Oakland during the ’80s and early ’90s.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Timothy Sr., a representative of East Oakland’s legendary 69 Mob, was incarcerated in a federal penitentiary for over two decades. During that time, Mrs. Bluitt held the family down. Timothy B. took notes from both his mother and father, and flourished because of the strength of his parents.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now, five years after our last conversation on tape, Timothy B. is a father too. Stepping into parenthood has changed his painting schedule and personal priorities. But he remains creative.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13961247\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13961247 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56%E2%80%AFPM-800x1100.png\" alt=\"Timothy B. stands on a lift in front of a mural he painted at the East Oakland Youth Center dedicated to journalist and political prisoner Mumia Abu-Jamal.\" width=\"800\" height=\"1100\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM-800x1100.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM-160x220.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM-768x1056.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM.png 972w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Timothy B. stands on a lift in front of a mural he painted at the East Oakland Youth Center dedicated to journalist and political prisoner Mumia Abu-Jamal. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Timothy B. )\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In fact, having painted numerous murals around the Town and beyond, his work is getting out there more than ever. In Oakland, his work can be seen at places like the corner store on Grand and Ellita, as well as the broad side of buildings on 7th and Washington, 82nd and International, and 15th and Webster. He has more murals in the works, plus he’s expanding beyond walls: this past February, his designs were commissioned, printed on T-shirts and given away at \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/C3RDwNIPJNl/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">a Golden State Warriors home game\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This week, we discuss how Timothy B. has grown, and how Oakland has changed. And then Timothy B. gives us some advice on how to deal with major life transitions; advice I needed to hear as we end the Rightnowish podcast.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" frameborder=\"0\" height=\"200\" scrolling=\"no\" src=\"https://playlist.megaphone.fm/?e=KQINC4636659965\" width=\"100%\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Rightnowish is an arts and culture podcast produced at KQED. Listen to it wherever you get your podcasts or click the play button at the top of this page and subscribe to the show on \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/721590300/rightnowish\">NPR One\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/show/7kEJuafTzTVan7B78ttz1I\">Spotify\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rightnowish/id1482187648\">Apple Podcasts\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://tunein.com/podcasts/Arts--Culture-Podcasts/Rightnowish-p1258245/\">TuneIn\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/rightnowish\">Stitcher\u003c/a> or wherever you get your podcasts. \u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2 id=\"episode-transcript\">Episode Transcript\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This is a computer-generated transcript. While our team has reviewed it, there may be errors.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw, Host: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What’s up Rightnowish listeners, I’m your host Pendarvis Harshaw.\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We are here. At the grand finale, the final episode of Rightnowish. We’ve had an amazing 5 year run, so much love, so many memories. Thank you all for rocking with us. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">To host an arts and culture show in the Bay Area, it’s been so dope, I haven’t fully processed it. But for now I can say that I’m extremely grateful…grateful for the emails, comments on social posts and conversations at bars and coffee shops…grateful that we’ve had the support from KQED and from the community…grateful to the people who shared their stories with us, and to everyone who listened. I could go on but, yeah, grateful. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That being said, to bookend this Rightnowish podcast, we’re going back to where we started: a conversation with the very first guest on the show– renowned visual artist, Timothy B. We caught up with him via zoom from his Oakland studio.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Timothy’s work can be found all around the Bay, and beyond. He’s painted images of community members, goddesses and of Huey P. Newton. His mural of the late Nipsey Hussle on Grand and Perkins in Oakland is a trademark piece. Another mural on a wall further down Grand pays homage to the memory of Nia Wilson, a young woman who was slain on a BART platform in July of 2018.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">In the first episode of Rightnowish, Timothy B. and I discussed how his work on the streets of the town differs drastically from the work his father did. His dad, Timothy Bliutt Sr., is a factor from East Oakland’s legendary 69 Mob, and he also served a significant amount of time in a federal penitentiary. And from there Mrs. Dana Bluitt, Timothy B.’s mother, held the family down. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Which brings us to today– over the last five years a lot has changed for Timothy B. He’s a father now. So, for this final episode, we chop it up about Oakland, art and mental health, as well as fatherhood, personal relationships and the process of dealing with life’s big transitions.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">As you might imagine, I could use that advice right now… ish. Yeah, more after this. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">There we go, there we go, there we go, Timothy B! I’m really excited to talk to you today for a number of reasons, really because you were the first interview in the Rightnowish series. You started us off on a good note, and so much has changed over the past 5 years. And when I think of all the changes that you have experienced, the biggest one is fatherhood. And our past conversation was about family and your parents and how they poured into you, and how that shows up in your artistry and given your relationship with your parents, what does it mean to you to be a father now? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You know, my son, he’s, he’s going to be the first to experience having a father and grandfather in I don’t know in how many generations, you know. So, you know, that’s power in itself. Because my father was incarcerated for 24 years of my life, to receive the opportunity to be a father now is monumental. I could give, ya know, my son, he’s…he won’t ever know what it’s like to not have a father around, you know? God forbid anything happens to me. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">As you know, being a father yourself, I’m learning a lot around patience. Being a father is probably like, one of my hardest tasks, you know, just trying to balance everything. And I don’t cook to often, right? I think that’s probably like, my biggest challenge is just cooking different meals \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[laughs] \u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">that he would eat.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Gotta gotta learn more than just the spaghetti. I remember I stepped my game up. \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[laughs]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I’m tired of having spaghetti, Dawg. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah, for me, man, it’s mashed potatoes and broccoli \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[laughs]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> But that’s clutch, that’s clutch yeah. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But yeah, it’s been an amazing journey so far. You know, just seeing how, how much joy he bring, not to just myself, but everybody around. I feel like he was just, he was brought at the perfect time. He gave my family hope. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You mentioned the balance, the balancing act and, I mean, you are a renowned artist. How has parenthood changed your schedule as an artist?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Considering that I have my son four days a week,\u003c/span> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I don’t have much time to focus on my work like I used to. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">When I’m off father-duty, I’m a lot more focused than I used to be. Whereas before I used to cat-off a little bit. But these days, time management skills is a lot much better, ya feel me? So, I think I’m a little more disciplined now than I was back then.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What are some of the things that you’re dealing with with life right now? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B:\u003c/b> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">It’s a trip because you know all these great things are happening in the art department. You know a lot of people, they see me accomplishing great things every month. I’m having unveiling, there’s a celebration, I’m being honored by The Warriors and Allen Temple Baptist Church and it’s just love being thrown my way, but at the, on the flip side of it, man I’ve been feeling like sh*t. I’m feeling terrible, you know, just for the reasons that my personal relationships to the people I love the most, you know are in sh*t. It’s like, I don’t know man. Just trying to find that balance. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What’s your method to the madness? How do you deal with it all? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Martial arts, you know, has really helped. I’ve been, you know, getting some sun. And also just accepting that people are going to feel how they feel, you know. Like, there’s nothing, you know, there’s certain things you just can’t do. You know, you can’t control how people think of you. You know, like, if your intentions is to do right by people, but they don’t, they can’t receive it for whatever reason, yo, that’s outside of you. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But I’m learning, you know, these days to, you know, continue to just show the love that I want to receive and if they could receive it from you. Cool. You know, if they not, if they can’t, I’m still going to try to pour as much as I can. You feel me? But, you know, just set my boundaries to protect my heart. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You know, the last thing I want to do is like, be here, be out here angry or frustrated. You feel me? So, you know, as of late I’ve been, like, moving in gratitude. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You once told me that your artwork is an escape for you. Does it still provide that same escape? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah man, it really does. It really does. Because I mean, essentially, you know, I create worlds, you know whenever, you know, I’m logging into the arts, I’m in a whole different zone. Like, I’m in a whole different thinking space, \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Can you describe your style? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I think I have, like a Afro-futuristic, surrealist style. I love, like, a stylistic, illustrative type of art, you know, similar to, like, you know, like, comic book style. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I’m thinking of, like, I’ll read, like, you know, like the \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Black Panther\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">, the one that was written by Ta-Nehisi Coates.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I can’t think of who the illustrator is right now, but his work is is tight. You know, it’s like it’s highly detailed, kind of wanderlust. And whenever I think of my work, you know, I try to give that kind of a Candyland type feel, you know, but with, you know, a real sense of reality, \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That makes perfect sense. But I like what you say like surrealism, Afrofuturism, a little, you know, flavor to make it shine. And I could fully see that in your work, man. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I’m thinking about a design you did earlier this year that debuted for The Warriors during Black History Month, real big deal, man. Walk me through the process of designing that image. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I usually start with looking at different references. I would write down, like my intentions for the design, how I want it to feel, what I want it to represent. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That piece was like, it was themed around manifesting your life, your destiny, your dreams. And it was of a boy, you know, with his hands out and like his strength, his power is in his hands. Right? And my, you know, thinking about myself, you know, I’ve been able to manifest everything I want in life, you know, like I’m living the dream right now. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Man, it all came from my hands. You know, I’ve been able to travel the world. I’ve been able to buy the cars I want. I’ve been able to live in the space I want to live in. All because of these hands. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Behind him was, the elders, you know, that were standing together in prayer, praying over the boy. You know, I come from a big village as you know. My family has always been, ya know, real good at uplifting me in whatever I wanted to do. And, so, you know, that’s what that piece was about. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Having that image printed on hundreds of thousands of t-shirts inside of The Warriors’ Chase Center, what was it like for you to walk in that evening and see your art?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">It was unreal. I would say it was unreal. Like, I don’t even think it really like resonated until afterwards. It was a reminder that I’ve came a long way. You know, like I, you know, I remember, you know, being in college telling myself that one day all this is going to make sense. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">So now, to be in this position where, like you say, I got t-shirts, I’m doing.. got t-shirts all over the arena, the Chase. You know, I could barely even afford to be in the arena but now, you know, I’m in partnership with The Warriors, you feel me. It was like, man, like, it’s just it’s euphoric. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You had your son with you? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">My son going everywhere with me. You feel me? Like he needs to know that anything is possible at a very young age.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What does it mean for someone to come up to you and compliment your work and give you your flowers? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What that means to me is that one… people, people see me. And that feels good in itself to be seen, to be recognized, and also to be appreciated for the things that you love to do that you think no one sees. It’d be one thing if I was out here popular for, like, putting out negativity. But when you’re not with that, when you out here putting, you know, spreading love, that’s what you receive. Everywhere you go is just love. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Beyond putting paint where it ain’t and just doing an immaculate job at it, you’re also the founder of Good Air Studios, where you host live events and workshops for artists. Bringing it back a little bit, the last time we talked you were at Mouse Cat, and five years, a lot has changed. How was Good Air different from Mouse Cat? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Mouse Cat, personal studio is just all about…it’s my living space, you know. This is where I create, where I sleep, you know, but I needed a space for the community. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">For the longest time I’ve been doing this arts stuff, running this business by myself. I wanted to share this with other people. There’s a bunch of artists that look up to me and want to work by my side. And I want to be there to work in collaboration with them and teach them and learn from them. So I wanted to, you know, create a space for, you know, me and the community to connect and build. That’s how Good Air Studios came about. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">For months, I was looking in this space, and I was just trying to, you know, figure out how I was going to pay that rent. So I reached out to all my closest friends and, you know, I pitched the idea to them, and then they believed in what I was talking about and now we here. \u003c/span>\u003cb> \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We makin’ enough money to pay rent, you know, but that’s a milestone. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That’s gotta be dope to see it happening, the wheels are turning.\u003c/span> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I’ve been to the space it’s high ceilings, you know, like old warehouse just covered in art everywhere, the ping pong tables out front. You got the vibes and all of that is important. But the… what you just said beyond just the esthetics, this is about having space for creatives to come together. Why do you think that’s important for creatives in the Bay area right now? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I feel like we as Black artists need a space for us, you know? And that’s what Good Air Studio is, you know? And it’s not just for Black artists, of course, but we are trying to encourage the Black community to come out and even those who don’t really draw like that and who want to learn, you know, we want to host workshops for them so they could develop the confidence to, you know, express themselves through that medium. We doing something really dope. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I feel like you personally, and also the larger ideas that come from you and your circle are very representative of creatives in the Bay Area right now. And also like, looking forward, I feel like y’all have a foot on the pulse of the now and also have some say in what’s to come down the pipeline.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And we’re coming to the end of producing this show. With that, there’s a slight relief that I don’t do the same thing over and over again and there’s some sadness of like losing this thing that I love, right? And you as a person who’s gone through some transitions in your life, what advice would you give to myself and the Rightnowish team as we go through this transition? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We all creatives here. So no matter what we doing, we are doing something..we gon do something dope. So I guess my advice is to, continue to move in purpose, you know, and continue to move, towards whatever it is that is fulfilling your spirit, you know, because that is the thing that is going to wake us all up. That’s the… you like, you starting this show, this is the thing that we all needed. We needed to hear these stories of, you know, all these local celebrities. We use these stories that just, you know, remind us of maybe what we doing or, maybe get an insight of, you know, what is out there. Yeah man, continue to explore and experiment, it will happen for you, I promise you. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Thank you. Thank you for sharing some insight into your life as a parent and also your life as an artist, man. And like, yeah, I can’t thank you enough because, you know, you changed the visual landscape at a place that we love. And that’s, that’s a hell of a task. So thank you. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">There’s this thing that happens in journalism sometimes, where the person you’re interviewing speaks your truths. And all you can do is nod in agreement as the tape rolls. Timothy B.’s thoughts on community interaction — how it’s fueled his art and community service, even while dealing with all that life can throw at him. Yeah, bingo. That’s been a big part of this Rightnowish experience. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">So Timothy B, Thank you again for your words of wisdom, your story and your work. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">To keep up with Timothy B’s visual arts, live events and more follow him on Instagram at timothyb underscore art. That’s t-i-m-o-t-h-y-b underscore art. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And, wow…. for the last time here go the show credits:\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This episode was hosted by me, Pendarvis Harshaw\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Marisol Medina-Cadena is the Rightnowish producer. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Some of the music you heard in the episode was sourced from Audio Network.\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\nChris Hambrick and Chris Egusa edited this episode.\u003cbr>\nChristopher Beale is our engineer.\u003cbr>\nThe Rightnowish team is also supported by Jen Chien, Ugur Dursun, Holly Kernan and Katie Sprenger.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Aight yall. This is the end. Thanks again. As a wise person once told me: keep it lit. Peace. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Rightnowish is a KQED production.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Rightnowish ends its five-year run by checking back in with its very first guest, Timothy B. ","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726875349,"stats":{"hasAudio":true,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":80,"wordCount":3587},"headData":{"title":"Rightnowish’s Grand Finale: Words of Wisdom from Timothy B. | KQED","description":"On this final episode of the Rightnowish podcast, we end back where we started and check in with renowned visual artist Timothy B., who was the very first Rightnowish guest.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialDescription":"On this final episode of the Rightnowish podcast, we end back where we started and check in with renowned visual artist Timothy B., who was the very first Rightnowish guest.","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Rightnowish’s Grand Finale: Words of Wisdom from Timothy B.","datePublished":"2024-07-18T03:00:54-07:00","dateModified":"2024-09-20T16:35:49-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"audioUrl":"https://www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.mp3/chrt.fm/track/G6C7C3/traffic.megaphone.fm/KQINC4636659965.mp3?updated=1721260825","sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13961188","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13961188/rightnowishs-grand-finale-words-of-wisdom-from-timothy-b","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"#episode-transcript\">\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">View the full episode transcript.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On this final episode of the Rightnowish podcast, we end back where we started — but with some pretty significant updates.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the fall of 2019, renowned visual artist \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/timothyb_art/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Timothy B.\u003c/a> gave us the first full Rightnowish interview for an episode titled ‘\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13868502/from-d-boys-to-dope-art\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">From D-Boys to Dope Art.\u003c/a>’\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During that interview, Timothy B. was flanked by his mother Dana Bluitt and his father Timothy Bluitt Sr. as he shared with us his perspective on mural making, community building and his work in Oakland. We also discussed how Timothy B.’s colorful paintings on the streets of the Town differ drastically from the work his father did in Oakland during the ’80s and early ’90s.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Timothy Sr., a representative of East Oakland’s legendary 69 Mob, was incarcerated in a federal penitentiary for over two decades. During that time, Mrs. Bluitt held the family down. Timothy B. took notes from both his mother and father, and flourished because of the strength of his parents.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now, five years after our last conversation on tape, Timothy B. is a father too. Stepping into parenthood has changed his painting schedule and personal priorities. But he remains creative.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13961247\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13961247 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56%E2%80%AFPM-800x1100.png\" alt=\"Timothy B. stands on a lift in front of a mural he painted at the East Oakland Youth Center dedicated to journalist and political prisoner Mumia Abu-Jamal.\" width=\"800\" height=\"1100\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM-800x1100.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM-160x220.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM-768x1056.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM.png 972w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Timothy B. stands on a lift in front of a mural he painted at the East Oakland Youth Center dedicated to journalist and political prisoner Mumia Abu-Jamal. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Timothy B. )\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In fact, having painted numerous murals around the Town and beyond, his work is getting out there more than ever. In Oakland, his work can be seen at places like the corner store on Grand and Ellita, as well as the broad side of buildings on 7th and Washington, 82nd and International, and 15th and Webster. He has more murals in the works, plus he’s expanding beyond walls: this past February, his designs were commissioned, printed on T-shirts and given away at \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/C3RDwNIPJNl/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">a Golden State Warriors home game\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This week, we discuss how Timothy B. has grown, and how Oakland has changed. And then Timothy B. gives us some advice on how to deal with major life transitions; advice I needed to hear as we end the Rightnowish podcast.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" frameborder=\"0\" height=\"200\" scrolling=\"no\" src=\"https://playlist.megaphone.fm/?e=KQINC4636659965\" width=\"100%\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Rightnowish is an arts and culture podcast produced at KQED. Listen to it wherever you get your podcasts or click the play button at the top of this page and subscribe to the show on \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/721590300/rightnowish\">NPR One\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/show/7kEJuafTzTVan7B78ttz1I\">Spotify\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rightnowish/id1482187648\">Apple Podcasts\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://tunein.com/podcasts/Arts--Culture-Podcasts/Rightnowish-p1258245/\">TuneIn\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/rightnowish\">Stitcher\u003c/a> or wherever you get your podcasts. \u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2 id=\"episode-transcript\">Episode Transcript\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This is a computer-generated transcript. While our team has reviewed it, there may be errors.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw, Host: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What’s up Rightnowish listeners, I’m your host Pendarvis Harshaw.\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We are here. At the grand finale, the final episode of Rightnowish. We’ve had an amazing 5 year run, so much love, so many memories. Thank you all for rocking with us. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">To host an arts and culture show in the Bay Area, it’s been so dope, I haven’t fully processed it. But for now I can say that I’m extremely grateful…grateful for the emails, comments on social posts and conversations at bars and coffee shops…grateful that we’ve had the support from KQED and from the community…grateful to the people who shared their stories with us, and to everyone who listened. I could go on but, yeah, grateful. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That being said, to bookend this Rightnowish podcast, we’re going back to where we started: a conversation with the very first guest on the show– renowned visual artist, Timothy B. We caught up with him via zoom from his Oakland studio.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Timothy’s work can be found all around the Bay, and beyond. He’s painted images of community members, goddesses and of Huey P. Newton. His mural of the late Nipsey Hussle on Grand and Perkins in Oakland is a trademark piece. Another mural on a wall further down Grand pays homage to the memory of Nia Wilson, a young woman who was slain on a BART platform in July of 2018.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">In the first episode of Rightnowish, Timothy B. and I discussed how his work on the streets of the town differs drastically from the work his father did. His dad, Timothy Bliutt Sr., is a factor from East Oakland’s legendary 69 Mob, and he also served a significant amount of time in a federal penitentiary. And from there Mrs. Dana Bluitt, Timothy B.’s mother, held the family down. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Which brings us to today– over the last five years a lot has changed for Timothy B. He’s a father now. So, for this final episode, we chop it up about Oakland, art and mental health, as well as fatherhood, personal relationships and the process of dealing with life’s big transitions.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">As you might imagine, I could use that advice right now… ish. Yeah, more after this. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">There we go, there we go, there we go, Timothy B! I’m really excited to talk to you today for a number of reasons, really because you were the first interview in the Rightnowish series. You started us off on a good note, and so much has changed over the past 5 years. And when I think of all the changes that you have experienced, the biggest one is fatherhood. And our past conversation was about family and your parents and how they poured into you, and how that shows up in your artistry and given your relationship with your parents, what does it mean to you to be a father now? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You know, my son, he’s, he’s going to be the first to experience having a father and grandfather in I don’t know in how many generations, you know. So, you know, that’s power in itself. Because my father was incarcerated for 24 years of my life, to receive the opportunity to be a father now is monumental. I could give, ya know, my son, he’s…he won’t ever know what it’s like to not have a father around, you know? God forbid anything happens to me. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">As you know, being a father yourself, I’m learning a lot around patience. Being a father is probably like, one of my hardest tasks, you know, just trying to balance everything. And I don’t cook to often, right? I think that’s probably like, my biggest challenge is just cooking different meals \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[laughs] \u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">that he would eat.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Gotta gotta learn more than just the spaghetti. I remember I stepped my game up. \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[laughs]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I’m tired of having spaghetti, Dawg. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah, for me, man, it’s mashed potatoes and broccoli \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[laughs]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> But that’s clutch, that’s clutch yeah. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But yeah, it’s been an amazing journey so far. You know, just seeing how, how much joy he bring, not to just myself, but everybody around. I feel like he was just, he was brought at the perfect time. He gave my family hope. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You mentioned the balance, the balancing act and, I mean, you are a renowned artist. How has parenthood changed your schedule as an artist?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Considering that I have my son four days a week,\u003c/span> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I don’t have much time to focus on my work like I used to. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">When I’m off father-duty, I’m a lot more focused than I used to be. Whereas before I used to cat-off a little bit. But these days, time management skills is a lot much better, ya feel me? So, I think I’m a little more disciplined now than I was back then.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What are some of the things that you’re dealing with with life right now? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B:\u003c/b> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">It’s a trip because you know all these great things are happening in the art department. You know a lot of people, they see me accomplishing great things every month. I’m having unveiling, there’s a celebration, I’m being honored by The Warriors and Allen Temple Baptist Church and it’s just love being thrown my way, but at the, on the flip side of it, man I’ve been feeling like sh*t. I’m feeling terrible, you know, just for the reasons that my personal relationships to the people I love the most, you know are in sh*t. It’s like, I don’t know man. Just trying to find that balance. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What’s your method to the madness? How do you deal with it all? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Martial arts, you know, has really helped. I’ve been, you know, getting some sun. And also just accepting that people are going to feel how they feel, you know. Like, there’s nothing, you know, there’s certain things you just can’t do. You know, you can’t control how people think of you. You know, like, if your intentions is to do right by people, but they don’t, they can’t receive it for whatever reason, yo, that’s outside of you. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But I’m learning, you know, these days to, you know, continue to just show the love that I want to receive and if they could receive it from you. Cool. You know, if they not, if they can’t, I’m still going to try to pour as much as I can. You feel me? But, you know, just set my boundaries to protect my heart. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You know, the last thing I want to do is like, be here, be out here angry or frustrated. You feel me? So, you know, as of late I’ve been, like, moving in gratitude. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You once told me that your artwork is an escape for you. Does it still provide that same escape? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah man, it really does. It really does. Because I mean, essentially, you know, I create worlds, you know whenever, you know, I’m logging into the arts, I’m in a whole different zone. Like, I’m in a whole different thinking space, \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Can you describe your style? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I think I have, like a Afro-futuristic, surrealist style. I love, like, a stylistic, illustrative type of art, you know, similar to, like, you know, like, comic book style. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I’m thinking of, like, I’ll read, like, you know, like the \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Black Panther\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">, the one that was written by Ta-Nehisi Coates.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I can’t think of who the illustrator is right now, but his work is is tight. You know, it’s like it’s highly detailed, kind of wanderlust. And whenever I think of my work, you know, I try to give that kind of a Candyland type feel, you know, but with, you know, a real sense of reality, \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That makes perfect sense. But I like what you say like surrealism, Afrofuturism, a little, you know, flavor to make it shine. And I could fully see that in your work, man. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I’m thinking about a design you did earlier this year that debuted for The Warriors during Black History Month, real big deal, man. Walk me through the process of designing that image. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I usually start with looking at different references. I would write down, like my intentions for the design, how I want it to feel, what I want it to represent. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That piece was like, it was themed around manifesting your life, your destiny, your dreams. And it was of a boy, you know, with his hands out and like his strength, his power is in his hands. Right? And my, you know, thinking about myself, you know, I’ve been able to manifest everything I want in life, you know, like I’m living the dream right now. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Man, it all came from my hands. You know, I’ve been able to travel the world. I’ve been able to buy the cars I want. I’ve been able to live in the space I want to live in. All because of these hands. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Behind him was, the elders, you know, that were standing together in prayer, praying over the boy. You know, I come from a big village as you know. My family has always been, ya know, real good at uplifting me in whatever I wanted to do. And, so, you know, that’s what that piece was about. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Having that image printed on hundreds of thousands of t-shirts inside of The Warriors’ Chase Center, what was it like for you to walk in that evening and see your art?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">It was unreal. I would say it was unreal. Like, I don’t even think it really like resonated until afterwards. It was a reminder that I’ve came a long way. You know, like I, you know, I remember, you know, being in college telling myself that one day all this is going to make sense. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">So now, to be in this position where, like you say, I got t-shirts, I’m doing.. got t-shirts all over the arena, the Chase. You know, I could barely even afford to be in the arena but now, you know, I’m in partnership with The Warriors, you feel me. It was like, man, like, it’s just it’s euphoric. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You had your son with you? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">My son going everywhere with me. You feel me? Like he needs to know that anything is possible at a very young age.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What does it mean for someone to come up to you and compliment your work and give you your flowers? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What that means to me is that one… people, people see me. And that feels good in itself to be seen, to be recognized, and also to be appreciated for the things that you love to do that you think no one sees. It’d be one thing if I was out here popular for, like, putting out negativity. But when you’re not with that, when you out here putting, you know, spreading love, that’s what you receive. Everywhere you go is just love. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Beyond putting paint where it ain’t and just doing an immaculate job at it, you’re also the founder of Good Air Studios, where you host live events and workshops for artists. Bringing it back a little bit, the last time we talked you were at Mouse Cat, and five years, a lot has changed. How was Good Air different from Mouse Cat? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Mouse Cat, personal studio is just all about…it’s my living space, you know. This is where I create, where I sleep, you know, but I needed a space for the community. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">For the longest time I’ve been doing this arts stuff, running this business by myself. I wanted to share this with other people. There’s a bunch of artists that look up to me and want to work by my side. And I want to be there to work in collaboration with them and teach them and learn from them. So I wanted to, you know, create a space for, you know, me and the community to connect and build. That’s how Good Air Studios came about. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">For months, I was looking in this space, and I was just trying to, you know, figure out how I was going to pay that rent. So I reached out to all my closest friends and, you know, I pitched the idea to them, and then they believed in what I was talking about and now we here. \u003c/span>\u003cb> \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We makin’ enough money to pay rent, you know, but that’s a milestone. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That’s gotta be dope to see it happening, the wheels are turning.\u003c/span> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I’ve been to the space it’s high ceilings, you know, like old warehouse just covered in art everywhere, the ping pong tables out front. You got the vibes and all of that is important. But the… what you just said beyond just the esthetics, this is about having space for creatives to come together. Why do you think that’s important for creatives in the Bay area right now? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I feel like we as Black artists need a space for us, you know? And that’s what Good Air Studio is, you know? And it’s not just for Black artists, of course, but we are trying to encourage the Black community to come out and even those who don’t really draw like that and who want to learn, you know, we want to host workshops for them so they could develop the confidence to, you know, express themselves through that medium. We doing something really dope. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I feel like you personally, and also the larger ideas that come from you and your circle are very representative of creatives in the Bay Area right now. And also like, looking forward, I feel like y’all have a foot on the pulse of the now and also have some say in what’s to come down the pipeline.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And we’re coming to the end of producing this show. With that, there’s a slight relief that I don’t do the same thing over and over again and there’s some sadness of like losing this thing that I love, right? And you as a person who’s gone through some transitions in your life, what advice would you give to myself and the Rightnowish team as we go through this transition? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We all creatives here. So no matter what we doing, we are doing something..we gon do something dope. So I guess my advice is to, continue to move in purpose, you know, and continue to move, towards whatever it is that is fulfilling your spirit, you know, because that is the thing that is going to wake us all up. That’s the… you like, you starting this show, this is the thing that we all needed. We needed to hear these stories of, you know, all these local celebrities. We use these stories that just, you know, remind us of maybe what we doing or, maybe get an insight of, you know, what is out there. Yeah man, continue to explore and experiment, it will happen for you, I promise you. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Thank you. Thank you for sharing some insight into your life as a parent and also your life as an artist, man. And like, yeah, I can’t thank you enough because, you know, you changed the visual landscape at a place that we love. And that’s, that’s a hell of a task. So thank you. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">There’s this thing that happens in journalism sometimes, where the person you’re interviewing speaks your truths. And all you can do is nod in agreement as the tape rolls. Timothy B.’s thoughts on community interaction — how it’s fueled his art and community service, even while dealing with all that life can throw at him. Yeah, bingo. That’s been a big part of this Rightnowish experience. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">So Timothy B, Thank you again for your words of wisdom, your story and your work. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">To keep up with Timothy B’s visual arts, live events and more follow him on Instagram at timothyb underscore art. That’s t-i-m-o-t-h-y-b underscore art. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And, wow…. for the last time here go the show credits:\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This episode was hosted by me, Pendarvis Harshaw\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Marisol Medina-Cadena is the Rightnowish producer. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Some of the music you heard in the episode was sourced from Audio Network.\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\nChris Hambrick and Chris Egusa edited this episode.\u003cbr>\nChristopher Beale is our engineer.\u003cbr>\nThe Rightnowish team is also supported by Jen Chien, Ugur Dursun, Holly Kernan and Katie Sprenger.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Aight yall. This is the end. Thanks again. As a wise person once told me: keep it lit. Peace. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Rightnowish is a KQED production.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13961188/rightnowishs-grand-finale-words-of-wisdom-from-timothy-b","authors":["11491","11528"],"programs":["arts_8720"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_21759","arts_70"],"tags":["arts_1737","arts_1143"],"featImg":"arts_13961190","label":"arts_8720"},"arts_13960783":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13960783","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13960783","score":null,"sort":[1720692046000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"building-a-native-arts-and-culture-space-from-the-ground-up","title":"Building a Native Arts and Culture Space From the Ground Up","publishDate":1720692046,"format":"audio","headTitle":"Building a Native Arts and Culture Space From the Ground Up | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":8720,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"#episode-transcript\">\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">View the full episode transcript.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The dense green woods of Sonoma County’s Forestville are home to a two-story music studio and residence that runs on solar energy. Known as \u003ca href=\"https://nestbuildcreate.com/\">The NEST\u003c/a>, the mocha colored building is made completely of wood, clay and cob; and it was created for the purpose of serving Native artists.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/raskdee/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Ras K’dee\u003c/a>, a Pomo-African hip-hop musician who grew up in the area, is the caretaker of the space, but he didn’t build it alone. He worked with over 350 people, many of them young folks from youth groups like \u003ca href=\"http://podersf.org\">PODER\u003c/a>, who took the 70-mile trip from San Francisco to this town by the Russian River, or Bidapte, “big river” in the Pomo language.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960798\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13960798 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-800x1067.jpg\" alt=\"Ras K'dee stands in front of the NEST, a solar powered hub for Native artists in Forestville, CA. \" width=\"800\" height=\"1067\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-1152x1536.jpg 1152w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-1536x2048.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-scaled.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Ras K’dee stands in front of the NEST, a solar powered hub for Native artists in Forestville, CA. \u003ccite>(Pendarvis Harshaw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In addition to being the founder of \u003ca href=\"https://www.facebook.com/snagmagazine/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">SNAG Magazine\u003c/a>, an Indigenous periodical that has been in print for over two decades, Ras K’dee is also a DJ and emcee in the group \u003ca href=\"https://www.audiopharmacy.com/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Audiopharmacy\u003c/a>. This week on Rightnowish, we talk about the importance of working together to create spaces for artists to grow, and the ins and outs of land reclamation in the North Bay.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" frameborder=\"0\" height=\"200\" scrolling=\"no\" src=\"https://playlist.megaphone.fm/?e=KQINC7274032882\" width=\"100%\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Rightnowish is an arts and culture podcast produced at KQED. Listen to it wherever you get your podcasts or click the play button at the top of this page and subscribe to the show on \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/721590300/rightnowish\">NPR One\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/show/7kEJuafTzTVan7B78ttz1I\">Spotify\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rightnowish/id1482187648\">Apple Podcasts\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://tunein.com/podcasts/Arts--Culture-Podcasts/Rightnowish-p1258245/\">TuneIn\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/rightnowish\">Stitcher\u003c/a> or wherever you get your podcasts. \u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2 id=\"episode-transcript\">Episode Transcript\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This is a computer-generated transcript. While our team has reviewed it, there may be errors.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">, \u003c/span>\u003cb>Host:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> What’s up Rightnowish listeners, it’s your host Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">. \u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I don’t know about you but being in a forest soothes my soul. I got to feel that special bliss a few weeks back when I was in Sonoma County, specifically in the town of Forestville. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Rightnowish producer Marisol Medina-Cadena and I got to visit a place called “The Nest.” It’s a quarter acre of land nestled among lush trees, and it serves as an arts and culture hub built by and for Indigenous folks. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Over the last 6 years, it’s been the publishing home of a Native arts magazine called SNAG, which features poems, essays, photographs, and collages about Native identity and activism. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Nest has also been a space for Indigenous folks across Northern California to convene for permaculture workshops, ceremonies and community feasts, as well as trainings on natural building. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And what came out of those training sessions is the construction of a two story art studio made from cob.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Facilitating these trainings is a DJ and musician who started SNAG magazine. His name is Ras K’dee. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee, Guest\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">: I’m Pomo. My ancestry is from right here. The river that flows down that we’re on right now is Bidapte, Big River. And then Ashokawna is where our people are from. And so we’re on our traditional lands right here, this is our traditional grounds.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee sees The Nest as the intersection of creativity and environmental responsibility. And so he, with the help of other Indigenous folks have built this place to be completely fueled by solar panels. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We’ll hear how Indigenous creativity is taking shape at The Nest right after this. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music playing]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> About 15 minutes away from the Russian River is The Nest, a space built by and for Native people. Ras K’dee who was born and raised in Sonoma County was able to purchase this plot of land with the inheritance he got from his grandmother selling her house. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee, Marisol and I stand outside and take in the beauty.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We had a land blessing from my, from my grandmother and my aunt, came and did like a land blessing, in the Pomo way, where they sing songs and offer prayers and, and, had our had our community here that were coming to help\u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We got the land in 2012. But slowly, we’ve been building building it up. We actually intentionally didn’t build for, like, four years. We just kind of, like, watch the land and, during in the winter, during the spring, during the summer and just kind of in the fall, kind of see the different seasons and… Four years of that and like slowly just kind of clearing and like putting garden beds and stuff and planting trees.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This slow process of tending the land allowed Ras K’dee to be intentional about how to build out the space.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The first structure he envisioned was the art studio. It’s brown, and 2 stories tall with hexagon sides and has a roof that extends over the sides. It kinda looks like a trumpet mushroom. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">He designed it by thinking about what would be conducive for creating. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I was visualizing “what do painters or artists need?” You know, taller ceilings, you know, like, open like, clay wall where they can, like, you know, put their stuff up. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And the construction of this is completely made from cob.\u003c/span> \u003cb>\u003c/b>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The building is sitting on mortared stone. And then it goes up about three feet. And then, on top of that is cob, which is the plaster of clay and straw and sand, mixed together. And it makes like a kind you know, really strong, like, kind of like concrete, almost. And so then you have, like, a foot of that and then from that going up is all pallet wall. So those are like pallets that are, that are stuffed with straw and plastered over.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Structurally it’s got wood and it’s got these big lumber, lumber pieces that are holding it up. And inside you’ll see there’s beams going across. \u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena, Rightnowish Producer: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Is it redwood beams?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee : \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah Redwood. Yeah. Wanna go and check it out?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Yeah, let’s go inside.