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
Keke Palmer's insightful memoir, Sally Rooney's chess novel and other recommendations from our critic.
The Spies on TV This Fall Are Juggling Work and Family – Just Like the Rest of Us
In a wave of shows, including ‘The Day of the Jackal,’ ‘The Agency,’ and ‘Black Doves’, the spies have got families at home.
A Wordless Cat Parable About Climate Change Is the Year’s Best Animated Movie
A solitary black cat escapes a cataclysmic flood and navigates a water world in Gints Zilbalodis’ wondrously shimmering film.
Frightening AI Developments From 2024 to Laugh at While We Still Can
Before robot dog armies are unleashed and Chat GPT steals our jobs, let's enjoy tech's limitations this year.
Brave, Mesmerizing Amy Adams Triumphs Over Frustratingly Odd Script in ‘Nightbitch’
An artist grapples with life as a stay-at-home mom in this adaptation of Rachel Yoder’s feminist fable.
Dave Eggers Opens a Library for Youth, by Youth in San Francisco
The International Youth Library houses work by authors ages 6–18, and takes submissions.
The Best Live Music I Saw But Didn’t Get to Review in 2024
One can only review so many concerts. Here's a roundup of 30 stellar shows that didn't make the cut this year.
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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"content": "\u003cp>Look, this year had its many ups and downs. But one thing that’s kept me sane is reading nearly every night instead of — or, when I did slip up, in addition to — scrolling on my phone. I also attended a friend’s monthly book club, which provided an opportunity to connect with other 20-somethings in San Francisco who have similar interests (and see their apartments, which is a nice bonus for my \u003cem>Architectural Digest\u003c/em>-loving heart).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These four books I’ve read recently are not from that book club, but I devoured them the same nonetheless, bringing up my tally to 20 books this year. I will try my best to get to 25 over the month and you can, too, join my hustle by adding a book or two from this list to your TBR pile.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969174\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 1650px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969174\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux-.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1650\" height=\"2531\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux-.jpg 1650w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux--800x1227.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux--1020x1565.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux--160x245.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux--768x1178.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux--1001x1536.jpg 1001w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux--1335x2048.jpg 1335w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1650px) 100vw, 1650px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Intermezzo’ by Sally Rooney. \u003ccite>(Farrar, Straus and Giroux)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cem>Intermezzo\u003c/em>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>By Sally Rooney\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>2024\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In September, Irish author Sally Rooney released her highly anticipated fourth novel \u003cem>Intermezzo\u003c/em> to nearly universal acclaim, and it’s not difficult to understand why. Rooney, whose past characters have been criticized as insufferable and lacking growth, created her most alive and dynamic set of characters yet. \u003cem>Intermezzo\u003c/em> is a glimpse into the lives of two brothers, a 32-year-old lawyer, Peter, and his 22-year-old chess player brother, Ivan, in the aftermath of their father’s death. Rooney skillfully examines how these men deal with grief and how that reflects in their relationship, and, separately, their relationships with the women in their lives.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Peter thinks of his relationship with his younger girlfriend, Naomi, as a casual one, until she loses her apartment and moves in with him. Ivan, on the other hand, starts seeing Margaret, a woman 14 years his senior that he met at a chess event outside of Dublin — and begins to travel every weekend to see her. Both of Rooney’s antiheroes contain multitudes, as they go from being unlikeable and villainous from one moment to their pure and pitiful selves the next. It also doesn’t help that the rift in their relationship causes the two to view each other in harsher light. All of this makes for a fast-paced, reflective read. However, if you are not a fan of Sally Rooney’s underutilization of punctuation, especially quotation marks, beware that her stylistic choice persists in this novel.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Following the success and discourse created by TV adaptations of Rooney’s first two novels, \u003cem>Normal People\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Conversations With Friends\u003c/em>, the author stated that she has “decided not to accept any offers to option the rights” of her books and step away from the visual medium. It might be a long while before an \u003cem>Intermezzo\u003c/em> series becomes a reality, so picking up the book is your best bet to enjoy the novel.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969175\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 1684px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969175\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1684\" height=\"2560\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-scaled.jpg 1684w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-800x1216.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-1020x1550.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-160x243.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-768x1167.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-1011x1536.jpg 1011w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-1347x2048.jpg 1347w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1684px) 100vw, 1684px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Honey’ by Isabel Banta. \u003ccite>(Celadon Books)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cem>Honey\u003c/em>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>By Isabel Banta\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>2024\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Any pop music fan has fantasized about the lives of their favorite pop icons. I specifically wonder about the psychological impacts of having an army of fans, and finding enough success to sell out arenas, when you’re at the age when Billie Eilish, Olivia Rodrigo, Justin Bieber and other child stars rose to fame. Isabel Banta’s debut novel \u003cem>Honey\u003c/em> is a wonderful deep dive into the making of a teen pop star in the late ’90s and early 2000s — more of a Beyoncé or Britney Spears narrative. The novel follows Amber Young (perhaps too on the nose with that last name), whose life changes in the blink of an eye when she is given the opportunity to join a girl group, called Cloud9, and move to Los Angeles to chase her dreams. The author goes on to examine the inner workings of the music industry, the friendly competition between young women starting their solo careers, and how tabloids paint an entirely different picture of them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Honey is a refreshing, if a little revisionist, tale of the typical pop idol biography. I found it to be a quick, lighthearted read, compared to the horrendous stories Britney Spears detailed in her autobiography, \u003cem>The Woman in Me\u003c/em>. If the thought of engulfing yourself in a mostly uplifting pop girl fantasy during these gloomy, gray days sounds appealing to you, \u003cem>Honey\u003c/em> won’t disappoint.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969176\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 667px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969176\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Cultish-Harper-Collins.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"667\" height=\"1000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Cultish-Harper-Collins.jpg 667w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Cultish-Harper-Collins-160x240.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 667px) 100vw, 667px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. \u003ccite>(Harper Collins)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cem>Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism\u003c/em>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>By Amanda Montell\u003cbr>\n2021\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Cultish\u003c/em> is a book I’ve had on my radar for years. On election night, as I found myself in despair looking for my next read, I reached for it, hoping there would be some good takeaways. Unsurprisingly, president-elect Donald Trump’s name pops up in the discussion of modern day cult behavior, alongside other examples like Taylor Swift’s fandom and, of course, Scientology. Montell’s exploration of how populist leaders rely on linguistic tools to rope their followers into their bubble really put things into perspective for me. Montell also interviews survivors of some lethal cults, like Heaven’s Gate, which resulted in the leader and his 38 followers taking their own lives in a San Diego house, and Jonestown, the pseudo-revolutionary settlement where 909 people “drank the Kool Aid” in a mass suicide. (The Peoples Temple, which eventually evolved into the Jonestown settlement in Guyana, operated out of Redwood City and San Francisco in the ’60s and ’70s.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Montell’s deep dive into multi-level marketing schemes is perhaps a more relatable topic. Most people know at least one person, often stay-at-home mothers, trying to sell some product on their Facebook page — whether it’s a miracle weight loss pill, leggings or Tupperware. She perfectly lays out the circumstances that may cause someone to join one of these trickle-down companies, and what it takes to get out. If you’re interested in emotional manipulation and the role language plays in the unfortunate success of cults, this book is for you.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969177\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 1684px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969177\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1684\" height=\"2560\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-scaled.jpg 1684w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-800x1216.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-1020x1550.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-160x243.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-768x1167.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-1011x1536.jpg 1011w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-1347x2048.jpg 1347w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1684px) 100vw, 1684px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Master of Me’ by Keke Palmer. \u003ccite>(Flatiron Books)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cem>Master of Me\u003c/em>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>By Keke Palmer\u003cbr>\n2024\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Actor, singer and internet icon Keke Palmer’s memoir was the latest addition to my celebrity memoir audiobook journey, voiced by Palmer herself. In it, she talks about being a child star and carving out her own multi-hyphenate lane in the industry, sharing her wisdom on understanding one’s own self worth and navigating prickly interactions with the powerful men running Hollywood. Palmer’s sense of humor is evident from her many meme-able moments over the years, but it’s apparent that there is a lot of thought and life experience behind her jokes, even though she’s only 31 years old. Keke Palmer has lived many lives — including when, in 2015, she played a college student from Oakland in Ryan Murphy’s campy slasher series \u003cem>Scream Queens.\u003c/em> Palmer’s story about a colleague on the show calling her “Martin Luther King” recently made some headlines, highlighting the casual racism she has encountered over the years and leading to fan speculation about which co-star made that remark. (My money is on Lea Michele.)\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Look, this year had its many ups and downs. But one thing that’s kept me sane is reading nearly every night instead of — or, when I did slip up, in addition to — scrolling on my phone. I also attended a friend’s monthly book club, which provided an opportunity to connect with other 20-somethings in San Francisco who have similar interests (and see their apartments, which is a nice bonus for my \u003cem>Architectural Digest\u003c/em>-loving heart).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These four books I’ve read recently are not from that book club, but I devoured them the same nonetheless, bringing up my tally to 20 books this year. I will try my best to get to 25 over the month and you can, too, join my hustle by adding a book or two from this list to your TBR pile.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969174\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 1650px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969174\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux-.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1650\" height=\"2531\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux-.jpg 1650w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux--800x1227.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux--1020x1565.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux--160x245.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux--768x1178.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux--1001x1536.jpg 1001w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Intermezzo-Farrar-Straus-and-Giroux--1335x2048.jpg 1335w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1650px) 100vw, 1650px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Intermezzo’ by Sally Rooney. \u003ccite>(Farrar, Straus and Giroux)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cem>Intermezzo\u003c/em>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>By Sally Rooney\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>2024\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In September, Irish author Sally Rooney released her highly anticipated fourth novel \u003cem>Intermezzo\u003c/em> to nearly universal acclaim, and it’s not difficult to understand why. Rooney, whose past characters have been criticized as insufferable and lacking growth, created her most alive and dynamic set of characters yet. \u003cem>Intermezzo\u003c/em> is a glimpse into the lives of two brothers, a 32-year-old lawyer, Peter, and his 22-year-old chess player brother, Ivan, in the aftermath of their father’s death. Rooney skillfully examines how these men deal with grief and how that reflects in their relationship, and, separately, their relationships with the women in their lives.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Peter thinks of his relationship with his younger girlfriend, Naomi, as a casual one, until she loses her apartment and moves in with him. Ivan, on the other hand, starts seeing Margaret, a woman 14 years his senior that he met at a chess event outside of Dublin — and begins to travel every weekend to see her. Both of Rooney’s antiheroes contain multitudes, as they go from being unlikeable and villainous from one moment to their pure and pitiful selves the next. It also doesn’t help that the rift in their relationship causes the two to view each other in harsher light. All of this makes for a fast-paced, reflective read. However, if you are not a fan of Sally Rooney’s underutilization of punctuation, especially quotation marks, beware that her stylistic choice persists in this novel.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Following the success and discourse created by TV adaptations of Rooney’s first two novels, \u003cem>Normal People\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Conversations With Friends\u003c/em>, the author stated that she has “decided not to accept any offers to option the rights” of her books and step away from the visual medium. It might be a long while before an \u003cem>Intermezzo\u003c/em> series becomes a reality, so picking up the book is your best bet to enjoy the novel.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969175\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 1684px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969175\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1684\" height=\"2560\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-scaled.jpg 1684w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-800x1216.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-1020x1550.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-160x243.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-768x1167.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-1011x1536.jpg 1011w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Honey-Celadon-Books-1347x2048.jpg 1347w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1684px) 100vw, 1684px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Honey’ by Isabel Banta. \u003ccite>(Celadon Books)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cem>Honey\u003c/em>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>By Isabel Banta\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>2024\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Any pop music fan has fantasized about the lives of their favorite pop icons. I specifically wonder about the psychological impacts of having an army of fans, and finding enough success to sell out arenas, when you’re at the age when Billie Eilish, Olivia Rodrigo, Justin Bieber and other child stars rose to fame. Isabel Banta’s debut novel \u003cem>Honey\u003c/em> is a wonderful deep dive into the making of a teen pop star in the late ’90s and early 2000s — more of a Beyoncé or Britney Spears narrative. The novel follows Amber Young (perhaps too on the nose with that last name), whose life changes in the blink of an eye when she is given the opportunity to join a girl group, called Cloud9, and move to Los Angeles to chase her dreams. The author goes on to examine the inner workings of the music industry, the friendly competition between young women starting their solo careers, and how tabloids paint an entirely different picture of them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Honey is a refreshing, if a little revisionist, tale of the typical pop idol biography. I found it to be a quick, lighthearted read, compared to the horrendous stories Britney Spears detailed in her autobiography, \u003cem>The Woman in Me\u003c/em>. If the thought of engulfing yourself in a mostly uplifting pop girl fantasy during these gloomy, gray days sounds appealing to you, \u003cem>Honey\u003c/em> won’t disappoint.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969176\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 667px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969176\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Cultish-Harper-Collins.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"667\" height=\"1000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Cultish-Harper-Collins.jpg 667w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Cultish-Harper-Collins-160x240.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 667px) 100vw, 667px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. \u003ccite>(Harper Collins)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cem>Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism\u003c/em>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>By Amanda Montell\u003cbr>\n2021\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Cultish\u003c/em> is a book I’ve had on my radar for years. On election night, as I found myself in despair looking for my next read, I reached for it, hoping there would be some good takeaways. Unsurprisingly, president-elect Donald Trump’s name pops up in the discussion of modern day cult behavior, alongside other examples like Taylor Swift’s fandom and, of course, Scientology. Montell’s exploration of how populist leaders rely on linguistic tools to rope their followers into their bubble really put things into perspective for me. Montell also interviews survivors of some lethal cults, like Heaven’s Gate, which resulted in the leader and his 38 followers taking their own lives in a San Diego house, and Jonestown, the pseudo-revolutionary settlement where 909 people “drank the Kool Aid” in a mass suicide. (The Peoples Temple, which eventually evolved into the Jonestown settlement in Guyana, operated out of Redwood City and San Francisco in the ’60s and ’70s.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Montell’s deep dive into multi-level marketing schemes is perhaps a more relatable topic. Most people know at least one person, often stay-at-home mothers, trying to sell some product on their Facebook page — whether it’s a miracle weight loss pill, leggings or Tupperware. She perfectly lays out the circumstances that may cause someone to join one of these trickle-down companies, and what it takes to get out. If you’re interested in emotional manipulation and the role language plays in the unfortunate success of cults, this book is for you.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969177\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 1684px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969177\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1684\" height=\"2560\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-scaled.jpg 1684w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-800x1216.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-1020x1550.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-160x243.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-768x1167.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-1011x1536.jpg 1011w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Master-of-Me-Flatiron-Books-1347x2048.jpg 1347w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1684px) 100vw, 1684px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Master of Me’ by Keke Palmer. \u003ccite>(Flatiron Books)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>\u003cem>Master of Me\u003c/em>\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>By Keke Palmer\u003cbr>\n2024\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Actor, singer and internet icon Keke Palmer’s memoir was the latest addition to my celebrity memoir audiobook journey, voiced by Palmer herself. In it, she talks about being a child star and carving out her own multi-hyphenate lane in the industry, sharing her wisdom on understanding one’s own self worth and navigating prickly interactions with the powerful men running Hollywood. Palmer’s sense of humor is evident from her many meme-able moments over the years, but it’s apparent that there is a lot of thought and life experience behind her jokes, even though she’s only 31 years old. Keke Palmer has lived many lives — including when, in 2015, she played a college student from Oakland in Ryan Murphy’s campy slasher series \u003cem>Scream Queens.\u003c/em> Palmer’s story about a colleague on the show calling her “Martin Luther King” recently made some headlines, highlighting the casual racism she has encountered over the years and leading to fan speculation about which co-star made that remark. (My money is on Lea Michele.)\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "The Spies on TV This Fall Are Juggling Work and Family – Just Like the Rest of Us",
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"content": "\u003cp>In Netflix’s new spy series \u003cem>Black Doves\u003c/em>, Keira Knightley’s character Helen Webb seems to be the perfect wife and partner for an up-and-coming official in the British government.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Beautiful and intelligent, she’s a warm mother to two cute kids, capable of hosting a holiday party for her husband’s staff in one moment and coercing the children to stop playing underneath a table in the next.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13968374']But Mrs. Webb is also a spy for a mysterious intelligence organization, feeding them information about her husband’s work all while managing the family’s affairs — and having an affair with another man. And when that affair is discovered by a “handler” from the organization — played with a matronly ruthlessness by Sarah Lancashire — she mostly has one question for Mrs. Webb:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Why was she sleeping with this man?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mrs. Webb’s answer was a surprise, coming from an experienced spy. “I wasn’t working an angle,” she says through tears. “It was real. It wasn’t a job. It was… love.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That’s right. After 10 years of marriage and two kids, Mrs. Webb fell in love with someone else while trying to decide if she still cares for her husband.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a deliciously dramatic situation far different than the stories of detached, mostly loner spies like James Bond and \u003cem>Mission Impossible\u003c/em>‘s Ethan Hunt.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>Spies with families fill fall TV\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Sure, there have been spy characters with families in films and TV before, from Harrison Ford’s turn as Jack Ryan in 1992’s \u003cem>Patriot Games\u003c/em> to FX’s \u003cem>The Americans\u003c/em>, which concluded in 2018.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But this fall has seen a veritable flood of stories about spies with spouses and children, trying to hold onto their families while balancing the demands of brutal, often dehumanizing jobs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\">\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://npr.brightspotcdn.com/dims3/default/strip/false/crop/7752x4360+0+0/resize/1200/quality/75/format/jpeg/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fnpr-brightspot.s3.amazonaws.com%2F66%2Fdd%2F58644e1a498196161eec3d0cb8e0%2Fagency-101-lv-240708-00688-rt2.JPG\" alt=\"In The Agency, Michael Fassbender plays Martian, a spy who returns home after a lengthy assignment.\">\u003cfigcaption>In \u003cem>The Agency\u003c/em>, Michael Fassbender plays Martian, a spy who returns home after a lengthy assignment. \u003ccite> (Luke Varley | Paramount+ and Showtime)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>There’s Michael Fassbender’s CIA case officer Martian — I know, that name seems a little odd — in Showtime’s new series \u003cem>The Agency\u003c/em>. He’s trying to reconnect with a teen daughter named Poppy (India Fowler) who wants to know why he was gone so much during his last assignment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She asks if he got information from people by making friends with them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13968835']“Friends are people you like,” Martian replies, wryly. “[These are more like] acquaintances.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Poppy’s reply: “So you left us for six years to make… acquaintances?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ouch. Even bad guys have these issues. Like Eddie Redmayne’s character, an expert assassin in Peacock’s new series \u003cem>The Day of The Jackal\u003c/em>. He’s married to a woman named Nuria (Úrsula Corberó) who suspects he’s having an affair because he’s so secretive. She has no idea her charming husband, who she knows as Charles, is actually a world-famous hitman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By the time she’s discovered the secret room he built in their home for his disguises, multiple passports and assorted weapons, you’re left wondering why she doesn’t just run for the hills.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\">\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://npr.brightspotcdn.com/dims3/default/strip/false/crop/1000x667+0+0/resize/1200/quality/75/format/jpeg/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fnpr-brightspot.s3.amazonaws.com%2F17%2Fd3%2Fee52718f4da79df4bbb6e81f2159%2Fnup-205202-00006.jpg\" alt=\"In The Day of the Jackal, Nuria (Úrsula Corberó) suspects her husband, who she knows as Charles (Eddie Redmayne), is having an affair. He's actually a world-famous hitman.\">\u003cfigcaption>In \u003cem>The Day of the Jackal\u003c/em>, Nuria (Úrsula Corberó) suspects her husband, who she knows as Charles (Eddie Redmayne), is having an affair. He’s actually a world-famous hitman. \u003ccite> (Marcell Piti | Carnival Film & Television Limited)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Spies with families are popping up in lots of series: Paramount+’s \u003cem>Lioness\u003c/em>. Apple TV+’s \u003cem>Slow Horses\u003c/em>. And the trend makes sense; for TV series looking to stretch compelling ideas across eight or ten episodes, the plotlines generated by family conflict can add a wealth of new storylines.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Each of these shows deftly uses spouses, children and loved ones to present a kind of spy thriller that feels different, with characters drawn so viewers can perhaps see a bit of themselves inside.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>Everyday problems writ large\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Their struggles can sometimes feel like ordinary challenges blown up into world-shaking espionage tales: spouses and children who don’t understand their demanding jobs, devotion to a vocation that damages them and their relationships, a growing sense of shame as their work keeps them from being present for the family.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13968228']These characters, even the villains, aren’t necessarily cold blooded killers. Nothing humanizes a character like seeing them care for someone they love. Indeed, that’s often the difference between anti-heroes and villains in such stories – the villains don’t really love anybody but themselves, while anti-heroes are driven by their connections to other people.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Even as you watch Redmayne’s The Jackal kill a gun maker to keep him from talking to the authorities, part of you is rooting for him to get back to Nuria and their son Carlito.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Particularly in the case of \u003cem>Black Doves\u003c/em>, the romantic and family relationships add a significant layer to almost every major character’s arc — including Ben Whishaw, who plays a hitman acting as muscle for Knightley’s character Mrs. Webb. He also struggles with feelings about the family he could have shared with his own ex-boyfriend, who had a child.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sure, there are times when these setups seem preposterous or overwrought. But spies with families are also passionate and oh-so-human. Which, in the end, makes for the very best kind of spy story.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>But Mrs. Webb is also a spy for a mysterious intelligence organization, feeding them information about her husband’s work all while managing the family’s affairs — and having an affair with another man. And when that affair is discovered by a “handler” from the organization — played with a matronly ruthlessness by Sarah Lancashire — she mostly has one question for Mrs. Webb:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Why was she sleeping with this man?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mrs. Webb’s answer was a surprise, coming from an experienced spy. “I wasn’t working an angle,” she says through tears. “It was real. It wasn’t a job. It was… love.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That’s right. After 10 years of marriage and two kids, Mrs. Webb fell in love with someone else while trying to decide if she still cares for her husband.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a deliciously dramatic situation far different than the stories of detached, mostly loner spies like James Bond and \u003cem>Mission Impossible\u003c/em>‘s Ethan Hunt.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>Spies with families fill fall TV\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Sure, there have been spy characters with families in films and TV before, from Harrison Ford’s turn as Jack Ryan in 1992’s \u003cem>Patriot Games\u003c/em> to FX’s \u003cem>The Americans\u003c/em>, which concluded in 2018.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But this fall has seen a veritable flood of stories about spies with spouses and children, trying to hold onto their families while balancing the demands of brutal, often dehumanizing jobs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\">\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://npr.brightspotcdn.com/dims3/default/strip/false/crop/7752x4360+0+0/resize/1200/quality/75/format/jpeg/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fnpr-brightspot.s3.amazonaws.com%2F66%2Fdd%2F58644e1a498196161eec3d0cb8e0%2Fagency-101-lv-240708-00688-rt2.JPG\" alt=\"In The Agency, Michael Fassbender plays Martian, a spy who returns home after a lengthy assignment.\">\u003cfigcaption>In \u003cem>The Agency\u003c/em>, Michael Fassbender plays Martian, a spy who returns home after a lengthy assignment. \u003ccite> (Luke Varley | Paramount+ and Showtime)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>There’s Michael Fassbender’s CIA case officer Martian — I know, that name seems a little odd — in Showtime’s new series \u003cem>The Agency\u003c/em>. He’s trying to reconnect with a teen daughter named Poppy (India Fowler) who wants to know why he was gone so much during his last assignment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She asks if he got information from people by making friends with them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>“Friends are people you like,” Martian replies, wryly. “[These are more like] acquaintances.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Poppy’s reply: “So you left us for six years to make… acquaintances?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ouch. Even bad guys have these issues. Like Eddie Redmayne’s character, an expert assassin in Peacock’s new series \u003cem>The Day of The Jackal\u003c/em>. He’s married to a woman named Nuria (Úrsula Corberó) who suspects he’s having an affair because he’s so secretive. She has no idea her charming husband, who she knows as Charles, is actually a world-famous hitman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By the time she’s discovered the secret room he built in their home for his disguises, multiple passports and assorted weapons, you’re left wondering why she doesn’t just run for the hills.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\">\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://npr.brightspotcdn.com/dims3/default/strip/false/crop/1000x667+0+0/resize/1200/quality/75/format/jpeg/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fnpr-brightspot.s3.amazonaws.com%2F17%2Fd3%2Fee52718f4da79df4bbb6e81f2159%2Fnup-205202-00006.jpg\" alt=\"In The Day of the Jackal, Nuria (Úrsula Corberó) suspects her husband, who she knows as Charles (Eddie Redmayne), is having an affair. He's actually a world-famous hitman.\">\u003cfigcaption>In \u003cem>The Day of the Jackal\u003c/em>, Nuria (Úrsula Corberó) suspects her husband, who she knows as Charles (Eddie Redmayne), is having an affair. He’s actually a world-famous hitman. \u003ccite> (Marcell Piti | Carnival Film & Television Limited)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Spies with families are popping up in lots of series: Paramount+’s \u003cem>Lioness\u003c/em>. Apple TV+’s \u003cem>Slow Horses\u003c/em>. And the trend makes sense; for TV series looking to stretch compelling ideas across eight or ten episodes, the plotlines generated by family conflict can add a wealth of new storylines.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Each of these shows deftly uses spouses, children and loved ones to present a kind of spy thriller that feels different, with characters drawn so viewers can perhaps see a bit of themselves inside.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>Everyday problems writ large\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Their struggles can sometimes feel like ordinary challenges blown up into world-shaking espionage tales: spouses and children who don’t understand their demanding jobs, devotion to a vocation that damages them and their relationships, a growing sense of shame as their work keeps them from being present for the family.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>These characters, even the villains, aren’t necessarily cold blooded killers. Nothing humanizes a character like seeing them care for someone they love. Indeed, that’s often the difference between anti-heroes and villains in such stories – the villains don’t really love anybody but themselves, while anti-heroes are driven by their connections to other people.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Even as you watch Redmayne’s The Jackal kill a gun maker to keep him from talking to the authorities, part of you is rooting for him to get back to Nuria and their son Carlito.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Particularly in the case of \u003cem>Black Doves\u003c/em>, the romantic and family relationships add a significant layer to almost every major character’s arc — including Ben Whishaw, who plays a hitman acting as muscle for Knightley’s character Mrs. Webb. He also struggles with feelings about the family he could have shared with his own ex-boyfriend, who had a child.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sure, there are times when these setups seem preposterous or overwrought. But spies with families are also passionate and oh-so-human. Which, in the end, makes for the very best kind of spy story.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Of all the post-apocalyptic landscapes we’ve been treated to over the years, none is as beautiful nor peaceful as that of \u003cem>Flow\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In Gints Zilbalodis’ wondrously shimmering animated fable, a solitary black cat, after escaping a cataclysmic flood, navigates a water world. What brought things to this point is never explained. We’re left to look upon this strange, verdant and overgrown landscape through the amber eyes of our unnamed feline protagonist. Humans are completely absent, and it’s part of this beguilingly meditative film to wonder not just about what role we played in the flood, but to ponder the grace of the animal life left to inherit the Earth.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13969167']As much as I didn’t have a wordless Latvian animated movie on my 2024 bingo card, \u003cem>Flow\u003c/em> — an expected Oscar contender currently in theaters — is quite easily the best animated movie of the year and one of the most poetic ecological parables in recent memory. It’s an all-audiences movie, and by that, I’m tempted to include not just young and old, but cats and dogs, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When the waters rise, the cat encounters a friendly Labrador, a long-legged secretary bird, a dozing capybara and a bauble-hoarding ring-tailed lemur. Cute as they are, they aren’t quite your typical animated animals. Part of the allure of \u003cem>Flow\u003c/em> is seeing animal characters that would normally be anthropomorphized and voiced by celebrity actors — the lemur, in particularly, has until now been ruled by Sacha Baron Cohen’s King Julian of \u003cem>Madagascar\u003c/em> — move and sound authentically.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Well, mostly. Circumstances bring these five together aboard a small sailboat, an ark sans Noah. And while \u003cem>Flow\u003c/em> doesn’t exactly go for realism — the secretary bird, for instance, proves an especially adept captain in steering the rudder — it is most decidedly drawn in closer harmony to the natural world than your average animation. Together they sail through mountain tops-turned-islands and an abandoned city with rivers for streets.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=82WW9dVbglI\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That \u003cem>Flow\u003c/em> is made with computer generated animation adds to its dreamy, curiously real surrealism. Zilbalodis created \u003cem>Flow\u003c/em> with Blender, the free, open-source graphics software tool. His camera moves less with the prescribed, storyboarded form of traditional animation than as a nimble, roving perspective within a virtual world. That such a natural and sensory movie is made possible by cutting-edge technology is one reason why the dystopic world of \u003cem>Flow\u003c/em> always feels more hopeful than it ought to.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13969006']Another reason is the animals. Though they come from different species and have little means of communication, they together form an odd partnership. The cat is initially wary of each, but they slowly form an evident bond. Their survival hinges on their cooperation, which is occasionally threatened by the self-interest of others (there’s a pack of less community-minded dogs) or the cat’s own timid reluctance. Staying to face a problem or trust another animal, rather than scampering away, goes against its nature.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In that way, these two- and four-legged creatures, digitally rendered in a human-less future, are both worthy heirs to the planet and furry figures of inspiration for today. Reflections run through \u003cem>Flow\u003c/em> — in a mirror clutched by the lemur, in the water the cat peers into — but none more so than the image of ourselves gazing back at it.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Flow’ is in theaters now.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Of all the post-apocalyptic landscapes we’ve been treated to over the years, none is as beautiful nor peaceful as that of \u003cem>Flow\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In Gints Zilbalodis’ wondrously shimmering animated fable, a solitary black cat, after escaping a cataclysmic flood, navigates a water world. What brought things to this point is never explained. We’re left to look upon this strange, verdant and overgrown landscape through the amber eyes of our unnamed feline protagonist. Humans are completely absent, and it’s part of this beguilingly meditative film to wonder not just about what role we played in the flood, but to ponder the grace of the animal life left to inherit the Earth.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>As much as I didn’t have a wordless Latvian animated movie on my 2024 bingo card, \u003cem>Flow\u003c/em> — an expected Oscar contender currently in theaters — is quite easily the best animated movie of the year and one of the most poetic ecological parables in recent memory. It’s an all-audiences movie, and by that, I’m tempted to include not just young and old, but cats and dogs, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When the waters rise, the cat encounters a friendly Labrador, a long-legged secretary bird, a dozing capybara and a bauble-hoarding ring-tailed lemur. Cute as they are, they aren’t quite your typical animated animals. Part of the allure of \u003cem>Flow\u003c/em> is seeing animal characters that would normally be anthropomorphized and voiced by celebrity actors — the lemur, in particularly, has until now been ruled by Sacha Baron Cohen’s King Julian of \u003cem>Madagascar\u003c/em> — move and sound authentically.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Well, mostly. Circumstances bring these five together aboard a small sailboat, an ark sans Noah. And while \u003cem>Flow\u003c/em> doesn’t exactly go for realism — the secretary bird, for instance, proves an especially adept captain in steering the rudder — it is most decidedly drawn in closer harmony to the natural world than your average animation. Together they sail through mountain tops-turned-islands and an abandoned city with rivers for streets.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Another reason is the animals. Though they come from different species and have little means of communication, they together form an odd partnership. The cat is initially wary of each, but they slowly form an evident bond. Their survival hinges on their cooperation, which is occasionally threatened by the self-interest of others (there’s a pack of less community-minded dogs) or the cat’s own timid reluctance. Staying to face a problem or trust another animal, rather than scampering away, goes against its nature.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In that way, these two- and four-legged creatures, digitally rendered in a human-less future, are both worthy heirs to the planet and furry figures of inspiration for today. Reflections run through \u003cem>Flow\u003c/em> — in a mirror clutched by the lemur, in the water the cat peers into — but none more so than the image of ourselves gazing back at it.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Flow’ is in theaters now.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Hello friends! The end of 2024 is upon us! Was it good for you? Did you \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13967133/charli-xcx-fans-election-2024-harris-trump\">Brat Summer\u003c/a>? Did you \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13965878/moo-deng-viral-pygmy-hippo-thailand-bouncy-pork\">Moo Deng\u003c/a> fall? Did you, um… get a teeny bit worried that the robots are coming to destroy us?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In many ways, this year’s tech advancements made real life feel alarmingly close to both \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/pop/tag/jurassic-park\">\u003cem>Jurassic Park\u003c/em>\u003c/a> and \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/pop/112098/the-timeless-feminism-of-sarah-connor-in-terminator-2\">Terminator 2\u003c/a>. \u003c/em>The former because humans are so preoccupied with whether or not they can, they haven’t bothered to stop and think about whether they should. The latter because, yes, evil humanoid machines are definitely on their way.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If, like me, you have the sinking feeling that one day in the not too distant future, AI technology is going to steal all of our jobs and could also probably murder us, we should take a second now to appreciate the moment we’re in. Because this moment — which inevitably won’t last very long — is one in which the robots are still basic enough to make fun of. Let’s do that while we still can.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Confused Ghost Cars\u003c/h2>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968274\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968274\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo.png\" alt=\"A Waymo autonomous car photographed between two walls using a fisheye lens.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1124\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo-800x450.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo-1020x573.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo-160x90.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo-768x432.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo-1536x863.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo-1920x1079.png 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A Waymo vehicle, which may or may not be confused by the walls on either side of it right now. \u003ccite>(Christopher J. Beale)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In mid-August, I saw a tourist in Chinatown catch sight of a driverless Waymo for the first time and clutch her children closer to her, as if Satan himself were behind the wheel. It was a solid reminder that these things remain unnerving to broad swaths of humans across America, even as a plethora of (overly confident) Bay Area residents use them to get from A to B.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Of all of the driverless car companies, none had a year quite as eventful as Waymo. Lest we forget that Waymo began 2024 by having one of its cars \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EYTZRb-SWhY\">used as a fireworks launcher\u003c/a> at the Chinese New Year celebrations in San Francisco, and ended the year \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WSjKBPNZTDQ\">stuck in a Veteran’s Day Parade\u003c/a> getting manhandled by a frustrated cop. In between, Bay Area drivers dealt with Waymos on the freeway, Waymos stalling entirely at random, and Waymos having full blown meltdowns… in GROUPS.\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote class=\"tiktok-embed\" style=\"max-width: 605px;min-width: 325px\" cite=\"https://www.tiktok.com/@unilad/video/7431874637757271329\" data-video-id=\"7431874637757271329\">\n\u003csection>\u003ca title=\"@unilad\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/@unilad?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">@unilad\u003c/a> This is the future…🤣🤦♂️ 🎥 Viralhog \u003ca title=\"unilad\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/unilad?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#UNILAD\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"fastandfurious\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/fastandfurious?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#fastandfurious\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"fail\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/fail?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#fail\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"electriccar\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/electriccar?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#electriccar\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"electric\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/electric?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#electric\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"tesla\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/tesla?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#tesla\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"waymo\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/waymo?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#waymo\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"amazon\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/amazon?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#amazon\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"driverlesscar\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/driverlesscar?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#driverlesscar\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"tech\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/tech?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#tech\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"techtok\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/techtok?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#techtok\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"technology\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/technology?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#technology\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"♬ original sound - UNILAD\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/music/original-sound-UNILAD-7431874717734177569?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">♬ original sound – UNILAD\u003c/a>\u003c/section>\n\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>[tiktok]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These cars might look eerie, but they often behave like a raccoon drunk on fermented fruit: they think they’re doing all of the things, but simply cannot figure out \u003cem>how\u003c/em> to do all of the things. It’s impossible to know at this pivotal junction whether or not driverless cars might one day go all \u003ca href=\"https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091499/\">\u003cem>Maximum Overdrive\u003c/em>\u003c/a> on us. But right now? If they do us any physical harm whatsoever, it won’t be on purpose. It will be because one of them is having a panic attack.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Imploding Chat GPT\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>In February, Chat GPT had a full-blown meltdown and started bombarding its users with phrases so flowery, convoluted and meaningless, they were practically Mars Volta lyrics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Chat GPT user Damon Crockett reported on X that, after asking a question about JavaScript, he received, in part, the following: “The disk and the cue are for the onlooker and the sort of the amass to be in a free, a flood, and a fort to the reign and the response, the resolute and the realm you draw and dye.” (Tell me that doesn’t sound like an out-take from \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8l7Ix-LfSBA\">\u003cem>De-Loused in the Comatorium\u003c/em>\u003c/a>!)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://twitter.com/DamonCrockett/status/1760113482869952850\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Another user reported receiving the answer “Overgrown is overgrown is overgrown is overgrown is overgrown” after asking for a “synonym of overgrown.” (Maybe just try a thesaurus next time?)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://twitter.com/josephfcox/status/1760296412099563862\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Later in the year, it also became apparent that Chat GPT didn’t even recognize Eminem lyrics. What a freakin’ nerd.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://twitter.com/proofofbeef/status/1862282499113803779\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Lying Optimus Robots\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>It was hard not to have a full-blown panic attack when Elon Musk unveiled his army of faceless droids back in October at Tesla’s \u003cem>We, Robot\u003c/em> gathering. As the machines stomped through the event space, and videos played of the Optimus robots helping humans around the house, Musk made a series of claims about his robots’ capabilities.