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
Boots Riley’s New Film Is About a Female Shoplifting Ring
'I Love Boosters,' starring Keke Palmer, LaKeith Stanfield and Demi Moore, is set to begin shooting this fall.
‘Countdown 1960' Shows Parallels With this Year’s Presidential Election Season
1960 was the year that presidential campaigns entered the modern era with TV debates. It was also an achingly close contest.
This Horror Genre Is Scary as Folk – and Perfect October Viewing
Folk horror is set in remote, isolated areas where local superstitions hold sway. Think: ‘The Wicker Man’ and ‘Midsommar.’.
A Gazan Photographer Embraces Her Refugee Lens in San Francisco
Lara Aburamadan reported from the ground in Gaza. Now in the Bay Area, she founded Refugee Eye, an art studio.
Paula Hawkins Returns With Psychological Thriller ’The Blue Hour’
The ‘Girl on a Train’ author is back with a slow burning thriller that has a shocking ending.
One of Oakland’s Top Noodle Makers Now Runs a Dumpling Shop
Huang Cheng Potsticker is the newest restaurant to debut at Swan’s Market.
Two Artists Answer the ‘Call of the Void’ with Lime-Hued Paintings
Laura Rokas and Erik Bender’s two-person show at 1599fdT is a delightfully unsettling viewing experience.
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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He writes about sports, food, art, music, education, and culture while repping the Bay on \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/alan_chazaro\">Twitter\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/alan_chazaro/?hl=en\">Instagram\u003c/a> at @alan_chazaro.","avatar":"https://secure.gravatar.com/avatar/ea8b6dd970fc5c29e7a188e7d5861df7?s=600&d=blank&r=g","twitter":"alan_chazaro","facebook":null,"instagram":null,"linkedin":null,"sites":[{"site":"arts","roles":["editor"]},{"site":"news","roles":["editor"]}],"headData":{"title":"Alan Chazaro | KQED","description":"Food Writer and Reporter","ogImgSrc":"https://secure.gravatar.com/avatar/ea8b6dd970fc5c29e7a188e7d5861df7?s=600&d=blank&r=g","twImgSrc":"https://secure.gravatar.com/avatar/ea8b6dd970fc5c29e7a188e7d5861df7?s=600&d=blank&r=g"},"isLoading":false,"link":"/author/achazaro"},"earnold":{"type":"authors","id":"11839","meta":{"index":"authors_1716337520","id":"11839","found":true},"name":"Eric Arnold","firstName":"Eric","lastName":"Arnold","slug":"earnold","email":"earnold@kqed.org","display_author_email":false,"staff_mastheads":[],"title":"Contributing Editor, 'That's My Word'","bio":"Eric Arnold has covered hip-hop locally and nationally for over 30 years. Formerly the managing editor of \u003cem>4080\u003c/em> and columnist for \u003cem>The Source\u003c/em>, he chronicled hyphy’s rise and fall, co-curated the Oakland Museum of California’s first hip-hop exhibit in 2018 and won a 2022 Northern California Emmy Award for a mini-documentary on Oakland’s Boogaloo dance culture. He is a contributing editor for \u003cem>That’s My Word\u003c/em>, KQED's series on the history of Bay Area hip-hop.","avatar":"https://secure.gravatar.com/avatar/ede45b04898456ad0893a2811e78b0a2?s=600&d=blank&r=g","twitter":null,"facebook":null,"instagram":null,"linkedin":null,"sites":[{"site":"arts","roles":["contributor"]},{"site":"news","roles":["contributor"]},{"site":"hiphop","roles":["contributor"]}],"headData":{"title":"Eric Arnold | KQED","description":"Contributing Editor, 'That's My Word'","ogImgSrc":"https://secure.gravatar.com/avatar/ede45b04898456ad0893a2811e78b0a2?s=600&d=blank&r=g","twImgSrc":"https://secure.gravatar.com/avatar/ede45b04898456ad0893a2811e78b0a2?s=600&d=blank&r=g"},"isLoading":false,"link":"/author/earnold"},"ralexandra":{"type":"authors","id":"11242","meta":{"index":"authors_1716337520","id":"11242","found":true},"name":"Rae Alexandra","firstName":"Rae","lastName":"Alexandra","slug":"ralexandra","email":"ralexandra@kqed.org","display_author_email":true,"staff_mastheads":["arts"],"title":"Staff Writer","bio":"Rae Alexandra is Staff Writer for KQED Arts & Culture, and the creator/author of the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/program/rebel-girls-from-bay-area-history\">Rebel Girls From Bay Area History\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bizarrebayarea\">Bizarre Bay Area\u003c/a> series. Born and raised in Wales, she started her career in London, as a music journalist for uproarious rock ’n’ roll magazine, \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kerrang.com/features/an-oral-history-of-alternative-tentacles-40-years-of-keeping-punk-alive/\">Kerrang!\u003c/a>\u003c/em>. In America, she got her start at alt-weeklies including \u003cem>SF Weekly\u003c/em>\u003c/a> and the \u003ca href=\"https://www.villagevoice.com/author/raealexandra/\">\u003cem>Village Voice\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, and freelanced for a great many other publications. Her undying love for San Francisco has, more recently, turned her into \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/category/history\">a history nerd\u003c/a>. In 2023, Rae was awarded an SPJ Excellence in Journalism Award for Arts & Culture.","avatar":"https://secure.gravatar.com/avatar/d5ef3d663d9adae1345d06932a3951de?s=600&d=blank&r=g","twitter":"raemondjjjj","facebook":null,"instagram":null,"linkedin":null,"sites":[{"site":"arts","roles":["editor"]},{"site":"news","roles":["editor"]},{"site":"pop","roles":["editor"]},{"site":"bayareabites","roles":["editor"]},{"site":"science","roles":["editor"]}],"headData":{"title":"Rae Alexandra | KQED","description":"Staff Writer","ogImgSrc":"https://secure.gravatar.com/avatar/d5ef3d663d9adae1345d06932a3951de?s=600&d=blank&r=g","twImgSrc":"https://secure.gravatar.com/avatar/d5ef3d663d9adae1345d06932a3951de?s=600&d=blank&r=g"},"isLoading":false,"link":"/author/ralexandra"}},"breakingNewsReducer":{},"campaignFinanceReducer":{},"pagesReducer":{"root-site_kqedarts":{"type":"pages","id":"root-site_22299","meta":{"index":"pages_1716337520","site":"root-site","id":"22299","score":0},"slug":"kqedarts","title":"Arts & Culture","headTitle":"Arts & Culture | KQED","pagePath":"kqedarts","pageMeta":{"sticky":false,"WpPageTemplate":"page-topic-editorial","adSlotOverride":"300x250_arts","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include"},"headData":{"title":"Bay Area Arts and Culture | KQED","description":"Discover the Bay Area's music, art, film, performing arts, literature, cultural commentary, and criticism through KQED's daily in-depth coverage.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialTitle":"Bay Area Arts and Culture | KQED","socialDescription":"Discover the Bay Area's music, art, film, performing arts, literature, cultural commentary, and criticism through KQED's daily in-depth coverage.","canonicalUrl":"https://www.kqed.org/arts","imageData":{"ogImageSize":{"file":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png","width":1200,"height":630},"twImageSize":{"file":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"},"twitterCard":"summary_large_image"}},"labelTerm":{"site":""},"publishDate":1681251591,"content":"\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-columns\">\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-column\">\u003c/div>\n\n\n\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-column\">\u003c/div>\n\u003c/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-section-overview\">\u003c/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-section-overview\">\u003c/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n","blocks":[{"blockName":"kqed/columns","attrs":{"heading":"top story"},"innerBlocks":[{"blockName":"kqed/column","attrs":{"heading":"","colSpan":"8","colSpanTablet":"6"},"innerBlocks":[{"blockName":"kqed/post-list","attrs":{"layout":"cardEditorial1","query":"posts?tag=featured-arts&queryId=4a28f85017","useSSR":true},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]}],"innerHTML":"\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-column\">\u003c/div>\n","innerContent":["\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-column\">",null,"\u003c/div>\n"]},{"blockName":"kqed/column","attrs":{"heading":"More arts stories","colSpan":"4","colSpanTablet":"6"},"innerBlocks":[{"blockName":"kqed/post-list","attrs":{"layout":"cardMostViewedNumberless","query":"posts/arts,forum,news?category=arts&queryId=58040b121","featureQuery":"posts?tag=featured-arts&queryId=58040b121","useSSR":false},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]}],"innerHTML":"\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-column\">\u003c/div>\n","innerContent":["\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-column\">",null,"\u003c/div>\n"]}],"innerHTML":"\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-columns\">\n\n\u003c/div>\n","innerContent":["\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-columns\">",null,"\n\n",null,"\u003c/div>\n"]},{"blockName":"kqed/email-signup","attrs":{"newsletterSlug":"arts"},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/post-list","attrs":{"layout":"cardSeriesShowcase","query":"posts?program=rightnowish&queryId=126d1d31aa0","title":"Rightnowish","sectionUrl":"/podcasts/rightnowish","buttonText":"More from Rightnowish","seeMore":false},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/post-list","attrs":{"layout":"cardSeriesShowcase","query":"posts/food,arts?tag=editorspick&queryId=140b4e7e19c","title":"Editors’ Picks","sectionUrl":"/artseditorspicks","buttonText":"More Editors’ Picks","seeMore":false},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/section-overview","attrs":{"html":"Let’s be friends! Get daily Arts & Culture updates by following us on \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/kqedarts/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">Instagram\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.facebook.com/kqedarts/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">Facebook\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/KQEDarts\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">Twitter\u003c/a>, or \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13883176/hey-bay-area-have-a-story-to-share-we-want-to-listen\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">contact us\u003c/a>."},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-section-overview\">\u003c/div>\n","innerContent":["\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-section-overview\">\u003c/div>\n"]},{"blockName":"kqed/post-list","attrs":{"layout":"cardSeriesShowcase","query":"posts/?tag=thedolist&queryId=145cdcd2da3","title":"The Do List","sectionUrl":"/thedolist","buttonText":"More from The Do List"},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/post-list","attrs":{"layout":"cardSeriesShowcase","query":"posts/bayareabites,arts,food?category=food&queryId=10854559c01","title":"Food","sectionUrl":"/food","buttonText":"More from Food"},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/ad","attrs":{"adType":"inHouse"},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/post-list","attrs":{"layout":"cardsRecent","query":"posts/arts?tag=tmw-latest&queryId=1fbb2d0d2c","title":"That’s My Word","sectionUrl":"/bayareahiphop","buttonText":"More Bay Area Hip Hop"},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/section-overview","attrs":{"html":"KQED’s Arts & Culture desk brings daily, in-depth cultural commentary and coverage of the Bay Area with a mission to enrich lives and inspire participation.\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"/arts/staff\">Who We Are\u003c/a>"},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-section-overview\">\u003c/div>\n","innerContent":["\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-section-overview\">\u003c/div>\n"]},{"blockName":"kqed/ad","attrs":[],"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/post-list","attrs":{"layout":"cardSeriesShowcase","query":"posts?tag=rebelgirls&queryId=18fb208eb23","title":"Rebel Girls From Bay Area History","sectionUrl":"/rebelgirls","buttonText":"More about Rebel Girls From Bay Area History"},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/post-list","attrs":{"layout":"cardTextHeavyLarge","query":"posts/arts?&queryId=68acc639b4","title":"More Arts","seeMore":true},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]},{"blockName":"kqed/funding-credits","attrs":{"text":"Funding for KQED Arts & Culture is provided by:\u003cbr>\u003cbr>The William and Flora Hewlett Foundation, Akonadi Foundation, the Andrew W. 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."},"innerBlocks":[],"innerHTML":"","innerContent":[]}],"status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1723587280,"format":"standard","path":"/arts","redirect":{"type":"internal","url":"/arts"},"audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-columns\">\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-column\">\u003c/div>\n\n\n\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-column\">\u003c/div>\n\u003c/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-section-overview\">\u003c/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\u003cdiv class=\"wp-block-kqed-section-overview\">\u003c/div>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"label":"root-site","isLoading":false}},"postsReducer":{"stream_live":{"type":"live","id":"stream_live","audioUrl":"https://streams.kqed.org/kqedradio","title":"Live Stream","excerpt":"Live Stream information currently unavailable.","link":"/radio","featImg":"","label":{"name":"KQED Live","link":"/"}},"stream_kqedNewscast":{"type":"posts","id":"stream_kqedNewscast","audioUrl":"https://www.kqed.org/.stream/anon/radio/RDnews/newscast.mp3?_=1","title":"KQED Newscast","featImg":"","label":{"name":"88.5 FM","link":"/"}},"arts_13966207":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13966207","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13966207","score":null,"sort":[1728409418000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"lara-aburamadan-photographer-refugee-eye-san-francisco","title":"A Gazan Photographer Embraces Her Refugee Lens in San Francisco","publishDate":1728409418,"format":"standard","headTitle":"A Gazan Photographer Embraces Her Refugee Lens in San Francisco | KQED","labelTerm":{"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>When she thinks back to her childhood in Gaza in the late ’90s, \u003ca href=\"https://www.laraaburamadan.com/about\">Lara Aburamadan\u003c/a> recalls spending her days hanging out and enjoying food with her family on sandy beaches, swimming in the Mediterranean Sea during hot, humid summers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Gaza is a small place. To drive from north to south it takes 25 minutes, and from west to east, 15 minutes,” she says. “It’s a small city, probably the size of San Francisco.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now based in Berkeley, Aburamadan is a visual artist, independent journalist and photographer. She is also the founder of \u003ca href=\"https://www.refugeeeye.org/\">Refugee Eye\u003c/a>, an art studio on Valencia Street in San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When she picked up a camera 10 years ago, those beaches and daily life in Gaza City became some of her first subjects. “I wanted to show the beauty of Gaza,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966257\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966257\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES.jpg\" alt=\"A photo of a woman in a hijab at a beach with her back turned, staring out onto the sea. \" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Timeless Hope’ by Lara Aburamadan, taken at Deir al-Balah Refugee Camp, Gaza Strip, in 2013. \u003ccite>(Lara Aburamadan)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Yet life in a war-torn region made capturing beauty a privilege. The killings of her people back home motivated her to use her art and journalism skills for social change.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Aburamadan’s photos have been published in \u003cem>Time Magazine\u003c/em>, \u003cem>San Francisco Chronicle\u003c/em>, Al Jazeera and more. She has also written for \u003cem>The Atlantic\u003c/em> and \u003cem>The New York Times\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In her 2012 piece for \u003cem>The New York Times\u003c/em>, “\u003ca href=\"https://www.nytimes.com/2012/11/17/opinion/trapped-in-gaza.html\">Trapped in Gaza\u003c/a>,” she recounts her visit to a film festival. Suddenly, an organizer interrupted the program to warn the audience of impending Israeli strikes, urging everyone to go home for safety. Aburamadan, her mother and young siblings listened to the sounds of bombs from inside their home for the next 48 hours. [aside postid='news_12007959,arts_13966184']\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“And all the while, we hear bombs. Bombs that bear autumn’s scent and winter’s chill. Bombs that batter. Bombs that kill. I still have waking nightmares of the bombs that tore through our sky nearly four years ago, when a classmate, Maha, lost her mother in an Israeli strike,” she wrote.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2014 marked another deadly year in Gaza, when the Israeli military killed 2,200 Palestinians, over half of whom were civilians \u003ca href=\"https://www.ochaopt.org/content/key-figures-2014-hostilities\">according to a United Nations report\u003c/a>. Aburamadan and her then-husband live-streamed the shelling from their 11th-floor apartment, sharing with the world what mainstream media wouldn’t.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The point of our work, which we posted on Twitter and Facebook, was to make it more difficult for people around the world to say, ‘I didn’t know,’” she \u003ca href=\"https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2015/08/gaza-war-israel-anniversary/402364/\">wrote in \u003cem>The Atlantic\u003c/em> in 2015\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966258\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966258\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Love Has Wings’ by Lara Aburamadan, taken at Beach Refugee Camp, Gaza City, in 2015. \u003ccite>(Lara Aburamadan)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“The sound of Israeli drones incessantly hovering overhead is terrifying, but the bombs — and their promise to bring either an explosion or death — are worse,” she wrote.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Aburamadan and her then-husband moved to the U.S. as asylum seekers when they were both 24 years old. When she first arrived in the Bay Area in 2017, she struggled to connect and feel at home.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I didn’t know people, I didn’t have friends or community,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In time, she eventually accepted this new phase in her life. “I’m a refugee in this new place. It’s okay not to find the familiarity now,” she told herself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966256\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966256\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2.jpg\" alt=\"Freshly harvested grapes spilling out of crates.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Sheikh Ejleen Grapes’ by Lara Aburamadan, taken in Gaza City in 2016. \u003ccite>(Lara Aburamadan)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Her current work explores the social and political narratives of refugees and marginalized communities. Through Refugee Eye, she creates a space for refugee artists and photographers from all around the world to share their stories.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I wanted to embrace my perspective as a refugee,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Earlier this year, she curated an exhibition at Refugee Eye called \u003ca href=\"https://www.refugeeeye.org/sfgallery\">\u003cem>Gaza: Between Life and Loss\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, featuring photographs and illustrations by Palestinian artists, including work by popular Gaza street photographer Suhail Nassar and illustrator Bayan Abu Nahla.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It’s been a beautiful journey to learn more about the art scene here in the Bay Area and connect with different refugee artists around the world,” Aburamadan reflects.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Having lived through multiple bombardments of Gaza, the war that began in October last year didn’t surprise Aburamadan. But it felt different this time. “In the first few months, my mind was constantly on Gaza,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It was super stressful,” she adds. “My people are being killed everyday.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966253\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966253\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Lara Aburamadan in Berkeley on Oct. 4, 2024. \u003ccite>(Juliana Yamada/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Seeing protests and Palestinian flags in the streets of the Bay Area has made her feel less alone. But despite these efforts, she is disappointed that, after a year, nothing has changed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Protests have called for a ceasefire, but the bombing continues every day,” she says. “It’s even getting worse.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Through her work, Aburamadan hopes to continue showing the world a different side of Gaza. “I want people to see Gaza as a beautiful place with genuinely kind people who don’t want wars and just want peace,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I want my art to reflect who we are as a collective, proving that we exist and that we’re amazing.”\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Lara Aburamadan reported from the ground in Gaza. Now in the Bay Area, she founded Refugee Eye, an art studio.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728409418,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":26,"wordCount":909},"headData":{"title":"A Gazan Photographer Embraces Her Refugee Lens in San Francisco | KQED","description":"Lara Aburamadan reported from the ground in Gaza. Now in the Bay Area, she founded Refugee Eye, an art studio.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"A Gazan Photographer Embraces Her Refugee Lens in San Francisco","datePublished":"2024-10-08T10:43:38-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-08T10:43:38-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13966207","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13966207/lara-aburamadan-photographer-refugee-eye-san-francisco","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>When she thinks back to her childhood in Gaza in the late ’90s, \u003ca href=\"https://www.laraaburamadan.com/about\">Lara Aburamadan\u003c/a> recalls spending her days hanging out and enjoying food with her family on sandy beaches, swimming in the Mediterranean Sea during hot, humid summers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Gaza is a small place. To drive from north to south it takes 25 minutes, and from west to east, 15 minutes,” she says. “It’s a small city, probably the size of San Francisco.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now based in Berkeley, Aburamadan is a visual artist, independent journalist and photographer. She is also the founder of \u003ca href=\"https://www.refugeeeye.org/\">Refugee Eye\u003c/a>, an art studio on Valencia Street in San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When she picked up a camera 10 years ago, those beaches and daily life in Gaza City became some of her first subjects. “I wanted to show the beauty of Gaza,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966257\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966257\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES.jpg\" alt=\"A photo of a woman in a hijab at a beach with her back turned, staring out onto the sea. \" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/IMG_5906-Hi-RES-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Timeless Hope’ by Lara Aburamadan, taken at Deir al-Balah Refugee Camp, Gaza Strip, in 2013. \u003ccite>(Lara Aburamadan)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Yet life in a war-torn region made capturing beauty a privilege. The killings of her people back home motivated her to use her art and journalism skills for social change.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Aburamadan’s photos have been published in \u003cem>Time Magazine\u003c/em>, \u003cem>San Francisco Chronicle\u003c/em>, Al Jazeera and more. She has also written for \u003cem>The Atlantic\u003c/em> and \u003cem>The New York Times\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In her 2012 piece for \u003cem>The New York Times\u003c/em>, “\u003ca href=\"https://www.nytimes.com/2012/11/17/opinion/trapped-in-gaza.html\">Trapped in Gaza\u003c/a>,” she recounts her visit to a film festival. Suddenly, an organizer interrupted the program to warn the audience of impending Israeli strikes, urging everyone to go home for safety. Aburamadan, her mother and young siblings listened to the sounds of bombs from inside their home for the next 48 hours. \u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"news_12007959,arts_13966184","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“And all the while, we hear bombs. Bombs that bear autumn’s scent and winter’s chill. Bombs that batter. Bombs that kill. I still have waking nightmares of the bombs that tore through our sky nearly four years ago, when a classmate, Maha, lost her mother in an Israeli strike,” she wrote.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>2014 marked another deadly year in Gaza, when the Israeli military killed 2,200 Palestinians, over half of whom were civilians \u003ca href=\"https://www.ochaopt.org/content/key-figures-2014-hostilities\">according to a United Nations report\u003c/a>. Aburamadan and her then-husband live-streamed the shelling from their 11th-floor apartment, sharing with the world what mainstream media wouldn’t.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The point of our work, which we posted on Twitter and Facebook, was to make it more difficult for people around the world to say, ‘I didn’t know,’” she \u003ca href=\"https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2015/08/gaza-war-israel-anniversary/402364/\">wrote in \u003cem>The Atlantic\u003c/em> in 2015\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966258\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966258\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A1358-1-1-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Love Has Wings’ by Lara Aburamadan, taken at Beach Refugee Camp, Gaza City, in 2015. \u003ccite>(Lara Aburamadan)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“The sound of Israeli drones incessantly hovering overhead is terrifying, but the bombs — and their promise to bring either an explosion or death — are worse,” she wrote.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Aburamadan and her then-husband moved to the U.S. as asylum seekers when they were both 24 years old. When she first arrived in the Bay Area in 2017, she struggled to connect and feel at home.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I didn’t know people, I didn’t have friends or community,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In time, she eventually accepted this new phase in her life. “I’m a refugee in this new place. It’s okay not to find the familiarity now,” she told herself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966256\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966256\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2.jpg\" alt=\"Freshly harvested grapes spilling out of crates.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/4V1A6440-2-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Sheikh Ejleen Grapes’ by Lara Aburamadan, taken in Gaza City in 2016. \u003ccite>(Lara Aburamadan)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Her current work explores the social and political narratives of refugees and marginalized communities. Through Refugee Eye, she creates a space for refugee artists and photographers from all around the world to share their stories.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I wanted to embrace my perspective as a refugee,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Earlier this year, she curated an exhibition at Refugee Eye called \u003ca href=\"https://www.refugeeeye.org/sfgallery\">\u003cem>Gaza: Between Life and Loss\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, featuring photographs and illustrations by Palestinian artists, including work by popular Gaza street photographer Suhail Nassar and illustrator Bayan Abu Nahla.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It’s been a beautiful journey to learn more about the art scene here in the Bay Area and connect with different refugee artists around the world,” Aburamadan reflects.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Having lived through multiple bombardments of Gaza, the war that began in October last year didn’t surprise Aburamadan. But it felt different this time. “In the first few months, my mind was constantly on Gaza,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It was super stressful,” she adds. “My people are being killed everyday.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966253\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966253\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/20241004-PhotographerfromGaza-JY-010_qed-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Lara Aburamadan in Berkeley on Oct. 4, 2024. \u003ccite>(Juliana Yamada/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Seeing protests and Palestinian flags in the streets of the Bay Area has made her feel less alone. But despite these efforts, she is disappointed that, after a year, nothing has changed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Protests have called for a ceasefire, but the bombing continues every day,” she says. “It’s even getting worse.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Through her work, Aburamadan hopes to continue showing the world a different side of Gaza. “I want people to see Gaza as a beautiful place with genuinely kind people who don’t want wars and just want peace,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I want my art to reflect who we are as a collective, proving that we exist and that we’re amazing.”\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13966207/lara-aburamadan-photographer-refugee-eye-san-francisco","authors":["11631"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_235","arts_70"],"tags":["arts_10278","arts_8838","arts_822"],"featImg":"arts_13966254","label":"arts"},"arts_13966278":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13966278","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13966278","score":null,"sort":[1728423889000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"boots-riley-new-film-i-love-boosters-shoplifting-keke-palmer-demi-moore","title":"Boots Riley’s New Film Is About a Female Shoplifting Ring","publishDate":1728423889,"format":"standard","headTitle":"Boots Riley’s New Film Is About a Female Shoplifting Ring | KQED","labelTerm":{"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>Fresh off the success of his \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13939974/boots-riley-is-directing-the-future\">world-beating\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.nytimes.com/2023/06/22/arts/television/im-a-virgo-review.html\">critically acclaimed\u003c/a> television series \u003cem>I’m a Virgo\u003c/em>, Oakland filmmaker Boots Riley has \u003ca href=\"https://deadline.com/2024/10/keke-palmer-demi-moore-lakeith-stanfield-naomi-ackie-boots-riley-i-love-boosters-neon-1236109749/\">announced details\u003c/a> about his newest film project, \u003cem>I Love Boosters\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Riley first teased the movie \u003ca href=\"https://www.worldofreel.com/blog/2024/5/23/boots-rileys-i-love-boosters-set-to-star-keke-palmer\">back in May\u003c/a>, when he first gave word that Neon would produce his new film starring Keke Palmer as Corvette, the leader of a ring of female shoplifters called the Velvet Gang. In the movie, the crew of “boosters” goes up against a cutthroat fashion maven. [aside postid='arts_13939974']\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now, \u003ca href=\"https://deadline.com/2024/10/keke-palmer-demi-moore-lakeith-stanfield-naomi-ackie-boots-riley-i-love-boosters-neon-1236109749/\">Deadline\u003c/a> reports additional details about \u003cem>I Love Boosters\u003c/em>, including the rest of what is shaping up to be a dream team of an ensemble cast: In addition to Palmer (\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13916536/jordan-peele-subverts-expectations-again-with-nope\">\u003cem>Nope\u003c/em>\u003c/a>), the film will also feature \u003cem>the \u003c/em>Demi Moore, Naomi Ackie \u003cem>(I Wanna Dance With\u003c/em> \u003cem>Somebody\u003c/em>) and previous Riley collaborator LaKeith Stanfield, whose breakout role was in Riley’s 2018 debut, the anti-capitalist masterpiece \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13836455/in-sorry-to-bother-you-an-alternate-universe-oakland-is-still-true-and-familiar\">Sorry to Bother You\u003c/a>\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>An activist, MC and all around multihyphenate in addition to his burgeoning film career, Riley hasn’t been shy about weighing in on what he perceives to be a “\u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/Cxdu9v8vb6e/?img_index=5\">fake ‘crime wave’ narrative\u003c/a>” in Oakland — largely centered on a rise in “\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/tag/bipping\">bipping\u003c/a>” and non-violent retail theft — that has been weaponized against Black folks and other people of color.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fans of Riley’s work will have to wait until the film’s release to see what insight it offers into the politicization of those narratives, but a quick listen to this 2006 song by Riley’s band, The Coup — also called “\u003ca href=\"https://youtu.be/geY-ydeYb4M?si=BqjuBdAXGv7l5YVD\">I Love Boosters\u003c/a>!” — can give some glimpse into his sensibility:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>\u003cem>For some of y’all folks, this stuff might faze ya / This ain’t the way the society raised ya / But most of it was made by children in Asia / The stores make money off of very low wages / The next time you see two women running out the Gap / With arms full of clothes still strapped to the rack / Once they jump in the car, hit the gas and scat / If you have to say something, just stand and clap\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>I Love Boosters\u003c/em> is set to begin filming later this fall.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/geY-ydeYb4M?si=BqjuBdAXGv7l5YVD\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"'I Love Boosters,' starring Keke Palmer, LaKeith Stanfield and Demi Moore, is set to begin shooting this fall.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728428620,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":9,"wordCount":391},"headData":{"title":"Boots Riley’s New Film Is About a Female Shoplifting Ring | KQED","description":"'I Love Boosters,' starring Keke Palmer, LaKeith Stanfield and Demi Moore, is set to begin shooting this fall.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Boots Riley’s New Film Is About a Female Shoplifting Ring","datePublished":"2024-10-08T14:44:49-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-08T16:03:40-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13966278","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13966278/boots-riley-new-film-i-love-boosters-shoplifting-keke-palmer-demi-moore","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Fresh off the success of his \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13939974/boots-riley-is-directing-the-future\">world-beating\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.nytimes.com/2023/06/22/arts/television/im-a-virgo-review.html\">critically acclaimed\u003c/a> television series \u003cem>I’m a Virgo\u003c/em>, Oakland filmmaker Boots Riley has \u003ca href=\"https://deadline.com/2024/10/keke-palmer-demi-moore-lakeith-stanfield-naomi-ackie-boots-riley-i-love-boosters-neon-1236109749/\">announced details\u003c/a> about his newest film project, \u003cem>I Love Boosters\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Riley first teased the movie \u003ca href=\"https://www.worldofreel.com/blog/2024/5/23/boots-rileys-i-love-boosters-set-to-star-keke-palmer\">back in May\u003c/a>, when he first gave word that Neon would produce his new film starring Keke Palmer as Corvette, the leader of a ring of female shoplifters called the Velvet Gang. In the movie, the crew of “boosters” goes up against a cutthroat fashion maven. \u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13939974","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now, \u003ca href=\"https://deadline.com/2024/10/keke-palmer-demi-moore-lakeith-stanfield-naomi-ackie-boots-riley-i-love-boosters-neon-1236109749/\">Deadline\u003c/a> reports additional details about \u003cem>I Love Boosters\u003c/em>, including the rest of what is shaping up to be a dream team of an ensemble cast: In addition to Palmer (\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13916536/jordan-peele-subverts-expectations-again-with-nope\">\u003cem>Nope\u003c/em>\u003c/a>), the film will also feature \u003cem>the \u003c/em>Demi Moore, Naomi Ackie \u003cem>(I Wanna Dance With\u003c/em> \u003cem>Somebody\u003c/em>) and previous Riley collaborator LaKeith Stanfield, whose breakout role was in Riley’s 2018 debut, the anti-capitalist masterpiece \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13836455/in-sorry-to-bother-you-an-alternate-universe-oakland-is-still-true-and-familiar\">Sorry to Bother You\u003c/a>\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>An activist, MC and all around multihyphenate in addition to his burgeoning film career, Riley hasn’t been shy about weighing in on what he perceives to be a “\u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/Cxdu9v8vb6e/?img_index=5\">fake ‘crime wave’ narrative\u003c/a>” in Oakland — largely centered on a rise in “\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/tag/bipping\">bipping\u003c/a>” and non-violent retail theft — that has been weaponized against Black folks and other people of color.