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[sounds of footsteps]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee encourages us to touch the cob walls to feel all the love that was poured into making it. We do and it has a calming quality to it. He says, it’s the energy of all the people who he invited to help build it. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We had about 350 people work on the structure, over 350 people and mostly youth. There’s a lot of young people, a lot of youth groups. We had PODER and their youth group come up. We had a bunch of families, like friends with families came up.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K Dee: \u003c/b>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We had my friend Tomaggio and his family… were some of the first people here helping. They had a three year old and a one year old at the time. Inside is like a plastering and mixing area. And so you just put a tarp down and put all the ingredients in. And so the youth are just in there, just, you know jumping around, having fun. And like, we went to lunch and we were eating and, you know, just visiting and having a break and we came back and like the whole thing is like, mixed. We’re like, “oh man, you guys, you guys did the work, you know”?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But it was really cool like seeing the young people, yeah, just bringing in the clay. Like, the three year old is like giving it to the one year old or the one year old giving it to the three year old and three year old is like, bringing it in to the parents and then the parents are like, putting it on the wall. So that’s kind of like how this started in here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> How did you even know how to do sustainable type of building?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I’m pretty self-taught. I also like went to a lot of workshops. But, really got my chops in Hoopa. At the Hoopa Rez, we built a straw bale structure. It was little bit different of, of a kind of a building. But you basically use the straw bales and you cut them and make them look kind of like Legos. So they’re like… and stack them and then you plaster that. And that that structure is still, still standing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That really like gave me a perspective like what it takes and the amount of people and the amount of work that it takes to do this kind of building. But this is my first building that I built from scratch.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> When I was touching the wall, like you said, I noticed it was very cool. Can you talk about how the material itself is good for winter and summer? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Yeah, you know, the walls themselves absorb you know, the humidity, the moisture. And the clay walls, they’re like, really they’re known to, be a great barrier in terms of like, creating a more, just relaxed temperature inside. And what the clay does is it absorbs like the humidity and the kind of the, the heat, the moisture and kind of captures it. And when it starts to cool at night, it starts to release it inside. And so it keeps the building naturally fluctuating between just a comfortable temperature. But you’ll notice when we walk outside even, you know that it’s much cooler inside of here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Yeah\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Ya know, behind building a structure like this is that it’s nontoxic. You don’t have all the waste chemicals. You don’t have all the waste number one from from the construction industry. There’s a lot of waste. Like, I don’t know if you ever been to a construction site, but you look in the dumpsters, it’s like, full of, like, perfectly good, usable materials, but it’s just stuff they cut off or stuff they’re not going to use. So it’s it’s… I pulled a lot of the lumber for this structure out of dumpsters actually, because people just throw away perfectly good two by sixes.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This room is essentially a sleeping den for Ras K’dee. A mattress takes up the full space and original art pieces from visiting artists hang on the walls. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Next Ras K’dee invites us to check the upstairs level of this structure. For the last couple of years it’s served as a creative studio for visiting artists to retreat and work on their own visual art. Most recently, they had an Anishinaabe artist from Detroit stay and create graphics and articles for SNAG magazine.\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cb>\u003cbr>\n\u003c/b>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Ras’Kdee talking]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We walk up a flight of stairs made from redwood trees.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Okay. Watch your head here this is a little low this side. Gotta duck down there. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> It’s cool up here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> It’s a fully fleshed out recording space. There’s acoustic and electric guitars hanging on the walls. a desk with 2 keyboards, sound mixers and recording microphones. The wooden roof has a skylight so the sun shines into the studio and provides beautiful natural lighting that feels conducive for getting the creative juices flowing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee has even recorded a couple albums here with his group Audiopharmacy. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K Dee\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">:\u003c/span> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The founders of the group are all kind of like rooted in hip hop and hip hop, I would say is, you know, really a music that’s founded on sampling. And so it literally sampled every genre, you know, and so that’s kind of like what we are. We’re like, we are every genre, you know. But I play keys, is my main instrument that I, that I grew up playing. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">After this short tour, we sit down to talk more about the vision behind The Nest.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You live here as well? What’s your day to day life like here?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">: Taking care of the garden is a big part of my day. Waking up in the morning, watering the garden, doing some weeding. I like to, I like to do a little bit of work. Work in the garden in the morning, and then jumping on my other work that I do. I’m also a musician and artist, so it’s a busy time. You know, we got gigs and stuff, so there’s a lot of calls and stuff happening around negotiating and figuring out gigs. But yeah, just supporting artists, you know is kind of what I do here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Right now, I’m working on a mural project in Windsor, we’re, we’ve got like, a 100 foot wall over there and so bringing in the artists for that. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> So, juggling the arts, also juggling all that comes with managing nature. You’re in the middle of nowhere. What’s nightlife like out here?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Quiet. it’s quiet. Like all those scary movies start creeping in, you know, you’re like, man, it’s dark out here. Like, what’s out here, like, you know, mountain lions, bears, you know, like you start thinking about things. And so it took me a while to like to like, unlearn that programing, you know, like to like, get out of that like, cycle, like fear and just be like, oh, it’s just nature.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Being out here alone and just kind of like in the elements, I started to really enjoy it and really enjoy that that peace,connecting to to that darkness in a different way. But, there’s constantly people coming through, especially during this, this time of year. We do like a men’s healing circle. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> As a kid, were you the builder type?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I grew up in Sonoma County. I grew up, not too far from. And in northern Santa Rosa. Where we grew up, it was like the end of town, like our street was like the last street in town, basically. And like, as soon as you leave there, it’s just like hills,and so like, we would be off in the hills, you know, with our B-B guns, our slingshots. And it was like, you know, we go out all our homies, like 4 or 5 of us, you know, me and my brother, my older brother. And we would, we would just be out all day long. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We’d have different forts built. It was always kind of like in my, back of my head is like, got to get to the forest, got to get back to the forest and build that tree fort. As an adult, you know, this is kind of like a representation of that I think.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> In this part of the region in Sonoma County, there’s a couple of other organizations that are doing similar work, like EARTHseed, like Heron Shadow. Are you in communication with these organizations? And is there like a movement occurring?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> There’s definitely a movement. Yeah. It’s pretty special, actually, to be be a part of it. I am in community with a lot of a lot of the organizations you mentioned. I was just deejaying, actually, at EARTHseed’s “Black to Land” event last week. They open up their, their space to, you know, to, to the Black community. We we all collaborate. We all connect. And Heron Shadow has a farm, so they have more food and, they do like, Indigenous food and Indigenous seeds. They bring back seeds. And so it’s perfect because, you know, like we go over there like, do an exchange or do a collaboration and they gift us this with seeds and gift us with plants to bring back here to plant. So it’s kind of like this, you know, this sharing of resources.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Being in your space and you talking about all the community groups that come here, it makes me think about how other land back efforts we’re seeing in NorCal are very different, in that it’s like a city, you know, giving a plot of land to a formal nonprofit to steward and tend. But this is like your private space built from your like, family equity. And talk to us about that decision to open up your personal space so that it is a collective thing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> This building couldn’t have been made without, you know, people coming. I think it was more of a prayer, you know, like I want to I want to put the prayer here, for this space to be a community space and for it to be, a resource for the community,\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And so we put the prayer in and like, you know, kind of like not knowing, you know, if the community was going to show up, just like, oh, let’s start doing this, this crazy project and see, see who shows up kind of thing and the community, community showed up.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I’m wondering when you’re either in the garden or just sitting here with your dog Panda taking in the breeze, the sounds, how do you feel? Or what are you thinking about what this land means for you?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">: What I’ve gained is, I guess, a sense of peace. And coming into this land with also like a lot of work to do to like prepare it, it felt like overwhelming, you know, and it felt like, you know, like impossible at first because it was an empty lot and it was just overgrown. And, you know, trees had fallen and it hadn’t been taken care for many years. And yeah, just doing the work to, like, slowly heal the land and steward it in a good way, you know, has really just helped me to like, to heal myself,\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">As Indigenous people, you know, we see it as like as, like a generational commitment to the land. You know, like, we’re going to be here for generations. We’re not just here for build our house right now and then sell it and then, you know, move somewhere else, you know, or to Mexico or whatever, you know. What do they call them? Digital nomads. You know, like we’re not thinking in terms of that. We’re thinking in terms of generations.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">So what are we building here right now that that we can leave generationally for, for our for our youth in the future, right. I don’t have youth of my own right now, but I have young people that I that I work with. This is a lifelong project. It’s not a temporary thing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We were creating this space as kind of a showcase place where people can come and see, you know, a building that’s that’s cob. And they could touch the wall and feel and see what it looks like and what the different building techniques are and learn about the different building techniques and then be like, oh, I want to, I want to build an adobe, you know, adobe dome. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But really, really just incubate, incubate art that changes the world, you know, that’s that’s that’s why the space is here. So those are, those are the things that we want to do here and invite the artists that can bring about that change that we need in this world.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Ras K’dee, we can’t thank you enough. Much appreciation to you for welcoming us to your corner of Sonoma County to see and experience The Nest.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Nest is still evolving and Ras K’dee has plans to build a yurt and a dance studio to be able to host more classes and workshops. To stay updated on The Nest follow along on Instagram @SNAG.magazine.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And to keep up Ras K’dee’s art and music projects, you can check out his IG @raskdee that’s spelled R-A-S-K-D-E-E.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This episode was hosted by me, Pendarvis Harshaw. Marisol Medina-Cadena produced this episode. Chris Hambrick held it down for edits on this one. Christopher Beale engineered this joint. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Rightnowish team is also supported by Jen Chien, Ugur Dursun, Holly Kernan, Cesar Saldaña, and Katie Sprenger. Rightnowish is a KQED production.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Until next time, peace!\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Ras K'dee is DJ, emcee and founder of SNAG Magazine. Now he's building a studio for Indigenous artists. ","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726875356,"stats":{"hasAudio":true,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":77,"wordCount":3688},"headData":{"title":"Building a Native Arts and Culture Space From the Ground Up | KQED","description":"This week on Rightnowish, we talk to Ras K'dee, a DJ, emcee and the founder of SNAG Magazine. Now he's building an arts and culture center to help Indigenous artists to grow.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialDescription":"This week on Rightnowish, we talk to Ras K'dee, a DJ, emcee and the founder of SNAG Magazine. Now he's building an arts and culture center to help Indigenous artists to grow.","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Building a Native Arts and Culture Space From the Ground Up","datePublished":"2024-07-11T03:00:46-07:00","dateModified":"2024-09-20T16:35:56-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"audioUrl":"https://www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.mp3/chrt.fm/track/G6C7C3/traffic.megaphone.fm/KQINC7274032882.mp3?updated=1720634574","sticky":false,"templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13960783/building-a-native-arts-and-culture-space-from-the-ground-up","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"#episode-transcript\">\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">View the full episode transcript.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The dense green woods of Sonoma County’s Forestville are home to a two-story music studio and residence that runs on solar energy. Known as \u003ca href=\"https://nestbuildcreate.com/\">The NEST\u003c/a>, the mocha colored building is made completely of wood, clay and cob; and it was created for the purpose of serving Native artists.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/raskdee/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Ras K’dee\u003c/a>, a Pomo-African hip-hop musician who grew up in the area, is the caretaker of the space, but he didn’t build it alone. He worked with over 350 people, many of them young folks from youth groups like \u003ca href=\"http://podersf.org\">PODER\u003c/a>, who took the 70-mile trip from San Francisco to this town by the Russian River, or Bidapte, “big river” in the Pomo language.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960798\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13960798 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-800x1067.jpg\" alt=\"Ras K'dee stands in front of the NEST, a solar powered hub for Native artists in Forestville, CA. \" width=\"800\" height=\"1067\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-1152x1536.jpg 1152w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-1536x2048.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-scaled.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Ras K’dee stands in front of the NEST, a solar powered hub for Native artists in Forestville, CA. \u003ccite>(Pendarvis Harshaw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In addition to being the founder of \u003ca href=\"https://www.facebook.com/snagmagazine/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">SNAG Magazine\u003c/a>, an Indigenous periodical that has been in print for over two decades, Ras K’dee is also a DJ and emcee in the group \u003ca href=\"https://www.audiopharmacy.com/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Audiopharmacy\u003c/a>. This week on Rightnowish, we talk about the importance of working together to create spaces for artists to grow, and the ins and outs of land reclamation in the North Bay.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" frameborder=\"0\" height=\"200\" scrolling=\"no\" src=\"https://playlist.megaphone.fm/?e=KQINC7274032882\" width=\"100%\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Rightnowish is an arts and culture podcast produced at KQED. Listen to it wherever you get your podcasts or click the play button at the top of this page and subscribe to the show on \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/721590300/rightnowish\">NPR One\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/show/7kEJuafTzTVan7B78ttz1I\">Spotify\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rightnowish/id1482187648\">Apple Podcasts\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://tunein.com/podcasts/Arts--Culture-Podcasts/Rightnowish-p1258245/\">TuneIn\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/rightnowish\">Stitcher\u003c/a> or wherever you get your podcasts. \u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2 id=\"episode-transcript\">Episode Transcript\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This is a computer-generated transcript. While our team has reviewed it, there may be errors.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">, \u003c/span>\u003cb>Host:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> What’s up Rightnowish listeners, it’s your host Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">. \u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I don’t know about you but being in a forest soothes my soul. I got to feel that special bliss a few weeks back when I was in Sonoma County, specifically in the town of Forestville. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Rightnowish producer Marisol Medina-Cadena and I got to visit a place called “The Nest.” It’s a quarter acre of land nestled among lush trees, and it serves as an arts and culture hub built by and for Indigenous folks. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Over the last 6 years, it’s been the publishing home of a Native arts magazine called SNAG, which features poems, essays, photographs, and collages about Native identity and activism. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Nest has also been a space for Indigenous folks across Northern California to convene for permaculture workshops, ceremonies and community feasts, as well as trainings on natural building. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And what came out of those training sessions is the construction of a two story art studio made from cob.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Facilitating these trainings is a DJ and musician who started SNAG magazine. His name is Ras K’dee. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee, Guest\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">: I’m Pomo. My ancestry is from right here. The river that flows down that we’re on right now is Bidapte, Big River. And then Ashokawna is where our people are from. And so we’re on our traditional lands right here, this is our traditional grounds.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee sees The Nest as the intersection of creativity and environmental responsibility. And so he, with the help of other Indigenous folks have built this place to be completely fueled by solar panels. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We’ll hear how Indigenous creativity is taking shape at The Nest right after this. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music playing]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> About 15 minutes away from the Russian River is The Nest, a space built by and for Native people. Ras K’dee who was born and raised in Sonoma County was able to purchase this plot of land with the inheritance he got from his grandmother selling her house. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee, Marisol and I stand outside and take in the beauty.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We had a land blessing from my, from my grandmother and my aunt, came and did like a land blessing, in the Pomo way, where they sing songs and offer prayers and, and, had our had our community here that were coming to help\u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We got the land in 2012. But slowly, we’ve been building building it up. We actually intentionally didn’t build for, like, four years. We just kind of, like, watch the land and, during in the winter, during the spring, during the summer and just kind of in the fall, kind of see the different seasons and… Four years of that and like slowly just kind of clearing and like putting garden beds and stuff and planting trees.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This slow process of tending the land allowed Ras K’dee to be intentional about how to build out the space.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The first structure he envisioned was the art studio. It’s brown, and 2 stories tall with hexagon sides and has a roof that extends over the sides. It kinda looks like a trumpet mushroom. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">He designed it by thinking about what would be conducive for creating. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I was visualizing “what do painters or artists need?” You know, taller ceilings, you know, like, open like, clay wall where they can, like, you know, put their stuff up. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And the construction of this is completely made from cob.\u003c/span> \u003cb>\u003c/b>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The building is sitting on mortared stone. And then it goes up about three feet. And then, on top of that is cob, which is the plaster of clay and straw and sand, mixed together. And it makes like a kind you know, really strong, like, kind of like concrete, almost. And so then you have, like, a foot of that and then from that going up is all pallet wall. So those are like pallets that are, that are stuffed with straw and plastered over.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Structurally it’s got wood and it’s got these big lumber, lumber pieces that are holding it up. And inside you’ll see there’s beams going across. \u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena, Rightnowish Producer: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Is it redwood beams?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee : \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah Redwood. Yeah. Wanna go and check it out?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Yeah, let’s go inside.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[sounds of footsteps]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee encourages us to touch the cob walls to feel all the love that was poured into making it. We do and it has a calming quality to it. He says, it’s the energy of all the people who he invited to help build it. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We had about 350 people work on the structure, over 350 people and mostly youth. There’s a lot of young people, a lot of youth groups. We had PODER and their youth group come up. We had a bunch of families, like friends with families came up.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K Dee: \u003c/b>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We had my friend Tomaggio and his family… were some of the first people here helping. They had a three year old and a one year old at the time. Inside is like a plastering and mixing area. And so you just put a tarp down and put all the ingredients in. And so the youth are just in there, just, you know jumping around, having fun. And like, we went to lunch and we were eating and, you know, just visiting and having a break and we came back and like the whole thing is like, mixed. We’re like, “oh man, you guys, you guys did the work, you know”?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But it was really cool like seeing the young people, yeah, just bringing in the clay. Like, the three year old is like giving it to the one year old or the one year old giving it to the three year old and three year old is like, bringing it in to the parents and then the parents are like, putting it on the wall. So that’s kind of like how this started in here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> How did you even know how to do sustainable type of building?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I’m pretty self-taught. I also like went to a lot of workshops. But, really got my chops in Hoopa. At the Hoopa Rez, we built a straw bale structure. It was little bit different of, of a kind of a building. But you basically use the straw bales and you cut them and make them look kind of like Legos. So they’re like… and stack them and then you plaster that. And that that structure is still, still standing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That really like gave me a perspective like what it takes and the amount of people and the amount of work that it takes to do this kind of building. But this is my first building that I built from scratch.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> When I was touching the wall, like you said, I noticed it was very cool. Can you talk about how the material itself is good for winter and summer? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Yeah, you know, the walls themselves absorb you know, the humidity, the moisture. And the clay walls, they’re like, really they’re known to, be a great barrier in terms of like, creating a more, just relaxed temperature inside. And what the clay does is it absorbs like the humidity and the kind of the, the heat, the moisture and kind of captures it. And when it starts to cool at night, it starts to release it inside. And so it keeps the building naturally fluctuating between just a comfortable temperature. But you’ll notice when we walk outside even, you know that it’s much cooler inside of here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Yeah\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Ya know, behind building a structure like this is that it’s nontoxic. You don’t have all the waste chemicals. You don’t have all the waste number one from from the construction industry. There’s a lot of waste. Like, I don’t know if you ever been to a construction site, but you look in the dumpsters, it’s like, full of, like, perfectly good, usable materials, but it’s just stuff they cut off or stuff they’re not going to use. So it’s it’s… I pulled a lot of the lumber for this structure out of dumpsters actually, because people just throw away perfectly good two by sixes.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This room is essentially a sleeping den for Ras K’dee. A mattress takes up the full space and original art pieces from visiting artists hang on the walls. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Next Ras K’dee invites us to check the upstairs level of this structure. For the last couple of years it’s served as a creative studio for visiting artists to retreat and work on their own visual art. Most recently, they had an Anishinaabe artist from Detroit stay and create graphics and articles for SNAG magazine.\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cb>\u003cbr>\n\u003c/b>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Ras’Kdee talking]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We walk up a flight of stairs made from redwood trees.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Okay. Watch your head here this is a little low this side. Gotta duck down there. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> It’s cool up here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> It’s a fully fleshed out recording space. There’s acoustic and electric guitars hanging on the walls. a desk with 2 keyboards, sound mixers and recording microphones. The wooden roof has a skylight so the sun shines into the studio and provides beautiful natural lighting that feels conducive for getting the creative juices flowing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee has even recorded a couple albums here with his group Audiopharmacy. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K Dee\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">:\u003c/span> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The founders of the group are all kind of like rooted in hip hop and hip hop, I would say is, you know, really a music that’s founded on sampling. And so it literally sampled every genre, you know, and so that’s kind of like what we are. We’re like, we are every genre, you know. But I play keys, is my main instrument that I, that I grew up playing. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">After this short tour, we sit down to talk more about the vision behind The Nest.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You live here as well? What’s your day to day life like here?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">: Taking care of the garden is a big part of my day. Waking up in the morning, watering the garden, doing some weeding. I like to, I like to do a little bit of work. Work in the garden in the morning, and then jumping on my other work that I do. I’m also a musician and artist, so it’s a busy time. You know, we got gigs and stuff, so there’s a lot of calls and stuff happening around negotiating and figuring out gigs. But yeah, just supporting artists, you know is kind of what I do here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Right now, I’m working on a mural project in Windsor, we’re, we’ve got like, a 100 foot wall over there and so bringing in the artists for that. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> So, juggling the arts, also juggling all that comes with managing nature. You’re in the middle of nowhere. What’s nightlife like out here?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Quiet. it’s quiet. Like all those scary movies start creeping in, you know, you’re like, man, it’s dark out here. Like, what’s out here, like, you know, mountain lions, bears, you know, like you start thinking about things. And so it took me a while to like to like, unlearn that programing, you know, like to like, get out of that like, cycle, like fear and just be like, oh, it’s just nature.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Being out here alone and just kind of like in the elements, I started to really enjoy it and really enjoy that that peace,connecting to to that darkness in a different way. But, there’s constantly people coming through, especially during this, this time of year. We do like a men’s healing circle. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> As a kid, were you the builder type?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I grew up in Sonoma County. I grew up, not too far from. And in northern Santa Rosa. Where we grew up, it was like the end of town, like our street was like the last street in town, basically. And like, as soon as you leave there, it’s just like hills,and so like, we would be off in the hills, you know, with our B-B guns, our slingshots. And it was like, you know, we go out all our homies, like 4 or 5 of us, you know, me and my brother, my older brother. And we would, we would just be out all day long. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We’d have different forts built. It was always kind of like in my, back of my head is like, got to get to the forest, got to get back to the forest and build that tree fort. As an adult, you know, this is kind of like a representation of that I think.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> In this part of the region in Sonoma County, there’s a couple of other organizations that are doing similar work, like EARTHseed, like Heron Shadow. Are you in communication with these organizations? And is there like a movement occurring?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> There’s definitely a movement. Yeah. It’s pretty special, actually, to be be a part of it. I am in community with a lot of a lot of the organizations you mentioned. I was just deejaying, actually, at EARTHseed’s “Black to Land” event last week. They open up their, their space to, you know, to, to the Black community. We we all collaborate. We all connect. And Heron Shadow has a farm, so they have more food and, they do like, Indigenous food and Indigenous seeds. They bring back seeds. And so it’s perfect because, you know, like we go over there like, do an exchange or do a collaboration and they gift us this with seeds and gift us with plants to bring back here to plant. So it’s kind of like this, you know, this sharing of resources.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Being in your space and you talking about all the community groups that come here, it makes me think about how other land back efforts we’re seeing in NorCal are very different, in that it’s like a city, you know, giving a plot of land to a formal nonprofit to steward and tend. But this is like your private space built from your like, family equity. And talk to us about that decision to open up your personal space so that it is a collective thing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> This building couldn’t have been made without, you know, people coming. I think it was more of a prayer, you know, like I want to I want to put the prayer here, for this space to be a community space and for it to be, a resource for the community,\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And so we put the prayer in and like, you know, kind of like not knowing, you know, if the community was going to show up, just like, oh, let’s start doing this, this crazy project and see, see who shows up kind of thing and the community, community showed up.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I’m wondering when you’re either in the garden or just sitting here with your dog Panda taking in the breeze, the sounds, how do you feel? Or what are you thinking about what this land means for you?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">: What I’ve gained is, I guess, a sense of peace. And coming into this land with also like a lot of work to do to like prepare it, it felt like overwhelming, you know, and it felt like, you know, like impossible at first because it was an empty lot and it was just overgrown. And, you know, trees had fallen and it hadn’t been taken care for many years. And yeah, just doing the work to, like, slowly heal the land and steward it in a good way, you know, has really just helped me to like, to heal myself,\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">As Indigenous people, you know, we see it as like as, like a generational commitment to the land. You know, like, we’re going to be here for generations. We’re not just here for build our house right now and then sell it and then, you know, move somewhere else, you know, or to Mexico or whatever, you know. What do they call them? Digital nomads. You know, like we’re not thinking in terms of that. We’re thinking in terms of generations.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">So what are we building here right now that that we can leave generationally for, for our for our youth in the future, right. I don’t have youth of my own right now, but I have young people that I that I work with. This is a lifelong project. It’s not a temporary thing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We were creating this space as kind of a showcase place where people can come and see, you know, a building that’s that’s cob. And they could touch the wall and feel and see what it looks like and what the different building techniques are and learn about the different building techniques and then be like, oh, I want to, I want to build an adobe, you know, adobe dome. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But really, really just incubate, incubate art that changes the world, you know, that’s that’s that’s why the space is here. So those are, those are the things that we want to do here and invite the artists that can bring about that change that we need in this world.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Ras K’dee, we can’t thank you enough. Much appreciation to you for welcoming us to your corner of Sonoma County to see and experience The Nest.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Nest is still evolving and Ras K’dee has plans to build a yurt and a dance studio to be able to host more classes and workshops. To stay updated on The Nest follow along on Instagram @SNAG.magazine.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And to keep up Ras K’dee’s art and music projects, you can check out his IG @raskdee that’s spelled R-A-S-K-D-E-E.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This episode was hosted by me, Pendarvis Harshaw. Marisol Medina-Cadena produced this episode. Chris Hambrick held it down for edits on this one. Christopher Beale engineered this joint. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Rightnowish team is also supported by Jen Chien, Ugur Dursun, Holly Kernan, Cesar Saldaña, and Katie Sprenger. Rightnowish is a KQED production.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Until next time, peace!\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13960783/building-a-native-arts-and-culture-space-from-the-ground-up","authors":["11491","11528"],"programs":["arts_8720"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_69","arts_21759"],"tags":["arts_10278","arts_3178","arts_3217"],"featImg":"arts_13960790","label":"arts_8720"},"arts_13960325":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13960325","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13960325","score":null,"sort":[1719482400000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"all-the-nights-we-got-to-dance-is-a-tribute-to-queer-nightlife-in-sf","title":"‘All The Nights We Got to Dance’ is a Tribute to Queer Nightlife in SF","publishDate":1719482400,"format":"audio","headTitle":"‘All The Nights We Got to Dance’ is a Tribute to Queer Nightlife in SF | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":8720,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>Human memory can be triggered by certain smells, sounds or even a photo. It’s funny how the mind works; one small symbol can lead to the rehashing of feelings from years ago.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The latest work from artist \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/marcelpardoa/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Marcel Pardo Ariza\u003c/a> urges people to take a trip down memory lane by using images of gone-but-not-forgotten bar signs. Pardo Ariza is clear: these bars served more than booze. They were sanctuaries for folks from San Francisco’s queer and trans community, and should be celebrated as such.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960327\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13960327 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-800x535.jpg\" alt='Marcel Pardo Ariza wears a blue button-up shirt while standing in front of their latest work behind a windowfront, \"All The Nights We Got To Dance.\"' width=\"800\" height=\"535\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-800x535.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-1020x682.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-768x513.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-1536x1027.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2.jpg 1616w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Artist Marcel Pardo Ariza and their latest installation, ‘All The Nights We Got To Dance.’ \u003ccite>(Pendarvis Harshaw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960341\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13960341 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-800x583.jpg\" alt=\"On a yellow background, are illustrations of historic Queer and Trans bar signs including Gene Compton’s Cafeteria, Esta Noche, Amelia’s, The Pendulum and more. \" width=\"800\" height=\"583\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-800x583.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-1020x743.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-160x117.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-768x559.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-1536x1119.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-2048x1491.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-1920x1398.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A mockup of the site specific installation ‘All The Nights We Got to Dance.’ \u003ccite>(courtesy of Marcel Pardo Ariza)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>All The Nights We Got To Dance\u003c/em> is a site-specific installation in the ground-floor window of The Line Hotel in San Francisco’s Transgender Cultural District. A sunset orange backdrop is covered in hand-painted wooden replicas of bar signs, such as The Lexington, Esta Noche and \u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/primary-source-set-finocchios#:~:text=Finocchio's%20opened%20in%20the%20late,tourists%20and%20the%20queer%20community.\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Finocchio’s\u003c/a> — a club credited as one of the earliest incubators of drag shows in the U.S.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13936474']Born in Colombia and based in Oakland, Pardo Ariza worked closely with \u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">San Francisco’s GLBT Historical Society \u003c/a>for their latest project\u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">, \u003c/a>leveraging the center’s rich archives to inform their work.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This week on Rightnowish, we catch up with Pardo Ariza to take a look at their latest installation before heading over to the GLBT Historical Society’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/archives-about-visitor-info\">archives\u003c/a>. There, we meet up with Issac Fellman, the center’s managing reference archivist, who brings us files full of actual handbills, photos, flyers and ephemera from all the nights people danced.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" frameborder=\"0\" height=\"200\" scrolling=\"no\" src=\"https://playlist.megaphone.fm/?e=KQINC7628242492\" width=\"100%\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Rightnowish is an arts and culture podcast produced at KQED. Listen to it wherever you get your podcasts or click the play button at the top of this page and subscribe to the show on \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/721590300/rightnowish\">NPR One\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/show/7kEJuafTzTVan7B78ttz1I\">Spotify\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rightnowish/id1482187648\">Apple Podcasts\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://tunein.com/podcasts/Arts--Culture-Podcasts/Rightnowish-p1258245/\">TuneIn\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/rightnowish\">Stitcher\u003c/a> or wherever you get your podcasts. \u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Marcel Pardo Ariza's latest art installation celebrates places in queer and trans nightlife.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726875360,"stats":{"hasAudio":true,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":10,"wordCount":349},"headData":{"title":"‘All The Nights We Got to Dance’ is a Tribute to Queer Nightlife in SF | KQED","description":"Marcel Pardo Ariza's latest work urges people to take a trip down memory lane through images of gone but not forgotten bar signs from San Francisco's queer and trans nightlife.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialDescription":"Marcel Pardo Ariza's latest work urges people to take a trip down memory lane through images of gone but not forgotten bar signs from San Francisco's queer and trans nightlife.","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"‘All The Nights We Got to Dance’ is a Tribute to Queer Nightlife in SF","datePublished":"2024-06-27T03:00:00-07:00","dateModified":"2024-09-20T16:36:00-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"audioUrl":"https://www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.mp3/chrt.fm/track/G6C7C3/traffic.megaphone.fm/KQINC7628242492.mp3?updated=1719449369","sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13960325","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13960325/all-the-nights-we-got-to-dance-is-a-tribute-to-queer-nightlife-in-sf","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Human memory can be triggered by certain smells, sounds or even a photo. It’s funny how the mind works; one small symbol can lead to the rehashing of feelings from years ago.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The latest work from artist \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/marcelpardoa/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Marcel Pardo Ariza\u003c/a> urges people to take a trip down memory lane by using images of gone-but-not-forgotten bar signs. Pardo Ariza is clear: these bars served more than booze. They were sanctuaries for folks from San Francisco’s queer and trans community, and should be celebrated as such.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960327\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13960327 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-800x535.jpg\" alt='Marcel Pardo Ariza wears a blue button-up shirt while standing in front of their latest work behind a windowfront, \"All The Nights We Got To Dance.\"' width=\"800\" height=\"535\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-800x535.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-1020x682.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-768x513.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-1536x1027.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2.jpg 1616w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Artist Marcel Pardo Ariza and their latest installation, ‘All The Nights We Got To Dance.’ \u003ccite>(Pendarvis Harshaw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960341\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13960341 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-800x583.jpg\" alt=\"On a yellow background, are illustrations of historic Queer and Trans bar signs including Gene Compton’s Cafeteria, Esta Noche, Amelia’s, The Pendulum and more. \" width=\"800\" height=\"583\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-800x583.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-1020x743.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-160x117.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-768x559.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-1536x1119.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-2048x1491.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-1920x1398.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A mockup of the site specific installation ‘All The Nights We Got to Dance.’ \u003ccite>(courtesy of Marcel Pardo Ariza)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>All The Nights We Got To Dance\u003c/em> is a site-specific installation in the ground-floor window of The Line Hotel in San Francisco’s Transgender Cultural District. A sunset orange backdrop is covered in hand-painted wooden replicas of bar signs, such as The Lexington, Esta Noche and \u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/primary-source-set-finocchios#:~:text=Finocchio's%20opened%20in%20the%20late,tourists%20and%20the%20queer%20community.\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Finocchio’s\u003c/a> — a club credited as one of the earliest incubators of drag shows in the U.S.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13936474","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Born in Colombia and based in Oakland, Pardo Ariza worked closely with \u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">San Francisco’s GLBT Historical Society \u003c/a>for their latest project\u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">, \u003c/a>leveraging the center’s rich archives to inform their work.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This week on Rightnowish, we catch up with Pardo Ariza to take a look at their latest installation before heading over to the GLBT Historical Society’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/archives-about-visitor-info\">archives\u003c/a>. There, we meet up with Issac Fellman, the center’s managing reference archivist, who brings us files full of actual handbills, photos, flyers and ephemera from all the nights people danced.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" frameborder=\"0\" height=\"200\" scrolling=\"no\" src=\"https://playlist.megaphone.fm/?e=KQINC7628242492\" width=\"100%\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Rightnowish is an arts and culture podcast produced at KQED. Listen to it wherever you get your podcasts or click the play button at the top of this page and subscribe to the show on \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/721590300/rightnowish\">NPR One\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/show/7kEJuafTzTVan7B78ttz1I\">Spotify\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rightnowish/id1482187648\">Apple Podcasts\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://tunein.com/podcasts/Arts--Culture-Podcasts/Rightnowish-p1258245/\">TuneIn\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/rightnowish\">Stitcher\u003c/a> or wherever you get your podcasts. \u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13960325/all-the-nights-we-got-to-dance-is-a-tribute-to-queer-nightlife-in-sf","authors":["11491","11528"],"programs":["arts_8720"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_21759"],"tags":["arts_7705","arts_5142","arts_22194","arts_7128","arts_11333","arts_18754","arts_4640","arts_22195"],"featImg":"arts_13960326","label":"arts_8720"},"arts_13966207":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13966207","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13966207","score":null,"sort":[1728409418000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"lara-aburamadan-photographer-refugee-eye-san-francisco","title":"A Gazan Photographer Embraces Her Refugee Lens in San Francisco","publishDate":1728409418,"format":"standard","headTitle":"A Gazan Photographer Embraces Her Refugee Lens in San Francisco | KQED","labelTerm":{"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>When she thinks back to her childhood in Gaza in the late ’90s, \u003ca href=\"https://www.laraaburamadan.com/about\">Lara Aburamadan\u003c/a> recalls spending her days hanging out and enjoying food with her family on sandy beaches, swimming in the Mediterranean Sea during hot, humid summers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Gaza is a small place. To drive from north to south it takes 25 minutes, and from west to east, 15 minutes,” she says. “It’s a small city, probably the size of San Francisco.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now based in Berkeley, Aburamadan is a visual artist, independent journalist and photographer. She is also the founder of \u003ca href=\"https://www.refugeeeye.org/\">Refugee Eye\u003c/a>, an art studio on Valencia Street in San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When she picked up a camera 10 years ago, those beaches and daily life in Gaza City became some of her first subjects. “I wanted to show the beauty of Gaza,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966257\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966257\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES.jpg\" alt=\"A photo of a woman in a hijab at a beach with her back turned, staring out onto the sea. \" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Timeless Hope’ by Lara Aburamadan, taken at Deir al-Balah Refugee Camp, Gaza Strip, in 2013. \u003ccite>(Lara Aburamadan)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Yet life in a war-torn region made capturing beauty a privilege. The killings of her people back home motivated her to use her art and journalism skills for social change.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Aburamadan’s photos have been published in \u003cem>Time Magazine\u003c/em>, \u003cem>San Francisco Chronicle\u003c/em>, Al Jazeera and more. She has also written for \u003cem>The Atlantic\u003c/em> and \u003cem>The New York Times\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In her 2012 piece for \u003cem>The New York Times\u003c/em>, “\u003ca href=\"https://www.nytimes.com/2012/11/17/opinion/trapped-in-gaza.html\">Trapped in Gaza\u003c/a>,” she recounts her visit to a film festival. Suddenly, an organizer interrupted the program to warn the audience of impending Israeli strikes, urging everyone to go home for safety. Aburamadan, her mother and young siblings listened to the sounds of bombs from inside their home for the next 48 hours. [aside postid='news_12007959,arts_13966184']\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“And all the while, we hear bombs. Bombs that bear autumn’s scent and winter’s chill. Bombs that batter. Bombs that kill. I still have waking nightmares of the bombs that tore through our sky nearly four years ago, when a classmate, Maha, lost her mother in an Israeli strike,” she wrote.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2014 marked another deadly year in Gaza, when the Israeli military killed 2,200 Palestinians, over half of whom were civilians \u003ca href=\"https://www.ochaopt.org/content/key-figures-2014-hostilities\">according to a United Nations report\u003c/a>. Aburamadan and her then-husband live-streamed the shelling from their 11th-floor apartment, sharing with the world what mainstream media wouldn’t.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The point of our work, which we posted on Twitter and Facebook, was to make it more difficult for people around the world to say, ‘I didn’t know,’” she \u003ca href=\"https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2015/08/gaza-war-israel-anniversary/402364/\">wrote in \u003cem>The Atlantic\u003c/em> in 2015\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966258\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966258\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Love Has Wings’ by Lara Aburamadan, taken at Beach Refugee Camp, Gaza City, in 2015. \u003ccite>(Lara Aburamadan)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“The sound of Israeli drones incessantly hovering overhead is terrifying, but the bombs — and their promise to bring either an explosion or death — are worse,” she wrote.