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“What can it do? It can do anything you want,” Musk stated. “It can be a teacher, or babysit your kids. It can walk your dog, mow your lawn, get the groceries, just be your friend, serve drinks. Whatever you can think of, it will do.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://twitter.com/PopBase/status/1844594933518434642\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Optimus robots then proceeded to engage attendees in conversation, serve drinks and dance. This of course scared the bejesus out of those of us who don’t want our computers to come complete with hands that could choke us to death if the right virus is engaged.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://techcrunch.com/2024/10/14/tesla-optimus-bots-were-controlled-by-humans-during-the-we-robot-event/\">The truth came out after the event\u003c/a>, via Bloomberg and other outlets: Musk’s robot army had, in fact, been operated by an unseen group of technicians. Despite Musk’s claims, the Optimus robots are not yet capable of teaching your kids, walking your dog, mowing your lawn or getting the groceries. Nope. You’d still have to employ a human to make the robot perform those tasks.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Ignorant AI Image Generators\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>As we worry about just how many jobs \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13928253/ai-art-artificial-intelligence-student-artists-midjourney\">AI generators are going to steal from creative humans\u003c/a>, it’s also worth remembering this. Right now, those photo generators still don’t know what a glass of wine filled to the brim looks like, or that unlit birthday candles exist.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://twitter.com/fakehistoryhunt/status/1858369475449373164\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Please hang onto these tiny, stupid rays of sunshine. If nothing else, it’ll be something to tell the grandkids about when we’re all broke and living in underground bunkers hiding from robot dog soldiers.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Robot Dogs Walking Funny\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Speaking of which… Remember \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xejjA2AFO5I\">that terrifying episode\u003c/a> in \u003cem>Black Mirror\u003c/em>’s fourth season when a woman is relentlessly pursued by murderous robot guard dogs? Of course you do! You’ve probably already had nightmares about it! Well, multiple companies are alarmingly close to unleashing these soulless metal creatures on the world right now. Several militaries around the world are already making use of them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Just look at this horror show:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://twitter.com/thinking_panda/status/1864661575711510614\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now, before we all start having to routinely carry around flame throwers and grenades, let’s try and squeeze in some chuckles at their expense.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Look how this yellow one falls down and can’t get back up again! HA! (Also, maybe hit pause before the silver one shows up because that one looks like it could probably climb through your bedroom window tonight.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://twitter.com/XH_Lee23/status/1807983485350559816\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Oh and, okay, please also enjoy this footage of a humanoid robot walking a robot dog. Together, they look like your Aunt Susan and Cousin Doris trying to get home from the bar on Christmas Eve.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>THEY WALK FUNNY. HA. HA. HA.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://twitter.com/Rainmaker1973/status/1862077105611178389\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We’re all definitely going to die.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"title": "The Scariest AI Tech From 2024 | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Hello friends! The end of 2024 is upon us! Was it good for you? Did you \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13967133/charli-xcx-fans-election-2024-harris-trump\">Brat Summer\u003c/a>? Did you \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13965878/moo-deng-viral-pygmy-hippo-thailand-bouncy-pork\">Moo Deng\u003c/a> fall? Did you, um… get a teeny bit worried that the robots are coming to destroy us?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In many ways, this year’s tech advancements made real life feel alarmingly close to both \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/pop/tag/jurassic-park\">\u003cem>Jurassic Park\u003c/em>\u003c/a> and \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/pop/112098/the-timeless-feminism-of-sarah-connor-in-terminator-2\">Terminator 2\u003c/a>. \u003c/em>The former because humans are so preoccupied with whether or not they can, they haven’t bothered to stop and think about whether they should. The latter because, yes, evil humanoid machines are definitely on their way.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If, like me, you have the sinking feeling that one day in the not too distant future, AI technology is going to steal all of our jobs and could also probably murder us, we should take a second now to appreciate the moment we’re in. Because this moment — which inevitably won’t last very long — is one in which the robots are still basic enough to make fun of. Let’s do that while we still can.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Confused Ghost Cars\u003c/h2>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968274\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968274\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo.png\" alt=\"A Waymo autonomous car photographed between two walls using a fisheye lens.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1124\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo-800x450.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo-1020x573.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo-160x90.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo-768x432.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo-1536x863.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/waymo-1920x1079.png 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A Waymo vehicle, which may or may not be confused by the walls on either side of it right now. \u003ccite>(Christopher J. Beale)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In mid-August, I saw a tourist in Chinatown catch sight of a driverless Waymo for the first time and clutch her children closer to her, as if Satan himself were behind the wheel. It was a solid reminder that these things remain unnerving to broad swaths of humans across America, even as a plethora of (overly confident) Bay Area residents use them to get from A to B.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Of all of the driverless car companies, none had a year quite as eventful as Waymo. Lest we forget that Waymo began 2024 by having one of its cars \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EYTZRb-SWhY\">used as a fireworks launcher\u003c/a> at the Chinese New Year celebrations in San Francisco, and ended the year \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WSjKBPNZTDQ\">stuck in a Veteran’s Day Parade\u003c/a> getting manhandled by a frustrated cop. In between, Bay Area drivers dealt with Waymos on the freeway, Waymos stalling entirely at random, and Waymos having full blown meltdowns… in GROUPS.\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote class=\"tiktok-embed\" style=\"max-width: 605px;min-width: 325px\" cite=\"https://www.tiktok.com/@unilad/video/7431874637757271329\" data-video-id=\"7431874637757271329\">\n\u003csection>\u003ca title=\"@unilad\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/@unilad?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">@unilad\u003c/a> This is the future…🤣🤦♂️ 🎥 Viralhog \u003ca title=\"unilad\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/unilad?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#UNILAD\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"fastandfurious\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/fastandfurious?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#fastandfurious\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"fail\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/fail?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#fail\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"electriccar\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/electriccar?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#electriccar\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"electric\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/electric?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#electric\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"tesla\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/tesla?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#tesla\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"waymo\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/waymo?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#waymo\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"amazon\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/amazon?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#amazon\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"driverlesscar\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/driverlesscar?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#driverlesscar\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"tech\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/tech?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#tech\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"techtok\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/techtok?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#techtok\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"technology\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/tag/technology?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">#technology\u003c/a> \u003ca title=\"♬ original sound - UNILAD\" href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/music/original-sound-UNILAD-7431874717734177569?refer=embed\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">♬ original sound – UNILAD\u003c/a>\u003c/section>\n\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These cars might look eerie, but they often behave like a raccoon drunk on fermented fruit: they think they’re doing all of the things, but simply cannot figure out \u003cem>how\u003c/em> to do all of the things. It’s impossible to know at this pivotal junction whether or not driverless cars might one day go all \u003ca href=\"https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091499/\">\u003cem>Maximum Overdrive\u003c/em>\u003c/a> on us. But right now? If they do us any physical harm whatsoever, it won’t be on purpose. It will be because one of them is having a panic attack.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Imploding Chat GPT\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>In February, Chat GPT had a full-blown meltdown and started bombarding its users with phrases so flowery, convoluted and meaningless, they were practically Mars Volta lyrics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Chat GPT user Damon Crockett reported on X that, after asking a question about JavaScript, he received, in part, the following: “The disk and the cue are for the onlooker and the sort of the amass to be in a free, a flood, and a fort to the reign and the response, the resolute and the realm you draw and dye.” (Tell me that doesn’t sound like an out-take from \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8l7Ix-LfSBA\">\u003cem>De-Loused in the Comatorium\u003c/em>\u003c/a>!)\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\n\u003cp>Another user reported receiving the answer “Overgrown is overgrown is overgrown is overgrown is overgrown” after asking for a “synonym of overgrown.” (Maybe just try a thesaurus next time?)\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\n\u003cp>Later in the year, it also became apparent that Chat GPT didn’t even recognize Eminem lyrics. What a freakin’ nerd.\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\n\u003ch2>Lying Optimus Robots\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>It was hard not to have a full-blown panic attack when Elon Musk unveiled his army of faceless droids back in October at Tesla’s \u003cem>We, Robot\u003c/em> gathering. As the machines stomped through the event space, and videos played of the Optimus robots helping humans around the house, Musk made a series of claims about his robots’ capabilities.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“What can it do? It can do anything you want,” Musk stated. “It can be a teacher, or babysit your kids. It can walk your dog, mow your lawn, get the groceries, just be your friend, serve drinks. Whatever you can think of, it will do.”\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\n\u003cp>The Optimus robots then proceeded to engage attendees in conversation, serve drinks and dance. This of course scared the bejesus out of those of us who don’t want our computers to come complete with hands that could choke us to death if the right virus is engaged.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://techcrunch.com/2024/10/14/tesla-optimus-bots-were-controlled-by-humans-during-the-we-robot-event/\">The truth came out after the event\u003c/a>, via Bloomberg and other outlets: Musk’s robot army had, in fact, been operated by an unseen group of technicians. Despite Musk’s claims, the Optimus robots are not yet capable of teaching your kids, walking your dog, mowing your lawn or getting the groceries. Nope. You’d still have to employ a human to make the robot perform those tasks.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Ignorant AI Image Generators\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>As we worry about just how many jobs \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13928253/ai-art-artificial-intelligence-student-artists-midjourney\">AI generators are going to steal from creative humans\u003c/a>, it’s also worth remembering this. Right now, those photo generators still don’t know what a glass of wine filled to the brim looks like, or that unlit birthday candles exist.\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\n\u003cp>Please hang onto these tiny, stupid rays of sunshine. If nothing else, it’ll be something to tell the grandkids about when we’re all broke and living in underground bunkers hiding from robot dog soldiers.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Robot Dogs Walking Funny\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Speaking of which… Remember \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xejjA2AFO5I\">that terrifying episode\u003c/a> in \u003cem>Black Mirror\u003c/em>’s fourth season when a woman is relentlessly pursued by murderous robot guard dogs? Of course you do! You’ve probably already had nightmares about it! Well, multiple companies are alarmingly close to unleashing these soulless metal creatures on the world right now. Several militaries around the world are already making use of them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Just look at this horror show:\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\n\u003cp>Now, before we all start having to routinely carry around flame throwers and grenades, let’s try and squeeze in some chuckles at their expense.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Look how this yellow one falls down and can’t get back up again! HA! (Also, maybe hit pause before the silver one shows up because that one looks like it could probably climb through your bedroom window tonight.)\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\n\u003cp>Oh and, okay, please also enjoy this footage of a humanoid robot walking a robot dog. Together, they look like your Aunt Susan and Cousin Doris trying to get home from the bar on Christmas Eve.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>THEY WALK FUNNY. HA. HA. HA.\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"title": "Brave, Mesmerizing Amy Adams Triumphs Over Frustratingly Odd Script in ‘Nightbitch’",
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"content": "\u003cp>The question sounds so basic and friendly. But it’s actually loaded, as many mothers can attest. “Do you just love getting to be home with him all the time?” asks the younger, more put-together woman in the supermarket. “Must be so wonderful.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Wonderful, of course — and sometimes brain-numbing and soul-draining too, some exhausted fulltime moms might reply. Especially if, like Amy Adams’ character in Marielle Heller’s \u003cem>Nightbitch\u003c/em>, they’d left their prized art gallery job to this other woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13969055']And so Adams responds, twice, showing in this very opening scene exactly why her typically brave, brutally frank performance lifts this movie from an oddly uneven script to something unequivocally worth seeing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>First we get the honest answer, the one no one really gives until later in the shower: she feels “stuck inside of a prison of my own creation,” where she torments herself and ends up binge-eating Fig Newtons to keep from crying. She is angry all the time. Oh and, she has gotten dumber.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Then we rewind and director-writer Heller has Adams give her real answer: “I do, I love it! I love being a Mom.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There we are, two minutes and 13 seconds into \u003cem>Nightbitch\u003c/em> and you may already find yourself wowed by Adams. If not, just wait until her Mother is sitting at a chic restaurant with a bunch of colleagues from the art world, and her fangs come out.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And we don’t mean figuratively. We mean literally.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Let’s go back to the beginning, shall we?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Nightbitch\u003c/em> is based on the 2021 novel by Rachel Yoder, a feminist fable that the author has said came from her own malaise when pausing work for child-rearing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She sets her tale in an unidentified suburb of an unidentified city. Mother (characters all have generic names), formerly an admired installation artist, spends her weekdays alone with her adorable, blond 2-year-old Son. Husband has a job that seems to bring him home only on weekends.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=918prRymA-U\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The early scenes depicting Mother’s life are tight and impactful, a contrast to the confused havoc that will come toward the end of the film. Life revolves around the playground and the home, with occasional trips to storytime at the library where she notes, in narration, that she has no interest in the company of other moms — why should they be friends just because they’re moms?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In fact, Mother lives in solitude, and director Heller does a nice job illustrating how that feels. You can almost feel the weight of the afternoon coming around, at this comfortable but hardly ostentatious home, when it’s too early for dinner and you’ve done all the activities already and you wonder if you can make it through the day.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Then things start to get weird. In the bathroom mirror, Mother starts noticing things. Her teeth are getting sharper. There’s something weird coming out of an apparent cyst at the bottom of her spine. She finds extra nipples. And that’s before she starts eating rare meat. (Also, if you love cats, you may want to close your eyes at one point.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13969006']Somehow Adams, who also produces here, makes these things seem, if not quite natural, then logical. What’s happening is that Mother’s frustration is becoming ferocious. Dangerously ferocious. But also — empowering. At night, or so she thinks, she is a wild dog.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Aspects of the film work wonderfully. Mother’s relationship with Son (twins Arleigh and Emmett Snowden) is lovely, largely due to a decision to let the young boys talk freely, with the adult actors reacting to their words. It lends a grounding realism to a film that quickly veers surreal.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Less successful is the relationship between Mother and Husband (Scoot McNairy), which takes on too much importance as the film goes on, in a baffling way. (Also, just asking, has anyone in this movie ever heard of a babysitter?)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>More importantly, a story that posits itself on such a tantalizing idea — that by transforming into a dog, Mother discovers her true nature and power — resorts late in the game to a safer story about a marriage that never seemed appealing enough for us to care about anyway. It doesn’t help that it’s hard to grasp the distracting subplot about Mother’s own mother.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>None of this takes away from the strength of Adams’ performance. You believe her love for her child as much as you believe her resentment for what he is taking away from her. And Adams can make almost any line work, including one about a walnut. But we digress.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s an irony that for reasons of storytelling, characters have generic names — because Adams is such a singular and particular talent. The journey she embarks upon is bizarre indeed, but you won’t regret taking it with her.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Nightbitch’ is released nationwide on Dec. 6, 2024.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>And so Adams responds, twice, showing in this very opening scene exactly why her typically brave, brutally frank performance lifts this movie from an oddly uneven script to something unequivocally worth seeing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>First we get the honest answer, the one no one really gives until later in the shower: she feels “stuck inside of a prison of my own creation,” where she torments herself and ends up binge-eating Fig Newtons to keep from crying. She is angry all the time. Oh and, she has gotten dumber.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Then we rewind and director-writer Heller has Adams give her real answer: “I do, I love it! I love being a Mom.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There we are, two minutes and 13 seconds into \u003cem>Nightbitch\u003c/em> and you may already find yourself wowed by Adams. If not, just wait until her Mother is sitting at a chic restaurant with a bunch of colleagues from the art world, and her fangs come out.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And we don’t mean figuratively. We mean literally.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Let’s go back to the beginning, shall we?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Nightbitch\u003c/em> is based on the 2021 novel by Rachel Yoder, a feminist fable that the author has said came from her own malaise when pausing work for child-rearing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She sets her tale in an unidentified suburb of an unidentified city. Mother (characters all have generic names), formerly an admired installation artist, spends her weekdays alone with her adorable, blond 2-year-old Son. Husband has a job that seems to bring him home only on weekends.\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/918prRymA-U'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/918prRymA-U'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>The early scenes depicting Mother’s life are tight and impactful, a contrast to the confused havoc that will come toward the end of the film. Life revolves around the playground and the home, with occasional trips to storytime at the library where she notes, in narration, that she has no interest in the company of other moms — why should they be friends just because they’re moms?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In fact, Mother lives in solitude, and director Heller does a nice job illustrating how that feels. You can almost feel the weight of the afternoon coming around, at this comfortable but hardly ostentatious home, when it’s too early for dinner and you’ve done all the activities already and you wonder if you can make it through the day.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Then things start to get weird. In the bathroom mirror, Mother starts noticing things. Her teeth are getting sharper. There’s something weird coming out of an apparent cyst at the bottom of her spine. She finds extra nipples. And that’s before she starts eating rare meat. (Also, if you love cats, you may want to close your eyes at one point.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Somehow Adams, who also produces here, makes these things seem, if not quite natural, then logical. What’s happening is that Mother’s frustration is becoming ferocious. Dangerously ferocious. But also — empowering. At night, or so she thinks, she is a wild dog.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Aspects of the film work wonderfully. Mother’s relationship with Son (twins Arleigh and Emmett Snowden) is lovely, largely due to a decision to let the young boys talk freely, with the adult actors reacting to their words. It lends a grounding realism to a film that quickly veers surreal.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Less successful is the relationship between Mother and Husband (Scoot McNairy), which takes on too much importance as the film goes on, in a baffling way. (Also, just asking, has anyone in this movie ever heard of a babysitter?)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>More importantly, a story that posits itself on such a tantalizing idea — that by transforming into a dog, Mother discovers her true nature and power — resorts late in the game to a safer story about a marriage that never seemed appealing enough for us to care about anyway. It doesn’t help that it’s hard to grasp the distracting subplot about Mother’s own mother.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>None of this takes away from the strength of Adams’ performance. You believe her love for her child as much as you believe her resentment for what he is taking away from her. And Adams can make almost any line work, including one about a walnut. But we digress.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s an irony that for reasons of storytelling, characters have generic names — because Adams is such a singular and particular talent. The journey she embarks upon is bizarre indeed, but you won’t regret taking it with her.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Nightbitch’ is released nationwide on Dec. 6, 2024.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Dave Eggers Opens a Library for Youth, by Youth in San Francisco",
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"content": "\u003cp>In San Francisco, where you’re hard pressed to find a bathroom to use without buying a $7 coffee, third spaces where one can simply hang out are rare. And ones that actually welcome children and teenagers are even rarer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Enter the \u003ca href=\"https://www.youthwriting.org/intl-library\">International Youth Library\u003c/a> on Valencia Street, where six days a week you can curl up on a cozy, green velvet couch and flip through adventure stories by elementary students from a school down the street. There’s straight-up silliness, out-there imagination and raw honesty, including a zine by a Buffalo, New York fifth grader with the title \u003cem>A Field Guide to Being Sad and Attracting the Attention of Big Fat Rats and Also Feeling Awful All the Time\u003c/em>. You’ll also find first-hand accounts from teenagers who survived hurricanes in Puerto Rico and ethnic persecution in Afghanistan, and poetry by young people contending with COVID, incarceration and gentrification.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“If you wanted to take the pulse of young people of a certain moment in time, this would be, I think, the world’s foremost archive of what young people have been thinking over the last 23 years,” says the founder, author Dave Eggers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969154\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969154\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1332\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL-1020x679.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL-768x511.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL-1536x1023.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL-1920x1279.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Books sit on a table at the International Youth Library on Valencia Street in San Francisco’s Mission District on Dec. 5, 2024. The library features publications from youth writers, ages 6–18, from all over the world. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>With the help of his small team, the Newbery Medal-winning novelist of \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2023/05/09/1175071465/author-dave-eggers-channels-a-stray-dog-for-his-new-book\">\u003ci>The Eyes and the Impossible\u003c/i>\u003c/a> and \u003ci>The Circle\u003c/i> established the International Youth Library as an extension of the nonprofit he co-founded across the street, \u003ca href=\"https://www.826valencia.org/\">826 Valencia\u003c/a>, which has been tutoring, nurturing and publishing young writers for over two decades. Over the years, people inspired by their model have opened sister organizations across the U.S. and in far-flung locations like Iceland, Italy and Pakistan. Over 300 young writers from those programs, loosely affiliated under the \u003ca href=\"https://www.youthwriting.org/\">International Alliance of Youth Writing Centers\u003c/a>, are featured in the library.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>826 Valencia has impressive alumni, including award-winning poet Sally Wen Mao, who just published her debut short story collection; Chinaka Hodge, a poet and screenwriter currently leading the writers’ room of Marvel’s \u003ci>Ironheart\u003c/i>; and Daniel Gumbiner, novelist and editor of McSweeney’s culture magazine \u003ci>The Believer\u003c/i>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But accolades aren’t necessarily the goal of the program. In an age of \u003ca href=\"https://thisbookisbanned.com/banned/eggers-anatomy-of-a-book-banning/\">book bans\u003c/a>, where conservative legislators and activists want to keep students away from issues deemed too inappropriate — like race and sexual identity — Eggers and his team believe in giving young minds more credit.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Writing is a really unique, really powerful tool for young people who really don’t have a lot of power in their communities,” says Eggers. “They should have a seat at the table. They should have a seat on the school board. They should have a seat in city council, all of these things, because anything that happens and affects the rest of us in the city affects them, even sometimes more so.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969157\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969157\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1332\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL-1020x679.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL-768x511.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL-1536x1023.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL-1920x1279.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Dave Eggers sits at the International Youth Library on Dec. 5, 2024. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Jade Howe, who curates and runs the day-to-day operations at the International Youth Library, sees that empowering effect when curious kids wander in and realize they’ve entered a place where their ideas are taken seriously and their imaginations celebrated. The library even takes submissions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“That’s so exciting for a kid to be like, ‘I’m in a real library. I’m a real writer,’” says Howe.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“You are,” Howe tells them. “You don’t have to be a grown-up to be able to tell these great stories. There are people that care. I care. That’s why I’m here. And we want to hear you guys out.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969158\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969158\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1332\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL-1020x679.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL-768x511.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL-1536x1023.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL-1920x1279.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Curator Jade Howe stands in the International Youth Library on Dec. 5, 2024. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>While the pessimistic adults among us might assume that all kids want to do is scroll TikTok, or that reading and writing will fall by the wayside because of ChatGPT, on the ground Howe and Eggers see an appetite for the printed page and written word. They’re working on expanding the International Youth Library to utilize the full square footage of the storefront, which once housed local concert promoter Noise Pop and art studio Refugee Eye (which will continue to mount exhibitions in the space).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Kids still love reading,” says Howe. “Kids still want to have a physical book. There’s something so nebulous about the internet and screens, where it’s just like stuff goes out there and there’s so much of it. But we taught this class with a bunch of fifth graders, and kids are still absolutely demolishing the same stories that I was reading when I was their age.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>The International Youth Library is located at 849 Valencia St., San Francisco. It’s open weekday and Saturday afternoons until 6 p.m.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>In San Francisco, where you’re hard pressed to find a bathroom to use without buying a $7 coffee, third spaces where one can simply hang out are rare. And ones that actually welcome children and teenagers are even rarer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Enter the \u003ca href=\"https://www.youthwriting.org/intl-library\">International Youth Library\u003c/a> on Valencia Street, where six days a week you can curl up on a cozy, green velvet couch and flip through adventure stories by elementary students from a school down the street. There’s straight-up silliness, out-there imagination and raw honesty, including a zine by a Buffalo, New York fifth grader with the title \u003cem>A Field Guide to Being Sad and Attracting the Attention of Big Fat Rats and Also Feeling Awful All the Time\u003c/em>. You’ll also find first-hand accounts from teenagers who survived hurricanes in Puerto Rico and ethnic persecution in Afghanistan, and poetry by young people contending with COVID, incarceration and gentrification.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“If you wanted to take the pulse of young people of a certain moment in time, this would be, I think, the world’s foremost archive of what young people have been thinking over the last 23 years,” says the founder, author Dave Eggers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969154\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969154\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1332\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL-1020x679.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL-768x511.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL-1536x1023.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-02-BL-1920x1279.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Books sit on a table at the International Youth Library on Valencia Street in San Francisco’s Mission District on Dec. 5, 2024. The library features publications from youth writers, ages 6–18, from all over the world. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>With the help of his small team, the Newbery Medal-winning novelist of \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2023/05/09/1175071465/author-dave-eggers-channels-a-stray-dog-for-his-new-book\">\u003ci>The Eyes and the Impossible\u003c/i>\u003c/a> and \u003ci>The Circle\u003c/i> established the International Youth Library as an extension of the nonprofit he co-founded across the street, \u003ca href=\"https://www.826valencia.org/\">826 Valencia\u003c/a>, which has been tutoring, nurturing and publishing young writers for over two decades. Over the years, people inspired by their model have opened sister organizations across the U.S. and in far-flung locations like Iceland, Italy and Pakistan. Over 300 young writers from those programs, loosely affiliated under the \u003ca href=\"https://www.youthwriting.org/\">International Alliance of Youth Writing Centers\u003c/a>, are featured in the library.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>826 Valencia has impressive alumni, including award-winning poet Sally Wen Mao, who just published her debut short story collection; Chinaka Hodge, a poet and screenwriter currently leading the writers’ room of Marvel’s \u003ci>Ironheart\u003c/i>; and Daniel Gumbiner, novelist and editor of McSweeney’s culture magazine \u003ci>The Believer\u003c/i>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But accolades aren’t necessarily the goal of the program. In an age of \u003ca href=\"https://thisbookisbanned.com/banned/eggers-anatomy-of-a-book-banning/\">book bans\u003c/a>, where conservative legislators and activists want to keep students away from issues deemed too inappropriate — like race and sexual identity — Eggers and his team believe in giving young minds more credit.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Writing is a really unique, really powerful tool for young people who really don’t have a lot of power in their communities,” says Eggers. “They should have a seat at the table. They should have a seat on the school board. They should have a seat in city council, all of these things, because anything that happens and affects the rest of us in the city affects them, even sometimes more so.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969157\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969157\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1332\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL-1020x679.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL-768x511.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL-1536x1023.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-31-BL-1920x1279.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Dave Eggers sits at the International Youth Library on Dec. 5, 2024. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Jade Howe, who curates and runs the day-to-day operations at the International Youth Library, sees that empowering effect when curious kids wander in and realize they’ve entered a place where their ideas are taken seriously and their imaginations celebrated. The library even takes submissions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“That’s so exciting for a kid to be like, ‘I’m in a real library. I’m a real writer,’” says Howe.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“You are,” Howe tells them. “You don’t have to be a grown-up to be able to tell these great stories. There are people that care. I care. That’s why I’m here. And we want to hear you guys out.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969158\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969158\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1332\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL-1020x679.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL-768x511.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL-1536x1023.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/241205-InternationalYouthLibrary-34-BL-1920x1279.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Curator Jade Howe stands in the International Youth Library on Dec. 5, 2024. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>While the pessimistic adults among us might assume that all kids want to do is scroll TikTok, or that reading and writing will fall by the wayside because of ChatGPT, on the ground Howe and Eggers see an appetite for the printed page and written word. They’re working on expanding the International Youth Library to utilize the full square footage of the storefront, which once housed local concert promoter Noise Pop and art studio Refugee Eye (which will continue to mount exhibitions in the space).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Kids still love reading,” says Howe. “Kids still want to have a physical book. There’s something so nebulous about the internet and screens, where it’s just like stuff goes out there and there’s so much of it. But we taught this class with a bunch of fifth graders, and kids are still absolutely demolishing the same stories that I was reading when I was their age.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>The International Youth Library is located at 849 Valencia St., San Francisco. It’s open weekday and Saturday afternoons until 6 p.m.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"slug": "rightnowishs-grand-finale-words-of-wisdom-from-timothy-b",
"title": "Rightnowish’s Grand Finale: Words of Wisdom from Timothy B.",
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"headTitle": "Rightnowish’s Grand Finale: Words of Wisdom from Timothy B. | KQED",
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"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",
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"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>",
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"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",
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"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>",
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"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",
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"excerpt": "Marcel Pardo Ariza's latest art installation celebrates places in queer and trans nightlife.",
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"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>",
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"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>",
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"slug": "murray-bowles-punk-photography-book-hail-murray",
"title": "No One Is a Spectator in Murray Bowles’ Punk Photography",
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"content": "\u003cp>Stand at the back of a punk club like Berkeley’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/924-gilman\">924 Gilman\u003c/a> nowadays, and the entire crowd will invariably be lit up with a hundred little screens, all recording a moment in time to share online later. But at the primordial 924 Gilman of yesteryear, there was often just a single camera in the crowd, held in Murray Bowles’ hand flicking out far above his head, followed by a quick flash.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968871\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968871\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"A black and white crowd shot at a punk show. Photographer Murray Bowles, a bearded white man in a flannel shirt, is featured mid-frame with his camera raised above his head.\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1917\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-800x599.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-1020x764.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-768x575.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-1536x1150.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-2048x1534.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-1920x1438.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Murray Bowles’ signature ‘Hail Mary’ shooting style. \u003ccite>(Christian Larsen)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://lastgasp.com/products/hail-murray\">\u003ci>Hail Murray!: The Bay Area Punk Photography of Murray Bowles, 1982–1995\u003c/i>\u003c/a> (Last Gasp; $39.95) is a sprawling, 270-page monograph of black and white photos representing a wildly creative and supercharged era of local underground music. If you attended any \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/punk\">Bay Area punk\u003c/a> shows from the 1980s through the 1990s, you likely crossed paths with Murray, its de facto chronicler. Wrapped in a decidedly civilian package — an older man with floppy brown hair, bearded, and bespectacled — he looked more like a computer programmer than a punk (and, unbeknownst to many, he actually \u003ci>was\u003c/i> a programmer of note in early Silicon Valley). At first glance, one might be surprised to learn that this understated character was an essential contributor to the chaotic music scene that birthed bands like Operation Ivy, Blatz and Green Day.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968865\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968865\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_01.jpg\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a black and white crowd photo of punk dancing at an outside show. The book title Hail Murray is in red font at the top.\" width=\"1600\" height=\"1200\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_01.jpg 1600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_01-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_01-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_01-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_01-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_01-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1600px) 100vw, 1600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Hail Murray!: The Punk Photography of Murray Bowles, 1982-1995.’ \u003ccite>(Murray Bowles)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>After the show had ended, while everyone else slept off their hangovers or rotted all night at the 24-hour donut shop, Murray would be hunkered down in the makeshift darkroom set up in his kitchen, spending hours developing pictures of bands. He would later gather up all of the prints and shove them into a shoebox to bring to shows to share and sell for 15¢ a piece, the cost of the paper. (This was later raised to a quarter. Inflation, y’all.) While rifling through Murray’s shoebox, eager eyeballs went on the lookout for pictures of favorite bands or secret crushes, but more than anything else, people were hoping to find a photo of themselves. Being captured in a Murray picture was a stamp of approval. It was a confirmation that you had indeed been there. That you belonged.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That manifestation of belonging takes on various forms in the punk scene. It doesn’t matter how shy a person is, or how lacking in musical ability. Everyone has a role. And while bands have always enjoyed the spotlight, they’re just one part of a complex ecosystem. There are zine editors, promoters, the people who feed and house the touring bands, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13830408/going-strong-since-1990-this-low-budget-newsletter-is-a-punk-institution\">Steve List\u003c/a>, the volunteers who sweep the floors and clean the toilets. These often unsung community heroes are the reason the punk scene has been able to function and evolve.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968882\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13968882 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-800x599.jpg\" alt=\"A young white girl with long brown hair plays a Gibson guitar\" width=\"800\" height=\"599\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-800x599.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-1020x764.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-768x575.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-1536x1150.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-2048x1534.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-1920x1438.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Squat, Nightbreak, San Francisco, 1995. \u003ccite>(Murray Bowles)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Why do this work that is neither glamorous nor rewarded? Sometimes community service is a calling. As Murray famously said, “I wanted to be more than just a spectator.” There are those people who see something that needs to be done and are compelled to do it. Surely no one embodies this more than Anna Brown, teacher, longtime East Bay punk, and Murray’s most bulldogged advocate, the person who consented to take on the monumental task of compiling, designing, and editing \u003ci>Hail Murray!\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Anna first met Murray at a show in 1987; the next thing she knew, she was a regular passenger in his Rabbit Cabriolet, on the way to film screenings, art openings, punk shows and hikes. Murray was notoriously inscrutable, and didn’t often talk about himself. Anna, on the other hand, was articulate, outgoing and tough. Their personalities complementing each other, they became lifelong friends.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968961\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1277px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968961\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Anna.Aaron_.1993.MurrayBowles.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1277\" height=\"800\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Anna.Aaron_.1993.MurrayBowles.jpg 1277w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Anna.Aaron_.1993.MurrayBowles-800x501.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Anna.Aaron_.1993.MurrayBowles-1020x639.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Anna.Aaron_.1993.MurrayBowles-160x100.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Anna.Aaron_.1993.MurrayBowles-768x481.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1277px) 100vw, 1277px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anna Brown with friend Aaron, 1993. \u003ccite>(Murray Bowles)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>When I ask Anna how long she’s been working on this book, she gets a faraway look in her eye. “I’d always wanted to make this book, ever since I was a teenager,” she tells me. “Murray was into the idea but he was very passive in general.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Around 2010, the two began to tackle the project, mind-boggling in its scope. Murray took dozens of photos, every single weekend, for almost 40 years. What would a body of work of that magnitude look like? How could you even begin to catalog and curate it? They caught a break in 2017 when the documentary team behind \u003ci>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13239750/the-definitive-documentary-on-east-bay-punk-is-coming-pit-warning\">Turn It Around: The Story of East Bay Punk\u003c/a>\u003c/i> digitized thousands of Murray’s photos, but that still left thousands \u003cem>more\u003c/em> to sift through.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13938024']Then in 2019, Murray Bowles died unexpectedly.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“When he died, I felt super guilty because we had this whole plan,” Anna tells me. The two friends had planned to spend Murray’s retirement years going around the country doing book tours and gallery shows, the culmination of a life’s work.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I felt really bad that he didn’t get a chance to do any of that stuff, or to see the book,” Anna says. “So I became extremely determined.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968952\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1428px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968952\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_06.OpIvy_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1428\" height=\"906\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_06.OpIvy_.jpg 1428w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_06.OpIvy_-800x508.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_06.OpIvy_-1020x647.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_06.OpIvy_-160x102.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_06.OpIvy_-768x487.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1428px) 100vw, 1428px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Operation Ivy, Gilman Street, Berkeley, 1988. \u003ccite>(Murray Bowles)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Anna transcribed interviews, received feedback, taught herself Photoshop and InDesign, solicited funding and found a publisher. Along the way, she experimented with different layouts, and how to best encapsulate the life’s work of her friend.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I felt a lot of anxiety about these pictures that are sacred to our people,” she explains. “They mean so much to everyone. It felt like I was handling an incredibly fragile, delicate thing. I knew that everyone was going to have their own ideas about how they wanted the book to be.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13871151']In the end, Anna decided that Bowles’ aesthetic would be best captured as a monograph. Punk may be messy, but \u003cem>Hail Murray!