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fans of Riley’s work will have to wait until the film’s release to see what insight it offers into the politicization of those narratives, but a quick listen to this 2006 song by Riley’s band, The Coup — also called “\u003ca href=\"https://youtu.be/geY-ydeYb4M?si=BqjuBdAXGv7l5YVD\">I Love Boosters\u003c/a>!” — can give some glimpse into his sensibility:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>\u003cem>For some of y’all folks, this stuff might faze ya / This ain’t the way the society raised ya / But most of it was made by children in Asia / The stores make money off of very low wages / The next time you see two women running out the Gap / With arms full of clothes still strapped to the rack / Once they jump in the car, hit the gas and scat / If you have to say something, just stand and clap\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>I Love Boosters\u003c/em> is set to begin filming later this fall.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/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/geY-ydeYb4M'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/geY-ydeYb4M'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13966278/boots-riley-new-film-i-love-boosters-shoplifting-keke-palmer-demi-moore","authors":["11743"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_74","arts_235"],"tags":["arts_1998","arts_10001","arts_3465"],"featImg":"arts_13957584","label":"arts"},"arts_13966290":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13966290","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13966290","score":null,"sort":[1728422842000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"chris-wallace-books-countdown-1960-book-review-presidential-election","title":"‘Countdown 1960' Shows Parallels With this Year’s Presidential Election Season","publishDate":1728422842,"format":"aside","headTitle":"‘Countdown 1960′ Shows Parallels With this Year’s Presidential Election Season | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":140,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966291\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1375px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966291\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/countdown.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a photograph of a 1960-era TV studio, getting set up.\" width=\"1375\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/countdown.png 1375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/countdown-800x1164.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/countdown-1020x1484.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/countdown-160x233.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/countdown-768x1117.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/countdown-1056x1536.png 1056w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1375px) 100vw, 1375px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Countdown 1960: The Behind-the-Scenes Story of the 312 Days that Changed America’s Politics Forever’ by Chris Wallace. \u003ccite>(Random House Large Print)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Countdown 1960: The Behind-the-Scenes Story of the 312 Days that Changed America’s Politics Forever\u003c/em> is a look at a critical period in U.S. history that holds lessons for today.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>CNN news anchor Chris Wallace starts the book in January 1960, when U.S. Sen. John F. Kennedy of Massachusetts declared his candidacy for the presidency during a divided time in United States politics. We are introduced to mobsters, Hollywood movie stars, labor bosses and Cuba’s revolutionary leader Fidel Castro.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13966099']It was the year that U.S. presidential campaigns entered the modern era, with televised debates and slick advertising. The achingly close contest was not unlike the current lead-up to the 2024 election pitting Democratic Vice President Kamala Harris against Republican Donald Trump.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Like now, there were charges of voter fraud and a stolen election. The results were so tight that Americans stayed up well past midnight to hear the final count.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The book is the latest in Wallace’s \u003cem>Countdown\u003c/em> series of popular histories, following his best-selling \u003cem>Countdown 1945: The Extraordinary Story of the Atomic Bomb and the 116 Days that Changed the World\u003c/em>, and \u003cem>Countdown bin Laden: The Untold Story of the 247-Day Hunt to Bring the Mastermind of 9/11 to Justice.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This time, Wallace, the son of CBS broadcaster Mike Wallace, takes us behind the scenes to view the machinations of the 1960 Democratic National Convention that led to Kennedy’s nomination over Lyndon B. Johnson, later chosen as his running mate. Kennedy went on to become the first Catholic and youngest person elected U.S. president.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13966153']Kennedy narrowly defeated Republican Richard M. Nixon, who ultimately decided not to contest the results despite reports of voting irregularities in Illinois and Texas. He said he could not think of a worse example for young nations trying to adopt free elections.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As we approach another consequential election this year, the book is a reminder of how 1960 was also a deeply perilous time for America. It also was a moment the nation survived because of patriotism and courage.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Countdown 1960: The Behind-the-Scenes Story of the 312 Days that Changed America’s Politics Forever’\u003c/em> \u003cem>by Chris Wallace is released on Oct. 22, 2024, via Random House Large Print.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"1960 was the year that presidential campaigns entered the modern era with TV debates. It was also an achingly close contest.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728422842,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":11,"wordCount":420},"headData":{"title":"Book Review: ‘Countdown 1960’ by Chris Wallace | KQED","description":"1960 was the year that presidential campaigns entered the modern era with TV debates. It was also an achingly close contest.","ogTitle":"‘Countdown 1960' Shows Parallels With this Year’s Presidential Election Season","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"‘Countdown 1960' Shows Parallels With this Year’s Presidential Election Season","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialTitle":"Book Review: ‘Countdown 1960’ by Chris Wallace %%page%% %%sep%% KQED","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"‘Countdown 1960' Shows Parallels With this Year’s Presidential Election Season","datePublished":"2024-10-08T14:27:22-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-08T14:27:22-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprByline":"Anita Snow, Associated Press","nprStoryId":"kqed-13966290","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","showOnAuthorArchivePages":"No","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13966290/chris-wallace-books-countdown-1960-book-review-presidential-election","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966291\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1375px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966291\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/countdown.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring a photograph of a 1960-era TV studio, getting set up.\" width=\"1375\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/countdown.png 1375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/countdown-800x1164.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/countdown-1020x1484.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/countdown-160x233.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/countdown-768x1117.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/countdown-1056x1536.png 1056w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1375px) 100vw, 1375px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Countdown 1960: The Behind-the-Scenes Story of the 312 Days that Changed America’s Politics Forever’ by Chris Wallace. \u003ccite>(Random House Large Print)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Countdown 1960: The Behind-the-Scenes Story of the 312 Days that Changed America’s Politics Forever\u003c/em> is a look at a critical period in U.S. history that holds lessons for today.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>CNN news anchor Chris Wallace starts the book in January 1960, when U.S. Sen. John F. Kennedy of Massachusetts declared his candidacy for the presidency during a divided time in United States politics. We are introduced to mobsters, Hollywood movie stars, labor bosses and Cuba’s revolutionary leader Fidel Castro.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13966099","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>It was the year that U.S. presidential campaigns entered the modern era, with televised debates and slick advertising. The achingly close contest was not unlike the current lead-up to the 2024 election pitting Democratic Vice President Kamala Harris against Republican Donald Trump.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Like now, there were charges of voter fraud and a stolen election. The results were so tight that Americans stayed up well past midnight to hear the final count.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The book is the latest in Wallace’s \u003cem>Countdown\u003c/em> series of popular histories, following his best-selling \u003cem>Countdown 1945: The Extraordinary Story of the Atomic Bomb and the 116 Days that Changed the World\u003c/em>, and \u003cem>Countdown bin Laden: The Untold Story of the 247-Day Hunt to Bring the Mastermind of 9/11 to Justice.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This time, Wallace, the son of CBS broadcaster Mike Wallace, takes us behind the scenes to view the machinations of the 1960 Democratic National Convention that led to Kennedy’s nomination over Lyndon B. Johnson, later chosen as his running mate. Kennedy went on to become the first Catholic and youngest person elected U.S. president.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13966153","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Kennedy narrowly defeated Republican Richard M. Nixon, who ultimately decided not to contest the results despite reports of voting irregularities in Illinois and Texas. He said he could not think of a worse example for young nations trying to adopt free elections.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As we approach another consequential election this year, the book is a reminder of how 1960 was also a deeply perilous time for America. It also was a moment the nation survived because of patriotism and courage.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Countdown 1960: The Behind-the-Scenes Story of the 312 Days that Changed America’s Politics Forever’\u003c/em> \u003cem>by Chris Wallace is released on Oct. 22, 2024, via Random House Large Print.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13966290/chris-wallace-books-countdown-1960-book-review-presidential-election","authors":["byline_arts_13966290"],"programs":["arts_140"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_73","arts_7862","arts_22313"],"tags":["arts_21679","arts_5826","arts_769","arts_585"],"featImg":"arts_13966292","label":"arts_140"},"arts_13966259":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13966259","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13966259","score":null,"sort":[1728411775000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"this-horror-genre-is-scary-as-folk-and-perfect-october-viewing","title":"This Horror Genre Is Scary as Folk – and Perfect October Viewing","publishDate":1728411775,"format":"aside","headTitle":"This Horror Genre Is Scary as Folk – and Perfect October Viewing | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":137,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966268\" style=\"font-weight: bold;background-color: transparent;font-size: 16px\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man.png\" alt=\"A huge wicker structure built in the shape of a man, stands on a hillside with a ladder propped up against its center. On the ground a circle of people with torches stand.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1568\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man-800x627.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man-1020x800.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man-160x125.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man-768x602.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man-1536x1204.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man-1920x1505.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1973’s ‘The Wicker Man,’ British policeman (Edward Woodward) visits a remote Scottish island to find that the locals have embraced a form of paganism.It’s October. Some of your neighbors will spend this, the official first weekend of spooky season, going all-out with inflatable yard skeletons and ghosts. They will embark upon the annual attempt to make candy corn, aka high-fructose ear wax, a thing. They’ll adorn their front porches with those cotton spider webs that look nothing like real spider webs and instead just make it look like they went and ritually murdered a white sweater so they could hang its dismembered corpse across their doorway as a grisly warning to all other knitwear.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13962878']For me, it’s a more simple, elemental formula: Hot cider, cider donuts, folk horror.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The appeal of cider and donuts is universal, but folk horror might need some defining. Essentially, it’s horror set in remote, isolated areas where nature still holds sway. Well, nature paired with the superstitious beliefs of the locals, who tend to treat unwary outsiders with suspicion (if the outsiders are lucky) or malice (if they’re not).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The classic example is 1973’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/pop/112213/how-religious-sect-movies-like-midsommar-get-so-far-under-our-skin\">\u003cem>The Wicker Man\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, in which an uptight, devout, and veddy \u003cem>veddy \u003c/em>British policeman (Edward Woodward) visits a remote Scottish island to investigate the disappearance of a young girl. Turns out the locals have embraced a form of Celtic paganism, which doesn’t sit right with him. He says as much to the island’s aristocratic leader, a mysterious and charismatic sort played by Christopher Lee. Things don’t end well for our poor British bobby — though presumably the island \u003cem>will \u003c/em>enjoy a bountiful harvest, so, you know: Big picture, it’s still a win.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a-tDnavDCwI\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Other founding classics of the genre include 1968’s \u003cem>The Witchfinder General\u003c/em> and 1971’s \u003cem>The Blood on Satan’s Claws\u003c/em>, which of the three films has the least going for it, apart from its title, which is, all reasonable people can agree, \u003cem>metal AF\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I love me some folk horror, and am never happier than when I can while away a damp, foggy (and thus obligingly atmospheric) October afternoon mainlining new and old examples of the form like \u003cem>Kill List\u003c/em>, \u003cem>You Won’t Be Alone\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Viv\u003c/em>,\u003cem> The Ritual\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Häxan\u003c/em>, \u003cem>The Medium\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Apostle\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Midsommar\u003c/em>, \u003cem>The Witch\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Hereditary\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Night of the Demon\u003c/em>, \u003cem>A Field in England\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Robin Redbreast\u003c/em>, and \u003cem>Men\u003c/em>. (Looking for more examples? Check out the documentary \u003cem>Woodlands Dark and Days Bewitched: A History of Folk Horror\u003c/em>.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iQXmlf3Sefg\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Some folk horror involves supernatural elements, but I confess a particular fondness for those stories that don’t — stories where it’s the folk themselves (read: the locals, and their beliefs) who are the true and only source of the horror. (I won’t spoil which of the above films traffic in human vs. supernatural evil, in case you haven’t seen them.)\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>Talismans and turtlenecks\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>The Wicker Man\u003c/em> was the first folk horror film I saw as a kid, which is maybe why I harbor a deep love of folk horror set in ’70s Britain, a time and place when an interest in the occult became faddish, inspiring a wave of folk horror specifically inflected with Satanic panic. Many of these films were set in the past, but those like \u003cem>The Wicker Man \u003c/em>were set in the then-present, a time when men wore wavy hair and tight bell bottoms. Christopher Lee’s Lord Summerisle, for example, sported a kicky tweed leisure suit topped off by a burnt-orange sweater.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13964075']It’s why I think of this very specific subgenre of ’70s folk horror as Talismans and Turtlenecks.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I just came across a new-to-me example of T & T last Sunday afternoon, which was suitably cold and wet and misty: 1970’s \u003cem>The Dunwich Horror\u003c/em>. A stiff-haired Sandra Dee, desperately attempting to shake her goody-goody image, plays a woman who falls under the sway of a young and hilariously intense, wide-eyed Dean Stockwell. (Seriously, you keep waiting for his character to blink, but instead he just keeps goggling fixedly at the world around him. At one point he makes a pot of tea, staring at it so fiercely through every stage of the process you start to wonder if he’s trying to convince it to hop into bed with him.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QA1WCp8hGB0\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Don’t get me wrong: It’s a cheesy film, filled with crummy dialogue and hammy acting and cheap sets and one fight scene so wildly inept that has to be seen to be disbelieved. I won’t reveal if the threat hanging over the film is human or supernatural (though the fact that it’s based on an H.P. Lovecraft short story should tip you off). But I \u003cem>will \u003c/em>say that Stockwell sports a thick, curly hairdo, a cravat, two count-em \u003cem>two \u003c/em>pinky rings, and a huge mustache that curls \u003cem>under \u003c/em>itself at either end, in the process effectively turning my guy’s mouth into a parenthetical statement.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13962666']You can watch it for free, with commercials, on Pluto TV, which I swear is a real streaming service and not something I made up. \u003cem>The Dunwich Horror\u003c/em> is not remotely scary, but it does have something to say, I suppose, about the madness of crowds and what, back in grad school, we used to call “othering.” (The Stockwell character is the scion of an eccentric family that the local community has shunned for generations, you see.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And that, of course, is the abiding appeal of folk horror: It takes those universal feelings of alienation and isolation that make us all feel like outsiders in our own communities and gives them flesh. When the supernatural is involved, sometimes that flesh pulses and oozes. Sometimes it’s furry and clawed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But whenever the story is about our collective tendency to cling to belief in the supernatural, the flesh involved is all too human, and probably gets stabbed with a sacrificial dagger in the final reel. Happy spooky season, y’all.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Vnghdsjmd0\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>This piece also appeared in NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour newsletter. \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/newsletter/pop-culture\">\u003cem>Sign up for the newsletter\u003c/em>\u003c/a>\u003cem> so you don’t miss the next one, plus get weekly recommendations about what’s making us happy.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Listen to Pop Culture Happy Hour on \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"http://n.pr/3xNgYt9\">\u003cem>Apple Podcasts\u003c/em>\u003c/a>\u003cem> and \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"http://n.pr/3ELR3n6\">\u003cem>Spotify\u003c/em>\u003c/a>\u003cem>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Folk horror is set in remote, isolated areas where local superstitions hold sway. Think: ‘The Wicker Man’ and ‘Midsommar.’.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728412652,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":true,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":19,"wordCount":1144},"headData":{"title":"Folk Horror Movies to Get You in the Mood for Halloween | KQED","description":"Folk horror is set in remote, isolated areas where local superstitions hold sway. Think: ‘The Wicker Man’ and ‘Midsommar.’.","ogTitle":"This Horror Genre Is Scary as Folk – and Perfect October Viewing","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"This Horror Genre Is Scary as Folk – and Perfect October Viewing","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialTitle":"Folk Horror Movies to Get You in the Mood for Halloween %%page%% %%sep%% KQED","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"This Horror Genre Is Scary as Folk – and Perfect October Viewing","datePublished":"2024-10-08T11:22:55-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-08T11:37:32-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprByline":"Glen Weldon, NPR","nprStoryId":"nx-s1-5138373","nprHtmlLink":"https://www.npr.org/2024/10/04/nx-s1-5138373/folk-horror-movies-the-wicker-man-midsommar-hereditary","nprRetrievedStory":"1","nprPubDate":"2024-10-05T07:01:00-04:00","nprStoryDate":"2024-10-05T07:01:00-04:00","nprLastModifiedDate":"2024-10-05T07:01:05.102-04:00","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","showOnAuthorArchivePages":"No","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13966259/this-horror-genre-is-scary-as-folk-and-perfect-october-viewing","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966268\" style=\"font-weight: bold;background-color: transparent;font-size: 16px\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man.png\" alt=\"A huge wicker structure built in the shape of a man, stands on a hillside with a ladder propped up against its center. On the ground a circle of people with torches stand.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1568\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man.png 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man-800x627.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man-1020x800.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man-160x125.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man-768x602.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man-1536x1204.png 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/wicker-man-1920x1505.png 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1973’s ‘The Wicker Man,’ British policeman (Edward Woodward) visits a remote Scottish island to find that the locals have embraced a form of paganism.It’s October. Some of your neighbors will spend this, the official first weekend of spooky season, going all-out with inflatable yard skeletons and ghosts. They will embark upon the annual attempt to make candy corn, aka high-fructose ear wax, a thing. They’ll adorn their front porches with those cotton spider webs that look nothing like real spider webs and instead just make it look like they went and ritually murdered a white sweater so they could hang its dismembered corpse across their doorway as a grisly warning to all other knitwear.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13962878","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>For me, it’s a more simple, elemental formula: Hot cider, cider donuts, folk horror.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The appeal of cider and donuts is universal, but folk horror might need some defining. Essentially, it’s horror set in remote, isolated areas where nature still holds sway. Well, nature paired with the superstitious beliefs of the locals, who tend to treat unwary outsiders with suspicion (if the outsiders are lucky) or malice (if they’re not).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The classic example is 1973’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/pop/112213/how-religious-sect-movies-like-midsommar-get-so-far-under-our-skin\">\u003cem>The Wicker Man\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, in which an uptight, devout, and veddy \u003cem>veddy \u003c/em>British policeman (Edward Woodward) visits a remote Scottish island to investigate the disappearance of a young girl. Turns out the locals have embraced a form of Celtic paganism, which doesn’t sit right with him. He says as much to the island’s aristocratic leader, a mysterious and charismatic sort played by Christopher Lee. Things don’t end well for our poor British bobby — though presumably the island \u003cem>will \u003c/em>enjoy a bountiful harvest, so, you know: Big picture, it’s still a win.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\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/a-tDnavDCwI'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/a-tDnavDCwI'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Other founding classics of the genre include 1968’s \u003cem>The Witchfinder General\u003c/em> and 1971’s \u003cem>The Blood on Satan’s Claws\u003c/em>, which of the three films has the least going for it, apart from its title, which is, all reasonable people can agree, \u003cem>metal AF\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I love me some folk horror, and am never happier than when I can while away a damp, foggy (and thus obligingly atmospheric) October afternoon mainlining new and old examples of the form like \u003cem>Kill List\u003c/em>, \u003cem>You Won’t Be Alone\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Viv\u003c/em>,\u003cem> The Ritual\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Häxan\u003c/em>, \u003cem>The Medium\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Apostle\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Midsommar\u003c/em>, \u003cem>The Witch\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Hereditary\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Night of the Demon\u003c/em>, \u003cem>A Field in England\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Robin Redbreast\u003c/em>, and \u003cem>Men\u003c/em>. (Looking for more examples? Check out the documentary \u003cem>Woodlands Dark and Days Bewitched: A History of Folk Horror\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/iQXmlf3Sefg'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/iQXmlf3Sefg'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Some folk horror involves supernatural elements, but I confess a particular fondness for those stories that don’t — stories where it’s the folk themselves (read: the locals, and their beliefs) who are the true and only source of the horror. (I won’t spoil which of the above films traffic in human vs. supernatural evil, in case you haven’t seen them.)\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>Talismans and turtlenecks\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>The Wicker Man\u003c/em> was the first folk horror film I saw as a kid, which is maybe why I harbor a deep love of folk horror set in ’70s Britain, a time and place when an interest in the occult became faddish, inspiring a wave of folk horror specifically inflected with Satanic panic. Many of these films were set in the past, but those like \u003cem>The Wicker Man \u003c/em>were set in the then-present, a time when men wore wavy hair and tight bell bottoms. Christopher Lee’s Lord Summerisle, for example, sported a kicky tweed leisure suit topped off by a burnt-orange sweater.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13964075","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>It’s why I think of this very specific subgenre of ’70s folk horror as Talismans and Turtlenecks.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I just came across a new-to-me example of T & T last Sunday afternoon, which was suitably cold and wet and misty: 1970’s \u003cem>The Dunwich Horror\u003c/em>. A stiff-haired Sandra Dee, desperately attempting to shake her goody-goody image, plays a woman who falls under the sway of a young and hilariously intense, wide-eyed Dean Stockwell. (Seriously, you keep waiting for his character to blink, but instead he just keeps goggling fixedly at the world around him. At one point he makes a pot of tea, staring at it so fiercely through every stage of the process you start to wonder if he’s trying to convince it to hop into bed with him.)\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/QA1WCp8hGB0'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/QA1WCp8hGB0'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Don’t get me wrong: It’s a cheesy film, filled with crummy dialogue and hammy acting and cheap sets and one fight scene so wildly inept that has to be seen to be disbelieved. I won’t reveal if the threat hanging over the film is human or supernatural (though the fact that it’s based on an H.P. Lovecraft short story should tip you off). But I \u003cem>will \u003c/em>say that Stockwell sports a thick, curly hairdo, a cravat, two count-em \u003cem>two \u003c/em>pinky rings, and a huge mustache that curls \u003cem>under \u003c/em>itself at either end, in the process effectively turning my guy’s mouth into a parenthetical statement.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13962666","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>You can watch it for free, with commercials, on Pluto TV, which I swear is a real streaming service and not something I made up. \u003cem>The Dunwich Horror\u003c/em> is not remotely scary, but it does have something to say, I suppose, about the madness of crowds and what, back in grad school, we used to call “othering.” (The Stockwell character is the scion of an eccentric family that the local community has shunned for generations, you see.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And that, of course, is the abiding appeal of folk horror: It takes those universal feelings of alienation and isolation that make us all feel like outsiders in our own communities and gives them flesh. When the supernatural is involved, sometimes that flesh pulses and oozes. Sometimes it’s furry and clawed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But whenever the story is about our collective tendency to cling to belief in the supernatural, the flesh involved is all too human, and probably gets stabbed with a sacrificial dagger in the final reel. Happy spooky season, y’all.\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/1Vnghdsjmd0'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/1Vnghdsjmd0'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cem>This piece also appeared in NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour newsletter. \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/newsletter/pop-culture\">\u003cem>Sign up for the newsletter\u003c/em>\u003c/a>\u003cem> so you don’t miss the next one, plus get weekly recommendations about what’s making us happy.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Listen to Pop Culture Happy Hour on \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"http://n.pr/3xNgYt9\">\u003cem>Apple Podcasts\u003c/em>\u003c/a>\u003cem> and \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"http://n.pr/3ELR3n6\">\u003cem>Spotify\u003c/em>\u003c/a>\u003cem>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13966259/this-horror-genre-is-scary-as-folk-and-perfect-october-viewing","authors":["byline_arts_13966259"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_74","arts_75"],"tags":["arts_1206","arts_5087"],"affiliates":["arts_137"],"featImg":"arts_13966269","label":"arts_137"},"arts_13966245":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13966245","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13966245","score":null,"sort":[1728407791000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"paula-hawkins-the-blue-hour-book-review-new-psychological-thriller","title":"Paula Hawkins Returns With Psychological Thriller ’The Blue Hour’","publishDate":1728407791,"format":"aside","headTitle":"Paula Hawkins Returns With Psychological Thriller ’The Blue Hour’ | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":140,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966246\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1377px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966246\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/ph-blue.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring an open window looking out onto the sea.\" width=\"1377\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/ph-blue.png 1377w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/ph-blue-800x1162.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/ph-blue-1020x1481.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/ph-blue-160x232.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/ph-blue-768x1115.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/ph-blue-1058x1536.png 1058w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1377px) 100vw, 1377px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘The Blue Hour’ by Paula Hawkins. \u003ccite>(Mariner Books)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Since bursting on the scene in 2015 with \u003cem>The Girl on a Train\u003c/em>, Paula Hawkins has established herself as a reliable writer of psychological thrillers set in the U.K. \u003cem>The Blue Hour\u003c/em> doesn’t plow any new ground on that front, but it’s a tight story with interesting characters that keeps you engaged until the end.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Set mostly on an isolated Scottish island named Eris, where a famous painter and ceramicist named Vanessa Chapman once lived and worked, the story begins with a discovery. A bone in one of Chapman’s sculptures, now owned by an estate, may be human. That revelation links together the three main characters — Chapman’s longtime companion Grace Winters, a Chapman scholar who works for Fairburn Estate named James Becker, and Julian, Chapman’s ex-husband who went missing 20 years ago.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13966153']Told in the present, in flashbacks from two decades ago, and via excerpts from Chapman’s diary, the plot moves along steadily. It’s not really a keep-the-reader-guessing type of thriller, but more of a slow build that culminates in a shocking ending.