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Aburamadan and her then-husband moved to the U.S. as asylum seekers when they were both 24 years old. When she first arrived in the Bay Area in 2017, she struggled to connect and feel at home.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I didn’t know people, I didn’t have friends or community,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In time, she eventually accepted this new phase in her life. “I’m a refugee in this new place. It’s okay not to find the familiarity now,” she told herself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966256\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966256\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2.jpg\" alt=\"Freshly harvested grapes spilling out of crates.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Sheikh Ejleen Grapes’ by Lara Aburamadan, taken in Gaza City in 2016. \u003ccite>(Lara Aburamadan)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Her current work explores the social and political narratives of refugees and marginalized communities. Through Refugee Eye, she creates a space for refugee artists and photographers from all around the world to share their stories.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I wanted to embrace my perspective as a refugee,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Earlier this year, she curated an exhibition at Refugee Eye called \u003ca href=\"https://www.refugeeeye.org/sfgallery\">\u003cem>Gaza: Between Life and Loss\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, featuring photographs and illustrations by Palestinian artists, including work by popular Gaza street photographer Suhail Nassar and illustrator Bayan Abu Nahla.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It’s been a beautiful journey to learn more about the art scene here in the Bay Area and connect with different refugee artists around the world,” Aburamadan reflects.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Having lived through multiple bombardments of Gaza, the war that began in October last year didn’t surprise Aburamadan. But it felt different this time. “In the first few months, my mind was constantly on Gaza,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It was super stressful,” she adds. “My people are being killed everyday.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966253\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966253\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Lara Aburamadan in Berkeley on Oct. 4, 2024. \u003ccite>(Juliana Yamada/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Seeing protests and Palestinian flags in the streets of the Bay Area has made her feel less alone. But despite these efforts, she is disappointed that, after a year, nothing has changed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Protests have called for a ceasefire, but the bombing continues every day,” she says. “It’s even getting worse.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Through her work, Aburamadan hopes to continue showing the world a different side of Gaza. “I want people to see Gaza as a beautiful place with genuinely kind people who don’t want wars and just want peace,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I want my art to reflect who we are as a collective, proving that we exist and that we’re amazing.”\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Lara Aburamadan reported from the ground in Gaza. Now in the Bay Area, she founded Refugee Eye, an art studio.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728677510,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":26,"wordCount":909},"headData":{"title":"A Gazan Photographer Embraces Her Refugee Lens in San Francisco | KQED","description":"Lara Aburamadan reported from the ground in Gaza. Now in the Bay Area, she founded Refugee Eye, an art studio.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"A Gazan Photographer Embraces Her Refugee Lens in San Francisco","datePublished":"2024-10-08T10:43:38-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-11T13:11:50-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13966207","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13966207/lara-aburamadan-photographer-refugee-eye-san-francisco","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>When she thinks back to her childhood in Gaza in the late ’90s, \u003ca href=\"https://www.laraaburamadan.com/about\">Lara Aburamadan\u003c/a> recalls spending her days hanging out and enjoying food with her family on sandy beaches, swimming in the Mediterranean Sea during hot, humid summers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Gaza is a small place. To drive from north to south it takes 25 minutes, and from west to east, 15 minutes,” she says. “It’s a small city, probably the size of San Francisco.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now based in Berkeley, Aburamadan is a visual artist, independent journalist and photographer. She is also the founder of \u003ca href=\"https://www.refugeeeye.org/\">Refugee Eye\u003c/a>, an art studio on Valencia Street in San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When she picked up a camera 10 years ago, those beaches and daily life in Gaza City became some of her first subjects. “I wanted to show the beauty of Gaza,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966257\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966257\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES.jpg\" alt=\"A photo of a woman in a hijab at a beach with her back turned, staring out onto the sea. \" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Timeless Hope’ by Lara Aburamadan, taken at Deir al-Balah Refugee Camp, Gaza Strip, in 2013. \u003ccite>(Lara Aburamadan)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Yet life in a war-torn region made capturing beauty a privilege. The killings of her people back home motivated her to use her art and journalism skills for social change.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Aburamadan’s photos have been published in \u003cem>Time Magazine\u003c/em>, \u003cem>San Francisco Chronicle\u003c/em>, Al Jazeera and more. She has also written for \u003cem>The Atlantic\u003c/em> and \u003cem>The New York Times\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In her 2012 piece for \u003cem>The New York Times\u003c/em>, “\u003ca href=\"https://www.nytimes.com/2012/11/17/opinion/trapped-in-gaza.html\">Trapped in Gaza\u003c/a>,” she recounts her visit to a film festival. Suddenly, an organizer interrupted the program to warn the audience of impending Israeli strikes, urging everyone to go home for safety. Aburamadan, her mother and young siblings listened to the sounds of bombs from inside their home for the next 48 hours. \u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"news_12007959,arts_13966184","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“And all the while, we hear bombs. Bombs that bear autumn’s scent and winter’s chill. Bombs that batter. Bombs that kill. I still have waking nightmares of the bombs that tore through our sky nearly four years ago, when a classmate, Maha, lost her mother in an Israeli strike,” she wrote.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2014 marked another deadly year in Gaza, when the Israeli military killed 2,200 Palestinians, over half of whom were civilians \u003ca href=\"https://www.ochaopt.org/content/key-figures-2014-hostilities\">according to a United Nations report\u003c/a>. Aburamadan and her then-husband live-streamed the shelling from their 11th-floor apartment, sharing with the world what mainstream media wouldn’t.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The point of our work, which we posted on Twitter and Facebook, was to make it more difficult for people around the world to say, ‘I didn’t know,’” she \u003ca href=\"https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2015/08/gaza-war-israel-anniversary/402364/\">wrote in \u003cem>The Atlantic\u003c/em> in 2015\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966258\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966258\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Love Has Wings’ by Lara Aburamadan, taken at Beach Refugee Camp, Gaza City, in 2015. \u003ccite>(Lara Aburamadan)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“The sound of Israeli drones incessantly hovering overhead is terrifying, but the bombs — and their promise to bring either an explosion or death — are worse,” she wrote.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Aburamadan and her then-husband moved to the U.S. as asylum seekers when they were both 24 years old. When she first arrived in the Bay Area in 2017, she struggled to connect and feel at home.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I didn’t know people, I didn’t have friends or community,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In time, she eventually accepted this new phase in her life. “I’m a refugee in this new place. It’s okay not to find the familiarity now,” she told herself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966256\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966256\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2.jpg\" alt=\"Freshly harvested grapes spilling out of crates.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Sheikh Ejleen Grapes’ by Lara Aburamadan, taken in Gaza City in 2016. \u003ccite>(Lara Aburamadan)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Her current work explores the social and political narratives of refugees and marginalized communities. Through Refugee Eye, she creates a space for refugee artists and photographers from all around the world to share their stories.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I wanted to embrace my perspective as a refugee,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Earlier this year, she curated an exhibition at Refugee Eye called \u003ca href=\"https://www.refugeeeye.org/sfgallery\">\u003cem>Gaza: Between Life and Loss\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, featuring photographs and illustrations by Palestinian artists, including work by popular Gaza street photographer Suhail Nassar and illustrator Bayan Abu Nahla.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It’s been a beautiful journey to learn more about the art scene here in the Bay Area and connect with different refugee artists around the world,” Aburamadan reflects.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Having lived through multiple bombardments of Gaza, the war that began in October last year didn’t surprise Aburamadan. But it felt different this time. “In the first few months, my mind was constantly on Gaza,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It was super stressful,” she adds. “My people are being killed everyday.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966253\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966253\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Lara Aburamadan in Berkeley on Oct. 4, 2024. \u003ccite>(Juliana Yamada/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Seeing protests and Palestinian flags in the streets of the Bay Area has made her feel less alone. But despite these efforts, she is disappointed that, after a year, nothing has changed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Protests have called for a ceasefire, but the bombing continues every day,” she says. “It’s even getting worse.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Through her work, Aburamadan hopes to continue showing the world a different side of Gaza. “I want people to see Gaza as a beautiful place with genuinely kind people who don’t want wars and just want peace,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I want my art to reflect who we are as a collective, proving that we exist and that we’re amazing.”\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13966207/lara-aburamadan-photographer-refugee-eye-san-francisco","authors":["11631"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_235","arts_70"],"tags":["arts_10342","arts_10278","arts_8838","arts_822"],"featImg":"arts_13966254","label":"arts"},"arts_13966153":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13966153","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13966153","score":null,"sort":[1728149597000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"anton-lavey-church-of-satan-doug-brod-book","title":"Excavating the Truth of Anton LaVey’s Devilish Life","publishDate":1728149597,"format":"standard","headTitle":"Excavating the Truth of Anton LaVey’s Devilish Life | KQED","labelTerm":{"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>You’d never know it these days, but for decades, 6114 California Street was one of the \u003ca href=\"https://www.churchofsatan.com/faq-the-black-house/\">most infamous addresses\u003c/a> in all of San Francisco. As the longtime headquarters of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/11964949/how-the-church-of-satan-was-born-in-san-francisco\">Anton LaVey’s Church of Satan\u003c/a>, the house — painted completely black — hosted a rotating menagerie of colorful guests (including, at one point, \u003ca href=\"https://www.sfchronicle.com/oursf/article/church-satan-lavey-lion-18444967.php\">a lion\u003c/a>) visiting the sanctuary devoted to Satan.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In his revelatory new biography of LaVey, author Doug Brod attempts to parse fact from fiction, detailing how a Jewish boy from Chicago left an indelible dark mark on popular culture — and found himself labeled as a face of evil to many Americans.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966166\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1734px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515036094-scaled-e1697741210672.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1734\" height=\"2000\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966166\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515036094-scaled-e1697741210672.jpg 1734w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515036094-scaled-e1697741210672-800x923.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515036094-scaled-e1697741210672-1020x1176.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515036094-scaled-e1697741210672-160x185.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515036094-scaled-e1697741210672-768x886.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515036094-scaled-e1697741210672-1332x1536.jpg 1332w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1734px) 100vw, 1734px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anton Szandor LaVey, the leader of the First Church of Satan, taps his gum-chewing 3-year-old daughter, Zeena Galatea LaVey, on the head with a sword during “baptism ceremonies” in San Francisco on May 23, 1967. A naked woman reclines on the altar during the anti-religious ceremony. \u003ccite>(Bettmann/Getty)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Relying on more than 50 interviews as well as church documents and personal correspondence, \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/titles/doug-brod/born-with-a-tail/9781668644690/\">Born With a Tail: The Devilish Life and Wicked Times of Anton Szandor LaVey\u003c/a>\u003c/em> (Hachette; $31) shows that while many of LaVey’s most outlandish claims were clearly lies, his brilliance at combining philosophy and outrage put him on equal standing with history’s great charlatans.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='news_11964949']One part pope, nine parts P. T. Barnum, LaVey nonetheless cultivated a devoted following whose exploits regularly made headlines and late-night television appearances. But the occult trappings of LaVey’s organization belied its true intent; no one was literally worshiping Satan.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The church’s idea was more like a self-empowerment group,” Brod says. “LaVey wanted people to indulge in their carnal desires. It was basically a hedonistic philosophy — some might say it was a greedy and selfish philosophy — but it was about always putting the individual first.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966159\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1325px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Born-with-a-Tail_HC.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1325\" height=\"2000\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966159\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Born-with-a-Tail_HC.jpg 1325w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Born-with-a-Tail_HC-800x1208.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Born-with-a-Tail_HC-1020x1540.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Born-with-a-Tail_HC-160x242.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Born-with-a-Tail_HC-768x1159.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Born-with-a-Tail_HC-1018x1536.jpg 1018w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1325px) 100vw, 1325px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Born With a Tail: The Devilish Life and Wicked Times of Anton Szandor LaVey,’ by Doug Brod. \u003ccite>(Hachette Book Group)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In his 368-page biography, Brod recounts the Church of Satan’s colorful history from its inception at the Black House in 1966, and the Satanic marriage ceremonies and baptisms the group publicly performed to earn early press, to the devastating backlash LaVey endured as a result of the \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Satanic_panic\">Satanic Panic\u003c/a> of the 1980s and his eventual retreat from public life.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ahead of \u003ca href=\"https://greenapplebooks.com/event/2024-10-08/offsite-doug-brod-jack-boulware\">an appearance on Tuesday, Oct. 8\u003c/a> at 540 Rogues in San Francisco, Brod spoke with KQED by phone to discuss LaVey’s lasting impact, what his research uncovered, and where the Church of Satan stands today.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966161\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1428\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966161\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511-800x571.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511-1020x728.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511-160x114.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511-768x548.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511-1536x1097.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511-1920x1371.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anton Szandor LaVey, head of the First Satanic Church, is assisted by his partner, Diane, as they go through a satanic ceremony in 1970. \u003ccite>(Bettmann/Getty)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Getting to the bottom of Anton LaVey’s life seems like a challenging task. Where did you start? Were the fact-checks previously published by journalist Lawrence Wright and LaVey’s daughters Zeena helpful?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One thing that was really essential for me was going into the archives of the \u003cem>San Francisco Chronicle\u003c/em> and the \u003cem>Examiner\u003c/em>, because he was in the papers constantly: on the front page, in columns, and as a news topic. He was also on local TV news programs. Contemporaneous stories are a little more trustworthy, and perhaps more reliable, then people hearing stuff secondhand 30 years later. Yes, that \u003ca href=\"https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-features/anton-levey-interview-1235074429/\">Lawrence Wright piece in \u003cem>Rolling Stone\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, where he was able to debunk some of LaVey’s more outlandish claims, was essential too. I interviewed Lawrence for the book. The “\u003ca href=\"https://archive.org/details/reality-and-legend\">Legend vs. Reality\u003c/a>” piece was co-written by Zeena LaVey [now Zeena Schreck], who became estranged from her father. There was a lot of negativity surrounding that estrangement, and this piece was one of the main sources of it. There was also a very interesting book written by one of his right-hand men, Michael Aquino, who was there pretty much from the start of the Church. He wrote a 500-page account of the Church of Satan that he self-published. There’s a lot of bizarre stuff in there, because Michael Aquino was a true occult believer, while the case can be made that Anton LaVey was not. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966156\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1351\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966156\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne-800x540.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne-1020x689.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne-768x519.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne-1536x1038.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne-1920x1297.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anton LaVey on ‘The Joe Pyne Show’ in October 1967. LaVey remained unflappable against the combative interviewer. \u003ccite>(Walter Fischer / Courtesy of Alf Wahlgren)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>One thing that struck me about LaVey and the Church of Satan is how large they managed to appear, despite never having more than 300 members around the world at their peak. For how ingrained the Church of Satan is in today’s culture, were you surprised by how few people were involved with the organization?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>LaVey just glommed on to a really interesting philosophy and he articulated it very, very well. People basically took from it what they wanted to take from it. Eventually, it got mixed in with the devil-worship brand of Satanism that was prevalent in the media in the ’80s, which led to the Satanic Panic, but he never really wanted that. LaVey’s thing was more of a philosophical approach to life that stressed the power of the individual and the power of people. It was very effective, and he was a very effective communicator. Even down to the way he looked, he is so associated with what we see as Satanism today, with his bald head and the Van Dyke beard and his pirate earring and arched eyebrows. There are questions about how big the organization actually was, and who knows if we’ll ever get the real numbers? I certainly couldn’t get the real numbers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966157\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1325\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966157\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman-800x530.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman-1020x676.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman-768x509.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman-1536x1018.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman-1920x1272.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">On a 1967 visit to magazine editor Forrest J. Ackerman’s ‘Ackermansion’ in Los Angeles, LaVey admired his friend’s vast collection of horror, sci-fi, and fantasy memorabilia. \u003ccite>(Walter Fischer / Courtesy of Alf Wahlgren)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Anton LaVey died in 1997. It’s now 2024. Do you think people are aware that a lot of what he was doing was for show, or is there still a contingent of folks who believe he was truly evil?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During the writing of the book, everyone I mentioned it to, at least in my circle, found it really interesting but I never heard anything especially negative. My feeling is that people do know who he actually was, and what he was actually about. Even if they don’t see him as a benign figure, they at least see him as someone who wasn’t diabolical. As I write in the book, there are cases to be made that he was indeed a bad guy in many respects, but overall, I think it was only during the time of the Satanic Panic where he was really considered to be this evil, diabolical figure. Over time, I think that’s changed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966165\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1850px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-1310361512.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1850\" height=\"2000\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966165\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-1310361512.jpg 1850w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-1310361512-800x865.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-1310361512-1020x1103.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-1310361512-160x173.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-1310361512-768x830.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-1310361512-1421x1536.jpg 1421w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1850px) 100vw, 1850px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anton LaVey, founder and self-proclaimed high priest of the Church of Satan, is photographed at home in San Francisco with his pet lion on June 26, 1964. \u003ccite>(Art Frisch/The San Francisco Chronicle via Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>But he did also have some garden-variety evil in him, in the form of domestic violence and animal abuse. Now that people have had a chance to reevaluate his spectacles — like \u003ca href=\"https://www.sfchronicle.com/oursf/article/church-satan-lavey-lion-18444967.php\">choosing to keep a pet lion in his home\u003c/a> — do you think we have the distance necessary to properly evaluate LaVey’s life and legacy?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That’s pretty much what I set out to do, but I have to say, I was helped along by an amazing discovery. While I was working on the book, I interviewed a man named Don Frew, who knew LaVey during the Satanic Panic era. He and his wife run \u003ca href=\"https://adocentynlibrary.org/\">a research center\u003c/a> in Albany, California. They have thousands of books on the occult, and on esoteric topics like UFOs and Satanism and paganism — all this stuff. Not only did Don know LaVey, he was friends with him and was able to get his hands on boxes upon boxes of original Church of Satan administrative materials, as well as correspondence between LaVey and his friends.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966158\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1333px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Doug-Brod-Headshot.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1333\" height=\"2000\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966158\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Doug-Brod-Headshot.jpg 1333w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Doug-Brod-Headshot-800x1200.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Doug-Brod-Headshot-1020x1530.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Doug-Brod-Headshot-160x240.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Doug-Brod-Headshot-768x1152.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Doug-Brod-Headshot-1024x1536.jpg 1024w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1333px) 100vw, 1333px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Doug Brod. \u003ccite>(Hachette Book Group)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>What’s the status of the Church of Satan today?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As I write in the book, it’s no longer a clubhouse that’s centrally located in San Francisco. Now it’s more of an internet-based organization. There’s still a Church of Satan with its headquarters in Poughkeepsie, New York. It’s headed up by a married couple, Peter H. Gilmore and Peggy Nadramia, and there are still many followers. If you go on Facebook, you’ll see there are still people who really follow the LaVeyan form of Satanism, but it’s more dispersed now. It’s not so much an organized system. It’s more people doing their own thing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='pop_111144']I will say this for the Church of Satan itself: \u003ca href=\"https://www.churchofsatan.com/\">their website is really fascinating\u003c/a>. It was also a very good resource for some of the research in this book. Their X — formerly Twitter — account is \u003ca href=\"https://x.com/ChurchofSatan\">very funny and very droll\u003c/a>. They’re constantly on the defense, which is amusing, but yes, it’s still around. There are also other organizations that base themselves on the Church of Satan. There’s the \u003ca href=\"https://thesatanictemple.com/?srsltid=AfmBOorurPbZKtfu_ZLyee9NwLmRjQ5WhGsTrCuUmxchw0KB2hXbdDRW\">Satanic Temple\u003c/a>, which is more like a social justice organization. They do a lot of stuff with the First Amendment. They put up, like, \u003ca href=\"https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-33682878\">Baphomet\u003c/a> statues alongside the Ten Commandments at various state halls. They’re a very active protest organization that’s less about following satanic tenets or satanic rules and more about using the idea of Satan worship to counter the overt Christian nationalism in this country.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966160\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966160\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anton LaVey in the early ’70s, when the Church of Satan founder was arguably at his most productive. \u003ccite>(Stanton and Sharon LaVey family / Courtesy of Alf Wahlgren)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>In terms of what this book can tell us about the times we live in now, do you see a lot of symmetry between the world LaVey lived in and the present moment?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Absolutely. People are always looking for organizations where like-minded people share their ideas and philosophies. The thing that depresses me about what’s going on today is that it feels like an amped-up version of the Satanic Panic, which happened in the ’80s and really made LaVey go into retreat, because the Church of Satan was being blamed for a lot of things it had nothing to do with. But now you have QAnon and various other belief systems where everything is conspiracy theories and lies. People are being bombarded with lies, and groups are being scapegoated as a result, which feels a lot like a repeat of the Satanic Panic. That’s something that’s still going on today. It has nothing to do with LaVey, per se, but it has a lot to do with how he was seen in the ’80s.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966164\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1330\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966164\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291-800x532.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291-1020x678.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291-768x511.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291-1536x1021.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291-1920x1277.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anton LaVey, founder of the Church of Satan, rises out from a hidden corridor behind a false fireplace in his study in 1967. \u003ccite>(Bettmann/Getty)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Tell me about the person you’ll be chatting with on Tuesday here in San Francisco. Do they have ties to the Church of Satan as well?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://jackboulware.substack.com/\">Jack Boulware\u003c/a> will be in conversation with me, and yes! He was someone I interviewed for the book because he knew LaVey. He actually \u003ca href=\"https://jackboulware.substack.com/p/32-years-of-satan\">published a fashion shoot\u003c/a> with LaVey in a magazine called \u003cem>The Nose\u003c/em> many years ago. He was friendly with LaVey for a period, so I’m hoping he’ll share some of his stories at the event too.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Doug Brod appears in conversation with Jack Boulware on Tuesday, Oct. 8, at 540 Rogues (540 Clement St., San Francisco), presented by Green Apple Books. \u003ca href=\"https://greenapplebooks.com/event/2024-10-08/offsite-doug-brod-jack-boulware\">Details here\u003c/a>. \u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"The Church of Satan founder created a headline-grabbing persona. A new book by Doug Brod dispels its myths.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728677455,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":26,"wordCount":2030},"headData":{"title":"Excavating the Truth of Anton LaVey’s Devilish Life | KQED","description":"The Church of Satan founder created a headline-grabbing persona. A new book by Doug Brod dispels its myths.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Excavating the Truth of Anton LaVey’s Devilish Life","datePublished":"2024-10-05T10:33:17-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-11T13:10:55-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprByline":"Zack Ruskin","nprStoryId":"kqed-13966153","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","subhead":"The Church of Satan founder created a headline-grabbing persona. A new book by Doug Brod dispels its myths.","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","showOnAuthorArchivePages":"No","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13966153/anton-lavey-church-of-satan-doug-brod-book","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>You’d never know it these days, but for decades, 6114 California Street was one of the \u003ca href=\"https://www.churchofsatan.com/faq-the-black-house/\">most infamous addresses\u003c/a> in all of San Francisco. As the longtime headquarters of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/11964949/how-the-church-of-satan-was-born-in-san-francisco\">Anton LaVey’s Church of Satan\u003c/a>, the house — painted completely black — hosted a rotating menagerie of colorful guests (including, at one point, \u003ca href=\"https://www.sfchronicle.com/oursf/article/church-satan-lavey-lion-18444967.php\">a lion\u003c/a>) visiting the sanctuary devoted to Satan.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In his revelatory new biography of LaVey, author Doug Brod attempts to parse fact from fiction, detailing how a Jewish boy from Chicago left an indelible dark mark on popular culture — and found himself labeled as a face of evil to many Americans.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966166\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1734px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515036094-scaled-e1697741210672.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1734\" height=\"2000\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966166\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515036094-scaled-e1697741210672.jpg 1734w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515036094-scaled-e1697741210672-800x923.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515036094-scaled-e1697741210672-1020x1176.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515036094-scaled-e1697741210672-160x185.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515036094-scaled-e1697741210672-768x886.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515036094-scaled-e1697741210672-1332x1536.jpg 1332w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1734px) 100vw, 1734px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anton Szandor LaVey, the leader of the First Church of Satan, taps his gum-chewing 3-year-old daughter, Zeena Galatea LaVey, on the head with a sword during “baptism ceremonies” in San Francisco on May 23, 1967. A naked woman reclines on the altar during the anti-religious ceremony. \u003ccite>(Bettmann/Getty)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Relying on more than 50 interviews as well as church documents and personal correspondence, \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/titles/doug-brod/born-with-a-tail/9781668644690/\">Born With a Tail: The Devilish Life and Wicked Times of Anton Szandor LaVey\u003c/a>\u003c/em> (Hachette; $31) shows that while many of LaVey’s most outlandish claims were clearly lies, his brilliance at combining philosophy and outrage put him on equal standing with history’s great charlatans.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"news_11964949","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>One part pope, nine parts P. T. Barnum, LaVey nonetheless cultivated a devoted following whose exploits regularly made headlines and late-night television appearances. But the occult trappings of LaVey’s organization belied its true intent; no one was literally worshiping Satan.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The church’s idea was more like a self-empowerment group,” Brod says. “LaVey wanted people to indulge in their carnal desires. It was basically a hedonistic philosophy — some might say it was a greedy and selfish philosophy — but it was about always putting the individual first.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966159\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1325px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Born-with-a-Tail_HC.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1325\" height=\"2000\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966159\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Born-with-a-Tail_HC.jpg 1325w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Born-with-a-Tail_HC-800x1208.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Born-with-a-Tail_HC-1020x1540.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Born-with-a-Tail_HC-160x242.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Born-with-a-Tail_HC-768x1159.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Born-with-a-Tail_HC-1018x1536.jpg 1018w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1325px) 100vw, 1325px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Born With a Tail: The Devilish Life and Wicked Times of Anton Szandor LaVey,’ by Doug Brod. \u003ccite>(Hachette Book Group)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In his 368-page biography, Brod recounts the Church of Satan’s colorful history from its inception at the Black House in 1966, and the Satanic marriage ceremonies and baptisms the group publicly performed to earn early press, to the devastating backlash LaVey endured as a result of the \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Satanic_panic\">Satanic Panic\u003c/a> of the 1980s and his eventual retreat from public life.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ahead of \u003ca href=\"https://greenapplebooks.com/event/2024-10-08/offsite-doug-brod-jack-boulware\">an appearance on Tuesday, Oct. 8\u003c/a> at 540 Rogues in San Francisco, Brod spoke with KQED by phone to discuss LaVey’s lasting impact, what his research uncovered, and where the Church of Satan stands today.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966161\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1428\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966161\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511-800x571.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511-1020x728.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511-160x114.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511-768x548.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511-1536x1097.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515103210-scaled-e1697737890511-1920x1371.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anton Szandor LaVey, head of the First Satanic Church, is assisted by his partner, Diane, as they go through a satanic ceremony in 1970. \u003ccite>(Bettmann/Getty)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Getting to the bottom of Anton LaVey’s life seems like a challenging task. Where did you start? Were the fact-checks previously published by journalist Lawrence Wright and LaVey’s daughters Zeena helpful?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One thing that was really essential for me was going into the archives of the \u003cem>San Francisco Chronicle\u003c/em> and the \u003cem>Examiner\u003c/em>, because he was in the papers constantly: on the front page, in columns, and as a news topic. He was also on local TV news programs. Contemporaneous stories are a little more trustworthy, and perhaps more reliable, then people hearing stuff secondhand 30 years later. Yes, that \u003ca href=\"https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-features/anton-levey-interview-1235074429/\">Lawrence Wright piece in \u003cem>Rolling Stone\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, where he was able to debunk some of LaVey’s more outlandish claims, was essential too. I interviewed Lawrence for the book. The “\u003ca href=\"https://archive.org/details/reality-and-legend\">Legend vs. Reality\u003c/a>” piece was co-written by Zeena LaVey [now Zeena Schreck], who became estranged from her father. There was a lot of negativity surrounding that estrangement, and this piece was one of the main sources of it. There was also a very interesting book written by one of his right-hand men, Michael Aquino, who was there pretty much from the start of the Church. He wrote a 500-page account of the Church of Satan that he self-published. There’s a lot of bizarre stuff in there, because Michael Aquino was a true occult believer, while the case can be made that Anton LaVey was not. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966156\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1351\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966156\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne-800x540.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne-1020x689.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne-768x519.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne-1536x1038.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/8-Anton-with-Joe-Pyne-1920x1297.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anton LaVey on ‘The Joe Pyne Show’ in October 1967. LaVey remained unflappable against the combative interviewer. \u003ccite>(Walter Fischer / Courtesy of Alf Wahlgren)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>One thing that struck me about LaVey and the Church of Satan is how large they managed to appear, despite never having more than 300 members around the world at their peak. For how ingrained the Church of Satan is in today’s culture, were you surprised by how few people were involved with the organization?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>LaVey just glommed on to a really interesting philosophy and he articulated it very, very well. People basically took from it what they wanted to take from it. Eventually, it got mixed in with the devil-worship brand of Satanism that was prevalent in the media in the ’80s, which led to the Satanic Panic, but he never really wanted that. LaVey’s thing was more of a philosophical approach to life that stressed the power of the individual and the power of people. It was very effective, and he was a very effective communicator. Even down to the way he looked, he is so associated with what we see as Satanism today, with his bald head and the Van Dyke beard and his pirate earring and arched eyebrows. There are questions about how big the organization actually was, and who knows if we’ll ever get the real numbers? I certainly couldn’t get the real numbers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966157\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1325\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966157\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman-800x530.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman-1020x676.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman-768x509.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman-1536x1018.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/7-Forrest-Ackerman-1920x1272.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">On a 1967 visit to magazine editor Forrest J. Ackerman’s ‘Ackermansion’ in Los Angeles, LaVey admired his friend’s vast collection of horror, sci-fi, and fantasy memorabilia. \u003ccite>(Walter Fischer / Courtesy of Alf Wahlgren)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Anton LaVey died in 1997. It’s now 2024. Do you think people are aware that a lot of what he was doing was for show, or is there still a contingent of folks who believe he was truly evil?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During the writing of the book, everyone I mentioned it to, at least in my circle, found it really interesting but I never heard anything especially negative. My feeling is that people do know who he actually was, and what he was actually about. Even if they don’t see him as a benign figure, they at least see him as someone who wasn’t diabolical. As I write in the book, there are cases to be made that he was indeed a bad guy in many respects, but overall, I think it was only during the time of the Satanic Panic where he was really considered to be this evil, diabolical figure. Over time, I think that’s changed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966165\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1850px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-1310361512.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1850\" height=\"2000\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966165\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-1310361512.jpg 1850w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-1310361512-800x865.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-1310361512-1020x1103.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-1310361512-160x173.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-1310361512-768x830.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-1310361512-1421x1536.jpg 1421w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1850px) 100vw, 1850px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anton LaVey, founder and self-proclaimed high priest of the Church of Satan, is photographed at home in San Francisco with his pet lion on June 26, 1964. \u003ccite>(Art Frisch/The San Francisco Chronicle via Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>But he did also have some garden-variety evil in him, in the form of domestic violence and animal abuse. Now that people have had a chance to reevaluate his spectacles — like \u003ca href=\"https://www.sfchronicle.com/oursf/article/church-satan-lavey-lion-18444967.php\">choosing to keep a pet lion in his home\u003c/a> — do you think we have the distance necessary to properly evaluate LaVey’s life and legacy?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That’s pretty much what I set out to do, but I have to say, I was helped along by an amazing discovery. While I was working on the book, I interviewed a man named Don Frew, who knew LaVey during the Satanic Panic era. He and his wife run \u003ca href=\"https://adocentynlibrary.org/\">a research center\u003c/a> in Albany, California. They have thousands of books on the occult, and on esoteric topics like UFOs and Satanism and paganism — all this stuff. Not only did Don know LaVey, he was friends with him and was able to get his hands on boxes upon boxes of original Church of Satan administrative materials, as well as correspondence between LaVey and his friends.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966158\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1333px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Doug-Brod-Headshot.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1333\" height=\"2000\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966158\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Doug-Brod-Headshot.jpg 1333w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Doug-Brod-Headshot-800x1200.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Doug-Brod-Headshot-1020x1530.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Doug-Brod-Headshot-160x240.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Doug-Brod-Headshot-768x1152.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Doug-Brod-Headshot-1024x1536.jpg 1024w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1333px) 100vw, 1333px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Doug Brod. \u003ccite>(Hachette Book Group)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>What’s the status of the Church of Satan today?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As I write in the book, it’s no longer a clubhouse that’s centrally located in San Francisco. Now it’s more of an internet-based organization. There’s still a Church of Satan with its headquarters in Poughkeepsie, New York. It’s headed up by a married couple, Peter H. Gilmore and Peggy Nadramia, and there are still many followers. If you go on Facebook, you’ll see there are still people who really follow the LaVeyan form of Satanism, but it’s more dispersed now. It’s not so much an organized system. It’s more people doing their own thing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"pop_111144","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>I will say this for the Church of Satan itself: \u003ca href=\"https://www.churchofsatan.com/\">their website is really fascinating\u003c/a>. It was also a very good resource for some of the research in this book. Their X — formerly Twitter — account is \u003ca href=\"https://x.com/ChurchofSatan\">very funny and very droll\u003c/a>. They’re constantly on the defense, which is amusing, but yes, it’s still around. There are also other organizations that base themselves on the Church of Satan. There’s the \u003ca href=\"https://thesatanictemple.com/?srsltid=AfmBOorurPbZKtfu_ZLyee9NwLmRjQ5WhGsTrCuUmxchw0KB2hXbdDRW\">Satanic Temple\u003c/a>, which is more like a social justice organization. They do a lot of stuff with the First Amendment. They put up, like, \u003ca href=\"https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-33682878\">Baphomet\u003c/a> statues alongside the Ten Commandments at various state halls. They’re a very active protest organization that’s less about following satanic tenets or satanic rules and more about using the idea of Satan worship to counter the overt Christian nationalism in this country.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966160\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966160\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/14-Anton-in-black-cap-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anton LaVey in the early ’70s, when the Church of Satan founder was arguably at his most productive. \u003ccite>(Stanton and Sharon LaVey family / Courtesy of Alf Wahlgren)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>In terms of what this book can tell us about the times we live in now, do you see a lot of symmetry between the world LaVey lived in and the present moment?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Absolutely. People are always looking for organizations where like-minded people share their ideas and philosophies. The thing that depresses me about what’s going on today is that it feels like an amped-up version of the Satanic Panic, which happened in the ’80s and really made LaVey go into retreat, because the Church of Satan was being blamed for a lot of things it had nothing to do with. But now you have QAnon and various other belief systems where everything is conspiracy theories and lies. People are being bombarded with lies, and groups are being scapegoated as a result, which feels a lot like a repeat of the Satanic Panic. That’s something that’s still going on today. It has nothing to do with LaVey, per se, but it has a lot to do with how he was seen in the ’80s.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966164\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1330\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966164\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291-800x532.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291-1020x678.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291-768x511.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291-1536x1021.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/GettyImages-515098326-scaled-e1697741191291-1920x1277.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anton LaVey, founder of the Church of Satan, rises out from a hidden corridor behind a false fireplace in his study in 1967. \u003ccite>(Bettmann/Getty)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Tell me about the person you’ll be chatting with on Tuesday here in San Francisco. Do they have ties to the Church of Satan as well?\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://jackboulware.substack.com/\">Jack Boulware\u003c/a> will be in conversation with me, and yes! He was someone I interviewed for the book because he knew LaVey. He actually \u003ca href=\"https://jackboulware.substack.com/p/32-years-of-satan\">published a fashion shoot\u003c/a> with LaVey in a magazine called \u003cem>The Nose\u003c/em> many years ago. He was friendly with LaVey for a period, so I’m hoping he’ll share some of his stories at the event too.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Doug Brod appears in conversation with Jack Boulware on Tuesday, Oct. 8, at 540 Rogues (540 Clement St., San Francisco), presented by Green Apple Books. \u003ca href=\"https://greenapplebooks.com/event/2024-10-08/offsite-doug-brod-jack-boulware\">Details here\u003c/a>. \u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13966153/anton-lavey-church-of-satan-doug-brod-book","authors":["byline_arts_13966153"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_73","arts_7862"],"tags":["arts_22339","arts_10342","arts_10278","arts_22340","arts_1146"],"featImg":"arts_13966163","label":"arts"},"food_1337762":{"type":"posts","id":"food_1337762","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"food","id":"1337762","score":null,"sort":[1728593685000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"creep-out-your-halloween-party-guests-with-these-horrors-doeuvres","title":"Creep Out Your Halloween Party Guests With These \"Horrors d'oeuvres\"","publishDate":1728593685,"format":"video","headTitle":"Creep Out Your Halloween Party Guests With These “Horrors d’oeuvres” | KQED","labelTerm":{},"content":"\u003cp>October has come around again and that means it’s time for one of the Bay Area’s favorite holidays: Halloween. If you are planning a party this year and want to go beyond just dropping dry ice in a punchbowl, try this fun and easy cold cuts skeleton appetizer. All you’ll need to recreate this party platter is a plastic skull from any crafts store, an array of cold cuts, and a couple of green olives. Because we like being extra, we bought our cold cuts from Molinari’s Delicatessen in North Beach, one of San Francisco’s oldest and most beloved delis. Just because it is adorning a hideous plastic skull, doesn’t mean your snacks can’t be high quality. This spooky twist to charcuterie is sure to make this year’s party spread especially memorable.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Subscribe to KQED Food’s \u003cstrong>\u003ca href=\"http://youtube.com/@KQEDFood?sub_confirmation=1\">YouTube channel\u003c/a> \u003c/strong>and follow us on \u003cstrong>\u003ca href=\"http://instagram.com/KQEDFood\">social\u003c/a>.\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>About No Crumbs:\u003c/strong> In KQED’s No Crumbs, host Josh Decolongon is a foodie field reporter, uncovering histories and celebrating the culture behind the Bay Area’s exciting and diverse culinary landscape. No Crumbs will inspire new perspectives on the Bay Area food scene you thought you knew. No Crumbs is produced by Josh Decolongon and Janelle Hessig for KQED.