\u003c/em> is impeccably clean and gorgeous. Each 12” x 9” landscape page is devoted to a single black and white photograph, giving it ample space to breathe.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though there’s a multitude of band photos in the book — from lesser-known entities like thrash band Sluglords to well-known groups like Rancid — many of its most compelling images are moments captured between friends. Young people sprawled on the hoods of cars, friends drinking beer on couches or hunkered down in a stairwell, girls carrying other girls through the pit, inexplicable configurations of body parts at a crowded house show where you’re not even sure where one person ends and the next person begins. There is an implied intimacy to the work, underscored by a minimalist approach to titles and descriptions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968877\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13968877 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-800x599.jpg\" alt=\"Punk band Special Forces plays at UC Berkeley's Sproul Plaza. Orlando, a tall Black man with a mohawk, stands in front with a microphone.\" width=\"800\" height=\"599\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-800x599.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-1020x764.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-768x575.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-1536x1150.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-2048x1534.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-1920x1438.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Special Forces, Sproul Plaza, UC Berkeley, 1985. \u003ccite>(Murray Bowles)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In the absence of elaborate captions or other explicit context cues, one might ask how \u003cem>Hail Murray!\u003c/em> will be perceived by those outside of the community it chronicles. For punks, part of the excitement was digging through Murray’s photo box, scanning the faces in the crowd and wondering: “Am I in here?” But outsiders to the punk scene may be surprised to see themselves here, too, reflected in the universal quest for fun and belonging.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“If Murray’s work is ‘about’ anything, it’s about the joy of punk,” Anna says. “Going through his archives, you come away feeling that Murray’s mission, in simplest terms, was to celebrate the feeling of being there on any given night or afternoon — the collective energy of a singular moment.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Hail Murray!: The Bay Area Punk Photography of Murray Bowles 1982–1995’ is celebrated in a release party with live music by Smokers and Nasty World on Sunday, Dec. 8, at 111 Minna Gallery in San Francisco. 4pm–9pm. \u003ca href=\"https://111minnagallery.com/event/hail-murray-book-party/\">Details here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Stand at the back of a punk club like Berkeley’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/924-gilman\">924 Gilman\u003c/a> nowadays, and the entire crowd will invariably be lit up with a hundred little screens, all recording a moment in time to share online later. But at the primordial 924 Gilman of yesteryear, there was often just a single camera in the crowd, held in Murray Bowles’ hand flicking out far above his head, followed by a quick flash.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968871\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968871\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"A black and white crowd shot at a punk show. Photographer Murray Bowles, a bearded white man in a flannel shirt, is featured mid-frame with his camera raised above his head.\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1917\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-800x599.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-1020x764.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-768x575.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-1536x1150.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-2048x1534.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_02-1920x1438.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Murray Bowles’ signature ‘Hail Mary’ shooting style. \u003ccite>(Christian Larsen)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://lastgasp.com/products/hail-murray\">\u003ci>Hail Murray!: The Bay Area Punk Photography of Murray Bowles, 1982–1995\u003c/i>\u003c/a> (Last Gasp; $39.95) is a sprawling, 270-page monograph of black and white photos representing a wildly creative and supercharged era of local underground music. If you attended any \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/punk\">Bay Area punk\u003c/a> shows from the 1980s through the 1990s, you likely crossed paths with Murray, its de facto chronicler. Wrapped in a decidedly civilian package — an older man with floppy brown hair, bearded, and bespectacled — he looked more like a computer programmer than a punk (and, unbeknownst to many, he actually \u003ci>was\u003c/i> a programmer of note in early Silicon Valley). At first glance, one might be surprised to learn that this understated character was an essential contributor to the chaotic music scene that birthed bands like Operation Ivy, Blatz and Green Day.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968865\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968865\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_01.jpg\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a black and white crowd photo of punk dancing at an outside show. The book title Hail Murray is in red font at the top.\" width=\"1600\" height=\"1200\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_01.jpg 1600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_01-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_01-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_01-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_01-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_01-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1600px) 100vw, 1600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Hail Murray!: The Punk Photography of Murray Bowles, 1982-1995.’ \u003ccite>(Murray Bowles)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>After the show had ended, while everyone else slept off their hangovers or rotted all night at the 24-hour donut shop, Murray would be hunkered down in the makeshift darkroom set up in his kitchen, spending hours developing pictures of bands. He would later gather up all of the prints and shove them into a shoebox to bring to shows to share and sell for 15¢ a piece, the cost of the paper. (This was later raised to a quarter. Inflation, y’all.) While rifling through Murray’s shoebox, eager eyeballs went on the lookout for pictures of favorite bands or secret crushes, but more than anything else, people were hoping to find a photo of themselves. Being captured in a Murray picture was a stamp of approval. It was a confirmation that you had indeed been there. That you belonged.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That manifestation of belonging takes on various forms in the punk scene. It doesn’t matter how shy a person is, or how lacking in musical ability. Everyone has a role. And while bands have always enjoyed the spotlight, they’re just one part of a complex ecosystem. There are zine editors, promoters, the people who feed and house the touring bands, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13830408/going-strong-since-1990-this-low-budget-newsletter-is-a-punk-institution\">Steve List\u003c/a>, the volunteers who sweep the floors and clean the toilets. These often unsung community heroes are the reason the punk scene has been able to function and evolve.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968882\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13968882 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-800x599.jpg\" alt=\"A young white girl with long brown hair plays a Gibson guitar\" width=\"800\" height=\"599\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-800x599.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-1020x764.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-768x575.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-1536x1150.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-2048x1534.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_11-1920x1438.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Squat, Nightbreak, San Francisco, 1995. \u003ccite>(Murray Bowles)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Why do this work that is neither glamorous nor rewarded? Sometimes community service is a calling. As Murray famously said, “I wanted to be more than just a spectator.” There are those people who see something that needs to be done and are compelled to do it. Surely no one embodies this more than Anna Brown, teacher, longtime East Bay punk, and Murray’s most bulldogged advocate, the person who consented to take on the monumental task of compiling, designing, and editing \u003ci>Hail Murray!\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Anna first met Murray at a show in 1987; the next thing she knew, she was a regular passenger in his Rabbit Cabriolet, on the way to film screenings, art openings, punk shows and hikes. Murray was notoriously inscrutable, and didn’t often talk about himself. Anna, on the other hand, was articulate, outgoing and tough. Their personalities complementing each other, they became lifelong friends.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968961\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1277px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968961\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Anna.Aaron_.1993.MurrayBowles.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1277\" height=\"800\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Anna.Aaron_.1993.MurrayBowles.jpg 1277w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Anna.Aaron_.1993.MurrayBowles-800x501.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Anna.Aaron_.1993.MurrayBowles-1020x639.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Anna.Aaron_.1993.MurrayBowles-160x100.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Anna.Aaron_.1993.MurrayBowles-768x481.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1277px) 100vw, 1277px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anna Brown with friend Aaron, 1993. \u003ccite>(Murray Bowles)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>When I ask Anna how long she’s been working on this book, she gets a faraway look in her eye. “I’d always wanted to make this book, ever since I was a teenager,” she tells me. “Murray was into the idea but he was very passive in general.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Around 2010, the two began to tackle the project, mind-boggling in its scope. Murray took dozens of photos, every single weekend, for almost 40 years. What would a body of work of that magnitude look like? How could you even begin to catalog and curate it? They caught a break in 2017 when the documentary team behind \u003ci>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13239750/the-definitive-documentary-on-east-bay-punk-is-coming-pit-warning\">Turn It Around: The Story of East Bay Punk\u003c/a>\u003c/i> digitized thousands of Murray’s photos, but that still left thousands \u003cem>more\u003c/em> to sift through.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Then in 2019, Murray Bowles died unexpectedly.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“When he died, I felt super guilty because we had this whole plan,” Anna tells me. The two friends had planned to spend Murray’s retirement years going around the country doing book tours and gallery shows, the culmination of a life’s work.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I felt really bad that he didn’t get a chance to do any of that stuff, or to see the book,” Anna says. “So I became extremely determined.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968952\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1428px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968952\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_06.OpIvy_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1428\" height=\"906\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_06.OpIvy_.jpg 1428w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_06.OpIvy_-800x508.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_06.OpIvy_-1020x647.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_06.OpIvy_-160x102.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_06.OpIvy_-768x487.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1428px) 100vw, 1428px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Operation Ivy, Gilman Street, Berkeley, 1988. \u003ccite>(Murray Bowles)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Anna transcribed interviews, received feedback, taught herself Photoshop and InDesign, solicited funding and found a publisher. Along the way, she experimented with different layouts, and how to best encapsulate the life’s work of her friend.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I felt a lot of anxiety about these pictures that are sacred to our people,” she explains. “They mean so much to everyone. It felt like I was handling an incredibly fragile, delicate thing. I knew that everyone was going to have their own ideas about how they wanted the book to be.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>In the end, Anna decided that Bowles’ aesthetic would be best captured as a monograph. Punk may be messy, but \u003cem>Hail Murray!\u003c/em> is impeccably clean and gorgeous. Each 12” x 9” landscape page is devoted to a single black and white photograph, giving it ample space to breathe.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though there’s a multitude of band photos in the book — from lesser-known entities like thrash band Sluglords to well-known groups like Rancid — many of its most compelling images are moments captured between friends. Young people sprawled on the hoods of cars, friends drinking beer on couches or hunkered down in a stairwell, girls carrying other girls through the pit, inexplicable configurations of body parts at a crowded house show where you’re not even sure where one person ends and the next person begins. There is an implied intimacy to the work, underscored by a minimalist approach to titles and descriptions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968877\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13968877 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-800x599.jpg\" alt=\"Punk band Special Forces plays at UC Berkeley's Sproul Plaza. Orlando, a tall Black man with a mohawk, stands in front with a microphone.\" width=\"800\" height=\"599\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-800x599.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-1020x764.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-768x575.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-1536x1150.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-2048x1534.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/9780867199277-Hail-Murray-sampler_Page_04-1920x1438.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Special Forces, Sproul Plaza, UC Berkeley, 1985. \u003ccite>(Murray Bowles)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In the absence of elaborate captions or other explicit context cues, one might ask how \u003cem>Hail Murray!\u003c/em> will be perceived by those outside of the community it chronicles. For punks, part of the excitement was digging through Murray’s photo box, scanning the faces in the crowd and wondering: “Am I in here?” But outsiders to the punk scene may be surprised to see themselves here, too, reflected in the universal quest for fun and belonging.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“If Murray’s work is ‘about’ anything, it’s about the joy of punk,” Anna says. “Going through his archives, you come away feeling that Murray’s mission, in simplest terms, was to celebrate the feeling of being there on any given night or afternoon — the collective energy of a singular moment.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Hail Murray!: The Bay Area Punk Photography of Murray Bowles 1982–1995’ is celebrated in a release party with live music by Smokers and Nasty World on Sunday, Dec. 8, at 111 Minna Gallery in San Francisco. 4pm–9pm. \u003ca href=\"https://111minnagallery.com/event/hail-murray-book-party/\">Details here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"slug": "the-best-bay-area-music-of-2024",
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"content": "\u003cp>As the year winds down, we at KQED Arts & Culture have been combing through our playlists, looking back at the local releases that impressed, surprised and inspired us — that made us dance and made us feel. Below, in no particular order, you’ll find 20 of our staff and contributors’ favorite albums and EPs of the year.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Just like the eclectic Bay Area scene, this list traverses genres as wide-ranging as hyphy, jazz, dance punk, cumbia and more. We hope you get to the end of it with something you’ve never heard before. Listen to our selections in full below, or check out our \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6LakXNEvGqCJFpv9059e3m\">Spotify playlist\u003c/a>.\u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/6GF5uzX2s0GsS4eGlM4h3m?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Kehlani, \u003cem>Crash\u003c/em> (Atlantic Records)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Kehlani’s sexy banger “After Hours” revived a classic dancehall riddim that propelled 2000s hits by Nina Sky and Pitbull, but her album \u003ci>Crash\u003c/i> has range that goes far beyond the club. On ballads like “Chapel” and the title track (where she belts, “You kiss me like you wanna make love / to all my fuckin’ demons”), Kehlani yearns to be swallowed whole by an all-consuming love. On “Lose My Wife,” there’s a devil on her shoulder as she confesses to messy after-dark behavior. Yet the true jewel of the album is the unexpected collaboration “Sucia,” which pairs Kehlani with R&B veteran Jill Scott and queer reggaetonera Young Miko for poetic seduction with enchanting intensity.\u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/39wP7bJBE7c61XHR4Sgp1N?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Ovrkast., \u003cem>Kast Got Wings\u003c/em> (IIIXL Studio)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Over the past year Ovrkast. has produced tracks for Canadian superstar Drake, toured with rising DMV artist Mavi and rocked shows in his hometown of Oakland. On \u003cem>Kast Got Wings\u003c/em>, he joins forces with longtime hip-hop producer Cardo Got Wings for a fifteen-minute tape full of head nodding bars and murky beats. “PAYMEAGRIP” and “Up” are two of the more notable tracks, but nothing holds a candle to the song “Cut Up.” Its dark, cutty sample of a rolling piano is an Ovrkast. staple. Combined with drums that echo the funky, mobby, hyphy energy that emanates from the Bay, and served at the perfect tempo, it makes for a winning combination. On the track Ovrkast. says, “Niggas wanted something to go dumb to, so I gave it.” Meaning: if you like Bay Area hip-hop, this is for you.\u003cem>—Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/5iXgFaNRHYGLj7GFVdN033?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Sammy Shiblaq, \u003cem>The Project of Liberation\u003c/em> (Empire)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>On \u003ci>The Project of Liberation\u003c/i>, Sammy Shiblaq offers 16 soul-stirring tracks about the Palestinian struggle — and they all slap. The Detroit-raised, San José-based rapper puts listeners into the minds of everyday Palestinian people yearning for a normal life, who’ve had their homes bombed or stolen, and whose families and communities have been destroyed by Israel’s bombardment. Trunk-shaking anthems like “Gaza Strip 2 Detroit” and “48 Mile” hit the gas, with taut verses full of pride, indigence and defiance. Meanwhile, with their mournful melodies, “LLTR” and “Peace Without Freedom” make space for grief and heartbreak. Yet even as he takes in the horrors of Gaza’s humanitarian crisis, which human rights groups world-over have called a genocide, Shiblaq doesn’t leave listeners paralyzed with despair, but rather full of determination to work towards a more just world.\u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/02UIYqY314ZBQyRq6YRsgS?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Shannon & The Clams, \u003cem>The Moon Is In the Wrong Place\u003c/em> (Easy Eye Sound)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>This is a gorgeous, gut-wrenching, love-soaked dream of an album born from a waking nightmare. When her fiancé died suddenly in a tragic 2022 accident, the world would have forgiven Shannon Shaw for taking some time away from the stage to heal and recalibrate. Instead, she and her band grieved the loss of Joe Haener by creating 14 gorgeous, multilayered tracks that successfully capture the beauty and wonder of true love, as well as all of the discombobulating darkness that lies in the depths of grief.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>The Moon Is in the Wrong Place\u003c/em> catapulted Shannon & The Clams into space, adding a layer of otherworldliness to the classic retro rock ‘n’ roll sparkle that the band was already beloved for. Not only is the album the perfect tribute to Haener and his relationship with Shaw, it now stands as a source of comfort for anyone who’s ever lost the love of their life.\u003cem>—Rae Alexandra\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/5u1hWyjcalS7ItSE8CVorn?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Siaira Shawn, \u003cem>Ephemera\u003c/em> (Over Everything)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The latest album from this San Francisco-raised, Southern California-based R&B artist is a kaleidoscope of sultry soul and new funk. Shawn’s ability to combine pithy, poetic lyrics with heavenly vocal melodies is forefront in this project. On the song “Racing Home,” Shawn’s storytelling shines as she sings “Where’s the fire?” while passionately rushing home to a lover. Shawn floats on the standout track “Jujitsu,” singing about the dance that one does when they’re learning to properly love. And on the album’s first single, “What’s Better,” produced by Grammy-nominated Bay Area musician Mars Today, Shawn pauses time by speaking to the heart of anyone who has been so caught up in the throes of love that they’ve given jewelry to their partner in an effort to symbolize the depth of the connection. “My initials around your neck / But you don’t belong to me / But you belong to me,” sings Shawn. And in that, there’s a plea to the possessive lover in all of us.\u003cem>—Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/7b8f4dCFRTPXc0YL0zjuEn?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Paris Nights, \u003cem>Full Package: Act 2\u003c/em> (PlayTooMuch Entertainment)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Unless you’ve been hibernating 24/7 in Siberia, you’ve likely seen “How’s It Goin’ Down,” an instantly hypnotic short video of East Oakland rapper Paris Nights flipping DMX’s classic track. Or you might have even seen her throwbacks to D’Angelo or Lauryn Hill. These viral hits helped her sell out Yoshi’s last month, but it was Paris Nights’ own music that sold me on her star quality. \u003cem>Full Package: Act 2\u003c/em> proves the East Oakland rapper’s skill and finesse on tracks like the fiancé-that-got-away ode “Love of My Life” and the flirtatious “My Way,” in which she raps circles around Kamaiyah. Meanwhile, Paris Nights’ heart is front and center in “From, Your Daughter,” an honest address to her mother reminiscent of Kehlani’s “The Letter.” EP closer “Proud” gives an emotional shoutout to everyone in her close circle. As long as she doesn’t lose that heart on her inevitable path upward, she’ll get the staying power her talent deserves.\u003cem>—Gabe Meline\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/3xeBFfWmIJR0mfR1cGCfUd?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Fake Fruit, \u003cem>Mucho Mistrust\u003c/em> (Carpark Records)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>I first encountered Fake Fruit opening for the iconic South Bronx sister act ESG. Tasked with hyping a mostly past-middle-age crew of old punks and hip-hop aficionados, Hannah D’Amato, Alex Post and Miles MacDiarmid more than delivered, bringing high-energy, propulsive rock and no small amount of fun to the stage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>Mucho Mistrust\u003c/i>, their sophomore album, maintains that intensity, with choruses meant to be screamed back from a sweaty, ecstatically dancing crowd. D’Amato deploys sweetness and raw acidity in equal measure, chronicling what sounds like a rough year. “I hope you had a good time on your sympathy tour,” she deadpans on “Más O Menos,” ramping up the repeated lines to a shriek.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The album settles into mellow introspection, exchanging shreds for gentle, dreamy guitar and some well-deployed sax. By the final track, we’ve reached a shaky resolution: Progress isn’t always linear, go easy on yourself.\u003cem>—Sarah Hotchkiss\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=3719145396/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Esotérica Tropical, \u003cem>Esotérica Tropical\u003c/em> (Self-released)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>A shaman and healer from Puerto Rico who found her musical identity in the East Bay, Maria Jose Montijo is known as Majo to friends and Esotérica Tropical on the bandstand. Her eponymous debut album is a wondrous collection of 10 songs and bomba-powered incantations, laced with love, longing and obeisance to ancestral ties, celebrating the natural world and her homeland. Part of what makes the album so enthralling is her fusion of folkloric instruments (harp and drums) with contemporary production via Luis Maurette, Heidi Lewandowski and Adam Partridge. Montijo’s voice is often set amidst an entrancing welter of Afro-Puerto Rican percussion from Julia Cepeda and Denise Solis. Tune-Yards’ Merrill Garbus contributes on “Realismo Mágico,” a song that combines metallic Tom Waits-ian clanks with soaring vocals. She’s not the first to ply these avant-folkloric waters, but Esotérica Tropical flows with a clarity and quenching succor all its own.\u003cem>—Andrew Gilbert\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/2dKS8Oj7T9u7U3UzAtVbJk?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Seiji Oda, \u003cem>a gentle gigg…\u003c/em> (UKNOWME!)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Seiji Oda’s \u003ci>a gentle gigg…\u003c/i> sounds like doing tai chi in a park while an old-school Chevy drives by slapping “Tell Me When To Go.” With fat 808s, gentle xylophone and a whispered cadence, the Oakland rapper taps into a very Bay Area cultural intersection of going dumb at the club Saturday night and waking up to do a mindfulness practice on Sunday. I mean, if you think about it, there’s a strong overlap between the dances of the hyphy movement and age-old somatic healing techniques, or as Oda sagely puts it on the title track, “When I gig all my problems leave through my limbs.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That intuitive Baydrestrian wisdom captivated listeners all over the world. But the three EPs Oda released this year — \u003ci>a gentle gigg…\u003c/i>, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/album/1226jmllv5To2StZyFzqK1?si=4qS4ys0WTyS9yPu_R7a2Tw\">\u003ci>Last Summer\u003c/i>\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/album/219hcVDmTTwKVs2FAEy1xZ?si=_ptPYLNjSN6DZ62TuIZMUw\">\u003ci>peace + chaos\u003c/i>\u003c/a> — show he’s not just a viral gimmick, but a talented musician with range who skillfully weaves hyphy, jazz, indie rock and Japanese city pop into a signature sound.\u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1637895938/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/license_id=3759/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Sour Widows, \u003cem>Revival of a Friend\u003c/em> (Exploding In Sound Records)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>A functional, touring indie rock band out of the Bay Area is rare these days. Simply being able to headline a bicoastal tour behind a new album places you in an elite class. So you really gotta hand it to Oakland’s Sour Widows, who’ve never wavered from making music they love and releasing and touring it exactly how they envisioned it. I remember how they fawned over Boston’s Pile as one of their favorite bands in 2019. Before long, they were on tour with Pile and then eventually, became labelmates on Exploding In Sound Records.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fast forward to 2024, where Maia Sinaiko and Susanna Thomson have dealt with far more loss and tragedy than anyone oughta have to, and along with drummer Max Edelman, have beautifully distilled it into an album about the magic of friendship and the little things in life that get us through the most painful moments. All throughout \u003ci>Revival of a Friend\u003c/i>, they’ve harnessed their desire to write lasting songs, while also wanting to zone out and shred for a minute or two. You feel their catharsis when they see-saw vocally on “Witness” and on “I-90,” which might just be the best song they’ve ever written — filled with idealism, hope and unbridled love for what you desperately wish you could hold onto again.\u003ci>—Adrian Spinelli\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/4IczTorllzYqLnPNooQeUM?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>La Doña, \u003cem>Los Altos de la Soledad\u003c/em> (Self-released)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>La Doña embraced her boldest ideas on \u003cem>Los Altos de la Soledad\u003c/em>. The ambitious album sees the singer and multi-instrumentalist ascend as a producer, bandleader and storyteller, creating a mosaic of Latin American styles and traditions in her ode to working class, immigrant San Francisco. For the sumptuous bolero “El Regreso,” a cinematic string section and jazz flute by Elena Pinderhughes underscore a sense of longing as La Doña sings the real-life story of her music student who migrated to the U.S. from Guatemala alone. That sensibility of music as oral history continues on protest anthem “Corrido Palestina,” where La Doña affirms the irrepressible determination of anti-war artists and activists. And just as she and her homegirls might go from the protest to the club, she rounds out the album with the reggaeton-meets-cumbia dance floor track “Mejor Que Matarte” and off-kilter party anthem “Cumbia Bellaka.”\u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/73tUZvr1SKfltx3RgZxXVf?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Ramirez, \u003ci>The Warlock and the Gorilla\u003c/i> (G59 Records)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Ramirez’s \u003cem>The Warlock and the Gorilla\u003c/em> sounds like a smooth ride through a thunderstorm in hell. The San Francisco MC, whose rap style descends from Memphis’ Three 6 Mafia, has an affinity for the dark side. On his latest project, he does two things really well: He pays tribute to rap classics and adds his own twisted lyrical flavor to the mix. The album contains a refreshingly grimy new interpolation of Silkk the Shocker’s “It Ain’t My Fault,” as well as songs that sample Too Short’s “Freaky Tales,” and King Chip’s “Interior Crocodile Alligator.” The aggressive, uptempo title track could be the soundtrack to a nightmare, and much of his album has demonic tones and references to violence. Yet Ramirez finds time to slip in a message about overcoming oppressive forces on “Casket Dreams,” featuring Pouya. He ends his second verse with the line “Always keep your head up when shit’s feeling too painful,” a reminder that even on a smooth ride through the underworld there’s room for some benevolence to emerge.\u003ci>—Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=3500570471/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Sam Reider and the Human Hands, \u003cem>The Golem and Other Tales\u003c/em> (Human Hands Music)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>A precociously gifted jazz pianist from San Francisco, Sam Reider fell in love with folk music and the accordion as an undergrad in New York City. Today, the Oakland-based artist is one of the most consistently interesting composers working in the unplugged realm where jazz, chamber music and various American folk idioms converge. His most ambitious project yet for his all-star Human Hands, \u003cem>The Golem and Other Tales\u003c/em>, centers on a narrative suite inspired by the Jewish legend of a supernatural creature that a rabbi conjures to life to protect the endangered Jews of Prague. Assigning each instrument to a different character, à la Prokofiev’s \u003cem>Peter and the Wolf\u003c/em>, Reider makes brilliant use of a stellar cast of players, including violinist Alex Hargreaves, alto saxophonist Eddie Barbash and Rising Appalachia fiddler and cellist Duncan Wickel, while artfully deploying an array of influences, from Duke Ellington and Astor Piazzolla to Bernard Herrmann and Raymond Scott.\u003cem>—Andrew Gilbert\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/6ACmRG5RiVmB0S9Pwqpi1b?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>LaRussell and P-Lo, \u003cem>Majorly Independent\u003c/em> (Good Compenny)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Who knew that a jazz-rap flip of D-Lo’s “No Hoe” was what the Bay Area needed in 2024? Just as I streamed the original track every day on MySpace in 2009, I’ve had LaRussell’s “Yankin’” on repeat in my headphones as I walk out the door to face the day. Delicate keys prance over pounding 808s as LaRussell, young up-and-comer Malachi and hyphy vet D-Lo trade bars that are cocky, comedic and just out-there enough to keep you hanging on every word. That playful spirit is evident in the rest of the project, produced by P-Lo, as LaRussell pays homage to the lineage of Bay Area rap. Richie Rich slides through with an ice-old verse on “What We Doin’.” (His answer? “Smokin’ on herb that’s superb.”) “Lil Lad” is another standout, where LaRussell raps about Bay Area hip-hop as the soundtrack to memories with his dad. \u003ci>Majorly Independent\u003c/i> asserts his place in that legacy.\u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2436567542/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Tall Tee, \u003cem>Talk To Me\u003c/em> (Self-released)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>If you’ve ever found yourself cutting a rug to funk and boogie records from Egyptian Lover to Sandra de Sá at the cultish monthly Sweater Funk parties at the Knockout in the Mission, then \u003cem>Talk To Me\u003c/em> is for you. Dammit, if you just want to listen to music that’s fun as hell, then Tall Tee’s debut album is for you, too. The duo of Joog (from Vallejo) and Flex (from Frisco) have put down a record ripe for all sorts of celebrations. At times they come across like a Fil-Am Chromeo, funkifying their way through the back-and-forth vocals on “Gimme That” and two-step harmonizing on “Distant Lover.” “So Fly” comes with disco panache and yacht rock synths, before delivering a lyrical boogie-breakdown in the shape of “Rapper’s Delight.” There’s a lot to rally behind on \u003cem>Talk To Me\u003c/em>, an apt companion for feeling great.\u003cem>—Adrian Spinelli\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2471383117/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Naked Roommate, \u003cem>Pass the Loofah\u003c/em> (Self-released)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>In their second studio album \u003cem>Pass the Loofah\u003c/em>, Naked Roommate return with a distinct blend of sounds that blur the line between dance punk and ’80s electro pop. Every instrumental choice in the album feels intentional yet haphazard, like the rich tenor sax in “Fight Flight” and the grainy, wavy static at the start of “Ducky & Viv.” Nostalgia bleeds through each song in some way or another, and if you listen closely, you can hear how every song is connected as the album progresses. There’s something inherently Bay Area, too, about songs like “Bus.” Beyond the fact that the song is a four-minute, grooving ode to public transportation, its lyrics echo a communal call to journey together, wherever life takes us: “Will you stay still as the world passes by? / Passes by / Passes on by / We take the bus.”\u003cem>—Shannon Faulise\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/0uyOPmxwf90ZetNWcyE1Gd?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>John Mackk, \u003cem>Signing Day\u003c/em> (10K Projects)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>After it dropped in January, John Mackk’s \u003cem>Signing Day\u003c/em> sent ripple effects through the streets and across social media platforms. The high-octane Oakland rapper’s “Slow It Down,” which features a Bobby Valentino sample, has been one of the most popular songs out of the region over the past calendar year, and has been remixed multiple times with verses from the likes of Mozzy, Mike Sherm, 310babii and more. Produced by Denero “N3ro” Johnson, its combination of quaking bass and heavenly strings creates a catchy dynamic, especially when paired with Mackk’s lyrics. The song’s popularity might only be overshadowed by Mackk’s other 2024 single, “Pose For Me,” (which isn’t on his latest album).\u003cem>—Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1423688760/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Osees, \u003cem>Sorcs 80\u003c/em> (Castle Face)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Osees have put out so many albums and changed their name so many times (you might know them for their imperial San Francisco-based run as Thee Oh Sees), you’d imagine fans and critics would’ve gotten fatigue many times over. Yet John Dwyer’s ever-shifting garage-rock project seems to attract a new generation of fans with every new incarnation. Though they’ve been based in L.A. for a decade, you don’t have to look far in the Bay Area music scene to see bands barely of drinking age imitating Dwyer’s jerky presence and jarring whoops. It’s a testament to Osees’ malleability that \u003cem>Sorcs 80\u003c/em> lacks a single guitar and still feels essential. Hearing Dwyer and crew coax such brain-zapping sounds out of their synths is enough to give you faith in the future of rock as a fertile breeding ground for out-there ideas — especially if enough young punks rip off this record.\u003cem>—Daniel Bromfield\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2418799346/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Quinn DeVeaux, \u003cem>Leisure\u003c/em> (Self-released)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Quinn DeVeaux, a longtime singer and guitarist from Oakland, has always rooted his repertoire in blues, R&B, soul and gospel traditions. July’s \u003cem>Leisure\u003c/em> found him once again harnessing those distinctly American genres: A grab bag of styles like soul, rock and country, \u003cem>Leisure\u003c/em> is a rollicking good time that almost jumps out of your speakers. There’s so much energy packed into it, you almost feel like you’re seeing it live.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When it was first released, \u003cem>Leisure\u003c/em> felt like a crowd-pleasing record for barbecues and house parties. Recently, however, it has taken on new meaning for me. The way it pays respect to the very best of American music stirs up a strange patriotism: Though many of us may be losing faith in American institutions, \u003cem>Leisure\u003c/em> is a pointed reminder of one of our greatest cultural contributions to the world. Our artistic heritage is something we can’t afford to abandon, and something no one can truly take away — not so long as people like Quinn DeVeaux are keeping it alive.\u003cem>—Jody Amable\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1552304739/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Ian Carey & Wood Metal Plastic, \u003cem>Strange Arts\u003c/em> (Kabocha)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Strange Arts\u003c/em>, the new album by El Cerrito trumpeter Ian Carey, is less a soundtrack for the visual feast left by his father than a fruitful preliminary dialogue. A maestro of assemblage and collage, Philip Carey created strange and captivating works out of everyday materials. While sorting and archiving the estate after his father’s death in 2022, Ian came to evoke the art’s insistent patterns in the music he wrote for Wood Metal Plastic. Featuring alto saxophonist Kasey Knudsen, bassist Lisa Mezzacappa, drummer Jon Arkin, cellist Jessica Ivry and violinists Alisa Rose and Mia Bella d’Augelli, the seven-piece combo works as a unified ensemble rather than jazz quartet plus strings. Flowing from lush, thickly orchestrated harmonies and quicksilver counterpoint to dissonant undercurrents and skittering cross-section voicings, Carey’s writing unfolds in a bright, liminal dominion where post-bop, free improv and chamber music cavort in playful sympathy.\u003cem>—Andrew Gilbert\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>As the year winds down, we at KQED Arts & Culture have been combing through our playlists, looking back at the local releases that impressed, surprised and inspired us — that made us dance and made us feel. Below, in no particular order, you’ll find 20 of our staff and contributors’ favorite albums and EPs of the year.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Just like the eclectic Bay Area scene, this list traverses genres as wide-ranging as hyphy, jazz, dance punk, cumbia and more. We hope you get to the end of it with something you’ve never heard before. Listen to our selections in full below, or check out our \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6LakXNEvGqCJFpv9059e3m\">Spotify playlist\u003c/a>.\u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/6GF5uzX2s0GsS4eGlM4h3m?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Kehlani, \u003cem>Crash\u003c/em> (Atlantic Records)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Kehlani’s sexy banger “After Hours” revived a classic dancehall riddim that propelled 2000s hits by Nina Sky and Pitbull, but her album \u003ci>Crash\u003c/i> has range that goes far beyond the club. On ballads like “Chapel” and the title track (where she belts, “You kiss me like you wanna make love / to all my fuckin’ demons”), Kehlani yearns to be swallowed whole by an all-consuming love. On “Lose My Wife,” there’s a devil on her shoulder as she confesses to messy after-dark behavior. Yet the true jewel of the album is the unexpected collaboration “Sucia,” which pairs Kehlani with R&B veteran Jill Scott and queer reggaetonera Young Miko for poetic seduction with enchanting intensity.\u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/39wP7bJBE7c61XHR4Sgp1N?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Ovrkast., \u003cem>Kast Got Wings\u003c/em> (IIIXL Studio)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Over the past year Ovrkast. has produced tracks for Canadian superstar Drake, toured with rising DMV artist Mavi and rocked shows in his hometown of Oakland. On \u003cem>Kast Got Wings\u003c/em>, he joins forces with longtime hip-hop producer Cardo Got Wings for a fifteen-minute tape full of head nodding bars and murky beats. “PAYMEAGRIP” and “Up” are two of the more notable tracks, but nothing holds a candle to the song “Cut Up.” Its dark, cutty sample of a rolling piano is an Ovrkast. staple. Combined with drums that echo the funky, mobby, hyphy energy that emanates from the Bay, and served at the perfect tempo, it makes for a winning combination. On the track Ovrkast. says, “Niggas wanted something to go dumb to, so I gave it.” Meaning: if you like Bay Area hip-hop, this is for you.\u003cem>—Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/5iXgFaNRHYGLj7GFVdN033?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Sammy Shiblaq, \u003cem>The Project of Liberation\u003c/em> (Empire)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>On \u003ci>The Project of Liberation\u003c/i>, Sammy Shiblaq offers 16 soul-stirring tracks about the Palestinian struggle — and they all slap. The Detroit-raised, San José-based rapper puts listeners into the minds of everyday Palestinian people yearning for a normal life, who’ve had their homes bombed or stolen, and whose families and communities have been destroyed by Israel’s bombardment. Trunk-shaking anthems like “Gaza Strip 2 Detroit” and “48 Mile” hit the gas, with taut verses full of pride, indigence and defiance. Meanwhile, with their mournful melodies, “LLTR” and “Peace Without Freedom” make space for grief and heartbreak. Yet even as he takes in the horrors of Gaza’s humanitarian crisis, which human rights groups world-over have called a genocide, Shiblaq doesn’t leave listeners paralyzed with despair, but rather full of determination to work towards a more just world.\u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/02UIYqY314ZBQyRq6YRsgS?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Shannon & The Clams, \u003cem>The Moon Is In the Wrong Place\u003c/em> (Easy Eye Sound)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>This is a gorgeous, gut-wrenching, love-soaked dream of an album born from a waking nightmare. When her fiancé died suddenly in a tragic 2022 accident, the world would have forgiven Shannon Shaw for taking some time away from the stage to heal and recalibrate. Instead, she and her band grieved the loss of Joe Haener by creating 14 gorgeous, multilayered tracks that successfully capture the beauty and wonder of true love, as well as all of the discombobulating darkness that lies in the depths of grief.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>The Moon Is in the Wrong Place\u003c/em> catapulted Shannon & The Clams into space, adding a layer of otherworldliness to the classic retro rock ‘n’ roll sparkle that the band was already beloved for. Not only is the album the perfect tribute to Haener and his relationship with Shaw, it now stands as a source of comfort for anyone who’s ever lost the love of their life.\u003cem>—Rae Alexandra\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/5u1hWyjcalS7ItSE8CVorn?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Siaira Shawn, \u003cem>Ephemera\u003c/em> (Over Everything)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The latest album from this San Francisco-raised, Southern California-based R&B artist is a kaleidoscope of sultry soul and new funk. Shawn’s ability to combine pithy, poetic lyrics with heavenly vocal melodies is forefront in this project. On the song “Racing Home,” Shawn’s storytelling shines as she sings “Where’s the fire?” while passionately rushing home to a lover. Shawn floats on the standout track “Jujitsu,” singing about the dance that one does when they’re learning to properly love. And on the album’s first single, “What’s Better,” produced by Grammy-nominated Bay Area musician Mars Today, Shawn pauses time by speaking to the heart of anyone who has been so caught up in the throes of love that they’ve given jewelry to their partner in an effort to symbolize the depth of the connection. “My initials around your neck / But you don’t belong to me / But you belong to me,” sings Shawn. And in that, there’s a plea to the possessive lover in all of us.\u003cem>—Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/7b8f4dCFRTPXc0YL0zjuEn?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Paris Nights, \u003cem>Full Package: Act 2\u003c/em> (PlayTooMuch Entertainment)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Unless you’ve been hibernating 24/7 in Siberia, you’ve likely seen “How’s It Goin’ Down,” an instantly hypnotic short video of East Oakland rapper Paris Nights flipping DMX’s classic track. Or you might have even seen her throwbacks to D’Angelo or Lauryn Hill. These viral hits helped her sell out Yoshi’s last month, but it was Paris Nights’ own music that sold me on her star quality. \u003cem>Full Package: Act 2\u003c/em> proves the East Oakland rapper’s skill and finesse on tracks like the fiancé-that-got-away ode “Love of My Life” and the flirtatious “My Way,” in which she raps circles around Kamaiyah. Meanwhile, Paris Nights’ heart is front and center in “From, Your Daughter,” an honest address to her mother reminiscent of Kehlani’s “The Letter.” EP closer “Proud” gives an emotional shoutout to everyone in her close circle. As long as she doesn’t lose that heart on her inevitable path upward, she’ll get the staying power her talent deserves.\u003cem>—Gabe Meline\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/3xeBFfWmIJR0mfR1cGCfUd?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Fake Fruit, \u003cem>Mucho Mistrust\u003c/em> (Carpark Records)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>I first encountered Fake Fruit opening for the iconic South Bronx sister act ESG. Tasked with hyping a mostly past-middle-age crew of old punks and hip-hop aficionados, Hannah D’Amato, Alex Post and Miles MacDiarmid more than delivered, bringing high-energy, propulsive rock and no small amount of fun to the stage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>Mucho Mistrust\u003c/i>, their sophomore album, maintains that intensity, with choruses meant to be screamed back from a sweaty, ecstatically dancing crowd. D’Amato deploys sweetness and raw acidity in equal measure, chronicling what sounds like a rough year. “I hope you had a good time on your sympathy tour,” she deadpans on “Más O Menos,” ramping up the repeated lines to a shriek.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The album settles into mellow introspection, exchanging shreds for gentle, dreamy guitar and some well-deployed sax. By the final track, we’ve reached a shaky resolution: Progress isn’t always linear, go easy on yourself.\u003cem>—Sarah Hotchkiss\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=3719145396/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Esotérica Tropical, \u003cem>Esotérica Tropical\u003c/em> (Self-released)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>A shaman and healer from Puerto Rico who found her musical identity in the East Bay, Maria Jose Montijo is known as Majo to friends and Esotérica Tropical on the bandstand. Her eponymous debut album is a wondrous collection of 10 songs and bomba-powered incantations, laced with love, longing and obeisance to ancestral ties, celebrating the natural world and her homeland. Part of what makes the album so enthralling is her fusion of folkloric instruments (harp and drums) with contemporary production via Luis Maurette, Heidi Lewandowski and Adam Partridge. Montijo’s voice is often set amidst an entrancing welter of Afro-Puerto Rican percussion from Julia Cepeda and Denise Solis. Tune-Yards’ Merrill Garbus contributes on “Realismo Mágico,” a song that combines metallic Tom Waits-ian clanks with soaring vocals. She’s not the first to ply these avant-folkloric waters, but Esotérica Tropical flows with a clarity and quenching succor all its own.\u003cem>—Andrew Gilbert\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/2dKS8Oj7T9u7U3UzAtVbJk?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Seiji Oda, \u003cem>a gentle gigg…\u003c/em> (UKNOWME!)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Seiji Oda’s \u003ci>a gentle gigg…\u003c/i> sounds like doing tai chi in a park while an old-school Chevy drives by slapping “Tell Me When To Go.” With fat 808s, gentle xylophone and a whispered cadence, the Oakland rapper taps into a very Bay Area cultural intersection of going dumb at the club Saturday night and waking up to do a mindfulness practice on Sunday. I mean, if you think about it, there’s a strong overlap between the dances of the hyphy movement and age-old somatic healing techniques, or as Oda sagely puts it on the title track, “When I gig all my problems leave through my limbs.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That intuitive Baydrestrian wisdom captivated listeners all over the world. But the three EPs Oda released this year — \u003ci>a gentle gigg…\u003c/i>, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/album/1226jmllv5To2StZyFzqK1?si=4qS4ys0WTyS9yPu_R7a2Tw\">\u003ci>Last Summer\u003c/i>\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/album/219hcVDmTTwKVs2FAEy1xZ?si=_ptPYLNjSN6DZ62TuIZMUw\">\u003ci>peace + chaos\u003c/i>\u003c/a> — show he’s not just a viral gimmick, but a talented musician with range who skillfully weaves hyphy, jazz, indie rock and Japanese city pop into a signature sound.\u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1637895938/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/license_id=3759/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Sour Widows, \u003cem>Revival of a Friend\u003c/em> (Exploding In Sound Records)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>A functional, touring indie rock band out of the Bay Area is rare these days. Simply being able to headline a bicoastal tour behind a new album places you in an elite class. So you really gotta hand it to Oakland’s Sour Widows, who’ve never wavered from making music they love and releasing and touring it exactly how they envisioned it. I remember how they fawned over Boston’s Pile as one of their favorite bands in 2019. Before long, they were on tour with Pile and then eventually, became labelmates on Exploding In Sound Records.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fast forward to 2024, where Maia Sinaiko and Susanna Thomson have dealt with far more loss and tragedy than anyone oughta have to, and along with drummer Max Edelman, have beautifully distilled it into an album about the magic of friendship and the little things in life that get us through the most painful moments. All throughout \u003ci>Revival of a Friend\u003c/i>, they’ve harnessed their desire to write lasting songs, while also wanting to zone out and shred for a minute or two. You feel their catharsis when they see-saw vocally on “Witness” and on “I-90,” which might just be the best song they’ve ever written — filled with idealism, hope and unbridled love for what you desperately wish you could hold onto again.\u003ci>—Adrian Spinelli\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/4IczTorllzYqLnPNooQeUM?