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hawkins weaves artistic themes and the creative process through the novel. Chapman’s diary entries are filled with references to the landscape that inspires her — the “terrible chaos” of waves, the sky “miraculous azure or threatening gunmetal.” The title refers to a time at dusk before the stars come out when the color leaches from the day but it’s not yet full dark. Hawkins’ prose often mirrors Chapman’s artistic eye. Here’s Becker’s first glimpse of Grace: “Her face is soft, cheeks relaxing gently into jowls, and her colors are muddied: from her bowl of hair to her slightly protuberant eyes … she is painted in varying shades of brown.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The novel’s setting is a character unto itself. Eris is reachable from the mainland only when the tide is out, in two six-hour chunks each day, and so it’s a fine place to bury secrets — physical and psychological. Learning those secrets is the fun of the novel, and there are few authors writing today who drip them out, page by excruciating page, like Hawkins.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>’The Blue Hour’ by Paula Hawkins is released on Oct. 29, 2024, via Mariner Books.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"The ‘Girl on a Train’ author is back with a slow burning thriller that has a shocking ending.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728407791,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":8,"wordCount":421},"headData":{"title":"Book Review: ’The Blue Hour’ by Paula Hawkins | KQED","description":"The ‘Girl on a Train’ author is back with a slow burning thriller that has a shocking ending.","ogTitle":"Paula Hawkins Returns With Psychological Thriller ’The Blue Hour’","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"Paula Hawkins Returns With Psychological Thriller ’The Blue Hour’","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialTitle":"Book Review: ’The Blue Hour’ by Paula Hawkins %%page%% %%sep%% KQED","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Paula Hawkins Returns With Psychological Thriller ’The Blue Hour’","datePublished":"2024-10-08T10:16:31-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-08T10:16:31-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprByline":"Rob Merrill, Associated Press","nprStoryId":"kqed-13966245","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","showOnAuthorArchivePages":"No","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13966245/paula-hawkins-the-blue-hour-book-review-new-psychological-thriller","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966246\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1377px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966246\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/ph-blue.png\" alt=\"A book cover featuring an open window looking out onto the sea.\" width=\"1377\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/ph-blue.png 1377w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/ph-blue-800x1162.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/ph-blue-1020x1481.png 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/ph-blue-160x232.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/ph-blue-768x1115.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/ph-blue-1058x1536.png 1058w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1377px) 100vw, 1377px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘The Blue Hour’ by Paula Hawkins. \u003ccite>(Mariner Books)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Since bursting on the scene in 2015 with \u003cem>The Girl on a Train\u003c/em>, Paula Hawkins has established herself as a reliable writer of psychological thrillers set in the U.K. \u003cem>The Blue Hour\u003c/em> doesn’t plow any new ground on that front, but it’s a tight story with interesting characters that keeps you engaged until the end.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Set mostly on an isolated Scottish island named Eris, where a famous painter and ceramicist named Vanessa Chapman once lived and worked, the story begins with a discovery. A bone in one of Chapman’s sculptures, now owned by an estate, may be human. That revelation links together the three main characters — Chapman’s longtime companion Grace Winters, a Chapman scholar who works for Fairburn Estate named James Becker, and Julian, Chapman’s ex-husband who went missing 20 years ago.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13966153","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Told in the present, in flashbacks from two decades ago, and via excerpts from Chapman’s diary, the plot moves along steadily. It’s not really a keep-the-reader-guessing type of thriller, but more of a slow build that culminates in a shocking ending.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hawkins weaves artistic themes and the creative process through the novel. Chapman’s diary entries are filled with references to the landscape that inspires her — the “terrible chaos” of waves, the sky “miraculous azure or threatening gunmetal.” The title refers to a time at dusk before the stars come out when the color leaches from the day but it’s not yet full dark. Hawkins’ prose often mirrors Chapman’s artistic eye. Here’s Becker’s first glimpse of Grace: “Her face is soft, cheeks relaxing gently into jowls, and her colors are muddied: from her bowl of hair to her slightly protuberant eyes … she is painted in varying shades of brown.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The novel’s setting is a character unto itself. Eris is reachable from the mainland only when the tide is out, in two six-hour chunks each day, and so it’s a fine place to bury secrets — physical and psychological. Learning those secrets is the fun of the novel, and there are few authors writing today who drip them out, page by excruciating page, like Hawkins.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>’The Blue Hour’ by Paula Hawkins is released on Oct. 29, 2024, via Mariner Books.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13966245/paula-hawkins-the-blue-hour-book-review-new-psychological-thriller","authors":["byline_arts_13966245"],"programs":["arts_140"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_73","arts_75","arts_22313"],"tags":["arts_5221","arts_769","arts_585","arts_11718"],"featImg":"arts_13966247","label":"arts_140"},"arts_13966227":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13966227","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13966227","score":null,"sort":[1728401458000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"huangcheng-potsticker-dumpling-shop-oakland-swans-market","title":"One of Oakland’s Top Noodle Makers Now Runs a Dumpling Shop","publishDate":1728401458,"format":"standard","headTitle":"One of Oakland’s Top Noodle Makers Now Runs a Dumpling Shop | KQED","labelTerm":{},"content":"\u003cp>China’s northern Shanxi province is famous for its wheat-based cuisine, like the knife-shaved noodles that are the particular specialty of \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/huangchengnoodles/\">Huangcheng Noodle House\u003c/a> in Oakland. But what does a Shanxier eat when he isn’t in the mood for pasta?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In those cases, says Huangcheng chef-owner Jimmy Huang, a plate of dumplings is often the go-to meal. Which is why the third-generation noodle maker decided to expand his family’s \u003ca href=\"https://sf.eater.com/2022/10/17/23409456/kaokao-grill-berkeley-new-barbecue-restaurant\">burgeoning East Bay restaurant mini-empire\u003c/a> by opening \u003ca href=\"https://www.huangchengpotsticker.com/\">Huang Cheng Potsticker\u003c/a>, a food stall just down the hall from his \u003ca href=\"https://sf.eater.com/2021/1/25/22245029/huangcheng-noodle-house-opening-photos-oakland-shanxi-knife-cut-noodles\">flagship noodle shop\u003c/a> at \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13904416/old-oakland-block-party-international-food-swans-market\">Swan’s Market\u003c/a>. The new restaurant, which took over the old Dela Curo Curry/B-Dama spot, specializes in both boiled and pan-fried dumplings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Huang, whose toothsome, pleasingly ruffle-edged noodles have built a cult following, says he always wanted to serve potstickers but never had the space at the noodle house. So he jumped at the opportunity to open a standalone dumpling shop. The menu is short and sweet: For now, there are only two types of dumplings, pork or shrimp, both available either boiled or pan-fried. As with Huang’s noodles, the foundation of the dumplings is the handmade dough for the wrappers, which is made from scratch in house. The fillings are simple, based on traditional Shanxi recipes — mostly meat, with a bit of very finely minced Napa cabbage and ginger mixed in.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966232\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966232\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread.jpg\" alt=\"A spread of dumplings on a wood table.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1125\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread-1920x1080.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The menu is simple and concise: two kinds of dumplings, available either boiled or pan-fried. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13962284,arts_13937806']These are plump little dumplings that come 18 to an order — two-bite dumplings at the most, each one not much larger in size than a fortune cookie. When I visited over the weekend, I was impressed with the pliant, supple texture of the boiled dumplings’ wrappers. When pan-fried in potsticker form, the well-browned, crunchy bottoms were a fantastic counterpoint to the juicy, super savory pork filling. In a bit of interprovincial fusion, Huang — who grew up in Shanxi but also has family roots in Sichuan — serves the potstickers with a spicy, chili- and scallion-infused dipping sauce that’s tasty enough to drink on its own.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The only problem with serving such cute little dumplings that are as delicious and light on the palate as they are? I felt like I could have eaten 100 of them. (You might consider ordering one more plate than you think you need.) The restaurant rounds out its concise menu with a refreshing cold cucumber appetizer and a chicken curry rice plate, which Huang makes with his own spice mix instead of a premade curry roux.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966237\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966237\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker.jpg\" alt=\"A potsticker, bitten so that its meaty filling is visible.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1375\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker-800x550.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker-1020x701.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker-160x110.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker-768x528.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker-1536x1056.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker-1920x1320.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The pork potstickers feature a savory filling and well-browned, crunchy bottoms. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Within China, Shanxi’s noodles and other wheat-based dishes are esteemed to be some of the best in the entire country. (One local source documented no fewer than \u003ca href=\"https://www.ft.com/content/86e7d353-27dc-4ce3-a60d-6304fc339571\">\u003ci>890\u003c/i> different “flour foods”\u003c/a> in the province.) In Huang’s view, all of these wheat-based foods, including the dumplings, are the kind of healthy, everyday dishes that make a person’s muscles stronger. In fact, he says matter-of-factly, a diet high in flour foods is why “Shanxi people are stronger than people from the south,” perhaps stoking the flames of China’s long-standing north-south rivalry. (The Guangdong rice-eating side of my family might take issue with this bit of northern folk wisdom, but I’ll grant that the chef’s past life as a \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/CmtBJSlOF4n/\">professional\u003c/a> \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/CBXe5xYBYPP/\">acrobat\u003c/a> lends a certain credibility to his muscle-making theories.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mostly, though, Huang just wants to introduce his American clientele to the flavors and textures of Shanxi cuisine. “I tell my customers I’m like a doctor for their appetite,” he says. “I open them up so that they can appreciate new tastes.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.huangchengpotsticker.com/\">\u003ci>Huang Cheng Potsticker\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003ci> is open Monday 11 a.m.–3 p.m. and Tuesday–Saturday 11 a.m.–8 p.m.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Huang Cheng Potsticker is the newest restaurant to debut at Swan’s Market.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728407591,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":10,"wordCount":695},"headData":{"title":"One of Oakland’s Top Noodle Makers Now Runs a Dumpling Shop | KQED","description":"Huang Cheng Potsticker is the newest restaurant to debut at Swan’s Market.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"One of Oakland’s Top Noodle Makers Now Runs a Dumpling Shop","datePublished":"2024-10-08T08:30:58-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-08T10:13:11-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"source":"Food","sourceUrl":"https://www.kqed.org/food","sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13966227","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13966227/huangcheng-potsticker-dumpling-shop-oakland-swans-market","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>China’s northern Shanxi province is famous for its wheat-based cuisine, like the knife-shaved noodles that are the particular specialty of \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/huangchengnoodles/\">Huangcheng Noodle House\u003c/a> in Oakland. But what does a Shanxier eat when he isn’t in the mood for pasta?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In those cases, says Huangcheng chef-owner Jimmy Huang, a plate of dumplings is often the go-to meal. Which is why the third-generation noodle maker decided to expand his family’s \u003ca href=\"https://sf.eater.com/2022/10/17/23409456/kaokao-grill-berkeley-new-barbecue-restaurant\">burgeoning East Bay restaurant mini-empire\u003c/a> by opening \u003ca href=\"https://www.huangchengpotsticker.com/\">Huang Cheng Potsticker\u003c/a>, a food stall just down the hall from his \u003ca href=\"https://sf.eater.com/2021/1/25/22245029/huangcheng-noodle-house-opening-photos-oakland-shanxi-knife-cut-noodles\">flagship noodle shop\u003c/a> at \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13904416/old-oakland-block-party-international-food-swans-market\">Swan’s Market\u003c/a>. The new restaurant, which took over the old Dela Curo Curry/B-Dama spot, specializes in both boiled and pan-fried dumplings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Huang, whose toothsome, pleasingly ruffle-edged noodles have built a cult following, says he always wanted to serve potstickers but never had the space at the noodle house. So he jumped at the opportunity to open a standalone dumpling shop. The menu is short and sweet: For now, there are only two types of dumplings, pork or shrimp, both available either boiled or pan-fried. As with Huang’s noodles, the foundation of the dumplings is the handmade dough for the wrappers, which is made from scratch in house. The fillings are simple, based on traditional Shanxi recipes — mostly meat, with a bit of very finely minced Napa cabbage and ginger mixed in.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966232\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966232\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread.jpg\" alt=\"A spread of dumplings on a wood table.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1125\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/overhead-spread-1920x1080.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The menu is simple and concise: two kinds of dumplings, available either boiled or pan-fried. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13962284,arts_13937806","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>These are plump little dumplings that come 18 to an order — two-bite dumplings at the most, each one not much larger in size than a fortune cookie. When I visited over the weekend, I was impressed with the pliant, supple texture of the boiled dumplings’ wrappers. When pan-fried in potsticker form, the well-browned, crunchy bottoms were a fantastic counterpoint to the juicy, super savory pork filling. In a bit of interprovincial fusion, Huang — who grew up in Shanxi but also has family roots in Sichuan — serves the potstickers with a spicy, chili- and scallion-infused dipping sauce that’s tasty enough to drink on its own.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The only problem with serving such cute little dumplings that are as delicious and light on the palate as they are? I felt like I could have eaten 100 of them. (You might consider ordering one more plate than you think you need.) The restaurant rounds out its concise menu with a refreshing cold cucumber appetizer and a chicken curry rice plate, which Huang makes with his own spice mix instead of a premade curry roux.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966237\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966237\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker.jpg\" alt=\"A potsticker, bitten so that its meaty filling is visible.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1375\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker-800x550.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker-1020x701.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker-160x110.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker-768x528.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker-1536x1056.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/bitten-potsticker-1920x1320.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The pork potstickers feature a savory filling and well-browned, crunchy bottoms. \u003ccite>(Luke Tsai/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Within China, Shanxi’s noodles and other wheat-based dishes are esteemed to be some of the best in the entire country. (One local source documented no fewer than \u003ca href=\"https://www.ft.com/content/86e7d353-27dc-4ce3-a60d-6304fc339571\">\u003ci>890\u003c/i> different “flour foods”\u003c/a> in the province.) In Huang’s view, all of these wheat-based foods, including the dumplings, are the kind of healthy, everyday dishes that make a person’s muscles stronger. In fact, he says matter-of-factly, a diet high in flour foods is why “Shanxi people are stronger than people from the south,” perhaps stoking the flames of China’s long-standing north-south rivalry. (The Guangdong rice-eating side of my family might take issue with this bit of northern folk wisdom, but I’ll grant that the chef’s past life as a \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/CmtBJSlOF4n/\">professional\u003c/a> \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/CBXe5xYBYPP/\">acrobat\u003c/a> lends a certain credibility to his muscle-making theories.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mostly, though, Huang just wants to introduce his American clientele to the flavors and textures of Shanxi cuisine. “I tell my customers I’m like a doctor for their appetite,” he says. “I open them up so that they can appreciate new tastes.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.huangchengpotsticker.com/\">\u003ci>Huang Cheng Potsticker\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003ci> is open Monday 11 a.m.–3 p.m. and Tuesday–Saturday 11 a.m.–8 p.m.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13966227/huangcheng-potsticker-dumpling-shop-oakland-swans-market","authors":["11743"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_12276"],"tags":["arts_21727","arts_10278","arts_1297","arts_1143","arts_15755","arts_15752"],"featImg":"arts_13966231","label":"source_arts_13966227"},"arts_13961188":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13961188","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13961188","score":null,"sort":[1721296854000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"rightnowishs-grand-finale-words-of-wisdom-from-timothy-b","title":"Rightnowish’s Grand Finale: Words of Wisdom from Timothy B.","publishDate":1721296854,"format":"audio","headTitle":"Rightnowish’s Grand Finale: Words of Wisdom from Timothy B. | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":8720,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"#episode-transcript\">\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">View the full episode transcript.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On this final episode of the Rightnowish podcast, we end back where we started — but with some pretty significant updates.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the fall of 2019, renowned visual artist \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/timothyb_art/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Timothy B.\u003c/a> gave us the first full Rightnowish interview for an episode titled ‘\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13868502/from-d-boys-to-dope-art\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">From D-Boys to Dope Art.\u003c/a>’\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During that interview, Timothy B. was flanked by his mother Dana Bluitt and his father Timothy Bluitt Sr. as he shared with us his perspective on mural making, community building and his work in Oakland. We also discussed how Timothy B.’s colorful paintings on the streets of the Town differ drastically from the work his father did in Oakland during the ’80s and early ’90s.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Timothy Sr., a representative of East Oakland’s legendary 69 Mob, was incarcerated in a federal penitentiary for over two decades. During that time, Mrs. Bluitt held the family down. Timothy B. took notes from both his mother and father, and flourished because of the strength of his parents.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now, five years after our last conversation on tape, Timothy B. is a father too. Stepping into parenthood has changed his painting schedule and personal priorities. But he remains creative.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13961247\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13961247 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56%E2%80%AFPM-800x1100.png\" alt=\"Timothy B. stands on a lift in front of a mural he painted at the East Oakland Youth Center dedicated to journalist and political prisoner Mumia Abu-Jamal.\" width=\"800\" height=\"1100\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM-800x1100.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM-160x220.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM-768x1056.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM.png 972w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Timothy B. stands on a lift in front of a mural he painted at the East Oakland Youth Center dedicated to journalist and political prisoner Mumia Abu-Jamal. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Timothy B. )\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In fact, having painted numerous murals around the Town and beyond, his work is getting out there more than ever. In Oakland, his work can be seen at places like the corner store on Grand and Ellita, as well as the broad side of buildings on 7th and Washington, 82nd and International, and 15th and Webster. He has more murals in the works, plus he’s expanding beyond walls: this past February, his designs were commissioned, printed on T-shirts and given away at \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/C3RDwNIPJNl/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">a Golden State Warriors home game\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This week, we discuss how Timothy B. has grown, and how Oakland has changed. And then Timothy B. gives us some advice on how to deal with major life transitions; advice I needed to hear as we end the Rightnowish podcast.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" frameborder=\"0\" height=\"200\" scrolling=\"no\" src=\"https://playlist.megaphone.fm/?e=KQINC4636659965\" width=\"100%\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Rightnowish is an arts and culture podcast produced at KQED. Listen to it wherever you get your podcasts or click the play button at the top of this page and subscribe to the show on \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/721590300/rightnowish\">NPR One\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/show/7kEJuafTzTVan7B78ttz1I\">Spotify\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rightnowish/id1482187648\">Apple Podcasts\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://tunein.com/podcasts/Arts--Culture-Podcasts/Rightnowish-p1258245/\">TuneIn\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/rightnowish\">Stitcher\u003c/a> or wherever you get your podcasts. \u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2 id=\"episode-transcript\">Episode Transcript\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This is a computer-generated transcript. While our team has reviewed it, there may be errors.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw, Host: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What’s up Rightnowish listeners, I’m your host Pendarvis Harshaw.\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We are here. At the grand finale, the final episode of Rightnowish. We’ve had an amazing 5 year run, so much love, so many memories. Thank you all for rocking with us. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">To host an arts and culture show in the Bay Area, it’s been so dope, I haven’t fully processed it. But for now I can say that I’m extremely grateful…grateful for the emails, comments on social posts and conversations at bars and coffee shops…grateful that we’ve had the support from KQED and from the community…grateful to the people who shared their stories with us, and to everyone who listened. I could go on but, yeah, grateful. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That being said, to bookend this Rightnowish podcast, we’re going back to where we started: a conversation with the very first guest on the show– renowned visual artist, Timothy B. We caught up with him via zoom from his Oakland studio.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Timothy’s work can be found all around the Bay, and beyond. He’s painted images of community members, goddesses and of Huey P. Newton. His mural of the late Nipsey Hussle on Grand and Perkins in Oakland is a trademark piece. Another mural on a wall further down Grand pays homage to the memory of Nia Wilson, a young woman who was slain on a BART platform in July of 2018.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">In the first episode of Rightnowish, Timothy B. and I discussed how his work on the streets of the town differs drastically from the work his father did. His dad, Timothy Bliutt Sr., is a factor from East Oakland’s legendary 69 Mob, and he also served a significant amount of time in a federal penitentiary. And from there Mrs. Dana Bluitt, Timothy B.’s mother, held the family down. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Which brings us to today– over the last five years a lot has changed for Timothy B. He’s a father now. So, for this final episode, we chop it up about Oakland, art and mental health, as well as fatherhood, personal relationships and the process of dealing with life’s big transitions.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">As you might imagine, I could use that advice right now… ish. Yeah, more after this. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">There we go, there we go, there we go, Timothy B! I’m really excited to talk to you today for a number of reasons, really because you were the first interview in the Rightnowish series. You started us off on a good note, and so much has changed over the past 5 years. And when I think of all the changes that you have experienced, the biggest one is fatherhood. And our past conversation was about family and your parents and how they poured into you, and how that shows up in your artistry and given your relationship with your parents, what does it mean to you to be a father now? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You know, my son, he’s, he’s going to be the first to experience having a father and grandfather in I don’t know in how many generations, you know. So, you know, that’s power in itself. Because my father was incarcerated for 24 years of my life, to receive the opportunity to be a father now is monumental. I could give, ya know, my son, he’s…he won’t ever know what it’s like to not have a father around, you know? God forbid anything happens to me. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">As you know, being a father yourself, I’m learning a lot around patience. Being a father is probably like, one of my hardest tasks, you know, just trying to balance everything. And I don’t cook to often, right? I think that’s probably like, my biggest challenge is just cooking different meals \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[laughs] \u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">that he would eat.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Gotta gotta learn more than just the spaghetti. I remember I stepped my game up. \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[laughs]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I’m tired of having spaghetti, Dawg. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah, for me, man, it’s mashed potatoes and broccoli \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[laughs]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> But that’s clutch, that’s clutch yeah. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But yeah, it’s been an amazing journey so far. You know, just seeing how, how much joy he bring, not to just myself, but everybody around. I feel like he was just, he was brought at the perfect time. He gave my family hope. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You mentioned the balance, the balancing act and, I mean, you are a renowned artist. How has parenthood changed your schedule as an artist?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Considering that I have my son four days a week,\u003c/span> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I don’t have much time to focus on my work like I used to. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">When I’m off father-duty, I’m a lot more focused than I used to be. Whereas before I used to cat-off a little bit. But these days, time management skills is a lot much better, ya feel me? So, I think I’m a little more disciplined now than I was back then.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What are some of the things that you’re dealing with with life right now? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B:\u003c/b> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">It’s a trip because you know all these great things are happening in the art department. You know a lot of people, they see me accomplishing great things every month. I’m having unveiling, there’s a celebration, I’m being honored by The Warriors and Allen Temple Baptist Church and it’s just love being thrown my way, but at the, on the flip side of it, man I’ve been feeling like sh*t. I’m feeling terrible, you know, just for the reasons that my personal relationships to the people I love the most, you know are in sh*t. It’s like, I don’t know man. Just trying to find that balance. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What’s your method to the madness? How do you deal with it all? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Martial arts, you know, has really helped. I’ve been, you know, getting some sun. And also just accepting that people are going to feel how they feel, you know. Like, there’s nothing, you know, there’s certain things you just can’t do. You know, you can’t control how people think of you. You know, like, if your intentions is to do right by people, but they don’t, they can’t receive it for whatever reason, yo, that’s outside of you. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But I’m learning, you know, these days to, you know, continue to just show the love that I want to receive and if they could receive it from you. Cool. You know, if they not, if they can’t, I’m still going to try to pour as much as I can. You feel me? But, you know, just set my boundaries to protect my heart. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You know, the last thing I want to do is like, be here, be out here angry or frustrated. You feel me? So, you know, as of late I’ve been, like, moving in gratitude. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You once told me that your artwork is an escape for you. Does it still provide that same escape? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah man, it really does. It really does. Because I mean, essentially, you know, I create worlds, you know whenever, you know, I’m logging into the arts, I’m in a whole different zone. Like, I’m in a whole different thinking space, \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Can you describe your style? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I think I have, like a Afro-futuristic, surrealist style. I love, like, a stylistic, illustrative type of art, you know, similar to, like, you know, like, comic book style. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I’m thinking of, like, I’ll read, like, you know, like the \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Black Panther\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">, the one that was written by Ta-Nehisi Coates.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I can’t think of who the illustrator is right now, but his work is is tight. You know, it’s like it’s highly detailed, kind of wanderlust. And whenever I think of my work, you know, I try to give that kind of a Candyland type feel, you know, but with, you know, a real sense of reality, \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That makes perfect sense. But I like what you say like surrealism, Afrofuturism, a little, you know, flavor to make it shine. And I could fully see that in your work, man. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I’m thinking about a design you did earlier this year that debuted for The Warriors during Black History Month, real big deal, man. Walk me through the process of designing that image. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I usually start with looking at different references. I would write down, like my intentions for the design, how I want it to feel, what I want it to represent. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That piece was like, it was themed around manifesting your life, your destiny, your dreams. And it was of a boy, you know, with his hands out and like his strength, his power is in his hands. Right? And my, you know, thinking about myself, you know, I’ve been able to manifest everything I want in life, you know, like I’m living the dream right now. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Man, it all came from my hands. You know, I’ve been able to travel the world. I’ve been able to buy the cars I want. I’ve been able to live in the space I want to live in. All because of these hands. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Behind him was, the elders, you know, that were standing together in prayer, praying over the boy. You know, I come from a big village as you know. My family has always been, ya know, real good at uplifting me in whatever I wanted to do. And, so, you know, that’s what that piece was about. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Having that image printed on hundreds of thousands of t-shirts inside of The Warriors’ Chase Center, what was it like for you to walk in that evening and see your art?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">It was unreal. I would say it was unreal. Like, I don’t even think it really like resonated until afterwards. It was a reminder that I’ve came a long way. You know, like I, you know, I remember, you know, being in college telling myself that one day all this is going to make sense. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">So now, to be in this position where, like you say, I got t-shirts, I’m doing.. got t-shirts all over the arena, the Chase. You know, I could barely even afford to be in the arena but now, you know, I’m in partnership with The Warriors, you feel me. It was like, man, like, it’s just it’s euphoric. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You had your son with you? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">My son going everywhere with me. You feel me? Like he needs to know that anything is possible at a very young age.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What does it mean for someone to come up to you and compliment your work and give you your flowers? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What that means to me is that one… people, people see me. And that feels good in itself to be seen, to be recognized, and also to be appreciated for the things that you love to do that you think no one sees. It’d be one thing if I was out here popular for, like, putting out negativity. But when you’re not with that, when you out here putting, you know, spreading love, that’s what you receive. Everywhere you go is just love. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Beyond putting paint where it ain’t and just doing an immaculate job at it, you’re also the founder of Good Air Studios, where you host live events and workshops for artists. Bringing it back a little bit, the last time we talked you were at Mouse Cat, and five years, a lot has changed. How was Good Air different from Mouse Cat? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Mouse Cat, personal studio is just all about…it’s my living space, you know. This is where I create, where I sleep, you know, but I needed a space for the community. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">For the longest time I’ve been doing this arts stuff, running this business by myself. I wanted to share this with other people. There’s a bunch of artists that look up to me and want to work by my side. And I want to be there to work in collaboration with them and teach them and learn from them. So I wanted to, you know, create a space for, you know, me and the community to connect and build. That’s how Good Air Studios came about. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">For months, I was looking in this space, and I was just trying to, you know, figure out how I was going to pay that rent. So I reached out to all my closest friends and, you know, I pitched the idea to them, and then they believed in what I was talking about and now we here. \u003c/span>\u003cb> \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We makin’ enough money to pay rent, you know, but that’s a milestone. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That’s gotta be dope to see it happening, the wheels are turning.\u003c/span> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I’ve been to the space it’s high ceilings, you know, like old warehouse just covered in art everywhere, the ping pong tables out front. You got the vibes and all of that is important. But the… what you just said beyond just the esthetics, this is about having space for creatives to come together. Why do you think that’s important for creatives in the Bay area right now? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I feel like we as Black artists need a space for us, you know? And that’s what Good Air Studio is, you know? And it’s not just for Black artists, of course, but we are trying to encourage the Black community to come out and even those who don’t really draw like that and who want to learn, you know, we want to host workshops for them so they could develop the confidence to, you know, express themselves through that medium. We doing something really dope. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I feel like you personally, and also the larger ideas that come from you and your circle are very representative of creatives in the Bay Area right now. And also like, looking forward, I feel like y’all have a foot on the pulse of the now and also have some say in what’s to come down the pipeline.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And we’re coming to the end of producing this show. With that, there’s a slight relief that I don’t do the same thing over and over again and there’s some sadness of like losing this thing that I love, right? And you as a person who’s gone through some transitions in your life, what advice would you give to myself and the Rightnowish team as we go through this transition? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We all creatives here. So no matter what we doing, we are doing something..we gon do something dope. So I guess my advice is to, continue to move in purpose, you know, and continue to move, towards whatever it is that is fulfilling your spirit, you know, because that is the thing that is going to wake us all up. That’s the… you like, you starting this show, this is the thing that we all needed. We needed to hear these stories of, you know, all these local celebrities. We use these stories that just, you know, remind us of maybe what we doing or, maybe get an insight of, you know, what is out there. Yeah man, continue to explore and experiment, it will happen for you, I promise you. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Thank you. Thank you for sharing some insight into your life as a parent and also your life as an artist, man. And like, yeah, I can’t thank you enough because, you know, you changed the visual landscape at a place that we love. And that’s, that’s a hell of a task. So thank you. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">There’s this thing that happens in journalism sometimes, where the person you’re interviewing speaks your truths. And all you can do is nod in agreement as the tape rolls. Timothy B.’s thoughts on community interaction — how it’s fueled his art and community service, even while dealing with all that life can throw at him. Yeah, bingo. That’s been a big part of this Rightnowish experience. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">So Timothy B, Thank you again for your words of wisdom, your story and your work. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">To keep up with Timothy B’s visual arts, live events and more follow him on Instagram at timothyb underscore art. That’s t-i-m-o-t-h-y-b underscore art. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And, wow…. for the last time here go the show credits:\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This episode was hosted by me, Pendarvis Harshaw\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Marisol Medina-Cadena is the Rightnowish producer. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Some of the music you heard in the episode was sourced from Audio Network.\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\nChris Hambrick and Chris Egusa edited this episode.\u003cbr>\nChristopher Beale is our engineer.\u003cbr>\nThe Rightnowish team is also supported by Jen Chien, Ugur Dursun, Holly Kernan and Katie Sprenger.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Aight yall. This is the end. Thanks again. As a wise person once told me: keep it lit. Peace. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Rightnowish is a KQED production.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Rightnowish ends its five-year run by checking back in with its very first guest, Timothy B. ","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726875349,"stats":{"hasAudio":true,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":80,"wordCount":3587},"headData":{"title":"Rightnowish’s Grand Finale: Words of Wisdom from Timothy B. | KQED","description":"On this final episode of the Rightnowish podcast, we end back where we started and check in with renowned visual artist Timothy B., who was the very first Rightnowish guest.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialDescription":"On this final episode of the Rightnowish podcast, we end back where we started and check in with renowned visual artist Timothy B., who was the very first Rightnowish guest.","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Rightnowish’s Grand Finale: Words of Wisdom from Timothy B.","datePublished":"2024-07-18T03:00:54-07:00","dateModified":"2024-09-20T16:35:49-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"audioUrl":"https://www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.mp3/chrt.fm/track/G6C7C3/traffic.megaphone.fm/KQINC4636659965.mp3?updated=1721260825","sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13961188","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13961188/rightnowishs-grand-finale-words-of-wisdom-from-timothy-b","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"#episode-transcript\">\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">View the full episode transcript.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On this final episode of the Rightnowish podcast, we end back where we started — but with some pretty significant updates.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the fall of 2019, renowned visual artist \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/timothyb_art/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Timothy B.\u003c/a> gave us the first full Rightnowish interview for an episode titled ‘\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13868502/from-d-boys-to-dope-art\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">From D-Boys to Dope Art.\u003c/a>’\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During that interview, Timothy B. was flanked by his mother Dana Bluitt and his father Timothy Bluitt Sr. as he shared with us his perspective on mural making, community building and his work in Oakland. We also discussed how Timothy B.’s colorful paintings on the streets of the Town differ drastically from the work his father did in Oakland during the ’80s and early ’90s.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Timothy Sr., a representative of East Oakland’s legendary 69 Mob, was incarcerated in a federal penitentiary for over two decades. During that time, Mrs. Bluitt held the family down. Timothy B. took notes from both his mother and father, and flourished because of the strength of his parents.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now, five years after our last conversation on tape, Timothy B. is a father too. Stepping into parenthood has changed his painting schedule and personal priorities. But he remains creative.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13961247\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13961247 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56%E2%80%AFPM-800x1100.png\" alt=\"Timothy B. stands on a lift in front of a mural he painted at the East Oakland Youth Center dedicated to journalist and political prisoner Mumia Abu-Jamal.\" width=\"800\" height=\"1100\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM-800x1100.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM-160x220.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM-768x1056.png 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Screenshot-2024-07-16-at-11.40.56 PM.png 972w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Timothy B. stands on a lift in front of a mural he painted at the East Oakland Youth Center dedicated to journalist and political prisoner Mumia Abu-Jamal. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Timothy B. )\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In fact, having painted numerous murals around the Town and beyond, his work is getting out there more than ever. In Oakland, his work can be seen at places like the corner store on Grand and Ellita, as well as the broad side of buildings on 7th and Washington, 82nd and International, and 15th and Webster. He has more murals in the works, plus he’s expanding beyond walls: this past February, his designs were commissioned, printed on T-shirts and given away at \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/C3RDwNIPJNl/?hl=en\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">a Golden State Warriors home game\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This week, we discuss how Timothy B. has grown, and how Oakland has changed. And then Timothy B. gives us some advice on how to deal with major life transitions; advice I needed to hear as we end the Rightnowish podcast.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" frameborder=\"0\" height=\"200\" scrolling=\"no\" src=\"https://playlist.megaphone.fm/?e=KQINC4636659965\" width=\"100%\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Rightnowish is an arts and culture podcast produced at KQED. Listen to it wherever you get your podcasts or click the play button at the top of this page and subscribe to the show on \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/721590300/rightnowish\">NPR One\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/show/7kEJuafTzTVan7B78ttz1I\">Spotify\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rightnowish/id1482187648\">Apple Podcasts\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://tunein.com/podcasts/Arts--Culture-Podcasts/Rightnowish-p1258245/\">TuneIn\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/rightnowish\">Stitcher\u003c/a> or wherever you get your podcasts. \u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2 id=\"episode-transcript\">Episode Transcript\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This is a computer-generated transcript. While our team has reviewed it, there may be errors.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw, Host: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What’s up Rightnowish listeners, I’m your host Pendarvis Harshaw.\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We are here. At the grand finale, the final episode of Rightnowish. We’ve had an amazing 5 year run, so much love, so many memories. Thank you all for rocking with us. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">To host an arts and culture show in the Bay Area, it’s been so dope, I haven’t fully processed it. But for now I can say that I’m extremely grateful…grateful for the emails, comments on social posts and conversations at bars and coffee shops…grateful that we’ve had the support from KQED and from the community…grateful to the people who shared their stories with us, and to everyone who listened. I could go on but, yeah, grateful. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That being said, to bookend this Rightnowish podcast, we’re going back to where we started: a conversation with the very first guest on the show– renowned visual artist, Timothy B. We caught up with him via zoom from his Oakland studio.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Timothy’s work can be found all around the Bay, and beyond. He’s painted images of community members, goddesses and of Huey P. Newton. His mural of the late Nipsey Hussle on Grand and Perkins in Oakland is a trademark piece. Another mural on a wall further down Grand pays homage to the memory of Nia Wilson, a young woman who was slain on a BART platform in July of 2018.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">In the first episode of Rightnowish, Timothy B. and I discussed how his work on the streets of the town differs drastically from the work his father did. His dad, Timothy Bliutt Sr., is a factor from East Oakland’s legendary 69 Mob, and he also served a significant amount of time in a federal penitentiary. And from there Mrs. Dana Bluitt, Timothy B.’s mother, held the family down. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Which brings us to today– over the last five years a lot has changed for Timothy B. He’s a father now. So, for this final episode, we chop it up about Oakland, art and mental health, as well as fatherhood, personal relationships and the process of dealing with life’s big transitions.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">As you might imagine, I could use that advice right now… ish. Yeah, more after this. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">There we go, there we go, there we go, Timothy B! I’m really excited to talk to you today for a number of reasons, really because you were the first interview in the Rightnowish series. You started us off on a good note, and so much has changed over the past 5 years. And when I think of all the changes that you have experienced, the biggest one is fatherhood. And our past conversation was about family and your parents and how they poured into you, and how that shows up in your artistry and given your relationship with your parents, what does it mean to you to be a father now? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You know, my son, he’s, he’s going to be the first to experience having a father and grandfather in I don’t know in how many generations, you know. So, you know, that’s power in itself. Because my father was incarcerated for 24 years of my life, to receive the opportunity to be a father now is monumental. I could give, ya know, my son, he’s…he won’t ever know what it’s like to not have a father around, you know? God forbid anything happens to me. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">As you know, being a father yourself, I’m learning a lot around patience. Being a father is probably like, one of my hardest tasks, you know, just trying to balance everything. And I don’t cook to often, right? I think that’s probably like, my biggest challenge is just cooking different meals \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[laughs] \u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">that he would eat.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Gotta gotta learn more than just the spaghetti. I remember I stepped my game up. \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[laughs]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I’m tired of having spaghetti, Dawg. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah, for me, man, it’s mashed potatoes and broccoli \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[laughs]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> But that’s clutch, that’s clutch yeah. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But yeah, it’s been an amazing journey so far. You know, just seeing how, how much joy he bring, not to just myself, but everybody around. I feel like he was just, he was brought at the perfect time. He gave my family hope. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You mentioned the balance, the balancing act and, I mean, you are a renowned artist. How has parenthood changed your schedule as an artist?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Considering that I have my son four days a week,\u003c/span> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I don’t have much time to focus on my work like I used to. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">When I’m off father-duty, I’m a lot more focused than I used to be. Whereas before I used to cat-off a little bit. But these days, time management skills is a lot much better, ya feel me? So, I think I’m a little more disciplined now than I was back then.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What are some of the things that you’re dealing with with life right now? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B:\u003c/b> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">It’s a trip because you know all these great things are happening in the art department. You know a lot of people, they see me accomplishing great things every month. I’m having unveiling, there’s a celebration, I’m being honored by The Warriors and Allen Temple Baptist Church and it’s just love being thrown my way, but at the, on the flip side of it, man I’ve been feeling like sh*t. I’m feeling terrible, you know, just for the reasons that my personal relationships to the people I love the most, you know are in sh*t. It’s like, I don’t know man. Just trying to find that balance. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What’s your method to the madness? How do you deal with it all? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Martial arts, you know, has really helped. I’ve been, you know, getting some sun. And also just accepting that people are going to feel how they feel, you know. Like, there’s nothing, you know, there’s certain things you just can’t do. You know, you can’t control how people think of you. You know, like, if your intentions is to do right by people, but they don’t, they can’t receive it for whatever reason, yo, that’s outside of you. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But I’m learning, you know, these days to, you know, continue to just show the love that I want to receive and if they could receive it from you. Cool. You know, if they not, if they can’t, I’m still going to try to pour as much as I can. You feel me? But, you know, just set my boundaries to protect my heart. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You know, the last thing I want to do is like, be here, be out here angry or frustrated. You feel me? So, you know, as of late I’ve been, like, moving in gratitude. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You once told me that your artwork is an escape for you. Does it still provide that same escape? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah man, it really does. It really does. Because I mean, essentially, you know, I create worlds, you know whenever, you know, I’m logging into the arts, I’m in a whole different zone. Like, I’m in a whole different thinking space, \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Can you describe your style? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I think I have, like a Afro-futuristic, surrealist style. I love, like, a stylistic, illustrative type of art, you know, similar to, like, you know, like, comic book style. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I’m thinking of, like, I’ll read, like, you know, like the \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Black Panther\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">, the one that was written by Ta-Nehisi Coates.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I can’t think of who the illustrator is right now, but his work is is tight. You know, it’s like it’s highly detailed, kind of wanderlust. And whenever I think of my work, you know, I try to give that kind of a Candyland type feel, you know, but with, you know, a real sense of reality, \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That makes perfect sense. But I like what you say like surrealism, Afrofuturism, a little, you know, flavor to make it shine. And I could fully see that in your work, man. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I’m thinking about a design you did earlier this year that debuted for The Warriors during Black History Month, real big deal, man. Walk me through the process of designing that image. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I usually start with looking at different references. I would write down, like my intentions for the design, how I want it to feel, what I want it to represent. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That piece was like, it was themed around manifesting your life, your destiny, your dreams. And it was of a boy, you know, with his hands out and like his strength, his power is in his hands. Right? And my, you know, thinking about myself, you know, I’ve been able to manifest everything I want in life, you know, like I’m living the dream right now. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Man, it all came from my hands. You know, I’ve been able to travel the world. I’ve been able to buy the cars I want. I’ve been able to live in the space I want to live in. All because of these hands. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Behind him was, the elders, you know, that were standing together in prayer, praying over the boy. You know, I come from a big village as you know. My family has always been, ya know, real good at uplifting me in whatever I wanted to do. And, so, you know, that’s what that piece was about. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Having that image printed on hundreds of thousands of t-shirts inside of The Warriors’ Chase Center, what was it like for you to walk in that evening and see your art?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">It was unreal. I would say it was unreal. Like, I don’t even think it really like resonated until afterwards. It was a reminder that I’ve came a long way. You know, like I, you know, I remember, you know, being in college telling myself that one day all this is going to make sense. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">So now, to be in this position where, like you say, I got t-shirts, I’m doing.. got t-shirts all over the arena, the Chase. You know, I could barely even afford to be in the arena but now, you know, I’m in partnership with The Warriors, you feel me. It was like, man, like, it’s just it’s euphoric. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You had your son with you? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">My son going everywhere with me. You feel me? Like he needs to know that anything is possible at a very young age.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What does it mean for someone to come up to you and compliment your work and give you your flowers? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">What that means to me is that one… people, people see me. And that feels good in itself to be seen, to be recognized, and also to be appreciated for the things that you love to do that you think no one sees. It’d be one thing if I was out here popular for, like, putting out negativity. But when you’re not with that, when you out here putting, you know, spreading love, that’s what you receive. Everywhere you go is just love. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Beyond putting paint where it ain’t and just doing an immaculate job at it, you’re also the founder of Good Air Studios, where you host live events and workshops for artists. Bringing it back a little bit, the last time we talked you were at Mouse Cat, and five years, a lot has changed. How was Good Air different from Mouse Cat? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Mouse Cat, personal studio is just all about…it’s my living space, you know. This is where I create, where I sleep, you know, but I needed a space for the community. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">For the longest time I’ve been doing this arts stuff, running this business by myself. I wanted to share this with other people. There’s a bunch of artists that look up to me and want to work by my side. And I want to be there to work in collaboration with them and teach them and learn from them. So I wanted to, you know, create a space for, you know, me and the community to connect and build. That’s how Good Air Studios came about. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">For months, I was looking in this space, and I was just trying to, you know, figure out how I was going to pay that rent. So I reached out to all my closest friends and, you know, I pitched the idea to them, and then they believed in what I was talking about and now we here. \u003c/span>\u003cb> \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We makin’ enough money to pay rent, you know, but that’s a milestone. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That’s gotta be dope to see it happening, the wheels are turning.\u003c/span> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I’ve been to the space it’s high ceilings, you know, like old warehouse just covered in art everywhere, the ping pong tables out front. You got the vibes and all of that is important. But the… what you just said beyond just the esthetics, this is about having space for creatives to come together. Why do you think that’s important for creatives in the Bay area right now? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I feel like we as Black artists need a space for us, you know? And that’s what Good Air Studio is, you know? And it’s not just for Black artists, of course, but we are trying to encourage the Black community to come out and even those who don’t really draw like that and who want to learn, you know, we want to host workshops for them so they could develop the confidence to, you know, express themselves through that medium. We doing something really dope. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I feel like you personally, and also the larger ideas that come from you and your circle are very representative of creatives in the Bay Area right now. And also like, looking forward, I feel like y’all have a foot on the pulse of the now and also have some say in what’s to come down the pipeline.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And we’re coming to the end of producing this show. With that, there’s a slight relief that I don’t do the same thing over and over again and there’s some sadness of like losing this thing that I love, right? And you as a person who’s gone through some transitions in your life, what advice would you give to myself and the Rightnowish team as we go through this transition? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Timothy B: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We all creatives here. So no matter what we doing, we are doing something..we gon do something dope. So I guess my advice is to, continue to move in purpose, you know, and continue to move, towards whatever it is that is fulfilling your spirit, you know, because that is the thing that is going to wake us all up. That’s the… you like, you starting this show, this is the thing that we all needed. We needed to hear these stories of, you know, all these local celebrities. We use these stories that just, you know, remind us of maybe what we doing or, maybe get an insight of, you know, what is out there. Yeah man, continue to explore and experiment, it will happen for you, I promise you. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Thank you. Thank you for sharing some insight into your life as a parent and also your life as an artist, man. And like, yeah, I can’t thank you enough because, you know, you changed the visual landscape at a place that we love. And that’s, that’s a hell of a task. So thank you. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">There’s this thing that happens in journalism sometimes, where the person you’re interviewing speaks your truths. And all you can do is nod in agreement as the tape rolls. Timothy B.’s thoughts on community interaction — how it’s fueled his art and community service, even while dealing with all that life can throw at him. Yeah, bingo. That’s been a big part of this Rightnowish experience. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">So Timothy B, Thank you again for your words of wisdom, your story and your work. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">To keep up with Timothy B’s visual arts, live events and more follow him on Instagram at timothyb underscore art. That’s t-i-m-o-t-h-y-b underscore art. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And, wow…. for the last time here go the show credits:\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This episode was hosted by me, Pendarvis Harshaw\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Marisol Medina-Cadena is the Rightnowish producer. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Some of the music you heard in the episode was sourced from Audio Network.\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\nChris Hambrick and Chris Egusa edited this episode.\u003cbr>\nChristopher Beale is our engineer.\u003cbr>\nThe Rightnowish team is also supported by Jen Chien, Ugur Dursun, Holly Kernan and Katie Sprenger.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Aight yall. This is the end. Thanks again. As a wise person once told me: keep it lit. Peace. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Rightnowish is a KQED production.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13961188/rightnowishs-grand-finale-words-of-wisdom-from-timothy-b","authors":["11491","11528"],"programs":["arts_8720"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_21759","arts_70"],"tags":["arts_1737","arts_1143"],"featImg":"arts_13961190","label":"arts_8720"},"arts_13960783":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13960783","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13960783","score":null,"sort":[1720692046000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"building-a-native-arts-and-culture-space-from-the-ground-up","title":"Building a Native Arts and Culture Space From the Ground Up","publishDate":1720692046,"format":"audio","headTitle":"Building a Native Arts and Culture Space From the Ground Up | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":8720,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"#episode-transcript\">\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">View the full episode transcript.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The dense green woods of Sonoma County’s Forestville are home to a two-story music studio and residence that runs on solar energy. Known as \u003ca href=\"https://nestbuildcreate.com/\">The NEST\u003c/a>, the mocha colored building is made completely of wood, clay and cob; and it was created for the purpose of serving Native artists.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/raskdee/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Ras K’dee\u003c/a>, a Pomo-African hip-hop musician who grew up in the area, is the caretaker of the space, but he didn’t build it alone. He worked with over 350 people, many of them young folks from youth groups like \u003ca href=\"http://podersf.org\">PODER\u003c/a>, who took the 70-mile trip from San Francisco to this town by the Russian River, or Bidapte, “big river” in the Pomo language.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960798\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13960798 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-800x1067.jpg\" alt=\"Ras K'dee stands in front of the NEST, a solar powered hub for Native artists in Forestville, CA. \" width=\"800\" height=\"1067\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-1152x1536.jpg 1152w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-1536x2048.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-scaled.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Ras K’dee stands in front of the NEST, a solar powered hub for Native artists in Forestville, CA. \u003ccite>(Pendarvis Harshaw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In addition to being the founder of \u003ca href=\"https://www.facebook.com/snagmagazine/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">SNAG Magazine\u003c/a>, an Indigenous periodical that has been in print for over two decades, Ras K’dee is also a DJ and emcee in the group \u003ca href=\"https://www.audiopharmacy.com/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Audiopharmacy\u003c/a>. This week on Rightnowish, we talk about the importance of working together to create spaces for artists to grow, and the ins and outs of land reclamation in the North Bay.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" frameborder=\"0\" height=\"200\" scrolling=\"no\" src=\"https://playlist.megaphone.fm/?e=KQINC7274032882\" width=\"100%\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Rightnowish is an arts and culture podcast produced at KQED. Listen to it wherever you get your podcasts or click the play button at the top of this page and subscribe to the show on \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/721590300/rightnowish\">NPR One\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/show/7kEJuafTzTVan7B78ttz1I\">Spotify\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rightnowish/id1482187648\">Apple Podcasts\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://tunein.com/podcasts/Arts--Culture-Podcasts/Rightnowish-p1258245/\">TuneIn\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/rightnowish\">Stitcher\u003c/a> or wherever you get your podcasts. \u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2 id=\"episode-transcript\">Episode Transcript\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This is a computer-generated transcript. While our team has reviewed it, there may be errors.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">, \u003c/span>\u003cb>Host:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> What’s up Rightnowish listeners, it’s your host Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">. \u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I don’t know about you but being in a forest soothes my soul. I got to feel that special bliss a few weeks back when I was in Sonoma County, specifically in the town of Forestville. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Rightnowish producer Marisol Medina-Cadena and I got to visit a place called “The Nest.” It’s a quarter acre of land nestled among lush trees, and it serves as an arts and culture hub built by and for Indigenous folks. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Over the last 6 years, it’s been the publishing home of a Native arts magazine called SNAG, which features poems, essays, photographs, and collages about Native identity and activism. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Nest has also been a space for Indigenous folks across Northern California to convene for permaculture workshops, ceremonies and community feasts, as well as trainings on natural building. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And what came out of those training sessions is the construction of a two story art studio made from cob.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Facilitating these trainings is a DJ and musician who started SNAG magazine. His name is Ras K’dee. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee, Guest\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">: I’m Pomo. My ancestry is from right here. The river that flows down that we’re on right now is Bidapte, Big River. And then Ashokawna is where our people are from. And so we’re on our traditional lands right here, this is our traditional grounds.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee sees The Nest as the intersection of creativity and environmental responsibility. And so he, with the help of other Indigenous folks have built this place to be completely fueled by solar panels. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We’ll hear how Indigenous creativity is taking shape at The Nest right after this. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music playing]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> About 15 minutes away from the Russian River is The Nest, a space built by and for Native people. Ras K’dee who was born and raised in Sonoma County was able to purchase this plot of land with the inheritance he got from his grandmother selling her house. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee, Marisol and I stand outside and take in the beauty.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We had a land blessing from my, from my grandmother and my aunt, came and did like a land blessing, in the Pomo way, where they sing songs and offer prayers and, and, had our had our community here that were coming to help\u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We got the land in 2012. But slowly, we’ve been building building it up. We actually intentionally didn’t build for, like, four years. We just kind of, like, watch the land and, during in the winter, during the spring, during the summer and just kind of in the fall, kind of see the different seasons and… Four years of that and like slowly just kind of clearing and like putting garden beds and stuff and planting trees.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This slow process of tending the land allowed Ras K’dee to be intentional about how to build out the space.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The first structure he envisioned was the art studio. It’s brown, and 2 stories tall with hexagon sides and has a roof that extends over the sides. It kinda looks like a trumpet mushroom. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">He designed it by thinking about what would be conducive for creating. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I was visualizing “what do painters or artists need?” You know, taller ceilings, you know, like, open like, clay wall where they can, like, you know, put their stuff up. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And the construction of this is completely made from cob.\u003c/span> \u003cb>\u003c/b>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The building is sitting on mortared stone. And then it goes up about three feet. And then, on top of that is cob, which is the plaster of clay and straw and sand, mixed together. And it makes like a kind you know, really strong, like, kind of like concrete, almost. And so then you have, like, a foot of that and then from that going up is all pallet wall. So those are like pallets that are, that are stuffed with straw and plastered over.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Structurally it’s got wood and it’s got these big lumber, lumber pieces that are holding it up. And inside you’ll see there’s beams going across. \u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena, Rightnowish Producer: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Is it redwood beams?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee : \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah Redwood. Yeah. Wanna go and check it out?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Yeah, let’s go inside.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[sounds of footsteps]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee encourages us to touch the cob walls to feel all the love that was poured into making it. We do and it has a calming quality to it. He says, it’s the energy of all the people who he invited to help build it. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We had about 350 people work on the structure, over 350 people and mostly youth. There’s a lot of young people, a lot of youth groups. We had PODER and their youth group come up. We had a bunch of families, like friends with families came up.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K Dee: \u003c/b>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We had my friend Tomaggio and his family… were some of the first people here helping. They had a three year old and a one year old at the time. Inside is like a plastering and mixing area. And so you just put a tarp down and put all the ingredients in. And so the youth are just in there, just, you know jumping around, having fun. And like, we went to lunch and we were eating and, you know, just visiting and having a break and we came back and like the whole thing is like, mixed. We’re like, “oh man, you guys, you guys did the work, you know”?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But it was really cool like seeing the young people, yeah, just bringing in the clay. Like, the three year old is like giving it to the one year old or the one year old giving it to the three year old and three year old is like, bringing it in to the parents and then the parents are like, putting it on the wall. So that’s kind of like how this started in here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> How did you even know how to do sustainable type of building?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I’m pretty self-taught. I also like went to a lot of workshops. But, really got my chops in Hoopa. At the Hoopa Rez, we built a straw bale structure. It was little bit different of, of a kind of a building. But you basically use the straw bales and you cut them and make them look kind of like Legos. So they’re like… and stack them and then you plaster that. And that that structure is still, still standing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That really like gave me a perspective like what it takes and the amount of people and the amount of work that it takes to do this kind of building. But this is my first building that I built from scratch.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> When I was touching the wall, like you said, I noticed it was very cool. Can you talk about how the material itself is good for winter and summer? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Yeah, you know, the walls themselves absorb you know, the humidity, the moisture. And the clay walls, they’re like, really they’re known to, be a great barrier in terms of like, creating a more, just relaxed temperature inside. And what the clay does is it absorbs like the humidity and the kind of the, the heat, the moisture and kind of captures it. And when it starts to cool at night, it starts to release it inside. And so it keeps the building naturally fluctuating between just a comfortable temperature. But you’ll notice when we walk outside even, you know that it’s much cooler inside of here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Yeah\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Ya know, behind building a structure like this is that it’s nontoxic. You don’t have all the waste chemicals. You don’t have all the waste number one from from the construction industry. There’s a lot of waste. Like, I don’t know if you ever been to a construction site, but you look in the dumpsters, it’s like, full of, like, perfectly good, usable materials, but it’s just stuff they cut off or stuff they’re not going to use. So it’s it’s… I pulled a lot of the lumber for this structure out of dumpsters actually, because people just throw away perfectly good two by sixes.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This room is essentially a sleeping den for Ras K’dee. A mattress takes up the full space and original art pieces from visiting artists hang on the walls. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Next Ras K’dee invites us to check the upstairs level of this structure. For the last couple of years it’s served as a creative studio for visiting artists to retreat and work on their own visual art. Most recently, they had an Anishinaabe artist from Detroit stay and create graphics and articles for SNAG magazine.\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cb>\u003cbr>\n\u003c/b>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Ras’Kdee talking]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We walk up a flight of stairs made from redwood trees.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Okay. Watch your head here this is a little low this side. Gotta duck down there. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> It’s cool up here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> It’s a fully fleshed out recording space. There’s acoustic and electric guitars hanging on the walls. a desk with 2 keyboards, sound mixers and recording microphones. The wooden roof has a skylight so the sun shines into the studio and provides beautiful natural lighting that feels conducive for getting the creative juices flowing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee has even recorded a couple albums here with his group Audiopharmacy. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K Dee\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">:\u003c/span> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The founders of the group are all kind of like rooted in hip hop and hip hop, I would say is, you know, really a music that’s founded on sampling. And so it literally sampled every genre, you know, and so that’s kind of like what we are. We’re like, we are every genre, you know. But I play keys, is my main instrument that I, that I grew up playing. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">After this short tour, we sit down to talk more about the vision behind The Nest.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You live here as well? What’s your day to day life like here?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">: Taking care of the garden is a big part of my day. Waking up in the morning, watering the garden, doing some weeding. I like to, I like to do a little bit of work. Work in the garden in the morning, and then jumping on my other work that I do. I’m also a musician and artist, so it’s a busy time. You know, we got gigs and stuff, so there’s a lot of calls and stuff happening around negotiating and figuring out gigs. But yeah, just supporting artists, you know is kind of what I do here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Right now, I’m working on a mural project in Windsor, we’re, we’ve got like, a 100 foot wall over there and so bringing in the artists for that. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> So, juggling the arts, also juggling all that comes with managing nature. You’re in the middle of nowhere. What’s nightlife like out here?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Quiet. it’s quiet. Like all those scary movies start creeping in, you know, you’re like, man, it’s dark out here. Like, what’s out here, like, you know, mountain lions, bears, you know, like you start thinking about things. And so it took me a while to like to like, unlearn that programing, you know, like to like, get out of that like, cycle, like fear and just be like, oh, it’s just nature.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Being out here alone and just kind of like in the elements, I started to really enjoy it and really enjoy that that peace,connecting to to that darkness in a different way. But, there’s constantly people coming through, especially during this, this time of year. We do like a men’s healing circle. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> As a kid, were you the builder type?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I grew up in Sonoma County. I grew up, not too far from. And in northern Santa Rosa. Where we grew up, it was like the end of town, like our street was like the last street in town, basically. And like, as soon as you leave there, it’s just like hills,and so like, we would be off in the hills, you know, with our B-B guns, our slingshots. And it was like, you know, we go out all our homies, like 4 or 5 of us, you know, me and my brother, my older brother. And we would, we would just be out all day long. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We’d have different forts built. It was always kind of like in my, back of my head is like, got to get to the forest, got to get back to the forest and build that tree fort. As an adult, you know, this is kind of like a representation of that I think.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> In this part of the region in Sonoma County, there’s a couple of other organizations that are doing similar work, like EARTHseed, like Heron Shadow. Are you in communication with these organizations? And is there like a movement occurring?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> There’s definitely a movement. Yeah. It’s pretty special, actually, to be be a part of it. I am in community with a lot of a lot of the organizations you mentioned. I was just deejaying, actually, at EARTHseed’s “Black to Land” event last week. They open up their, their space to, you know, to, to the Black community. We we all collaborate. We all connect. And Heron Shadow has a farm, so they have more food and, they do like, Indigenous food and Indigenous seeds. They bring back seeds. And so it’s perfect because, you know, like we go over there like, do an exchange or do a collaboration and they gift us this with seeds and gift us with plants to bring back here to plant. So it’s kind of like this, you know, this sharing of resources.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Being in your space and you talking about all the community groups that come here, it makes me think about how other land back efforts we’re seeing in NorCal are very different, in that it’s like a city, you know, giving a plot of land to a formal nonprofit to steward and tend. But this is like your private space built from your like, family equity. And talk to us about that decision to open up your personal space so that it is a collective thing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> This building couldn’t have been made without, you know, people coming. I think it was more of a prayer, you know, like I want to I want to put the prayer here, for this space to be a community space and for it to be, a resource for the community,\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And so we put the prayer in and like, you know, kind of like not knowing, you know, if the community was going to show up, just like, oh, let’s start doing this, this crazy project and see, see who shows up kind of thing and the community, community showed up.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I’m wondering when you’re either in the garden or just sitting here with your dog Panda taking in the breeze, the sounds, how do you feel? Or what are you thinking about what this land means for you?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">: What I’ve gained is, I guess, a sense of peace. And coming into this land with also like a lot of work to do to like prepare it, it felt like overwhelming, you know, and it felt like, you know, like impossible at first because it was an empty lot and it was just overgrown. And, you know, trees had fallen and it hadn’t been taken care for many years. And yeah, just doing the work to, like, slowly heal the land and steward it in a good way, you know, has really just helped me to like, to heal myself,\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">As Indigenous people, you know, we see it as like as, like a generational commitment to the land. You know, like, we’re going to be here for generations. We’re not just here for build our house right now and then sell it and then, you know, move somewhere else, you know, or to Mexico or whatever, you know. What do they call them? Digital nomads. You know, like we’re not thinking in terms of that. We’re thinking in terms of generations.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">So what are we building here right now that that we can leave generationally for, for our for our youth in the future, right. I don’t have youth of my own right now, but I have young people that I that I work with. This is a lifelong project. It’s not a temporary thing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We were creating this space as kind of a showcase place where people can come and see, you know, a building that’s that’s cob. And they could touch the wall and feel and see what it looks like and what the different building techniques are and learn about the different building techniques and then be like, oh, I want to, I want to build an adobe, you know, adobe dome. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But really, really just incubate, incubate art that changes the world, you know, that’s that’s that’s why the space is here. So those are, those are the things that we want to do here and invite the artists that can bring about that change that we need in this world.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Ras K’dee, we can’t thank you enough. Much appreciation to you for welcoming us to your corner of Sonoma County to see and experience The Nest.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Nest is still evolving and Ras K’dee has plans to build a yurt and a dance studio to be able to host more classes and workshops. To stay updated on The Nest follow along on Instagram @SNAG.magazine.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And to keep up Ras K’dee’s art and music projects, you can check out his IG @raskdee that’s spelled R-A-S-K-D-E-E.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This episode was hosted by me, Pendarvis Harshaw. Marisol Medina-Cadena produced this episode. Chris Hambrick held it down for edits on this one. Christopher Beale engineered this joint. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Rightnowish team is also supported by Jen Chien, Ugur Dursun, Holly Kernan, Cesar Saldaña, and Katie Sprenger. Rightnowish is a KQED production.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Until next time, peace!\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Ras K'dee is DJ, emcee and founder of SNAG Magazine. Now he's building a studio for Indigenous artists. ","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726875356,"stats":{"hasAudio":true,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":77,"wordCount":3688},"headData":{"title":"Building a Native Arts and Culture Space From the Ground Up | KQED","description":"This week on Rightnowish, we talk to Ras K'dee, a DJ, emcee and the founder of SNAG Magazine. Now he's building an arts and culture center to help Indigenous artists to grow.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialDescription":"This week on Rightnowish, we talk to Ras K'dee, a DJ, emcee and the founder of SNAG Magazine. Now he's building an arts and culture center to help Indigenous artists to grow.","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Building a Native Arts and Culture Space From the Ground Up","datePublished":"2024-07-11T03:00:46-07:00","dateModified":"2024-09-20T16:35:56-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"audioUrl":"https://www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.mp3/chrt.fm/track/G6C7C3/traffic.megaphone.fm/KQINC7274032882.mp3?updated=1720634574","sticky":false,"templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13960783/building-a-native-arts-and-culture-space-from-the-ground-up","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"#episode-transcript\">\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">View the full episode transcript.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The dense green woods of Sonoma County’s Forestville are home to a two-story music studio and residence that runs on solar energy. Known as \u003ca href=\"https://nestbuildcreate.com/\">The NEST\u003c/a>, the mocha colored building is made completely of wood, clay and cob; and it was created for the purpose of serving Native artists.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/raskdee/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Ras K’dee\u003c/a>, a Pomo-African hip-hop musician who grew up in the area, is the caretaker of the space, but he didn’t build it alone. He worked with over 350 people, many of them young folks from youth groups like \u003ca href=\"http://podersf.org\">PODER\u003c/a>, who took the 70-mile trip from San Francisco to this town by the Russian River, or Bidapte, “big river” in the Pomo language.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960798\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13960798 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-800x1067.jpg\" alt=\"Ras K'dee stands in front of the NEST, a solar powered hub for Native artists in Forestville, CA. \" width=\"800\" height=\"1067\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-1152x1536.jpg 1152w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-1536x2048.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/07/Ras-KDee-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-7-scaled.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Ras K’dee stands in front of the NEST, a solar powered hub for Native artists in Forestville, CA. \u003ccite>(Pendarvis Harshaw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In addition to being the founder of \u003ca href=\"https://www.facebook.com/snagmagazine/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">SNAG Magazine\u003c/a>, an Indigenous periodical that has been in print for over two decades, Ras K’dee is also a DJ and emcee in the group \u003ca href=\"https://www.audiopharmacy.com/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Audiopharmacy\u003c/a>. This week on Rightnowish, we talk about the importance of working together to create spaces for artists to grow, and the ins and outs of land reclamation in the North Bay.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" frameborder=\"0\" height=\"200\" scrolling=\"no\" src=\"https://playlist.megaphone.fm/?e=KQINC7274032882\" width=\"100%\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Rightnowish is an arts and culture podcast produced at KQED. Listen to it wherever you get your podcasts or click the play button at the top of this page and subscribe to the show on \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/721590300/rightnowish\">NPR One\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/show/7kEJuafTzTVan7B78ttz1I\">Spotify\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rightnowish/id1482187648\">Apple Podcasts\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://tunein.com/podcasts/Arts--Culture-Podcasts/Rightnowish-p1258245/\">TuneIn\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/rightnowish\">Stitcher\u003c/a> or wherever you get your podcasts. \u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2 id=\"episode-transcript\">Episode Transcript\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This is a computer-generated transcript. While our team has reviewed it, there may be errors.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">, \u003c/span>\u003cb>Host:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> What’s up Rightnowish listeners, it’s your host Pendarvis Harshaw\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">. \u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">I don’t know about you but being in a forest soothes my soul. I got to feel that special bliss a few weeks back when I was in Sonoma County, specifically in the town of Forestville. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Rightnowish producer Marisol Medina-Cadena and I got to visit a place called “The Nest.” It’s a quarter acre of land nestled among lush trees, and it serves as an arts and culture hub built by and for Indigenous folks. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Over the last 6 years, it’s been the publishing home of a Native arts magazine called SNAG, which features poems, essays, photographs, and collages about Native identity and activism. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Nest has also been a space for Indigenous folks across Northern California to convene for permaculture workshops, ceremonies and community feasts, as well as trainings on natural building. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And what came out of those training sessions is the construction of a two story art studio made from cob.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Facilitating these trainings is a DJ and musician who started SNAG magazine. His name is Ras K’dee. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee, Guest\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">: I’m Pomo. My ancestry is from right here. The river that flows down that we’re on right now is Bidapte, Big River. And then Ashokawna is where our people are from. And so we’re on our traditional lands right here, this is our traditional grounds.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee sees The Nest as the intersection of creativity and environmental responsibility. And so he, with the help of other Indigenous folks have built this place to be completely fueled by solar panels. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We’ll hear how Indigenous creativity is taking shape at The Nest right after this. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music playing]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> About 15 minutes away from the Russian River is The Nest, a space built by and for Native people. Ras K’dee who was born and raised in Sonoma County was able to purchase this plot of land with the inheritance he got from his grandmother selling her house. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee, Marisol and I stand outside and take in the beauty.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We had a land blessing from my, from my grandmother and my aunt, came and did like a land blessing, in the Pomo way, where they sing songs and offer prayers and, and, had our had our community here that were coming to help\u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">.\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We got the land in 2012. But slowly, we’ve been building building it up. We actually intentionally didn’t build for, like, four years. We just kind of, like, watch the land and, during in the winter, during the spring, during the summer and just kind of in the fall, kind of see the different seasons and… Four years of that and like slowly just kind of clearing and like putting garden beds and stuff and planting trees.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This slow process of tending the land allowed Ras K’dee to be intentional about how to build out the space.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The first structure he envisioned was the art studio. It’s brown, and 2 stories tall with hexagon sides and has a roof that extends over the sides. It kinda looks like a trumpet mushroom. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">He designed it by thinking about what would be conducive for creating. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I was visualizing “what do painters or artists need?” You know, taller ceilings, you know, like, open like, clay wall where they can, like, you know, put their stuff up. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And the construction of this is completely made from cob.\u003c/span> \u003cb>\u003c/b>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The building is sitting on mortared stone. And then it goes up about three feet. And then, on top of that is cob, which is the plaster of clay and straw and sand, mixed together. And it makes like a kind you know, really strong, like, kind of like concrete, almost. And so then you have, like, a foot of that and then from that going up is all pallet wall. So those are like pallets that are, that are stuffed with straw and plastered over.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Structurally it’s got wood and it’s got these big lumber, lumber pieces that are holding it up. And inside you’ll see there’s beams going across. \u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena, Rightnowish Producer: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Is it redwood beams?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee : \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah Redwood. Yeah. Wanna go and check it out?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Yeah, let’s go inside.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[sounds of footsteps]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee encourages us to touch the cob walls to feel all the love that was poured into making it. We do and it has a calming quality to it. He says, it’s the energy of all the people who he invited to help build it. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We had about 350 people work on the structure, over 350 people and mostly youth. There’s a lot of young people, a lot of youth groups. We had PODER and their youth group come up. We had a bunch of families, like friends with families came up.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K Dee: \u003c/b>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We had my friend Tomaggio and his family… were some of the first people here helping. They had a three year old and a one year old at the time. Inside is like a plastering and mixing area. And so you just put a tarp down and put all the ingredients in. And so the youth are just in there, just, you know jumping around, having fun. And like, we went to lunch and we were eating and, you know, just visiting and having a break and we came back and like the whole thing is like, mixed. We’re like, “oh man, you guys, you guys did the work, you know”?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But it was really cool like seeing the young people, yeah, just bringing in the clay. Like, the three year old is like giving it to the one year old or the one year old giving it to the three year old and three year old is like, bringing it in to the parents and then the parents are like, putting it on the wall. So that’s kind of like how this started in here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> How did you even know how to do sustainable type of building?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I’m pretty self-taught. I also like went to a lot of workshops. But, really got my chops in Hoopa. At the Hoopa Rez, we built a straw bale structure. It was little bit different of, of a kind of a building. But you basically use the straw bales and you cut them and make them look kind of like Legos. So they’re like… and stack them and then you plaster that. And that that structure is still, still standing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">That really like gave me a perspective like what it takes and the amount of people and the amount of work that it takes to do this kind of building. But this is my first building that I built from scratch.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> When I was touching the wall, like you said, I noticed it was very cool. Can you talk about how the material itself is good for winter and summer? \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Yeah, you know, the walls themselves absorb you know, the humidity, the moisture. And the clay walls, they’re like, really they’re known to, be a great barrier in terms of like, creating a more, just relaxed temperature inside. And what the clay does is it absorbs like the humidity and the kind of the, the heat, the moisture and kind of captures it. And when it starts to cool at night, it starts to release it inside. And so it keeps the building naturally fluctuating between just a comfortable temperature. But you’ll notice when we walk outside even, you know that it’s much cooler inside of here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Yeah\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Yeah\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Ya know, behind building a structure like this is that it’s nontoxic. You don’t have all the waste chemicals. You don’t have all the waste number one from from the construction industry. There’s a lot of waste. Like, I don’t know if you ever been to a construction site, but you look in the dumpsters, it’s like, full of, like, perfectly good, usable materials, but it’s just stuff they cut off or stuff they’re not going to use. So it’s it’s… I pulled a lot of the lumber for this structure out of dumpsters actually, because people just throw away perfectly good two by sixes.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This room is essentially a sleeping den for Ras K’dee. A mattress takes up the full space and original art pieces from visiting artists hang on the walls. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Next Ras K’dee invites us to check the upstairs level of this structure. For the last couple of years it’s served as a creative studio for visiting artists to retreat and work on their own visual art. Most recently, they had an Anishinaabe artist from Detroit stay and create graphics and articles for SNAG magazine.\u003cbr>\n\u003c/span>\u003cb>\u003cbr>\n\u003c/b>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Ras’Kdee talking]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We walk up a flight of stairs made from redwood trees.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Okay. Watch your head here this is a little low this side. Gotta duck down there. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> It’s cool up here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> It’s a fully fleshed out recording space. There’s acoustic and electric guitars hanging on the walls. a desk with 2 keyboards, sound mixers and recording microphones. The wooden roof has a skylight so the sun shines into the studio and provides beautiful natural lighting that feels conducive for getting the creative juices flowing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Ras K’dee has even recorded a couple albums here with his group Audiopharmacy. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K Dee\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">:\u003c/span> \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The founders of the group are all kind of like rooted in hip hop and hip hop, I would say is, you know, really a music that’s founded on sampling. And so it literally sampled every genre, you know, and so that’s kind of like what we are. We’re like, we are every genre, you know. But I play keys, is my main instrument that I, that I grew up playing. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">After this short tour, we sit down to talk more about the vision behind The Nest.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw: \u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">You live here as well? What’s your day to day life like here?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">: Taking care of the garden is a big part of my day. Waking up in the morning, watering the garden, doing some weeding. I like to, I like to do a little bit of work. Work in the garden in the morning, and then jumping on my other work that I do. I’m also a musician and artist, so it’s a busy time. You know, we got gigs and stuff, so there’s a lot of calls and stuff happening around negotiating and figuring out gigs. But yeah, just supporting artists, you know is kind of what I do here.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Right now, I’m working on a mural project in Windsor, we’re, we’ve got like, a 100 foot wall over there and so bringing in the artists for that. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> So, juggling the arts, also juggling all that comes with managing nature. You’re in the middle of nowhere. What’s nightlife like out here?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Quiet. it’s quiet. Like all those scary movies start creeping in, you know, you’re like, man, it’s dark out here. Like, what’s out here, like, you know, mountain lions, bears, you know, like you start thinking about things. And so it took me a while to like to like, unlearn that programing, you know, like to like, get out of that like, cycle, like fear and just be like, oh, it’s just nature.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Being out here alone and just kind of like in the elements, I started to really enjoy it and really enjoy that that peace,connecting to to that darkness in a different way. But, there’s constantly people coming through, especially during this, this time of year. We do like a men’s healing circle. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> As a kid, were you the builder type?