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":null,"status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728593685,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":5,"wordCount":230},"headData":{"title":"Creep Out Your Halloween Party Guests With These \"Horrors d'oeuvres\" | KQED","description":"If you're planning to go extra hard on your Halloween party hors d'ouevres this year, try this fun and easy cold cuts skeleton platter.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialDescription":"If you're planning to go extra hard on your Halloween party hors d'ouevres this year, try this fun and easy cold cuts skeleton platter.","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Creep Out Your Halloween Party Guests With These \"Horrors d'oeuvres\"","datePublished":"2024-10-10T13:54:45-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-10T13:54:45-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"videoEmbed":"https://youtu.be/XSHwuWBi2Wc?feature=shared","source":"Food","sourceUrl":"https://www.kqed.org/food","sticky":false,"nprByline":"KQED Food Staff","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","showOnAuthorArchivePages":"No","articleAge":"0","path":"/food/1337762/creep-out-your-halloween-party-guests-with-these-horrors-doeuvres","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>October has come around again and that means it’s time for one of the Bay Area’s favorite holidays: Halloween. If you are planning a party this year and want to go beyond just dropping dry ice in a punchbowl, try this fun and easy cold cuts skeleton appetizer. All you’ll need to recreate this party platter is a plastic skull from any crafts store, an array of cold cuts, and a couple of green olives. Because we like being extra, we bought our cold cuts from Molinari’s Delicatessen in North Beach, one of San Francisco’s oldest and most beloved delis. Just because it is adorning a hideous plastic skull, doesn’t mean your snacks can’t be high quality. This spooky twist to charcuterie is sure to make this year’s party spread especially memorable.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Subscribe to KQED Food’s \u003cstrong>\u003ca href=\"http://youtube.com/@KQEDFood?sub_confirmation=1\">YouTube channel\u003c/a> \u003c/strong>and follow us on \u003cstrong>\u003ca href=\"http://instagram.com/KQEDFood\">social\u003c/a>.\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>About No Crumbs:\u003c/strong> In KQED’s No Crumbs, host Josh Decolongon is a foodie field reporter, uncovering histories and celebrating the culture behind the Bay Area’s exciting and diverse culinary landscape. No Crumbs will inspire new perspectives on the Bay Area food scene you thought you knew. No Crumbs is produced by Josh Decolongon and Janelle Hessig for KQED.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/food/1337762/creep-out-your-halloween-party-guests-with-these-horrors-doeuvres","authors":["byline_food_1337762"],"series":["food_331"],"categories":["food_1"],"tags":["food_102","food_212","food_261","food_175"],"featImg":"food_1337763","label":"source_food_1337762"},"arts_13966361":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13966361","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13966361","score":null,"sort":[1728517221000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"pacific-islander-night-market-food-festival-east-palo-alto","title":"This Night Market Puts Pacific Island Cuisine Front and Center","publishDate":1728517221,"format":"aside","headTitle":"This Night Market Puts Pacific Island Cuisine Front and Center | KQED","labelTerm":{},"content":"\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966376\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966376\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2.jpg\" alt=\"A platter of assorted Tongan stews and other Polynesian dishes.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1608\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2-800x643.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2-1020x820.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2-160x129.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2-768x617.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2-1536x1235.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2-1920x1544.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A mixed platter from Tokemoana. The Tongan food business is one of several Pacific Island eateries that will be featured at the South Pacific Food Fest night market in East Palo Alto. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Tokemoana Foods)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>These days the Bay Area is awash with so many \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13963258/bay-area-night-markets-food-fall-guide-2024\">night markets\u003c/a>, it’s possible for a hardcore street food lover to hit one up almost every single weekend. But the latest market to touch down on the Peninsula is almost certainly the only one where hungry visitors can feast on Fijian meat pies, Tongan teriyaki-braised turkey tails and \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/DAwQyYUyxYK/?hl=en\">watermelon ’otai\u003c/a>, \u003ci>and \u003c/i>Hawaiian barbecue plate lunches.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In fact, \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/southpacificfoodfest/?hl=en\">South Pacific Food Fest\u003c/a> is the Bay Area’s only night market dedicated exclusively to Pacific Island culture and cuisine. The annual event’s second edition takes place this Saturday, Oct. 12, at \u003ca href=\"https://www.university-circle.com/\">University Circle\u003c/a> in East Palo Alto.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13963258,arts_13911062']The night market is the brainchild of Fusi Taaga (of \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/tokemoanafoods/?hl=en\">Tokemoana Foods\u003c/a>) and Angelina Hurrell, both of whom have spent years selling their island dishes at food events all over Northern California.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As Taaga tells it, many Pacific Island food vendors are no stranger to the Bay Area festival circuit, but they’re often relegated to supporting actor status at big events (like, say, \u003ca href=\"https://sfoutsidelands.com/food-and-drink/taste-of-the-bay-area/\">Outside Lands\u003c/a>) where food isn’t the main focus. And while the Bay is home to plenty of large-scale AAPI food festivals, the reality is that these tend to be heavy on the “AA” and relatively light on the “PI,” with maybe only one or two vendors at the most representing all of the different islands in the South Pacific.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966381\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966381\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor.jpg\" alt=\"A vendor selling traditional woven crafts at a Pacific Islander festival.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1377\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor-800x551.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor-1020x702.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor-160x110.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor-768x529.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor-1536x1058.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor-1920x1322.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A crafts vendor at last year’s inaugural South Pacific Food Fest. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Tokemoana Foods)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“In a lot of those spaces, the actual representation from Pacific Islanders is very minimal,” Taaga says. “It’s not really anyone’s fault.” So, she and Hurrell decided to create a space of their own — a festival where Polynesian/Pacific Islander cuisine would be front and center.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In short, Taaga says, “We wanted to create an event where Pacific Islanders do feel like it’s about them and this community.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The night market aspect was mostly just to accommodate working people’s schedules and help create an atmosphere — with art, music and other cultural performances — where folks would want to stay and hang out for a while, instead of just grabbing a meal on the run.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This year’s South Pacific Food Fest will feature 16 food vendors, culled from over 60 applications—an outpouring of interest that speaks to the abundance of island food here in the Bay Area. In fact, the local Pacific Islander food scene’s robustness may come as a surprise to those outside of the community: Apart from the ubiquity of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13911062/hawaiian-barbecue-bay-area-multicultural-oakland-ilava\">Hawaiian barbecue restaurants\u003c/a> across the region, many of these businesses are food trucks, pop-ups and catering operations. Often, they don’t have a brick-and-mortar presence and haven’t gotten a ton of press coverage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966377\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966377\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie.jpg\" alt=\"Fijian meat pie cut open so that the meaty cross section is visible.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie-800x1000.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie-1020x1275.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie-160x200.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie-768x960.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie-1229x1536.jpg 1229w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie-1638x2048.jpg 1638w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie-1920x2400.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A Fijian mince and cheese pie from Bula Pies Fiji. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Bula Pies Fiji)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>What Taaga and Hurrell hope, then, is that the night market will help showcase the tremendous diversity of Pacific Island cuisine. Saturday’s food lineup will include flaky-crusted Fijian-style minced beef pies and smoked brisket pies from \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/bula.pies.fiji/?hl=en\">Bula Pies Fiji\u003c/a> and lamb curry from \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/fijianbbq/\">Fijian BBQ\u003c/a>. Tokemoana, whose brick-and-mortar restaurant in San Mateo closed last year, will sell Tongan braised turkey tails and feke (octopus in cream sauce). And the chef for \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/DA2RsuwPIfn/\">Saia’s Spot in East Palo Alto\u003c/a> — perhaps the Bay Area’s first Tongan restaurant whose heyday was during the early 2000s — is coming out of retirement to serve lu kapapulu, a Polynesian staple made with taro leaves and corned beef.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Meanwhile, other Pacific Islander–owned businesses will serve dishes not typically associated with the South Pacific — like \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/DAokxVUyJ2c/\">hibachi\u003c/a> plates and \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/DAhqJo7vZ6E/\">Cajun seafood boil\u003c/a>, prepared with an island twist. Dessert options will include \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/DAzWk1OSmO0/?hl=en\">Dole whip\u003c/a> and the Samoan cinnamon cake known as puligi. And yes, there will be plenty of \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/its_poly_bbq_/\">Hawaiian barbecue\u003c/a> too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966379\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966379\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl.jpg\" alt=\"Braised turkey tails over rice in a small pot.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1126\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl-1536x865.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl-1920x1081.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Braised turkey tails over rice — a Tongan specialty courtesy of Tokemoana. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Tokemoana Foods)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Taaga recalls that when she first opened her diner-like San Mateo restaurant, so many American customers came and ordered things like teriyaki cheeseburgers and banana macadamia nut pancakes — in other words, dishes that aren’t really Tongan foods at all. But then they would see, and become curious about, the more traditional dishes on the menu.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She hopes the South Pacific Food Fest can function in a similar way. The event will, first and foremost, be an opportunity for the local Pacific Island community to come together. But she also hopes those outside of the community will come, perhaps drawn in by the promise of poke bowls and Hawaiian barbecue. And once they’re there? Hopefully, Taaga says, they’ll also try some of the lesser-known foods on offer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It’s an opportunity for these businesses to showcase their food and their culture to the outside world,” Taaga says.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.eventbrite.com/e/south-pacific-food-fest-tickets-1039309180737?aff=oddtdtcreator\">\u003ci>South Pacific Food Fest\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003ci> will take place on Saturday, Oct. 12, from 4–10 p.m. at University Circle in East Palo Alto. Admission is free.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"The second annual South Pacific Food Fest comes to East Palo Alto.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728517516,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":16,"wordCount":926},"headData":{"title":"South Pacific Night Market Puts Polynesian Food Front and Center | KQED","description":"The second annual South Pacific Food Fest comes to East Palo Alto.","ogTitle":"This Night Market Puts Pacific Island Cuisine Front and Center","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"This Night Market Puts Pacific Island Cuisine Front and Center","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialTitle":"South Pacific Night Market Puts Polynesian Food Front and Center %%page%% %%sep%% KQED","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"This Night Market Puts Pacific Island Cuisine Front and Center","datePublished":"2024-10-09T16:40:21-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-09T16:45:16-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"source":"Food","sourceUrl":"https://www.kqed.org/food","sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13966361","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13966361/pacific-islander-night-market-food-festival-east-palo-alto","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966376\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966376\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2.jpg\" alt=\"A platter of assorted Tongan stews and other Polynesian dishes.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1608\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2-800x643.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2-1020x820.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2-160x129.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2-768x617.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2-1536x1235.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tomemoanas-poly-plate2-1920x1544.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A mixed platter from Tokemoana. The Tongan food business is one of several Pacific Island eateries that will be featured at the South Pacific Food Fest night market in East Palo Alto. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Tokemoana Foods)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>These days the Bay Area is awash with so many \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13963258/bay-area-night-markets-food-fall-guide-2024\">night markets\u003c/a>, it’s possible for a hardcore street food lover to hit one up almost every single weekend. But the latest market to touch down on the Peninsula is almost certainly the only one where hungry visitors can feast on Fijian meat pies, Tongan teriyaki-braised turkey tails and \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/DAwQyYUyxYK/?hl=en\">watermelon ’otai\u003c/a>, \u003ci>and \u003c/i>Hawaiian barbecue plate lunches.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In fact, \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/southpacificfoodfest/?hl=en\">South Pacific Food Fest\u003c/a> is the Bay Area’s only night market dedicated exclusively to Pacific Island culture and cuisine. The annual event’s second edition takes place this Saturday, Oct. 12, at \u003ca href=\"https://www.university-circle.com/\">University Circle\u003c/a> in East Palo Alto.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13963258,arts_13911062","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>The night market is the brainchild of Fusi Taaga (of \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/tokemoanafoods/?hl=en\">Tokemoana Foods\u003c/a>) and Angelina Hurrell, both of whom have spent years selling their island dishes at food events all over Northern California.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As Taaga tells it, many Pacific Island food vendors are no stranger to the Bay Area festival circuit, but they’re often relegated to supporting actor status at big events (like, say, \u003ca href=\"https://sfoutsidelands.com/food-and-drink/taste-of-the-bay-area/\">Outside Lands\u003c/a>) where food isn’t the main focus. And while the Bay is home to plenty of large-scale AAPI food festivals, the reality is that these tend to be heavy on the “AA” and relatively light on the “PI,” with maybe only one or two vendors at the most representing all of the different islands in the South Pacific.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966381\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966381\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor.jpg\" alt=\"A vendor selling traditional woven crafts at a Pacific Islander festival.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1377\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor-800x551.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor-1020x702.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor-160x110.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor-768x529.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor-1536x1058.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/south-pacific-food-fest-vendor-1920x1322.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A crafts vendor at last year’s inaugural South Pacific Food Fest. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Tokemoana Foods)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“In a lot of those spaces, the actual representation from Pacific Islanders is very minimal,” Taaga says. “It’s not really anyone’s fault.” So, she and Hurrell decided to create a space of their own — a festival where Polynesian/Pacific Islander cuisine would be front and center.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In short, Taaga says, “We wanted to create an event where Pacific Islanders do feel like it’s about them and this community.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The night market aspect was mostly just to accommodate working people’s schedules and help create an atmosphere — with art, music and other cultural performances — where folks would want to stay and hang out for a while, instead of just grabbing a meal on the run.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This year’s South Pacific Food Fest will feature 16 food vendors, culled from over 60 applications—an outpouring of interest that speaks to the abundance of island food here in the Bay Area. In fact, the local Pacific Islander food scene’s robustness may come as a surprise to those outside of the community: Apart from the ubiquity of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13911062/hawaiian-barbecue-bay-area-multicultural-oakland-ilava\">Hawaiian barbecue restaurants\u003c/a> across the region, many of these businesses are food trucks, pop-ups and catering operations. Often, they don’t have a brick-and-mortar presence and haven’t gotten a ton of press coverage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966377\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966377\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie.jpg\" alt=\"Fijian meat pie cut open so that the meaty cross section is visible.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie-800x1000.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie-1020x1275.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie-160x200.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie-768x960.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie-1229x1536.jpg 1229w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie-1638x2048.jpg 1638w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Bula-mince-n-cheese-pie-1920x2400.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A Fijian mince and cheese pie from Bula Pies Fiji. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Bula Pies Fiji)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>What Taaga and Hurrell hope, then, is that the night market will help showcase the tremendous diversity of Pacific Island cuisine. Saturday’s food lineup will include flaky-crusted Fijian-style minced beef pies and smoked brisket pies from \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/bula.pies.fiji/?hl=en\">Bula Pies Fiji\u003c/a> and lamb curry from \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/fijianbbq/\">Fijian BBQ\u003c/a>. Tokemoana, whose brick-and-mortar restaurant in San Mateo closed last year, will sell Tongan braised turkey tails and feke (octopus in cream sauce). And the chef for \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/DA2RsuwPIfn/\">Saia’s Spot in East Palo Alto\u003c/a> — perhaps the Bay Area’s first Tongan restaurant whose heyday was during the early 2000s — is coming out of retirement to serve lu kapapulu, a Polynesian staple made with taro leaves and corned beef.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Meanwhile, other Pacific Islander–owned businesses will serve dishes not typically associated with the South Pacific — like \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/DAokxVUyJ2c/\">hibachi\u003c/a> plates and \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/DAhqJo7vZ6E/\">Cajun seafood boil\u003c/a>, prepared with an island twist. Dessert options will include \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/DAzWk1OSmO0/?hl=en\">Dole whip\u003c/a> and the Samoan cinnamon cake known as puligi. And yes, there will be plenty of \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/its_poly_bbq_/\">Hawaiian barbecue\u003c/a> too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966379\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966379\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl.jpg\" alt=\"Braised turkey tails over rice in a small pot.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1126\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl-1536x865.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Tokemoanas-turkey-tail-bowl-1920x1081.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Braised turkey tails over rice — a Tongan specialty courtesy of Tokemoana. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Tokemoana Foods)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Taaga recalls that when she first opened her diner-like San Mateo restaurant, so many American customers came and ordered things like teriyaki cheeseburgers and banana macadamia nut pancakes — in other words, dishes that aren’t really Tongan foods at all. But then they would see, and become curious about, the more traditional dishes on the menu.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She hopes the South Pacific Food Fest can function in a similar way. The event will, first and foremost, be an opportunity for the local Pacific Island community to come together. But she also hopes those outside of the community will come, perhaps drawn in by the promise of poke bowls and Hawaiian barbecue. And once they’re there? Hopefully, Taaga says, they’ll also try some of the lesser-known foods on offer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It’s an opportunity for these businesses to showcase their food and their culture to the outside world,” Taaga says.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.eventbrite.com/e/south-pacific-food-fest-tickets-1039309180737?aff=oddtdtcreator\">\u003ci>South Pacific Food Fest\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003ci> will take place on Saturday, Oct. 12, from 4–10 p.m. at University Circle in East Palo Alto. Admission is free.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13966361/pacific-islander-night-market-food-festival-east-palo-alto","authors":["11743"],"programs":["arts_140"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_12276","arts_22313"],"tags":["arts_11007","arts_3315","arts_10278","arts_1297","arts_22196","arts_17041","arts_12982","arts_585"],"featImg":"arts_13966379","label":"source_arts_13966361"},"arts_13955802":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13955802","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13955802","score":null,"sort":[1713390752000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"bay-area-rappers-food-lyrics-illustrations-e-40-larry-june","title":"Here’s What Bay Area Rappers Are Eating (According to Their Lyrics)","publishDate":1713390752,"format":"standard","headTitle":"Here’s What Bay Area Rappers Are Eating (According to Their Lyrics) | KQED","labelTerm":{},"content":"\u003cp>[dropcap]W[/dropcap]hen conveying what it means to really be from the Bay Area, I often return to this simple yet revelatory \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/mac-dre\">Mac Dre\u003c/a> lyric: “In the Bay Area, we dance a little different.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Whether it’s in our music, political activism or technological contributions, there’s a certain out-of-box forwardness that tends to manifest from Bay Area minds — a distinguishable pride in how we approach everything with a savvy sprinkling of game, hustlership and top-tier ideation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The same can be said for the Bay Area’s food scene, which ranks among the nation’s best and most imaginative. From sourdough bread to the eternal Mission-style burrito, the Bay’s foodmakers have often been ahead of the curve, helping to revolutionize menus nationwide with their fresh farm-to-table approach. To borrow from the great Mac, one could say that in the Bay Area, we \u003ci>eat\u003c/i> a little different.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[aside postID='arts_13907726,arts_13934248']\u003c/span>It’s no surprise, then, that in the history of local rap, food has always been a strong reference point — a metaphorical kitchen for creative exchange. An endless platter of well-seasoned slang. For decades, our rappers have delivered punchlines involving sauce, lasagna and \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XMah0rX6pGU\">lumpia\u003c/a>; dropped verses that generously reference \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkBJR5L2nas\">desserts and bakeries\u003c/a>; and supplied entire songs about stacking bread, cheese and lettuce as lucrative sandwiches.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.sfchronicle.com/food/restaurants/article/bay-area-rap-shrimp-crab-17915372.php\">Food-loving Bay Area rappers\u003c/a> have always been bold when it comes to transmorphing culinary items and kitchen utensils into slang that others then appropriate and even misuse (see: “\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13908052/food-doesnt-slap\">food doesn’t slap\u003c/a>”). Shock G once talked about getting busy in a Burger King bathroom and declared, “I like my oatmeal lumpy.” On “Dreganomics,” Mac Dre himself asked, “What’s spaghetti without the sauce?” We’ve got Suga T (sweet) and Spice 1 (hot). Berner founded \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/cookiessf/?hl=en\">Cookies\u003c/a>. And just a few weeks ago, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13900085/stunnaman02-and-the-big-steppin-energy-in-the-room\">Stunnaman02\u003c/a> dropped a whole series of viral videos centered on his latest single. His focus? \u003ca href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/@jayworrld/video/7340701934355254574\">Eating a salad\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s a unifying ethos in Bay Area food and rap: \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E6GU3PmttyI\">Everybody eats\u003c/a>. So here’s a brief ode to some of our region’s most skilled vocabulary chefs and the tasteful ways they’ve reimagined the ingredients of language that are possible in a kitchen — and the recording studio.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956090\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956090\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper E-40 in sunglasses and a beige apron, holding a glass of red wine. In front of him are a burrito and a grilled cheese sandwich.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">E-40 might be the most prolific inventor of food-related slang words in the English language. He’s a head chef in the Bay Area’s rap kingdom. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>E-40: Green eggs, hams, candy yams, Spam, cheese, peanut butter and jam on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=etIBcRriUJY\">The Slap\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Digital scale, green eggs and hams / Yams, candy yams, Spam, damn! / Loaded, my cheese, peanut butter and jam / Sammich, mannish, me and my Hispanics / Vanish, talkin’ in codes like we from different planets.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though it may sound like gibberish to the uninitiated, rest assured that \u003ca href=\"https://firstwefeast.com/eat/2013/12/food-rap-decoded-with-e-40-video\">99.99% of anything 40 Water vocalizes has a cleverly associative meaning\u003c/a>. For anyone who has listened to one of the more than 25 studio albums from Vallejo’s kingpin, you’ve surely heard him mention food — perhaps in a variety of languages (some real, some ingeniously invented). In addition to the smorgasbord he notes above in “The Slap,” he has pioneered rhymes across generations that give new meanings to Gouda, feta, mozzarella, lettuce, bread, sausage, salami, paninis, spaghetti, tacos and enchiladas — ad infinitum. Unsurprisingly, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13907726/e-40-goon-with-the-spoon-bay-area-rappers-food-entrepreneurs-hustle\">Mr. Fonzarelli is an actual purveyor of foods and beverages\u003c/a>, with a line of products that includes malt liquor, ice cream and burritos; he even co-owns \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/thelumpiacompany/\">The Lumpia Company\u003c/a>. There’s no one with a bigger million-dollar mouthpiece who can distribute as much word candy (“S-L-A-N-G”) quite as flavorfully as the Goon With The Spoon himself.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Andre Nickatina: TOGO’s #41 sandwich with the hot peppers on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FU1XdPE6lM\">Fa Show\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Baby don’t act dumb, I’m number 41, high stepper / TOGO’s sandwich with the hot peppers / At 90 degrees I might freeze, so when it’s hot I sport leather.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fillmore’s finest, and among \u003ca href=\"https://www.passionweiss.com/2016/11/17/andre-nickatina/\">the most criminally underrated San Francisco rappers in history\u003c/a>, Andre Nickatina has always had a penchant for the spicy, the flavorful, the extemporaneously saucy. From rapping about eating Cap’n Crunch around drug dealers to sarcastically handing out Baskin Robbins dollars to his enemies, Nicky Nicotine (formerly known as Dre Dog) raps about food as casually as any rapper would ever dare. Unlike many of today’s international rap personalities, who seem to only eat at \u003ca href=\"https://www.reddit.com/r/OutOfTheLoop/comments/6frbt9/why_are_rappers_obsessed_with_nobu_sushi/\">high-priced sushi conglomerates\u003c/a>, Nickatina is a Bay Area real one, electing to stay fed at a regional sandwich chain from San Jose. The enigmatic “number 41” on the \u003ca href=\"https://www.togos.com/menu/?gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAjwoPOwBhAeEiwAJuXRh69gJ2fS8J9qmnAKJEnCmI5720psTxEmhEmkgFAemWoe3auyNuuxExoCTm0QAvD_BwE\">Togo’s menu\u003c/a> has since been discontinued, but a spokesperson for the restaurant IDed it as a sirloin steak and mushroom sandwich that was introduced as a seasonal special back in 2002 — the same year “Fa Show” was released. There is no doubt it must’ve been fire, given its endorsement by a legend who knows how to professionally “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8TXpoi-goE\">Break Bread\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956088\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956088\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper Kamaiyah eating from a plate of chicken alfredo tucked under her arm. Next to her is a bottle of champagne.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kamaiyah’s album covers often feature food, Hennessey and champagne — a reflection of the rapper’s saucy, bossy lifestyle. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Kamaiyah: Champagne and chicken on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yls2dMJ63tM\">Whatever Whenever\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Just drink champagne with all my chicken meals.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s fitting that East Oakland’s Kamaiyah — who cooked up the searingly hot single “How Does It Feel” on her transcendent debut, \u003ci>A Good Night in the Ghetto\u003c/i> — continued to double down on aspirational living and good eating with her sophomore release, \u003ci>Got It Made\u003c/i>. As always, the bodacious trapper rhymes over a synth-laced, floaty-spaceship soundscape while bragging about her California riches — and cuisine. The music video for “Whatever Whenever” features Kamaiyah roaming the untainted grounds of a Napa Valley-esque chateau. Her album covers over the years have also featured bags of potato chips, Hennessy and double-fisted bottles of champagne. It’s always bottoms up when Kamaiyah is on the track.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Too $hort: Macaroni, steak and collard greens on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ru5B8cFskaw\">All My B*tches Are Gone\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Eat some shit up / macaroni, steak, collard greens, or whatever the fuck.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With over 35 years of classic albums like \u003ci>Cocktails\u003c/i> and \u003ci>Gettin’ It\u003c/i>, there’s no doubt that Short Dogg knows how to feed his multi-generational fanbase. He doesn’t shy away from straightforward lyrics — or having a large appetite for nefarious activities — and he has continued to make seasoned slaps for precisely 225,000 hours and counting (“get a calculator, do the math”). This OG’s plate of choice includes classic soul food staples served with a slab of steak. As the veteran unmistakably outlines on “This How We Eat”: “We make money, we eat, we feed.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956087\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956087\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper Larry June in an SF Giants cap, holding a crab cracker in one hand and a fork in the other. In front of him is a whole lobster on a plate.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Besides establishing himself as the healthiest rapper in Bay Area lore, Larry June is also known for sporting vintage muscle cars and cracking lobsters in Sausalito as part of his luxurious lifestyle. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Larry June: Crab legs on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=luIhlZBrJos\">Lifetime Income\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“This not my girlfriend, we just eatin’ crab legs.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you know Larry June, then you know he’s all about smoothies, green teas, organic juices and oranges (yee hee!). But just as buttery are his numerously silky references to luxury meals and late-night outings with a seemingly endless rotation of women friends. Without question, the Hunters Point rapper has one of the healthiest appetites of anyone around a microphone, regularly dropping rhymes about his organic sustenance. Since Uncle Larry makes a living off his out-of-pocket food references, he merits an honorable mention for dropping other absolute bangers like “I might write a motherfuckin’ smoothie book or somethin’ … Sell this shit for thirty dollars” and “Watermelon juice riding bikes with my latest chick / I don’t do the clubs that often, I got a check to get.” It’s fitting that \u003ca href=\"https://uproxx.com/music/larry-june-interview-san-francisco/\">he also co-owns Honeybear Boba in the Dogpatch\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Iamsu!: Chicken strips and Moscato on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQcxMU3uvLg\">Don’t Stop\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Keep it real I don’t brag though… / Chicken strips, no escargot / [sippin’] on the Moscato.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To be fair, this lyric is from a young, mixtape-era Iamsu! and might not reflect the current palate of the multi-platinum rapper and producer from Richmond. (In fact, that’s probably true of every rapper on this list, so take these lyrics with a grain of salt.) But when I first heard this song in my 20s, it’s a line that did — and still does — resonate for its unglamorized celebration of living on a low-budget microwaveable diet while maintaining a glimmer of high-life ambition. Personally, I’d take chicken strips over escargot nine out of ten times. And, from the sound of it, so would Suzy 6 Speed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956086\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956086\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"The rapper P-Lo wiggles his fingers in delight over a plate of chicken wings sitting on a bed of dollar bills.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">P-Lo often raps about his love of chicken (chicken adobo, fried chicken, chicken wings), and his favorite food-related slang word is also “chicken” (as a stand in for “money”). \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>P-Lo: Chicken wings in the strip club on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-ajtPhAQ1U\">Going To Work\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“In the strip club eating chicken wings.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[aside postID='arts_13938479']\u003c/span>There may not be another rapper on this list with as much love for chicken wings as Pinole’s P-Lo. For starters, the lyricist and producer launched a transnational food tour, teaming up with Filipino restaurants around the U.S. and Canada to deliver collaborative one-off dishes, including \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13935891/p-lo-senor-sisig-filipino-food-tour-oakland\">his own spicy sinigang wings at Señor Sisig in Oakland\u003c/a>. If that’s not enough, he has popped up on popular social media channels like \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/bayareafoodz/?hl=en\">Bay Area Foodz\u003c/a> as \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJYkVcpM6E0\">he searches for the best wings around the Yay\u003c/a>. His songs are even featured on \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/reel/CwyzdhfrNCE/\">national commercials for Wingstop\u003c/a>. For P-Lo, it’s always time to bring back the bass — and taste.\u003cb>\u003ci>\u003c/i>\u003c/b>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Guap (formerly Guapdad 4000): Chicken adobo on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1DaovaJgytE\">Chicken Adobo\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“How I fell in love with you it was beautiful / Like chicken adobo how you fill me up.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the Black Filipino American rapper from West Oakland, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13905208/a-new-generation-of-filipino-hip-hop-builds-on-a-deep-bay-area-legacy\">food has always played a central role in his upbringing\u003c/a>. The anime-loving, Marvel comics fan grew up in a Filipino household eating champorado, and his songs have never shied away from references to his dual cultures. In what might be his most well-known song, Guap equates romantic satiation to filling up on a bowl of chicken adobo. His love of food goes beyond the booth — he recently spoke out on \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13950363/keith-lee-tiktok-oakland-sf-bay-area-struggles\">the recent Keith Lee fiasco\u003c/a>, and he also put together\u003ca href=\"https://trippin.world/guide/oaklands-top-food-joints-with-rapper-guapdad-4000\"> a map of his favorite places to eat around The Town\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Cellski: Canadian bacon, hash browns and cheddar cheese on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6wFRZOd7n8\">Chedda\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Gotta get the cheddar, fuck the [federals].”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As most food mentions in Bay Area rap goes, Cellski’s mention of this quintessentially North American breakfast combo isn’t exactly a homage to the real ingredients, as much as it is a reference to his hustling. His 1998 \u003ca href=\"https://www.discogs.com/release/841568-Cellski-Canadian-Bacon-Hash-Browns/image/SW1hZ2U6NDg3ODMxNzk=\">album cover\u003c/a> for \u003ci>Canadian Bacon & Hash Browns \u003c/i>features a cartoon depiction of the rapper getting pulled over and arrested by a Canadian mountie, with an open trunk revealing pounds of medicinal herbs. Nonetheless, there’s a good chance that the veteran San Francisco spitter actually does like to carry Canadian bacon, hash browns and cheddar around — \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13922141/cellskis-big-mafi-burgers-come-with-a-side-of-sf-rap-history\">he’s a part-time foodie who runs his own burger pop-up, after all\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956089\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956089\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper Dru Down in gold sunglasses and a black trench coat, holding an ice cream cone in one hand and an ice cream sundae on the table in front of him.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">In a famous 1996 beef, Dru Down and the Luniz accused New Orleans rapper Master P (who started his musical career in the Bay Area) for stealing their concept of the “Ice Cream Man” — slang for a narcotics dealer. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Dru Down: Ice cream on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uNv2qAje-Q\">Ice Cream Man\u003c/a>” (with the Luniz)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Get your ice cream, ice cream / Not Ice-T, not Ice Cube, ice cream.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Not intended for children, the classic 1993 anthem off Dru Down’s \u003ci>Fools From The Street \u003c/i>paints a startling picture of addiction and illicit drug distribution around Oakland in the wake of Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan’s War on Drugs. Despite its unapologetic content, “Ice Cream Man” went on to establish an indisputably popular food motif in national rap music: ice cream as a stand-in for drug dealing. Since the production includes an audio sampling of an ice cream truck’s inimitable tune, listening to it evokes a sense of nostalgia for the frozen treat — and for \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop\">golden-era Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"A brief look at some of the Bay Area’s most notoriously hungry rappers — and the foods they’ve lyricized about.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726791358,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":28,"wordCount":2210},"headData":{"title":"Bay Area Rappers and Food Lyrics | KQED","description":"A brief look at some of the Bay Area’s most notoriously hungry rappers — and the foods they’ve lyricized about.","ogTitle":"Here’s What Bay Area Rappers Are Eating (According to Their Lyrics)","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"Here’s What Bay Area Rappers Are Eating (According to Their Lyrics)","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialTitle":"Bay Area Rappers and Food Lyrics %%page%% %%sep%% KQED","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Here’s What Bay Area Rappers Are Eating (According to Their Lyrics)","datePublished":"2024-04-17T14:52:32-07:00","dateModified":"2024-09-19T17:15:58-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"source":"Food","sourceUrl":"https://www.kqed.org/food","sticky":false,"excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13955802/bay-area-rappers-food-lyrics-illustrations-e-40-larry-june","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class=\"utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__dropcapShortcode__dropcap\">W\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>hen conveying what it means to really be from the Bay Area, I often return to this simple yet revelatory \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/mac-dre\">Mac Dre\u003c/a> lyric: “In the Bay Area, we dance a little different.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Whether it’s in our music, political activism or technological contributions, there’s a certain out-of-box forwardness that tends to manifest from Bay Area minds — a distinguishable pride in how we approach everything with a savvy sprinkling of game, hustlership and top-tier ideation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The same can be said for the Bay Area’s food scene, which ranks among the nation’s best and most imaginative. From sourdough bread to the eternal Mission-style burrito, the Bay’s foodmakers have often been ahead of the curve, helping to revolutionize menus nationwide with their fresh farm-to-table approach. To borrow from the great Mac, one could say that in the Bay Area, we \u003ci>eat\u003c/i> a little different.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13907726,arts_13934248","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/span>It’s no surprise, then, that in the history of local rap, food has always been a strong reference point — a metaphorical kitchen for creative exchange. An endless platter of well-seasoned slang. For decades, our rappers have delivered punchlines involving sauce, lasagna and \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XMah0rX6pGU\">lumpia\u003c/a>; dropped verses that generously reference \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkBJR5L2nas\">desserts and bakeries\u003c/a>; and supplied entire songs about stacking bread, cheese and lettuce as lucrative sandwiches.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.sfchronicle.com/food/restaurants/article/bay-area-rap-shrimp-crab-17915372.php\">Food-loving Bay Area rappers\u003c/a> have always been bold when it comes to transmorphing culinary items and kitchen utensils into slang that others then appropriate and even misuse (see: “\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13908052/food-doesnt-slap\">food doesn’t slap\u003c/a>”). Shock G once talked about getting busy in a Burger King bathroom and declared, “I like my oatmeal lumpy.” On “Dreganomics,” Mac Dre himself asked, “What’s spaghetti without the sauce?” We’ve got Suga T (sweet) and Spice 1 (hot). Berner founded \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/cookiessf/?hl=en\">Cookies\u003c/a>. And just a few weeks ago, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13900085/stunnaman02-and-the-big-steppin-energy-in-the-room\">Stunnaman02\u003c/a> dropped a whole series of viral videos centered on his latest single. His focus? \u003ca href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/@jayworrld/video/7340701934355254574\">Eating a salad\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s a unifying ethos in Bay Area food and rap: \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E6GU3PmttyI\">Everybody eats\u003c/a>. So here’s a brief ode to some of our region’s most skilled vocabulary chefs and the tasteful ways they’ve reimagined the ingredients of language that are possible in a kitchen — and the recording studio.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956090\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956090\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper E-40 in sunglasses and a beige apron, holding a glass of red wine. In front of him are a burrito and a grilled cheese sandwich.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">E-40 might be the most prolific inventor of food-related slang words in the English language. He’s a head chef in the Bay Area’s rap kingdom. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>E-40: Green eggs, hams, candy yams, Spam, cheese, peanut butter and jam on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=etIBcRriUJY\">The Slap\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Digital scale, green eggs and hams / Yams, candy yams, Spam, damn! / Loaded, my cheese, peanut butter and jam / Sammich, mannish, me and my Hispanics / Vanish, talkin’ in codes like we from different planets.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though it may sound like gibberish to the uninitiated, rest assured that \u003ca href=\"https://firstwefeast.com/eat/2013/12/food-rap-decoded-with-e-40-video\">99.99% of anything 40 Water vocalizes has a cleverly associative meaning\u003c/a>. For anyone who has listened to one of the more than 25 studio albums from Vallejo’s kingpin, you’ve surely heard him mention food — perhaps in a variety of languages (some real, some ingeniously invented). In addition to the smorgasbord he notes above in “The Slap,” he has pioneered rhymes across generations that give new meanings to Gouda, feta, mozzarella, lettuce, bread, sausage, salami, paninis, spaghetti, tacos and enchiladas — ad infinitum. Unsurprisingly, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13907726/e-40-goon-with-the-spoon-bay-area-rappers-food-entrepreneurs-hustle\">Mr. Fonzarelli is an actual purveyor of foods and beverages\u003c/a>, with a line of products that includes malt liquor, ice cream and burritos; he even co-owns \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/thelumpiacompany/\">The Lumpia Company\u003c/a>. There’s no one with a bigger million-dollar mouthpiece who can distribute as much word candy (“S-L-A-N-G”) quite as flavorfully as the Goon With The Spoon himself.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Andre Nickatina: TOGO’s #41 sandwich with the hot peppers on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FU1XdPE6lM\">Fa Show\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Baby don’t act dumb, I’m number 41, high stepper / TOGO’s sandwich with the hot peppers / At 90 degrees I might freeze, so when it’s hot I sport leather.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fillmore’s finest, and among \u003ca href=\"https://www.passionweiss.com/2016/11/17/andre-nickatina/\">the most criminally underrated San Francisco rappers in history\u003c/a>, Andre Nickatina has always had a penchant for the spicy, the flavorful, the extemporaneously saucy. From rapping about eating Cap’n Crunch around drug dealers to sarcastically handing out Baskin Robbins dollars to his enemies, Nicky Nicotine (formerly known as Dre Dog) raps about food as casually as any rapper would ever dare. Unlike many of today’s international rap personalities, who seem to only eat at \u003ca href=\"https://www.reddit.com/r/OutOfTheLoop/comments/6frbt9/why_are_rappers_obsessed_with_nobu_sushi/\">high-priced sushi conglomerates\u003c/a>, Nickatina is a Bay Area real one, electing to stay fed at a regional sandwich chain from San Jose. The enigmatic “number 41” on the \u003ca href=\"https://www.togos.com/menu/?gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAjwoPOwBhAeEiwAJuXRh69gJ2fS8J9qmnAKJEnCmI5720psTxEmhEmkgFAemWoe3auyNuuxExoCTm0QAvD_BwE\">Togo’s menu\u003c/a> has since been discontinued, but a spokesperson for the restaurant IDed it as a sirloin steak and mushroom sandwich that was introduced as a seasonal special back in 2002 — the same year “Fa Show” was released. There is no doubt it must’ve been fire, given its endorsement by a legend who knows how to professionally “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8TXpoi-goE\">Break Bread\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956088\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956088\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper Kamaiyah eating from a plate of chicken alfredo tucked under her arm. Next to her is a bottle of champagne.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kamaiyah’s album covers often feature food, Hennessey and champagne — a reflection of the rapper’s saucy, bossy lifestyle. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Kamaiyah: Champagne and chicken on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yls2dMJ63tM\">Whatever Whenever\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Just drink champagne with all my chicken meals.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s fitting that East Oakland’s Kamaiyah — who cooked up the searingly hot single “How Does It Feel” on her transcendent debut, \u003ci>A Good Night in the Ghetto\u003c/i> — continued to double down on aspirational living and good eating with her sophomore release, \u003ci>Got It Made\u003c/i>. As always, the bodacious trapper rhymes over a synth-laced, floaty-spaceship soundscape while bragging about her California riches — and cuisine. The music video for “Whatever Whenever” features Kamaiyah roaming the untainted grounds of a Napa Valley-esque chateau. Her album covers over the years have also featured bags of potato chips, Hennessy and double-fisted bottles of champagne. It’s always bottoms up when Kamaiyah is on the track.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Too $hort: Macaroni, steak and collard greens on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ru5B8cFskaw\">All My B*tches Are Gone\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Eat some shit up / macaroni, steak, collard greens, or whatever the fuck.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With over 35 years of classic albums like \u003ci>Cocktails\u003c/i> and \u003ci>Gettin’ It\u003c/i>, there’s no doubt that Short Dogg knows how to feed his multi-generational fanbase. He doesn’t shy away from straightforward lyrics — or having a large appetite for nefarious activities — and he has continued to make seasoned slaps for precisely 225,000 hours and counting (“get a calculator, do the math”). This OG’s plate of choice includes classic soul food staples served with a slab of steak. As the veteran unmistakably outlines on “This How We Eat”: “We make money, we eat, we feed.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956087\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956087\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper Larry June in an SF Giants cap, holding a crab cracker in one hand and a fork in the other. In front of him is a whole lobster on a plate.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Besides establishing himself as the healthiest rapper in Bay Area lore, Larry June is also known for sporting vintage muscle cars and cracking lobsters in Sausalito as part of his luxurious lifestyle. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Larry June: Crab legs on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=luIhlZBrJos\">Lifetime Income\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“This not my girlfriend, we just eatin’ crab legs.