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>La Doña, \u003cem>Los Altos de la Soledad\u003c/em> (Self-released)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>La Doña embraced her boldest ideas on \u003cem>Los Altos de la Soledad\u003c/em>. The ambitious album sees the singer and multi-instrumentalist ascend as a producer, bandleader and storyteller, creating a mosaic of Latin American styles and traditions in her ode to working class, immigrant San Francisco. For the sumptuous bolero “El Regreso,” a cinematic string section and jazz flute by Elena Pinderhughes underscore a sense of longing as La Doña sings the real-life story of her music student who migrated to the U.S. from Guatemala alone. That sensibility of music as oral history continues on protest anthem “Corrido Palestina,” where La Doña affirms the irrepressible determination of anti-war artists and activists. And just as she and her homegirls might go from the protest to the club, she rounds out the album with the reggaeton-meets-cumbia dance floor track “Mejor Que Matarte” and off-kilter party anthem “Cumbia Bellaka.”\u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/73tUZvr1SKfltx3RgZxXVf?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Ramirez, \u003ci>The Warlock and the Gorilla\u003c/i> (G59 Records)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Ramirez’s \u003cem>The Warlock and the Gorilla\u003c/em> sounds like a smooth ride through a thunderstorm in hell. The San Francisco MC, whose rap style descends from Memphis’ Three 6 Mafia, has an affinity for the dark side. On his latest project, he does two things really well: He pays tribute to rap classics and adds his own twisted lyrical flavor to the mix. The album contains a refreshingly grimy new interpolation of Silkk the Shocker’s “It Ain’t My Fault,” as well as songs that sample Too Short’s “Freaky Tales,” and King Chip’s “Interior Crocodile Alligator.” The aggressive, uptempo title track could be the soundtrack to a nightmare, and much of his album has demonic tones and references to violence. Yet Ramirez finds time to slip in a message about overcoming oppressive forces on “Casket Dreams,” featuring Pouya. He ends his second verse with the line “Always keep your head up when shit’s feeling too painful,” a reminder that even on a smooth ride through the underworld there’s room for some benevolence to emerge.\u003ci>—Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=3500570471/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Sam Reider and the Human Hands, \u003cem>The Golem and Other Tales\u003c/em> (Human Hands Music)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>A precociously gifted jazz pianist from San Francisco, Sam Reider fell in love with folk music and the accordion as an undergrad in New York City. Today, the Oakland-based artist is one of the most consistently interesting composers working in the unplugged realm where jazz, chamber music and various American folk idioms converge. His most ambitious project yet for his all-star Human Hands, \u003cem>The Golem and Other Tales\u003c/em>, centers on a narrative suite inspired by the Jewish legend of a supernatural creature that a rabbi conjures to life to protect the endangered Jews of Prague. Assigning each instrument to a different character, à la Prokofiev’s \u003cem>Peter and the Wolf\u003c/em>, Reider makes brilliant use of a stellar cast of players, including violinist Alex Hargreaves, alto saxophonist Eddie Barbash and Rising Appalachia fiddler and cellist Duncan Wickel, while artfully deploying an array of influences, from Duke Ellington and Astor Piazzolla to Bernard Herrmann and Raymond Scott.\u003cem>—Andrew Gilbert\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/6ACmRG5RiVmB0S9Pwqpi1b?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>LaRussell and P-Lo, \u003cem>Majorly Independent\u003c/em> (Good Compenny)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Who knew that a jazz-rap flip of D-Lo’s “No Hoe” was what the Bay Area needed in 2024? Just as I streamed the original track every day on MySpace in 2009, I’ve had LaRussell’s “Yankin’” on repeat in my headphones as I walk out the door to face the day. Delicate keys prance over pounding 808s as LaRussell, young up-and-comer Malachi and hyphy vet D-Lo trade bars that are cocky, comedic and just out-there enough to keep you hanging on every word. That playful spirit is evident in the rest of the project, produced by P-Lo, as LaRussell pays homage to the lineage of Bay Area rap. Richie Rich slides through with an ice-old verse on “What We Doin’.” (His answer? “Smokin’ on herb that’s superb.”) “Lil Lad” is another standout, where LaRussell raps about Bay Area hip-hop as the soundtrack to memories with his dad. \u003ci>Majorly Independent\u003c/i> asserts his place in that legacy.\u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2436567542/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Tall Tee, \u003cem>Talk To Me\u003c/em> (Self-released)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>If you’ve ever found yourself cutting a rug to funk and boogie records from Egyptian Lover to Sandra de Sá at the cultish monthly Sweater Funk parties at the Knockout in the Mission, then \u003cem>Talk To Me\u003c/em> is for you. Dammit, if you just want to listen to music that’s fun as hell, then Tall Tee’s debut album is for you, too. The duo of Joog (from Vallejo) and Flex (from Frisco) have put down a record ripe for all sorts of celebrations. At times they come across like a Fil-Am Chromeo, funkifying their way through the back-and-forth vocals on “Gimme That” and two-step harmonizing on “Distant Lover.” “So Fly” comes with disco panache and yacht rock synths, before delivering a lyrical boogie-breakdown in the shape of “Rapper’s Delight.” There’s a lot to rally behind on \u003cem>Talk To Me\u003c/em>, an apt companion for feeling great.\u003cem>—Adrian Spinelli\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2471383117/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Naked Roommate, \u003cem>Pass the Loofah\u003c/em> (Self-released)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>In their second studio album \u003cem>Pass the Loofah\u003c/em>, Naked Roommate return with a distinct blend of sounds that blur the line between dance punk and ’80s electro pop. Every instrumental choice in the album feels intentional yet haphazard, like the rich tenor sax in “Fight Flight” and the grainy, wavy static at the start of “Ducky & Viv.” Nostalgia bleeds through each song in some way or another, and if you listen closely, you can hear how every song is connected as the album progresses. There’s something inherently Bay Area, too, about songs like “Bus.” Beyond the fact that the song is a four-minute, grooving ode to public transportation, its lyrics echo a communal call to journey together, wherever life takes us: “Will you stay still as the world passes by? / Passes by / Passes on by / We take the bus.”\u003cem>—Shannon Faulise\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe style=\"border-radius:12px\" src=\"https://open.spotify.com/embed/album/0uyOPmxwf90ZetNWcyE1Gd?utm_source=generator\" width=\"100%\" height=\"352\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen allow=\"autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture\" loading=\"lazy\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>John Mackk, \u003cem>Signing Day\u003c/em> (10K Projects)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>After it dropped in January, John Mackk’s \u003cem>Signing Day\u003c/em> sent ripple effects through the streets and across social media platforms. The high-octane Oakland rapper’s “Slow It Down,” which features a Bobby Valentino sample, has been one of the most popular songs out of the region over the past calendar year, and has been remixed multiple times with verses from the likes of Mozzy, Mike Sherm, 310babii and more. Produced by Denero “N3ro” Johnson, its combination of quaking bass and heavenly strings creates a catchy dynamic, especially when paired with Mackk’s lyrics. The song’s popularity might only be overshadowed by Mackk’s other 2024 single, “Pose For Me,” (which isn’t on his latest album).\u003cem>—Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1423688760/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Osees, \u003cem>Sorcs 80\u003c/em> (Castle Face)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Osees have put out so many albums and changed their name so many times (you might know them for their imperial San Francisco-based run as Thee Oh Sees), you’d imagine fans and critics would’ve gotten fatigue many times over. Yet John Dwyer’s ever-shifting garage-rock project seems to attract a new generation of fans with every new incarnation. Though they’ve been based in L.A. for a decade, you don’t have to look far in the Bay Area music scene to see bands barely of drinking age imitating Dwyer’s jerky presence and jarring whoops. It’s a testament to Osees’ malleability that \u003cem>Sorcs 80\u003c/em> lacks a single guitar and still feels essential. Hearing Dwyer and crew coax such brain-zapping sounds out of their synths is enough to give you faith in the future of rock as a fertile breeding ground for out-there ideas — especially if enough young punks rip off this record.\u003cem>—Daniel Bromfield\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2418799346/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Quinn DeVeaux, \u003cem>Leisure\u003c/em> (Self-released)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Quinn DeVeaux, a longtime singer and guitarist from Oakland, has always rooted his repertoire in blues, R&B, soul and gospel traditions. July’s \u003cem>Leisure\u003c/em> found him once again harnessing those distinctly American genres: A grab bag of styles like soul, rock and country, \u003cem>Leisure\u003c/em> is a rollicking good time that almost jumps out of your speakers. There’s so much energy packed into it, you almost feel like you’re seeing it live.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When it was first released, \u003cem>Leisure\u003c/em> felt like a crowd-pleasing record for barbecues and house parties. Recently, however, it has taken on new meaning for me. The way it pays respect to the very best of American music stirs up a strange patriotism: Though many of us may be losing faith in American institutions, \u003cem>Leisure\u003c/em> is a pointed reminder of one of our greatest cultural contributions to the world. Our artistic heritage is something we can’t afford to abandon, and something no one can truly take away — not so long as people like Quinn DeVeaux are keeping it alive.\u003cem>—Jody Amable\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" style=\"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;\" src=\"https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1552304739/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/\" width=\"100%\" height=\"500\" scrolling=\"yes\" class=\"iframe-class\" frameborder=\"0\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Ian Carey & Wood Metal Plastic, \u003cem>Strange Arts\u003c/em> (Kabocha)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Strange Arts\u003c/em>, the new album by El Cerrito trumpeter Ian Carey, is less a soundtrack for the visual feast left by his father than a fruitful preliminary dialogue. A maestro of assemblage and collage, Philip Carey created strange and captivating works out of everyday materials. While sorting and archiving the estate after his father’s death in 2022, Ian came to evoke the art’s insistent patterns in the music he wrote for Wood Metal Plastic. Featuring alto saxophonist Kasey Knudsen, bassist Lisa Mezzacappa, drummer Jon Arkin, cellist Jessica Ivry and violinists Alisa Rose and Mia Bella d’Augelli, the seven-piece combo works as a unified ensemble rather than jazz quartet plus strings. Flowing from lush, thickly orchestrated harmonies and quicksilver counterpoint to dissonant undercurrents and skittering cross-section voicings, Carey’s writing unfolds in a bright, liminal dominion where post-bop, free improv and chamber music cavort in playful sympathy.\u003cem>—Andrew Gilbert\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>After uniting the West Coast with “Not Like Us” earlier this year, Kendrick Lamar has arrived with another anthem, “squabble up.” The standout track from K.Dot’s surprise new album, \u003cem>GNX\u003c/em>, which hit streaming last Friday, is a funky flip of Debbie Deb’s freestyle classic, “When I Hear Music.” Its music video arrived Monday morning, and Lamar packed it with hip-hop culture (and history) references that lean heavily into his hometown of Compton, and also include an homage to the Bay Area.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/fuV4yQWdn_4?si=-PoFOJhHqeb7Utga\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the video, Lamar posts up in an empty Victorian living room, rapping nonchalantly in a Dodgers-blue hoodie while scenes unfold around him, like \u003ca href=\"https://www.artnews.com/art-news/news/kendrick-lamar-henry-taylor-stage-sets-music-festival-lollapalooza-2023-1234675862/\">Henry Taylor paintings\u003c/a> brought to life. David Hammond’s red, green and black \u003ca href=\"https://www.moma.org/collection/works/222169\">\u003cem>African American Flag\u003c/em>\u003c/a> hangs on the wall. Dancers c-walk; girls pose in front of a mall-style airbrushed backdrop; and a lowrider hits the hydraulics. Lamar also slips in references to Black pop culture staples, including Isaac Hayes, \u003cem>Soul Train\u003c/em> and the 1993 film \u003cem>Menace II Society\u003c/em>, which features the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13968340/saafir-dead-oakland-rapper-dies-at-54\">late Oakland rapper Saafir\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>About 50 seconds in, we see Lamar crack open a book called \u003cem>How to Be More Like Kendrick for Dummies\u003c/em> as Bay Area turf dancers go stupid and ride scraper bikes around him. Local fans might recognize \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/dmonte_fashion/\">Dmonte\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/icecold3000/?hl=en\">Icecold 3000\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/aktivetf/\">Aktive\u003c/a> of Turf Feinz and \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/pti_allgold/?hl=en\">Kiing Velo\u003c/a> (a.k.a. All Gold Niinoo) of Best Alive Dance Crew.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Thank you for phuckin wit east Oakland, west Oakland and Richmond,” Icecold wrote on Instagram.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Icecold 3000 tells KQED the opportunity came about when he least expected it. One day, while playing \u003cem>NBA 2K\u003c/em> with friends, he got an Instagram DM from the video’s director, Calmatic. “He said he needed me to come down to L.A. for something. But he couldn’t tell me what it was because he was on a contract,” Icecold says. [aside postid='arts_13932887,arts_13960019']\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He and Aktive decided to take a chance and drive down. When they arrived on set, they started to notice it was buzzing with industry figures like L.A. rapper G Perico and dancer Storm DeBarge. Among the many L.A. faces, they ran into Velo and Dmonte, who they knew from the turfing scene in the Bay.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Our chemistry was just so, so electric when we were shooting our takes,” Icecold recalls. “I think we shot like 20 takes almost, and they was asking, ‘Did you just meet each other today? How is the chemistry so high?’ So we had to tell them, we from the same area. We grew up around each other.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As for the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13937384/the-original-scraper-bike-team-cruises-on\">scraper bikes\u003c/a>, they weren’t imported from Oakland. The music video production team recreated their signature colorful wheels. “I think they did a good job with the design, down to the clothes they had us wear. They was really trying to capture the actual essence of the hyphy movement [of the 2000s],” Icecold says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Surprisingly enough, Kendrick Lamar was actually not on set with Icecold and the dancers. He was added into the scene after the fact, in post-production.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“So it was basically just everybody else [there], like all the other rappers and artists and people connected to him,” says Icecold.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Lamar’s nod to an iconic Bay Area dance style is not the first time the hitmaker has referenced the region in his art. He shot his music video for “Alright,” from his pivotal album \u003cem>To Pimp a Butterfly\u003c/em>, on Treasure Island in 2015. More recently, he tapped Vallejo legend E-40 to host his Juneteenth stadium show in L.A. as he made his victory lap after his beef with Drake. “squabble up” is just his latest show of appreciation for the Bay’s contributions to West Coast hip-hop culture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Icecold 3000, who noted his phone’s been blowing up all day, says he walked away from the experience with a deep sense of gratitude. Not just because Kendrick showed love to the Bay, but because the “squabble up” video reminds audiences that dance is a crucial part of hip-hop. He hopes more artists will include turfing in their videos and keep the art alive.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Just him showing love to the dance community first and foremost — I love and respect that,” Icecold says. “I think people forget how big the dancers is, and how important the dancers have always been\u003ci>.”\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>After uniting the West Coast with “Not Like Us” earlier this year, Kendrick Lamar has arrived with another anthem, “squabble up.” The standout track from K.Dot’s surprise new album, \u003cem>GNX\u003c/em>, which hit streaming last Friday, is a funky flip of Debbie Deb’s freestyle classic, “When I Hear Music.” Its music video arrived Monday morning, and Lamar packed it with hip-hop culture (and history) references that lean heavily into his hometown of Compton, and also include an homage to the Bay Area.\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/fuV4yQWdn_4'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/fuV4yQWdn_4'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>In the video, Lamar posts up in an empty Victorian living room, rapping nonchalantly in a Dodgers-blue hoodie while scenes unfold around him, like \u003ca href=\"https://www.artnews.com/art-news/news/kendrick-lamar-henry-taylor-stage-sets-music-festival-lollapalooza-2023-1234675862/\">Henry Taylor paintings\u003c/a> brought to life. David Hammond’s red, green and black \u003ca href=\"https://www.moma.org/collection/works/222169\">\u003cem>African American Flag\u003c/em>\u003c/a> hangs on the wall. Dancers c-walk; girls pose in front of a mall-style airbrushed backdrop; and a lowrider hits the hydraulics. Lamar also slips in references to Black pop culture staples, including Isaac Hayes, \u003cem>Soul Train\u003c/em> and the 1993 film \u003cem>Menace II Society\u003c/em>, which features the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13968340/saafir-dead-oakland-rapper-dies-at-54\">late Oakland rapper Saafir\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>About 50 seconds in, we see Lamar crack open a book called \u003cem>How to Be More Like Kendrick for Dummies\u003c/em> as Bay Area turf dancers go stupid and ride scraper bikes around him. Local fans might recognize \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/dmonte_fashion/\">Dmonte\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/icecold3000/?hl=en\">Icecold 3000\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/aktivetf/\">Aktive\u003c/a> of Turf Feinz and \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/pti_allgold/?hl=en\">Kiing Velo\u003c/a> (a.k.a. All Gold Niinoo) of Best Alive Dance Crew.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Thank you for phuckin wit east Oakland, west Oakland and Richmond,” Icecold wrote on Instagram.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Icecold 3000 tells KQED the opportunity came about when he least expected it. One day, while playing \u003cem>NBA 2K\u003c/em> with friends, he got an Instagram DM from the video’s director, Calmatic. “He said he needed me to come down to L.A. for something. But he couldn’t tell me what it was because he was on a contract,” Icecold says. \u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He and Aktive decided to take a chance and drive down. When they arrived on set, they started to notice it was buzzing with industry figures like L.A. rapper G Perico and dancer Storm DeBarge. Among the many L.A. faces, they ran into Velo and Dmonte, who they knew from the turfing scene in the Bay.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Our chemistry was just so, so electric when we were shooting our takes,” Icecold recalls. “I think we shot like 20 takes almost, and they was asking, ‘Did you just meet each other today? How is the chemistry so high?’ So we had to tell them, we from the same area. We grew up around each other.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As for the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13937384/the-original-scraper-bike-team-cruises-on\">scraper bikes\u003c/a>, they weren’t imported from Oakland. The music video production team recreated their signature colorful wheels. “I think they did a good job with the design, down to the clothes they had us wear. They was really trying to capture the actual essence of the hyphy movement [of the 2000s],” Icecold says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Surprisingly enough, Kendrick Lamar was actually not on set with Icecold and the dancers. He was added into the scene after the fact, in post-production.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“So it was basically just everybody else [there], like all the other rappers and artists and people connected to him,” says Icecold.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Lamar’s nod to an iconic Bay Area dance style is not the first time the hitmaker has referenced the region in his art. He shot his music video for “Alright,” from his pivotal album \u003cem>To Pimp a Butterfly\u003c/em>, on Treasure Island in 2015. More recently, he tapped Vallejo legend E-40 to host his Juneteenth stadium show in L.A. as he made his victory lap after his beef with Drake. “squabble up” is just his latest show of appreciation for the Bay’s contributions to West Coast hip-hop culture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Icecold 3000, who noted his phone’s been blowing up all day, says he walked away from the experience with a deep sense of gratitude. Not just because Kendrick showed love to the Bay, but because the “squabble up” video reminds audiences that dance is a crucial part of hip-hop. He hopes more artists will include turfing in their videos and keep the art alive.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Just him showing love to the dance community first and foremost — I love and respect that,” Icecold says. “I think people forget how big the dancers is, and how important the dancers have always been\u003ci>.”\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Anthony Robles’ story seems almost tailor made for a Hollywood film. Born with only one leg, his right, he overcame the prejudices of those around him and his own physical limitations to become a champion wrestler. Though coaches at the top wrestling programs couldn’t see his potential, he was undeterred, coasting on his own determination and his mother Judy’s (Jennifer Lopez) unwavering belief in him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13968835']The film version is aptly titled \u003cem>Unstoppable\u003c/em>, and it’s getting a limited theatrical release starting Friday before it streams on Prime Video on Jan. 16. Directed by William Goldenberg, the Oscar-winning editor of \u003cem>Argo\u003c/em> making his feature directorial debut, \u003cem>Unstoppable\u003c/em> has all the makings of a rousing sports drama that’s sure to have audiences cheering in theaters or on their couches. You’d have to be a certain kind of grinch not to get swept up in the hurdles and triumphs, especially with such a compelling lead performance from Jharrel Jerome. And yet for a story about a guy who shattered expectations, the film itself is rather conventional.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Eschewing the temptation to tell his story from birth, \u003cem>Unstoppable\u003c/em>’s arc begins at the end of high school. He chose long ago to not rely on a prosthetic and is comfortable in his body. His sport is wrestling, which he’ll joke later that he chose because it was the only one where the other guy couldn’t run away from him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though he’s winning at the high school level, the exciting college programs, like Iowa, are not interested in taking a chance on him. His best offer is a full ride at Drexel in Philadelphia, which everyone agrees is better than walking on at one of the better-known schools. But complications on the home front force his hand and soon enough he’s walking on at Arizona State University, trying to prove himself to a coach, Sean Charles (Don Cheadle), who had already advised him to go elsewhere.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fxEEdR2ZTDw\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mom as eldest son’s biggest cheerleader she isn’t, but Judy has a lot going on. She had Anthony at age 16 and, when we meet up with them, is married and has four young children with Rick (Bobby Cannavale), a toxic husband and father who goes long on the virtues of making the right choices and being a man and providing for his family (which, spoiler, he doesn’t). It’s a very one-note role for Cannavale, just a shorthand villain who’s always just around the corner ready to ruin things, whether it’s dinner or Anthony’s plans to move across the country.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13969006']Regardless of how much this is true, \u003cem>Unstoppable\u003c/em> relies too heavily on the cliches of a working-class domestic drama and Rick’s vileness which perhaps is a little insulting to Judy’s experience. This is a woman who managed to achieve incredible things (revealed at the end) despite being a single mother to five. While Lopez is magnetic as always, it’s hard not to wonder what this character might have looked like if one of the three credited screenwriters had been a woman. Judy does get her own arc and demonstrates her agency in a mic drop kind of scene, but it seems like a rather small moment to concentrate on once you’ve learned what she went on to accomplish.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The film is really best when it’s about the sport, the impossible training including a run up a rocky hill that Anthony does on his crutches, the matches, and Anthony’s relationships with his coaches who become de facto father figures for him. Michael Peña, as his high school coach, is particularly impactful in his limited scenes, and Cheadle is always a joy. But it’s ultimately Jerome’s show, and a good one at that. Let’s hope it’s the first of many leading film roles for him.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Unstoppable’ is released in limited theaters on Dec. 6, 2024. It begins streaming on Prime Video on Jan. 16, 2025.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Anthony Robles’ story seems almost tailor made for a Hollywood film. Born with only one leg, his right, he overcame the prejudices of those around him and his own physical limitations to become a champion wrestler. Though coaches at the top wrestling programs couldn’t see his potential, he was undeterred, coasting on his own determination and his mother Judy’s (Jennifer Lopez) unwavering belief in him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>The film version is aptly titled \u003cem>Unstoppable\u003c/em>, and it’s getting a limited theatrical release starting Friday before it streams on Prime Video on Jan. 16. Directed by William Goldenberg, the Oscar-winning editor of \u003cem>Argo\u003c/em> making his feature directorial debut, \u003cem>Unstoppable\u003c/em> has all the makings of a rousing sports drama that’s sure to have audiences cheering in theaters or on their couches. You’d have to be a certain kind of grinch not to get swept up in the hurdles and triumphs, especially with such a compelling lead performance from Jharrel Jerome. And yet for a story about a guy who shattered expectations, the film itself is rather conventional.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Eschewing the temptation to tell his story from birth, \u003cem>Unstoppable\u003c/em>’s arc begins at the end of high school. He chose long ago to not rely on a prosthetic and is comfortable in his body. His sport is wrestling, which he’ll joke later that he chose because it was the only one where the other guy couldn’t run away from him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though he’s winning at the high school level, the exciting college programs, like Iowa, are not interested in taking a chance on him. His best offer is a full ride at Drexel in Philadelphia, which everyone agrees is better than walking on at one of the better-known schools. But complications on the home front force his hand and soon enough he’s walking on at Arizona State University, trying to prove himself to a coach, Sean Charles (Don Cheadle), who had already advised him to go elsewhere.\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/fxEEdR2ZTDw'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/fxEEdR2ZTDw'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mom as eldest son’s biggest cheerleader she isn’t, but Judy has a lot going on. She had Anthony at age 16 and, when we meet up with them, is married and has four young children with Rick (Bobby Cannavale), a toxic husband and father who goes long on the virtues of making the right choices and being a man and providing for his family (which, spoiler, he doesn’t). It’s a very one-note role for Cannavale, just a shorthand villain who’s always just around the corner ready to ruin things, whether it’s dinner or Anthony’s plans to move across the country.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Regardless of how much this is true, \u003cem>Unstoppable\u003c/em> relies too heavily on the cliches of a working-class domestic drama and Rick’s vileness which perhaps is a little insulting to Judy’s experience. This is a woman who managed to achieve incredible things (revealed at the end) despite being a single mother to five. While Lopez is magnetic as always, it’s hard not to wonder what this character might have looked like if one of the three credited screenwriters had been a woman. Judy does get her own arc and demonstrates her agency in a mic drop kind of scene, but it seems like a rather small moment to concentrate on once you’ve learned what she went on to accomplish.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The film is really best when it’s about the sport, the impossible training including a run up a rocky hill that Anthony does on his crutches, the matches, and Anthony’s relationships with his coaches who become de facto father figures for him. Michael Peña, as his high school coach, is particularly impactful in his limited scenes, and Cheadle is always a joy. But it’s ultimately Jerome’s show, and a good one at that. Let’s hope it’s the first of many leading film roles for him.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Unstoppable’ is released in limited theaters on Dec. 6, 2024. It begins streaming on Prime Video on Jan. 16, 2025.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969095\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969095\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration: Two men devour several plates of soul food: gumbo, a fried seafood platter, smothered pork chops.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1920\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace1.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Nella’s Place has a quiet, down-home elegance. The San Leandro soul food spot also serves some of the Bay Area’s tastiest gumbo. \u003ccite>(Thien Pham)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/the-midnight-diners\">\u003ci>The Midnight Diners\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003ci> is a regular collaboration between KQED food editor Luke Tsai and graphic novelist \u003c/i>\u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/thiendog/?hl=en\">\u003ci>Thien Pham\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003ci>. Follow them each week as they explore the hot pot restaurants, taco carts and 24-hour casino buffets that make up the Bay Area’s after-hours dining scene.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Walking into \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/nellasplace1/\">Nella’s Place\u003c/a>, a soul food restaurant on a quiet corner in San Leandro, feels like stepping into the living room of a particularly stylish auntie. The color scheme is all silver and white: bedazzled vases, three-ring chandeliers, curtains and tablecloths. Some of it is brand new with the tags still on, like you’re at a furniture showroom. The speakers play a steady stream of smooth R&B slow jams from the 1970s — deep cuts from the likes of Rose Royce and The Stylistics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All in all, the place has a quiet, down-home, distinctly grown-up kind of elegance. Oh, and also: There’s a pot of gumbo simmering on the stove, and you swear it smells better than anything you’ve smelled before.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We had driven down to Nella’s — which until recently went by “Sistas Soul Food Kafe” — late on a Friday night expressly because we were in the mood for soul food. The restaurant is open until 10 p.m. and does its last call at 9:30 (we made it just in time) — so it’s pushing up against the border of what might rightfully be categorized as a late-night food spot. Then again, with so many Bay Area soul food spots turning their lights out by 8 o’clock, the ability to get a hold of a plate of smothered turkey wings after 9 felt downright miraculous.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On the night of our visit, there was a steady stream of takeout customers all the way up until closing time. Almost all of them were older Black men, in their 60s or 70s, stopping in by themselves to pick up a late dinner — in my experience, a sure sign that the food was going to be a hit.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969099\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969099\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace-2.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration: Exterior of a restaurant at night. The sign reads, "Nella's Place" in ornate lettering.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1920\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace-2.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace-2-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace-2-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace-2-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace-2-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace-2-1536x1536.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The restaurant is located on a quiet corner in San Leandro. \u003ccite>(Thien Pham)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>It certainly didn’t disappoint. Start with the restaurant’s signature gumbo, which even in its smaller “lunch”-size portion came in an enormous bowl filled to the brim with andouille sausage, chicken slow-simmered long enough that even the bones had nearly disintegrated, and a big, generous pile of crab legs. And the broth! It was dark and smoky, savory and briny like the sea. I don’t want to say it was the best gumbo I’ve ever eaten in the Bay, but it’s hard for me to recall a better version. We licked the bowl clean even though we knew it meant we’d never finish all the other food we’d ordered.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And what a spread it was. There were pork chops smothered in a thick, savory gravy, the meat still tender and juicy after being batter-fried — on the saltier side, but delicious over white rice. (The owner also brought over a sample of her turkey chops — the breast sliced into thick “chops” and prepared the same way — and we liked those even better.) There was a sublimely oozy version of mac and cheese, made with the big, extra-wide elbows and spiked with jalapeños. There was even crisp stir-fried cabbage — a refreshing vegetable addition to an otherwise heavy meal.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cspan style=\"color: #2b2b2b;font-weight: 400\">[aside postID='arts_13968142,arts_13953702,arts_13952384']\u003c/span>\u003c/span>Of course we had to try the fried fish too, and the basa was top-tier, light and crisp without a hint of extra grease. It went especially well with Nella’s potato salad, which had been blended until it was smooth and airy-light, almost like whipped potatoes, with that bright, classic Southern flavor profile.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At that point, we didn’t really have room for dessert, but it was hard to resist the charms of the banana pudding cake, which was phenomenal — moist and not too sweet, and studded with soft Nilla Wafers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We were properly stuffed, then, with a big clamshell container of leftovers under each arm, when we stumbled out into the night, the smell of gumbo and pork gravy on our breaths. We listened to the voices of the old men busting each other’s chops inside the Black barbershop next door and made plans to come back soon — even if it was just for a slice of cake.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://nellasplace.com/\">\u003ci>Nella’s Place\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003ci> is open Wednesday through Sunday 5 –10 p.m. at 571 Bancroft Ave. in San Leandro. Last call for food orders is at 9:30.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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The San Leandro soul food spot also serves some of the Bay Area’s tastiest gumbo. \u003ccite>(Thien Pham)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/the-midnight-diners\">\u003ci>The Midnight Diners\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003ci> is a regular collaboration between KQED food editor Luke Tsai and graphic novelist \u003c/i>\u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/thiendog/?hl=en\">\u003ci>Thien Pham\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003ci>. Follow them each week as they explore the hot pot restaurants, taco carts and 24-hour casino buffets that make up the Bay Area’s after-hours dining scene.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Walking into \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/nellasplace1/\">Nella’s Place\u003c/a>, a soul food restaurant on a quiet corner in San Leandro, feels like stepping into the living room of a particularly stylish auntie. The color scheme is all silver and white: bedazzled vases, three-ring chandeliers, curtains and tablecloths. Some of it is brand new with the tags still on, like you’re at a furniture showroom. The speakers play a steady stream of smooth R&B slow jams from the 1970s — deep cuts from the likes of Rose Royce and The Stylistics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All in all, the place has a quiet, down-home, distinctly grown-up kind of elegance. Oh, and also: There’s a pot of gumbo simmering on the stove, and you swear it smells better than anything you’ve smelled before.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We had driven down to Nella’s — which until recently went by “Sistas Soul Food Kafe” — late on a Friday night expressly because we were in the mood for soul food. The restaurant is open until 10 p.m. and does its last call at 9:30 (we made it just in time) — so it’s pushing up against the border of what might rightfully be categorized as a late-night food spot. Then again, with so many Bay Area soul food spots turning their lights out by 8 o’clock, the ability to get a hold of a plate of smothered turkey wings after 9 felt downright miraculous.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On the night of our visit, there was a steady stream of takeout customers all the way up until closing time. Almost all of them were older Black men, in their 60s or 70s, stopping in by themselves to pick up a late dinner — in my experience, a sure sign that the food was going to be a hit.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969099\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969099\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace-2.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration: Exterior of a restaurant at night. The sign reads, "Nella's Place" in ornate lettering.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1920\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace-2.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace-2-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace-2-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace-2-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace-2-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Nellasplace-2-1536x1536.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The restaurant is located on a quiet corner in San Leandro. \u003ccite>(Thien Pham)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>It certainly didn’t disappoint. Start with the restaurant’s signature gumbo, which even in its smaller “lunch”-size portion came in an enormous bowl filled to the brim with andouille sausage, chicken slow-simmered long enough that even the bones had nearly disintegrated, and a big, generous pile of crab legs. And the broth! It was dark and smoky, savory and briny like the sea. I don’t want to say it was the best gumbo I’ve ever eaten in the Bay, but it’s hard for me to recall a better version. We licked the bowl clean even though we knew it meant we’d never finish all the other food we’d ordered.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And what a spread it was. There were pork chops smothered in a thick, savory gravy, the meat still tender and juicy after being batter-fried — on the saltier side, but delicious over white rice. (The owner also brought over a sample of her turkey chops — the breast sliced into thick “chops” and prepared the same way — and we liked those even better.) There was a sublimely oozy version of mac and cheese, made with the big, extra-wide elbows and spiked with jalapeños. There was even crisp stir-fried cabbage — a refreshing vegetable addition to an otherwise heavy meal.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cspan style=\"color: #2b2b2b;font-weight: 400\">\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/span>\u003c/span>Of course we had to try the fried fish too, and the basa was top-tier, light and crisp without a hint of extra grease. It went especially well with Nella’s potato salad, which had been blended until it was smooth and airy-light, almost like whipped potatoes, with that bright, classic Southern flavor profile.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At that point, we didn’t really have room for dessert, but it was hard to resist the charms of the banana pudding cake, which was phenomenal — moist and not too sweet, and studded with soft Nilla Wafers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We were properly stuffed, then, with a big clamshell container of leftovers under each arm, when we stumbled out into the night, the smell of gumbo and pork gravy on our breaths. We listened to the voices of the old men busting each other’s chops inside the Black barbershop next door and made plans to come back soon — even if it was just for a slice of cake.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://nellasplace.com/\">\u003ci>Nella’s Place\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003ci> is open Wednesday through Sunday 5 –10 p.m. at 571 Bancroft Ave. in San Leandro. Last call for food orders is at 9:30.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"headTitle": "The Best Dishes I Ate in 2024 | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cp>For me, the first four years (!) of this decade in Bay Area food were largely defined by \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13907197/best-dishes-bay-area-2021\">pandemic-era\u003c/a> \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13921917/best-dishes-bay-area-2022\">takeout\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13939138/best-dishes-sf-bay-area-2023\">cozy meals eaten close to home\u003c/a>. In many ways, I felt as though my whole world had contracted, as more and more interactions were filtered through Zoom meetings, QR codes and delivery apps. So, this year I really wanted to get back to exploring the entirety of the Bay Area food scene in a more robust and deliberate way — its creative pop-ups; its distant, outer-suburban enclaves; and, especially, its underappreciated \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/the-midnight-diners\">late-night haunts\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The good news? The scene is just as delicious and joyous as ever. Here, then, are 10 of my favorite dishes from 2024, presented in roughly the chronological order in which I ate them:\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968991\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968991\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala.jpg\" alt=\"A large platter topped with grated hard-boiled eggs in green sauce, a fried egg, and two rolls.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The egg gotala is a star of Egglicious’s egg-centric menu. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>1. Surti egg gotala at Egglicious India\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>4996 Stevens Creek Blvd., San Jose\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I’ve always been a big egg person, but no restaurant exploded my view of how many different ways you might cook a chicken egg than Egglicious, San Jose’s fully “eggetarian” Indian restaurant, where a single dish might include three or four different imaginative egg preparations. I was especially amazed by the Surti egg gotala, a kind of thick curry topped with both a runny-yolked fried egg and a couple of hard-boiled eggs grated into coarse white shavings that resembled shredded mozzarella cheese. Scooped up with fluffy pav rolls, it was the most flavorful three-egg plate I’d eaten in years.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968993\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968993\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab.jpg\" alt=\"A whole Dungeness crab served on a plate over a bed of French fries.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A-One Kitchen serves one of the best garlic butter Dungeness crabs in the Bay. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>2. Garlic butter crab at A-One Kitchen\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>677 San Mateo Ave., San Bruno\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Because of my ongoing \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/the-midnight-diners\">Midnight Diners\u003c/a> series, this has largely been a year of exploring the Bay Area’s much-disparaged late-night food scene, which, to be totally transparent, I only had modest hopes for at the start of the project. But I remember exactly when my expectations flipped on their head: dinner at \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13951914/dungeness-crab-garlic-noodles-san-bruno-late-night\">A-One Kitchen\u003c/a>, a festive Thai-Chinese spot across the street from the Artichoke Joe’s casino that stays open until 1 a.m. We feasted on garlicky, butter-soaked roast Dungeness crab and heaping plates of garlic noodles, and everything was so delicious, it made me realize that in some cases the Bay Area’s late-night food is also its best food — straight up. No caveats necessary.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968994\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968994\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya.jpg\" alt=\"A fried meat pie, plated elegantly next to a sprig of green herbs.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The suya meat pie at E Le Aɖe’s Ghanaian-Ethiopian pop-up. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>3. Meat pie at E Le Aɖe Test Kitchen Pop-Up at Cafe Colucci\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>5849 San Pablo Ave., Oakland\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>My favorite fine dining meal of the year was a Ghanaian-Ethiopian fusion pop-up by Chef Selasie Dotse, hosted on the back patio at Cafe Colucci. As a person who sometimes finds tasting menu food a little bit samey-samey, this was the cannon blast of bold diasporic flavors I was looking for: a yam pave spiked with fiery chile-and-tomato hot sauce that knocked me upside the head, rockfish “kitfo” and injera reimagined as a kind of fish taco, and on and on. My favorite was the chef’s take on suya — the spice rub applied, in this case, to braised oxtail that was stuffed inside a gorgeous, flaky pastry, with a side of zippy peanut romesco sauce for dipping. Delicious. (Unfortunately, Dotse’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13938506/cafe-colucci-pop-up-oakland-ethiopian-ghanaian-selasie-dotse\">E Le Aɖe pop-up series\u003c/a> ended shortly after the dinner I attended, and the chef is \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/DDEGI77xeXd/?img_index=1\">moving to the East Coast\u003c/a>. But \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/cafecolucci/?hl=en\">Cafe Colucci’s\u003c/a> patio is worth keeping an eye on as it’s become a regular landing spot for similarly audacious pop-ups.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968995\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968995\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish.jpg\" alt=\"Crawfish boil in a plastic bag.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A bag of goodness at Cajun Bistro 7. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>4. Crawfish boil at Cajun Bistro 7\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>3005 Silver Creek Rd. Ste. 116, San Jose\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Maybe the best crawfish I’ve ever eaten in my life can be found at this little San Jose strip mall spot that serves \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13954983/viet-cajun-seafood-crawfish-boil-san-jose-late-night\">Viet-Cajun seafood boils until 4 a.m. every night\u003c/a> (because each day’s shipment of live crawfish comes in from Louisiana — or the Sacramento delta during the off season — at 5). Cajun Bistro 7’s creamy, garlicky seafood-boil sauces are extremely addicting, but it was the freshness of the little crustaceans themselves that blew my mind — so plump, toothsome and naturally sweet.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968996\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968996\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo.jpg\" alt=\"Watermelon balls and shave ice served inside the watermelon rind.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The watermelon bing soo at Ping Yang is a showstopper. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>5. Watermelon bing soo at Ping Yang\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>955 Larkin St., San Francisco\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It would be hard to orchestrate a more perfect meal of homey comfort food than \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13957599/late-night-thai-food-dessert-sf-ping-yang\">the dinner I had at this cozy Thai cafe\u003c/a> this spring: pad see ew topped with wok-seared pork jowl and a simple Thai omelette over jasmine rice. Dessert, on the other hand, was a straight-up showstopper: a giant bing soo (Korean shaved ice) served inside a hollowed-out watermelon rind and piled high with melon balls that looked like gleaming bright red jewels. But while the presentation may have been flashy, the pleasures of this bing soo were just as plain and comforting as the rest of the meal — ripe, juicy fruit and sweet, condensed milk–infused ice shaved so finely it was like digging my spoon into the fluffiest freshly fallen powder snow.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968997\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968997\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua.jpg\" alt=\"Whipped tofu pudding topped with crushed sesame brittle.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Piglet & Co.’s take on dou hua, or tofu pudding, made for an ingenious dessert. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>6. Strawberry and dou hua at Piglet & Co.\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>2170 Mission St., San Francisco\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Speaking of dessert, the most memorable dish of my first meal at Piglet & Co. — a stylish, Taiwanese-inspired fusion spot in the Mission — was the chefs’ take on douhua, or tofu pudding, a ginger-syrup-soaked treat I’d enjoyed, hot or cold, during trips to Taipei ever since I was a kid. In Piglet & Co.’s ingenious version, the tofu was blended and whipped, so that it took on the texture of an airy mousse. On top, there was a layer of crushed sesame brittle and a few sprigs of fresh mint; fresh strawberries were hidden underneath. The overall effect was magical: like a nostalgic bowl of Lunar New Year’s tangyuan zhuzhed up with a dash of Bay Area summer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13962178\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13962178\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2.jpg\" alt='A huge smoked \"dinosaur\" beef rib on a paper-lined tray.' width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A dino beef rib at Fikscue in Alameda. \u003ccite>(Marissa Leshnov for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>7. Dino beef rib at Fikscue\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>1708 Park St., Alameda\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the months since I \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13962220/fikscue-best-indonesian-texas-barbecue-smoked-brisket-alameda\">first wrote about it\u003c/a>, this scrappy, self-styled “Indo-Tex” barbecue spot in Alameda has blown up even more, getting named one of the best new restaurants in the entire country by national outlets like \u003ca href=\"https://www.eater.com/24282771/best-new-restaurants-america-2024\">Eater\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2024/dining/best-restaurants-america.html#fikscue\">\u003ci>The New York Times\u003c/i>\u003c/a>, and gearing up to open a flashy \u003ca href=\"https://chasecenter.com/news/thrive-city-announces-addition-of-fikscue-craft-barbecue-20240816/\">new location at the Chase Center\u003c/a>. The thing about Fikscue is that Chef Fik Saleh’s Texas-style ’cue is good enough to make this list all on its own — I still daydream about the gigantic dino beef rib, which was so tender and fatty that it wobbled obscenely each time I nudged the meat with my fork. But the genius of Fikscue is how well the barbecue goes with all of the Indonesian side dishes — the peanut slaw, creamy kale curry and smoke-kissed nasi goreng fried rice.