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I grew up in Sonoma County. I grew up, not too far from. And in northern Santa Rosa. Where we grew up, it was like the end of town, like our street was like the last street in town, basically. And like, as soon as you leave there, it’s just like hills,and so like, we would be off in the hills, you know, with our B-B guns, our slingshots. And it was like, you know, we go out all our homies, like 4 or 5 of us, you know, me and my brother, my older brother. And we would, we would just be out all day long. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We’d have different forts built. It was always kind of like in my, back of my head is like, got to get to the forest, got to get back to the forest and build that tree fort. As an adult, you know, this is kind of like a representation of that I think.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> In this part of the region in Sonoma County, there’s a couple of other organizations that are doing similar work, like EARTHseed, like Heron Shadow. Are you in communication with these organizations? And is there like a movement occurring?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> There’s definitely a movement. Yeah. It’s pretty special, actually, to be be a part of it. I am in community with a lot of a lot of the organizations you mentioned. I was just deejaying, actually, at EARTHseed’s “Black to Land” event last week. They open up their, their space to, you know, to, to the Black community. We we all collaborate. We all connect. And Heron Shadow has a farm, so they have more food and, they do like, Indigenous food and Indigenous seeds. They bring back seeds. And so it’s perfect because, you know, like we go over there like, do an exchange or do a collaboration and they gift us this with seeds and gift us with plants to bring back here to plant. So it’s kind of like this, you know, this sharing of resources.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Being in your space and you talking about all the community groups that come here, it makes me think about how other land back efforts we’re seeing in NorCal are very different, in that it’s like a city, you know, giving a plot of land to a formal nonprofit to steward and tend. But this is like your private space built from your like, family equity. And talk to us about that decision to open up your personal space so that it is a collective thing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> This building couldn’t have been made without, you know, people coming. I think it was more of a prayer, you know, like I want to I want to put the prayer here, for this space to be a community space and for it to be, a resource for the community,\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And so we put the prayer in and like, you know, kind of like not knowing, you know, if the community was going to show up, just like, oh, let’s start doing this, this crazy project and see, see who shows up kind of thing and the community, community showed up.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Marisol Medina-Cadena:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> I’m wondering when you’re either in the garden or just sitting here with your dog Panda taking in the breeze, the sounds, how do you feel? Or what are you thinking about what this land means for you?\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Ras K’dee\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">: What I’ve gained is, I guess, a sense of peace. And coming into this land with also like a lot of work to do to like prepare it, it felt like overwhelming, you know, and it felt like, you know, like impossible at first because it was an empty lot and it was just overgrown. And, you know, trees had fallen and it hadn’t been taken care for many years. And yeah, just doing the work to, like, slowly heal the land and steward it in a good way, you know, has really just helped me to like, to heal myself,\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">As Indigenous people, you know, we see it as like as, like a generational commitment to the land. You know, like, we’re going to be here for generations. We’re not just here for build our house right now and then sell it and then, you know, move somewhere else, you know, or to Mexico or whatever, you know. What do they call them? Digital nomads. You know, like we’re not thinking in terms of that. We’re thinking in terms of generations.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">So what are we building here right now that that we can leave generationally for, for our for our youth in the future, right. I don’t have youth of my own right now, but I have young people that I that I work with. This is a lifelong project. It’s not a temporary thing.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">We were creating this space as kind of a showcase place where people can come and see, you know, a building that’s that’s cob. And they could touch the wall and feel and see what it looks like and what the different building techniques are and learn about the different building techniques and then be like, oh, I want to, I want to build an adobe, you know, adobe dome. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">But really, really just incubate, incubate art that changes the world, you know, that’s that’s that’s why the space is here. So those are, those are the things that we want to do here and invite the artists that can bring about that change that we need in this world.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> \u003c/span>\u003ci>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[Music]\u003c/span>\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Pendarvis Harshaw:\u003c/b>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\"> Ras K’dee, we can’t thank you enough. Much appreciation to you for welcoming us to your corner of Sonoma County to see and experience The Nest.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Nest is still evolving and Ras K’dee has plans to build a yurt and a dance studio to be able to host more classes and workshops. To stay updated on The Nest follow along on Instagram @SNAG.magazine.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">And to keep up Ras K’dee’s art and music projects, you can check out his IG @raskdee that’s spelled R-A-S-K-D-E-E.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">This episode was hosted by me, Pendarvis Harshaw. Marisol Medina-Cadena produced this episode. Chris Hambrick held it down for edits on this one. Christopher Beale engineered this joint. \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">The Rightnowish team is also supported by Jen Chien, Ugur Dursun, Holly Kernan, Cesar Saldaña, and Katie Sprenger. Rightnowish is a KQED production.\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">Until next time, peace!\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13960783/building-a-native-arts-and-culture-space-from-the-ground-up","authors":["11491","11528"],"programs":["arts_8720"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_69","arts_21759"],"tags":["arts_10278","arts_3178","arts_3217"],"featImg":"arts_13960790","label":"arts_8720"},"arts_13960325":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13960325","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13960325","score":null,"sort":[1719482400000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"all-the-nights-we-got-to-dance-is-a-tribute-to-queer-nightlife-in-sf","title":"‘All The Nights We Got to Dance’ is a Tribute to Queer Nightlife in SF","publishDate":1719482400,"format":"audio","headTitle":"‘All The Nights We Got to Dance’ is a Tribute to Queer Nightlife in SF | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":8720,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>Human memory can be triggered by certain smells, sounds or even a photo. It’s funny how the mind works; one small symbol can lead to the rehashing of feelings from years ago.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The latest work from artist \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/marcelpardoa/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Marcel Pardo Ariza\u003c/a> urges people to take a trip down memory lane by using images of gone-but-not-forgotten bar signs. Pardo Ariza is clear: these bars served more than booze. They were sanctuaries for folks from San Francisco’s queer and trans community, and should be celebrated as such.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960327\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13960327 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-800x535.jpg\" alt='Marcel Pardo Ariza wears a blue button-up shirt while standing in front of their latest work behind a windowfront, \"All The Nights We Got To Dance.\"' width=\"800\" height=\"535\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-800x535.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-1020x682.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-768x513.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-1536x1027.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2.jpg 1616w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Artist Marcel Pardo Ariza and their latest installation, ‘All The Nights We Got To Dance.’ \u003ccite>(Pendarvis Harshaw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960341\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13960341 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-800x583.jpg\" alt=\"On a yellow background, are illustrations of historic Queer and Trans bar signs including Gene Compton’s Cafeteria, Esta Noche, Amelia’s, The Pendulum and more. \" width=\"800\" height=\"583\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-800x583.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-1020x743.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-160x117.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-768x559.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-1536x1119.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-2048x1491.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-1920x1398.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A mockup of the site specific installation ‘All The Nights We Got to Dance.’ \u003ccite>(courtesy of Marcel Pardo Ariza)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>All The Nights We Got To Dance\u003c/em> is a site-specific installation in the ground-floor window of The Line Hotel in San Francisco’s Transgender Cultural District. A sunset orange backdrop is covered in hand-painted wooden replicas of bar signs, such as The Lexington, Esta Noche and \u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/primary-source-set-finocchios#:~:text=Finocchio's%20opened%20in%20the%20late,tourists%20and%20the%20queer%20community.\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Finocchio’s\u003c/a> — a club credited as one of the earliest incubators of drag shows in the U.S.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13936474']Born in Colombia and based in Oakland, Pardo Ariza worked closely with \u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">San Francisco’s GLBT Historical Society \u003c/a>for their latest project\u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">, \u003c/a>leveraging the center’s rich archives to inform their work.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This week on Rightnowish, we catch up with Pardo Ariza to take a look at their latest installation before heading over to the GLBT Historical Society’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/archives-about-visitor-info\">archives\u003c/a>. There, we meet up with Issac Fellman, the center’s managing reference archivist, who brings us files full of actual handbills, photos, flyers and ephemera from all the nights people danced.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" frameborder=\"0\" height=\"200\" scrolling=\"no\" src=\"https://playlist.megaphone.fm/?e=KQINC7628242492\" width=\"100%\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Rightnowish is an arts and culture podcast produced at KQED. Listen to it wherever you get your podcasts or click the play button at the top of this page and subscribe to the show on \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/721590300/rightnowish\">NPR One\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/show/7kEJuafTzTVan7B78ttz1I\">Spotify\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rightnowish/id1482187648\">Apple Podcasts\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://tunein.com/podcasts/Arts--Culture-Podcasts/Rightnowish-p1258245/\">TuneIn\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/rightnowish\">Stitcher\u003c/a> or wherever you get your podcasts. \u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Marcel Pardo Ariza's latest art installation celebrates places in queer and trans nightlife.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726875360,"stats":{"hasAudio":true,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":10,"wordCount":349},"headData":{"title":"‘All The Nights We Got to Dance’ is a Tribute to Queer Nightlife in SF | KQED","description":"Marcel Pardo Ariza's latest work urges people to take a trip down memory lane through images of gone but not forgotten bar signs from San Francisco's queer and trans nightlife.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialDescription":"Marcel Pardo Ariza's latest work urges people to take a trip down memory lane through images of gone but not forgotten bar signs from San Francisco's queer and trans nightlife.","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"‘All The Nights We Got to Dance’ is a Tribute to Queer Nightlife in SF","datePublished":"2024-06-27T03:00:00-07:00","dateModified":"2024-09-20T16:36:00-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"audioUrl":"https://www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.mp3/chrt.fm/track/G6C7C3/traffic.megaphone.fm/KQINC7628242492.mp3?updated=1719449369","sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13960325","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13960325/all-the-nights-we-got-to-dance-is-a-tribute-to-queer-nightlife-in-sf","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Human memory can be triggered by certain smells, sounds or even a photo. It’s funny how the mind works; one small symbol can lead to the rehashing of feelings from years ago.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The latest work from artist \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/marcelpardoa/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Marcel Pardo Ariza\u003c/a> urges people to take a trip down memory lane by using images of gone-but-not-forgotten bar signs. Pardo Ariza is clear: these bars served more than booze. They were sanctuaries for folks from San Francisco’s queer and trans community, and should be celebrated as such.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960327\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13960327 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-800x535.jpg\" alt='Marcel Pardo Ariza wears a blue button-up shirt while standing in front of their latest work behind a windowfront, \"All The Nights We Got To Dance.\"' width=\"800\" height=\"535\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-800x535.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-1020x682.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-768x513.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2-1536x1027.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/Marcel-Pardo-Ariza-by-Pendarvis-Harshaw-2.jpg 1616w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Artist Marcel Pardo Ariza and their latest installation, ‘All The Nights We Got To Dance.’ \u003ccite>(Pendarvis Harshaw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13960341\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13960341 size-medium\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-800x583.jpg\" alt=\"On a yellow background, are illustrations of historic Queer and Trans bar signs including Gene Compton’s Cafeteria, Esta Noche, Amelia’s, The Pendulum and more. \" width=\"800\" height=\"583\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-800x583.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-1020x743.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-160x117.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-768x559.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-1536x1119.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-2048x1491.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/All-The-Nights-copy-1920x1398.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A mockup of the site specific installation ‘All The Nights We Got to Dance.’ \u003ccite>(courtesy of Marcel Pardo Ariza)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>All The Nights We Got To Dance\u003c/em> is a site-specific installation in the ground-floor window of The Line Hotel in San Francisco’s Transgender Cultural District. A sunset orange backdrop is covered in hand-painted wooden replicas of bar signs, such as The Lexington, Esta Noche and \u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/primary-source-set-finocchios#:~:text=Finocchio's%20opened%20in%20the%20late,tourists%20and%20the%20queer%20community.\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Finocchio’s\u003c/a> — a club credited as one of the earliest incubators of drag shows in the U.S.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13936474","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Born in Colombia and based in Oakland, Pardo Ariza worked closely with \u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">San Francisco’s GLBT Historical Society \u003c/a>for their latest project\u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">, \u003c/a>leveraging the center’s rich archives to inform their work.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This week on Rightnowish, we catch up with Pardo Ariza to take a look at their latest installation before heading over to the GLBT Historical Society’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.glbthistory.org/archives-about-visitor-info\">archives\u003c/a>. There, we meet up with Issac Fellman, the center’s managing reference archivist, who brings us files full of actual handbills, photos, flyers and ephemera from all the nights people danced.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c!-- iframe plugin v.4.3 wordpress.org/plugins/iframe/ -->\u003cbr>\n\u003ciframe loading=\"lazy\" frameborder=\"0\" height=\"200\" scrolling=\"no\" src=\"https://playlist.megaphone.fm/?e=KQINC7628242492\" width=\"100%\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Rightnowish is an arts and culture podcast produced at KQED. Listen to it wherever you get your podcasts or click the play button at the top of this page and subscribe to the show on \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/721590300/rightnowish\">NPR One\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/show/7kEJuafTzTVan7B78ttz1I\">Spotify\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rightnowish/id1482187648\">Apple Podcasts\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://tunein.com/podcasts/Arts--Culture-Podcasts/Rightnowish-p1258245/\">TuneIn\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/rightnowish\">Stitcher\u003c/a> or wherever you get your podcasts. \u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13960325/all-the-nights-we-got-to-dance-is-a-tribute-to-queer-nightlife-in-sf","authors":["11491","11528"],"programs":["arts_8720"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_21759"],"tags":["arts_7705","arts_5142","arts_22194","arts_7128","arts_11333","arts_18754","arts_4640","arts_22195"],"featImg":"arts_13960326","label":"arts_8720"},"arts_13965937":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13965937","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13965937","score":null,"sort":[1727886553000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"halloween-san-francisco-1970s-history-photos","title":"Revisit Halloween in 1970s San Francisco With This Photo Book","publishDate":1727886553,"format":"standard","headTitle":"Revisit Halloween in 1970s San Francisco With This Photo Book | KQED","labelTerm":{"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>For over 40 years, a slim book titled \u003ci>Halloween: A Fantasy in Three Acts\u003c/i> has been legendary in both art book and photography circles. Initially published in 1981 in an edition of 1,500, the volume of stark black-and-white photographs seems to chronicle a single night of Halloween celebrations in San Francisco. In actuality, it’s a composite — a paper movie, as photographer Ken Werner calls it — of five years worth of costume parties and balls.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13962878']It’s easy to see why \u003ci>Halloween\u003c/i> developed such a cult following. Its rarity was one thing, but the subject matter — and the artistry with which Werner captured the creative, raunchy and irreverent energy of those nights — is immediately compelling.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It makes perfect sense, then, that Brooklyn-based Anthology Editions, an imprint of the record label Mexican Summer, would publish \u003ca href=\"https://anthology.net/book/halloween/\">a facsimile reissue of the original\u003c/a>. Now we can all flip through its pages, reliving a specific and very special era of San Francisco history, without paying rare-book-collector prices.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965950\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965950\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000.jpg\" alt=\"Cover of book with title and person in monster costume\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1125\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000-1920x1080.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Ken Werner’s ‘Halloween,’ originally published in 1981, republished in 2024. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Ken Werner and Anthology Editions)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘It was magical’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>By the time Ken Werner moved to San Francisco from New York in 1976, the city’s Halloween celebrations were well established. As he wrote in his introduction, the night was “a major civic event” in the 1920s and ’30s. The parties quieted during the war years, but reemerged in the ’50s and ’60s, reinvented by the hippies as absurdist public events.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“But it was the gay community, not the hippies, that was to have an enduring impact on San Francisco’s Halloween celebrations,” Werner wrote in 1981. He attended his first San Francisco Halloween in 1976.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“A friend said, ‘There’s an event on Polk Street you might be interested in — bring your camera and your flash,” Werner remembers today, talking with KQED. “And that was the start.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the next five years, Werner photographed Polk Street, Castro Street, the Hooker’s Ball and the Beaux Arts Ball, capturing elaborate costumes, last-minute assemblages and what may have been just everyday, out-there outfits.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965952\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965952\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_02.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1800\" height=\"1691\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_02.jpg 1800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_02-800x752.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_02-1020x958.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_02-160x150.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_02-768x721.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_02-1536x1443.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1800px) 100vw, 1800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">From Ken Werner’s ‘Halloween.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy Ken Werner and Anthology Editions)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“It was magical. It was incredible,” he says. “I felt like Alice in Wonderland down a rabbit hole, but maybe that rabbit hole had been burrowed by Edgar Allen Poe.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In Werner’s high contrast, flash-lit shots, partygoers occasionally pose for the camera, but for the most part they look more like they’ve been caught in the act: of behaving wildly, of looking ridiculous, of having a great time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This is Halloween before store-bought get-ups. It’s disheveled, playful, erotic, grotesque and sometimes downright weird. In one of the most inexplicable costumes in \u003ci>Halloween\u003c/i>, a man wears pants, gym shorts \u003ci>and\u003c/i> briefs (put on in that order) while sporting a smooth, papier mâché faceless head, button-down shirt and patterned tie.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>What\u003c/i> is he? It doesn’t seem to matter.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965961\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965961\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200.jpg\" alt=\"person dressed as a headless in tall trench coat and someone in skull mask and hood\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1244\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200-800x498.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200-1020x634.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200-160x100.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200-768x478.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200-1536x955.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200-1920x1194.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Two images from Ken Werner’s ‘Halloween.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy Ken Werner and Anthology Editions)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>At the time, Werner thought of his book as not just an artistic pursuit but a political statement. “I was terrified that there were political forces arrayed against [Halloween], that were going to crush it,” he says, referring to the Board of Supervisors’ attempts to leave Polk and Castro Streets open to traffic, pushing revelers onto cramped sidewalks. “I was truly worried that it was going to disappear and that, to me, would have been a disaster.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>‘It tends to fall into the right hands’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>Halloween\u003c/i> is split into three acts: the sun goes down and the party gets started; the night takes an erotic turn (penis costumes abound); and the sun begins to come up, capturing the bedraggled remnants of the party.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Werner had a bit of a professional advantage when it came to printing his images and sequencing the book. He worked at \u003ci>Modern Photography\u003c/i> magazine and freelanced for other photography publications. In San Francisco he served at the editorial director of \u003ci>\u003ca href=\"https://archive.org/details/Darkroom_Photography_Volume_01_Issue_01_1979_03_Sheptow_Publishing_US/mode/2up\">Darkroom Photography\u003c/a>\u003c/i>, a national publication for amateurs and professionals alike.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965954\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965954\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_07.jpg\" alt=\"people photographed in costume, including an invisible man outfit\" width=\"1800\" height=\"1355\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_07.jpg 1800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_07-800x602.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_07-1020x768.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_07-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_07-768x578.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_07-1536x1156.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1800px) 100vw, 1800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">From Ken Werner’s ‘Halloween.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy Ken Werner and Anthology Editions)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>He self-published \u003ci>Halloween\u003c/i> under the moniker Octavia Press (“she was a mad queen”) and tried to get San Francisco bookstores interested. “It was very much an experience where I did not feel that the local community, at least as represented by bookstore owners, was getting it,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But over the years, when he checked in on Octavia Press’ one-and-only publication, he found the ISBN in a number of significant university and museum libraries, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art. “Even though it’s a limited number of copies,” Werner says, “it tends to fall into the right hands.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Anthology Editions reached out during a particularly bleak moment during the pandemic. Werner says the experience of reissuing the book has been truly validating: “To have them say this is worthy of reintroducing to the world, it meant a very great deal to me.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965955\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965955\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_04.jpg\" alt=\"person in face paint smokes a cigarette\" width=\"1800\" height=\"1385\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_04.jpg 1800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_04-800x616.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_04-1020x785.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_04-160x123.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_04-768x591.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_04-1536x1182.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1800px) 100vw, 1800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">From Ken Werner’s ‘Halloween.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Ken Werner and Anthology Editions)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘I’d love to be back there’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Werner kept up his documentation of San Francisco Halloweens until 2001, when he says it started to feel unsafe to be in a large crowd, walking backwards with a camera up to his face. (In 2006, nine people were wounded when a shooter opened fire at the Castro Halloween party, it returned in 2023 at a much smaller and tamer scale.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Returning to the book over the years, he still feels a sense of pride. “I am amazed, honestly, that I was able to take so many strong, powerful photographs,” he says, pointing out that the entire book was made in just eight nights of shooting.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He also sees a beautiful moment in San Francisco’s LGBTQ+ history. “I wish I had a time machine so I could go back to those days, because it was a time of relative innocence,” he says. “The book went to the printer two months before the first very first reports of the mysterious illness that was affecting gay people. There was that positive energy and sense of freedom that soon was blighted. And so yeah, I’d love to be back there.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With this new publication — now in unlimited quantities — Werner has a second chance to find and hear from his audience. On the book’s final page, a bit of text reads “Comments and correspondence invited,” just as the original did 43 years ago.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I had a wonderful time taking those pictures,” he says. “I’m glad that it’s being reintroduced to a new generation.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>Ken Werner’s ‘\u003ca href=\"https://anthology.net/book/halloween/\">Halloween: A Fantasy in Three Acts\u003c/a>’ is available from Anthology Editions.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Ken Werner’s photos of long-ago parties capture the creative, raunchy and irreverent energy of the era. ","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728232096,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":25,"wordCount":1232},"headData":{"title":"1970s Halloween Photos Capture a Bygone San Francisco | KQED","description":"Ken Werner’s photos of long-ago parties capture the creative, raunchy and irreverent energy of the era. ","ogTitle":"Revisit Halloween in 1970s San Francisco With This Photo Book","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"Revisit Halloween in 1970s San Francisco With This Photo Book","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialTitle":"1970s Halloween Photos Capture a Bygone San Francisco %%page%% %%sep%% KQED","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Revisit Halloween in 1970s San Francisco With This Photo Book","datePublished":"2024-10-02T09:29:13-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-06T09:28:16-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13965937","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13965937/halloween-san-francisco-1970s-history-photos","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>For over 40 years, a slim book titled \u003ci>Halloween: A Fantasy in Three Acts\u003c/i> has been legendary in both art book and photography circles. Initially published in 1981 in an edition of 1,500, the volume of stark black-and-white photographs seems to chronicle a single night of Halloween celebrations in San Francisco. In actuality, it’s a composite — a paper movie, as photographer Ken Werner calls it — of five years worth of costume parties and balls.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13962878","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>It’s easy to see why \u003ci>Halloween\u003c/i> developed such a cult following. Its rarity was one thing, but the subject matter — and the artistry with which Werner captured the creative, raunchy and irreverent energy of those nights — is immediately compelling.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It makes perfect sense, then, that Brooklyn-based Anthology Editions, an imprint of the record label Mexican Summer, would publish \u003ca href=\"https://anthology.net/book/halloween/\">a facsimile reissue of the original\u003c/a>. Now we can all flip through its pages, reliving a specific and very special era of San Francisco history, without paying rare-book-collector prices.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965950\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965950\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000.jpg\" alt=\"Cover of book with title and person in monster costume\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1125\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/COVER-HALLOWEEN_2000-1920x1080.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Ken Werner’s ‘Halloween,’ originally published in 1981, republished in 2024. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Ken Werner and Anthology Editions)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘It was magical’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>By the time Ken Werner moved to San Francisco from New York in 1976, the city’s Halloween celebrations were well established. As he wrote in his introduction, the night was “a major civic event” in the 1920s and ’30s. The parties quieted during the war years, but reemerged in the ’50s and ’60s, reinvented by the hippies as absurdist public events.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“But it was the gay community, not the hippies, that was to have an enduring impact on San Francisco’s Halloween celebrations,” Werner wrote in 1981. He attended his first San Francisco Halloween in 1976.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“A friend said, ‘There’s an event on Polk Street you might be interested in — bring your camera and your flash,” Werner remembers today, talking with KQED. “And that was the start.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the next five years, Werner photographed Polk Street, Castro Street, the Hooker’s Ball and the Beaux Arts Ball, capturing elaborate costumes, last-minute assemblages and what may have been just everyday, out-there outfits.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965952\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965952\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_02.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1800\" height=\"1691\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_02.jpg 1800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_02-800x752.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_02-1020x958.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_02-160x150.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_02-768x721.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_02-1536x1443.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1800px) 100vw, 1800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">From Ken Werner’s ‘Halloween.