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you know Larry June, then you know he’s all about smoothies, green teas, organic juices and oranges (yee hee!). But just as buttery are his numerously silky references to luxury meals and late-night outings with a seemingly endless rotation of women friends. Without question, the Hunters Point rapper has one of the healthiest appetites of anyone around a microphone, regularly dropping rhymes about his organic sustenance. Since Uncle Larry makes a living off his out-of-pocket food references, he merits an honorable mention for dropping other absolute bangers like “I might write a motherfuckin’ smoothie book or somethin’ … Sell this shit for thirty dollars” and “Watermelon juice riding bikes with my latest chick / I don’t do the clubs that often, I got a check to get.” It’s fitting that \u003ca href=\"https://uproxx.com/music/larry-june-interview-san-francisco/\">he also co-owns Honeybear Boba in the Dogpatch\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Iamsu!: Chicken strips and Moscato on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQcxMU3uvLg\">Don’t Stop\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Keep it real I don’t brag though… / Chicken strips, no escargot / [sippin’] on the Moscato.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To be fair, this lyric is from a young, mixtape-era Iamsu! and might not reflect the current palate of the multi-platinum rapper and producer from Richmond. (In fact, that’s probably true of every rapper on this list, so take these lyrics with a grain of salt.) But when I first heard this song in my 20s, it’s a line that did — and still does — resonate for its unglamorized celebration of living on a low-budget microwaveable diet while maintaining a glimmer of high-life ambition. Personally, I’d take chicken strips over escargot nine out of ten times. And, from the sound of it, so would Suzy 6 Speed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956086\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956086\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"The rapper P-Lo wiggles his fingers in delight over a plate of chicken wings sitting on a bed of dollar bills.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">P-Lo often raps about his love of chicken (chicken adobo, fried chicken, chicken wings), and his favorite food-related slang word is also “chicken” (as a stand in for “money”). \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>P-Lo: Chicken wings in the strip club on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-ajtPhAQ1U\">Going To Work\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“In the strip club eating chicken wings.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13938479","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/span>There may not be another rapper on this list with as much love for chicken wings as Pinole’s P-Lo. For starters, the lyricist and producer launched a transnational food tour, teaming up with Filipino restaurants around the U.S. and Canada to deliver collaborative one-off dishes, including \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13935891/p-lo-senor-sisig-filipino-food-tour-oakland\">his own spicy sinigang wings at Señor Sisig in Oakland\u003c/a>. If that’s not enough, he has popped up on popular social media channels like \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/bayareafoodz/?hl=en\">Bay Area Foodz\u003c/a> as \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJYkVcpM6E0\">he searches for the best wings around the Yay\u003c/a>. His songs are even featured on \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/reel/CwyzdhfrNCE/\">national commercials for Wingstop\u003c/a>. For P-Lo, it’s always time to bring back the bass — and taste.\u003cb>\u003ci>\u003c/i>\u003c/b>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Guap (formerly Guapdad 4000): Chicken adobo on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1DaovaJgytE\">Chicken Adobo\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“How I fell in love with you it was beautiful / Like chicken adobo how you fill me up.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the Black Filipino American rapper from West Oakland, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13905208/a-new-generation-of-filipino-hip-hop-builds-on-a-deep-bay-area-legacy\">food has always played a central role in his upbringing\u003c/a>. The anime-loving, Marvel comics fan grew up in a Filipino household eating champorado, and his songs have never shied away from references to his dual cultures. In what might be his most well-known song, Guap equates romantic satiation to filling up on a bowl of chicken adobo. His love of food goes beyond the booth — he recently spoke out on \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13950363/keith-lee-tiktok-oakland-sf-bay-area-struggles\">the recent Keith Lee fiasco\u003c/a>, and he also put together\u003ca href=\"https://trippin.world/guide/oaklands-top-food-joints-with-rapper-guapdad-4000\"> a map of his favorite places to eat around The Town\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Cellski: Canadian bacon, hash browns and cheddar cheese on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6wFRZOd7n8\">Chedda\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Gotta get the cheddar, fuck the [federals].”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As most food mentions in Bay Area rap goes, Cellski’s mention of this quintessentially North American breakfast combo isn’t exactly a homage to the real ingredients, as much as it is a reference to his hustling. His 1998 \u003ca href=\"https://www.discogs.com/release/841568-Cellski-Canadian-Bacon-Hash-Browns/image/SW1hZ2U6NDg3ODMxNzk=\">album cover\u003c/a> for \u003ci>Canadian Bacon & Hash Browns \u003c/i>features a cartoon depiction of the rapper getting pulled over and arrested by a Canadian mountie, with an open trunk revealing pounds of medicinal herbs. Nonetheless, there’s a good chance that the veteran San Francisco spitter actually does like to carry Canadian bacon, hash browns and cheddar around — \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13922141/cellskis-big-mafi-burgers-come-with-a-side-of-sf-rap-history\">he’s a part-time foodie who runs his own burger pop-up, after all\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956089\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956089\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper Dru Down in gold sunglasses and a black trench coat, holding an ice cream cone in one hand and an ice cream sundae on the table in front of him.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">In a famous 1996 beef, Dru Down and the Luniz accused New Orleans rapper Master P (who started his musical career in the Bay Area) for stealing their concept of the “Ice Cream Man” — slang for a narcotics dealer. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Dru Down: Ice cream on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uNv2qAje-Q\">Ice Cream Man\u003c/a>” (with the Luniz)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Get your ice cream, ice cream / Not Ice-T, not Ice Cube, ice cream.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Not intended for children, the classic 1993 anthem off Dru Down’s \u003ci>Fools From The Street \u003c/i>paints a startling picture of addiction and illicit drug distribution around Oakland in the wake of Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan’s War on Drugs. Despite its unapologetic content, “Ice Cream Man” went on to establish an indisputably popular food motif in national rap music: ice cream as a stand-in for drug dealing. Since the production includes an audio sampling of an ice cream truck’s inimitable tune, listening to it evokes a sense of nostalgia for the frozen treat — and for \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop\">golden-era Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13955802/bay-area-rappers-food-lyrics-illustrations-e-40-larry-june","authors":["11748"],"series":["arts_22314"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_12276","arts_69"],"tags":["arts_21883","arts_5397","arts_1601","arts_10278","arts_1297","arts_3771","arts_831","arts_21738","arts_1558","arts_9337","arts_1143","arts_1803","arts_1146","arts_19347","arts_3478","arts_3800"],"featImg":"arts_13956152","label":"source_arts_13955802"},"arts_13952260":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13952260","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13952260","score":null,"sort":[1707929631000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"turntablism-invisibl-skratch-piklz-legacy-impact","title":"Turntablism’s Mightiest Heroes: The Legacy, Impact and Aesthetics of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz","publishDate":1707929631,"format":"aside","headTitle":"Turntablism’s Mightiest Heroes: The Legacy, Impact and Aesthetics of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz | KQED","labelTerm":{},"content":"\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952272\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1080px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952272\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1080\" height=\"1080\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017.jpg 1080w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-768x768.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1080px) 100vw, 1080px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Invisibl Skratch Piklz’ cultural impact over the past 40 years has been felt around the globe. The crew is pictured here backstage in San Francisco in 2017. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003cstrong>Editor’s note\u003c/strong>: This story is part of \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">That’s My Word\u003c/a>\u003cem>, KQED’s story series on \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a> history.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On an overcast November day in Oakland, DJ Shortkut – a member of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz DJ crew – was the featured performer on a boat cruise, as part of the DMC World DJ Finals festivities. The weather didn’t get too rough during the two-hour tour, which meandered out to the Bay Bridge and back to port at Jack London Square. The worst was some mildly choppy squalls into fierce headwinds. Because this wasn’t your average boat cruise – its attendees mainly consisted of DJs from all over the world in town for the DMC battle – the ship’s crew circled around Treasure Island for a bit, instead of heading further out into the open sea.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The calmer waters allowed Shortkut, who had been playing a vibrant set of mostly classic midtempo hip-hop, to show off his mixing and scratching skills a bit. As the boat headed back toward its East Bay dock, Shortkut unleashed an impressive display of scratching skills that lasted for a good five minutes. As the boat neared its mooring, the DJ called his peers to the turntables. What followed was an unforgettable, and super-fun, display of global turntablism at its best, as each DJ in succession laid down a wicked scratch segment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13937761\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13937761\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"A person with a shaved head stands at a table as a screen behind them shows the images of several people.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut performs with Invisibl Skratch Piklz during the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>It seemed appropriate for Shortkut to be leading the activities. Once a battle entrant in the DMCs himself and understudy to fellow Piklz Qbert, Apollo, and Mix Master Mike, Shortkut has become an accomplished master in his own right – most recently playing an opening set on LL Cool J’s star-studded Hip Hop 50 tour. The message to the younger DJs on the boat was clear: keep developing your skills and be a balanced DJ who can rise to any occasion – scratching and beat-juggling skills are nice, but rocking a party with impeccable selection while displaying your skills is even better.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Perfecting – and Teaching – the Art\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Piklz first rose to prominence during the ’90s, winning multiple world DJ battle titles as a crew and individually while displaying innovative new techniques that elevated turntablism to unprecedented heights. After revolutionizing the artform and birthing scratch music as a genre, by the decade’s end, they had left an indelible mark on DJ culture and furthered its global reach.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952265\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952265\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1196\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-800x544.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-1020x694.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-768x522.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-1536x1044.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Japan in 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Christie Zee, the organizer for 2023’s DMC World Battle, held in San Francisco, has worked off and on for the London-based organization since 1998. She first became aware of the Piklz from an old boyfriend’s copy of DJ Qbert’s \u003cem>Demolition Pumpkin Squeeze Musik\u003c/em> mixtape – “It just had so much scratching and it was so fun,” she says. She recalls meeting the crew for the first time in 1999, at the DMC World Finals.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I’m really delicate, really careful about (saying) \u003cem>pioneer\u003c/em> versus \u003cem>legend\u003c/em>, but I do think they were pioneering, because of things they’ve innovated and presented and invented,” she says. “They didn’t invent the scratch, but they just progressed the hell out of it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Obviously they have titles under their belts,” says Rob Swift, a founding member of the X-Men/X-Ecutioners, the New York turntablists who famously battled the Piklz in 1996. “But for me, I would say their most pivotal contribution to DJing is teaching the art. Before the Invisibl Skratch Piklz, nobody was teaching. DJing was a secret art.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952266\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952266\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1192\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-800x542.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-1020x691.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-768x520.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-1536x1041.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz with Japanese fans, 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Swift – who’s been teaching a DJ course at the New School for Liberal Arts in New York since 2014 – speaks from experience. Within months of Qbert developing the crab scratch, Swift was using the technique in battles. He cites the instructional \u003cem>Turntable TV\u003c/em> series of video tutorials as not only an inspiration for the X-Men, but also for other DJs and even corporate entities. As a result, more people started DJing and the culture grew.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Before the Piklz, all of us had our own personal terminology for DJing. But the Piklz started (creating) terms that globally started to become accepted and become the consensus terms… Q started giving individual techniques specific names. In doing so, it made the art teachable, because you can’t teach someone by saying, yo, make it go \u003cem>wigga wigga wigga wigga\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Now these guys are selling videos to kids in Japan, kids in Canada, kids across the country, kids in Europe that had no clue how to do this shit… Myself, (Roc) Raida, Mista Sinista, (Total) Eclipse, we were inspired by Q, and we started teaching how to juggle, and we made videotapes just like them.” Without the Picklz, he says, there wouldn’t be “the ripple effects of what we see now, of all these DJ schools, all of these people teaching on YouTube, all these online tutorials, all these companies designing gear with all these effects.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952270\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952270\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1156\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-800x526.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-1020x670.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-160x105.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-768x505.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-1536x1009.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at Vestax headquarters in Tokyo, Japan, to preview their signature mixer. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Signature Models and Scratch Technique\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Piklz also served as consultants to audio companies like Vestax and Ortofon to develop ISP-branded mixers and needles; more recently, Shortkut served as a brand ambassador for Serato’s vinyl emulation software. In a 2022 video tutorial for \u003cem>Wired\u003c/em>, the master turntablist demonstrates 15 levels of scratching, from the basic “baby scratch” to complex combos, rhythm and drum scratches, and the beat-juggle.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>According to Shortkut, beat-juggling is “live manual remixing, basically, with two turntables and a mixer” utilizing two copies of the same record, or two different records. When done properly, the technique creates an entirely new beat using existing sounds.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mix Master Mike estimates that he and Qbert have named hundreds of specific scratches. Among his original contributions is the “Tweaker,” which was developed accidentally, due to a power outage. “When you cut a turntable off, the sound still comes out of it” when the needle is left on the record. “You got to manually move the belt with your hand, which (makes) a totally way-out, dragging sound from the record.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952268\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1186\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952268\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-800x539.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-1020x688.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-768x518.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-1536x1036.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz, mid-routine in Seattle, 1994. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In live shows, Mike deploys an arsenal of sound banks with trees of various audio samples for different instruments. He often improvises his sets – rarely playing the same scratch solo twice. With all the scratches he’s invented, “If I’m performing live, it’s all about if I can remember it on the spot.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Qbert’s most ubiquitous scratch may be the crab, which uses the crossfader to chop the audio signal, similar to the transformer scratch. Unlike the transformer – performed with just thumb and forefinger – the crab utilizes a rapid tapping motion with the other three fingers, resulting in finer chops, like a triplet of 1/16th notes instead of quarter-notes. The crab can then be combined with other techniques like the stab, the tear, or the orbit to create an infinite number of scratch patterns.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Q says the crab has nothing to do with crustaceans, actually. It was originally called the crepe, based off a food order he’d made in Lebanon. Except no one could pronounce the rolled r’s of a Lebanese accent correctly. Among the other scratches he’s named personally, “there’s like the hydro, the laser, the phaser, the swipe, oh man, let’s see, there’s the clover tear, the prism scratch. … there’s so many.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952274\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 749px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952274\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/1996-Vestax-ISP-ad.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"749\" height=\"960\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/1996-Vestax-ISP-ad.jpg 749w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/1996-Vestax-ISP-ad-160x205.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 749px) 100vw, 749px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A Vestax advertisement for the Invisibl Skratch Piklz’ signature mixer. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>100mph Backsliding Turkey Kuts\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Piklz began developing tools for DJs with the original \u003cem>Battle Breaks\u003c/em> vinyl record, which resampled various sound effects and verbal phrases, making them more scratch-friendly and accessible. Their imprint Dirt Style has released dozens of such records over the decades with names like \u003cem>Bionic Booger Breaks\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Buttcrack Breaks\u003c/em>, or \u003cem>Scratch Fetishes of the Third Kind\u003c/em>. These records are sometimes credited to DJ Qbert, DJ Flare or Mix Master Mike, and sometimes credited to aliases like the Psychedelic Scratch Bastards, The Wax Fondler and Darth Fader.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Battle Breaks\u003c/em> led to another innovation: the \u003cem>Scratchy Seal\u003c/em> series of skipless records. As Qbert explains, there’s a science behind this. “If you look at the turntable, it spins at 33 ⅓ — 33.33333 (revolutions) per minute. If you just make the BPM of the sound effect 33-point-dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee, the magic number, it’s all going to be repetitive. No matter where the needle jumps, it’s going to land on the same sound again.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952264\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952264\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Qbert and Mix Master Mike backstage at the 2023 DMC championships in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>How\u003c/em> the Piklz scratched also made a difference. According to crew member D-Styles, prior to the Piklz, “a lot of the scratch styles were straight ahead. It was very on the beat. ” He likens the Piklz’ approach to Bird and Dizzy’s excursions in the bebop era – “being ahead of the beat, or behind the beat, being more free with it, not so (much) in the line.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While there were other DJ crews before the Piklz, Swift says, the idea of a turntable orchestra was uncharted territory. “One guy would take a horn hit, another guy would take drums, the other guy would take vocals. Nobody was doing that before the Piklz.” This became a common practice, and led to the introduction of team routines in major battles. Qbert remarks that he and the other Piklz have been doing synchronized routines for so long, the communication between them has become telepathic. “It’s just kind of like walking in step.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952269\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1173\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952269\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Qbert onstage with guitarist Buckethead at the Jazznojazz Festival in Zurich, 1995. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Another advancement was the first all-scratching record, i.e. a musical composition consisting entirely of scratched sounds. The scratch music trend resulted in a slew of solo releases — many of them on the now-defunct Bomb Hip Hop label – as well as group albums from the X-Ecutioners, The Allies, and Birdy Nam Nam, and one-offs like El Stew, an alternative supergroup featuring guitarist Buckethead, ISP alumni DJ Disk and producer Eddie Def. After turntablism’s initial wave died down in the early 2000s, the Piklz continued to develop the genre, which Shortkut says has become its own culture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It’s a niche market,” Qbert says. “But I’m totally immersed in it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952275\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952275\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at a Red Bull event. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘It’s Just Some Human Shit, and It’s a Beautiful Thing’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>On his solo albums, Qbert has frequently explored sci-fi themes, beginning with 1998’s \u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em>, and continuing with 2014’s \u003cem>Extraterrestria\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Galaxxxian\u003c/em>, 2020’s \u003cem>Origins (Wave Twisters 0)\u003c/em>, and 2022’s \u003cem>Next Cosmos\u003c/em>. He’s imagined what scratch music from across the galaxy might sound like, evoking starships navigating irradiated asteroid belts, alien creatures scurrying across cratered landscapes, and underwater temples emanating immemorial chants over percussive beats, while turning Rakim and Too Short phrases into Zen mantras. He’s done all this by embracing the musical possibilities of the turntable.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“On what other equipment could you make the sounds go backwards and forwards and just do all these weird things with it? You know, with your hands,” he says. Unlike pressing buttons on a computer, “this is like fucking connected to your soul. It’s not like AI can do it. It’s just some human shit, and it’s a beautiful thing.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mix Master Mike served as the official DJ for the Beastie Boys from 1998 up until 2012, later joined Cypress Hill, and has toured with arena rock giants Metallica, Guns ‘N’ Roses, and Godsmack, playing to crowds of up to 50,000. His solo catalog has expanded the turntablism field into new arenas – literally. “I’ve always targeted the rock audience,” Mike says. “I’m not just hip-hop. I’m everything around it. The greatness is having to conquer uncharted territories.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I like to remain mysterious in that sense as far as being a mysterious artist and being unpredictable. I’m the risk taker, right? It’s therapeutic for me at this point, but it’s like I’m just taking it as a mission because nobody’s doing this.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952267\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952267\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1196\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-800x544.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-1020x694.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-768x522.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-1536x1044.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>This philosophy extends from live shows to recordings. “Growing up, I was always listening to soundtrack music. Lalo Schifrin, Quincy Jones, Ennio Morricone.” His goal in making records is to capture a cinematic sense, to make “a soundtrack that can live forever.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>His newest release, 2023’s \u003cem>Opus X Magnum\u003c/em>, is a headphone album with arena sensibilities. Or vice-versa. There’s lots of subtle instrumental and sound effect-y passages, along with chest-pumping drums and serpentine basslines. The quieter moments are few, but precious. MMM’s Pikl heritage is evident in the way horns, keyboards and vocal phrases are scratched vicariously, resulting in twisty turns that keep your ears guessing what’s next. To the artist’s credit, \u003cem>Opus\u003c/em> does sound epically cinematic throughout, its constantly changing moods and textures suggesting perpetual motion and a full dose of adrenaline.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>D-Styles’ two solo albums, released 17 years apart, illustrate his artistic growth. 2002’s \u003cem>Phantazmagorea\u003c/em> delves into dark themes, with vocal phrases seemingly selected for shock value, along with recognizable scratched snippets from KRS-One and Stetsasonic. 2019’s \u003cem>Noises In the Right Order\u003c/em> – inspired by a residency at Low End Theory, a club night frequented by lo-fi producers – recalls DJ Shadow’s \u003cem>Endtroducing\u003c/em> and the trip-hop era, while still using found vocals as documentary. D-Styles says \u003cem>Noises\u003c/em> was about being “more musical and less technical.” There’s plenty of scratching, but the emphasis is on overall composition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952271\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 597px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952271\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-at-HEIRO-DAY-2016.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"597\" height=\"506\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-at-HEIRO-DAY-2016.jpg 597w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-at-HEIRO-DAY-2016-160x136.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 597px) 100vw, 597px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at Hiero Day 2016 in Oakland. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Being a turntable composer, D-Styles maintains, means using scratching’s vocabulary as a musical language. “You look at it like an alphabet. You got chirps, you got flares, you got crabs, you got autobahns, you got Stewie’s, and all of that stuff. You can add swing to it, you could be ahead of the beat. Behind the beat. You can accent. There’s so much that goes into putting these combinations together.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Many Styles\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Apollo and Shortkut, meanwhile, joined forces with former ITF World Champion Vin Roc in 1999 to form Triple Threat, a DJ crew whose mission was to integrate turntablism into party-rocking live sets. “Just coming up as turntablists, we kind of like, created little monsters everywhere,” Apollo says. “All they would do is scratch in their bedrooms.” There’s more to DJing, he says, than just doing tricks and scratching and juggling.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Triple Threat released a well-received 2003 album, \u003cem>Many Styles\u003c/em>, which blended turntablist-oriented tracks with emcee features from Planet Asia, Black Thought, Souls of Mischief and Zion-I. The trio toured the United States and Asia regularly, and remained active up until the late 2010s. Apollo – who judged the DMC World Finals last year – still identifies as a Pikl, and says his focus nowadays is on upgrading his studio and reestablishing himself as a producer; he hopes to contribute some tracks to future ISP albums.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952276\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1440px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1440\" height=\"1920\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952276\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut.jpg 1440w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-1152x1536.jpg 1152w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1440px) 100vw, 1440px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut, at right, on the F.O.R.C.E. Tour with (L–R) DJ Z-Trip, LL Cool J and DJ Jazzy Jeff. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Shortkut’s recorded output mainly consists of DJ mixtapes covering a wide variety of genres, but he did produce 2012’s “Twelve,” a funky, fun track with “Sesame Street”-esque vocal samples, for the Beat Junkies 45 Series, as well as 2017’s “Mini-Wheels,” a 7-inch single for Thud Rumble, and “Short Rugs,” a limited-edition slipmat designed for 45 rpm records and a 7-inch record with three skipless vinyl scratch tracks. He’s been an occasional headliner at DJ Platurn’s 45 Sessions party; playing all-vinyl sets, he says, helps him maintain his sanity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After a lengthy break following 2000’s “final” performance, Qbert, Shortkut and D-Styles officially reformed as ISP for 2015’s \u003cem>The 13th Floor\u003c/em>, their first full-length release. “This was the first time as a scratch artist that I’ve felt able to do shows with the Piklz where people know the songs,” Shortkut says. The album’s moods range from dark to soulful to jazzy, and were intended to be templates for live performances that typically involve improvised scratch soloing over a structured song with defined instrumental parts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952273\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1500px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952273\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1500\" height=\"1000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015.jpg 1500w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-768x512.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1500px) 100vw, 1500px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Japan, making their ’13th Floor’ album in 2015. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Many of \u003cem>The 13th Floor\u003c/em>’s compositional elements were developed by D-Styles, who went on to become an online instructor at the Beat Junkies Institute of Sound in 2019. He notes the Piklz are more than halfway through their next, as-yet-untitled album — several tracks from which they previewed live during their recent DMC showcase in San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“My strength is, I’m always in the studio,” says D-Styles. “I always have these ideas, these sketches that I’ll try at home by myself. But I always have parts in mind, so if i have drums, I’ll be like, this is perfect for Shortkut. And then I have these keyboards, you know, these notes. So I’ll carry that side. And then I’ll give Q this (vocal) phrase. And I know he’ll know what to do with it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Aesthetics That ‘Vibrate a Certain Way’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Qbert maintains he’s still a student, trying to learn new things after all these years. He keeps pushing himself to new levels because he doesn’t want to repeat what he’s already done. “You got to come unique and original, or else it’s like, fucking wack. Or it’s, \u003cem>ah… he did the same shit last time\u003c/em>, you know? I don’t want to hear that.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952294\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1811px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1811\" height=\"600\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952294\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_.jpg 1811w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-800x265.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-1020x338.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-160x53.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-768x254.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-1536x509.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1811px) 100vw, 1811px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A sample of Qbert’s visual aesthetic from three full-length albums: ‘Extraterrestria,’ ‘Origins Wave Twisters 0,’ and ‘Next Cosmos in 5D.’\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The most sublime aspect of the Piklz legacy may be their aesthetic, best described as part kung-fu, part sci-fi, part zany humor, yet firmly grounded in DJ culture and hip-hop expression. This is reflected in Mike and Q’s outsize personalities. “Those two in particular are very much outside of this Earth,” says Christie Z, noting that Mike’s custom Serato vinyl is covered in Zectarian language. (In 2017, Qbert joined Mike for a duo performance of MMM’s alienesque single “Channel Zecktar” live at the NAMM showcase.) Artists are sometimes kooky, she says, but she’s used to it by now. “That’s what they do.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Unsurprisingly, perhaps, Mike sees himself as a glowing, ultramagnetic, cosmic antenna. “I would say, you know, my brain is like a super cerebral satellite dish that I’m just logging into the channels in my mind, and I call it the access to the interstellar network, my own interstellar network that’s going on in my head.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As for Qbert, “nowadays I work off of karma,” he says. Though he’s consulted for audio companies before, when he’s asked for input, he doesn’t insist on contractual agreements. “I’ll give you the honest truth.” If a mixer could be sleeker and more ergonomic, he’ll say so. He feels equipment makers could be more visionary and futuristic with their products. “They could put chromatherapy in these things, you know, they vibrate a certain way to make it heal you as a human.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For all of Qbert’s zany sense of humor and embracing of otherworldliness, he’s remarkably down to earth at times. That is to say, his ideology isn’t illogical at all – just advanced.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“With any art, if you’re deep into it, you’re already touching infinity,” he says. “So you could do so many things in it that you haven’t done. And there’s freakin’ a bag of infinity left — that is never-ending.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-11687704\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"60\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-400x30.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-768x58.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"The Skratch Piklz' innovations in scratch technique, education and battle tools have impacted the globe. ","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726790337,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":46,"wordCount":3685},"headData":{"title":"Turntablism’s Mightiest Heroes: The Legacy, Impact and Aesthetics of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz | KQED","description":"The Skratch Piklz' innovations in scratch technique, education and battle tools have impacted the globe. ","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Turntablism’s Mightiest Heroes: The Legacy, Impact and Aesthetics of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz","datePublished":"2024-02-14T08:53:51-08:00","dateModified":"2024-09-19T16:58:57-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"source":"That's My Word","sourceUrl":"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop","sticky":false,"templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13952260/turntablism-invisibl-skratch-piklz-legacy-impact","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952272\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1080px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952272\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1080\" height=\"1080\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017.jpg 1080w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-768x768.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1080px) 100vw, 1080px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Invisibl Skratch Piklz’ cultural impact over the past 40 years has been felt around the globe. The crew is pictured here backstage in San Francisco in 2017. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003cstrong>Editor’s note\u003c/strong>: This story is part of \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">That’s My Word\u003c/a>\u003cem>, KQED’s story series on \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a> history.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On an overcast November day in Oakland, DJ Shortkut – a member of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz DJ crew – was the featured performer on a boat cruise, as part of the DMC World DJ Finals festivities. The weather didn’t get too rough during the two-hour tour, which meandered out to the Bay Bridge and back to port at Jack London Square. The worst was some mildly choppy squalls into fierce headwinds. Because this wasn’t your average boat cruise – its attendees mainly consisted of DJs from all over the world in town for the DMC battle – the ship’s crew circled around Treasure Island for a bit, instead of heading further out into the open sea.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The calmer waters allowed Shortkut, who had been playing a vibrant set of mostly classic midtempo hip-hop, to show off his mixing and scratching skills a bit. As the boat headed back toward its East Bay dock, Shortkut unleashed an impressive display of scratching skills that lasted for a good five minutes. As the boat neared its mooring, the DJ called his peers to the turntables. What followed was an unforgettable, and super-fun, display of global turntablism at its best, as each DJ in succession laid down a wicked scratch segment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13937761\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13937761\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"A person with a shaved head stands at a table as a screen behind them shows the images of several people.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut performs with Invisibl Skratch Piklz during the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>It seemed appropriate for Shortkut to be leading the activities. Once a battle entrant in the DMCs himself and understudy to fellow Piklz Qbert, Apollo, and Mix Master Mike, Shortkut has become an accomplished master in his own right – most recently playing an opening set on LL Cool J’s star-studded Hip Hop 50 tour. The message to the younger DJs on the boat was clear: keep developing your skills and be a balanced DJ who can rise to any occasion – scratching and beat-juggling skills are nice, but rocking a party with impeccable selection while displaying your skills is even better.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Perfecting – and Teaching – the Art\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Piklz first rose to prominence during the ’90s, winning multiple world DJ battle titles as a crew and individually while displaying innovative new techniques that elevated turntablism to unprecedented heights. After revolutionizing the artform and birthing scratch music as a genre, by the decade’s end, they had left an indelible mark on DJ culture and furthered its global reach.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952265\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952265\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1196\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-800x544.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-1020x694.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-768x522.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-1536x1044.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Japan in 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Christie Zee, the organizer for 2023’s DMC World Battle, held in San Francisco, has worked off and on for the London-based organization since 1998. She first became aware of the Piklz from an old boyfriend’s copy of DJ Qbert’s \u003cem>Demolition Pumpkin Squeeze Musik\u003c/em> mixtape – “It just had so much scratching and it was so fun,” she says. She recalls meeting the crew for the first time in 1999, at the DMC World Finals.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I’m really delicate, really careful about (saying) \u003cem>pioneer\u003c/em> versus \u003cem>legend\u003c/em>, but I do think they were pioneering, because of things they’ve innovated and presented and invented,” she says. “They didn’t invent the scratch, but they just progressed the hell out of it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Obviously they have titles under their belts,” says Rob Swift, a founding member of the X-Men/X-Ecutioners, the New York turntablists who famously battled the Piklz in 1996. “But for me, I would say their most pivotal contribution to DJing is teaching the art. Before the Invisibl Skratch Piklz, nobody was teaching. DJing was a secret art.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952266\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952266\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1192\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-800x542.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-1020x691.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-768x520.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-1536x1041.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz with Japanese fans, 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Swift – who’s been teaching a DJ course at the New School for Liberal Arts in New York since 2014 – speaks from experience. Within months of Qbert developing the crab scratch, Swift was using the technique in battles. He cites the instructional \u003cem>Turntable TV\u003c/em> series of video tutorials as not only an inspiration for the X-Men, but also for other DJs and even corporate entities. As a result, more people started DJing and the culture grew.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Before the Piklz, all of us had our own personal terminology for DJing. But the Piklz started (creating) terms that globally started to become accepted and become the consensus terms… Q started giving individual techniques specific names. In doing so, it made the art teachable, because you can’t teach someone by saying, yo, make it go \u003cem>wigga wigga wigga wigga\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Now these guys are selling videos to kids in Japan, kids in Canada, kids across the country, kids in Europe that had no clue how to do this shit… Myself, (Roc) Raida, Mista Sinista, (Total) Eclipse, we were inspired by Q, and we started teaching how to juggle, and we made videotapes just like them.” Without the Picklz, he says, there wouldn’t be “the ripple effects of what we see now, of all these DJ schools, all of these people teaching on YouTube, all these online tutorials, all these companies designing gear with all these effects.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952270\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952270\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1156\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-800x526.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-1020x670.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-160x105.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-768x505.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-1536x1009.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at Vestax headquarters in Tokyo, Japan, to preview their signature mixer. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Signature Models and Scratch Technique\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Piklz also served as consultants to audio companies like Vestax and Ortofon to develop ISP-branded mixers and needles; more recently, Shortkut served as a brand ambassador for Serato’s vinyl emulation software. In a 2022 video tutorial for \u003cem>Wired\u003c/em>, the master turntablist demonstrates 15 levels of scratching, from the basic “baby scratch” to complex combos, rhythm and drum scratches, and the beat-juggle.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>According to Shortkut, beat-juggling is “live manual remixing, basically, with two turntables and a mixer” utilizing two copies of the same record, or two different records. When done properly, the technique creates an entirely new beat using existing sounds.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mix Master Mike estimates that he and Qbert have named hundreds of specific scratches. Among his original contributions is the “Tweaker,” which was developed accidentally, due to a power outage. “When you cut a turntable off, the sound still comes out of it” when the needle is left on the record. “You got to manually move the belt with your hand, which (makes) a totally way-out, dragging sound from the record.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952268\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1186\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952268\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-800x539.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-1020x688.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-768x518.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-1536x1036.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz, mid-routine in Seattle, 1994. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In live shows, Mike deploys an arsenal of sound banks with trees of various audio samples for different instruments. He often improvises his sets – rarely playing the same scratch solo twice. With all the scratches he’s invented, “If I’m performing live, it’s all about if I can remember it on the spot.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Qbert’s most ubiquitous scratch may be the crab, which uses the crossfader to chop the audio signal, similar to the transformer scratch. Unlike the transformer – performed with just thumb and forefinger – the crab utilizes a rapid tapping motion with the other three fingers, resulting in finer chops, like a triplet of 1/16th notes instead of quarter-notes. The crab can then be combined with other techniques like the stab, the tear, or the orbit to create an infinite number of scratch patterns.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Q says the crab has nothing to do with crustaceans, actually. It was originally called the crepe, based off a food order he’d made in Lebanon. Except no one could pronounce the rolled r’s of a Lebanese accent correctly. Among the other scratches he’s named personally, “there’s like the hydro, the laser, the phaser, the swipe, oh man, let’s see, there’s the clover tear, the prism scratch. … there’s so many.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952274\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 749px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952274\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/1996-Vestax-ISP-ad.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"749\" height=\"960\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/1996-Vestax-ISP-ad.jpg 749w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/1996-Vestax-ISP-ad-160x205.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 749px) 100vw, 749px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A Vestax advertisement for the Invisibl Skratch Piklz’ signature mixer. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>100mph Backsliding Turkey Kuts\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Piklz began developing tools for DJs with the original \u003cem>Battle Breaks\u003c/em> vinyl record, which resampled various sound effects and verbal phrases, making them more scratch-friendly and accessible. Their imprint Dirt Style has released dozens of such records over the decades with names like \u003cem>Bionic Booger Breaks\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Buttcrack Breaks\u003c/em>, or \u003cem>Scratch Fetishes of the Third Kind\u003c/em>. These records are sometimes credited to DJ Qbert, DJ Flare or Mix Master Mike, and sometimes credited to aliases like the Psychedelic Scratch Bastards, The Wax Fondler and Darth Fader.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Battle Breaks\u003c/em> led to another innovation: the \u003cem>Scratchy Seal\u003c/em> series of skipless records. As Qbert explains, there’s a science behind this. “If you look at the turntable, it spins at 33 ⅓ — 33.33333 (revolutions) per minute. If you just make the BPM of the sound effect 33-point-dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee, the magic number, it’s all going to be repetitive. No matter where the needle jumps, it’s going to land on the same sound again.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952264\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952264\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Qbert and Mix Master Mike backstage at the 2023 DMC championships in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>How\u003c/em> the Piklz scratched also made a difference. According to crew member D-Styles, prior to the Piklz, “a lot of the scratch styles were straight ahead. It was very on the beat. ” He likens the Piklz’ approach to Bird and Dizzy’s excursions in the bebop era – “being ahead of the beat, or behind the beat, being more free with it, not so (much) in the line.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While there were other DJ crews before the Piklz, Swift says, the idea of a turntable orchestra was uncharted territory. “One guy would take a horn hit, another guy would take drums, the other guy would take vocals. Nobody was doing that before the Piklz.” This became a common practice, and led to the introduction of team routines in major battles. Qbert remarks that he and the other Piklz have been doing synchronized routines for so long, the communication between them has become telepathic. “It’s just kind of like walking in step.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952269\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1173\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952269\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Qbert onstage with guitarist Buckethead at the Jazznojazz Festival in Zurich, 1995. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Another advancement was the first all-scratching record, i.e. a musical composition consisting entirely of scratched sounds. The scratch music trend resulted in a slew of solo releases — many of them on the now-defunct Bomb Hip Hop label – as well as group albums from the X-Ecutioners, The Allies, and Birdy Nam Nam, and one-offs like El Stew, an alternative supergroup featuring guitarist Buckethead, ISP alumni DJ Disk and producer Eddie Def. After turntablism’s initial wave died down in the early 2000s, the Piklz continued to develop the genre, which Shortkut says has become its own culture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It’s a niche market,” Qbert says. “But I’m totally immersed in it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952275\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952275\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at a Red Bull event. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘It’s Just Some Human Shit, and It’s a Beautiful Thing’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>On his solo albums, Qbert has frequently explored sci-fi themes, beginning with 1998’s \u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em>, and continuing with 2014’s \u003cem>Extraterrestria\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Galaxxxian\u003c/em>, 2020’s \u003cem>Origins (Wave Twisters 0)\u003c/em>, and 2022’s \u003cem>Next Cosmos\u003c/em>. He’s imagined what scratch music from across the galaxy might sound like, evoking starships navigating irradiated asteroid belts, alien creatures scurrying across cratered landscapes, and underwater temples emanating immemorial chants over percussive beats, while turning Rakim and Too Short phrases into Zen mantras. He’s done all this by embracing the musical possibilities of the turntable.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“On what other equipment could you make the sounds go backwards and forwards and just do all these weird things with it? You know, with your hands,” he says. Unlike pressing buttons on a computer, “this is like fucking connected to your soul. It’s not like AI can do it. It’s just some human shit, and it’s a beautiful thing.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mix Master Mike served as the official DJ for the Beastie Boys from 1998 up until 2012, later joined Cypress Hill, and has toured with arena rock giants Metallica, Guns ‘N’ Roses, and Godsmack, playing to crowds of up to 50,000. His solo catalog has expanded the turntablism field into new arenas – literally. “I’ve always targeted the rock audience,” Mike says. “I’m not just hip-hop. I’m everything around it. The greatness is having to conquer uncharted territories.