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968998\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968998\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck.jpg\" alt=\"A plate of Cantonese roast duck.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Go Duck Yourself’s signature Cantonese roast duck. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>8. Cantonese barbecue at Go Duck Yourself\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>439 Cortland Ave., San Francisco\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Late in the pandemic, my favorite old-school SF Chinatown butcher shop, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13913478/bird-flu-duck-shortage-san-francisco-chinatown-hing-lung\">Hing Lung Company\u003c/a>, relocated to Bernal Heights, built out a handsome new dining room, adopted a jokey new moniker — and somehow the food got even better?? Maybe it’s because I finally got to taste the \u003ca href=\"https://www.sfchronicle.com/food/article/Brothers-reinvent-their-father-s-meat-shop-in-12375005.php\">Cheung brothers’\u003c/a> Cantonese barbecue the way God intended it to be eaten: hot and fresh without having sat for 20 minutes in a takeout box. What I still can’t decide for the life of me, though, is which I love more: the roast pork belly, with its immaculately crunchy skin, or the absurdly juicy (and conveniently deboned) duck, which was especially delicious drizzled with soy sauce and rendered fat over hot white rice. Luckily, you don’t have to choose.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968999\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968999\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall.jpg\" alt='A night market stall with a hand-written sign that reads, \"Het Say.\"' width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Hết Sẩy’s stall at the Story Road Night Market in October 2024. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>9. Charcoal-grilled ribs at Hết Sẩy\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Various locations, San Jose\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After years of reading rave reviews of this \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/11963136/flavor-profile-beyond-banh-mi-san-jose-pop-up-plays-with-classics-of-vietnamese-cuisine\">homegrown Vietnamese pop-up\u003c/a>, I had my first Hết Sẩy experience at San Jose’s new \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13961537/san-jose-night-market-vietnamese-grand-century-mall\">Story Road Night Market\u003c/a> — easily the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13961537/san-jose-night-market-vietnamese-grand-century-mall\">most night market-y night market\u003c/a> I’ve been to in the Bay. And Hết Sẩy’s offerings were the best dishes we ate all night: the flaky little curry-chicken hand pie, fragrant with lemongrass, and most delicious of all, the pork ribs, grilled over a charcoal fire that one of Hết Sẩy’s chefs tended to lovingly with a bamboo fan so that the entire mall parking lot was suffused with the seductive smell of charred meat. Old-school cooking! The ribs were impossibly succulent and savory, topped with a bright and funky fish sauce and calamansi dressing that lingered on my fingers deliciously for the rest of the night.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969000\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969000\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice.jpg\" alt=\"Cooked rice in a claypot.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The yellow eel claypot rice is one of Taishan Cuisine’s signature dishes. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>10. Yellow eel claypot rice at Taishan Cuisine\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>781 Broadway, San Francisco\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Another \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13967564/taishan-cuisine-san-francisco-chinatown-late-night-food\">Midnight Diners fave\u003c/a>, Taishan Cuisine is a repository of homey, comforting Toisan dishes — the cuisine of San Francisco’s earliest Chinese immigrants. Of particular note: the yellow eel claypot rice (or any of the other claypot rice dishes, really), which glistens with the uber-aromatic sheen of rendered fish fat. I loved breaking off shards of the crispy, toasty rice crust at the bottom of the pot to eat over the course of the meal. To be able to enjoy such a dish at 3 a.m. on any night of the week? What a dream.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>For me, the first four years (!) of this decade in Bay Area food were largely defined by \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13907197/best-dishes-bay-area-2021\">pandemic-era\u003c/a> \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13921917/best-dishes-bay-area-2022\">takeout\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13939138/best-dishes-sf-bay-area-2023\">cozy meals eaten close to home\u003c/a>. In many ways, I felt as though my whole world had contracted, as more and more interactions were filtered through Zoom meetings, QR codes and delivery apps. So, this year I really wanted to get back to exploring the entirety of the Bay Area food scene in a more robust and deliberate way — its creative pop-ups; its distant, outer-suburban enclaves; and, especially, its underappreciated \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/the-midnight-diners\">late-night haunts\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The good news? The scene is just as delicious and joyous as ever. Here, then, are 10 of my favorite dishes from 2024, presented in roughly the chronological order in which I ate them:\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968991\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968991\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala.jpg\" alt=\"A large platter topped with grated hard-boiled eggs in green sauce, a fried egg, and two rolls.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/egglicious-gotala-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The egg gotala is a star of Egglicious’s egg-centric menu. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>1. Surti egg gotala at Egglicious India\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>4996 Stevens Creek Blvd., San Jose\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I’ve always been a big egg person, but no restaurant exploded my view of how many different ways you might cook a chicken egg than Egglicious, San Jose’s fully “eggetarian” Indian restaurant, where a single dish might include three or four different imaginative egg preparations. I was especially amazed by the Surti egg gotala, a kind of thick curry topped with both a runny-yolked fried egg and a couple of hard-boiled eggs grated into coarse white shavings that resembled shredded mozzarella cheese. Scooped up with fluffy pav rolls, it was the most flavorful three-egg plate I’d eaten in years.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968993\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968993\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab.jpg\" alt=\"A whole Dungeness crab served on a plate over a bed of French fries.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/a-one-crab-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A-One Kitchen serves one of the best garlic butter Dungeness crabs in the Bay. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>2. Garlic butter crab at A-One Kitchen\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>677 San Mateo Ave., San Bruno\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Because of my ongoing \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/the-midnight-diners\">Midnight Diners\u003c/a> series, this has largely been a year of exploring the Bay Area’s much-disparaged late-night food scene, which, to be totally transparent, I only had modest hopes for at the start of the project. But I remember exactly when my expectations flipped on their head: dinner at \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13951914/dungeness-crab-garlic-noodles-san-bruno-late-night\">A-One Kitchen\u003c/a>, a festive Thai-Chinese spot across the street from the Artichoke Joe’s casino that stays open until 1 a.m. We feasted on garlicky, butter-soaked roast Dungeness crab and heaping plates of garlic noodles, and everything was so delicious, it made me realize that in some cases the Bay Area’s late-night food is also its best food — straight up. No caveats necessary.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968994\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968994\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya.jpg\" alt=\"A fried meat pie, plated elegantly next to a sprig of green herbs.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/e-lade-suya-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The suya meat pie at E Le Aɖe’s Ghanaian-Ethiopian pop-up. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>3. Meat pie at E Le Aɖe Test Kitchen Pop-Up at Cafe Colucci\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>5849 San Pablo Ave., Oakland\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>My favorite fine dining meal of the year was a Ghanaian-Ethiopian fusion pop-up by Chef Selasie Dotse, hosted on the back patio at Cafe Colucci. As a person who sometimes finds tasting menu food a little bit samey-samey, this was the cannon blast of bold diasporic flavors I was looking for: a yam pave spiked with fiery chile-and-tomato hot sauce that knocked me upside the head, rockfish “kitfo” and injera reimagined as a kind of fish taco, and on and on. My favorite was the chef’s take on suya — the spice rub applied, in this case, to braised oxtail that was stuffed inside a gorgeous, flaky pastry, with a side of zippy peanut romesco sauce for dipping. Delicious. (Unfortunately, Dotse’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13938506/cafe-colucci-pop-up-oakland-ethiopian-ghanaian-selasie-dotse\">E Le Aɖe pop-up series\u003c/a> ended shortly after the dinner I attended, and the chef is \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/DDEGI77xeXd/?img_index=1\">moving to the East Coast\u003c/a>. But \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/cafecolucci/?hl=en\">Cafe Colucci’s\u003c/a> patio is worth keeping an eye on as it’s become a regular landing spot for similarly audacious pop-ups.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968995\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968995\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish.jpg\" alt=\"Crawfish boil in a plastic bag.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/cajun-bistro-7-crawfish-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A bag of goodness at Cajun Bistro 7. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>4. Crawfish boil at Cajun Bistro 7\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>3005 Silver Creek Rd. Ste. 116, San Jose\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Maybe the best crawfish I’ve ever eaten in my life can be found at this little San Jose strip mall spot that serves \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13954983/viet-cajun-seafood-crawfish-boil-san-jose-late-night\">Viet-Cajun seafood boils until 4 a.m. every night\u003c/a> (because each day’s shipment of live crawfish comes in from Louisiana — or the Sacramento delta during the off season — at 5). Cajun Bistro 7’s creamy, garlicky seafood-boil sauces are extremely addicting, but it was the freshness of the little crustaceans themselves that blew my mind — so plump, toothsome and naturally sweet.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968996\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968996\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo.jpg\" alt=\"Watermelon balls and shave ice served inside the watermelon rind.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/ping-yang-bing-soo-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The watermelon bing soo at Ping Yang is a showstopper. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>5. Watermelon bing soo at Ping Yang\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>955 Larkin St., San Francisco\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It would be hard to orchestrate a more perfect meal of homey comfort food than \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13957599/late-night-thai-food-dessert-sf-ping-yang\">the dinner I had at this cozy Thai cafe\u003c/a> this spring: pad see ew topped with wok-seared pork jowl and a simple Thai omelette over jasmine rice. Dessert, on the other hand, was a straight-up showstopper: a giant bing soo (Korean shaved ice) served inside a hollowed-out watermelon rind and piled high with melon balls that looked like gleaming bright red jewels. But while the presentation may have been flashy, the pleasures of this bing soo were just as plain and comforting as the rest of the meal — ripe, juicy fruit and sweet, condensed milk–infused ice shaved so finely it was like digging my spoon into the fluffiest freshly fallen powder snow.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968997\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968997\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua.jpg\" alt=\"Whipped tofu pudding topped with crushed sesame brittle.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/piglet-douhua-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Piglet & Co.’s take on dou hua, or tofu pudding, made for an ingenious dessert. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>6. Strawberry and dou hua at Piglet & Co.\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>2170 Mission St., San Francisco\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Speaking of dessert, the most memorable dish of my first meal at Piglet & Co. — a stylish, Taiwanese-inspired fusion spot in the Mission — was the chefs’ take on douhua, or tofu pudding, a ginger-syrup-soaked treat I’d enjoyed, hot or cold, during trips to Taipei ever since I was a kid. In Piglet & Co.’s ingenious version, the tofu was blended and whipped, so that it took on the texture of an airy mousse. On top, there was a layer of crushed sesame brittle and a few sprigs of fresh mint; fresh strawberries were hidden underneath. The overall effect was magical: like a nostalgic bowl of Lunar New Year’s tangyuan zhuzhed up with a dash of Bay Area summer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13962178\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13962178\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2.jpg\" alt='A huge smoked \"dinosaur\" beef rib on a paper-lined tray.' width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/08/20240804_KQED_FIKSCUE_ML_0219-KQED-2-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A dino beef rib at Fikscue in Alameda. \u003ccite>(Marissa Leshnov for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>7. Dino beef rib at Fikscue\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>1708 Park St., Alameda\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the months since I \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13962220/fikscue-best-indonesian-texas-barbecue-smoked-brisket-alameda\">first wrote about it\u003c/a>, this scrappy, self-styled “Indo-Tex” barbecue spot in Alameda has blown up even more, getting named one of the best new restaurants in the entire country by national outlets like \u003ca href=\"https://www.eater.com/24282771/best-new-restaurants-america-2024\">Eater\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2024/dining/best-restaurants-america.html#fikscue\">\u003ci>The New York Times\u003c/i>\u003c/a>, and gearing up to open a flashy \u003ca href=\"https://chasecenter.com/news/thrive-city-announces-addition-of-fikscue-craft-barbecue-20240816/\">new location at the Chase Center\u003c/a>. The thing about Fikscue is that Chef Fik Saleh’s Texas-style ’cue is good enough to make this list all on its own — I still daydream about the gigantic dino beef rib, which was so tender and fatty that it wobbled obscenely each time I nudged the meat with my fork. But the genius of Fikscue is how well the barbecue goes with all of the Indonesian side dishes — the peanut slaw, creamy kale curry and smoke-kissed nasi goreng fried rice.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968998\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968998\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck.jpg\" alt=\"A plate of Cantonese roast duck.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/go-duck-yourself-duck-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Go Duck Yourself’s signature Cantonese roast duck. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>8. Cantonese barbecue at Go Duck Yourself\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>439 Cortland Ave., San Francisco\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Late in the pandemic, my favorite old-school SF Chinatown butcher shop, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13913478/bird-flu-duck-shortage-san-francisco-chinatown-hing-lung\">Hing Lung Company\u003c/a>, relocated to Bernal Heights, built out a handsome new dining room, adopted a jokey new moniker — and somehow the food got even better?? Maybe it’s because I finally got to taste the \u003ca href=\"https://www.sfchronicle.com/food/article/Brothers-reinvent-their-father-s-meat-shop-in-12375005.php\">Cheung brothers’\u003c/a> Cantonese barbecue the way God intended it to be eaten: hot and fresh without having sat for 20 minutes in a takeout box. What I still can’t decide for the life of me, though, is which I love more: the roast pork belly, with its immaculately crunchy skin, or the absurdly juicy (and conveniently deboned) duck, which was especially delicious drizzled with soy sauce and rendered fat over hot white rice. Luckily, you don’t have to choose.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968999\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968999\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall.jpg\" alt='A night market stall with a hand-written sign that reads, \"Het Say.\"' width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/het-say-stall-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Hết Sẩy’s stall at the Story Road Night Market in October 2024. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>9. Charcoal-grilled ribs at Hết Sẩy\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Various locations, San Jose\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After years of reading rave reviews of this \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/11963136/flavor-profile-beyond-banh-mi-san-jose-pop-up-plays-with-classics-of-vietnamese-cuisine\">homegrown Vietnamese pop-up\u003c/a>, I had my first Hết Sẩy experience at San Jose’s new \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13961537/san-jose-night-market-vietnamese-grand-century-mall\">Story Road Night Market\u003c/a> — easily the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13961537/san-jose-night-market-vietnamese-grand-century-mall\">most night market-y night market\u003c/a> I’ve been to in the Bay. And Hết Sẩy’s offerings were the best dishes we ate all night: the flaky little curry-chicken hand pie, fragrant with lemongrass, and most delicious of all, the pork ribs, grilled over a charcoal fire that one of Hết Sẩy’s chefs tended to lovingly with a bamboo fan so that the entire mall parking lot was suffused with the seductive smell of charred meat. Old-school cooking! The ribs were impossibly succulent and savory, topped with a bright and funky fish sauce and calamansi dressing that lingered on my fingers deliciously for the rest of the night.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13969000\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13969000\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice.jpg\" alt=\"Cooked rice in a claypot.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/taishan-eel-claypot-rice-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The yellow eel claypot rice is one of Taishan Cuisine’s signature dishes. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>10. Yellow eel claypot rice at Taishan Cuisine\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>781 Broadway, San Francisco\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Another \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13967564/taishan-cuisine-san-francisco-chinatown-late-night-food\">Midnight Diners fave\u003c/a>, Taishan Cuisine is a repository of homey, comforting Toisan dishes — the cuisine of San Francisco’s earliest Chinese immigrants. Of particular note: the yellow eel claypot rice (or any of the other claypot rice dishes, really), which glistens with the uber-aromatic sheen of rendered fish fat. I loved breaking off shards of the crispy, toasty rice crust at the bottom of the pot to eat over the course of the meal. To be able to enjoy such a dish at 3 a.m. on any night of the week? What a dream.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Who doesn’t enjoy the unmistakable aroma of warm, buttery pretzels – you know the one – that delicious scent that stops you in your tracks at a mall, airport, or ballpark? But have you ever wondered about its peculiar shape? Or maybe where it came from and who invented it? Well, this twisted piece of delicious dough has been working its magic on humans for centuries and in this episode of Beyond the Menu we unravel the history of this delicious snack. From ancient Celtic fertility rites to Italian monks and prohibition movements here in the U.S., join us as we unravel centuries of pretzel lore that will make you appreciate this staple snack in a whole new way. And let’s just say there is nothing stale about this tale.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Subscribe to \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/@KQEDFood\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">KQED Food’s YouTube channel\u003c/a> to watch more Beyond The Menu videos.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Support for this program comes from Krishnan Shah Family Foundation and supporters of the KQED Studios Fund\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Read More:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://squabisch.com/\">Squabisch\u003c/a>\u003cbr>\n\u003ca href=\"https://www.heinzelcheese.de/lesen/\">Ursula Heinzelmann\u003c/a>\u003cbr>\n\u003ca href=\"https://www.williamwoysweaverepicurewithhoe.com/\">Dr. William Woys Weaver\u003c/a>\u003cbr>\n\u003ca href=\"https://www.heinzhistorycenter.org/blog/western-pennsylvania-history-pretzels-and-prohibition/#_ednref1\">Leslie Przybylek\u003c/a>\u003cbr>\n\u003ca href=\"https://theconversation.com/how-the-pretzel-went-from-soft-to-hard-and-other-little-known-facts-about-one-of-the-worlds-favorite-snacks-95409\">Jeffrey Miller\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Who doesn’t enjoy the unmistakable aroma of warm, buttery pretzels – you know the one – that delicious scent that stops you in your tracks at a mall, airport, or ballpark? But have you ever wondered about its peculiar shape? Or maybe where it came from and who invented it? Well, this twisted piece of delicious dough has been working its magic on humans for centuries and in this episode of Beyond the Menu we unravel the history of this delicious snack. From ancient Celtic fertility rites to Italian monks and prohibition movements here in the U.S., join us as we unravel centuries of pretzel lore that will make you appreciate this staple snack in a whole new way. And let’s just say there is nothing stale about this tale.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Subscribe to \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/@KQEDFood\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">KQED Food’s YouTube channel\u003c/a> to watch more Beyond The Menu videos.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Support for this program comes from Krishnan Shah Family Foundation and supporters of the KQED Studios Fund\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Read More:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://squabisch.com/\">Squabisch\u003c/a>\u003cbr>\n\u003ca href=\"https://www.heinzelcheese.de/lesen/\">Ursula Heinzelmann\u003c/a>\u003cbr>\n\u003ca href=\"https://www.williamwoysweaverepicurewithhoe.com/\">Dr. William Woys Weaver\u003c/a>\u003cbr>\n\u003ca href=\"https://www.heinzhistorycenter.org/blog/western-pennsylvania-history-pretzels-and-prohibition/#_ednref1\">Leslie Przybylek\u003c/a>\u003cbr>\n\u003ca href=\"https://theconversation.com/how-the-pretzel-went-from-soft-to-hard-and-other-little-known-facts-about-one-of-the-worlds-favorite-snacks-95409\">Jeffrey Miller\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Saafir, the raspy-voiced Oakland rapper who infused the rhythms of avant-garde jazz into his rhymes, died on Tuesday morning, according to family. He was 54.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A joint \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/DCj_iNlS5aE/\">Instagram post\u003c/a> by the rapper Xzibit and Saafir’s son explained that the rapper born Reggie Gibson died at 8:45 a.m., surrounded by friends and family.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We surrounded him and let him know how much we loved him,” the post read. “He can rest now.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>No cause of death was announced. Saafir had long struggled with complications from a spinal surgery and other health problems.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968341\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1122px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968341\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/Saafir.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1122\" height=\"1244\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/Saafir.jpg 1122w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/Saafir-800x887.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/Saafir-1020x1131.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/Saafir-160x177.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/Saafir-768x852.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1122px) 100vw, 1122px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Saafir.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>With his early 1990s hip-hop group Hobo Junction, Saafir made a name for himself as a lyrically dextrous and inventive rapper with a distinct, guttural style. He is remembered by hip-hop fans nationwide, and especially in the Bay Area, for incandescently propelling a \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13924170/the-bay-area-rap-battle-heard-round-the-world\">legendary 1994 on-air freestyle battle\u003c/a> between his Hobo Junction crew and fellow East Bay collective Hieroglyphics that lasted more than 40 minutes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Saafir spent his early teenage years in and out of group homes in Oakland, with at least one stint in jail. Inspired by early rappers like Too Short and LL Cool J, he began writing raps and developing a cadence that frequently avoided the downbeat.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While working with \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/digital-underground\">Digital Underground\u003c/a>, Saafir was onetime roommates with \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/tupac-shakur\">Tupac Shakur\u003c/a>, who introduced the West Oakland-bred young talent to Hollywood movie directors Albert and Allen Hughes. Saafir appeared in their 1993 film \u003cem>Menace II Society\u003c/em> as the character cousin Harold.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Before long, Saafir was offered a major record deal from music industry titan Quincy Jones. The resulting album, \u003cem>Boxcar Sessions\u003c/em>, bridged the dynamism of jazz innovators like Eric Dolphy and Andrew Hill with the streetwise sounds and themes of crack-era Oakland. To celebrate its release, Saafir performed a \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ww82T3UmSEU\">free show\u003c/a> in front of Leopold’s Records, just off Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley, where Hobo Junction first began selling underground tapes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lfQWH8QsNjA\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Only a handful of albums followed. In 2013, on the blog of hip-hop historian Davey D, Shock G from Digital Underground explained Saafir’s absence from the scene in a \u003ca href=\"https://hiphopandpolitics.com/2013/02/12/shock-g-of-digital-underground-explains-why-saafir-is-bound-to-a-wheelchair/\">sprawling list of accidents, afflictions and obstacles\u003c/a> that went viral among diehard fans. Saafir later clarified parts of Shock G’s recollection in an interview with the \u003ca href=\"https://sfbgarchive.48hills.org/sfbgarchive/2013/03/27/reality-rap-qa-saafir-saucee-nomad/\">\u003cem>San Francisco Bay Guardian\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, where he detailed the challenges of navigating the healthcare system.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13924170']Saafir, who used a wheelchair after his spinal surgery, made very few public appearances over the past 15 years. He often made an exception, however, for \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13863999/dream-day-2019-celebrating-mike-dream-franciscos-50th-birthday\">Dream Day\u003c/a> — an annual tribute to his late friend and graffiti artist \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/10141391/dream-but-dont-sleep-remembering-mike-dream-francisco\">Mike “Dream” Francisco\u003c/a>. In 2014, he appeared onstage in San Francisco to perform his hit “Light Sleeper,” supported by the show’s headliner and his former battle nemesis from Hieroglyphics, Casual.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though their famous freestyle battle hosted by Sway on KMEL’s \u003cem>The Wake Up Show\u003c/em> painted Saafir and Casual as enemies in the public imagination, the two retained their respect for each other.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In a short documentary, \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QC7OtfYxDaQ\">The Battle\u003c/a>\u003c/em>, Saafir commended Casual: “You really brought out the best. You made me wanna be a monster, and I respect it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Saafir is survived by a son — the rapper known as Lil Saafir — and a brother. No services have yet been announced.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Saafir, the raspy-voiced Oakland rapper who infused the rhythms of avant-garde jazz into his rhymes, died on Tuesday morning, according to family. He was 54.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A joint \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/DCj_iNlS5aE/\">Instagram post\u003c/a> by the rapper Xzibit and Saafir’s son explained that the rapper born Reggie Gibson died at 8:45 a.m., surrounded by friends and family.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We surrounded him and let him know how much we loved him,” the post read. “He can rest now.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>No cause of death was announced. Saafir had long struggled with complications from a spinal surgery and other health problems.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968341\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1122px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968341\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/Saafir.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1122\" height=\"1244\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/Saafir.jpg 1122w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/Saafir-800x887.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/Saafir-1020x1131.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/Saafir-160x177.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/Saafir-768x852.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1122px) 100vw, 1122px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Saafir.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>With his early 1990s hip-hop group Hobo Junction, Saafir made a name for himself as a lyrically dextrous and inventive rapper with a distinct, guttural style. He is remembered by hip-hop fans nationwide, and especially in the Bay Area, for incandescently propelling a \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13924170/the-bay-area-rap-battle-heard-round-the-world\">legendary 1994 on-air freestyle battle\u003c/a> between his Hobo Junction crew and fellow East Bay collective Hieroglyphics that lasted more than 40 minutes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Saafir spent his early teenage years in and out of group homes in Oakland, with at least one stint in jail. Inspired by early rappers like Too Short and LL Cool J, he began writing raps and developing a cadence that frequently avoided the downbeat.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While working with \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/digital-underground\">Digital Underground\u003c/a>, Saafir was onetime roommates with \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/tupac-shakur\">Tupac Shakur\u003c/a>, who introduced the West Oakland-bred young talent to Hollywood movie directors Albert and Allen Hughes. Saafir appeared in their 1993 film \u003cem>Menace II Society\u003c/em> as the character cousin Harold.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Before long, Saafir was offered a major record deal from music industry titan Quincy Jones. The resulting album, \u003cem>Boxcar Sessions\u003c/em>, bridged the dynamism of jazz innovators like Eric Dolphy and Andrew Hill with the streetwise sounds and themes of crack-era Oakland. To celebrate its release, Saafir performed a \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ww82T3UmSEU\">free show\u003c/a> in front of Leopold’s Records, just off Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley, where Hobo Junction first began selling underground tapes.\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/lfQWH8QsNjA'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/lfQWH8QsNjA'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Only a handful of albums followed. In 2013, on the blog of hip-hop historian Davey D, Shock G from Digital Underground explained Saafir’s absence from the scene in a \u003ca href=\"https://hiphopandpolitics.com/2013/02/12/shock-g-of-digital-underground-explains-why-saafir-is-bound-to-a-wheelchair/\">sprawling list of accidents, afflictions and obstacles\u003c/a> that went viral among diehard fans. Saafir later clarified parts of Shock G’s recollection in an interview with the \u003ca href=\"https://sfbgarchive.48hills.org/sfbgarchive/2013/03/27/reality-rap-qa-saafir-saucee-nomad/\">\u003cem>San Francisco Bay Guardian\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, where he detailed the challenges of navigating the healthcare system.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Saafir, who used a wheelchair after his spinal surgery, made very few public appearances over the past 15 years. He often made an exception, however, for \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13863999/dream-day-2019-celebrating-mike-dream-franciscos-50th-birthday\">Dream Day\u003c/a> — an annual tribute to his late friend and graffiti artist \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/10141391/dream-but-dont-sleep-remembering-mike-dream-francisco\">Mike “Dream” Francisco\u003c/a>. In 2014, he appeared onstage in San Francisco to perform his hit “Light Sleeper,” supported by the show’s headliner and his former battle nemesis from Hieroglyphics, Casual.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though their famous freestyle battle hosted by Sway on KMEL’s \u003cem>The Wake Up Show\u003c/em> painted Saafir and Casual as enemies in the public imagination, the two retained their respect for each other.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In a short documentary, \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QC7OtfYxDaQ\">The Battle\u003c/a>\u003c/em>, Saafir commended Casual: “You really brought out the best. You made me wanna be a monster, and I respect it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Saafir is survived by a son — the rapper known as Lil Saafir — and a brother. No services have yet been announced.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"slug": "richie-rich-oakland-rap-larussell-second-act",
"title": "‘Never Underestimate the OG’: Richie Rich's Second Act",
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"headTitle": "‘Never Underestimate the OG’: Richie Rich’s Second Act | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cp>[dropcap]O[/dropcap]n a Sunday afternoon in mid-November, \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/larussell/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">LaRussell\u003c/a> is onstage at The New Parish in Oakland, energetically hurling rhyme pyrotechnics, just days after the premiere of \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w40XbPyotj8\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">his NPR \u003cem>Tiny Desk\u003c/em> concert\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Known for his clever lyrics, charismatic personality and nonstop production, LaRussell has \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13937331/larussell-vallejo-def-jam-record-deal\">refused to sign with a major label\u003c/a>. He hosts sold-out shows at a small venue, The Pergola, built in his backyard. Staunchly independent, he’s paved his own lane in the rap game by investing in himself, his community and his culture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>His latest investment: the reintroduction of \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/tharealrichierich/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Richie Rich\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968024\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968024\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-scaled.jpeg\" alt='While on stage with rising Vallejo rap star LaRussell at the New Parish in Oakland, veteran rapper Richie Rich tells the crowd that \"Double R\" now stands for LaRussell and Rich.' width=\"2560\" height=\"1707\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-scaled.jpeg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-800x533.jpeg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-1020x680.jpeg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-160x107.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-768x512.jpeg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-1536x1024.jpeg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-2048x1365.jpeg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-1920x1280.jpeg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">At the New Parish in Oakland on Nov. 10, 2024, veteran rapper Richie Rich tells the crowd that “Double R” now stands for LaRussell and Rich. \u003ccite>(Jason Hayes / \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/j.castae/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\">J.Castae\u003c/a>)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Minutes into Sunday’s show, after LaRussell warms up the crowd with violinist \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/michaelprinceviolin/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Michael Prince\u003c/a> and vocalist \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/shante_music/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Shanté\u003c/a>, Rich walks out on stage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Richie Rich’s pedigree is \u003cem>deep\u003c/em>. He’s a former Def Jam signee who influenced Snoop Dogg and was friends with Tupac. He had songs on \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YC_RQEby1JQ\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cem>The Nutty Professor\u003c/em>\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/track/3EcVo3nMBveyqGi7MzTZdM\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cem>How To Be A Player\u003c/em>\u003c/a> soundtracks. His 1996 album \u003cem>Seasoned Veteran\u003c/em> spawned two singles on the Billboard Top 100. And his verse on \u003ca href=\"http://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/timeline#i-got-5-on-it-remix-a-meeting-of-greats-recorded-in-alameda\">the remix to the Luniz’ anthem “I Got 5 On It”\u003c/a> provided the Town with the classic line: “Where you from? Oakland. Smokin’.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fittingly, at the New Parish, the artist who founded the pioneering rap group 415 enters to the beat of one of his group’s best-known songs, 1990’s “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UsOeXoZoYPo\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Side Show\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQGqYHg-uyI\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Over a stripped-down instrumental on live keyboard, Rich raps bar-for-bar in his raspy, laid-back flow, crisp and clear, without any background vocals. When the chorus hits, LaRussell steps in and remixes it, pulling from \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h4d7UwaNrIQ\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">the 2006 remake, “The Sideshow,”\u003c/a> by the late Traxamillion, Too Short and Mistah FAB.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It becomes clear: this isn’t just a guest appearance of Richie Rich at a LaRussell show. No, this is two emcees, with an age gap of over 20 years, trading bars, innovating on stage and moving the crowd.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As the audience recites the lyrics, the energy builds. LaRussell and \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/splashthakidd/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Splash Tha Kidd\u003c/a> are on stage giggin’, jumping as they dance. After the second verse, the crowd is turned up.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Richie Rich, grounded, laughs and calmly says, “Na… that’s how you got me last time.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s3TM5WSCvZs\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[dropcap]F[/dropcap]our months prior in LaRussell’s backyard, onstage at the Pergola, the energy got the best of Rich.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During a performance of the song “What We Doin!?” which features Richie Rich alongside LaRussell and \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/mal4chii/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">an 18 year-old MC named MALACHI,\u003c/a> Rich was in go mode. The P-Lo–produced track, full of high energy, is the type of song that makes one jump on stage — even if they know damn well they shouldn’t.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Under the scorching August sun, Rich was a few bars into his verse when the 56-year-old rapper, bouncing alongside the crowd, turned to his left. Suddenly, his knee popped. Falling to the ground, he kept rapping without missing a beat, freestyling new lyrics to communicate what’d just happened to his leg — “blew my knee actin’ out my age” — and even diagnosing it as a torn lower patella.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YGqKGhZkuug\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All of this could’ve easily become a huge setback. Instead, in a world where the elements of hip-hop have expanded to include viral moments and social media influence, the widely viewed footage of Richie Rich kicking culture while sustaining a painful injury only helped reestablish his footprint in the rap game.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I recently caught up with Rich for a long conversation at his home in the East Bay, his leg in a brace as he sat across from me. Rich is a mild-mannered person who was raised by well-to-do parents, but despite his upbringing — and lifelong issues with his knees — he ran the streets.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968025\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1180px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968025\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6004-e1731530175543.jpg\" alt=\"With a scar on one knee and the other in a brace, you can tell that Richie Rich has had some conversations with his knees-- and they've done most of the talking.\" width=\"1180\" height=\"1554\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6004-e1731530175543.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6004-e1731530175543-800x1054.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6004-e1731530175543-1020x1343.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6004-e1731530175543-160x211.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6004-e1731530175543-768x1011.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6004-e1731530175543-1166x1536.jpg 1166w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1180px) 100vw, 1180px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">With a scar on one knee and the other in a brace, it’s clear Richie Rich has had some conversations with his knees — and they’ve done most of the talking. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Richie Rich)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“I’m from up the hill, I’m not even from the flats,” says Rich, explaining his childhood and the topography of Deep East Oakland in one statement. “I went down the hill, and that shit changed me, bro,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Them spokes that you see on that car out here?” Rich says, pointing to the gold rims of his cognac-colored 1972 Cutlass Oldsmobile. He first saw them, he explains, on a Falcon when he was 12. Little Rich ran to tell the driver how clean they were, but the light turned green and the driver pulled off. A few weeks later, Rich caught the driver at a red light and properly complemented him. The driver thanked him, and suggested he could one day have a car like that, too, before tapping the gas pedal and leaving tire treads in the intersection.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“If I live to be 90,” says Rich, fully committed to his cars, “I’ma have some gold ones and Vogues, you better know.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968026\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968026\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"Rapper Richie Rich poses in a Raiders Bo Jackson jersey, while standing in front of his Cutlass Oldsmobile.\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1920\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">In a Raiders Bo Jackson jersey, Richie Rich poses with his 1972 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Richie Rich)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Rich’s street life and hillside upbringing brought about different perspectives. He had run-ins with the law, though he often evaded them. But the culture had a grip on him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I was two people,” says Rich, from behind dark sunglasses. “I was Richie Rich and I was Double R.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He elaborates: “Double R was the dude who went down the hill, Richie Rich was the dude who lived up the hill. So Richie Rich wrote ‘Do G’s Get to Go to Heaven,’” he says. “Double R wrote ‘Side Show’ and ‘Snitches and Bitches.'”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s always been a tug-of-war between these two sides, he says. Fortunately his dad gave him constant reassurance, and his mom gave him spiritual guidance, even if it came in the form of heavy-handed discipline.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“My mom was so strict,” Rich reflects, “that when I got caught stealing at Longs Drugs and they told me they was going to call my mom, I said, ‘Na, call the police. Don’t call my momma!'”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Once his mother found the Lord, “she brought that spirituality to us and locked us in with it,” says Rich. A sweet woman who was very hard to impress, Rich says he’d get good grades and his mother would remark, “Want to impress me? Show me that you can fly.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When Rich signed with Def Jam, the label sent a car to take him to the airport. Misty-eyed, he reflects on his mother’s reaction. “She knocked on my door, and said, ‘There’s a limousine out front, Richie.’” Fanning out, she asked, “Can I go outside and see?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rich recalls her floating out the door in her trademark blue robe, sitting in the stretch limo, finally understanding that her son had made something of himself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968116\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968116\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1353\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518-800x541.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518-1020x690.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518-768x520.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518-1536x1039.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518-1920x1299.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Richie Rich pictured in New York City on Aug. 10, 1996, the day he signed with Def Jam Records. \u003ccite>(Al Pereira/Getty Images/Michael Ochs Archives)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>[dropcap]R[/dropcap]ich had a conversation with his knees when he was a kid. They told him, “We’re gonna hold you down if the red and blue lights get behind you, or the dogs get to chasing you. Outside of that, don’t be attending those softball games and don’t play no three-on-threes,” he recalls.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Years later, Rich still has trouble walking in his own legacy. Almost 35 years since his 1990 debut solo album, \u003cem>Don’t Do It\u003c/em>, he’s on the verge of dropping a new project titled \u003cem>Richard\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The album, set to release on the platform \u003ca href=\"https://get.even.biz/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Even\u003c/a> next month and then to all streaming services in January, features \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/larryjunetfm/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Larry June\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/youngjr/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Young JR\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/msjanehandcock/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Jane Handcock\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/e-40\">E-40\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/thedelinquents86/?hl=en\">V. White of The Delinquents\u003c/a>. There’s a track where Rich pays homage to the slick players who came before him, as well as one with open critiques of current Oakland culture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968027\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968027\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-scaled.jpg\" alt='\"Top of the Rolex, top of the Rolex,\" Richie says as he addresses people during his regular social media video check-ins.' width=\"1920\" height=\"2560\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-scaled.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-1152x1536.jpg 1152w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-1536x2048.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Top of the Rolex, top of the Rolex,’ Richie says as he addresses people during regular social media video check-ins. \u003ccite>(Richie Rich)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Rich has been open about his issues with the place that raised him. In January of this year the rapper made headlines for \u003ca href=\"https://www.tmz.com/watch/2024-01-19-011924-richie-rich-1761556-305/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">a rant he posted on social media\u003c/a>, proclaiming that he was leaving California. “The cost of living here is going up, but the chances of living is going down,” he says in the video.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Today, he explains that Oakland losing its pro sports teams and his favorite restaurants hurts. He adds that it’s very clear that the chasm between classes is growing, and when the haves and have-nots are at odds it makes it hard to own nice things without becoming a target. (And being a known rapper from that place adds another layer.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He stands by many of the things he said in the post, but given time to reflect, he says it’s more about where he’s at this point in life than the Golden State. “I think it’s the invisibility that I’m chasing, not so much a disdain for California,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rich’s California love is motivated by his ties to the people, from family members to world renowned artists.