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy Ken Werner and Anthology Editions)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“It was magical. It was incredible,” he says. “I felt like Alice in Wonderland down a rabbit hole, but maybe that rabbit hole had been burrowed by Edgar Allen Poe.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In Werner’s high contrast, flash-lit shots, partygoers occasionally pose for the camera, but for the most part they look more like they’ve been caught in the act: of behaving wildly, of looking ridiculous, of having a great time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This is Halloween before store-bought get-ups. It’s disheveled, playful, erotic, grotesque and sometimes downright weird. In one of the most inexplicable costumes in \u003ci>Halloween\u003c/i>, a man wears pants, gym shorts \u003ci>and\u003c/i> briefs (put on in that order) while sporting a smooth, papier mâché faceless head, button-down shirt and patterned tie.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>What\u003c/i> is he? It doesn’t seem to matter.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965961\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965961\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200.jpg\" alt=\"person dressed as a headless in tall trench coat and someone in skull mask and hood\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1244\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200-800x498.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200-1020x634.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200-160x100.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200-768x478.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200-1536x955.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_09_200-1920x1194.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Two images from Ken Werner’s ‘Halloween.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy Ken Werner and Anthology Editions)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>At the time, Werner thought of his book as not just an artistic pursuit but a political statement. “I was terrified that there were political forces arrayed against [Halloween], that were going to crush it,” he says, referring to the Board of Supervisors’ attempts to leave Polk and Castro Streets open to traffic, pushing revelers onto cramped sidewalks. “I was truly worried that it was going to disappear and that, to me, would have been a disaster.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>‘It tends to fall into the right hands’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>Halloween\u003c/i> is split into three acts: the sun goes down and the party gets started; the night takes an erotic turn (penis costumes abound); and the sun begins to come up, capturing the bedraggled remnants of the party.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Werner had a bit of a professional advantage when it came to printing his images and sequencing the book. He worked at \u003ci>Modern Photography\u003c/i> magazine and freelanced for other photography publications. In San Francisco he served at the editorial director of \u003ci>\u003ca href=\"https://archive.org/details/Darkroom_Photography_Volume_01_Issue_01_1979_03_Sheptow_Publishing_US/mode/2up\">Darkroom Photography\u003c/a>\u003c/i>, a national publication for amateurs and professionals alike.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965954\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965954\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_07.jpg\" alt=\"people photographed in costume, including an invisible man outfit\" width=\"1800\" height=\"1355\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_07.jpg 1800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_07-800x602.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_07-1020x768.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_07-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_07-768x578.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_07-1536x1156.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1800px) 100vw, 1800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">From Ken Werner’s ‘Halloween.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy Ken Werner and Anthology Editions)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>He self-published \u003ci>Halloween\u003c/i> under the moniker Octavia Press (“she was a mad queen”) and tried to get San Francisco bookstores interested. “It was very much an experience where I did not feel that the local community, at least as represented by bookstore owners, was getting it,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But over the years, when he checked in on Octavia Press’ one-and-only publication, he found the ISBN in a number of significant university and museum libraries, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art. “Even though it’s a limited number of copies,” Werner says, “it tends to fall into the right hands.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Anthology Editions reached out during a particularly bleak moment during the pandemic. Werner says the experience of reissuing the book has been truly validating: “To have them say this is worthy of reintroducing to the world, it meant a very great deal to me.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965955\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965955\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_04.jpg\" alt=\"person in face paint smokes a cigarette\" width=\"1800\" height=\"1385\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_04.jpg 1800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_04-800x616.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_04-1020x785.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_04-160x123.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_04-768x591.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/KW_04-1536x1182.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1800px) 100vw, 1800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">From Ken Werner’s ‘Halloween.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Ken Werner and Anthology Editions)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘I’d love to be back there’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Werner kept up his documentation of San Francisco Halloweens until 2001, when he says it started to feel unsafe to be in a large crowd, walking backwards with a camera up to his face. (In 2006, nine people were wounded when a shooter opened fire at the Castro Halloween party, it returned in 2023 at a much smaller and tamer scale.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Returning to the book over the years, he still feels a sense of pride. “I am amazed, honestly, that I was able to take so many strong, powerful photographs,” he says, pointing out that the entire book was made in just eight nights of shooting.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He also sees a beautiful moment in San Francisco’s LGBTQ+ history. “I wish I had a time machine so I could go back to those days, because it was a time of relative innocence,” he says. “The book went to the printer two months before the first very first reports of the mysterious illness that was affecting gay people. There was that positive energy and sense of freedom that soon was blighted. And so yeah, I’d love to be back there.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With this new publication — now in unlimited quantities — Werner has a second chance to find and hear from his audience. On the book’s final page, a bit of text reads “Comments and correspondence invited,” just as the original did 43 years ago.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I had a wonderful time taking those pictures,” he says. “I’m glad that it’s being reintroduced to a new generation.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>Ken Werner’s ‘\u003ca href=\"https://anthology.net/book/halloween/\">Halloween: A Fantasy in Three Acts\u003c/a>’ is available from Anthology Editions.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13965937/halloween-san-francisco-1970s-history-photos","authors":["61"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_73","arts_7862","arts_70"],"tags":["arts_3547","arts_10342","arts_10278","arts_3226","arts_822","arts_1146","arts_1020","arts_585"],"featImg":"arts_13965953","label":"arts"},"arts_13965719":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13965719","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13965719","score":null,"sort":[1727717248000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"portola-festival-review-photos-san-francisco-2024","title":"Portola Fest’s Best Sets, Plus One Perplexing ‘Huh?!’","publishDate":1727717248,"format":"standard","headTitle":"Portola Fest’s Best Sets, Plus One Perplexing ‘Huh?!’ | KQED","labelTerm":{"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13965861']San Francisco music festival \u003ca href=\"https://portolamusicfestival.com/\">Portola\u003c/a> returned over the weekend with a lineup of international acts like French DJs Justice and Gesaffelstein, U.K. hitmakers Disclosure and M.I.A., Australian producer Fisher — plus homegrown heroes Deltron 3030 and more.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With its industrial setting at Pier 80, plus a giant disco ball literally hanging off a shipping crane, Portola took the gritty vibe of a warehouse rave and scaled it up into a major happening. Below are some of this year’s highlights.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965756\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965756\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_20.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_20.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_20-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_20-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_20-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_20-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_20-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jessie Ware performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Jessie Ware danced with the ‘Beautiful People’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Jessie Ware’s performance at the Pier Stage on Saturday afternoon was a groovy, disco-pop celebration. Dressed in a shimmering silver full-length dress with white accent feathers, Ware and her two charismatic dancers had the crowd jumping as she performed some of her latest hits, including “What’s Your Pleasure,” “Spotlight” and “Save a Kiss.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Launching into her track “Beautiful People” from her 2023 album \u003cem>That! Feels Good!\u003c/em>, Ware showed extra love to the audience as she taught them dance moves. The real pearl, though, was when Ware surprised the crowd by breaking into her own rendition of “Believe” by Cher and slipping into the audience to dance with ecstatic festival-goers. “How do I get out of here?” Ware asked, laughing at herself as she wove through the throngs of people. After the dance party, Ware’s closing song “Free Yourself” only felt fitting. \u003cem>— Shannon Faulise\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965768\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965768\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_32.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_32.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_32-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_32-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_32-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_32-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_32-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Natasha Bedingfield performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>A nostalgic set from Natasha Bedingfield\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>For 15 beautiful minutes, the Portola crowd entered a nostalgic fantasy as Natasha Bedingfield took the stage decked out in a cheetah print bodysuit. After psyching everyone out with the intro to “Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now),” Bedingfield got the crowd dancing immediately with her 2008 hit “Pocketful of Sunshine.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With heavy, thudding bass accompanying her softer pop, Bedingfield’s performances of her early 2000s discography felt modern and updated. Her 2004 hit song “These Words” already got an official 2024 makeover release earlier this year, but Bedingfield went back to basics for her final track. The very moment the instrumentals started for “Unwritten,” the crowd’s energy surged, and fans screamed along to every word, nearly matching Bedingfield’s volume as she belted out the lyrics in her familiar, raspy tone: “Today is where your book begins / The rest is still unwritten.” \u003cem>— Shannon Faulise\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965777\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965777\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_41.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_41.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_41-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_41-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_41-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_41-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_41-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Gesaffelstein performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Gesaffelstein put the audience in a trance\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>French producer Gesaffelstein brought the energy right up until the very end. Covered in shiny, sleek black material from head to toe, Gesaffelstein’s festival look matched his setup: two clusters of giant, black crystals atop a set of black risers. He didn’t introduce himself like other artists. He actually didn’t speak to the crowd at all — and he didn’t need to. When he lifted his arm over his head, the crowd immediately followed, raising theirs with him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Gesaffelstein, whose discography spans more than a decade, kept fans bobbing along to dark synth-pop tracks like “Hard Dreams” from his most recent album \u003cem>Gamma\u003c/em>, as well as harder techno favorites like “Opr” from 2011’s \u003cem>Conspiracy Pt.2\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Standing in a prism of red light, surrounded by fog, his visuals met at the intersection of electronic and gothic. He popped his shoulders with the crowd as they vibed to his heavy, trance-inducing beats, black crystals glowing throughout. He left just as quietly as he arrived, waving to the crowd before vanishing into his set’s smoky aftermath. \u003cem>— Shannon Faulise\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965784\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 853px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965784\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_48.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"853\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_48.jpg 853w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_48-800x1200.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_48-160x240.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_48-768x1152.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 853px) 100vw, 853px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Rebecca Black performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Rebecca Black, queen of camp\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The coolest way to reclaim a cringy song you made in middle school? Make a chipmunk-voiced hyperpop remix of it and get a tent full of vaping ravers to scream the lyrics while jumping up and down. At least that’s what Rebecca Black did at Portola Sunday. “Whether you’re here because you know me from one thing or the other or a DJ set, I don’t give a fuck,” she said with an ironic eye roll while warmly thanking the crowd.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you haven’t paid attention since “Friday” went viral for the wrong reasons in 2011, Black grew up to make queer pop with a heavy dose of camp. On stage, her vocals were strong and unpretentious. She served 2000s pop diva choreo, flanked by two chiseled male dancers wearing gigantic, bouncing rubber boobs (at one point, the three of them rode a mic stand like a broomstick). At a festival with many stoic DJs, Black’s set was one of the weirdest, most carefree and entertaining. \u003cem>— Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965808\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965808\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_72.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_72.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_72-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_72-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_72-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_72-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_72-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">M.I.A. performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>M.I.A. left the audience confused\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>M.I.A.’s Sunday Portola set was perplexing. The U.K. star who came up in the 2000s as a champion of refugees and immigrants recently took a rightward turn, endorsing Donald Trump and aligning herself with conspiracy theorist Alex Jones. Between solid performances of hits like “Bad Girls” and “Bucky Done Gun,” she ranted about being canceled and inserted strange commentary that fell flat.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Before Nicki had this wig, M.I.A. had this wig; before Rihanna had this wig, M.I.A. had this wig,” she said, pointing to a red wig not very reminiscent of either pop star. “Before Kamala Harris, there was M.I.A.” Huh?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>High-energy performances of “XR2,” “Come Around” and “Bamboo Banga” harkened back to M.I.A.’s arrival on the scene with a completely fresh, global sound, but the rest of the set left a lot of people scratching their heads. \u003cem>— Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965795\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965795\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_59.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_59.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_59-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_59-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_59-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_59-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_59-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Disclosure performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Disclosure’s feel-good dance floor\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>U.K. house music giants Disclosure presided over a funky dance party at Portola’s main stage — their first time performing in San Francisco in eight years. Their 75-minute set reached back to early hits like the gospel sermon-infused “When a Fire Starts to Burn,” which the duo — consisting of Howard and Guy Lawrence — accented with live percussion, keys and bass. The brothers joked about dropping “a deep cut no one knows” before performing “Latch,” their mega-hit with Sam Smith. Throughout classics and newer tracks like “Douha (Mali Mali)” featuring Malian singer Fatoumata Diawara, the Lawrences switched between a drum kit, timbales, sample pads, an electronic xylophone and a collection of synths, clearly enjoying themselves and adding dynamism that kept the crowd guessing as they grooved. \u003cem>— Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>See more photos below. \u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965791\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965791\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Horsegiirl performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965762\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965762\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jpegmafia performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965748\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965748\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Tycho performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965738\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965738\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Empress Of performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965751\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965751\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Joy Orbison performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965772\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965772\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Soulwax performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965773\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965773\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Deltron 3030 performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965803\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965803\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Honey Dijon performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965816\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965816\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Fisher performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965809\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965809\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Justice performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965807\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965807\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1271\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71-800x530.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71-1020x675.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71-768x508.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71-1536x1017.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">M.I.A. performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965766\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965766\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Natasha Bedingfield performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965758\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965758\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jessie Ware performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Highlights of the gritty warehouse festival included Jessie Ware, Natasha Bedingfield, Disclosure and Rebecca Black.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1727800427,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":18,"wordCount":1514},"headData":{"title":"Review: Portola Fest’s Best Sets, Plus One Perplexing ‘Huh?!’ | KQED","description":"Highlights of the gritty warehouse festival included Jessie Ware, Natasha Bedingfield, Disclosure and Rebecca Black.","ogTitle":"Portola Fest’s Best Sets, Plus One Perplexing ‘Huh?!’","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"arts_13965756","twTitle":"Portola Fest’s Best Sets, Plus One Perplexing ‘Huh?!’","twDescription":"","twImgId":"arts_13965768","socialTitle":"Review: Portola Fest’s Best Sets, Plus One Perplexing ‘Huh?!’ %%page%% %%sep%% KQED","socialDescription":"Highlights of the gritty warehouse festival included Jessie Ware, Natasha Bedingfield, Disclosure and Rebecca Black.","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Portola Fest’s Best Sets, Plus One Perplexing ‘Huh?!’","datePublished":"2024-09-30T10:27:28-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-01T09:33:47-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13965719","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13965719/portola-festival-review-photos-san-francisco-2024","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13965861","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>San Francisco music festival \u003ca href=\"https://portolamusicfestival.com/\">Portola\u003c/a> returned over the weekend with a lineup of international acts like French DJs Justice and Gesaffelstein, U.K. hitmakers Disclosure and M.I.A., Australian producer Fisher — plus homegrown heroes Deltron 3030 and more.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With its industrial setting at Pier 80, plus a giant disco ball literally hanging off a shipping crane, Portola took the gritty vibe of a warehouse rave and scaled it up into a major happening. Below are some of this year’s highlights.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965756\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965756\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_20.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_20.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_20-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_20-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_20-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_20-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_20-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jessie Ware performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Jessie Ware danced with the ‘Beautiful People’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Jessie Ware’s performance at the Pier Stage on Saturday afternoon was a groovy, disco-pop celebration. Dressed in a shimmering silver full-length dress with white accent feathers, Ware and her two charismatic dancers had the crowd jumping as she performed some of her latest hits, including “What’s Your Pleasure,” “Spotlight” and “Save a Kiss.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Launching into her track “Beautiful People” from her 2023 album \u003cem>That! Feels Good!\u003c/em>, Ware showed extra love to the audience as she taught them dance moves. The real pearl, though, was when Ware surprised the crowd by breaking into her own rendition of “Believe” by Cher and slipping into the audience to dance with ecstatic festival-goers. “How do I get out of here?” Ware asked, laughing at herself as she wove through the throngs of people. After the dance party, Ware’s closing song “Free Yourself” only felt fitting. \u003cem>— Shannon Faulise\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965768\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965768\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_32.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_32.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_32-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_32-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_32-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_32-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_32-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Natasha Bedingfield performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>A nostalgic set from Natasha Bedingfield\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>For 15 beautiful minutes, the Portola crowd entered a nostalgic fantasy as Natasha Bedingfield took the stage decked out in a cheetah print bodysuit. After psyching everyone out with the intro to “Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now),” Bedingfield got the crowd dancing immediately with her 2008 hit “Pocketful of Sunshine.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With heavy, thudding bass accompanying her softer pop, Bedingfield’s performances of her early 2000s discography felt modern and updated. Her 2004 hit song “These Words” already got an official 2024 makeover release earlier this year, but Bedingfield went back to basics for her final track. The very moment the instrumentals started for “Unwritten,” the crowd’s energy surged, and fans screamed along to every word, nearly matching Bedingfield’s volume as she belted out the lyrics in her familiar, raspy tone: “Today is where your book begins / The rest is still unwritten.” \u003cem>— Shannon Faulise\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965777\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965777\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_41.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_41.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_41-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_41-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_41-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_41-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_41-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Gesaffelstein performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Gesaffelstein put the audience in a trance\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>French producer Gesaffelstein brought the energy right up until the very end. Covered in shiny, sleek black material from head to toe, Gesaffelstein’s festival look matched his setup: two clusters of giant, black crystals atop a set of black risers. He didn’t introduce himself like other artists. He actually didn’t speak to the crowd at all — and he didn’t need to. When he lifted his arm over his head, the crowd immediately followed, raising theirs with him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Gesaffelstein, whose discography spans more than a decade, kept fans bobbing along to dark synth-pop tracks like “Hard Dreams” from his most recent album \u003cem>Gamma\u003c/em>, as well as harder techno favorites like “Opr” from 2011’s \u003cem>Conspiracy Pt.2\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Standing in a prism of red light, surrounded by fog, his visuals met at the intersection of electronic and gothic. He popped his shoulders with the crowd as they vibed to his heavy, trance-inducing beats, black crystals glowing throughout. He left just as quietly as he arrived, waving to the crowd before vanishing into his set’s smoky aftermath. \u003cem>— Shannon Faulise\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965784\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 853px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965784\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_48.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"853\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_48.jpg 853w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_48-800x1200.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_48-160x240.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_48-768x1152.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 853px) 100vw, 853px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Rebecca Black performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Rebecca Black, queen of camp\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The coolest way to reclaim a cringy song you made in middle school? Make a chipmunk-voiced hyperpop remix of it and get a tent full of vaping ravers to scream the lyrics while jumping up and down. At least that’s what Rebecca Black did at Portola Sunday. “Whether you’re here because you know me from one thing or the other or a DJ set, I don’t give a fuck,” she said with an ironic eye roll while warmly thanking the crowd.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you haven’t paid attention since “Friday” went viral for the wrong reasons in 2011, Black grew up to make queer pop with a heavy dose of camp. On stage, her vocals were strong and unpretentious. She served 2000s pop diva choreo, flanked by two chiseled male dancers wearing gigantic, bouncing rubber boobs (at one point, the three of them rode a mic stand like a broomstick). At a festival with many stoic DJs, Black’s set was one of the weirdest, most carefree and entertaining. \u003cem>— Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965808\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965808\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_72.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_72.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_72-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_72-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_72-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_72-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_72-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">M.I.A. performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>M.I.A. left the audience confused\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>M.I.A.’s Sunday Portola set was perplexing. The U.K. star who came up in the 2000s as a champion of refugees and immigrants recently took a rightward turn, endorsing Donald Trump and aligning herself with conspiracy theorist Alex Jones. Between solid performances of hits like “Bad Girls” and “Bucky Done Gun,” she ranted about being canceled and inserted strange commentary that fell flat.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Before Nicki had this wig, M.I.A. had this wig; before Rihanna had this wig, M.I.A. had this wig,” she said, pointing to a red wig not very reminiscent of either pop star. “Before Kamala Harris, there was M.I.A.” Huh?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>High-energy performances of “XR2,” “Come Around” and “Bamboo Banga” harkened back to M.I.A.’s arrival on the scene with a completely fresh, global sound, but the rest of the set left a lot of people scratching their heads. \u003cem>— Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965795\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965795\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_59.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_59.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_59-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_59-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_59-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_59-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_59-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Disclosure performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Disclosure’s feel-good dance floor\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>U.K. house music giants Disclosure presided over a funky dance party at Portola’s main stage — their first time performing in San Francisco in eight years. Their 75-minute set reached back to early hits like the gospel sermon-infused “When a Fire Starts to Burn,” which the duo — consisting of Howard and Guy Lawrence — accented with live percussion, keys and bass. The brothers joked about dropping “a deep cut no one knows” before performing “Latch,” their mega-hit with Sam Smith. Throughout classics and newer tracks like “Douha (Mali Mali)” featuring Malian singer Fatoumata Diawara, the Lawrences switched between a drum kit, timbales, sample pads, an electronic xylophone and a collection of synths, clearly enjoying themselves and adding dynamism that kept the crowd guessing as they grooved. \u003cem>— Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>See more photos below. \u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965791\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965791\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_55-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Horsegiirl performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965762\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965762\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_26-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jpegmafia performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965748\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965748\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_12-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Tycho performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965738\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965738\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_02-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Empress Of performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965751\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965751\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_15-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Joy Orbison performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965772\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965772\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_36-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Soulwax performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965773\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965773\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_37-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Deltron 3030 performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965803\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965803\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_67-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Honey Dijon performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965816\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965816\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_80-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Fisher performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965809\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965809\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_73-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Justice performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965807\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965807\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1271\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71-800x530.