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I like to remain mysterious in that sense as far as being a mysterious artist and being unpredictable. I’m the risk taker, right? It’s therapeutic for me at this point, but it’s like I’m just taking it as a mission because nobody’s doing this.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952267\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952267\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1196\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-800x544.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-1020x694.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-768x522.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-1536x1044.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>This philosophy extends from live shows to recordings. “Growing up, I was always listening to soundtrack music. Lalo Schifrin, Quincy Jones, Ennio Morricone.” His goal in making records is to capture a cinematic sense, to make “a soundtrack that can live forever.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>His newest release, 2023’s \u003cem>Opus X Magnum\u003c/em>, is a headphone album with arena sensibilities. Or vice-versa. There’s lots of subtle instrumental and sound effect-y passages, along with chest-pumping drums and serpentine basslines. The quieter moments are few, but precious. MMM’s Pikl heritage is evident in the way horns, keyboards and vocal phrases are scratched vicariously, resulting in twisty turns that keep your ears guessing what’s next. To the artist’s credit, \u003cem>Opus\u003c/em> does sound epically cinematic throughout, its constantly changing moods and textures suggesting perpetual motion and a full dose of adrenaline.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>D-Styles’ two solo albums, released 17 years apart, illustrate his artistic growth. 2002’s \u003cem>Phantazmagorea\u003c/em> delves into dark themes, with vocal phrases seemingly selected for shock value, along with recognizable scratched snippets from KRS-One and Stetsasonic. 2019’s \u003cem>Noises In the Right Order\u003c/em> – inspired by a residency at Low End Theory, a club night frequented by lo-fi producers – recalls DJ Shadow’s \u003cem>Endtroducing\u003c/em> and the trip-hop era, while still using found vocals as documentary. D-Styles says \u003cem>Noises\u003c/em> was about being “more musical and less technical.” There’s plenty of scratching, but the emphasis is on overall composition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952271\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 597px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952271\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-at-HEIRO-DAY-2016.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"597\" height=\"506\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-at-HEIRO-DAY-2016.jpg 597w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-at-HEIRO-DAY-2016-160x136.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 597px) 100vw, 597px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at Hiero Day 2016 in Oakland. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Being a turntable composer, D-Styles maintains, means using scratching’s vocabulary as a musical language. “You look at it like an alphabet. You got chirps, you got flares, you got crabs, you got autobahns, you got Stewie’s, and all of that stuff. You can add swing to it, you could be ahead of the beat. Behind the beat. You can accent. There’s so much that goes into putting these combinations together.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Many Styles\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Apollo and Shortkut, meanwhile, joined forces with former ITF World Champion Vin Roc in 1999 to form Triple Threat, a DJ crew whose mission was to integrate turntablism into party-rocking live sets. “Just coming up as turntablists, we kind of like, created little monsters everywhere,” Apollo says. “All they would do is scratch in their bedrooms.” There’s more to DJing, he says, than just doing tricks and scratching and juggling.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Triple Threat released a well-received 2003 album, \u003cem>Many Styles\u003c/em>, which blended turntablist-oriented tracks with emcee features from Planet Asia, Black Thought, Souls of Mischief and Zion-I. The trio toured the United States and Asia regularly, and remained active up until the late 2010s. Apollo – who judged the DMC World Finals last year – still identifies as a Pikl, and says his focus nowadays is on upgrading his studio and reestablishing himself as a producer; he hopes to contribute some tracks to future ISP albums.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952276\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1440px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1440\" height=\"1920\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952276\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut.jpg 1440w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-1152x1536.jpg 1152w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1440px) 100vw, 1440px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut, at right, on the F.O.R.C.E. Tour with (L–R) DJ Z-Trip, LL Cool J and DJ Jazzy Jeff. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Shortkut’s recorded output mainly consists of DJ mixtapes covering a wide variety of genres, but he did produce 2012’s “Twelve,” a funky, fun track with “Sesame Street”-esque vocal samples, for the Beat Junkies 45 Series, as well as 2017’s “Mini-Wheels,” a 7-inch single for Thud Rumble, and “Short Rugs,” a limited-edition slipmat designed for 45 rpm records and a 7-inch record with three skipless vinyl scratch tracks. He’s been an occasional headliner at DJ Platurn’s 45 Sessions party; playing all-vinyl sets, he says, helps him maintain his sanity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After a lengthy break following 2000’s “final” performance, Qbert, Shortkut and D-Styles officially reformed as ISP for 2015’s \u003cem>The 13th Floor\u003c/em>, their first full-length release. “This was the first time as a scratch artist that I’ve felt able to do shows with the Piklz where people know the songs,” Shortkut says. The album’s moods range from dark to soulful to jazzy, and were intended to be templates for live performances that typically involve improvised scratch soloing over a structured song with defined instrumental parts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952273\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1500px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952273\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1500\" height=\"1000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015.jpg 1500w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-768x512.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1500px) 100vw, 1500px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Japan, making their ’13th Floor’ album in 2015. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Many of \u003cem>The 13th Floor\u003c/em>’s compositional elements were developed by D-Styles, who went on to become an online instructor at the Beat Junkies Institute of Sound in 2019. He notes the Piklz are more than halfway through their next, as-yet-untitled album — several tracks from which they previewed live during their recent DMC showcase in San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“My strength is, I’m always in the studio,” says D-Styles. “I always have these ideas, these sketches that I’ll try at home by myself. But I always have parts in mind, so if i have drums, I’ll be like, this is perfect for Shortkut. And then I have these keyboards, you know, these notes. So I’ll carry that side. And then I’ll give Q this (vocal) phrase. And I know he’ll know what to do with it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Aesthetics That ‘Vibrate a Certain Way’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Qbert maintains he’s still a student, trying to learn new things after all these years. He keeps pushing himself to new levels because he doesn’t want to repeat what he’s already done. “You got to come unique and original, or else it’s like, fucking wack. Or it’s, \u003cem>ah… he did the same shit last time\u003c/em>, you know? I don’t want to hear that.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952294\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1811px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1811\" height=\"600\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952294\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_.jpg 1811w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-800x265.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-1020x338.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-160x53.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-768x254.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-1536x509.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1811px) 100vw, 1811px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A sample of Qbert’s visual aesthetic from three full-length albums: ‘Extraterrestria,’ ‘Origins Wave Twisters 0,’ and ‘Next Cosmos in 5D.’\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The most sublime aspect of the Piklz legacy may be their aesthetic, best described as part kung-fu, part sci-fi, part zany humor, yet firmly grounded in DJ culture and hip-hop expression. This is reflected in Mike and Q’s outsize personalities. “Those two in particular are very much outside of this Earth,” says Christie Z, noting that Mike’s custom Serato vinyl is covered in Zectarian language. (In 2017, Qbert joined Mike for a duo performance of MMM’s alienesque single “Channel Zecktar” live at the NAMM showcase.) Artists are sometimes kooky, she says, but she’s used to it by now. “That’s what they do.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Unsurprisingly, perhaps, Mike sees himself as a glowing, ultramagnetic, cosmic antenna. “I would say, you know, my brain is like a super cerebral satellite dish that I’m just logging into the channels in my mind, and I call it the access to the interstellar network, my own interstellar network that’s going on in my head.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As for Qbert, “nowadays I work off of karma,” he says. Though he’s consulted for audio companies before, when he’s asked for input, he doesn’t insist on contractual agreements. “I’ll give you the honest truth.” If a mixer could be sleeker and more ergonomic, he’ll say so. He feels equipment makers could be more visionary and futuristic with their products. “They could put chromatherapy in these things, you know, they vibrate a certain way to make it heal you as a human.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For all of Qbert’s zany sense of humor and embracing of otherworldliness, he’s remarkably down to earth at times. That is to say, his ideology isn’t illogical at all – just advanced.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“With any art, if you’re deep into it, you’re already touching infinity,” he says. “So you could do so many things in it that you haven’t done. And there’s freakin’ a bag of infinity left — that is never-ending.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-11687704\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"60\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-400x30.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-768x58.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13952260/turntablism-invisibl-skratch-piklz-legacy-impact","authors":["11839"],"series":["arts_22314"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_69"],"tags":["arts_2854","arts_21712","arts_2852","arts_17218","arts_21940","arts_1146","arts_19347","arts_21711"],"featImg":"arts_13952262","label":"source_arts_13952260"},"arts_13952208":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13952208","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13952208","score":null,"sort":[1707929580000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"invisibl-skratch-piklz-filipino-djs-daly-city-san-francisco-turntablism-history","title":"How The Invisibl Skratch Piklz Put San Francisco Turntablism on the DJ Map","publishDate":1707929580,"format":"standard","headTitle":"How The Invisibl Skratch Piklz Put San Francisco Turntablism on the DJ Map | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":22314,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003cstrong>Editor’s note\u003c/strong>: This story is part of \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">That’s My Word\u003c/a>\u003cem>, KQED’s story series on \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a> history.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On a recent Friday night in San Francisco, a couple thousand fans of DJ culture crammed into the cavernous main room of a nightclub in Hunters Point.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Inside The Midway, it was elbow room-only from the stage to the back patio; many of those in the crowd were DJs themselves. The scene recalled the late ’90s-early 2000s glory days of the Bay Area, when turntablism seemed destined to become the Next Big Thing, and DJ nights dominated SF’s club scene. No one was there to dance; it wasn’t that kind of party.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13937762\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13937762\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"A person wearing a baseball cap stands at a table under fluorescent lighting.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">DJ Qbert performs with Invisibl Skratch Piklz during the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The occasion was the DMC World Championship DJ Battle Finals, with some of the best DJs in the world competing against each other. But there was another attraction too: live showcases by the Invisibl Skratch Piklz and Mix Master Mike, the legendary DJs who transformed the Bay Area into a turntablist Mecca during a seminal era for local hip-hop. DMC event organizer Christie Zee put the proceedings into their proper context: “You can’t have a battle in the Bay without the Skratch Piklz.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As midnight approached, the lights dimmed, and the Piklz – Qbert, Shortkut and D-Styles – were announced to cheers that echoed throughout the high-ceilinged room. The Piklz opened with the 2015 ISP track “Fresh Out of FVCKs,” with its ominous electric organ melody that transitions into repeating melodic chords. A snare drum beat came in, followed by a rhythmically scratched snippet of a stuttering vocal phrase. The electric organ chords shifted into a chopped melody as the snare dropped out, then returned. And that’s all before the mind-bending scratch solos that followed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Piklz proceeded to display their musicality, keeping their technical acumen within the groove pocket with synchronized timing. As is customary with the Piklz, each played the part of a specific instrumentalist: D-Styles as the keyboardist, Shortkut as the drummer, and Qbert as the scratch soloist.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952244\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952244\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike at the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A live version of “Death By A Thousand Paper Cuts” – a song from D-Styles’ 2019 album \u003cem>Noises In the Right Order\u003c/em> – and several unreleased ISP songs showed that \u003ca href=\"https://ccnmtl.columbia.edu/projects/jazzglossary/g/ghost_note.html\">ghost notes\u003c/a> aren’t just associated with jazz music. The turntable trio used the spaces between to impart a sense of presence and feel, a minimalist approach that allowed their scratches, cuts and juggles to resonate with maximum impact.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This would have been a hard act to follow for anyone but Mix Master Mike. The ISP co-founder, who’s been a solo artist since 1995 or so, has a gigantic stage presence and skills to match. A one-man musical blender, MMM unleashed a maelstrom of sonic fury, with bone-crunching drums, an entire range of musical and vocal phrases, and precise turntable cuts that deconstructed the individual pieces of a live performance — only to reconstruct all the fragments into an emotionally-thrilling pastiche. After his set, when Mike was celebrated with a Lifetime Achievement Award, the honor was clearly well-deserved.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Invisible Skratch Piklz were celebrating, too – 2023 marks their 30th anniversary – and it’s safe to say no Bay Area crew has done more to advance the DJ artform. Along with New York’s X-Ecutioners and LA’s Beat Junkies, ISP have defined the term turntablist, carving out a cultural niche that rests on a hip-hop foundation but exists in its own space.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13937759\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13937759\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"People stand in a crowd leaning on a barrier indoors.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A crowd watches finalists compete during the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The Piklz have counted many firsts. As hip-hop’s relationship with the DJ has flipped from essential to inconsequential, they’ve maintained the DJ tradition for future generations, and extended its global reach. Over the past four decades, they’ve gone from students of the scratch to wizened masters of turntable music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And like most cultural icons, their backstory is involved, multilayered and fascinating.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952236\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1528px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952236\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1528\" height=\"1032\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_.jpg 1528w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-800x540.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-1020x689.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-768x519.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1528px) 100vw, 1528px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A young Qbert at a community hall mobile DJ dance party. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>The Garage Party Era\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Invisibl Skratch Piklz story begins in what former ISP manager Alex Aquino calls the “pre-hip-hop era” of the late ’70s-early ’80s, when youth-oriented street dance intersected with pioneering mobile DJ crews and a Filipino-American tradition of garage parties.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“This was before breakdancing,” Aquino says. He recalls being 6 or 7 and seeing strutters, poppers and elements of DJ culture – including the Filipino mobile DJ crews who established a scene built around vinyl records, large stereo systems and frequent dance parties.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of those Filipino DJs was Apollo Novicio, a.k.a. DJ Apollo, a founding member of ISP who spent his early childhood roaming around the Mission District. By the time he reached middle school, his family had relocated to Daly City – where he likely attended some of the same parties as Aquino. “Back in the day, they’d have garage parties and there would be a DJ in the corner of the garage, set up on a washing machine and dryer and stuff like that. And at the parties, they would have popping and locking circles. Strutting, popping and locking. Breakdancing wasn’t even here yet, really. This was, I’d say, early ’80s, and that was pretty much my first exposure to the DJing and dancing element of it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952292\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1004px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1004\" height=\"674\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952292\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty.png 1004w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty-800x537.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty-160x107.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty-768x516.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1004px) 100vw, 1004px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Setup for a typical mobile DJ party in the early 1990s. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In 1982, Aquino remembers, a New York transplant named Oscar Sop had introduced B-boying and fat laces to the neighborhood, becoming one of the Bay Area’s first breakdancers. Meanwhile, the DJ crews were becoming more professional, and getting hired for weddings, quinceaneras, traditional Filipino celebrations and the occasional school dance party.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Apollo recalls “doing the strutting, popping, locking thing before B-boying got here.” Back then, “I didn’t even know it was hip-hop. I was such a young age. I’m like, just doing it and like, later on find out, oh, this is a hip-hop culture.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition to dancing being popular among Filipino youth, he remembers DJ groups proliferating at local high schools. “It was just kind of like the thing to do,” he says. “All the kids would form DJ groups.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I don’t know how to explain (why), but there was a lot of Filipino mobile disc jockey groups,” says DJ Apollo. ”Back in the seventies, my older brothers and sisters, they used to collect music and listen to music. Everybody had to go to the record store and buy vinyl.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952212\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1030px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952212\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1030\" height=\"778\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty.jpg 1030w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-800x604.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-1020x770.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-160x121.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-768x580.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1030px) 100vw, 1030px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A mobile DJ party in 1991. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Dr. Oliver Wang, author of \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.dukeupress.edu/legions-of-boom\">Legions of Boom: Filipino American Mobile DJ Crews in the San Francisco Bay Area\u003c/a>\u003c/em> and a professor of sociology at CSU Long Beach, explains that “the mobile DJ scene that the Piklz’ members got their start in wasn’t an exclusively Filipino phenomenon at all; there were Black, White, Latino and Chinese crews around then too. But the Fil-Am scene flourished above and beyond those other groups because they had distinct advantages coming from an immigrant community with strong social ties and large social networks.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition, Wang says, “Filipino American families have parties for practically any occasion — birthdays, debuts, christenings, graduations, or just plain house/garage parties for the heck of it. Importantly, those parties all wanted music, and that meant that DJs had all these opportunities to find gigs.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By the time breakdancing became popularized through movies like \u003cem>Beat Street\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Breakin’,\u003c/em> Apollo says, “DJing was already here… there were dances every weekend, and DJ battles and showcases almost every other weekend. That’s how it was when I was growing up around the San Francisco and Daly City area in the early ’80s.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952219\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1163px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1163\" height=\"831\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952219\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs.jpg 1163w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-800x572.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-1020x729.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-160x114.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-768x549.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1163px) 100vw, 1163px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Appearing as FM2O (Furious Minds 2 Observe), Qbert, Mix Master Mike and Apollo perform at an ‘eco-rap’ show in San Francisco, circa 1989–1990. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Apollo)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>One of the top mobile DJ crews at that time was Unlimited Sounds. “They were like the biggest group from Daly City, and they were already established,” Apollo says. Many of the crew members were older and attended Jefferson High School. Apollo remembers hanging out at Serra Bowl, becoming friends with Unlimited Sounds and gradually being drawn into the world of DJing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Every day after school, I would just hang out at their garage and practice,” he says. “All the equipment was there, the records were all there, the lights, everything.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Apollo saved his allowance and lunch money to buy his first set of turntables, and formed makeshift DJ crews with his friends. “We would gather our parents’ equipment, like home stereo equipment and gather it all up. I would get my parents’ home stereo system combined with my homies’ parents’ stereo system, combined with my other homie’s house system. And then we would put all the equipment together and we saw we had a DJ group.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Apollo started making mixtapes — he still remembers the first time he had enough records to make an all-hip-hop tape — and eventually became good enough to join Unlimited Sounds in 1985, who at the time had gigs all over the Bay Area. That experience gave him a solid foundation in DJing parties and playing a wide variety of records, but he was more interested in “scratching, juggling, trick-mixing — turntablism before it was even called that.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952233\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/RSC-DJs-Psycho-City-Cover.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"401\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952233\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/RSC-DJs-Psycho-City-Cover.jpeg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/RSC-DJs-Psycho-City-Cover-160x107.jpeg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Rock City DJs at the famed San Francisco graffiti spot Psycho City, January 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Prior to joining Unlimited Sounds, Apollo had hooked up with another up-and-coming DJ who was becoming known for his pause-tape mixes and obsessive focus on scratching: Michael Anthony Schwartz, a.k.a. Mix Master Mike, a Filipino-German kid who attended Jeffferson, the same high school as Aquino and Apollo. Rather than practice the blends and beat-matching typically used at parties, though, Apollo and Mix Master Mike would “do more scratching or tricks, routines and that type of stuff.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With those bedroom routines, a reimagining of the turntable’s possibilities had begun.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>‘Oh, Snap — What Did We Just Do?’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Mix Master Mike didn’t come up in the mobile DJ scene. His early inspiration was seeing Run-DMC’s Jam Master Jay live.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Watching Jay DJ for DMC and Run, he says, he remembers thinking, “Oh, they’re using records, but they sound more like they’re a full-fledged band, you know? That was just profound to me, that he was using records and rocking the house, \u003cem>with just records\u003c/em>. And that’s when I immediately knew that’s what I wanted to be.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952222\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1732px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952222\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1732\" height=\"1177\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway.jpg 1732w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-800x544.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-1020x693.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-768x522.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-1536x1044.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1732px) 100vw, 1732px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike on the subway in Japan, 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Not long after Run-DMC brought their Raising Hell tour to a sold-out Oakland Coliseum arena, Apollo and Mike formed an informal DJ crew called Together With Style (not to be confused with the SF graffiti crew of the same name) and held long practice sessions in Apollo’s garage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But with Mike, “we did go hard on scratching and tricks and juggling – which later on turned into turntablism.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Individually, they would take turns on Apollo’s set of turntables. But one day, they decided to work in tandem — a moment that altered the course of DJ history.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As Apollo remembers it: “Me and Mike were messing around with the turntables and… we’re like, well, let’s just do something together, since we don’t have to wait our turn (to practice). So I grabbed one turntable, and he grabbed the other turntable and we kind of just started making a beat with two records and one mixer. I got the bass kick and he grabbed the snare and we just started making a beat like, \u003cem>boom, cha, boom boom boom cha, boom boom\u003c/em>, you know? And then we’re just like, ‘Oh, snap, what did we just do? That was crazy.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952218\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 604px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952218\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/10423_136960922731_697132731_2526758_2429020_n.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"604\" height=\"408\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/10423_136960922731_697132731_2526758_2429020_n.jpg 604w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/10423_136960922731_697132731_2526758_2429020_n-160x108.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 604px) 100vw, 604px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Rock Steady Crew DJs in 1991. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Apollo)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Apollo and Mike would perfect the two-man routine over a period of several years, “and we just started performing it all over the place at showcases and dances, you know, wherever. People were seeing it and being amazed. We were amazed by it ourselves.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[pullquote size='large' align='center' citation='DJ Apollo']I got the bass kick and he grabbed the snare and we just started making a beat like, boom, cha, boom boom boom cha, boom boom, you know? And then we’re just like, ‘Oh, snap, what did we just do?” [/pullquote] \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One witness to the early routine was Richard Quitevis, an acquaintance of Mike and Apollo who went by the name DJ Qbert.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Qbert saw it one time and he was amazed by it. He’s like, \u003cem>Oh, what is that?!?\u003c/em>,” Apollo says.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Qbert Enters the Picture\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>DJ Qbert grew up in San Francisco’s Excelsior district. Like Apollo, his first exposure to hip-hop precedes the term itself. He recalls fishing at Pier 39 at the age of 12 and seeing the Fillmore dance crew \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=weKkAF9NdCI\">Demons of the Mind\u003c/a>. “There would be all these poppers; at the time they were called strutters. They would be playing this really fast electro music. And it was like, ‘Look at these robot-like guys in shiny little outfits with these silver hats.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Qbert was fascinated not only with the vibrant dancers, but the sounds. “I was like, ‘Man, this is crazy. I love it, but where are they getting this music from?’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952215\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1371px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952215\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1371\" height=\"984\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna.jpg 1371w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-800x574.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-1020x732.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-160x115.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-768x551.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1371px) 100vw, 1371px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut, Mix Master Mike and Qbert gettin’ up in Bologna, Italy. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Qbert remembers early attempts at breakdancing with his friends, who fashioned their own makeshift outfits. But it was the DJ scratch – particularly the skills displayed by Mix Master Ice on UTFO’s 1985 single “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0KE3-IyLsg8\">Leader of the Pack\u003c/a>” – that really drew his interest. “I just started collecting the music, always collecting the music. And that’s what made me become a DJ.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One day, Qbert was asked to DJ a garage party. “Everybody was about 12, 13, 14, 15, and everybody was breaking in the garage. And we were playing all my records on a big-ass giant box. Like, you open the top and you put the record in, and you just let that play. And the kids were spinning and they couldn’t control themselves. They would spin and they would spin, right into the DJ box, the turntable box. That was my first time being a mobile DJ.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He explains his early attraction to turntables and scratching: “You could manipulate sound by grabbing (the record), moving forward and backward,” he says, imitating a scratch sound. “It was like a toy. A toy that was like a musical instrument. I didn’t even know it was a musical instrument. I was just thinking of it as like, it just sounds crazy. You just pull sound out of the air and move it, like, ‘Oh, what a weird contraption.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Eventually, Q joined a mobile DJ crew called Live Style Productions, and came to the attention of Apollo and Mix Master Mike, who remember going to Balboa High School to see him spin.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Q, we just knew from around the way,” Apollo says. “We would go to different showcases on the weekends and see him perform. And so we knew about Q.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952240\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952240\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/600_us_champ_trophy.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"407\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/600_us_champ_trophy.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/600_us_champ_trophy-160x109.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz with the U.S. Championship trophy. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In 1991, Qbert entered the DMCs, winning the U.S. Championships and advancing all the way to the World Finals in London, where he took 2nd place. Aquino claims Qbert’s technical skills were so advanced, they went over most of the audience’s heads, but Qbert admits he got cocky and didn’t practice before his set: “I was sloppy,” he says. That loss instilled in him the importance of practicing, which he took to with rigorous discipline.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>The Turntables Might Wobble\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Hip-hop journalist and author Adisa Banjoko, a friend, recalls once being at Qbert’s house and hearing him scratch the rhythms of Rakim’s verses from Eric B. & Rakim’s “I Ain’t No Joke” – using entirely scratched tones to replicate Rakim’s stanzas. “You gotta record that,” Banjoko told Q, who just shrugged and said, “Nah, I do that all the time.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Around this time, Apollo and Mike were honing their two-man routine and making beats with the intention of forming a rap crew, with them as producers and DJs. After returning from London with his U.S. title, Qbert introduced Mike and Apollo to a rapper who used to hang out at his house named Nim-FHD.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“This is where it all comes together,” Apollo says. “Me and Mike were making beats, and we always wanted to find a voice for our beats. And so when Qbert introduced us to this rapper, and when me and Mike heard that guy’s voice, Nim’s voice, we were like, ‘Oh man, that’s the voice for our music.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952232\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 604px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952232\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/n1071373619_171639_1875.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"604\" height=\"416\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/n1071373619_171639_1875.jpg 604w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/n1071373619_171639_1875-160x110.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 604px) 100vw, 604px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The extended crew. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Apollo)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Apollo explained his vision to Nim, and they enlisted H2O, another emcee they met through Qbert, who also joined the group. “We told Q, do you want to be a part of the ‘\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sd5gFx001qg\">Peter Piper\u003c/a>’ routine? And he was like, overjoyed. Like, ‘Let’s do it. Absolutely, let’s do it.’ So then we’re like… why don’t we become the DJs for this group that will be the first rap group with three DJs and two rappers? And we’ll do all the beats and scratching.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>They christened themselves FM2O – an acronym for “Furious Minds To Observe” — the first iteration of what would become the Invisibl Skratch Piklz. As Mike says, “it was definitely a meant-to-be moment, when I hooked up with Q.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The group was managed by Aquino, who had left Unlimited Sounds and started throwing parties while trying to establish an independent hip-hop label, Ace Beat. While working on a demo tape, FM2O played local venues and music industry showcases like the Gavin Convention and New Music Seminar. In 1992, they appeared at the Omni in Oakland on a bill with Banjoko’s crew, Freedom T.R.O.O.P. 187, plus Organized Konfusion, Gangstarr and headliner Body Count. Epic as that lineup is, Apollo, Mike and Qbert’s orchestrated turntable segment during FM2O’s set was the absolute showstopper.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>FM2O’s music was slightly ahead of its time; in the early ’90s, “alternative hip-hop” hadn’t yet established itself in the mainstream. No hip-hop group had ever featured three DJs, all of them scratch fanatics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While Aquino tried unsuccessfully to secure FM2O a label deal, the DJs made moves in the battle scene.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952242\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952242\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike with his DMC Legend jacket at The Midway in San Francisco, 2023. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>The First Major World Titles\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Qbert’s second-place 1991 DMC finish earned him props from Clark Kent, a well-respected New York DJ and producer of the New Music Seminar DJ Battle for World Supremacy. Kent asked Qbert to judge the 1992 battle alongside NYC heavyweights like EPMD’s DJ Scratch and Gangstarr’s DJ Premier. Mix Master Mike, meanwhile, entered as a contestant – and ended up winning the battle. (Ironically, Aquino says, instead of practicing before his routine, Mike had stayed up all night.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLRprNA_GSk\">Video of the battle\u003c/a> – during which Mike performs eight different routines, besting Japan’s DJ Honda in the final showdown before taking on defending champ Supreme in a challenge match – confirms he was on a mission to crush all competition. He doubles up Word of Mouth’s “King Kut” with blinding speed and finesse, blends Schooly D and Flavor Flav phrases to dis “sucker DJs,” slows down the records to juggle entirely new beats, deconstructs the wax into a series of melodic tones, and maintains a sense of rhythmic mastery that’s chaotic and jarring but never veers out of control. Boisterous shouts from the crowd testify to Mike’s determined brilliance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Billed as the Rocksteady DJs (with the blessing of Bronx B-boy legend Crazy Legs, from the Rock Steady Crew), Qbert, Mike and Apollo won the DMCs that same year with the “Peter Piper” routine. The following year, with DJ Apollo unavailable while touring as the Souls of Mischief’s DJ, Mike and Qbert, billed as the Dream Team, again won the DMC World Championship. Mike still remembers the anticipation and energy that went into the preparations for the battle, along with the ginseng they imbibed before their set “like Chinese martial arts masters.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952237\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/l_f99accf3c766cef703abeb72c042e21e.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"397\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952237\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/l_f99accf3c766cef703abeb72c042e21e.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/l_f99accf3c766cef703abeb72c042e21e-160x106.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike, pictured at center: ‘It was a discovery. Right? ‘Oh, shit. We could take this and flip it anyway we want to,’ you know?’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>These victories were culturally significant. Not only had no West Coast DJ ever been crowned a World Champion before, but no Filipino DJ had ever placed that high in a major competition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To explain just how significant, it’s necessary to understand the evolution of the DJ artform.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The first development, playing “break” sections of records (known as breakbeats), was initially a clumsy needle-drop technique originated by hip-hop pioneer Kool Herc. Grandmaster Flash refined the DJ vocabulary with backspinning, cueing, cutting, punch phrasing, quick-mixing and reading the record like a clock. Grand Wizzard Theodore developed the basic scratch. Steve Dee invented the beat-juggle. But no DJ was doing synchronized team routines that reimagined the turntables as individual instruments prior to the Rocksteady DJs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“That was an awesome thing,” Mike says. “It just started from a thought. The collective team, it was like it was a unit. We all had the same aspirations and goals of doing things people had never, ever seen or heard before. And it just spawned this whole movement. And it’s just something that we love to do. It was a discovery. Right? ‘Oh, shit. We could take this and flip it anyway we want to,’ you know? And that was the beauty of it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952220\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952220\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1715\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-800x536.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-1020x683.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-768x515.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-1536x1029.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-2048x1372.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-1920x1286.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Sporting championship jackets in Tokyo, 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Their succession of three major titles in two years elevated the DJ artform and raised the bar for battles. Teams of three or more DJs would soon proliferate throughout the DJ universe, and battle routines became more well-rounded, with emphasis on scratching, beat-juggling, and musicality or rhythmic coherence, as well as sheer technical ability.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It also led to a backlash of sorts: Mike confirms that after dominating for three years in a row, his crew was politely asked to retire from the DMC competition. He characterizes the request as a “giving other people a chance to win type deal.” But to him and his other Bay Area battlers, “We felt like it wasn’t fair to us because we got a lot in the tank. Let’s go. Keep going. See how far we can go… we were ready to defend the next year. But unfortunately they wanted to make us judges.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As it turned out, stepping away from the competitive battle scene proved to be a blessing in disguise. “After we stopped battling,” Mike says, “I was like, okay, what’s next? We’re going to make records now. I’m gonna become a full fledged artist, you know? I don’t want to be this DJ dude. I don’t want to be a DJ guy that’s playing other people’s records standing up there. We’ve done that already. I’m going to get in the studio and be a producer, and I’m going to make music out of this whole thing, like, springboard into making original compositions. And so that’s what I’m doing, to this day.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952238\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1430px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952238\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1430\" height=\"1039\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996.jpg 1430w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-800x581.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-1020x741.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-160x116.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-768x558.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1430px) 100vw, 1430px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Hawaii, 1996. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>But first, the crew needed a new name. During their time DJing for FM2O, the three DJs were collectively known as Shadow of the Prophet, or simply, The Shadow. A chance encounter with an early-career DJ Shadow – who apologetically offered to change his name – led to Qbert graciously telling him that he could keep the name “Shadow,” and that he’d change his group’s name instead. “Rocksteady DJs” and “The Dream Team” were one-offs, for the most part. They needed something catchy that also reflected who they were.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One day it came to them. As Qbert recounts, “We was on one, and we were laughing and laughing. And I think Mix Master Mike said, “Why don’t we be called the Invisible Pickles? We were just cracking up and we were thinking about, you know, an invisible pickle.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The next day, Qbert got a call from his pal Lou Quintanilla, a.k.a. DJ Disk. “And he said, ‘How about Invisible Scratch Pickles?’ I was like, that kind of sounds dope.” (Though it may sound abstract, the name is rooted in a concrete concept: the turntable as an “invisible instrument” that could be almost any instrument – drums, guitar, vocals, anything.) The crew’s offbeat sense of humor reflected in their new name had long been evident; in 1992, they released \u003cem>Battle Breaks\u003c/em>, one of the first DJ tool records specifically designed for scratching, officially credited to the Psychedelic Scratch Bastards on the Dirt Style label. In later years they would put out various releases under an affiliate record label that they named Galactic Butt Hair.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Before settling on the new name, though, they ran it by a younger DJ who was asked to join the crew — Jonathan Cruz, a.k.a. DJ Shortkut.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952228\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952228\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1193\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-800x543.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-1020x692.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-768x521.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-1536x1042.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Electro and the Art of the Quick Mix\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Growing up in Daly City, Shortkut caught the DJ bug thanks to a Filipino mobile crew who played his 6th grade dance. He started DJing at age 13, after the local Filipino sound system culture had cycled through disco, metal, and New Wave, before arriving at hip-hop, freestyle and Miami bass.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of Shortkut’s first exposures to a DJ battle took place in a large hall.“There would be about four to six sound systems separately set up in the one room with their own individual sound systems. Each group would get about like 20 minutes to do their thing, and then at the end of the night, whoever won. The word got out that group won, and then that’s who everyone wanted to book for school dances or birthday parties.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Shortkut joined a crew called Just 2 Hype, which played freestyle, Miami bass and 808-laced Mantronix singles. “That’s why I think the Bay Area is specifically more scratch-DJ based,” he says, “because everyone scratched to fast beats, all the classic electro stuff.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He also worked on perfecting the art of the quick-mix, changing up the record every four or eight bars. But records like DJ Jazzy Jeff’s “Live At Union Square” drew him into the world of scratch-mixing. “When I first started scratching, I just listened to records, basically. All the early records I used to buy, I would just try to copy what I heard on record.”\u003cbr>\nIn the late ’80s and early ’90s, he says, “I really got into embracing hip-hop” – catching up with records that hadn’t been hugely popular in the Filipino scene, and becoming further enthralled with scratching and beat-juggling. “That’s when I was first hearing about Qbert and Apollo and Mix Master Mike,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952223\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1742px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1742\" height=\"1190\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952223\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_.jpg 1742w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-800x546.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-1020x697.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-768x525.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-1536x1049.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1742px) 100vw, 1742px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">First trip to Japan, 1993. At far left is B-boy and dancer Richard Colón, a.k.a. Crazy Legs from the Rock Steady Crew. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Back then, Apollo was the big name, being from Unlimited Sounds. “He was the party rocker. But he was kind of the B-boy out of all the Filipino guys I knew.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As he attempted to build his DJ skills, Shortkut remembers listening to cassette tapes of Qbert scratching and mixing. Initially, he had only basic equipment, and used belt-driven turntables. “I got better once I got to direct-drives because I already knew how to handle it and have a certain feel to it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Qbert winning the U.S. DMC Championship in 1991 was huge, he says. “We didn’t really have any role models, as a Filipino kid.” He took the win as validation – and inspiration.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I lived about five minutes from Q’s house,” he says. “I used to go to Q’s house with the guy who taught me how to DJ. We both cold-called Q because we knew he was the one who had all the battle videos. So we would go to his house and dub the videos and while they were dubbing, me and Q would scratch.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During this time, Shortkut says, Mike had moved to Sacramento, and Apollo was DJing for Branford Marsalis, “so I would hook up with Q and Disk a lot.” Q used to bring Shortkut and Disk along when he opened up shows in the Bay – affording the younger DJs valuable stage experience. Shortkut, Mike, and Q eventually formed a crew briefly called the Turntable Dragons, pre-ISP. Then, in 1993, Shortkut, Mike, and Q played a \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13935467/the-bomb-magazine-label-san-francisco-turntablism-djs\">Bomb Hip-Hop\u003c/a> Party – possibly the first time they had been billed as the Invisibl Skratch Piklz.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952239\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 250px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952239\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/invisblskratchp_002-h.gif\" alt=\"\" width=\"250\" height=\"250\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The five-man crew. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘Everyone That Worked There Was Filipino’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Dave Paul, publisher of \u003cem>Bomb Hip Hop Magazine\u003c/em>, coincidentally also began as a mobile DJ in 1984 with a crew called Midnight Connections. He tells a funny story about working an after-school job for Chevron. “I wasn’t that great. So they moved me from, like, the main Chevron on Geary Street over to one on California Street. And everyone that worked there was Filipino. Turned out everyone that worked there was also a DJ.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Paul knew of Apollo from Unlimited Sounds, and had seen Qbert perform a famous “Mary Had A Little Lamb” routine during a San Jose battle around 1989 or 1990. “That really got his name out,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During the annual Gavin Convention in San Francisco, Bomb Hip Hop magazine would present live performance showcases. Paul booked the Piklz on multiple occasions, beginning in 1992, when they were still called the Rocksteady DJs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>According to Paul, the vibe of those early performances “was always sort of the \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kDLzGtQmMyw\">don’t-give-a-fuck style\u003c/a>. Like, things didn’t have to be clean. They were just really raw. And it was just ill. They were doing stuff that no one else was doing at the time.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10345320\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-10345320\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/01/QBertMain.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/01/QBertMain.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/01/QBertMain-400x225.