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968115\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968115\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1499\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm-1020x764.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm-1536x1151.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm-1920x1439.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Richie Rich’s motorcycle, Makaveli, bears a portrait tribute to his late friend, Tupac Shakur. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Richie Rich )\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>He says he’s appreciative that his friend, the late Tupac Shakur, has \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13929233/tupac-shakur-street-oakland-tupac-shakur-way\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">a street named in his honor\u003c/a> and that there’s been \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2023/09/29/1202754616/suspect-in-tupac-shakur-murder-arrested\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">an arrest in connection to his murder\u003c/a>. But Rich would prefer to see Pac alive now, enjoying all he accomplished.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rich and Pac met around ’91 through a common friend, and became homies; not making music, just hanging out. As Rich’s career was in full swing and Shakur’s was just getting off the ground, Pac asked to be on a track with Rich. “Na, we’re doing gangsta music,” the rapper from the Rolling Hundreds told the young MC from Marin. “You on that Black Power shit.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13927810']The two stayed in contact, though, and Rich watched Tupac’s career explode. When Pac was incarcerated, they exchanged letters; mail that Rich wishes he would’ve kept. With a custom Harley motorcycle parked behind him, painted with Tupac’s face on it, Rich says, “When it’s your homeboy, you not planning on him dying and being one of the most famous people in the world.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Before his death, Rich saw visible changes in Tupac. “He was moving too fast,” says Rich, who urged him to lead a more private life. But that didn’t happen. Rich had to accept that “my little homie became my big homie,” as he says. So Rich did his best to look out for him in life, and continues to represent for him after his death.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition to the customized motorcycle — named Makaveli — Rich has photos, a framed plaque of albums commemorating the songs they recorded together, and a set of coat hangers in the form of middle fingers. (Tupac loved flipping people off.) Rich also has a handwritten contract ensuring songwriting royalties for his contribution to the song “Heavy in the Game,” framed and mounted on the wall in his house — signed by Tupac and his late mother, Afeni Shakur, just months before Tupac’s death.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968028\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968028\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_7651-scaled-e1731531563979.jpg\" alt=\"A handwritten contract by Tupac Shakur, ensuring Richie Rich gets royalties for their work together; written just months before Tupac's death.\" width=\"1800\" height=\"1510\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_7651-scaled-e1731531563979.jpg 1800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_7651-scaled-e1731531563979-800x671.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_7651-scaled-e1731531563979-1020x856.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_7651-scaled-e1731531563979-160x134.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_7651-scaled-e1731531563979-768x644.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_7651-scaled-e1731531563979-1536x1289.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1800px) 100vw, 1800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A handwritten contract by Tupac Shakur, ensuring that Richie Rich received royalties for their work together, written just months before Tupac’s death. \u003ccite>(Pendarvis Harshaw/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>[dropcap]A[/dropcap]ll of the art in Rich’s house is properly positioned. His crib is well-kept and organized. His cars are pristine and his head is shaved clean. It’s all a reflection of who he is, and an extension of the discipline his mother instilled in him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But there are still times when everything isn’t all put together. Instances when the unpredictable happens, like when he hits the stage and literally breaks a leg. That’s when the cool, calm, collected Rich takes a backseat, and Double R comes out.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I know what happened that day,” says Rich, reflecting on the day he fell at the Pergola. He suspects that someone else showed up inside of him — someone he’s known for a while.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“He always shows up when I’m in distress,” says Rich. The persona never stays there long enough to introduce himself, but Rich brags, “He’s raw. He knows how to rap, how to ride motorcycles, he knows how to drive cars. Yeah, he’s good at a lot of things.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968029\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968029\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-scaled.jpeg\" alt=\"LaRussell, excited to see Richie Rich perform again, says this show was extra-special for his mother and father who were in the audience at The New Parish during the show.\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1707\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-scaled.jpeg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-800x533.jpeg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-1020x680.jpeg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-160x107.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-768x512.jpeg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-1536x1024.jpeg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-2048x1365.jpeg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-1920x1280.jpeg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">LaRussell, excited to see Richie Rich perform again, says the New Parish show was extra-special for his mother and father, who were in the audience. \u003ccite>(Jason Hayes / \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/j.castae/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\">J.Castae\u003c/a>)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The song that started all of this, “What We Doin!?,” was released in June 2024 — with some subtly prophetic lines. On the first verse, recorded weeks before Rich injured his leg while performing the song, LaRussell says “Broke a leg, re-learned how to stand.” In the third verse, Rich advises: “If you know me, never underestimate the OG.” Doctors told him it would take eight months to heal. Four months later he was back on stage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At The New Parish on that Sunday afternoon in Oakland, Rich was sharp throughout the hour-long performance. A few weeks before the show, LaRussell had pulled some of his favorite Richie Rich tracks and asked if he could add them to the setlist. And though they didn’t rehearse beforehand, the two didn’t miss a beat, going through hit after hit, like Rich’s 2000 track “Playboy” and LaRussell’s 2021 song “GT Coupe.” They reimagined songs in never-before-heard iterations, spanning generations.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The following day, Rich tells me his leg is doing fine. Talking just after getting off the phone with LaRussell, he adds that the younger rapper discussed future collaborations and offered continued encouragement to the rapper who, nearly 30 years after his Def Jam debut, has more than earned the title \u003cem>Seasoned Veteran\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I didn’t know you was a dog like that, Double,” LaRussell told him. “A unc, you still got it.”\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class=\"utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__dropcapShortcode__dropcap\">O\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>n a Sunday afternoon in mid-November, \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/larussell/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">LaRussell\u003c/a> is onstage at The New Parish in Oakland, energetically hurling rhyme pyrotechnics, just days after the premiere of \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w40XbPyotj8\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">his NPR \u003cem>Tiny Desk\u003c/em> concert\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Known for his clever lyrics, charismatic personality and nonstop production, LaRussell has \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13937331/larussell-vallejo-def-jam-record-deal\">refused to sign with a major label\u003c/a>. He hosts sold-out shows at a small venue, The Pergola, built in his backyard. Staunchly independent, he’s paved his own lane in the rap game by investing in himself, his community and his culture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>His latest investment: the reintroduction of \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/tharealrichierich/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Richie Rich\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968024\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968024\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-scaled.jpeg\" alt='While on stage with rising Vallejo rap star LaRussell at the New Parish in Oakland, veteran rapper Richie Rich tells the crowd that \"Double R\" now stands for LaRussell and Rich.' width=\"2560\" height=\"1707\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-scaled.jpeg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-800x533.jpeg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-1020x680.jpeg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-160x107.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-768x512.jpeg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-1536x1024.jpeg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-2048x1365.jpeg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-66-1920x1280.jpeg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">At the New Parish in Oakland on Nov. 10, 2024, veteran rapper Richie Rich tells the crowd that “Double R” now stands for LaRussell and Rich. \u003ccite>(Jason Hayes / \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/j.castae/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\">J.Castae\u003c/a>)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Minutes into Sunday’s show, after LaRussell warms up the crowd with violinist \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/michaelprinceviolin/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Michael Prince\u003c/a> and vocalist \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/shante_music/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Shanté\u003c/a>, Rich walks out on stage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Richie Rich’s pedigree is \u003cem>deep\u003c/em>. He’s a former Def Jam signee who influenced Snoop Dogg and was friends with Tupac. He had songs on \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YC_RQEby1JQ\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cem>The Nutty Professor\u003c/em>\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/track/3EcVo3nMBveyqGi7MzTZdM\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cem>How To Be A Player\u003c/em>\u003c/a> soundtracks. His 1996 album \u003cem>Seasoned Veteran\u003c/em> spawned two singles on the Billboard Top 100. And his verse on \u003ca href=\"http://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/timeline#i-got-5-on-it-remix-a-meeting-of-greats-recorded-in-alameda\">the remix to the Luniz’ anthem “I Got 5 On It”\u003c/a> provided the Town with the classic line: “Where you from? Oakland. Smokin’.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fittingly, at the New Parish, the artist who founded the pioneering rap group 415 enters to the beat of one of his group’s best-known songs, 1990’s “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UsOeXoZoYPo\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Side Show\u003c/a>.”\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/SQGqYHg-uyI'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/SQGqYHg-uyI'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Over a stripped-down instrumental on live keyboard, Rich raps bar-for-bar in his raspy, laid-back flow, crisp and clear, without any background vocals. When the chorus hits, LaRussell steps in and remixes it, pulling from \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h4d7UwaNrIQ\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">the 2006 remake, “The Sideshow,”\u003c/a> by the late Traxamillion, Too Short and Mistah FAB.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It becomes clear: this isn’t just a guest appearance of Richie Rich at a LaRussell show. No, this is two emcees, with an age gap of over 20 years, trading bars, innovating on stage and moving the crowd.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As the audience recites the lyrics, the energy builds. LaRussell and \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/splashthakidd/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Splash Tha Kidd\u003c/a> are on stage giggin’, jumping as they dance. After the second verse, the crowd is turned up.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Richie Rich, grounded, laughs and calmly says, “Na… that’s how you got me last time.”\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/s3TM5WSCvZs'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/s3TM5WSCvZs'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class=\"utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__dropcapShortcode__dropcap\">F\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>our months prior in LaRussell’s backyard, onstage at the Pergola, the energy got the best of Rich.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During a performance of the song “What We Doin!?” which features Richie Rich alongside LaRussell and \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/mal4chii/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">an 18 year-old MC named MALACHI,\u003c/a> Rich was in go mode. The P-Lo–produced track, full of high energy, is the type of song that makes one jump on stage — even if they know damn well they shouldn’t.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Under the scorching August sun, Rich was a few bars into his verse when the 56-year-old rapper, bouncing alongside the crowd, turned to his left. Suddenly, his knee popped. Falling to the ground, he kept rapping without missing a beat, freestyling new lyrics to communicate what’d just happened to his leg — “blew my knee actin’ out my age” — and even diagnosing it as a torn lower patella.\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/YGqKGhZkuug'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/YGqKGhZkuug'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>All of this could’ve easily become a huge setback. Instead, in a world where the elements of hip-hop have expanded to include viral moments and social media influence, the widely viewed footage of Richie Rich kicking culture while sustaining a painful injury only helped reestablish his footprint in the rap game.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I recently caught up with Rich for a long conversation at his home in the East Bay, his leg in a brace as he sat across from me. Rich is a mild-mannered person who was raised by well-to-do parents, but despite his upbringing — and lifelong issues with his knees — he ran the streets.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968025\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1180px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968025\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6004-e1731530175543.jpg\" alt=\"With a scar on one knee and the other in a brace, you can tell that Richie Rich has had some conversations with his knees-- and they've done most of the talking.\" width=\"1180\" height=\"1554\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6004-e1731530175543.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6004-e1731530175543-800x1054.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6004-e1731530175543-1020x1343.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6004-e1731530175543-160x211.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6004-e1731530175543-768x1011.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6004-e1731530175543-1166x1536.jpg 1166w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1180px) 100vw, 1180px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">With a scar on one knee and the other in a brace, it’s clear Richie Rich has had some conversations with his knees — and they’ve done most of the talking. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Richie Rich)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“I’m from up the hill, I’m not even from the flats,” says Rich, explaining his childhood and the topography of Deep East Oakland in one statement. “I went down the hill, and that shit changed me, bro,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Them spokes that you see on that car out here?” Rich says, pointing to the gold rims of his cognac-colored 1972 Cutlass Oldsmobile. He first saw them, he explains, on a Falcon when he was 12. Little Rich ran to tell the driver how clean they were, but the light turned green and the driver pulled off. A few weeks later, Rich caught the driver at a red light and properly complemented him. The driver thanked him, and suggested he could one day have a car like that, too, before tapping the gas pedal and leaving tire treads in the intersection.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“If I live to be 90,” says Rich, fully committed to his cars, “I’ma have some gold ones and Vogues, you better know.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968026\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968026\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"Rapper Richie Rich poses in a Raiders Bo Jackson jersey, while standing in front of his Cutlass Oldsmobile.\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1920\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6682-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">In a Raiders Bo Jackson jersey, Richie Rich poses with his 1972 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Richie Rich)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Rich’s street life and hillside upbringing brought about different perspectives. He had run-ins with the law, though he often evaded them. But the culture had a grip on him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I was two people,” says Rich, from behind dark sunglasses. “I was Richie Rich and I was Double R.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He elaborates: “Double R was the dude who went down the hill, Richie Rich was the dude who lived up the hill. So Richie Rich wrote ‘Do G’s Get to Go to Heaven,’” he says. “Double R wrote ‘Side Show’ and ‘Snitches and Bitches.'”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s always been a tug-of-war between these two sides, he says. Fortunately his dad gave him constant reassurance, and his mom gave him spiritual guidance, even if it came in the form of heavy-handed discipline.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“My mom was so strict,” Rich reflects, “that when I got caught stealing at Longs Drugs and they told me they was going to call my mom, I said, ‘Na, call the police. Don’t call my momma!'”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Once his mother found the Lord, “she brought that spirituality to us and locked us in with it,” says Rich. A sweet woman who was very hard to impress, Rich says he’d get good grades and his mother would remark, “Want to impress me? Show me that you can fly.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When Rich signed with Def Jam, the label sent a car to take him to the airport. Misty-eyed, he reflects on his mother’s reaction. “She knocked on my door, and said, ‘There’s a limousine out front, Richie.’” Fanning out, she asked, “Can I go outside and see?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rich recalls her floating out the door in her trademark blue robe, sitting in the stretch limo, finally understanding that her son had made something of himself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968116\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968116\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1353\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518-800x541.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518-1020x690.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518-768x520.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518-1536x1039.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/GettyImages-1293520518-1920x1299.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Richie Rich pictured in New York City on Aug. 10, 1996, the day he signed with Def Jam Records. \u003ccite>(Al Pereira/Getty Images/Michael Ochs Archives)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class=\"utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__dropcapShortcode__dropcap\">R\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>ich had a conversation with his knees when he was a kid. They told him, “We’re gonna hold you down if the red and blue lights get behind you, or the dogs get to chasing you. Outside of that, don’t be attending those softball games and don’t play no three-on-threes,” he recalls.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Years later, Rich still has trouble walking in his own legacy. Almost 35 years since his 1990 debut solo album, \u003cem>Don’t Do It\u003c/em>, he’s on the verge of dropping a new project titled \u003cem>Richard\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The album, set to release on the platform \u003ca href=\"https://get.even.biz/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Even\u003c/a> next month and then to all streaming services in January, features \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/larryjunetfm/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Larry June\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/youngjr/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Young JR\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/msjanehandcock/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Jane Handcock\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/e-40\">E-40\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/thedelinquents86/?hl=en\">V. White of The Delinquents\u003c/a>. There’s a track where Rich pays homage to the slick players who came before him, as well as one with open critiques of current Oakland culture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968027\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968027\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-scaled.jpg\" alt='\"Top of the Rolex, top of the Rolex,\" Richie says as he addresses people during his regular social media video check-ins.' width=\"1920\" height=\"2560\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-scaled.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-1152x1536.jpg 1152w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_6378-1536x2048.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Top of the Rolex, top of the Rolex,’ Richie says as he addresses people during regular social media video check-ins. \u003ccite>(Richie Rich)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Rich has been open about his issues with the place that raised him. In January of this year the rapper made headlines for \u003ca href=\"https://www.tmz.com/watch/2024-01-19-011924-richie-rich-1761556-305/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">a rant he posted on social media\u003c/a>, proclaiming that he was leaving California. “The cost of living here is going up, but the chances of living is going down,” he says in the video.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Today, he explains that Oakland losing its pro sports teams and his favorite restaurants hurts. He adds that it’s very clear that the chasm between classes is growing, and when the haves and have-nots are at odds it makes it hard to own nice things without becoming a target. (And being a known rapper from that place adds another layer.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He stands by many of the things he said in the post, but given time to reflect, he says it’s more about where he’s at this point in life than the Golden State. “I think it’s the invisibility that I’m chasing, not so much a disdain for California,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rich’s California love is motivated by his ties to the people, from family members to world renowned artists.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968115\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968115\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1499\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm-1020x764.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm-1536x1151.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/screenshot_2024-11-13_at_12.52.25___pm-1920x1439.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Richie Rich’s motorcycle, Makaveli, bears a portrait tribute to his late friend, Tupac Shakur. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Richie Rich )\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>He says he’s appreciative that his friend, the late Tupac Shakur, has \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13929233/tupac-shakur-street-oakland-tupac-shakur-way\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">a street named in his honor\u003c/a> and that there’s been \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/2023/09/29/1202754616/suspect-in-tupac-shakur-murder-arrested\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">an arrest in connection to his murder\u003c/a>. But Rich would prefer to see Pac alive now, enjoying all he accomplished.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rich and Pac met around ’91 through a common friend, and became homies; not making music, just hanging out. As Rich’s career was in full swing and Shakur’s was just getting off the ground, Pac asked to be on a track with Rich. “Na, we’re doing gangsta music,” the rapper from the Rolling Hundreds told the young MC from Marin. “You on that Black Power shit.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>The two stayed in contact, though, and Rich watched Tupac’s career explode. When Pac was incarcerated, they exchanged letters; mail that Rich wishes he would’ve kept. With a custom Harley motorcycle parked behind him, painted with Tupac’s face on it, Rich says, “When it’s your homeboy, you not planning on him dying and being one of the most famous people in the world.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Before his death, Rich saw visible changes in Tupac. “He was moving too fast,” says Rich, who urged him to lead a more private life. But that didn’t happen. Rich had to accept that “my little homie became my big homie,” as he says. So Rich did his best to look out for him in life, and continues to represent for him after his death.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition to the customized motorcycle — named Makaveli — Rich has photos, a framed plaque of albums commemorating the songs they recorded together, and a set of coat hangers in the form of middle fingers. (Tupac loved flipping people off.) Rich also has a handwritten contract ensuring songwriting royalties for his contribution to the song “Heavy in the Game,” framed and mounted on the wall in his house — signed by Tupac and his late mother, Afeni Shakur, just months before Tupac’s death.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968028\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968028\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_7651-scaled-e1731531563979.jpg\" alt=\"A handwritten contract by Tupac Shakur, ensuring Richie Rich gets royalties for their work together; written just months before Tupac's death.\" width=\"1800\" height=\"1510\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_7651-scaled-e1731531563979.jpg 1800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_7651-scaled-e1731531563979-800x671.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_7651-scaled-e1731531563979-1020x856.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_7651-scaled-e1731531563979-160x134.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_7651-scaled-e1731531563979-768x644.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_7651-scaled-e1731531563979-1536x1289.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1800px) 100vw, 1800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A handwritten contract by Tupac Shakur, ensuring that Richie Rich received royalties for their work together, written just months before Tupac’s death. \u003ccite>(Pendarvis Harshaw/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class=\"utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__dropcapShortcode__dropcap\">A\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>ll of the art in Rich’s house is properly positioned. His crib is well-kept and organized. His cars are pristine and his head is shaved clean. It’s all a reflection of who he is, and an extension of the discipline his mother instilled in him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But there are still times when everything isn’t all put together. Instances when the unpredictable happens, like when he hits the stage and literally breaks a leg. That’s when the cool, calm, collected Rich takes a backseat, and Double R comes out.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I know what happened that day,” says Rich, reflecting on the day he fell at the Pergola. He suspects that someone else showed up inside of him — someone he’s known for a while.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“He always shows up when I’m in distress,” says Rich. The persona never stays there long enough to introduce himself, but Rich brags, “He’s raw. He knows how to rap, how to ride motorcycles, he knows how to drive cars. Yeah, he’s good at a lot of things.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13968029\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13968029\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-scaled.jpeg\" alt=\"LaRussell, excited to see Richie Rich perform again, says this show was extra-special for his mother and father who were in the audience at The New Parish during the show.\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1707\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-scaled.jpeg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-800x533.jpeg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-1020x680.jpeg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-160x107.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-768x512.jpeg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-1536x1024.jpeg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-2048x1365.jpeg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/LaRussell-x-Richie-Rich-New-Parish-Richie-Rich-111024-74-1920x1280.jpeg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">LaRussell, excited to see Richie Rich perform again, says the New Parish show was extra-special for his mother and father, who were in the audience. \u003ccite>(Jason Hayes / \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/j.castae/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\">J.Castae\u003c/a>)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The song that started all of this, “What We Doin!?,” was released in June 2024 — with some subtly prophetic lines. On the first verse, recorded weeks before Rich injured his leg while performing the song, LaRussell says “Broke a leg, re-learned how to stand.” In the third verse, Rich advises: “If you know me, never underestimate the OG.” Doctors told him it would take eight months to heal. Four months later he was back on stage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At The New Parish on that Sunday afternoon in Oakland, Rich was sharp throughout the hour-long performance. A few weeks before the show, LaRussell had pulled some of his favorite Richie Rich tracks and asked if he could add them to the setlist. And though they didn’t rehearse beforehand, the two didn’t miss a beat, going through hit after hit, like Rich’s 2000 track “Playboy” and LaRussell’s 2021 song “GT Coupe.” They reimagined songs in never-before-heard iterations, spanning generations.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The following day, Rich tells me his leg is doing fine. Talking just after getting off the phone with LaRussell, he adds that the younger rapper discussed future collaborations and offered continued encouragement to the rapper who, nearly 30 years after his Def Jam debut, has more than earned the title \u003cem>Seasoned Veteran\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I didn’t know you was a dog like that, Double,” LaRussell told him. “A unc, you still got it.”\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "How Kev Choice Made Room for Hip-Hop in Classical Music",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003ci>This story is part of The California Report Magazine’s series about \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/tag/california-composers\">California composers\u003c/a>. Listen to this and more in-depth storytelling by \u003ca href=\"http://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/the-california-report-magazine/id1314750545?mt=2\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">subscribing\u003c/a> to The California Report Magazine podcast.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a Wednesday morning in \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/kevchoice/?hl=en\">Kev Choice\u003c/a>’s studio, tucked away in the back of an industrial warehouse in East Oakland. The small, dark-purple room looks something like a wizard’s lair out of a fantasy novel, with tall, epic columns and dark curtains.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Kev Choice Ensemble is rehearsing for a conference that’s bringing 2,000 activists, artists and academics from across the nation to Oakland to discuss topics like the Indigenous Land Back movement and Palestinian liberation. Choice sits at his keyboard, rapping about the painful legacy of slavery before affirming the power of everyday people to make change. As his jazz band grooves, they alchemize devastation into hope.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“What I try to bring is the purpose, the intention, of the message, and uplift the issues while giving people encouragement,” he says. “[I try] to create an environment where we can just have fun and be free and enjoy together for a moment in time, before we get back to the work.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Choice speaks with the ease of someone who knows who he is and owns it, but it took him decades to move comfortably between his roots in hip-hop culture, his love of jazz and his classical training. Classical music used to turn its nose up at hip-hop. But in recent years orchestras have begun looking to collaborate with rappers to appeal to younger, more diverse audiences — basically, to stay relevant in the 21st century.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now, the world is finally catching up to the forward-thinking vision Kev Choice has had for decades.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/RMQbdElhnEo?si=itDr1mRXyofFuwJE\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Navigating separate musical worlds\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>For Choice, breaking boundaries wasn’t easy — and not just musical boundaries, but those of race, class and culture. Growing up in Oakland in the ’80s and ’90s, he began writing rhymes and studying piano seriously in middle school. Even back then, he knew he’d have to compartmentalize his two worlds.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I couldn’t talk to any of my teachers about hip-hop or making beats. They had no connection to that,” he says. “And then my hip-hop friends would kind of tease me about playing the piano.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13967710\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 960px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13967710\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/60325271_10155974893232027_2182473221847121920_n.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"960\" height=\"540\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/60325271_10155974893232027_2182473221847121920_n.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/60325271_10155974893232027_2182473221847121920_n-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/60325271_10155974893232027_2182473221847121920_n-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/60325271_10155974893232027_2182473221847121920_n-768x432.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 960px) 100vw, 960px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kev Choice at his graduation from Xavier University in 1998. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Kev Choice)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Still, Choice was undeterred: He excelled in high school orchestra and big band, and continued to rap and make beats after school. After nailing an audition at Xavier University, an HBCU in New Orleans, he got a full scholarship on the spot to study piano performance in the birthplace of jazz. Afterwards, he took off to Southern Illinois University for his master’s degree.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Choice excelled in classical piano, but he couldn’t see himself going the traditional orchestral route.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Number one, because of the lack of diversity in that world,” he says. “It just seemed like it was such a narrow opportunity for a young African American pianist who wasn’t a prodigy at age four.” [ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>An international tour with Michael Franti\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>After grad school, Choice decided it was time to return to his roots. In 2000, he moved back to Oakland with the ambition of becoming a rap star. It was a fertile time for Bay Area hip-hop. Artists like E-40 and Too Short had already reached major-label success in years prior. Alternative hip-hop artists like \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13927692/del-funky-homosapien-no-need-for-alarm-30-years-anniversary\">Deltron 3030\u003c/a> were also making waves.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13967711\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13967711\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144.jpg\" alt=\"A photocopied flyer reads: "88 Keys to the Mind, Body and Soul. A classical graduate piano recital presented by Kevin Choice. Most sought after pianist for campus occasions. Live you've never seen him before!!!!!!!!!!!! All the way live!!!!!!!!!!!! A must see for music lovers!!!!!!!!! This brotha is real!!!!!!!!"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"2560\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144-1152x1536.jpg 1152w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144-1536x2048.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The flyer for Kev Choice’s graduation recital at Southern Illinois University. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Kev Choice)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>While working on his own music, Choice would also regularly pop up behind the keys at jam sessions, open mics or really anywhere there was a piano. Calls for auditions started coming, and he got hired to join Michael Franti and Spearhead on an international tour.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Franti had come out of the Bay Area’s underground hip-hop scene, and he attracted a global fan base with his fusion of hip-hop, reggae and funk. The opportunity expanded Choice’s world.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Being a kid from Oakland and, you know, to be walking down the street in Switzerland or France or Belgium,” he reflects, “it blew my mind on what the world looked like and the connection of people to music as well. Like, how strong that was.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The tour pushed Choice to grow his skillset — he had to trade his sheet music and piano for playing by ear on an electric keyboard. He had his own ambitions as a solo artist. But word got out after the Spearhead tour, and he became an in-demand sideman. In the years that followed, he went on the road with alternative and conscious hip-hop artists like Zion I and Lyrics Born.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Around the world with Lauryn Hill\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>In 2006, Choice got the opportunity of a lifetime: performing with Lauryn Hill. He even worked with her on a demo for a track that became “\u003ca href=\"https://youtu.be/kUvtyBW0Q_A?si=d3791VyTs2p4UAWJ\">Lose Myself\u003c/a>.” (It was featured on the soundtrack of \u003cem>Surf’s Up\u003c/em>, a 2007 animated film about surfing penguins.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13967716\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 768px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13967716\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-and-lauryn-hill.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"768\" height=\"960\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-and-lauryn-hill.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-and-lauryn-hill-160x200.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 768px) 100vw, 768px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kev Choice and Lauryn Hill on tour in 2006. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Kev Choice)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Choice says their collaboration came together in a complete whirlwind. One day he got a call to meet Hill at an Emeryville studio. She was one of his idols, so of course, he said yes. It turned out to be an audition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As she started playing her guitar, he began playing along on his keyboard.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I think the other guys were, like, just confused,” he says, laughing. “They were like, what the hell is going on?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Afterwards, Choice got another call: Could he put a band together for her? He scrambled, calling everyone he knew. Before long he was the musical director of an all-Bay Area band that accompanied Hill to shows in Hawaii, Japan and Brazil.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPjcgZPGAq8\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On tour, Choice was inspired by the way Hill carried herself, how she charted her own path and defied expectations.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It gave me the courage that I could achieve anything in this industry,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Giving it his all as a solo artist\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Choice came back to Oakland fired up. He was ready to dedicate himself to his own music, wholeheartedly. It paid off in 2014 when he came out with an album that made waves: \u003ca href=\"https://kevchoice.bandcamp.com/album/oakland-riviera\">\u003cem>Oakland Riviera\u003c/em>\u003c/a>. With lyrics addressing racial injustice, healing and Oakland pride, the project’s elaborate, propulsive instrumentation has a funky, jazzy Afrofuturist vibe.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJoftyUh8a0\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At this point, Choice had cemented his reputation in hip-hop and jazz. And after \u003cem>Oakland Riviera\u003c/em>, he got the chance to show the world what he could do with his classical training. The opportunity arrived thanks to \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13901635/michael-morgan-visionary-oakland-symphony-conductor-dies-at-age-63\">Michael Morgan\u003c/a>, the late music director of the Oakland Symphony, who passed away in 2021.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Morgan was one of the nation’s few Black leaders of a major orchestra — and Choice had looked up to him since high school. When they met at a Recording Academy mixer, it turned out the maestro was already familiar with the younger man’s work. He invited Choice to compose his first piece for a full orchestra: 2018’s \u003cem>Soul Restoration Suite\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tiv9_GovdHY\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The five-movement piece took that blend of hip-hop, classical and jazz that Choice had been trying to pull off for decades, and brought it to the next level. Choice conceptualized it as a love letter to Oakland through all of its struggles and triumphs. The first movement tells the story of the Spanish conquest of the area’s Ohlone inhabitants, and Choice’s words flow over lush orchestration.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Before this, Choice had composed for quartets and smaller ensembles, but he had never written for a full orchestra before. In Morgan, he found an open-minded mentor who took hip-hop seriously as an art form and appreciated Choice’s personal voice.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I feel like he just kept encouraging me to take what I do as a band director, as a musician, as a hip-hop artist, and use the orchestra to enhance it,” he says. “And keep my original style. Like, don’t try to write like Beethoven. Don’t try to do Stravinsky, do your original music. But using the orchestra as another palette or as more colors to enhance.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13964203\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13964203\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kev Choice plays the piano at his studio in Oakland on Sept. 12, 2024. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Morgan had charted a path for Choice and so many others. He used his position and influence to create more space for Black musicians to be themselves in a largely white and notoriously elitist industry.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Today, Choice sits on the Oakland Symphony’s board, and he’s made it his mission to create opportunities for the next generation. In fact, if you drive past the intersection of 51st Street and Shattuck Avenue in North Oakland, you’ll see Choice and Michael Morgan in a mural together, looking hopefully out at a starry sky.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Like his mentor, who championed public music education, Choice spent nearly eight years teaching at Oakland School for the Arts. Today, he continues to serve the community in the music education program Elevate Oakland.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13967779\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13967779\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1440\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-2048x1152.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-1920x1080.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">An Oakland mural by Hungry Ghost Studio features Michael Morgan (center left) and Kev Choice (center right). \u003ccite>(Nastia Voynovskaya/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>A singular vision emerges\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Back at Choice’s rehearsal space, I chat with saxophonist \u003ca href=\"https://www.ayobrame.com/\">Ayo Brame\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Kev is definitely the reason I’m a musician today,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Brame is one of Choice’s former students. At only 17 years old, he’s already headlined two sold-out shows at the jazz club Yoshi’s. He says it’s Choice’s versatility that inspires him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It shows how important that skillset is to know all genres of music and not be like, I don’t play classical or I don’t play rock music,” Brame adds. “He knows all of it. So yeah definitely, that’s one of my inspirations.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These days, Choice might be busy with community work, but he hasn’t lost sight of his own music. His 2024 EP, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/album/2WoxdPZgSbsJ6lVlgCGBJe\">\u003cem>All My Love\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, is the clearest distillation yet of his personal voice and vision.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a vulnerable project that takes stock of how he’s shown up in relationships over the years. It examines his personal growth and maturation as a man.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The project culminates in the bittersweet song “Congratulations.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/52eYIEiDLXw?si=eK08m1l0u9QtBx4Z\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Choice raps over moving piano arrangements, accompanied by a string quartet, harp and upright bass. In the lyrics, he speaks to an ex who is now getting married.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He’s happy for her and a little regretful, looking back at what went wrong and what could have been.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At his piano, Choice breaks down how his arrangements underscore the emotion of the track.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Whenever I play ninth chords or minor chords, sometimes it can be dark. Some people say it may be very sad,” he says. “But I almost feel like it’s more sentimental. I’m thinking about what I was going through. And that chord really offers a lot of space to me for reflection.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As I listen to him play, it’s hard not to feel an appreciation for the complicated beauty of the life lessons all of us go through.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Choice says \u003cem>All My Love\u003c/em> is just a teaser for a full-length project that’ll come out later this year. He also recently accepted a position as a tenure-track music professor at San Francisco State University. Over two decades into his career as a musician, educator and community advocate, Choice is finally getting the recognition he deserves.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I feel like as a hip hop artist, I’m always trying to grow, try to get more expressive, try to stay relevant,” Choice affirms. “I don’t want my sound to ever get stale or not continue to evolve.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That growth mindset has been a theme in Choice’s career since the very beginning, and it’s propelled so much more than his personal evolution. The hundreds of students he’s taught, and the countless audience members who’ve seen him live, have left with a little piece of his vision: to look beyond arbitrary boundaries, to come together and to better ourselves and our communities through art.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ci>This story is part of The California Report Magazine’s series about \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/tag/california-composers\">California composers\u003c/a>. Listen to this and more in-depth storytelling by \u003ca href=\"http://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/the-california-report-magazine/id1314750545?mt=2\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">subscribing\u003c/a> to The California Report Magazine podcast.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a Wednesday morning in \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/kevchoice/?hl=en\">Kev Choice\u003c/a>’s studio, tucked away in the back of an industrial warehouse in East Oakland. The small, dark-purple room looks something like a wizard’s lair out of a fantasy novel, with tall, epic columns and dark curtains.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Kev Choice Ensemble is rehearsing for a conference that’s bringing 2,000 activists, artists and academics from across the nation to Oakland to discuss topics like the Indigenous Land Back movement and Palestinian liberation. Choice sits at his keyboard, rapping about the painful legacy of slavery before affirming the power of everyday people to make change. As his jazz band grooves, they alchemize devastation into hope.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“What I try to bring is the purpose, the intention, of the message, and uplift the issues while giving people encouragement,” he says. “[I try] to create an environment where we can just have fun and be free and enjoy together for a moment in time, before we get back to the work.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Choice speaks with the ease of someone who knows who he is and owns it, but it took him decades to move comfortably between his roots in hip-hop culture, his love of jazz and his classical training. Classical music used to turn its nose up at hip-hop. But in recent years orchestras have begun looking to collaborate with rappers to appeal to younger, more diverse audiences — basically, to stay relevant in the 21st century.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now, the world is finally catching up to the forward-thinking vision Kev Choice has had for decades.\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/RMQbdElhnEo'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/RMQbdElhnEo'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003ch2>Navigating separate musical worlds\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>For Choice, breaking boundaries wasn’t easy — and not just musical boundaries, but those of race, class and culture. Growing up in Oakland in the ’80s and ’90s, he began writing rhymes and studying piano seriously in middle school. Even back then, he knew he’d have to compartmentalize his two worlds.