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">DJ QBert. \u003ccite>(Thud Rumble)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>After releasing a now-legendary compilation tape that featured Qbert along with a Canadian MC named Madchild, as well as local underground artists like Homeless Derelix, Blackalicious, Bored Stiff, and Mystik Journeymen, Bomb Hip Hop became a record label in 1995 with the release of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13937489/best-bay-area-turntablism-scratch-dj-albums\">\u003cem>Return of the DJ Vol. 1\u003c/em>\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That record essentially started the movement of turntablism as a musical genre. The Skratch Piklz (at that time, Qbert, Shortkut and Disk) were featured on “Invasion of the Octopus People,” while Mix Master Mike contributed his first official solo production, “Terrorwrist.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Return of the DJ \u003c/em>evolved into a compilation series spanning multiple volumes, and inspired numerous others, like Om Records’ \u003cem>Deep Concentration\u003c/em> and Ubiquity’s \u003cem>Audio Alchemy\u003c/em> compilations. Asphodel, an alternative label known for ultra-underground somnolent, ambient, droney electronic music, signed the Skratch Piklz to a deal, which resulted in 1996’s single “Invisibl Skratch Piklz vs. Da Klamz Uv Deth,” which featured Qbert, Shortkut, and Mix Master Mike.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952246\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1938px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952246\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1938\" height=\"1882\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca.jpg 1938w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-800x777.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-1020x991.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-160x155.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-768x746.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-1536x1492.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-1920x1865.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1938px) 100vw, 1938px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Invisibl Skratch Piklz vs. Da Clamz Uv Deth,’ 1997. \u003ccite>(Asphodel Records)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“A very strange thing about that (single) is, I had just invented scratch music,” Qbert says. “Which is this thing where every sound is scratched. Drums are scratched, the hi-hats are scratched, the snare and vocals are scratched, the chords, every single thing is scratched! No matter what is in there. So that was tracked out — like, every track was off the turntables, making a complete scratch song.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Turntablism spread quickly through San Francisco’s progressive club scene in the mid-’90s. Mark Herlihy’s art/performance collective Future Primitive established itself as an avant garde music label with a live recording of Shortkut and Cut Chemist at Cat’s Alley, on Folsom Street. An outer Tenderloin hole in the wall, Deco, became a headquarters for unfiltered, ultra-creative DJ expression in its basement, via “Many Styles” nights curated by Apollo. Qbert was part of the groundbreaking alternative hip-hop group Dr. Octagon along with producer Dan the Automator and MC Kool Keith, who recorded an indie classic that got re-released nationally by Dreamworks. To this day, Qbert’s scratch solo on Dr. Octagon’s “Earth People” stands out as a particular flashpoint, the turntable equivalent, perhaps, of the guitar solos on “Hotel California” or “Comfortably Numb.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Needless to say, it’s not an empty boast when Mix Master Mike says he and the Skratch Piklz “pretty much created this genre of music.” No one was doing it before them, and many followed in their footsteps. Locally, the Bullet Proof Scratch Hamsters (aka the Space Travelers), Supernatural Turntable Artists, and the Oakland Faders all scratched and juggled. Live bands incorporating turntablists included Live Human (DJ Quest) and Soulstice (Mei-Lwun). New York’s X-Ecutioners were probably ISP’s closest counterparts nationally, having formed in 1989. But despite their turntable innovations, even they weren’t performing or recording as a \u003cem>band\u003c/em> until after the Skratch Piklz.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952245\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952245\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Back when they were known as the X-Men, the X-Ecutioners faced off against the Piklz in a landmark 1996 battle in New York’s Manhattan Center – a contest so epic, it’s listed among \u003cem>Mixmag\u003c/em>’s \u003ca href=\"https://mixmag.net/feature/the-10-best-dj-scratch-battles-of-all-time\">Top 10 DJ Scratch Battles of All Time\u003c/a>. X-Ecutioners member and DJ historian Rob Swift says Qbert first came on his radar in 1991, when he beat X-Ecutioners founder Steve Dee to win the US DMC Finals.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We thought he was Hawaiian,” Swift says, because Qbert appeared to be wearing a lei in the battle video. “We didn’t know that he was this Filipino DJ that came out of this Filipino community of DJs in the Bay Area. We didn’t know that there \u003cem>were\u003c/em> DJs out there.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Swift later entered the 1991 New Music Seminar battle, where Qbert was a judge; the two exchanged numbers and began calling each other and exchanging videos regularly.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When rappers began increasingly excluding the DJ throughout the ’90s, he says he and Qbert would discuss what to do about it., “We would both be like, ‘You’ve got these rappers (not respecting the DJ). Fuck them, and we’re going to create our own DJ scene. If the music industry is going to turn their backs on DJing, we need to figure out a way to just create our own scene.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“And,” he adds, “that’s exactly what we did.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952225\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952225\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1166\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-800x530.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-1020x676.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-768x509.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-1536x1018.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Lebanon. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Enter the ITF — and D-Styles\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>When the Pilkz battled the X-Ecutioners, it was as much about gaining respect for turntable culture as it was about individual bragging rights. Though the court of public opinion is still split on who won, the battle put a spotlight on both crews. As Swift says, “We started strategizing ways to book our own tours and create all-DJ competitions (like) the ITF, the International Turntablist Federation,” who organized the historic battle.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Founded by Alex Aquino with help from Shortkut, the ITF was established in 1995 and stayed active until 2005. It was intended as a cultural organization, and as somewhat of a critique of the DMC, which had become the only major DJ competition, following the demise of the New Music Seminar.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Without the DMC,” Aquino says, “we wouldn’t have this world stage for the guys to be on. But after Q lost that first battle, we were like, something has to change.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Specifically, the criteria. “And so, we were like, let’s do our own battle. Let’s have real turntablists and DJs judge it, like a New Music Seminar, but instead of just the one-on-one battle, the advancement class for the belt, let’s do a scratching category. Let’s do a beat-juggling category. And let’s do a team category. And that’s how we started out.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952211\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1366px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952211\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1366\" height=\"1834\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine.jpg 1366w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-800x1074.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-1020x1369.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-160x215.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-768x1031.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-1144x1536.jpg 1144w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1366px) 100vw, 1366px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">In a Japanese magazine, date unknown. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>DJs like Vin Roc, Babu, Craze, and A-Trak all won ITF titles, as did teams like the Allies and Beat Junkies. The ITF succeeded in giving turntablists a visible platform to showcase their skills and in further popularizing the artform in the U.S. and internationally. (In 1999, the DMC would add a team category, and the organization currently rotates additional categories, including Scratch, Portablist, and Beat Juggling.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After \u003cem>Return of the DJ\u003c/em>’s “Octopus People,” with Apollo unavailable and Mix Master Mike pursuing a solo career, the Skratch Piklz needed new blood. For the next few years, ISP membership became somewhat fluid, swelling and contracting as new members joined for a while, before going off to do other projects. DJ Disk, DJ Flare, Canadian teenage prodigy A-Trak, and former Thud Rumble label manager Ritche Desuasido, a.k.a. Yogafrog, were all ISP members at one time or another, along with Shortkut.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1996, Beat Junkies member Dave Cuasito, a.k.a. D-Styles, joined the Piklz and became a linchpin for the group; Aquino calls him “the hidden master.” Though not as flashy or famous as Qbert, he’s well-respected in turntablist circles and has helped focus the Pilkz on compositional elements in their music while also being able to scratch, cut and juggle at a high level.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Born in the Philippines, D-Styles grew up in San Jose. Like the other Piklz, he was exposed to hip-hop through breaking and its accompanying soundtrack. “I would hear the songs that they were playing, but then they would scratch certain words and certain parts of that song. And so I was always curious how they were doing it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952229\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952229\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1168\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-1536x1020.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Grandmaster DXT and Qbert. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>His answer came when he saw Grandmixer DST (now known as DXT)’s scratch segment on Herbie Hancock’s “Rockit.” After getting a basic Realistic mixer for his birthday, he, too, joined a mobile DJ crew (Sound City), who pooled their equipment like so many others – and spent their meager proceeds on post-gig Denny’s meals. After taking part in typical mobile battles with crews exchanging 20-minute sets, he discovered there was a battle specifically for scratch DJs, and competed in the 1993 DMC.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1996, he moved to San Francisco to attend college, but what he really wanted was to pursue music. He was already familiar with Mike, Qbert and Shortkut from the battle scene, and from hanging out on Tuesday night at Deco, a small speakeasy-style jazz bar with open turntables in the basement.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“One strange night, I got a phone call on my answering machine and it was Yogafrog and Q, and they were like, ‘Hey, man’ – I don’t know if they were drunk or what – but they were like, ‘we need to talk, man. We think we should all come together and form a crew.” They met up and talked, and soon after, he was asked to officially join the group.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>D-Styles stoic demeanor compliments the other Piklz, yet beneath his focused concentration lies a punk rock attitude that aligns with Qbert’s philosophy that the only rule is there are no rules. Likewise, his turntable-composition approach balances the others’ battle-DJ backgrounds.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952235\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 636px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952235\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/SK-A-TRAK-1997-at-Qs.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"636\" height=\"474\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/SK-A-TRAK-1997-at-Qs.png 636w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/SK-A-TRAK-1997-at-Qs-160x119.png 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 636px) 100vw, 636px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut and A-Trak at Qbert’s place, 1997. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“As far as a turntable composer, I feel like we definitely embrace the more musical side of it, and less technical,” he says. “For the battle DJs, they really try to spray like a Uzi, you know what I mean? And just get off a bunch of power stuff and try to wow the the crowd and the judges. For music, it’s more about the long-term thing. We want to make music that’s timeless. And it’s not based off of a five-minute routine.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With the core Piklz now set with Qbert, Shortkut and D-Styles, Mix Master Mike – who remained affiliated with the crew – says, “I felt like we had the perfect stew. Everyone had their own style, their own identity.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Around this time, Mike began putting together his first solo album, \u003cem>Anti-Theft Device\u003c/em>, which he envisioned as “not an underground album (but) a worldwide release.” He imagined himself as a sonic transducer, attracting and reshaping matter into different forms. He drew on inspirations like Led Zeppelin’s John Bonham, early Public Enemy, Thelonious Monk, Rage Against the Machine and Ennio Morricone. He contemplated the subtlety of silence, of ghost notes and pregnant pauses. And then he went out and made an album with booming, deafening drums and thumping bass on nearly every track.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I focused on the drums first,” Mike says. “I wanted to make sure those drums were hitting really hard.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952249\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952249\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1000\" height=\"984\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft.jpg 1000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft-800x787.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft-160x157.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft-768x756.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1000px) 100vw, 1000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike’s ‘Anti-Theft Device,’ 1998. \u003ccite>(Asphodel Records)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>On \u003cem>Anti-Theft Device\u003c/em>, the found sounds and quirky vocal samples (“NASA maintains this is \u003cem>not\u003c/em> Colonel Blaha’s voice”) often present on DJ mix tapes resurface often, along with boom-bap beats and scratched phrases, instruments and sound effects. There are elements of intoxicated or altered reality, and bug-out moments that suggest turboized vocoders spouting underwater propellers, or seemingly random musical sample generators harnessing infinite libraries of sound, from raga to reggae to rock.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“At the end of the day,” Mike says, “it’s about spearheading the evolution of the battle DJ – as artist, composer, tastemaker.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While Mike was the first Pikl to make a solo album, Qbert crafted an especially ambitious concept for his first official solo debut. As Mike tells it, he had some extra tracks left over, which he gave to Qbert. “And he fuckin’, just like, went crazy on those beats. And then, yeah. It became \u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952250\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952250\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/R-16932444-1610670653-3566.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/R-16932444-1610670653-3566.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/R-16932444-1610670653-3566-160x160.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">DJ Qbert’s ‘Wave Twisters,’ 1998. The album spawned a cult-classic 2001 animated film of the same name. \u003ccite>(Galactic Butt Hair Records)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Wave Twisters, the Beasties and Beyond\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em> holds the rare distinction of being a soundtrack around which a movie was later designed. The album received extremely positive reviews, making many music critics’ year-end lists. To this day, it’s regarded as one of the best turntablism albums of all time. Tracks like “Destination: Quasar 16.33.45.78” took ISP battle routines to new levels, imagining a battle in inner space between a heroic dental hygienist and the minions of a villain named Lord Ook. The track revels in sci-fi tropes, with vocal cues like “Attention, starship!” coloring the scratched, transformed and cut-up audio landscape.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>According to Qbert, \u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em> was willed into existence. “I intentionally foresaw it because in the back of my head, I was like, I’m gonna make every song like a storyline. It’s going to be a thing. And somebody’s going to animate this. And then out of nowhere, the universe made it all work.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13937489']Meanwhile, Mix Master Mike was setting his own intentions – around becoming a member of the Beastie Boys. A longtime fan of their music, he says, “even before I met them, I always thought I was the fourth Beastie, and I was the missing element.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After meeting the Beasties’ MCA during a Rock Steady Crew anniversary in 1996, Mike took an unusual route to make his dreams come true. “I went up to MCA and introduced myself,” he recalls. “He knew who I was through all the competitions and the battles, and we exchanged phone numbers and went back home. And late at night, I would just leave these scratch messages on his answering machine. Two, three in the morning, just leaving these scratches on his machine, hoping that these transmissions would penetrate. Fortunately they did. \u003ca href=\"http://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/timeline#mix-master-mike-becomes-the-beastie-boys-dj\">And the rest is history\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952251\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952251\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1611\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-800x503.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-1020x642.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-160x101.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-768x483.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-1536x967.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-2048x1289.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-1920x1208.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L-R) Mixmaster Mike, Mike Diamond, Adam ‘MCA’ Yauch, and Adam ‘Ad-Rock’ Horovitz of The Beastie Boys attend the MTV Europe Music Awards 2004 at Tor di Valle Nov. 18, 2004 in Rome, Italy. \u003ccite>(Bruno Vincent/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Mike joined the Beasties in time for 1998’s \u003cem>Hello Nasty\u003c/em> album, remaining part of the group until MCA died of cancer in 2012 and the Beastie Boys disbanded. “So at the end of the day,” Mike says, “it’s all about power of intention, right? And my intention was to get in the band or work with the band.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As the ’90s drew to a close, the Piklz weren’t quite done. They produced Skratchcon 2000, a scratching convention, bringing together pioneering masters and acolytes of DJ scratch music. “That was our old manager, Yogafrog,” Qbert says. “His idea to put on a convention called Scratchcon, that was a genius idea of his, and we should do a Part II. We got all the best, most popular scratchers on the planet to come through. It was huge. Steve Dee was there, even Aladdin, all the X-Ecutioners, everybody. It was amazing.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952252\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1500px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952252\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1500\" height=\"983\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_.jpg 1500w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-800x524.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-1020x668.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-160x105.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-768x503.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1500px) 100vw, 1500px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L–R) Shortkut, D-Styles, Mix Master Mike, Yogafrog and QBert in QBert’s garage in the Excelsior District of San Francisco, 1998. \u003ccite>(Liz Hafalia /The San Francisco Chronicle via Getty Images))\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Skratchcon drew fans from all over the country, in addition to current and historic scratch DJs,for live showcases and demonstrations like DJ Radar’s introduction of scratch notation. The convention culminated with a live concert at the Fillmore Auditorium, billed at the time as the ISP’s last official performance. To this day, it stands as one of the highpoints of a decade overflowing with revolutionary developments in hip-hop DJ culture, which saw the Invisibl Skratch Piklz make history and become iconic representatives of turntablism.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As Mix Master Mike says, “There is no ceiling to this. No, it’s whatever you think about is whatever you create and whatever you can apply.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-11687704\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"60\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-400x30.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-768x58.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"A comprehensive history of the pioneering DJ crew, from Daly City garage parties to world domination.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726790339,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":121,"wordCount":8314},"headData":{"title":"How The Invisibl Skratch Piklz Put San Francisco Turntablism on the DJ Map | KQED","description":"A comprehensive history of the pioneering DJ crew, from Daly City garage parties to world domination.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"How The Invisibl Skratch Piklz Put San Francisco Turntablism on the DJ Map","datePublished":"2024-02-14T08:53:00-08:00","dateModified":"2024-09-19T16:58:59-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13952208/invisibl-skratch-piklz-filipino-djs-daly-city-san-francisco-turntablism-history","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003cstrong>Editor’s note\u003c/strong>: This story is part of \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">That’s My Word\u003c/a>\u003cem>, KQED’s story series on \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a> history.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On a recent Friday night in San Francisco, a couple thousand fans of DJ culture crammed into the cavernous main room of a nightclub in Hunters Point.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Inside The Midway, it was elbow room-only from the stage to the back patio; many of those in the crowd were DJs themselves. The scene recalled the late ’90s-early 2000s glory days of the Bay Area, when turntablism seemed destined to become the Next Big Thing, and DJ nights dominated SF’s club scene. No one was there to dance; it wasn’t that kind of party.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13937762\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13937762\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"A person wearing a baseball cap stands at a table under fluorescent lighting.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">DJ Qbert performs with Invisibl Skratch Piklz during the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The occasion was the DMC World Championship DJ Battle Finals, with some of the best DJs in the world competing against each other. But there was another attraction too: live showcases by the Invisibl Skratch Piklz and Mix Master Mike, the legendary DJs who transformed the Bay Area into a turntablist Mecca during a seminal era for local hip-hop. DMC event organizer Christie Zee put the proceedings into their proper context: “You can’t have a battle in the Bay without the Skratch Piklz.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As midnight approached, the lights dimmed, and the Piklz – Qbert, Shortkut and D-Styles – were announced to cheers that echoed throughout the high-ceilinged room. The Piklz opened with the 2015 ISP track “Fresh Out of FVCKs,” with its ominous electric organ melody that transitions into repeating melodic chords. A snare drum beat came in, followed by a rhythmically scratched snippet of a stuttering vocal phrase. The electric organ chords shifted into a chopped melody as the snare dropped out, then returned. And that’s all before the mind-bending scratch solos that followed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Piklz proceeded to display their musicality, keeping their technical acumen within the groove pocket with synchronized timing. As is customary with the Piklz, each played the part of a specific instrumentalist: D-Styles as the keyboardist, Shortkut as the drummer, and Qbert as the scratch soloist.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952244\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952244\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike at the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A live version of “Death By A Thousand Paper Cuts” – a song from D-Styles’ 2019 album \u003cem>Noises In the Right Order\u003c/em> – and several unreleased ISP songs showed that \u003ca href=\"https://ccnmtl.columbia.edu/projects/jazzglossary/g/ghost_note.html\">ghost notes\u003c/a> aren’t just associated with jazz music. The turntable trio used the spaces between to impart a sense of presence and feel, a minimalist approach that allowed their scratches, cuts and juggles to resonate with maximum impact.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This would have been a hard act to follow for anyone but Mix Master Mike. The ISP co-founder, who’s been a solo artist since 1995 or so, has a gigantic stage presence and skills to match. A one-man musical blender, MMM unleashed a maelstrom of sonic fury, with bone-crunching drums, an entire range of musical and vocal phrases, and precise turntable cuts that deconstructed the individual pieces of a live performance — only to reconstruct all the fragments into an emotionally-thrilling pastiche. After his set, when Mike was celebrated with a Lifetime Achievement Award, the honor was clearly well-deserved.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Invisible Skratch Piklz were celebrating, too – 2023 marks their 30th anniversary – and it’s safe to say no Bay Area crew has done more to advance the DJ artform. Along with New York’s X-Ecutioners and LA’s Beat Junkies, ISP have defined the term turntablist, carving out a cultural niche that rests on a hip-hop foundation but exists in its own space.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13937759\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13937759\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"People stand in a crowd leaning on a barrier indoors.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A crowd watches finalists compete during the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The Piklz have counted many firsts. As hip-hop’s relationship with the DJ has flipped from essential to inconsequential, they’ve maintained the DJ tradition for future generations, and extended its global reach. Over the past four decades, they’ve gone from students of the scratch to wizened masters of turntable music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And like most cultural icons, their backstory is involved, multilayered and fascinating.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952236\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1528px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952236\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1528\" height=\"1032\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_.jpg 1528w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-800x540.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-1020x689.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-768x519.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1528px) 100vw, 1528px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A young Qbert at a community hall mobile DJ dance party. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>The Garage Party Era\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Invisibl Skratch Piklz story begins in what former ISP manager Alex Aquino calls the “pre-hip-hop era” of the late ’70s-early ’80s, when youth-oriented street dance intersected with pioneering mobile DJ crews and a Filipino-American tradition of garage parties.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“This was before breakdancing,” Aquino says. He recalls being 6 or 7 and seeing strutters, poppers and elements of DJ culture – including the Filipino mobile DJ crews who established a scene built around vinyl records, large stereo systems and frequent dance parties.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of those Filipino DJs was Apollo Novicio, a.k.a. DJ Apollo, a founding member of ISP who spent his early childhood roaming around the Mission District. By the time he reached middle school, his family had relocated to Daly City – where he likely attended some of the same parties as Aquino. “Back in the day, they’d have garage parties and there would be a DJ in the corner of the garage, set up on a washing machine and dryer and stuff like that. And at the parties, they would have popping and locking circles. Strutting, popping and locking. Breakdancing wasn’t even here yet, really. This was, I’d say, early ’80s, and that was pretty much my first exposure to the DJing and dancing element of it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952292\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1004px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1004\" height=\"674\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952292\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty.png 1004w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty-800x537.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty-160x107.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty-768x516.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1004px) 100vw, 1004px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Setup for a typical mobile DJ party in the early 1990s. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In 1982, Aquino remembers, a New York transplant named Oscar Sop had introduced B-boying and fat laces to the neighborhood, becoming one of the Bay Area’s first breakdancers. Meanwhile, the DJ crews were becoming more professional, and getting hired for weddings, quinceaneras, traditional Filipino celebrations and the occasional school dance party.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Apollo recalls “doing the strutting, popping, locking thing before B-boying got here.” Back then, “I didn’t even know it was hip-hop. I was such a young age. I’m like, just doing it and like, later on find out, oh, this is a hip-hop culture.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition to dancing being popular among Filipino youth, he remembers DJ groups proliferating at local high schools. “It was just kind of like the thing to do,” he says. “All the kids would form DJ groups.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I don’t know how to explain (why), but there was a lot of Filipino mobile disc jockey groups,” says DJ Apollo. ”Back in the seventies, my older brothers and sisters, they used to collect music and listen to music. Everybody had to go to the record store and buy vinyl.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952212\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1030px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952212\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1030\" height=\"778\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty.jpg 1030w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-800x604.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-1020x770.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-160x121.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-768x580.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1030px) 100vw, 1030px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A mobile DJ party in 1991. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Dr. Oliver Wang, author of \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.dukeupress.edu/legions-of-boom\">Legions of Boom: Filipino American Mobile DJ Crews in the San Francisco Bay Area\u003c/a>\u003c/em> and a professor of sociology at CSU Long Beach, explains that “the mobile DJ scene that the Piklz’ members got their start in wasn’t an exclusively Filipino phenomenon at all; there were Black, White, Latino and Chinese crews around then too. But the Fil-Am scene flourished above and beyond those other groups because they had distinct advantages coming from an immigrant community with strong social ties and large social networks.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition, Wang says, “Filipino American families have parties for practically any occasion — birthdays, debuts, christenings, graduations, or just plain house/garage parties for the heck of it. Importantly, those parties all wanted music, and that meant that DJs had all these opportunities to find gigs.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By the time breakdancing became popularized through movies like \u003cem>Beat Street\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Breakin’,\u003c/em> Apollo says, “DJing was already here… there were dances every weekend, and DJ battles and showcases almost every other weekend. That’s how it was when I was growing up around the San Francisco and Daly City area in the early ’80s.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952219\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1163px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1163\" height=\"831\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952219\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs.jpg 1163w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-800x572.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-1020x729.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-160x114.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-768x549.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1163px) 100vw, 1163px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Appearing as FM2O (Furious Minds 2 Observe), Qbert, Mix Master Mike and Apollo perform at an ‘eco-rap’ show in San Francisco, circa 1989–1990. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Apollo)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>One of the top mobile DJ crews at that time was Unlimited Sounds. “They were like the biggest group from Daly City, and they were already established,” Apollo says. Many of the crew members were older and attended Jefferson High School. Apollo remembers hanging out at Serra Bowl, becoming friends with Unlimited Sounds and gradually being drawn into the world of DJing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Every day after school, I would just hang out at their garage and practice,” he says. “All the equipment was there, the records were all there, the lights, everything.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Apollo saved his allowance and lunch money to buy his first set of turntables, and formed makeshift DJ crews with his friends. “We would gather our parents’ equipment, like home stereo equipment and gather it all up. I would get my parents’ home stereo system combined with my homies’ parents’ stereo system, combined with my other homie’s house system. And then we would put all the equipment together and we saw we had a DJ group.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Apollo started making mixtapes — he still remembers the first time he had enough records to make an all-hip-hop tape — and eventually became good enough to join Unlimited Sounds in 1985, who at the time had gigs all over the Bay Area. That experience gave him a solid foundation in DJing parties and playing a wide variety of records, but he was more interested in “scratching, juggling, trick-mixing — turntablism before it was even called that.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952233\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/RSC-DJs-Psycho-City-Cover.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"401\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952233\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/RSC-DJs-Psycho-City-Cover.jpeg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/RSC-DJs-Psycho-City-Cover-160x107.jpeg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Rock City DJs at the famed San Francisco graffiti spot Psycho City, January 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Prior to joining Unlimited Sounds, Apollo had hooked up with another up-and-coming DJ who was becoming known for his pause-tape mixes and obsessive focus on scratching: Michael Anthony Schwartz, a.k.a. Mix Master Mike, a Filipino-German kid who attended Jeffferson, the same high school as Aquino and Apollo. Rather than practice the blends and beat-matching typically used at parties, though, Apollo and Mix Master Mike would “do more scratching or tricks, routines and that type of stuff.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With those bedroom routines, a reimagining of the turntable’s possibilities had begun.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>‘Oh, Snap — What Did We Just Do?’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Mix Master Mike didn’t come up in the mobile DJ scene. His early inspiration was seeing Run-DMC’s Jam Master Jay live.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Watching Jay DJ for DMC and Run, he says, he remembers thinking, “Oh, they’re using records, but they sound more like they’re a full-fledged band, you know? That was just profound to me, that he was using records and rocking the house, \u003cem>with just records\u003c/em>. And that’s when I immediately knew that’s what I wanted to be.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952222\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1732px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952222\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1732\" height=\"1177\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway.jpg 1732w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-800x544.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-1020x693.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-768x522.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-1536x1044.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1732px) 100vw, 1732px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike on the subway in Japan, 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Not long after Run-DMC brought their Raising Hell tour to a sold-out Oakland Coliseum arena, Apollo and Mike formed an informal DJ crew called Together With Style (not to be confused with the SF graffiti crew of the same name) and held long practice sessions in Apollo’s garage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But with Mike, “we did go hard on scratching and tricks and juggling – which later on turned into turntablism.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Individually, they would take turns on Apollo’s set of turntables. But one day, they decided to work in tandem — a moment that altered the course of DJ history.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As Apollo remembers it: “Me and Mike were messing around with the turntables and… we’re like, well, let’s just do something together, since we don’t have to wait our turn (to practice). So I grabbed one turntable, and he grabbed the other turntable and we kind of just started making a beat with two records and one mixer. I got the bass kick and he grabbed the snare and we just started making a beat like, \u003cem>boom, cha, boom boom boom cha, boom boom\u003c/em>, you know? And then we’re just like, ‘Oh, snap, what did we just do? That was crazy.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952218\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 604px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952218\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/10423_136960922731_697132731_2526758_2429020_n.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"604\" height=\"408\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/10423_136960922731_697132731_2526758_2429020_n.jpg 604w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/10423_136960922731_697132731_2526758_2429020_n-160x108.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 604px) 100vw, 604px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Rock Steady Crew DJs in 1991. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Apollo)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Apollo and Mike would perfect the two-man routine over a period of several years, “and we just started performing it all over the place at showcases and dances, you know, wherever. People were seeing it and being amazed. We were amazed by it ourselves.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"I got the bass kick and he grabbed the snare and we just started making a beat like, boom, cha, boom boom boom cha, boom boom, you know? And then we’re just like, ‘Oh, snap, what did we just do?” ","name":"pullquote","attributes":{"named":{"size":"large","align":"center","citation":"DJ Apollo","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One witness to the early routine was Richard Quitevis, an acquaintance of Mike and Apollo who went by the name DJ Qbert.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Qbert saw it one time and he was amazed by it. He’s like, \u003cem>Oh, what is that?!?\u003c/em>,” Apollo says.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Qbert Enters the Picture\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>DJ Qbert grew up in San Francisco’s Excelsior district. Like Apollo, his first exposure to hip-hop precedes the term itself. He recalls fishing at Pier 39 at the age of 12 and seeing the Fillmore dance crew \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=weKkAF9NdCI\">Demons of the Mind\u003c/a>. “There would be all these poppers; at the time they were called strutters. They would be playing this really fast electro music. And it was like, ‘Look at these robot-like guys in shiny little outfits with these silver hats.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Qbert was fascinated not only with the vibrant dancers, but the sounds. “I was like, ‘Man, this is crazy. I love it, but where are they getting this music from?’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952215\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1371px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952215\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1371\" height=\"984\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna.jpg 1371w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-800x574.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-1020x732.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-160x115.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-768x551.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1371px) 100vw, 1371px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut, Mix Master Mike and Qbert gettin’ up in Bologna, Italy. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Qbert remembers early attempts at breakdancing with his friends, who fashioned their own makeshift outfits. But it was the DJ scratch – particularly the skills displayed by Mix Master Ice on UTFO’s 1985 single “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0KE3-IyLsg8\">Leader of the Pack\u003c/a>” – that really drew his interest. “I just started collecting the music, always collecting the music. And that’s what made me become a DJ.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One day, Qbert was asked to DJ a garage party. “Everybody was about 12, 13, 14, 15, and everybody was breaking in the garage. And we were playing all my records on a big-ass giant box. Like, you open the top and you put the record in, and you just let that play. And the kids were spinning and they couldn’t control themselves. They would spin and they would spin, right into the DJ box, the turntable box. That was my first time being a mobile DJ.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He explains his early attraction to turntables and scratching: “You could manipulate sound by grabbing (the record), moving forward and backward,” he says, imitating a scratch sound. “It was like a toy. A toy that was like a musical instrument. I didn’t even know it was a musical instrument. I was just thinking of it as like, it just sounds crazy. You just pull sound out of the air and move it, like, ‘Oh, what a weird contraption.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Eventually, Q joined a mobile DJ crew called Live Style Productions, and came to the attention of Apollo and Mix Master Mike, who remember going to Balboa High School to see him spin.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Q, we just knew from around the way,” Apollo says. “We would go to different showcases on the weekends and see him perform. And so we knew about Q.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952240\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952240\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/600_us_champ_trophy.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"407\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/600_us_champ_trophy.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/600_us_champ_trophy-160x109.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz with the U.S. Championship trophy. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In 1991, Qbert entered the DMCs, winning the U.S. Championships and advancing all the way to the World Finals in London, where he took 2nd place. Aquino claims Qbert’s technical skills were so advanced, they went over most of the audience’s heads, but Qbert admits he got cocky and didn’t practice before his set: “I was sloppy,” he says. That loss instilled in him the importance of practicing, which he took to with rigorous discipline.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>The Turntables Might Wobble\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Hip-hop journalist and author Adisa Banjoko, a friend, recalls once being at Qbert’s house and hearing him scratch the rhythms of Rakim’s verses from Eric B. & Rakim’s “I Ain’t No Joke” – using entirely scratched tones to replicate Rakim’s stanzas. “You gotta record that,” Banjoko told Q, who just shrugged and said, “Nah, I do that all the time.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Around this time, Apollo and Mike were honing their two-man routine and making beats with the intention of forming a rap crew, with them as producers and DJs. After returning from London with his U.S. title, Qbert introduced Mike and Apollo to a rapper who used to hang out at his house named Nim-FHD.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“This is where it all comes together,” Apollo says. “Me and Mike were making beats, and we always wanted to find a voice for our beats. And so when Qbert introduced us to this rapper, and when me and Mike heard that guy’s voice, Nim’s voice, we were like, ‘Oh man, that’s the voice for our music.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952232\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 604px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952232\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/n1071373619_171639_1875.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"604\" height=\"416\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/n1071373619_171639_1875.jpg 604w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/n1071373619_171639_1875-160x110.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 604px) 100vw, 604px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The extended crew. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Apollo)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Apollo explained his vision to Nim, and they enlisted H2O, another emcee they met through Qbert, who also joined the group. “We told Q, do you want to be a part of the ‘\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sd5gFx001qg\">Peter Piper\u003c/a>’ routine? And he was like, overjoyed. Like, ‘Let’s do it. Absolutely, let’s do it.’ So then we’re like… why don’t we become the DJs for this group that will be the first rap group with three DJs and two rappers? And we’ll do all the beats and scratching.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>They christened themselves FM2O – an acronym for “Furious Minds To Observe” — the first iteration of what would become the Invisibl Skratch Piklz. As Mike says, “it was definitely a meant-to-be moment, when I hooked up with Q.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The group was managed by Aquino, who had left Unlimited Sounds and started throwing parties while trying to establish an independent hip-hop label, Ace Beat. While working on a demo tape, FM2O played local venues and music industry showcases like the Gavin Convention and New Music Seminar. In 1992, they appeared at the Omni in Oakland on a bill with Banjoko’s crew, Freedom T.R.O.O.P. 187, plus Organized Konfusion, Gangstarr and headliner Body Count. Epic as that lineup is, Apollo, Mike and Qbert’s orchestrated turntable segment during FM2O’s set was the absolute showstopper.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>FM2O’s music was slightly ahead of its time; in the early ’90s, “alternative hip-hop” hadn’t yet established itself in the mainstream. No hip-hop group had ever featured three DJs, all of them scratch fanatics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While Aquino tried unsuccessfully to secure FM2O a label deal, the DJs made moves in the battle scene.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952242\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952242\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike with his DMC Legend jacket at The Midway in San Francisco, 2023. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>The First Major World Titles\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Qbert’s second-place 1991 DMC finish earned him props from Clark Kent, a well-respected New York DJ and producer of the New Music Seminar DJ Battle for World Supremacy. Kent asked Qbert to judge the 1992 battle alongside NYC heavyweights like EPMD’s DJ Scratch and Gangstarr’s DJ Premier. Mix Master Mike, meanwhile, entered as a contestant – and ended up winning the battle. (Ironically, Aquino says, instead of practicing before his routine, Mike had stayed up all night.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLRprNA_GSk\">Video of the battle\u003c/a> – during which Mike performs eight different routines, besting Japan’s DJ Honda in the final showdown before taking on defending champ Supreme in a challenge match – confirms he was on a mission to crush all competition. He doubles up Word of Mouth’s “King Kut” with blinding speed and finesse, blends Schooly D and Flavor Flav phrases to dis “sucker DJs,” slows down the records to juggle entirely new beats, deconstructs the wax into a series of melodic tones, and maintains a sense of rhythmic mastery that’s chaotic and jarring but never veers out of control. Boisterous shouts from the crowd testify to Mike’s determined brilliance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Billed as the Rocksteady DJs (with the blessing of Bronx B-boy legend Crazy Legs, from the Rock Steady Crew), Qbert, Mike and Apollo won the DMCs that same year with the “Peter Piper” routine. The following year, with DJ Apollo unavailable while touring as the Souls of Mischief’s DJ, Mike and Qbert, billed as the Dream Team, again won the DMC World Championship. Mike still remembers the anticipation and energy that went into the preparations for the battle, along with the ginseng they imbibed before their set “like Chinese martial arts masters.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952237\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/l_f99accf3c766cef703abeb72c042e21e.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"397\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952237\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/l_f99accf3c766cef703abeb72c042e21e.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/l_f99accf3c766cef703abeb72c042e21e-160x106.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike, pictured at center: ‘It was a discovery. Right? ‘Oh, shit. We could take this and flip it anyway we want to,’ you know?’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>These victories were culturally significant. Not only had no West Coast DJ ever been crowned a World Champion before, but no Filipino DJ had ever placed that high in a major competition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To explain just how significant, it’s necessary to understand the evolution of the DJ artform.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The first development, playing “break” sections of records (known as breakbeats), was initially a clumsy needle-drop technique originated by hip-hop pioneer Kool Herc. Grandmaster Flash refined the DJ vocabulary with backspinning, cueing, cutting, punch phrasing, quick-mixing and reading the record like a clock. Grand Wizzard Theodore developed the basic scratch. Steve Dee invented the beat-juggle. But no DJ was doing synchronized team routines that reimagined the turntables as individual instruments prior to the Rocksteady DJs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“That was an awesome thing,” Mike says. “It just started from a thought. The collective team, it was like it was a unit. We all had the same aspirations and goals of doing things people had never, ever seen or heard before. And it just spawned this whole movement. And it’s just something that we love to do. It was a discovery. Right? ‘Oh, shit. We could take this and flip it anyway we want to,’ you know? And that was the beauty of it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952220\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952220\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1715\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-800x536.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-1020x683.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-768x515.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-1536x1029.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-2048x1372.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-1920x1286.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Sporting championship jackets in Tokyo, 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Their succession of three major titles in two years elevated the DJ artform and raised the bar for battles. Teams of three or more DJs would soon proliferate throughout the DJ universe, and battle routines became more well-rounded, with emphasis on scratching, beat-juggling, and musicality or rhythmic coherence, as well as sheer technical ability.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It also led to a backlash of sorts: Mike confirms that after dominating for three years in a row, his crew was politely asked to retire from the DMC competition. He characterizes the request as a “giving other people a chance to win type deal.” But to him and his other Bay Area battlers, “We felt like it wasn’t fair to us because we got a lot in the tank. Let’s go. Keep going. See how far we can go… we were ready to defend the next year. But unfortunately they wanted to make us judges.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As it turned out, stepping away from the competitive battle scene proved to be a blessing in disguise. “After we stopped battling,” Mike says, “I was like, okay, what’s next? We’re going to make records now. I’m gonna become a full fledged artist, you know? I don’t want to be this DJ dude. I don’t want to be a DJ guy that’s playing other people’s records standing up there. We’ve done that already. I’m going to get in the studio and be a producer, and I’m going to make music out of this whole thing, like, springboard into making original compositions. And so that’s what I’m doing, to this day.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952238\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1430px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952238\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1430\" height=\"1039\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996.jpg 1430w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-800x581.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-1020x741.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-160x116.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-768x558.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1430px) 100vw, 1430px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Hawaii, 1996. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>But first, the crew needed a new name. During their time DJing for FM2O, the three DJs were collectively known as Shadow of the Prophet, or simply, The Shadow. A chance encounter with an early-career DJ Shadow – who apologetically offered to change his name – led to Qbert graciously telling him that he could keep the name “Shadow,” and that he’d change his group’s name instead. “Rocksteady DJs” and “The Dream Team” were one-offs, for the most part. They needed something catchy that also reflected who they were.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One day it came to them. As Qbert recounts, “We was on one, and we were laughing and laughing. And I think Mix Master Mike said, “Why don’t we be called the Invisible Pickles? We were just cracking up and we were thinking about, you know, an invisible pickle.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The next day, Qbert got a call from his pal Lou Quintanilla, a.k.a. DJ Disk. “And he said, ‘How about Invisible Scratch Pickles?’ I was like, that kind of sounds dope.” (Though it may sound abstract, the name is rooted in a concrete concept: the turntable as an “invisible instrument” that could be almost any instrument – drums, guitar, vocals, anything.) The crew’s offbeat sense of humor reflected in their new name had long been evident; in 1992, they released \u003cem>Battle Breaks\u003c/em>, one of the first DJ tool records specifically designed for scratching, officially credited to the Psychedelic Scratch Bastards on the Dirt Style label. In later years they would put out various releases under an affiliate record label that they named Galactic Butt Hair.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Before settling on the new name, though, they ran it by a younger DJ who was asked to join the crew — Jonathan Cruz, a.k.a. DJ Shortkut.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952228\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952228\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1193\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-800x543.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-1020x692.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-768x521.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-1536x1042.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Electro and the Art of the Quick Mix\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Growing up in Daly City, Shortkut caught the DJ bug thanks to a Filipino mobile crew who played his 6th grade dance. He started DJing at age 13, after the local Filipino sound system culture had cycled through disco, metal, and New Wave, before arriving at hip-hop, freestyle and Miami bass.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of Shortkut’s first exposures to a DJ battle took place in a large hall.“There would be about four to six sound systems separately set up in the one room with their own individual sound systems. Each group would get about like 20 minutes to do their thing, and then at the end of the night, whoever won. The word got out that group won, and then that’s who everyone wanted to book for school dances or birthday parties.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Shortkut joined a crew called Just 2 Hype, which played freestyle, Miami bass and 808-laced Mantronix singles. “That’s why I think the Bay Area is specifically more scratch-DJ based,” he says, “because everyone scratched to fast beats, all the classic electro stuff.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He also worked on perfecting the art of the quick-mix, changing up the record every four or eight bars. But records like DJ Jazzy Jeff’s “Live At Union Square” drew him into the world of scratch-mixing. “When I first started scratching, I just listened to records, basically. All the early records I used to buy, I would just try to copy what I heard on record.”\u003cbr>\nIn the late ’80s and early ’90s, he says, “I really got into embracing hip-hop” – catching up with records that hadn’t been hugely popular in the Filipino scene, and becoming further enthralled with scratching and beat-juggling. “That’s when I was first hearing about Qbert and Apollo and Mix Master Mike,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952223\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1742px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1742\" height=\"1190\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952223\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_.jpg 1742w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-800x546.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-1020x697.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-768x525.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-1536x1049.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1742px) 100vw, 1742px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">First trip to Japan, 1993. At far left is B-boy and dancer Richard Colón, a.k.a. Crazy Legs from the Rock Steady Crew. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Back then, Apollo was the big name, being from Unlimited Sounds. “He was the party rocker. But he was kind of the B-boy out of all the Filipino guys I knew.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As he attempted to build his DJ skills, Shortkut remembers listening to cassette tapes of Qbert scratching and mixing. Initially, he had only basic equipment, and used belt-driven turntables. “I got better once I got to direct-drives because I already knew how to handle it and have a certain feel to it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Qbert winning the U.S. DMC Championship in 1991 was huge, he says. “We didn’t really have any role models, as a Filipino kid.” He took the win as validation – and inspiration.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I lived about five minutes from Q’s house,” he says. “I used to go to Q’s house with the guy who taught me how to DJ. We both cold-called Q because we knew he was the one who had all the battle videos. So we would go to his house and dub the videos and while they were dubbing, me and Q would scratch.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During this time, Shortkut says, Mike had moved to Sacramento, and Apollo was DJing for Branford Marsalis, “so I would hook up with Q and Disk a lot.” Q used to bring Shortkut and Disk along when he opened up shows in the Bay – affording the younger DJs valuable stage experience. Shortkut, Mike, and Q eventually formed a crew briefly called the Turntable Dragons, pre-ISP. Then, in 1993, Shortkut, Mike, and Q played a \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13935467/the-bomb-magazine-label-san-francisco-turntablism-djs\">Bomb Hip-Hop\u003c/a> Party – possibly the first time they had been billed as the Invisibl Skratch Piklz.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952239\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 250px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952239\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/invisblskratchp_002-h.gif\" alt=\"\" width=\"250\" height=\"250\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The five-man crew. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘Everyone That Worked There Was Filipino’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Dave Paul, publisher of \u003cem>Bomb Hip Hop Magazine\u003c/em>, coincidentally also began as a mobile DJ in 1984 with a crew called Midnight Connections. He tells a funny story about working an after-school job for Chevron. “I wasn’t that great. So they moved me from, like, the main Chevron on Geary Street over to one on California Street. And everyone that worked there was Filipino. Turned out everyone that worked there was also a DJ.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Paul knew of Apollo from Unlimited Sounds, and had seen Qbert perform a famous “Mary Had A Little Lamb” routine during a San Jose battle around 1989 or 1990. “That really got his name out,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During the annual Gavin Convention in San Francisco, Bomb Hip Hop magazine would present live performance showcases. Paul booked the Piklz on multiple occasions, beginning in 1992, when they were still called the Rocksteady DJs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>According to Paul, the vibe of those early performances “was always sort of the \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kDLzGtQmMyw\">don’t-give-a-fuck style\u003c/a>. Like, things didn’t have to be clean. They were just really raw. And it was just ill. They were doing stuff that no one else was doing at the time.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10345320\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-10345320\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/01/QBertMain.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/01/QBertMain.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/01/QBertMain-400x225.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">DJ QBert. \u003ccite>(Thud Rumble)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>After releasing a now-legendary compilation tape that featured Qbert along with a Canadian MC named Madchild, as well as local underground artists like Homeless Derelix, Blackalicious, Bored Stiff, and Mystik Journeymen, Bomb Hip Hop became a record label in 1995 with the release of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13937489/best-bay-area-turntablism-scratch-dj-albums\">\u003cem>Return of the DJ Vol. 1\u003c/em>\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That record essentially started the movement of turntablism as a musical genre. The Skratch Piklz (at that time, Qbert, Shortkut and Disk) were featured on “Invasion of the Octopus People,” while Mix Master Mike contributed his first official solo production, “Terrorwrist.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Return of the DJ \u003c/em>evolved into a compilation series spanning multiple volumes, and inspired numerous others, like Om Records’ \u003cem>Deep Concentration\u003c/em> and Ubiquity’s \u003cem>Audio Alchemy\u003c/em> compilations. Asphodel, an alternative label known for ultra-underground somnolent, ambient, droney electronic music, signed the Skratch Piklz to a deal, which resulted in 1996’s single “Invisibl Skratch Piklz vs. Da Klamz Uv Deth,” which featured Qbert, Shortkut, and Mix Master Mike.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952246\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1938px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952246\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1938\" height=\"1882\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca.jpg 1938w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-800x777.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-1020x991.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-160x155.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-768x746.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-1536x1492.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-1920x1865.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1938px) 100vw, 1938px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Invisibl Skratch Piklz vs. Da Clamz Uv Deth,’ 1997. \u003ccite>(Asphodel Records)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“A very strange thing about that (single) is, I had just invented scratch music,” Qbert says. “Which is this thing where every sound is scratched. Drums are scratched, the hi-hats are scratched, the snare and vocals are scratched, the chords, every single thing is scratched! No matter what is in there. So that was tracked out — like, every track was off the turntables, making a complete scratch song.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Turntablism spread quickly through San Francisco’s progressive club scene in the mid-’90s. Mark Herlihy’s art/performance collective Future Primitive established itself as an avant garde music label with a live recording of Shortkut and Cut Chemist at Cat’s Alley, on Folsom Street. An outer Tenderloin hole in the wall, Deco, became a headquarters for unfiltered, ultra-creative DJ expression in its basement, via “Many Styles” nights curated by Apollo. Qbert was part of the groundbreaking alternative hip-hop group Dr. Octagon along with producer Dan the Automator and MC Kool Keith, who recorded an indie classic that got re-released nationally by Dreamworks. To this day, Qbert’s scratch solo on Dr. Octagon’s “Earth People” stands out as a particular flashpoint, the turntable equivalent, perhaps, of the guitar solos on “Hotel California” or “Comfortably Numb.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Needless to say, it’s not an empty boast when Mix Master Mike says he and the Skratch Piklz “pretty much created this genre of music.” No one was doing it before them, and many followed in their footsteps. Locally, the Bullet Proof Scratch Hamsters (aka the Space Travelers), Supernatural Turntable Artists, and the Oakland Faders all scratched and juggled. Live bands incorporating turntablists included Live Human (DJ Quest) and Soulstice (Mei-Lwun). New York’s X-Ecutioners were probably ISP’s closest counterparts nationally, having formed in 1989. But despite their turntable innovations, even they weren’t performing or recording as a \u003cem>band\u003c/em> until after the Skratch Piklz.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952245\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952245\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Back when they were known as the X-Men, the X-Ecutioners faced off against the Piklz in a landmark 1996 battle in New York’s Manhattan Center – a contest so epic, it’s listed among \u003cem>Mixmag\u003c/em>’s \u003ca href=\"https://mixmag.net/feature/the-10-best-dj-scratch-battles-of-all-time\">Top 10 DJ Scratch Battles of All Time\u003c/a>. X-Ecutioners member and DJ historian Rob Swift says Qbert first came on his radar in 1991, when he beat X-Ecutioners founder Steve Dee to win the US DMC Finals.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We thought he was Hawaiian,” Swift says, because Qbert appeared to be wearing a lei in the battle video. “We didn’t know that he was this Filipino DJ that came out of this Filipino community of DJs in the Bay Area. We didn’t know that there \u003cem>were\u003c/em> DJs out there.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Swift later entered the 1991 New Music Seminar battle, where Qbert was a judge; the two exchanged numbers and began calling each other and exchanging videos regularly.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When rappers began increasingly excluding the DJ throughout the ’90s, he says he and Qbert would discuss what to do about it., “We would both be like, ‘You’ve got these rappers (not respecting the DJ). Fuck them, and we’re going to create our own DJ scene. If the music industry is going to turn their backs on DJing, we need to figure out a way to just create our own scene.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“And,” he adds, “that’s exactly what we did.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952225\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952225\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1166\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-800x530.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-1020x676.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-768x509.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-1536x1018.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Lebanon. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Enter the ITF — and D-Styles\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>When the Pilkz battled the X-Ecutioners, it was as much about gaining respect for turntable culture as it was about individual bragging rights. Though the court of public opinion is still split on who won, the battle put a spotlight on both crews. As Swift says, “We started strategizing ways to book our own tours and create all-DJ competitions (like) the ITF, the International Turntablist Federation,” who organized the historic battle.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Founded by Alex Aquino with help from Shortkut, the ITF was established in 1995 and stayed active until 2005. It was intended as a cultural organization, and as somewhat of a critique of the DMC, which had become the only major DJ competition, following the demise of the New Music Seminar.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Without the DMC,” Aquino says, “we wouldn’t have this world stage for the guys to be on. But after Q lost that first battle, we were like, something has to change.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Specifically, the criteria. “And so, we were like, let’s do our own battle. Let’s have real turntablists and DJs judge it, like a New Music Seminar, but instead of just the one-on-one battle, the advancement class for the belt, let’s do a scratching category. Let’s do a beat-juggling category. And let’s do a team category. And that’s how we started out.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952211\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1366px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952211\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1366\" height=\"1834\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine.jpg 1366w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-800x1074.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-1020x1369.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-160x215.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-768x1031.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-1144x1536.jpg 1144w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1366px) 100vw, 1366px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">In a Japanese magazine, date unknown. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>DJs like Vin Roc, Babu, Craze, and A-Trak all won ITF titles, as did teams like the Allies and Beat Junkies. The ITF succeeded in giving turntablists a visible platform to showcase their skills and in further popularizing the artform in the U.S. and internationally. (In 1999, the DMC would add a team category, and the organization currently rotates additional categories, including Scratch, Portablist, and Beat Juggling.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After \u003cem>Return of the DJ\u003c/em>’s “Octopus People,” with Apollo unavailable and Mix Master Mike pursuing a solo career, the Skratch Piklz needed new blood. For the next few years, ISP membership became somewhat fluid, swelling and contracting as new members joined for a while, before going off to do other projects. DJ Disk, DJ Flare, Canadian teenage prodigy A-Trak, and former Thud Rumble label manager Ritche Desuasido, a.k.a. Yogafrog, were all ISP members at one time or another, along with Shortkut.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1996, Beat Junkies member Dave Cuasito, a.k.a. D-Styles, joined the Piklz and became a linchpin for the group; Aquino calls him “the hidden master.” Though not as flashy or famous as Qbert, he’s well-respected in turntablist circles and has helped focus the Pilkz on compositional elements in their music while also being able to scratch, cut and juggle at a high level.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Born in the Philippines, D-Styles grew up in San Jose. Like the other Piklz, he was exposed to hip-hop through breaking and its accompanying soundtrack. “I would hear the songs that they were playing, but then they would scratch certain words and certain parts of that song. And so I was always curious how they were doing it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952229\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952229\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1168\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-1536x1020.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Grandmaster DXT and Qbert. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>His answer came when he saw Grandmixer DST (now known as DXT)’s scratch segment on Herbie Hancock’s “Rockit.” After getting a basic Realistic mixer for his birthday, he, too, joined a mobile DJ crew (Sound City), who pooled their equipment like so many others – and spent their meager proceeds on post-gig Denny’s meals. After taking part in typical mobile battles with crews exchanging 20-minute sets, he discovered there was a battle specifically for scratch DJs, and competed in the 1993 DMC.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1996, he moved to San Francisco to attend college, but what he really wanted was to pursue music. He was already familiar with Mike, Qbert and Shortkut from the battle scene, and from hanging out on Tuesday night at Deco, a small speakeasy-style jazz bar with open turntables in the basement.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“One strange night, I got a phone call on my answering machine and it was Yogafrog and Q, and they were like, ‘Hey, man’ – I don’t know if they were drunk or what – but they were like, ‘we need to talk, man. We think we should all come together and form a crew.” They met up and talked, and soon after, he was asked to officially join the group.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>D-Styles stoic demeanor compliments the other Piklz, yet beneath his focused concentration lies a punk rock attitude that aligns with Qbert’s philosophy that the only rule is there are no rules. Likewise, his turntable-composition approach balances the others’ battle-DJ backgrounds.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952235\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 636px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952235\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/SK-A-TRAK-1997-at-Qs.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"636\" height=\"474\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/SK-A-TRAK-1997-at-Qs.png 636w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/SK-A-TRAK-1997-at-Qs-160x119.png 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 636px) 100vw, 636px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut and A-Trak at Qbert’s place, 1997. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“As far as a turntable composer, I feel like we definitely embrace the more musical side of it, and less technical,” he says. “For the battle DJs, they really try to spray like a Uzi, you know what I mean? And just get off a bunch of power stuff and try to wow the the crowd and the judges. For music, it’s more about the long-term thing. We want to make music that’s timeless. And it’s not based off of a five-minute routine.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With the core Piklz now set with Qbert, Shortkut and D-Styles, Mix Master Mike – who remained affiliated with the crew – says, “I felt like we had the perfect stew. Everyone had their own style, their own identity.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Around this time, Mike began putting together his first solo album, \u003cem>Anti-Theft Device\u003c/em>, which he envisioned as “not an underground album (but) a worldwide release.” He imagined himself as a sonic transducer, attracting and reshaping matter into different forms. He drew on inspirations like Led Zeppelin’s John Bonham, early Public Enemy, Thelonious Monk, Rage Against the Machine and Ennio Morricone. He contemplated the subtlety of silence, of ghost notes and pregnant pauses. And then he went out and made an album with booming, deafening drums and thumping bass on nearly every track.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I focused on the drums first,” Mike says. “I wanted to make sure those drums were hitting really hard.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952249\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952249\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1000\" height=\"984\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft.jpg 1000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft-800x787.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft-160x157.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft-768x756.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1000px) 100vw, 1000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike’s ‘Anti-Theft Device,’ 1998. \u003ccite>(Asphodel Records)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>On \u003cem>Anti-Theft Device\u003c/em>, the found sounds and quirky vocal samples (“NASA maintains this is \u003cem>not\u003c/em> Colonel Blaha’s voice”) often present on DJ mix tapes resurface often, along with boom-bap beats and scratched phrases, instruments and sound effects. There are elements of intoxicated or altered reality, and bug-out moments that suggest turboized vocoders spouting underwater propellers, or seemingly random musical sample generators harnessing infinite libraries of sound, from raga to reggae to rock.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“At the end of the day,” Mike says, “it’s about spearheading the evolution of the battle DJ – as artist, composer, tastemaker.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While Mike was the first Pikl to make a solo album, Qbert crafted an especially ambitious concept for his first official solo debut. As Mike tells it, he had some extra tracks left over, which he gave to Qbert. “And he fuckin’, just like, went crazy on those beats. And then, yeah. It became \u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952250\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952250\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/R-16932444-1610670653-3566.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/R-16932444-1610670653-3566.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/R-16932444-1610670653-3566-160x160.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">DJ Qbert’s ‘Wave Twisters,’ 1998. The album spawned a cult-classic 2001 animated film of the same name. \u003ccite>(Galactic Butt Hair Records)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Wave Twisters, the Beasties and Beyond\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em> holds the rare distinction of being a soundtrack around which a movie was later designed. The album received extremely positive reviews, making many music critics’ year-end lists. To this day, it’s regarded as one of the best turntablism albums of all time. Tracks like “Destination: Quasar 16.33.45.78” took ISP battle routines to new levels, imagining a battle in inner space between a heroic dental hygienist and the minions of a villain named Lord Ook. The track revels in sci-fi tropes, with vocal cues like “Attention, starship!” coloring the scratched, transformed and cut-up audio landscape.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>According to Qbert, \u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em> was willed into existence. “I intentionally foresaw it because in the back of my head, I was like, I’m gonna make every song like a storyline. It’s going to be a thing. And somebody’s going to animate this. And then out of nowhere, the universe made it all work.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13937489","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Meanwhile, Mix Master Mike was setting his own intentions – around becoming a member of the Beastie Boys. A longtime fan of their music, he says, “even before I met them, I always thought I was the fourth Beastie, and I was the missing element.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After meeting the Beasties’ MCA during a Rock Steady Crew anniversary in 1996, Mike took an unusual route to make his dreams come true. “I went up to MCA and introduced myself,” he recalls. “He knew who I was through all the competitions and the battles, and we exchanged phone numbers and went back home. And late at night, I would just leave these scratch messages on his answering machine. Two, three in the morning, just leaving these scratches on his machine, hoping that these transmissions would penetrate. Fortunately they did. \u003ca href=\"http://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/timeline#mix-master-mike-becomes-the-beastie-boys-dj\">And the rest is history\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952251\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952251\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1611\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-800x503.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-1020x642.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-160x101.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-768x483.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-1536x967.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-2048x1289.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-1920x1208.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L-R) Mixmaster Mike, Mike Diamond, Adam ‘MCA’ Yauch, and Adam ‘Ad-Rock’ Horovitz of The Beastie Boys attend the MTV Europe Music Awards 2004 at Tor di Valle Nov. 18, 2004 in Rome, Italy. \u003ccite>(Bruno Vincent/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Mike joined the Beasties in time for 1998’s \u003cem>Hello Nasty\u003c/em> album, remaining part of the group until MCA died of cancer in 2012 and the Beastie Boys disbanded. “So at the end of the day,” Mike says, “it’s all about power of intention, right? And my intention was to get in the band or work with the band.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As the ’90s drew to a close, the Piklz weren’t quite done. They produced Skratchcon 2000, a scratching convention, bringing together pioneering masters and acolytes of DJ scratch music. “That was our old manager, Yogafrog,” Qbert says. “His idea to put on a convention called Scratchcon, that was a genius idea of his, and we should do a Part II. We got all the best, most popular scratchers on the planet to come through. It was huge. Steve Dee was there, even Aladdin, all the X-Ecutioners, everybody. It was amazing.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952252\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1500px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952252\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1500\" height=\"983\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_.jpg 1500w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-800x524.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-1020x668.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-160x105.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-768x503.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1500px) 100vw, 1500px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L–R) Shortkut, D-Styles, Mix Master Mike, Yogafrog and QBert in QBert’s garage in the Excelsior District of San Francisco, 1998. \u003ccite>(Liz Hafalia /The San Francisco Chronicle via Getty Images))\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Skratchcon drew fans from all over the country, in addition to current and historic scratch DJs,for live showcases and demonstrations like DJ Radar’s introduction of scratch notation. The convention culminated with a live concert at the Fillmore Auditorium, billed at the time as the ISP’s last official performance. To this day, it stands as one of the highpoints of a decade overflowing with revolutionary developments in hip-hop DJ culture, which saw the Invisibl Skratch Piklz make history and become iconic representatives of turntablism.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As Mix Master Mike says, “There is no ceiling to this. No, it’s whatever you think about is whatever you create and whatever you can apply.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-11687704\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"60\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-400x30.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-768x58.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13952208/invisibl-skratch-piklz-filipino-djs-daly-city-san-francisco-turntablism-history","authors":["11839"],"series":["arts_22314"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_69"],"tags":["arts_2854","arts_21712","arts_2852","arts_10278","arts_831","arts_17218","arts_21940","arts_1146","arts_19347","arts_21711"],"featImg":"arts_13952226","label":"arts_22314"},"arts_13959726":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13959726","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13959726","score":null,"sort":[1725474738000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"vicki-starr-transgender-topless-dancer-san-francisco-lgbtq-prison-reform","title":"The Transgender Topless Dancer Who Went to War with Prison Authorities","publishDate":1725474738,"format":"standard","headTitle":"The Transgender Topless Dancer Who Went to War with Prison Authorities | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":8978,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>In 1964, after \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13953248/topless-at-the-condor-movie-review-carol-doda-documentary-north-beach-history\">Carol Doda danced topless at The Condor\u003c/a> for the first time, nightclubs across San Francisco’s North Beach erupted into a \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13958719/who-was-yvonne-dangers-1960s-topless-north-beach-star-deportation\">topless frenzy\u003c/a>. Topless bands, topless clothing stores and even a topless shoe shine all opened in quick succession. But one of the most sensational acts of the time came courtesy of Vicki “Starr” Fernandez, a beautiful transgender woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959375']Born in Puerto Rico in 1932, Fernandez ran away to America aged just 14, so that she might live a freer, more authentic life. “As a child,” she told the Bakersfield Californian in 1968, “I was more feminine and pretty than the girls in our school … When I was a teenager, my looks and behavior became an embarrassment to my family. The other kids started making really vicious remarks to me … [In] the States, at least I can dress and act as I please without hurting myself or my family.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fernandez danced all over North Beach at clubs including Finnochio’s, El Cid, Pierre’s, Mr. D’s and Coke’s. At the Follies Burlesque, Fernandez participated in the “Battle of the Sexes” — a dance-off in which cis women went head-to-head with trans women and drag queens. (The point was that the audience could rarely tell who was who.) Fernandez was frequently billed as “Mister” (or “Mr.”) Vicki Starr, sensationalizing her trans-ness as a way to maximize audience numbers. This kind of publicity undoubtedly carried major risks for her personal safety and legal standing. Still, she boldly and diligently carried on performing, never shying away from talking about her gender identity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959772\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959772\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"A nightclub poster featuring two women, one glamorously made-up, the other standing topless, her back turned to the camera.\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1984\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-800x620.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-1020x790.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-160x124.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-768x595.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-1536x1190.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-2048x1587.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-1920x1488.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A poster from Coke’s advertising performances by Vicki Starr and Roxanne Alegria with the declaration that: ‘Boys will be girls.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the GLBT Historical Society)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In 1967, Fernandez told \u003cem>San Francisco Chronicle\u003c/em> columnist Merla Zellerbach that she was “working for one reason — to earn money to pay for the conversion operation. As soon as it’s finished, my fiancé and I will get married, possibly adopt children and settle down quietly.” What Fernandez craved, she told the reporter, was “a normal life as a woman.” She was entirely unwilling to give up on that dream, no matter the hurdles in her path. Though Fernandez enjoyed the limelight and relished every opportunity to be her most glamorous self, the nightclubs that made her famous were in many ways merely a means of survival.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Standing up for herself\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Fernandez spent much of her life kicking against social and institutional prejudice. From the time she arrived in San Francisco, Fernandez unabashedly lived every moment as the woman that she was. She was a fashionista, always clad in the most elegant styles of the day. She attracted a large, loving and very diverse friend group. She was politically active, keeping files of political pamphlets at home from the likes of George Moscone and Willie Brown, and voting for Harvey Milk when he was a candidate for the Board of Supervisors. Throughout her life, she stood up for and fiercely defended her rights as a woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of the biggest battles of Fernandez’s life started in 1971, when Fernandez’s longterm partner Richard Smith was convicted of homicide and incarcerated. It was far from the domestic bliss she had once envisioned for herself and, making matters worse, she soon found herself restricted from visiting Smith because of her gender identity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One correspondence from the California Men’s Colony in San Luis Obispo reflects the hostile policies of the era:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Ms. Fernandez remains biologically a male. Accordingly, until such time as a sex change operation is completed, and other approval to visit has been granted, Ms. Fernandez would be expected to enter the institution in male attire and utilize the male rest room.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>To Fernandez, these parameters were unacceptable. She quickly sought out the assistance of the San Francisco Neighborhood Legal Assistance Foundation (SFNLAF), and together they went about becoming a thorn in the side of the California Department of Corrections. They started with letters to the California State Prison Solano, in which Smith was originally held, then moved on to the prison in San Luis Obispo, where he was moved in 1974. That year, one letter to its director Raymond Procunier stated:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Ms. Fernandez was allowed to visit [Smith] for a period of 9 months without any questions raised. She made no attempt to hide her identity in this time. It was evidently only after Ms. Fernandez was discovered to be a trans-sexual that her visiting privilege was suddenly denied.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>For years, Fernandez and the SFNLAF badgered the Department of Corrections to change their stance on Fernandez’s clothing restrictions. And for years, the Department of Corrections tried to brush them off. Fernandez refused to back down. She began actively studying and campaigning for prison reform. She sought advice from the Prisoner’s Union, the American Civil Liberties Union and the Prison Law Collective. She contacted \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/11985739/san-franciscans-honor-glide-church-founder-rev-cecil-williams-at-memorial-ceremony\">Rev. Cecil Williams\u003c/a> of Glide Memorial, knowing he was outspoken on the topic of prison reform. She befriended Daniel Castro, the senior consultant for the select committee on corrections. She became a relentless force — and eventually, her work paid off.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1975, the San Luis Obispo Men’s Colony finally relented and permitted Fernandez to visit Smith in the clothing of her choosing. Access alone was not enough to silence her. When transphobic treatment reared its head in the visitors’ room, Fernandez made sure to document her displeasure in written complaints. One letter from the SFNLAF to H.L. Shaw, then the outside lieutenant of the San Luis Obispo prison, stated:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Ms. Fernandez has been subjected to further abuse which is uncalled for. Her attempts to hold hands and affectionately touch Mr. Smith in the way common between husband and wife has been precluded. Various sergeants under you have offended Ms. Fernandez by carefully policing her hand holding activities.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>It never mattered who she was up against, Fernandez was always ready to fight for equal treatment, no matter the venue.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>A loving legacy\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Though Fernandez’s life was not the easiest, she refused to live meekly or under anyone’s thumb. Proud of her identity, she fought tooth and nail for every scrap of progress she ever made and every shred of happiness she ever found. She was indefatigable when it came to living out loud, no matter who was judging her. But behind closed doors, she was a sensitive and sentimental soul. In the end, it was those traits that formed the foundation of Fernandez’s lasting cultural legacy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13870056']During an era when many of her contemporaries were trying their best to live under the radar and out of sight, Fernandez proudly documented her community in as many ways as she could. In her death, Fernandez left behind a comprehensive goldmine of photographs, flyers and other ephemera that continues to stand as a reflection of the LGBTQ community from the 1950s through the 1980s. These files reflect a joyful and loving community full of beautiful souls who refused to be relegated to the shadows. Now in the care of San Francisco’s GLBT Historical Society, they offer important insight into a woefully under-documented period of time for LGBTQ people.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1967, bemoaning the many hardships she faced, Fernandez told the \u003cem>Chronicle\u003c/em>: “If I’d been born all girl, none of this would have happened.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While her life would have undoubtedly been less challenging if that was the case, it was Fernandez’s trans-ness that ultimately made her so special — in her nightclub performances, in her legal battles, and in the keepsakes she ultimately left behind. “You have a very peaceful effect on people,” a friend named Susan wrote to Fernandez in the 1970s. “A harmony that lifts them and can heal them.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The personal documents Fernandez left behind will continue to do so long into the future.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>To learn about other Rebel Girls from Bay Area History, visit the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/rebelgirls\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">Rebel Girls homepage\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Vicki ‘Starr’ Fernandez was a topless dancer who fought tirelessly for her right to be seen as a woman.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726770872,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":22,"wordCount":1389},"headData":{"title":"Honoring Vicki Starr, the Transgender Nightclub Sensation | KQED","description":"Vicki ‘Starr’ Fernandez was a topless dancer who fought tirelessly for her right to be seen as a woman.","ogTitle":"The Transgender Topless Dancer Who Went to War with Prison Authorities","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"The Transgender Topless Dancer Who Went to War with Prison Authorities","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialTitle":"Honoring Vicki Starr, the Transgender Nightclub Sensation %%page%% %%sep%% KQED","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"The Transgender Topless Dancer Who Went to War with Prison Authorities","datePublished":"2024-09-04T11:32:18-07:00","dateModified":"2024-09-19T11:34:32-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13959726","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13959726/vicki-starr-transgender-topless-dancer-san-francisco-lgbtq-prison-reform","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>In 1964, after \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13953248/topless-at-the-condor-movie-review-carol-doda-documentary-north-beach-history\">Carol Doda danced topless at The Condor\u003c/a> for the first time, nightclubs across San Francisco’s North Beach erupted into a \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13958719/who-was-yvonne-dangers-1960s-topless-north-beach-star-deportation\">topless frenzy\u003c/a>. Topless bands, topless clothing stores and even a topless shoe shine all opened in quick succession. But one of the most sensational acts of the time came courtesy of Vicki “Starr” Fernandez, a beautiful transgender woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13959375","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Born in Puerto Rico in 1932, Fernandez ran away to America aged just 14, so that she might live a freer, more authentic life. “As a child,” she told the Bakersfield Californian in 1968, “I was more feminine and pretty than the girls in our school … When I was a teenager, my looks and behavior became an embarrassment to my family. The other kids started making really vicious remarks to me … [In] the States, at least I can dress and act as I please without hurting myself or my family.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fernandez danced all over North Beach at clubs including Finnochio’s, El Cid, Pierre’s, Mr. D’s and Coke’s. At the Follies Burlesque, Fernandez participated in the “Battle of the Sexes” — a dance-off in which cis women went head-to-head with trans women and drag queens. (The point was that the audience could rarely tell who was who.) Fernandez was frequently billed as “Mister” (or “Mr.”) Vicki Starr, sensationalizing her trans-ness as a way to maximize audience numbers. This kind of publicity undoubtedly carried major risks for her personal safety and legal standing. Still, she boldly and diligently carried on performing, never shying away from talking about her gender identity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959772\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959772\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"A nightclub poster featuring two women, one glamorously made-up, the other standing topless, her back turned to the camera.\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1984\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-800x620.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-1020x790.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-160x124.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-768x595.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-1536x1190.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-2048x1587.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-1920x1488.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A poster from Coke’s advertising performances by Vicki Starr and Roxanne Alegria with the declaration that: ‘Boys will be girls.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the GLBT Historical Society)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In 1967, Fernandez told \u003cem>San Francisco Chronicle\u003c/em> columnist Merla Zellerbach that she was “working for one reason — to earn money to pay for the conversion operation. As soon as it’s finished, my fiancé and I will get married, possibly adopt children and settle down quietly.” What Fernandez craved, she told the reporter, was “a normal life as a woman.” She was entirely unwilling to give up on that dream, no matter the hurdles in her path. Though Fernandez enjoyed the limelight and relished every opportunity to be her most glamorous self, the nightclubs that made her famous were in many ways merely a means of survival.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Standing up for herself\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Fernandez spent much of her life kicking against social and institutional prejudice. From the time she arrived in San Francisco, Fernandez unabashedly lived every moment as the woman that she was. She was a fashionista, always clad in the most elegant styles of the day. She attracted a large, loving and very diverse friend group. She was politically active, keeping files of political pamphlets at home from the likes of George Moscone and Willie Brown, and voting for Harvey Milk when he was a candidate for the Board of Supervisors. Throughout her life, she stood up for and fiercely defended her rights as a woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of the biggest battles of Fernandez’s life started in 1971, when Fernandez’s longterm partner Richard Smith was convicted of homicide and incarcerated. It was far from the domestic bliss she had once envisioned for herself and, making matters worse, she soon found herself restricted from visiting Smith because of her gender identity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One correspondence from the California Men’s Colony in San Luis Obispo reflects the hostile policies of the era:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Ms. Fernandez remains biologically a male. Accordingly, until such time as a sex change operation is completed, and other approval to visit has been granted, Ms. Fernandez would be expected to enter the institution in male attire and utilize the male rest room.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>To Fernandez, these parameters were unacceptable. She quickly sought out the assistance of the San Francisco Neighborhood Legal Assistance Foundation (SFNLAF), and together they went about becoming a thorn in the side of the California Department of Corrections. They started with letters to the California State Prison Solano, in which Smith was originally held, then moved on to the prison in San Luis Obispo, where he was moved in 1974. That year, one letter to its director Raymond Procunier stated:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Ms. Fernandez was allowed to visit [Smith] for a period of 9 months without any questions raised. She made no attempt to hide her identity in this time. It was evidently only after Ms. Fernandez was discovered to be a trans-sexual that her visiting privilege was suddenly denied.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>For years, Fernandez and the SFNLAF badgered the Department of Corrections to change their stance on Fernandez’s clothing restrictions. And for years, the Department of Corrections tried to brush them off. Fernandez refused to back down. She began actively studying and campaigning for prison reform. She sought advice from the Prisoner’s Union, the American Civil Liberties Union and the Prison Law Collective. She contacted \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/11985739/san-franciscans-honor-glide-church-founder-rev-cecil-williams-at-memorial-ceremony\">Rev. Cecil Williams\u003c/a> of Glide Memorial, knowing he was outspoken on the topic of prison reform. She befriended Daniel Castro, the senior consultant for the select committee on corrections. She became a relentless force — and eventually, her work paid off.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1975, the San Luis Obispo Men’s Colony finally relented and permitted Fernandez to visit Smith in the clothing of her choosing. Access alone was not enough to silence her. When transphobic treatment reared its head in the visitors’ room, Fernandez made sure to document her displeasure in written complaints. One letter from the SFNLAF to H.L. Shaw, then the outside lieutenant of the San Luis Obispo prison, stated:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Ms. Fernandez has been subjected to further abuse which is uncalled for. Her attempts to hold hands and affectionately touch Mr. Smith in the way common between husband and wife has been precluded. Various sergeants under you have offended Ms. Fernandez by carefully policing her hand holding activities.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>It never mattered who she was up against, Fernandez was always ready to fight for equal treatment, no matter the venue.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>A loving legacy\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Though Fernandez’s life was not the easiest, she refused to live meekly or under anyone’s thumb. Proud of her identity, she fought tooth and nail for every scrap of progress she ever made and every shred of happiness she ever found. She was indefatigable when it came to living out loud, no matter who was judging her. But behind closed doors, she was a sensitive and sentimental soul. In the end, it was those traits that formed the foundation of Fernandez’s lasting cultural legacy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13870056","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>During an era when many of her contemporaries were trying their best to live under the radar and out of sight, Fernandez proudly documented her community in as many ways as she could. In her death, Fernandez left behind a comprehensive goldmine of photographs, flyers and other ephemera that continues to stand as a reflection of the LGBTQ community from the 1950s through the 1980s. These files reflect a joyful and loving community full of beautiful souls who refused to be relegated to the shadows. Now in the care of San Francisco’s GLBT Historical Society, they offer important insight into a woefully under-documented period of time for LGBTQ people.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1967, bemoaning the many hardships she faced, Fernandez told the \u003cem>Chronicle\u003c/em>: “If I’d been born all girl, none of this would have happened.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While her life would have undoubtedly been less challenging if that was the case, it was Fernandez’s trans-ness that ultimately made her