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I couldn’t talk to any of my teachers about hip-hop or making beats. They had no connection to that,” he says. “And then my hip-hop friends would kind of tease me about playing the piano.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13967710\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 960px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13967710\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/60325271_10155974893232027_2182473221847121920_n.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"960\" height=\"540\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/60325271_10155974893232027_2182473221847121920_n.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/60325271_10155974893232027_2182473221847121920_n-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/60325271_10155974893232027_2182473221847121920_n-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/60325271_10155974893232027_2182473221847121920_n-768x432.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 960px) 100vw, 960px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kev Choice at his graduation from Xavier University in 1998. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Kev Choice)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Still, Choice was undeterred: He excelled in high school orchestra and big band, and continued to rap and make beats after school. After nailing an audition at Xavier University, an HBCU in New Orleans, he got a full scholarship on the spot to study piano performance in the birthplace of jazz. Afterwards, he took off to Southern Illinois University for his master’s degree.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Choice excelled in classical piano, but he couldn’t see himself going the traditional orchestral route.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Number one, because of the lack of diversity in that world,” he says. “It just seemed like it was such a narrow opportunity for a young African American pianist who wasn’t a prodigy at age four.” \u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>An international tour with Michael Franti\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>After grad school, Choice decided it was time to return to his roots. In 2000, he moved back to Oakland with the ambition of becoming a rap star. It was a fertile time for Bay Area hip-hop. Artists like E-40 and Too Short had already reached major-label success in years prior. Alternative hip-hop artists like \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13927692/del-funky-homosapien-no-need-for-alarm-30-years-anniversary\">Deltron 3030\u003c/a> were also making waves.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13967711\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13967711\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144.jpg\" alt=\"A photocopied flyer reads: "88 Keys to the Mind, Body and Soul. A classical graduate piano recital presented by Kevin Choice. Most sought after pianist for campus occasions. Live you've never seen him before!!!!!!!!!!!! All the way live!!!!!!!!!!!! A must see for music lovers!!!!!!!!! This brotha is real!!!!!!!!"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"2560\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144-1152x1536.jpg 1152w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/IMG_4260-scaled-e1730831891144-1536x2048.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The flyer for Kev Choice’s graduation recital at Southern Illinois University. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Kev Choice)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>While working on his own music, Choice would also regularly pop up behind the keys at jam sessions, open mics or really anywhere there was a piano. Calls for auditions started coming, and he got hired to join Michael Franti and Spearhead on an international tour.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Franti had come out of the Bay Area’s underground hip-hop scene, and he attracted a global fan base with his fusion of hip-hop, reggae and funk. The opportunity expanded Choice’s world.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Being a kid from Oakland and, you know, to be walking down the street in Switzerland or France or Belgium,” he reflects, “it blew my mind on what the world looked like and the connection of people to music as well. Like, how strong that was.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The tour pushed Choice to grow his skillset — he had to trade his sheet music and piano for playing by ear on an electric keyboard. He had his own ambitions as a solo artist. But word got out after the Spearhead tour, and he became an in-demand sideman. In the years that followed, he went on the road with alternative and conscious hip-hop artists like Zion I and Lyrics Born.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Around the world with Lauryn Hill\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>In 2006, Choice got the opportunity of a lifetime: performing with Lauryn Hill. He even worked with her on a demo for a track that became “\u003ca href=\"https://youtu.be/kUvtyBW0Q_A?si=d3791VyTs2p4UAWJ\">Lose Myself\u003c/a>.” (It was featured on the soundtrack of \u003cem>Surf’s Up\u003c/em>, a 2007 animated film about surfing penguins.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13967716\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 768px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13967716\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-and-lauryn-hill.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"768\" height=\"960\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-and-lauryn-hill.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-and-lauryn-hill-160x200.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 768px) 100vw, 768px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kev Choice and Lauryn Hill on tour in 2006. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Kev Choice)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Choice says their collaboration came together in a complete whirlwind. One day he got a call to meet Hill at an Emeryville studio. She was one of his idols, so of course, he said yes. It turned out to be an audition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As she started playing her guitar, he began playing along on his keyboard.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I think the other guys were, like, just confused,” he says, laughing. “They were like, what the hell is going on?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Afterwards, Choice got another call: Could he put a band together for her? He scrambled, calling everyone he knew. Before long he was the musical director of an all-Bay Area band that accompanied Hill to shows in Hawaii, Japan and Brazil.\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/OPjcgZPGAq8'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/OPjcgZPGAq8'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>On tour, Choice was inspired by the way Hill carried herself, how she charted her own path and defied expectations.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It gave me the courage that I could achieve anything in this industry,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Giving it his all as a solo artist\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Choice came back to Oakland fired up. He was ready to dedicate himself to his own music, wholeheartedly. It paid off in 2014 when he came out with an album that made waves: \u003ca href=\"https://kevchoice.bandcamp.com/album/oakland-riviera\">\u003cem>Oakland Riviera\u003c/em>\u003c/a>. With lyrics addressing racial injustice, healing and Oakland pride, the project’s elaborate, propulsive instrumentation has a funky, jazzy Afrofuturist vibe.\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/aJoftyUh8a0'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/aJoftyUh8a0'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>At this point, Choice had cemented his reputation in hip-hop and jazz. And after \u003cem>Oakland Riviera\u003c/em>, he got the chance to show the world what he could do with his classical training. The opportunity arrived thanks to \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13901635/michael-morgan-visionary-oakland-symphony-conductor-dies-at-age-63\">Michael Morgan\u003c/a>, the late music director of the Oakland Symphony, who passed away in 2021.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Morgan was one of the nation’s few Black leaders of a major orchestra — and Choice had looked up to him since high school. When they met at a Recording Academy mixer, it turned out the maestro was already familiar with the younger man’s work. He invited Choice to compose his first piece for a full orchestra: 2018’s \u003cem>Soul Restoration Suite\u003c/em>.\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/Tiv9_GovdHY'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/Tiv9_GovdHY'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>The five-movement piece took that blend of hip-hop, classical and jazz that Choice had been trying to pull off for decades, and brought it to the next level. Choice conceptualized it as a love letter to Oakland through all of its struggles and triumphs. The first movement tells the story of the Spanish conquest of the area’s Ohlone inhabitants, and Choice’s words flow over lush orchestration.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Before this, Choice had composed for quartets and smaller ensembles, but he had never written for a full orchestra before. In Morgan, he found an open-minded mentor who took hip-hop seriously as an art form and appreciated Choice’s personal voice.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I feel like he just kept encouraging me to take what I do as a band director, as a musician, as a hip-hop artist, and use the orchestra to enhance it,” he says. “And keep my original style. Like, don’t try to write like Beethoven. Don’t try to do Stravinsky, do your original music. But using the orchestra as another palette or as more colors to enhance.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13964203\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13964203\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240912-KEVCHOICE-08-BL-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kev Choice plays the piano at his studio in Oakland on Sept. 12, 2024. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Morgan had charted a path for Choice and so many others. He used his position and influence to create more space for Black musicians to be themselves in a largely white and notoriously elitist industry.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Today, Choice sits on the Oakland Symphony’s board, and he’s made it his mission to create opportunities for the next generation. In fact, if you drive past the intersection of 51st Street and Shattuck Avenue in North Oakland, you’ll see Choice and Michael Morgan in a mural together, looking hopefully out at a starry sky.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Like his mentor, who championed public music education, Choice spent nearly eight years teaching at Oakland School for the Arts. Today, he continues to serve the community in the music education program Elevate Oakland.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13967779\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13967779\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1440\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-2048x1152.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/11/kev-choice-mural-1920x1080.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">An Oakland mural by Hungry Ghost Studio features Michael Morgan (center left) and Kev Choice (center right). \u003ccite>(Nastia Voynovskaya/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>A singular vision emerges\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Back at Choice’s rehearsal space, I chat with saxophonist \u003ca href=\"https://www.ayobrame.com/\">Ayo Brame\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Kev is definitely the reason I’m a musician today,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Brame is one of Choice’s former students. At only 17 years old, he’s already headlined two sold-out shows at the jazz club Yoshi’s. He says it’s Choice’s versatility that inspires him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It shows how important that skillset is to know all genres of music and not be like, I don’t play classical or I don’t play rock music,” Brame adds. “He knows all of it. So yeah definitely, that’s one of my inspirations.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These days, Choice might be busy with community work, but he hasn’t lost sight of his own music. His 2024 EP, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/album/2WoxdPZgSbsJ6lVlgCGBJe\">\u003cem>All My Love\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, is the clearest distillation yet of his personal voice and vision.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a vulnerable project that takes stock of how he’s shown up in relationships over the years. It examines his personal growth and maturation as a man.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The project culminates in the bittersweet song “Congratulations.”\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/52eYIEiDLXw'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/52eYIEiDLXw'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Choice raps over moving piano arrangements, accompanied by a string quartet, harp and upright bass. In the lyrics, he speaks to an ex who is now getting married.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He’s happy for her and a little regretful, looking back at what went wrong and what could have been.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At his piano, Choice breaks down how his arrangements underscore the emotion of the track.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Whenever I play ninth chords or minor chords, sometimes it can be dark. Some people say it may be very sad,” he says. “But I almost feel like it’s more sentimental. I’m thinking about what I was going through. And that chord really offers a lot of space to me for reflection.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As I listen to him play, it’s hard not to feel an appreciation for the complicated beauty of the life lessons all of us go through.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Choice says \u003cem>All My Love\u003c/em> is just a teaser for a full-length project that’ll come out later this year. He also recently accepted a position as a tenure-track music professor at San Francisco State University. Over two decades into his career as a musician, educator and community advocate, Choice is finally getting the recognition he deserves.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I feel like as a hip hop artist, I’m always trying to grow, try to get more expressive, try to stay relevant,” Choice affirms. “I don’t want my sound to ever get stale or not continue to evolve.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That growth mindset has been a theme in Choice’s career since the very beginning, and it’s propelled so much more than his personal evolution. The hundreds of students he’s taught, and the countless audience members who’ve seen him live, have left with a little piece of his vision: to look beyond arbitrary boundaries, to come together and to better ourselves and our communities through art.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://video.kqed.org/video/brief-but-spectacular-1678142686/\">Judy Heumann\u003c/a> never felt ashamed to use a wheelchair. Rather, what she felt most consistently throughout her life was fury at the many ways she was routinely excluded by a world that treated disabled people as second-class citizens.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Disability isn’t a tragedy,” she said in 1990. “The tragedy is being excluded from contributing to society because of a narrow doorway, or lack of a diploma or job.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13955066']Heumann knew all about being excluded. After losing her ability to walk in 1949 after a bout of polio at 18 months old, the New Yorker was denied a place in her local school because the administration there considered her “a fire hazard.” At 9 or 10, she was permitted to join special education classes in the basement of a Brooklyn school. (“We respected each other,” Huemann later said of her classmates, but “in some way, even when we were that young, we all knew we were being sidelined.”) In 1970, despite being qualified to receive her teaching license, the New York City Board of Education deemed her too much of a risk to allow in classrooms.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Heumann quickly realized that even organizations set up to battle discrimination might exclude her. When she called the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/tag/aclu\">ACLU\u003c/a> for legal assistance in her fight against the Board of Education, the 22-year-old was told that being denied a teaching license for “medical reasons” didn’t count as discrimination. Heumann wrote in her 2020 autobiography \u003cem>Being Heumann\u003c/em>, that she was frustrated to realize that even the 1964 Civil Rights Act excluded her.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“[The act is] intended to end discrimination on the basis of race, color, religion and natural origin, but made no mention of disability. There was no law I could quote or legal precedent to cite … There were no disability rights organizations.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It was then that Heumann began her lifelong work to methodically and systematically transform America for people with disabilities. She refused to be daunted in the face of much more powerful forces. She refused to back down from any of her battles, no matter what blocked her path. And by the time of her death in 2023, at the age of 75, Heumann’s impact was seismic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Heumann’s life of activism began when she decided to ignore the ACLU’s assessment that she wasn’t being discriminated against. Instead, she sued the Board of Education and won. As a result, Heumann became the first wheelchair-using teacher in New York. In the course of that battle, she also founded and became president of \u003ca href=\"https://www.disabledinaction.org/\">Disabled in Action\u003c/a> (DIA). The disability rights organization used protests, letter-writing campaigns, statements at public hearings and calls to public officials to make headway with their struggles. Its members absolutely refused to blend into the background.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966863\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1662px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966863\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/judy-protest.jpg\" alt=\"Men and women — some of them using wheelchairs — carry protest signs in the street.\" width=\"1662\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/judy-protest.jpg 1662w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/judy-protest-800x963.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/judy-protest-1020x1227.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/judy-protest-160x193.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/judy-protest-768x924.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/judy-protest-1276x1536.jpg 1276w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1662px) 100vw, 1662px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Judy Heumann, protesting at San Francisco’s Civic Center in May 1980. \u003ccite>(San Francisco Chronicle/Hearst Newspapers via Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“We didn’t just come to meetings,” Heumann said in the 2020 documentary \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13877373/now-playing-crip-camp-recalls-coming-of-age-through-activism\">\u003cem>Crip Camp\u003c/em>\u003c/a>. “We yelled out at meetings, we challenged people. We were definitely considered a militant organization because we were very strong in our actions; because we disrupted things.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Heumann brought that energy with her when she first came to study at \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/uc-berkeley\">UC Berkeley\u003c/a>. After earning a degree in speech therapy from Long Island University in 1969, Heumann got her master’s in public health at Berkeley in 1975. On campus, she was energized by the wealth of student organizing taking place during the era and joined the board of the \u003ca href=\"https://thecil.org/\">Center for Independent Living\u003c/a> (CIL) in 1973. CIL had been founded a year earlier by Ed Roberts, the first wheelchair user to attend UC Berkeley.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13964200']The organization was determined to act as a support network for people with disabilities, offering accessible transit, personal assistant referrals, help locating suitable housing and jobs, and even running a wheelchair repair shop. CIL’s end goal was self-sufficiency for all disabled people. Heumann’s focus, as always, was turning community frustration into positive action. Her talent for doing so would become abundantly clear in April 1977, when she and around 100 other protesters staged a 24-day sit-in at the Department of Health, Education and Welfare inside San Francisco’s Federal Building.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lengthy protest was all part of an effort to get Section 504 of 1973’s Rehabilitation Act signed and enacted by the Secretary of Health, Education and Welfare. Section 504 prohibited discrimination by any organization that was receiving federal funds. (Incidentally, President Nixon only signed the Rehabilitation Act after Heumann and 50 other protesters shut down a major intersection of Manhattan with a protest outside Nixon’s New York headquarters.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Heumann and her cohorts knew that getting the measure signed would force a major change in how public transport, public buildings, schools and a variety of other institutions accommodated people with disabilities. The sit-in was especially arduous for the protesters due to their reliance on medications, assistants and therapeutic equipment. Nevertheless, they persisted, with Heumann often singing to keep spirits lifted.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13877414\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13877414\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2020/03/01078_HolLynnDLil_504-early-rally_folder-0-image-13_REF_COVER.jpg\" alt=\"A woman in a wheelchair speaks enthusiastically into a microphone. She is wearing an anorak and glasses.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1080\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2020/03/01078_HolLynnDLil_504-early-rally_folder-0-image-13_REF_COVER.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2020/03/01078_HolLynnDLil_504-early-rally_folder-0-image-13_REF_COVER-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2020/03/01078_HolLynnDLil_504-early-rally_folder-0-image-13_REF_COVER-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2020/03/01078_HolLynnDLil_504-early-rally_folder-0-image-13_REF_COVER-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2020/03/01078_HolLynnDLil_504-early-rally_folder-0-image-13_REF_COVER-1020x574.jpg 1020w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Judy Heumann at the mic in 1980. \u003ccite>(HolLynn D'Lil)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Heumann and her friends had outside support too. Civil rights groups across the Bay Area rushed to support the sit-in. The Black Panthers brought the protesters hot meals on a nightly basis. Union members, multiple civil rights organizations and key leaders at GLIDE (including Rev. Cecil Williams) were vocal supporters who stepped up to offer assistance in whatever way they could.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After a lengthy standoff — including attempts to cut off protesters’ access to phones, hot water and food (several, including Heumann, had opted to go on hunger strike regardless) — Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare Joseph Califano finally signed Section 504. Heumann highlighted to the press that the sustained protest was proof of disabled people’s “stamina, strength [and] intelligence.” She understood how limited public perceptions were at the time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Elated at their victory, Heumann and her fellow protesters knew there was still much to be done. Though on paper, Section 504 meant federally funded entities must accommodate disabled people, excuses were made repeatedly about why action would not be taken immediately. (The American Public Transit Association, for example, said it couldn’t afford to put wheelchair lifts into buses, even though the cost was the same as installing air conditioning). To make matters worse, better legal protections were still badly needed at a federal level to make all public places more accessible, and to make employer discrimination illegal.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13919491']During this period, Heumann continued to campaign in earnest as CIL’s senior deputy director. In Oakland, she co-founded the World Institute on Disability (WID) to begin advocating for disability rights around the globe. CIL also set up a new organization to better handle ongoing legal matters. The \u003ca href=\"https://dredf.org/\">Disability Rights Education and Defense Fund\u003c/a> (DREDF) was the first legal organization run by and for people with disabilities. As such, it was inundated with calls from people all over the U.S. seeking advice on how to make their own towns and cities more accessible. But DREDF had already begun formulating a big idea to touch every corner of America in one swoop: the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It took until 1988 for the first version of the ADA to reach Congress. It failed to pass. A second version arrived in May 1989, but when it still hadn’t passed 10 months later, 1,000 protesters descended on Washington, D.C. to make their voices heard. Scores of disabled activists dropped to the ground and literally dragged themselves up the 83 inaccessible steps of the Capitol building. It was an image that lawmakers wouldn’t soon forget.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On July 26, 1990, President George H.W. Bush finally signed the ADA into law. “Let the shameful wall of exclusion finally come tumbling down,” he declared.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Just three years later, Heumann would take on the role of assistant secretary for the Office of Special Education and Rehabilitative Services in Bill Clinton’s Department of Education. She served for the duration of the president’s term, as she did when Barack Obama gave her the role of special advisor for international disability rights in the Department of State.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the rest of her life, Heumann never, ever stopped advocating for people with disabilities. And when she received praise for the multitude of ways she helped change countless lives for the better, her response was always rooted in humility.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As she wrote in her 2021 book, \u003cem>Rolling Warrior\u003c/em>: “All we did was refuse to believe that we were the problem.”\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",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It was then that Heumann began her lifelong work to methodically and systematically transform America for people with disabilities. She refused to be daunted in the face of much more powerful forces. She refused to back down from any of her battles, no matter what blocked her path. And by the time of her death in 2023, at the age of 75, Heumann’s impact was seismic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Heumann’s life of activism began when she decided to ignore the ACLU’s assessment that she wasn’t being discriminated against. Instead, she sued the Board of Education and won. As a result, Heumann became the first wheelchair-using teacher in New York. In the course of that battle, she also founded and became president of \u003ca href=\"https://www.disabledinaction.org/\">Disabled in Action\u003c/a> (DIA). The disability rights organization used protests, letter-writing campaigns, statements at public hearings and calls to public officials to make headway with their struggles. Its members absolutely refused to blend into the background.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966863\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1662px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966863\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/judy-protest.jpg\" alt=\"Men and women — some of them using wheelchairs — carry protest signs in the street.\" width=\"1662\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/judy-protest.jpg 1662w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/judy-protest-800x963.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/judy-protest-1020x1227.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/judy-protest-160x193.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/judy-protest-768x924.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/judy-protest-1276x1536.jpg 1276w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1662px) 100vw, 1662px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Judy Heumann, protesting at San Francisco’s Civic Center in May 1980. \u003ccite>(San Francisco Chronicle/Hearst Newspapers via Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“We didn’t just come to meetings,” Heumann said in the 2020 documentary \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13877373/now-playing-crip-camp-recalls-coming-of-age-through-activism\">\u003cem>Crip Camp\u003c/em>\u003c/a>. “We yelled out at meetings, we challenged people. We were definitely considered a militant organization because we were very strong in our actions; because we disrupted things.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Heumann brought that energy with her when she first came to study at \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/uc-berkeley\">UC Berkeley\u003c/a>. After earning a degree in speech therapy from Long Island University in 1969, Heumann got her master’s in public health at Berkeley in 1975. On campus, she was energized by the wealth of student organizing taking place during the era and joined the board of the \u003ca href=\"https://thecil.org/\">Center for Independent Living\u003c/a> (CIL) in 1973. CIL had been founded a year earlier by Ed Roberts, the first wheelchair user to attend UC Berkeley.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>The organization was determined to act as a support network for people with disabilities, offering accessible transit, personal assistant referrals, help locating suitable housing and jobs, and even running a wheelchair repair shop. CIL’s end goal was self-sufficiency for all disabled people. Heumann’s focus, as always, was turning community frustration into positive action. Her talent for doing so would become abundantly clear in April 1977, when she and around 100 other protesters staged a 24-day sit-in at the Department of Health, Education and Welfare inside San Francisco’s Federal Building.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lengthy protest was all part of an effort to get Section 504 of 1973’s Rehabilitation Act signed and enacted by the Secretary of Health, Education and Welfare. Section 504 prohibited discrimination by any organization that was receiving federal funds. (Incidentally, President Nixon only signed the Rehabilitation Act after Heumann and 50 other protesters shut down a major intersection of Manhattan with a protest outside Nixon’s New York headquarters.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Heumann and her cohorts knew that getting the measure signed would force a major change in how public transport, public buildings, schools and a variety of other institutions accommodated people with disabilities. The sit-in was especially arduous for the protesters due to their reliance on medications, assistants and therapeutic equipment. Nevertheless, they persisted, with Heumann often singing to keep spirits lifted.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13877414\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13877414\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2020/03/01078_HolLynnDLil_504-early-rally_folder-0-image-13_REF_COVER.jpg\" alt=\"A woman in a wheelchair speaks enthusiastically into a microphone. She is wearing an anorak and glasses.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1080\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2020/03/01078_HolLynnDLil_504-early-rally_folder-0-image-13_REF_COVER.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2020/03/01078_HolLynnDLil_504-early-rally_folder-0-image-13_REF_COVER-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2020/03/01078_HolLynnDLil_504-early-rally_folder-0-image-13_REF_COVER-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2020/03/01078_HolLynnDLil_504-early-rally_folder-0-image-13_REF_COVER-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2020/03/01078_HolLynnDLil_504-early-rally_folder-0-image-13_REF_COVER-1020x574.jpg 1020w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Judy Heumann at the mic in 1980. \u003ccite>(HolLynn D'Lil)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Heumann and her friends had outside support too. Civil rights groups across the Bay Area rushed to support the sit-in. The Black Panthers brought the protesters hot meals on a nightly basis. Union members, multiple civil rights organizations and key leaders at GLIDE (including Rev. Cecil Williams) were vocal supporters who stepped up to offer assistance in whatever way they could.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After a lengthy standoff — including attempts to cut off protesters’ access to phones, hot water and food (several, including Heumann, had opted to go on hunger strike regardless) — Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare Joseph Califano finally signed Section 504. Heumann highlighted to the press that the sustained protest was proof of disabled people’s “stamina, strength [and] intelligence.” She understood how limited public perceptions were at the time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Elated at their victory, Heumann and her fellow protesters knew there was still much to be done. Though on paper, Section 504 meant federally funded entities must accommodate disabled people, excuses were made repeatedly about why action would not be taken immediately. (The American Public Transit Association, for example, said it couldn’t afford to put wheelchair lifts into buses, even though the cost was the same as installing air conditioning). To make matters worse, better legal protections were still badly needed at a federal level to make all public places more accessible, and to make employer discrimination illegal.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>During this period, Heumann continued to campaign in earnest as CIL’s senior deputy director. In Oakland, she co-founded the World Institute on Disability (WID) to begin advocating for disability rights around the globe. CIL also set up a new organization to better handle ongoing legal matters. The \u003ca href=\"https://dredf.org/\">Disability Rights Education and Defense Fund\u003c/a> (DREDF) was the first legal organization run by and for people with disabilities. As such, it was inundated with calls from people all over the U.S. seeking advice on how to make their own towns and cities more accessible. But DREDF had already begun formulating a big idea to touch every corner of America in one swoop: the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It took until 1988 for the first version of the ADA to reach Congress. It failed to pass. A second version arrived in May 1989, but when it still hadn’t passed 10 months later, 1,000 protesters descended on Washington, D.C. to make their voices heard. Scores of disabled activists dropped to the ground and literally dragged themselves up the 83 inaccessible steps of the Capitol building. It was an image that lawmakers wouldn’t soon forget.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On July 26, 1990, President George H.W. Bush finally signed the ADA into law. “Let the shameful wall of exclusion finally come tumbling down,” he declared.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Just three years later, Heumann would take on the role of assistant secretary for the Office of Special Education and Rehabilitative Services in Bill Clinton’s Department of Education. She served for the duration of the president’s term, as she did when Barack Obama gave her the role of special advisor for international disability rights in the Department of State.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the rest of her life, Heumann never, ever stopped advocating for people with disabilities. And when she received praise for the multitude of ways she helped change countless lives for the better, her response was always rooted in humility.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As she wrote in her 2021 book, \u003cem>Rolling Warrior\u003c/em>: “All we did was refuse to believe that we were the problem.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\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\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>In January 1970, Violeta ‘Bullet’ Marasigan’s husband implored her to not “bring any more work home.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Quoted in a \u003cem>San Francisco Examiner\u003c/em> profile, Pete Marasigan was, the newspaper reported, only half-joking. Because when Violeta Marasigan brought the office home with her, it wasn’t stacks of papers and files. More often than not, it was human beings that needed food or a bed for the night.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Marasigan had been in nonstop action since 1968, when she was hired by San Francisco’s United Filipino Association (UFA) as a social worker. Born in the Philippines in 1939, Marasigan had moved to California to study at San Francisco State College. Shortly after graduation, the UFA brought her on to assist the elders — or \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manong#:~:text=Manong%20(Mah%2Dnoh%2Dng,given%20to%20an%20older%20sister.\">manongs\u003c/a> \u003c/em>— of Manilatown, a 10-block stretch of Filipino businesses, restaurants and social hubs centered around Kearny and Jackson Streets in San Francisco. She was perfect for the position.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13929289']“I’m very optimistic,” she later explained. “I think a lot of things can be done if we really put ourselves in it — [and] not half-heartedly.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There was nothing half-hearted about Marasigan. She spent her entire life fighting for Filipinos, both in the Bay and abroad. Her nickname “Bullet” was coined while still in her teens; “Bolet” is a Tagalog version of the name Violeta, but Marasigan’s moniker morphed into “Bullet” once her friends realized how impossible it was to stand in her way. That much became clear to San Francisco as soon as Marasigan joined forces with the UFA.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“When I started working with the old men,” she told the \u003cem>San Francisco Examiner\u003c/em> in 1970, “I saw that they were discriminated against in terms of their access to social services. A lot of them had been here for over 30 years, but they could still barely speak English or write. These manongs were mostly single retired farmworkers and seamen living on social security retirement benefits.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Marasigan quickly deduced that most of these men — frequently World War II veterans — were not receiving all of the SSI benefits they were entitled to. (Some were receiving less than half of the appropriate amount.) Marasigan took it upon herself to bring these men into the Social Security office and advocate for each of them, one by one, until they each received what they were owed. And they were owed a lot.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After the U.S. colonized the Philippines in 1898, Filipino men became a cheap labor source for American companies, particularly in agriculture, canneries and the merchant navy. In the 1920s, 100,000 workers arrived from the Philippines to the U.S. to work. But not only were these men barred from bringing their families with them, by 1933 in California, they had also been prohibited from marrying outside of their race. (That year, the California senate saw fit to add “Malay” to the state’s interracial marriage ban, thereby \u003ca href=\"https://www.cschs.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/History-Resources-Articles-Caragozian-Ban-on-Interracial-Marriages.pdf\">preventing Filipino men from marrying\u003c/a> most of the women in their vicinity.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13874853']With so many barriers to building a traditional family structure, it became essential for this first wave of manongs to form their own communities. Manilatown was central to that, and central to Manilatown was the International Hotel (often called the “I-Hotel”). The three-story structure at 838 Kearny Street housed 200 residents — mostly elderly and impoverished Filipino and Chinese men. The UFA’s headquarters, appropriately enough, was situated directly next door.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In Autumn of 1968, Marasigan and the UFA faced their biggest challenge yet. Residents at the I-Hotel began receiving eviction notices. (The business that owned the property, Milton Meyer and Company, wanted to turn the hotel into a multi-level parking lot.) Residents, students and other civil rights groups banded together to keep the I-Hotel open; Marasigan was a key player in negotiating the hotel a new three-year lease in 1969.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Marasigan couldn’t have known that just four years later, the hotel would be sold to a developer. Then, on Aug. 7, 1977, 400 police officers forced their way through a human chain around the I-Hotel and forcibly dragged out its residents, bringing an end to the hotel — and Manilatown itself — for good.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966696\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966696\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel.jpg\" alt=\"Men and women in 1970s clothing cluster together outside a building with a sign that says 'International Hotel' on it. \" width=\"2000\" height=\"1427\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel-800x571.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel-1020x728.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel-160x114.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel-768x548.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel-1536x1096.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel-1920x1370.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Protesters gathered outside the International Hotel for days before police forcibly emptied the building. This image was taken on Aug. 3, 1977. \u003ccite>(Dave Randolph/San Francisco Chronicle via Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Marasigan was not there to see the end of the hotel she fought so hard to save. She had returned to Manila in 1971, quickly joining the resistance against Ferdinand Marcos, the dictator that placed the Philippines under martial law, put an end to the free press and began violently oppressing civilians. Marasigan proved herself once more to be an outspoken activist, visiting and raising money for political prisoners. For her trouble, Marasigan was arrested in 1982 on explosives charges.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13955066']Marasigan spent a year incarcerated at the infamous \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camp_Crame\">Camp Crame\u003c/a> before being fully exonerated. During her time as a political prisoner, Marasigan helped organize inmates, held political discussions and even conducted a 22-day hunger strike. In 1995, looking back on the turbulent time, she told the \u003cem>Examiner\u003c/em>, “The only thing explosive about me was my mouth and my farts.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She expanded: “Filipinos laugh a lot. We laugh at our mistakes. It’s one of the strengths we have. We can also fight.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And fight she did. Undeterred by her time in Camp Crame, in 1984, she co-founded \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gabriela_Women%27s_Party\">Gabriela Women’s Party\u003c/a> — an organization formed after 10,000 women marched against Marcos, defying a ban on protests. That same year, Maragisan also helped found \u003ca href=\"https://seldapilipinas.wordpress.com/about/\">Selda\u003c/a>, an advocacy organization by and for political prisoners. As part of her work with Gabriela and the National Council of Churches in the Philippines (NCCP), Maragisan had a hand in opening two safe havens for women: the \u003ca href=\"http://www.genuinesecurity.org/partners/buklod.htm\">Buklod Center in Olongapo City\u003c/a>, geared towards sex workers, and the \u003ca href=\"https://batiscenterforwomen.wordpress.com/about/history/\">Batis Center for Women\u003c/a> in Quezon City, which focused on female migrant workers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Marasigan finally came back to the Bay in 1988 and, though there was no Manilatown to return to, went straight back to work for Filipino immigrants. She worked as a social worker at \u003ca href=\"https://www.somapilipinas.org/community-1/2018/7/13/west-bay-pilipino-multi-service-center\">West Bay Filipino Multi-Services\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.healthright360.org/parent-program/asian-american-recovery-services/\">Asian American Recovery Services\u003c/a> and the Veterans Equity Center (now known as the \u003ca href=\"https://asianpacificfund.org/affiliate/veterans-equity-center-2/\">Bayanihan Equity Center\u003c/a>).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Throughout the 1990s, while based in Daly City, Marasigan remained focused on seniors and veterans, setting up food and clothing banks at two separate Mission Street locations. In 1993, she co-founded the Friends of Filipino American Veterans to conduct “direct action, legal aid, advocacy and outreach programs for the veterans.” In 1994, she was president of the Filipino American Human Rights Advocates. Around this time, the editor in chief of \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Filipinas_(magazine)\">\u003cem>Filipinas\u003c/em> magazine\u003c/a> Rene Ciria-Cruz called Marasigan “old reliable,” and noted: “She’s a symbol of activism. When she’s there it lends a validity to the cause being taken up.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Marasigan broadened her focus even further in the ’90s, working more with children and teens — a natural progression, after she’d raised four daughters and a son of her own.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13921886']In 1995, Marasigan volunteered with the Bilingual Advisory Council of Balboa Park’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.sfusd.edu/school/james-denman-middle-school\">James Denman Middle School\u003c/a>, was a member of the School Advisory Council and actively worked with teens on AIDS prevention. An article in the \u003cem>San Francisco Examiner\u003c/em> that year reported that she was prone to bluntly asking the teens at the West Bay Filipino Center on Mission St. if they were sexually active.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“If they cannot say ‘no’ right away,” she explained, “I grab their hand and say ‘Talk to me.’ I’m straight with them. I answer their questions and I don’t get embarrassed.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Marasigan wasn’t afraid to enter a classroom and tell kids something they’d never heard before — be it about safe sex or their own history.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“In the curriculum,” she said at the time, “there is no cultural empowerment of other groups. Last week, we had a support group at Balboa, and we showed them Filipino history in America, and they were so surprised … How could our children have self-esteem in school when they don’t see they are part of the history of America?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sadly, Marasigan’s life of service was suddenly cut short by an accident in April 2000. She had just gotten out of her parked car when it rolled down the street, knocking her to the ground. She was 61.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At a \u003ca href=\"https://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/Memorial-Service-Held-at-City-Hall-For-Activist-2784544.php\">packed memorial service\u003c/a> for her at San Francisco’s City Hall, tributes poured in from Mayor Willie Brown, several supervisors (including Tom Ammiano and Mabel Teng) and a plethora of friends and associates. Supervisor Leland Yee didn’t mince words.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Anyone with the name ‘Bullet,’ you don’t want to mess around with,” Yee said. “When you lose someone like that, you lose part of your soul.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of Marasigan’s final triumphs in life was successfully fighting to re-open the \u003ca href=\"https://www.galingbata.org/\">Filipino Education Center\u003c/a> — a bilingual school and daycare for immigrant children. She believed this was an essential grounding place that would enable future generations of Filipinos to thrive in the Bay.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“When we’re gone,” she explained in 1995, “the work will continue.”\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",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>In January 1970, Violeta ‘Bullet’ Marasigan’s husband implored her to not “bring any more work home.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Quoted in a \u003cem>San Francisco Examiner\u003c/em> profile, Pete Marasigan was, the newspaper reported, only half-joking. Because when Violeta Marasigan brought the office home with her, it wasn’t stacks of papers and files. More often than not, it was human beings that needed food or a bed for the night.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Marasigan had been in nonstop action since 1968, when she was hired by San Francisco’s United Filipino Association (UFA) as a social worker. Born in the Philippines in 1939, Marasigan had moved to California to study at San Francisco State College. Shortly after graduation, the UFA brought her on to assist the elders — or \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manong#:~:text=Manong%20(Mah%2Dnoh%2Dng,given%20to%20an%20older%20sister.\">manongs\u003c/a> \u003c/em>— of Manilatown, a 10-block stretch of Filipino businesses, restaurants and social hubs centered around Kearny and Jackson Streets in San Francisco. She was perfect for the position.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>“I’m very optimistic,” she later explained. “I think a lot of things can be done if we really put ourselves in it — [and] not half-heartedly.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There was nothing half-hearted about Marasigan. She spent her entire life fighting for Filipinos, both in the Bay and abroad. Her nickname “Bullet” was coined while still in her teens; “Bolet” is a Tagalog version of the name Violeta, but Marasigan’s moniker morphed into “Bullet” once her friends realized how impossible it was to stand in her way. That much became clear to San Francisco as soon as Marasigan joined forces with the UFA.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“When I started working with the old men,” she told the \u003cem>San Francisco Examiner\u003c/em> in 1970, “I saw that they were discriminated against in terms of their access to social services. A lot of them had been here for over 30 years, but they could still barely speak English or write. These manongs were mostly single retired farmworkers and seamen living on social security retirement benefits.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Marasigan quickly deduced that most of these men — frequently World War II veterans — were not receiving all of the SSI benefits they were entitled to. (Some were receiving less than half of the appropriate amount.) Marasigan took it upon herself to bring these men into the Social Security office and advocate for each of them, one by one, until they each received what they were owed. And they were owed a lot.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After the U.S. colonized the Philippines in 1898, Filipino men became a cheap labor source for American companies, particularly in agriculture, canneries and the merchant navy. In the 1920s, 100,000 workers arrived from the Philippines to the U.S. to work. But not only were these men barred from bringing their families with them, by 1933 in California, they had also been prohibited from marrying outside of their race. (That year, the California senate saw fit to add “Malay” to the state’s interracial marriage ban, thereby \u003ca href=\"https://www.cschs.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/History-Resources-Articles-Caragozian-Ban-on-Interracial-Marriages.pdf\">preventing Filipino men from marrying\u003c/a> most of the women in their vicinity.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>With so many barriers to building a traditional family structure, it became essential for this first wave of manongs to form their own communities. Manilatown was central to that, and central to Manilatown was the International Hotel (often called the “I-Hotel”). The three-story structure at 838 Kearny Street housed 200 residents — mostly elderly and impoverished Filipino and Chinese men. The UFA’s headquarters, appropriately enough, was situated directly next door.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In Autumn of 1968, Marasigan and the UFA faced their biggest challenge yet. Residents at the I-Hotel began receiving eviction notices. (The business that owned the property, Milton Meyer and Company, wanted to turn the hotel into a multi-level parking lot.) Residents, students and other civil rights groups banded together to keep the I-Hotel open; Marasigan was a key player in negotiating the hotel a new three-year lease in 1969.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Marasigan couldn’t have known that just four years later, the hotel would be sold to a developer. Then, on Aug. 7, 1977, 400 police officers forced their way through a human chain around the I-Hotel and forcibly dragged out its residents, bringing an end to the hotel — and Manilatown itself — for good.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966696\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966696\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel.jpg\" alt=\"Men and women in 1970s clothing cluster together outside a building with a sign that says 'International Hotel' on it. \" width=\"2000\" height=\"1427\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel-800x571.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel-1020x728.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel-160x114.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel-768x548.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel-1536x1096.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/i-hotel-1920x1370.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Protesters gathered outside the International Hotel for days before police forcibly emptied the building. This image was taken on Aug. 3, 1977. \u003ccite>(Dave Randolph/San Francisco Chronicle via Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Marasigan was not there to see the end of the hotel she fought so hard to save. She had returned to Manila in 1971, quickly joining the resistance against Ferdinand Marcos, the dictator that placed the Philippines under martial law, put an end to the free press and began violently oppressing civilians. Marasigan proved herself once more to be an outspoken activist, visiting and raising money for political prisoners. For her trouble, Marasigan was arrested in 1982 on explosives charges.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Marasigan spent a year incarcerated at the infamous \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camp_Crame\">Camp Crame\u003c/a> before being fully exonerated. During her time as a political prisoner, Marasigan helped organize inmates, held political discussions and even conducted a 22-day hunger strike. In 1995, looking back on the turbulent time, she told the \u003cem>Examiner\u003c/em>, “The only thing explosive about me was my mouth and my farts.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She expanded: “Filipinos laugh a lot. We laugh at our mistakes. It’s one of the strengths we have. We can also fight.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And fight she did. Undeterred by her time in Camp Crame, in 1984, she co-founded \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gabriela_Women%27s_Party\">Gabriela Women’s Party\u003c/a> — an organization formed after 10,000 women marched against Marcos, defying a ban on protests. That same year, Maragisan also helped found \u003ca href=\"https://seldapilipinas.wordpress.com/about/\">Selda\u003c/a>, an advocacy organization by and for political prisoners. As part of her work with Gabriela and the National Council of Churches in the Philippines (NCCP), Maragisan had a hand in opening two safe havens for women: the \u003ca href=\"http://www.genuinesecurity.org/partners/buklod.htm\">Buklod Center in Olongapo City\u003c/a>, geared towards sex workers, and the \u003ca href=\"https://batiscenterforwomen.wordpress.com/about/history/\">Batis Center for Women\u003c/a> in Quezon City, which focused on female migrant workers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Marasigan finally came back to the Bay in 1988 and, though there was no Manilatown to return to, went straight back to work for Filipino immigrants. She worked as a social worker at \u003ca href=\"https://www.somapilipinas.org/community-1/2018/7/13/west-bay-pilipino-multi-service-center\">West Bay Filipino Multi-Services\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.healthright360.org/parent-program/asian-american-recovery-services/\">Asian American Recovery Services\u003c/a> and the Veterans Equity Center (now known as the \u003ca href=\"https://asianpacificfund.org/affiliate/veterans-equity-center-2/\">Bayanihan Equity Center\u003c/a>).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Throughout the 1990s, while based in Daly City, Marasigan remained focused on seniors and veterans, setting up food and clothing banks at two separate Mission Street locations. In 1993, she co-founded the Friends of Filipino American Veterans to conduct “direct action, legal aid, advocacy and outreach programs for the veterans.” In 1994, she was president of the Filipino American Human Rights Advocates. Around this time, the editor in chief of \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Filipinas_(magazine)\">\u003cem>Filipinas\u003c/em> magazine\u003c/a> Rene Ciria-Cruz called Marasigan “old reliable,” and noted: “She’s a symbol of activism. When she’s there it lends a validity to the cause being taken up.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Marasigan broadened her focus even further in the ’90s, working more with children and teens — a natural progression, after she’d raised four daughters and a son of her own.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>In 1995, Marasigan volunteered with the Bilingual Advisory Council of Balboa Park’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.sfusd.edu/school/james-denman-middle-school\">James Denman Middle School\u003c/a>, was a member of the School Advisory Council and actively worked with teens on AIDS prevention. An article in the \u003cem>San Francisco Examiner\u003c/em> that year reported that she was prone to bluntly asking the teens at the West Bay Filipino Center on Mission St. if they were sexually active.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“If they cannot say ‘no’ right away,” she explained, “I grab their hand and say ‘Talk to me.’ I’m straight with them. I answer their questions and I don’t get embarrassed.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Marasigan wasn’t afraid to enter a classroom and tell kids something they’d never heard before — be it about safe sex or their own history.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“In the curriculum,” she said at the time, “there is no cultural empowerment of other groups. Last week, we had a support group at Balboa, and we showed them Filipino history in America, and they were so surprised … How could our children have self-esteem in school when they don’t see they are part of the history of America?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sadly, Marasigan’s life of service was suddenly cut short by an accident in April 2000. She had just gotten out of her parked car when it rolled down the street, knocking her to the ground. She was 61.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At a \u003ca href=\"https://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/Memorial-Service-Held-at-City-Hall-For-Activist-2784544.php\">packed memorial service\u003c/a> for her at San Francisco’s City Hall, tributes poured in from Mayor Willie Brown, several supervisors (including Tom Ammiano and Mabel Teng) and a plethora of friends and associates. Supervisor Leland Yee didn’t mince words.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Anyone with the name ‘Bullet,’ you don’t want to mess around with,” Yee said. “When you lose someone like that, you lose part of your soul.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of Marasigan’s final triumphs in life was successfully fighting to re-open the \u003ca href=\"https://www.galingbata.org/\">Filipino Education Center\u003c/a> — a bilingual school and daycare for immigrant children. She believed this was an essential grounding place that would enable future generations of Filipinos to thrive in the Bay.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“When we’re gone,” she explained in 1995, “the work will continue.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\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\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"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",
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"headline": "The Transgender Topless Dancer Who Went to War with Prison Authorities",
"datePublished": "2024-09-04T11:32:18-07:00",
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"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>",
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"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>",
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"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>",
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"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 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>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\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\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"slug": "best-live-music-bay-area-2024",
"title": "The Best Live Music I Saw But Didn’t Get to Review in 2024",
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"headTitle": "The Best Live Music I Saw But Didn’t Get to Review in 2024 | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cp>Maybe it was the election anxiety. I went to see live music \u003cem>compulsively\u003c/em> in 2024 — over 50 shows, and that’s on top of another 20-odd plays, art exhibits, movies and events. Yes, it’s part of my job, but it’s also my connection to others, my spiritual practice, my therapy. And while I was able to review 15 live music shows for KQED by stars of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13953284/nicki-minaj-review-oakland-arena-pink-friday-2-tour\">rap\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13962051/review-olivia-rodrigo-san-francisco-chase-center-guts-tour\">pop\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13955312/review-green-day-fillmore-photos-san-francisco\">rock\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13951043/review-michael-tilson-thomas-mahler-5-san-francisco-symphony\">classical\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13953845/review-brandee-younger-alice-coltrane-san-francisco-sfjazz\">jazz\u003c/a>, many others went unnoted.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There are dozens of reasons for all of us to see live music, and to especially \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/11027790/keep-listening-notes-on-turning-40-and-still-seeking-out-new-music\">seek out new music, no matter your age\u003c/a>. But in 2024, you’ll notice below, I also allowed myself the guilty pleasure of nostalgia. Here, then, are 30 shows I saw in 2024 which I didn’t review, now reviewed in just one sentence each — complete with bad photos from my phone.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_4637-scaled-e1733464046796.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1472\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969134\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_4637-scaled-e1733464046796.jpeg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_4637-scaled-e1733464046796-800x613.jpeg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_4637-scaled-e1733464046796-1020x782.jpeg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_4637-scaled-e1733464046796-160x123.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_4637-scaled-e1733464046796-768x589.jpeg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_4637-scaled-e1733464046796-1536x1178.jpeg 1536w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Jan. 14\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>David Hegarty\u003cbr>\nCastro Theatre, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nBefore the double feature of \u003cem>Blade Runner\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Robocop\u003c/em>, I made a point of writing down the beloved organist’s setlist: “Consider Yourself,” “S’Wonderful,” “This Could Be the Start of Something Big,” “A Wonderful Guy,” “Cheek to Cheek,” “That’s Entertainment” and, naturally, “San Francisco” (two weeks later, before a screening of \u003cem>2001\u003c/em>, he played “Also Sprach Zarathustra”).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.41.41-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1294\" height=\"1126\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969132\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.41.41-PM.png 1294w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.41.41-PM-800x696.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.41.41-PM-1020x888.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.41.41-PM-160x139.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.41.41-PM-768x668.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1294px) 100vw, 1294px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Feb. 3\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Howard Wiley\u003cbr>\nSFJAZZ, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nGod bless saxophonist Howard Wiley, who advertised a gospel music show and then opened his set with Ornette Coleman’s “The Face of the Bass.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_5133-scaled-e1733463947410.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1590\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969143\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_5133-scaled-e1733463947410.jpeg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_5133-scaled-e1733463947410-800x663.jpeg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_5133-scaled-e1733463947410-1020x845.jpeg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_5133-scaled-e1733463947410-160x133.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_5133-scaled-e1733463947410-768x636.jpeg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_5133-scaled-e1733463947410-1536x1272.jpeg 1536w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Feb. 10\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>MDC\u003cbr>\nThe Ivy Room, Albany \u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nThis San Francisco punk band once \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/12454758/bay-area-warehouse-scene-threatened-after-decades-of-incubating-art\">squatted inside the giant underground beer vats\u003c/a> of the former Hamm’s brewery on Bryant Street, just two and a half blocks from KQED’s current headquarters; at this haywire show, “Born to Die” still sounded tremendous, 43 years later. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.45.07-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1292\" height=\"1096\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969129\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.45.07-PM.png 1292w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.45.07-PM-800x679.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.45.07-PM-1020x865.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.45.07-PM-160x136.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.45.07-PM-768x651.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1292px) 100vw, 1292px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Feb. 10\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Deltrice\u003cbr>\nChris Club, Vallejo \u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nI want Deltrice to sing the hook on almost every Bay Area rap song I hear.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/cellski.main_.jpg\" width=\"1286\" height=\"866\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959762\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Feb. 22\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Cellski with the Top Chefs\u003cbr>\nBrick & Mortar Music Hall, San Francisco \u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nThere is nothing like a whole city turning out to shower love on one of its own, who performed \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/C3rqbZIraS_/\">every single song\u003c/a> from \u003cem>Mr. Predicter\u003c/em> for its 30th anniversary.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.48.20-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1286\" height=\"866\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969135\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.48.20-PM.png 1286w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.48.20-PM-800x539.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.48.20-PM-1020x687.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.48.20-PM-160x108.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.48.20-PM-768x517.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1286px) 100vw, 1286px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>March 24\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Lil Kayla\u003cbr>\nPhoenix Theatre, Petaluma\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nDear Lil Kayla, I apologize on behalf of Sonoma County that only 85 people came to your show, hope you give us another shot someday.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_6004.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1320\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969128\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_6004.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_6004-800x550.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_6004-1020x701.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_6004-160x110.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_6004-768x528.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_6004-1536x1056.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>March 28 (and 31)\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band\u003cbr>\nChase Center, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nI am not allowed to talk about Bruce Springsteen in public, because eventually someone spins their forefinger around their ear in the universal sign for “this guy’s crazy,” but suffice it to say, he opened with “Something In the Night” (!!) and when I got home I immediately bought a solo ticket to the second show. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.51.05-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1290\" height=\"994\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969136\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.51.05-PM.png 1290w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.51.05-PM-800x616.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.51.05-PM-1020x786.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.51.05-PM-160x123.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.51.05-PM-768x592.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1290px) 100vw, 1290px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>April 3\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Danny Brown\u003cbr>\nRegency Ballroom, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nOpener Alice Longyu Gao bent minds with “Let’s Hope Heteros Fail, Learn and Retire” and Bruiser Wolf melted hearts with “Momma Was a Dopefiend,” but it’s Detroit’s era in rap, and Danny Brown still brought the heat (speaketh the forefather: “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUv_OIFmLwg\">My hoe got tats on her face, sell me them cookies from Oakland\u003c/a>”). \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.54.04-PM-e1733464012147.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1715\" height=\"1638\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969137\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.54.04-PM-e1733464012147.png 1715w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.54.04-PM-e1733464012147-800x764.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.54.04-PM-e1733464012147-1020x974.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.54.04-PM-e1733464012147-160x153.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.54.04-PM-e1733464012147-768x734.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.54.04-PM-e1733464012147-1536x1467.png 1536w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1715px) 100vw, 1715px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>May 8\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>454\u003cbr>\nThe Independent, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nLet us all have the energy of 10 bowls of Frosted Flakes before we bound onstage and bounce, weave, skitter and float about for 40 minutes of unfiltered joy. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.54.36-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1526\" height=\"1384\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969138\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.54.36-PM.png 1526w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.54.36-PM-800x726.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.54.36-PM-1020x925.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.54.36-PM-160x145.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.54.36-PM-768x697.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1526px) 100vw, 1526px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>May 18\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>The Piner High School Band\u003cbr>\nRose Parade, Santa Rosa\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nIt should be considered cruel and unusual punishment to force high school music students into military marching rituals, and yet I, a former band kid, still felt a strange sort of pride to see my alma mater persisting against brutal budget cuts to public school music programs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.57.10-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1298\" height=\"1276\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969140\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.57.10-PM.png 1298w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.57.10-PM-800x786.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.57.10-PM-1020x1003.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.57.10-PM-160x157.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.57.10-PM-768x755.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1298px) 100vw, 1298px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>May 21\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Too Short\u003cbr>\nLake Merritt Bandstand, Oakland\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nOakland Is the Most Amazing City In the World, Chapter 3,276: Too Short agreeing to this free afternoon show on the shore of the lake for thousands of people on a random Tuesday … to promote \u003cem>voter registration\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.01.34-PM-e1733463982971.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1275\" height=\"1162\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969141\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.01.34-PM-e1733463982971.png 1275w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.01.34-PM-e1733463982971-800x729.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.01.34-PM-e1733463982971-1020x930.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.01.34-PM-e1733463982971-160x146.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.01.34-PM-e1733463982971-768x700.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1275px) 100vw, 1275px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>May 29\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Los Alegres del Barranco\u003cbr>\nJuilliard Park, Santa Rosa\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nThere is an attraction in \u003ca href=\"https://bohemian.com/listening-to-huey-lewis-outside-the-fence-at-the-sonoma-county-fair-isnt-all-that-bad/\">listening to concerts from outside the fence\u003c/a> — and just a few nights after watching Los Alegres del Barranco’s norteño corridos through the chain link, my daughter and I stood outside City Hall in San Francisco to hear Skrillex’s set wafting through the nighttime air.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.02.29-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1288\" height=\"1102\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969117\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.02.29-PM.png 1288w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.02.29-PM-800x684.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.02.29-PM-1020x873.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.02.29-PM-160x137.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.02.29-PM-768x657.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1288px) 100vw, 1288px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>June 9\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Gary Bartz\u003cbr>\nSFJAZZ, San Francisco \u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nTruly (and I imagine guest trumpeter Ambrose Akinmusire agrees) all of us can only hope to be one-tenth as funny and creative as Gary Bartz when we, too, are 83. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.03.23-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1722\" height=\"1324\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969118\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.03.23-PM.png 1722w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.03.23-PM-800x615.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.03.23-PM-1020x784.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.03.23-PM-160x123.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.03.23-PM-768x590.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.03.23-PM-1536x1181.png 1536w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1722px) 100vw, 1722px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>June 15\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Houston Person\u003cbr>\nTown Plaza, Healdsburg \u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nI played his version of “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lR3K7msLNes\">Young, Gifted and Black\u003c/a>” for a week straight afterward.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/E99FCECE-8347-4F39-87B5-E3D5B50892F3_1_201_a.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1394\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969116\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/E99FCECE-8347-4F39-87B5-E3D5B50892F3_1_201_a.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/E99FCECE-8347-4F39-87B5-E3D5B50892F3_1_201_a-800x581.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/E99FCECE-8347-4F39-87B5-E3D5B50892F3_1_201_a-1020x741.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/E99FCECE-8347-4F39-87B5-E3D5B50892F3_1_201_a-160x116.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/E99FCECE-8347-4F39-87B5-E3D5B50892F3_1_201_a-768x558.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/E99FCECE-8347-4F39-87B5-E3D5B50892F3_1_201_a-1536x1115.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>July 6\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Standing on the Corner\u003cbr>\nSFJAZZ, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nAcross a 13-song set of spaced-out songs like “Angel,” “Get Out the Ghetto” and “Genocide,” Gio Escobar recited original poetry, covered Chuck Berry and showed that New York, though it historically looks down on the Bay Area, has a bit of our experimental, political bent after all.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/A054A4D5-A61A-45BA-9A0B-F51B003D27C5_1_105_c.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1522\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969121\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/A054A4D5-A61A-45BA-9A0B-F51B003D27C5_1_105_c.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/A054A4D5-A61A-45BA-9A0B-F51B003D27C5_1_105_c-800x634.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/A054A4D5-A61A-45BA-9A0B-F51B003D27C5_1_105_c-1020x809.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/A054A4D5-A61A-45BA-9A0B-F51B003D27C5_1_105_c-160x127.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/A054A4D5-A61A-45BA-9A0B-F51B003D27C5_1_105_c-768x609.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/A054A4D5-A61A-45BA-9A0B-F51B003D27C5_1_105_c-1536x1218.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Aug. 20\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>X\u003cbr>\nGuild Theatre, Menlo Park\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nI danced and danced and danced and danced and danced, and did not stop until an acoustic duet of John and Exene singing “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9zfrW0F2K8\">See How We Are\u003c/a>,” and only because it rendered my knees too weak to move. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.09.39-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1144\" height=\"936\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969119\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.09.39-PM.png 1144w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.09.39-PM-800x655.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.09.39-PM-1020x835.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.09.39-PM-160x131.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.09.39-PM-768x628.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1144px) 100vw, 1144px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sept. 1\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Fifteen\u003cbr>\nArlene Francis Center, Santa Rosa\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nThe lines “\u003ca href=\"https://youtu.be/fv5ZFuiGiXQ?si=UqRQ4WULyM6Qv2Gy&t=165\">I was born a little too late to see the dream that they called America / See I only wanna be a free man but it’s against the law to sleep on the ground in God’s land\u003c/a>” felt more relevant than ever after the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/11991340/supreme-court-says-laws-criminalizing-homeless-camping-do-not-violate-constitution\">Supreme Court’s Grants Pass decision criminalizing camping on public property\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.11.28-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1042\" height=\"776\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969123\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.11.28-PM.png 1042w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.11.28-PM-800x596.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.11.28-PM-1020x760.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.11.28-PM-160x119.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.11.28-PM-768x572.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1042px) 100vw, 1042px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sept. 3\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Smoking Popes\u003cbr>\nGreat American Music Hall, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nThey dropped a minute or so of the Replacements’ “Can’t Hardly Wait” into the middle of “Gotta Know Right Now,” and I died right then and there.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.14.15-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1144\" height=\"1002\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969125\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.14.15-PM.png 1144w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.14.15-PM-800x701.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.14.15-PM-1020x893.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.14.15-PM-160x140.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.14.15-PM-768x673.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1144px) 100vw, 1144px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sept. 5\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Future and Metro Boomin\u003cbr>\nOakland Arena, Oakland\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nWhile Future isn’t a rap dinosaur by any means, when the transcendence of “March Madness” filled the arena, I had a sobering realization that the song is now nearly 10 years old. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.17.27-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1140\" height=\"784\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969126\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.17.27-PM.png 1140w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.17.27-PM-800x550.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.17.27-PM-1020x701.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.17.27-PM-160x110.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.17.27-PM-768x528.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1140px) 100vw, 1140px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sept. 16\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Pulp\u003cbr>\nBill Graham Civic Auditorium, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nIt was a Monday night, tickets on Stubhub were literally $9, and Jarvis Cocker talked about Richard Brautigan living on Geary Street before soaring through “This Is Hardcore,” a perfect song.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/F3AE3AD0-48A6-482E-8102-017383C095FB_1_105_c.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1582\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969114\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/F3AE3AD0-48A6-482E-8102-017383C095FB_1_105_c.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/F3AE3AD0-48A6-482E-8102-017383C095FB_1_105_c-800x659.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/F3AE3AD0-48A6-482E-8102-017383C095FB_1_105_c-1020x840.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/F3AE3AD0-48A6-482E-8102-017383C095FB_1_105_c-160x132.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/F3AE3AD0-48A6-482E-8102-017383C095FB_1_105_c-768x633.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/F3AE3AD0-48A6-482E-8102-017383C095FB_1_105_c-1536x1266.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sept. 21\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>The Linda Lindas\u003cbr>\n924 Gilman, Berkeley\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nPerhaps the most wholesome punk show I’ve ever seen; I lost count of how many parents I ran into in the packed crowd, bringing their children to Gilman for the first time. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.25.55-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1146\" height=\"828\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969112\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.25.55-PM.png 1146w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.25.55-PM-800x578.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.25.55-PM-1020x737.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.25.55-PM-160x116.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.25.55-PM-768x555.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1146px) 100vw, 1146px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sept. 23\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Nicki Minaj\u003cbr>\nChase Center, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nI WISH I COULD QUIT YOU NICKI 🤷♂️\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.27.28-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1138\" height=\"770\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969113\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.27.28-PM.png 1138w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.27.28-PM-800x541.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.27.28-PM-1020x690.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.27.28-PM-160x108.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.27.28-PM-768x520.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1138px) 100vw, 1138px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sept. 28\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Built to Spill\u003cbr>\nThe Fillmore, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nThe new rhythm section shreds, the transition from “Twin Falls” into “Some” is better than hospital painkillers, and Doug Martsch’s beard has grown capable of knocking over tall buildings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.28.28-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1144\" height=\"846\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969115\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.28.28-PM.png 1144w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.28.28-PM-800x592.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.28.28-PM-1020x754.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.28.28-PM-160x118.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.28.28-PM-768x568.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1144px) 100vw, 1144px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Oct. 6\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Billy Ocean\u003cbr>\nGraton Casino, Rohnert Park\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nA very long-overdue show in the Bay Area; Billy Ocean basically has six hits, but they are really, really good hits, and he still has \u003cem>that voice\u003c/em> — let’s hope we don’t have to wait another 20 years for him to return. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.29.39-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1134\" height=\"810\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969120\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.29.39-PM.png 1134w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.29.39-PM-800x571.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.29.39-PM-1020x729.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.29.39-PM-160x114.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.29.39-PM-768x549.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1134px) 100vw, 1134px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Oct. 10\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Bladee\u003cbr>\nThe Warfield, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nTwo years ago, with ecco2k, Bladee delivered a beautiful, joyful show at Complex in Oakland, and maybe fame really does curdle people, or else Bladee was simply leaning hard into the concept of \u003cem>Cold Visions\u003c/em>, because this time around, bleakness reigned.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.31.18-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1140\" height=\"1006\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969122\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.31.18-PM.png 1140w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.31.18-PM-800x706.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.31.18-PM-1020x900.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.31.18-PM-160x141.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.31.18-PM-768x678.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1140px) 100vw, 1140px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Oct. 19\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>History of the Bay\u003cbr>\nThe Midway, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nThe Bay Area has an eternally deep well of unsung rap heroes, which means that as monumental as it is to get B-Legit, Kamaiyah, Souls of Mischief, Rick Rock and Mob Figaz on stage together, it still feels like a mere sliver of talent; shout out to Dregs One for playing the long game and building the history piece by piece. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.34.02-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1144\" height=\"972\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969124\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.34.02-PM.png 1144w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.34.02-PM-800x680.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.34.02-PM-1020x867.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.34.02-PM-160x136.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.34.02-PM-768x653.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1144px) 100vw, 1144px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Oct. 19\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>D.R.I.\u003cbr>\nNeck of the Woods, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nTwo people got thrown out, girls crowdsurfed over the pit, someone fell asleep on the stage, and afterward, talking to singer Kurt Brecht with swirling thoughts of 500 things to say, all I could muster was “Thank you for the great art you have given the world.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.36.36-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1142\" height=\"950\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969130\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.36.36-PM.png 1142w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.36.36-PM-800x665.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.36.36-PM-1020x849.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.36.36-PM-160x133.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.36.36-PM-768x639.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1142px) 100vw, 1142px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Oct. 27\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Phoenix Halloween Show\u003cbr>\nPhoenix Theatre, Petaluma\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nA classic Halloween-covers night, except this year at the Phoenix, Miss Minor’s insanely elaborate Britney Spears tribute — period-correct in wardrobe, set and choreography — capped the night, along with a giant balloon drop.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.38.28-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1142\" height=\"1016\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969133\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.38.28-PM.png 1142w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.38.28-PM-800x712.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.38.28-PM-1020x907.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.38.28-PM-160x142.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-9.38.28-PM-768x683.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1142px) 100vw, 1142px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Nov. 2\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Kirk Franklin’s Reunion Tour\u003cbr>\nOakland Arena, Oakland\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nI went for the Clark Sisters, but the surprise of the night was Yolanda Adams, who, at 63, sent shivers down the spine; meanwhile, Kirk Franklin only had to play two piano notes before a spontaneous mass acapella sing-along of “Silver & Gold” broke out around the arena.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/img_1409_720.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1996\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969144\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/img_1409_720.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/img_1409_720-800x832.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/img_1409_720-1020x1060.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/img_1409_720-160x166.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/img_1409_720-768x798.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/img_1409_720-1478x1536.jpg 1478w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Nov. 30\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Victims Family\u003cbr>\nThe Big Easy, Petaluma\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nAfter Victims Family’s epic 40-song set to celebrate their 40th anniversary, I genuinely worried that I had permanent hearing loss, but you know, I wouldn’t have complained if this life-affirming show had been the last music I ever heard.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "One can only review so many concerts. Here's a roundup of 30 stellar shows that didn't make the cut this year.",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Maybe it was the election anxiety. I went to see live music \u003cem>compulsively\u003c/em> in 2024 — over 50 shows, and that’s on top of another 20-odd plays, art exhibits, movies and events. Yes, it’s part of my job, but it’s also my connection to others, my spiritual practice, my therapy. And while I was able to review 15 live music shows for KQED by stars of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13953284/nicki-minaj-review-oakland-arena-pink-friday-2-tour\">rap\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13962051/review-olivia-rodrigo-san-francisco-chase-center-guts-tour\">pop\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13955312/review-green-day-fillmore-photos-san-francisco\">rock\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13951043/review-michael-tilson-thomas-mahler-5-san-francisco-symphony\">classical\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13953845/review-brandee-younger-alice-coltrane-san-francisco-sfjazz\">jazz\u003c/a>, many others went unnoted.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There are dozens of reasons for all of us to see live music, and to especially \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/11027790/keep-listening-notes-on-turning-40-and-still-seeking-out-new-music\">seek out new music, no matter your age\u003c/a>. But in 2024, you’ll notice below, I also allowed myself the guilty pleasure of nostalgia. Here, then, are 30 shows I saw in 2024 which I didn’t review, now reviewed in just one sentence each — complete with bad photos from my phone.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_4637-scaled-e1733464046796.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1472\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969134\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_4637-scaled-e1733464046796.jpeg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_4637-scaled-e1733464046796-800x613.jpeg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_4637-scaled-e1733464046796-1020x782.jpeg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_4637-scaled-e1733464046796-160x123.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_4637-scaled-e1733464046796-768x589.jpeg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_4637-scaled-e1733464046796-1536x1178.jpeg 1536w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Jan. 14\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>David Hegarty\u003cbr>\nCastro Theatre, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nBefore the double feature of \u003cem>Blade Runner\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Robocop\u003c/em>, I made a point of writing down the beloved organist’s setlist: “Consider Yourself,” “S’Wonderful,” “This Could Be the Start of Something Big,” “A Wonderful Guy,” “Cheek to Cheek,” “That’s Entertainment” and, naturally, “San Francisco” (two weeks later, before a screening of \u003cem>2001\u003c/em>, he played “Also Sprach Zarathustra”).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.41.41-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1294\" height=\"1126\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969132\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.41.41-PM.png 1294w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.41.41-PM-800x696.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.41.41-PM-1020x888.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.41.41-PM-160x139.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.41.41-PM-768x668.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1294px) 100vw, 1294px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Feb. 3\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Howard Wiley\u003cbr>\nSFJAZZ, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nGod bless saxophonist Howard Wiley, who advertised a gospel music show and then opened his set with Ornette Coleman’s “The Face of the Bass.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_5133-scaled-e1733463947410.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1590\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969143\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_5133-scaled-e1733463947410.jpeg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_5133-scaled-e1733463947410-800x663.jpeg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_5133-scaled-e1733463947410-1020x845.jpeg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_5133-scaled-e1733463947410-160x133.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_5133-scaled-e1733463947410-768x636.jpeg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_5133-scaled-e1733463947410-1536x1272.jpeg 1536w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Feb. 10\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>MDC\u003cbr>\nThe Ivy Room, Albany \u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nThis San Francisco punk band once \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/12454758/bay-area-warehouse-scene-threatened-after-decades-of-incubating-art\">squatted inside the giant underground beer vats\u003c/a> of the former Hamm’s brewery on Bryant Street, just two and a half blocks from KQED’s current headquarters; at this haywire show, “Born to Die” still sounded tremendous, 43 years later. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.45.07-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1292\" height=\"1096\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969129\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.45.07-PM.png 1292w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.45.07-PM-800x679.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.45.07-PM-1020x865.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.45.07-PM-160x136.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.45.07-PM-768x651.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1292px) 100vw, 1292px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Feb. 10\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Deltrice\u003cbr>\nChris Club, Vallejo \u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nI want Deltrice to sing the hook on almost every Bay Area rap song I hear.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/cellski.main_.jpg\" width=\"1286\" height=\"866\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959762\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Feb. 22\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Cellski with the Top Chefs\u003cbr>\nBrick & Mortar Music Hall, San Francisco \u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nThere is nothing like a whole city turning out to shower love on one of its own, who performed \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/C3rqbZIraS_/\">every single song\u003c/a> from \u003cem>Mr. Predicter\u003c/em> for its 30th anniversary.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.48.20-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1286\" height=\"866\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969135\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.48.20-PM.png 1286w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.48.20-PM-800x539.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.48.20-PM-1020x687.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.48.20-PM-160x108.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.48.20-PM-768x517.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1286px) 100vw, 1286px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>March 24\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Lil Kayla\u003cbr>\nPhoenix Theatre, Petaluma\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nDear Lil Kayla, I apologize on behalf of Sonoma County that only 85 people came to your show, hope you give us another shot someday.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_6004.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1320\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969128\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_6004.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_6004-800x550.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_6004-1020x701.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_6004-160x110.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_6004-768x528.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/IMG_6004-1536x1056.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>March 28 (and 31)\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band\u003cbr>\nChase Center, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nI am not allowed to talk about Bruce Springsteen in public, because eventually someone spins their forefinger around their ear in the universal sign for “this guy’s crazy,” but suffice it to say, he opened with “Something In the Night” (!!) and when I got home I immediately bought a solo ticket to the second show. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.51.05-PM.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1290\" height=\"994\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-13969136\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.51.05-PM.png 1290w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.51.05-PM-800x616.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.51.05-PM-1020x786.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.51.05-PM-160x123.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.51.05-PM-768x592.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1290px) 100vw, 1290px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>April 3\u003cbr>\n\u003cstrong>Danny Brown\u003cbr>\nRegency Ballroom, San Francisco\u003c/strong>\u003cbr>\nOpener Alice Longyu Gao bent minds with “Let’s Hope Heteros Fail, Learn and Retire” and Bruiser Wolf melted hearts with “Momma Was a Dopefiend,” but it’s Detroit’s era in rap, and Danny Brown still brought the heat (speaketh the forefather: “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUv_OIFmLwg\">My hoe got tats on her face, sell me them cookies from Oakland\u003c/a>”). \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/12/Screenshot-2024-12-05-at-8.54.04-PM-e1733464012147.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1715\" height=\"1638\" cla