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71-1020x675.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71-768x508.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_71-1536x1017.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">M.I.A. performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Sunday, Sept. 29, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965766\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965766\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_30A-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Natasha Bedingfield performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965758\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003ca href=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965758\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/240928_Portola_EG_22-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jessie Ware performs at Portola Music Festival in San Francisco on Saturday, Sept. 28, 2024. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13965719/portola-festival-review-photos-san-francisco-2024","authors":["11387","11919"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_69"],"tags":["arts_10342","arts_10278","arts_22068","arts_22333","arts_769"],"featImg":"arts_13965783","label":"arts"},"arts_13965624":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13965624","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13965624","score":null,"sort":[1727454799000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"oakland-as-last-game-songs-played-coliseum","title":"Songs Played at the A's Last Game: An Oakland Coliseum Soundtrack","publishDate":1727454799,"format":"aside","headTitle":"Songs Played at the A’s Last Game: An Oakland Coliseum Soundtrack | KQED","labelTerm":{"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965649\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965649\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Oakland Coliseum, where songs from Too Short, Tower of Power and Mac Dre reliably played over the loudspeakers, pictured during the team’s final game at the stadium on Sept. 26, 2024. \u003ccite>(Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>It started, as ever, on the BART bridge, walking past the bootleg T-shirts and the card-table vendors repeating “shrooms, edibles, pre-rolls” while listening to \u003cstrong>Roddy Ricch’s “High Fashion”\u003c/strong> on tinny Bluetooth speakers. As vape pen smoke wafted through the air, so did the horn-and-drum sound of \u003cstrong>a Banda group\u003c/strong>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.reddit.com/r/OaklandAthletics/comments/1fqpsft/the_banda_group_at_the_last_oakland_tailgate/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button\">playing for tailgaters\u003c/a> over in the packed parking lot.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This was the last A’s game at the Oakland Coliseum, the \u003ca href=\"https://x.com/emmaruthless/status/1662139124927856641\">greatest ballpark in America\u003c/a>. As a longtime fan, \u003ca href=\"https://x.com/gmeline/status/1389078738009157632\">I’ve made a habit of tallying songs played at A’s games\u003c/a>, and at the more grimy game the night before, I’d heard all the Coliseum classics: \u003cstrong>Eric B. and Rakim’s “Don’t Sweat the Technique,” Dr. Dre and Tupac’s “California Love,” Mac Dre’s “Thizzelle Dance.”\u003c/strong> (In a cheeky acknowledgment of a soon-to-be-empty stadium, they’d also played \u003cstrong>The Specials’ “Ghost Town.”\u003c/strong>)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This game was historic, and thus attended by more casual fans, which meant we got \u003cstrong>John Fogerty’s overplayed “Centerfield”\u003c/strong> before Rickey Henderson and Dave Stewart threw out the first pitch. Redemption came quickly, though, as none other than beloved Bay Area hurler \u003cstrong>Barry Zito sang the national anthem\u003c/strong> while a loud military jet flyover added ambiance. Zito’s best performance is still \u003ca href=\"https://bleacherreport.com/articles/1383994-world-series-2012-how-barry-zito-has-transformed-from-goat-to-cult-hero\">Game 1 of the 2012 World Series\u003c/a>, but this wasn’t bad either.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965645\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1500px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965645\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0019.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1500\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0019.jpg 1500w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0019-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0019-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0019-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0019-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0019-1152x1536.jpg 1152w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1500px) 100vw, 1500px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Krazy George leads a chant with his drum at the A’s final game at the Oakland Coliseum, Sept. 26, 2024. \u003ccite>(Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>After \u003cstrong>MØ’s “Final Song”\u003c/strong> set an appropriate tone, the game’s soundtrack steered into the familiar: \u003cstrong>Souls of Mischief’s “93 ‘Til Infinity,” P-Lo’s “Put Me On Somethin’,” and ATM and IMD’s “Bernie Lean,”\u003c/strong> the inexplicable only-in-the-Bay Coliseum hit that encourages fans to dance like the dead main character from the 1989 cult movie \u003cem>Weekend at Bernie’s\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During a jumbotron interview with an old-timer named Pete — an A’s fan since 1968 — the PA played the \u003cstrong>Grateful Dead’s “Touch of Grey.”\u003c/strong> In the second inning, for an on-screen tribute to the many behind-the-scenes stadium workers, we got \u003cstrong>Bill Withers’ “Lovely Day,”\u003c/strong> right at the same time a guy walked past us hoisting a sign that read “\u003ca href=\"https://www.reddit.com/r/OaklandAthletics/comments/1fqcgg9/hell_of_a_funeral_today_heres_some_highlights/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button\">JOHN FISHER HAS SEX WITH COUCHES TOO\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Let’s see, what else? The \u003cstrong>Incredible Bongo Band’s breakbeat classic “Apache”\u003c/strong> was in the mix. Accompanying a 2024 season highlights reel was \u003cstrong>Trace Adkins’ “Swing”\u003c/strong>; another montage that started with the Coliseum’s 2019 light malfunction had \u003cstrong>The Doors’ “Light My Fire.”\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965646\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1500px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965646\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0024.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1500\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0024.jpg 1500w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0024-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0024-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0024-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0024-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0024-1152x1536.jpg 1152w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1500px) 100vw, 1500px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Stacy Samuels, “the Banjo Guy,” plays for fans at the A’s final game at the Oakland Coliseum, Sept. 26, 2024. \u003ccite>(Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>As a reggae song, JJ Bleday’s walk-up music of \u003cstrong>Stick Figure’s “World on Fire (feat. Slightly Stoopid)”\u003c/strong> stuck out among so many rap and metal choices, but it must’ve worked, since he hit the first RBI of the game. Shortly afterward, the PA was playing \u003cstrong>Tony Toni Toné’s “Let’s Get Down”\u003c/strong> when Stacy Samuels, \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/kqednews/reel/C3Olt-HpH4D/\">the Banjo Man himself\u003c/a>, walked right by us, finger-picking his strings to DJ Quik’s verse and creating the day’s weirdest mashup.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While the PA played \u003cstrong>Wham’s “Careless Whisper,”\u003c/strong> the screens showed a woman holding \u003ca href=\"https://www.reddit.com/r/OaklandAthletics/comments/1fq62eq/picture_speaks_for_itself/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button\">a sign\u003c/a> that read “Today, there IS crying in baseball”; simultaneously, a man walked past our section air-saxophoning the song’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DFB4Iw7BHoU\">famous sax riff\u003c/a>. The A’s then put up a \u003cem>third\u003c/em> run, and what else is there to play during a rally but \u003cstrong>Rossini’s \u003cem>William Tell Overture\u003c/em>\u003c/strong>, a.k.a. the \u003cem>Lone Ranger\u003c/em> theme song?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I have to say: it is a minor disgrace that fans loudly sang “must be the monnnaaayyyy!” from \u003cstrong>Nelly’s “Ride Wit Me”\u003c/strong> each time Shea Langeliers came to bat, while nobody — and I mean \u003cem>nobody\u003c/em> — sang the “yay arrrreeeeaaaaaaa!” hook from \u003cstrong>E-40’s “Yay Area.”\u003c/strong> All was forgotten when \u003cstrong>Barry Zito’s “Ballpark Kids”\u003c/strong> played over a fan montage, mostly because I asked myself: Do I need to check out Barry Zito’s solo stuff? (Some of his songs on YouTube have only 150 views; \u003ca href=\"https://youtu.be/kHtp0it8zQE?si=OYgSFys4qHGI_kG4\">decide for yourself\u003c/a>.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965647\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1852px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965647\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0049.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1852\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0049.jpg 1852w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0049-800x864.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0049-1020x1102.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0049-160x173.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0049-768x829.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0049-1422x1536.jpg 1422w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1852px) 100vw, 1852px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Fans crowd the Oakland Coliseum for the A’s final game at the stadium on Sept. 26, 2024. \u003ccite>(Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Just as I started wondering why I hadn’t cried yet, after the traditional \u003ca href=\"https://baseballhall.org/discover/short-stops/oakland-athletics-mascot-race\">race of the big heads\u003c/a> took place to \u003cstrong>Metallica’s “One,”\u003c/strong> in-stadium announcer Kara Tsuboi \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WEGejAiH1As\">got on the mic\u003c/a>. I didn’t recognize the song that played before it, but her emotional farewell speech capping 16 years with the Oakland A’s was the most touching moment of the game: “Tomorrow, it doesn’t just go away, all this love that’s here!” WHO IS CUTTING ONIONS?!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hold your \u003ca href=\"https://www.poynter.org/reporting-editing/2012/the-story-behind-that-viral-nickelback-review-in-the-boise-weekly/\">jokes\u003c/a> when Mason Miller walks out to \u003cstrong>Nickelback’s “Burn It to the Ground,”\u003c/strong> because the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/liveblog/lastoaklandasgame\">dude shut it down\u003c/a>. And while I’d worried about the lack of certain Oakland anthems at the game, like J. Nash’s “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mAkgmXWEjig\">Cupcakin\u003c/a>’” or Tower of Power’s “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xS4CRaCP0uw\">Oakland Stroke\u003c/a>,” I couldn’t have chosen a better hyperlocal soundtrack for the bottom of the 8th than \u003cstrong>Vell’s “Oakland.”\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='news_12006567']By now, you already know that the A’s won, 3-2, and naturally, that meant \u003cstrong>Kool & the Gang’s “Celebration.”\u003c/strong> It also meant A’s manager Mark Kotsay started a chant of “Let’s Go Oakland” — which began to morph into a giant collective chant of “Fuck John Fisher,” until the PA squelched it. Cue \u003cstrong>yet another play of “Celebration.”\u003c/strong> \u003cem>Drown those pesky fans out!\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As fans \u003ca href=\"https://www.reddit.com/r/OaklandAthletics/comments/1fqb8mn/a_little_souvenir/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button\">scooped up field dirt\u003c/a> and stole seats, at last \u003cstrong>Tower of Power\u003c/strong> made an appearance over the PA with \u003cstrong>“So Very Hard to Go.”\u003c/strong> We headed toward the gates to the \u003cstrong>Luniz’ “I Got 5 On It” remix\u003c/strong>, as people all around us rapped along to Richie Rich’s timeless verse: \u003cem>Oakland, Smokin’\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965648\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965648\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The BART bridge after the A’s final game at the Oakland Coliseum, Sept. 26, 2024. \u003ccite>(Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Out on the BART bridge, walking back toward the train, the shroom guys played \u003cstrong>Mac Dre’s “Feelin’ Myself.”\u003c/strong> The tequila guys played \u003cstrong>Los Rakas’ “Soy Raka.”\u003c/strong> The saxophone player did \u003cstrong>Bobby Caldwell’s “What You Won’t Do For Love,”\u003c/strong> and the laundry-hamper drummer, my favorite busker over 20 years of going to A’s games, played \u003cstrong>Santana’s “Black Magic Woman.”\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We listened to \u003cstrong>Joe Henderson\u003c/strong> all the way home, reminiscing about the day, so full, vibrant, lively and fun. I can’t count how many empty A’s games I’ve been to in the past 5–10 years, and it’s felt like living alone in the forgotten family home that once held so much joy and laughter. For one last day, though, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/12006567/photos-fans-flood-coliseum-to-bid-emotional-farewell-at-as-last-game-in-oakland\">all the kids and grandkids and neighbors and siblings and babies came back home\u003c/a> for a family reunion, and the house was filled with music and love.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2c5GNB9CAekqxjhmRJf6Nh?si=HvWYaK2WSX2GwWWvJeKzhQ\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Oakland classics — and new surprises — played over the stadium PA at the A's final Coliseum game.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1727721500,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":17,"wordCount":1397},"headData":{"title":"Songs Played at the A's Last Game: An Oakland Coliseum Soundtrack | KQED","description":"Oakland classics — and new surprises — played over the stadium PA at the A's final Coliseum game.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Songs Played at the A's Last Game: An Oakland Coliseum Soundtrack","datePublished":"2024-09-27T09:33:19-07:00","dateModified":"2024-09-30T11:38:20-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13965624","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13965624/oakland-as-last-game-songs-played-coliseum","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965649\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965649\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0033-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Oakland Coliseum, where songs from Too Short, Tower of Power and Mac Dre reliably played over the loudspeakers, pictured during the team’s final game at the stadium on Sept. 26, 2024. \u003ccite>(Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>It started, as ever, on the BART bridge, walking past the bootleg T-shirts and the card-table vendors repeating “shrooms, edibles, pre-rolls” while listening to \u003cstrong>Roddy Ricch’s “High Fashion”\u003c/strong> on tinny Bluetooth speakers. As vape pen smoke wafted through the air, so did the horn-and-drum sound of \u003cstrong>a Banda group\u003c/strong>, \u003ca href=\"https://www.reddit.com/r/OaklandAthletics/comments/1fqpsft/the_banda_group_at_the_last_oakland_tailgate/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button\">playing for tailgaters\u003c/a> over in the packed parking lot.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This was the last A’s game at the Oakland Coliseum, the \u003ca href=\"https://x.com/emmaruthless/status/1662139124927856641\">greatest ballpark in America\u003c/a>. As a longtime fan, \u003ca href=\"https://x.com/gmeline/status/1389078738009157632\">I’ve made a habit of tallying songs played at A’s games\u003c/a>, and at the more grimy game the night before, I’d heard all the Coliseum classics: \u003cstrong>Eric B. and Rakim’s “Don’t Sweat the Technique,” Dr. Dre and Tupac’s “California Love,” Mac Dre’s “Thizzelle Dance.”\u003c/strong> (In a cheeky acknowledgment of a soon-to-be-empty stadium, they’d also played \u003cstrong>The Specials’ “Ghost Town.”\u003c/strong>)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This game was historic, and thus attended by more casual fans, which meant we got \u003cstrong>John Fogerty’s overplayed “Centerfield”\u003c/strong> before Rickey Henderson and Dave Stewart threw out the first pitch. Redemption came quickly, though, as none other than beloved Bay Area hurler \u003cstrong>Barry Zito sang the national anthem\u003c/strong> while a loud military jet flyover added ambiance. Zito’s best performance is still \u003ca href=\"https://bleacherreport.com/articles/1383994-world-series-2012-how-barry-zito-has-transformed-from-goat-to-cult-hero\">Game 1 of the 2012 World Series\u003c/a>, but this wasn’t bad either.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965645\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1500px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965645\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0019.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1500\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0019.jpg 1500w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0019-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0019-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0019-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0019-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0019-1152x1536.jpg 1152w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1500px) 100vw, 1500px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Krazy George leads a chant with his drum at the A’s final game at the Oakland Coliseum, Sept. 26, 2024. \u003ccite>(Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>After \u003cstrong>MØ’s “Final Song”\u003c/strong> set an appropriate tone, the game’s soundtrack steered into the familiar: \u003cstrong>Souls of Mischief’s “93 ‘Til Infinity,” P-Lo’s “Put Me On Somethin’,” and ATM and IMD’s “Bernie Lean,”\u003c/strong> the inexplicable only-in-the-Bay Coliseum hit that encourages fans to dance like the dead main character from the 1989 cult movie \u003cem>Weekend at Bernie’s\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During a jumbotron interview with an old-timer named Pete — an A’s fan since 1968 — the PA played the \u003cstrong>Grateful Dead’s “Touch of Grey.”\u003c/strong> In the second inning, for an on-screen tribute to the many behind-the-scenes stadium workers, we got \u003cstrong>Bill Withers’ “Lovely Day,”\u003c/strong> right at the same time a guy walked past us hoisting a sign that read “\u003ca href=\"https://www.reddit.com/r/OaklandAthletics/comments/1fqcgg9/hell_of_a_funeral_today_heres_some_highlights/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button\">JOHN FISHER HAS SEX WITH COUCHES TOO\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Let’s see, what else? The \u003cstrong>Incredible Bongo Band’s breakbeat classic “Apache”\u003c/strong> was in the mix. Accompanying a 2024 season highlights reel was \u003cstrong>Trace Adkins’ “Swing”\u003c/strong>; another montage that started with the Coliseum’s 2019 light malfunction had \u003cstrong>The Doors’ “Light My Fire.”\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965646\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1500px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965646\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0024.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1500\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0024.jpg 1500w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0024-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0024-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0024-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0024-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0024-1152x1536.jpg 1152w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1500px) 100vw, 1500px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Stacy Samuels, “the Banjo Guy,” plays for fans at the A’s final game at the Oakland Coliseum, Sept. 26, 2024. \u003ccite>(Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>As a reggae song, JJ Bleday’s walk-up music of \u003cstrong>Stick Figure’s “World on Fire (feat. Slightly Stoopid)”\u003c/strong> stuck out among so many rap and metal choices, but it must’ve worked, since he hit the first RBI of the game. Shortly afterward, the PA was playing \u003cstrong>Tony Toni Toné’s “Let’s Get Down”\u003c/strong> when Stacy Samuels, \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/kqednews/reel/C3Olt-HpH4D/\">the Banjo Man himself\u003c/a>, walked right by us, finger-picking his strings to DJ Quik’s verse and creating the day’s weirdest mashup.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While the PA played \u003cstrong>Wham’s “Careless Whisper,”\u003c/strong> the screens showed a woman holding \u003ca href=\"https://www.reddit.com/r/OaklandAthletics/comments/1fq62eq/picture_speaks_for_itself/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button\">a sign\u003c/a> that read “Today, there IS crying in baseball”; simultaneously, a man walked past our section air-saxophoning the song’s \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DFB4Iw7BHoU\">famous sax riff\u003c/a>. The A’s then put up a \u003cem>third\u003c/em> run, and what else is there to play during a rally but \u003cstrong>Rossini’s \u003cem>William Tell Overture\u003c/em>\u003c/strong>, a.k.a. the \u003cem>Lone Ranger\u003c/em> theme song?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I have to say: it is a minor disgrace that fans loudly sang “must be the monnnaaayyyy!” from \u003cstrong>Nelly’s “Ride Wit Me”\u003c/strong> each time Shea Langeliers came to bat, while nobody — and I mean \u003cem>nobody\u003c/em> — sang the “yay arrrreeeeaaaaaaa!” hook from \u003cstrong>E-40’s “Yay Area.”\u003c/strong> All was forgotten when \u003cstrong>Barry Zito’s “Ballpark Kids”\u003c/strong> played over a fan montage, mostly because I asked myself: Do I need to check out Barry Zito’s solo stuff? (Some of his songs on YouTube have only 150 views; \u003ca href=\"https://youtu.be/kHtp0it8zQE?si=OYgSFys4qHGI_kG4\">decide for yourself\u003c/a>.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965647\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1852px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965647\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0049.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1852\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0049.jpg 1852w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0049-800x864.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0049-1020x1102.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0049-160x173.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0049-768x829.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0049-1422x1536.jpg 1422w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1852px) 100vw, 1852px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Fans crowd the Oakland Coliseum for the A’s final game at the stadium on Sept. 26, 2024. \u003ccite>(Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Just as I started wondering why I hadn’t cried yet, after the traditional \u003ca href=\"https://baseballhall.org/discover/short-stops/oakland-athletics-mascot-race\">race of the big heads\u003c/a> took place to \u003cstrong>Metallica’s “One,”\u003c/strong> in-stadium announcer Kara Tsuboi \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WEGejAiH1As\">got on the mic\u003c/a>. I didn’t recognize the song that played before it, but her emotional farewell speech capping 16 years with the Oakland A’s was the most touching moment of the game: “Tomorrow, it doesn’t just go away, all this love that’s here!” WHO IS CUTTING ONIONS?!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hold your \u003ca href=\"https://www.poynter.org/reporting-editing/2012/the-story-behind-that-viral-nickelback-review-in-the-boise-weekly/\">jokes\u003c/a> when Mason Miller walks out to \u003cstrong>Nickelback’s “Burn It to the Ground,”\u003c/strong> because the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/liveblog/lastoaklandasgame\">dude shut it down\u003c/a>. And while I’d worried about the lack of certain Oakland anthems at the game, like J. Nash’s “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mAkgmXWEjig\">Cupcakin\u003c/a>’” or Tower of Power’s “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xS4CRaCP0uw\">Oakland Stroke\u003c/a>,” I couldn’t have chosen a better hyperlocal soundtrack for the bottom of the 8th than \u003cstrong>Vell’s “Oakland.”\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"news_12006567","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>By now, you already know that the A’s won, 3-2, and naturally, that meant \u003cstrong>Kool & the Gang’s “Celebration.”\u003c/strong> It also meant A’s manager Mark Kotsay started a chant of “Let’s Go Oakland” — which began to morph into a giant collective chant of “Fuck John Fisher,” until the PA squelched it. Cue \u003cstrong>yet another play of “Celebration.”\u003c/strong> \u003cem>Drown those pesky fans out!\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As fans \u003ca href=\"https://www.reddit.com/r/OaklandAthletics/comments/1fqb8mn/a_little_souvenir/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button\">scooped up field dirt\u003c/a> and stole seats, at last \u003cstrong>Tower of Power\u003c/strong> made an appearance over the PA with \u003cstrong>“So Very Hard to Go.”\u003c/strong> We headed toward the gates to the \u003cstrong>Luniz’ “I Got 5 On It” remix\u003c/strong>, as people all around us rapped along to Richie Rich’s timeless verse: \u003cem>Oakland, Smokin’\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13965648\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13965648\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/09/IMG_0054-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The BART bridge after the A’s final game at the Oakland Coliseum, Sept. 26, 2024. \u003ccite>(Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Out on the BART bridge, walking back toward the train, the shroom guys played \u003cstrong>Mac Dre’s “Feelin’ Myself.”\u003c/strong> The tequila guys played \u003cstrong>Los Rakas’ “Soy Raka.”\u003c/strong> The saxophone player did \u003cstrong>Bobby Caldwell’s “What You Won’t Do For Love,”\u003c/strong> and the laundry-hamper drummer, my favorite busker over 20 years of going to A’s games, played \u003cstrong>Santana’s “Black Magic Woman.”\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We listened to \u003cstrong>Joe Henderson\u003c/strong> all the way home, reminiscing about the day, so full, vibrant, lively and fun. I can’t count how many empty A’s games I’ve been to in the past 5–10 years, and it’s felt like living alone in the forgotten family home that once held so much joy and laughter. For one last day, though, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/12006567/photos-fans-flood-coliseum-to-bid-emotional-farewell-at-as-last-game-in-oakland\">all the kids and grandkids and neighbors and siblings and babies came back home\u003c/a> for a family reunion, and the house was filled with music and love.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2c5GNB9CAekqxjhmRJf6Nh?si=HvWYaK2WSX2GwWWvJeKzhQ\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13965624/oakland-as-last-game-songs-played-coliseum","authors":["185"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_69"],"tags":["arts_10092","arts_10342","arts_10278","arts_1143","arts_1551","arts_5489"],"featImg":"arts_13965652","label":"arts"},"arts_13966213":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13966213","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13966213","score":null,"sort":[1728345718000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"call-of-the-void-laura-rokas-erik-bender-1599fdt","title":"Two Artists Answer the ‘Call of the Void’ with Lime-Hued Paintings","publishDate":1728345718,"format":"standard","headTitle":"Two Artists Answer the ‘Call of the Void’ with Lime-Hued Paintings | KQED","labelTerm":{"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>It felt appropriate to visit a show titled \u003ci>\u003ca href=\"https://www.1599fdt.com/call\">Call of the Void\u003c/a>\u003c/i> during an unrelenting heat wave. A deep, dark, cool nothingness was all my reptile brain desired as I walked down an unshaded stretch of Market Street.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While there wasn’t any physical relief inside 1599fdT (now relocated from Chinatown to 1912 Market Street), at least there was a kind of mental escape in the form of Laura Rokas and Erik Bender’s lime-hued show. This has been an important year for a certain slimy shade, but Rokas and Bender’s take on the color is less \u003ci>brat\u003c/i>, more lime Jell-O, with flashes of green-as-otherworldly threat from 1979’s \u003ci>Alien\u003c/i>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Their work is a study in contrasts, and yet both artists exhibit an eye-catching attention to their surfaces. Rokas’ paintings on canvas, linen and paper employ an almost photorealist approach to found images. Bender is the abstractionist of the pair, with dark, very vertical paintings ruptured by organic slices of green.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966219\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000.jpg\" alt=\"two paintings on white wall, one small and abstract, the other of a figure in leather holding a switch\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1461\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966219\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000-800x584.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000-1020x745.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000-160x117.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000-768x561.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000-1536x1122.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000-1920x1403.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Installation view of ‘Call of the Void’ with Erik Bender’s ‘Burning Star (Gate I),’ at left and Laura Rokas’ ‘Coup de Fouet’ at right. \u003ccite>(Courtesy the artists and 1599fdT)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>As is often the case with art first seen on a screen, I was completely thrown by the scale of the work in \u003ci>Call of the Void\u003c/i>. Some of Rokas’ framed paintings on paper are jewel-like: small, concentrated renderings of a dated Jell-O dish and a woman bent backward, exposing her throat. They’re eerie, compelling in their beautifully rendered detail, but their size somewhat conceals their power. By contrast, there’s no missing the impact of \u003ci>Coup de Fouet\u003c/i> (“whiplash” in French), a portrait of a leather-clad dominatrix from the haughty lips down.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fittingly, this 36-by-32-inch painting exerts an assured dominance over the show, even opposite Bender’s six-foot-tall stunner \u003ci>Soulbreaker\u003c/i>. Rendered in cool gray-blues that capture the sheen of the figure’s jacket, \u003ci>Coup de Fouet\u003c/i> is held taut by the curve of a switch. Such tension characterizes Rokas’ work throughout: a freeze frame of a cyclist’s padded rear end; a sleek bike brake waiting to be squeezed; a Jell-O dish sure to quiver as soon as it’s set upon the table.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966220\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1983px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"large abstract painting with gray green plant shape at center on dark green and orange background\" width=\"1983\" height=\"2560\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966220\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-scaled.jpg 1983w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-800x1033.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-1020x1317.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-160x207.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-768x991.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-1190x1536.jpg 1190w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-1586x2048.jpg 1586w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-1920x2479.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1983px) 100vw, 1983px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Erik Bender, ‘Circadia,’ 2024; Acrylic on canvas, 47 x 35 inches. \u003ccite>(Courtesy the artist and 1599fdT)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Bender’s acrylic and oil paintings on canvas (and sometimes carved plaster) trade detail for layers and textures. Where Rokas’ greens seem to come from the oversaturated ink of ’70s printed matter, Bender uses the hue as a sickly warning color — too toxic to signal anything but “beware.” With loose brushwork, he conjures green plant shapes out of dark backgrounds, or gestures delicately at the fine filaments of a twisting, portal-like spiderweb.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In \u003ci>Circadia\u003c/i>, his strongest contribution to the show, black and olive paint washes over another warning color: safety orange. A ghostly, sanded-down silhouette at the painting’s center is almost figurative — an orchid turned into a specter.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The call of the void is an intrusive, self-destructive thought. What if I jumped? What if I swerved? But the void is also the blank canvas, the empty work table, the clean expanse of a white gallery wall. While certain variables are shared between the artists in this show (both Bender and Rokas make paintings, both have leaned toward the chartreuse end of the spectrum), \u003ci>Call of the Void\u003c/i> is more about the very different approaches the two have towards delightfully unsettling their viewers.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>‘\u003ca href=\"https://www.1599fdt.com/call\">Call of the Void\u003c/a>’ is on view at 1599fdT (1912 Market St., San Francisco) through Nov. 9, 2024.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Laura Rokas and Erik Bender’s two-person show at 1599fdT is a delightfully unsettling viewing experience.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728345718,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":11,"wordCount":650},"headData":{"title":"‘Call of the Void’ at 1599fdT: Unsettling Lime-Hued Paintings | KQED","description":"Laura Rokas and Erik Bender’s two-person show at 1599fdT is a delightfully unsettling viewing experience.","ogTitle":"Two Artists Answer the ‘Call of the Void’ with Lime-Hued Paintings","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"Two Artists Answer the ‘Call of the Void’ with Lime-Hued Paintings","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialTitle":"‘Call of the Void’ at 1599fdT: Unsettling Lime-Hued Paintings %%page%% %%sep%% KQED","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Two Artists Answer the ‘Call of the Void’ with Lime-Hued Paintings","datePublished":"2024-10-07T17:01:58-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-07T17:01:58-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13966213","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13966213/call-of-the-void-laura-rokas-erik-bender-1599fdt","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>It felt appropriate to visit a show titled \u003ci>\u003ca href=\"https://www.1599fdt.com/call\">Call of the Void\u003c/a>\u003c/i> during an unrelenting heat wave. A deep, dark, cool nothingness was all my reptile brain desired as I walked down an unshaded stretch of Market Street.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While there wasn’t any physical relief inside 1599fdT (now relocated from Chinatown to 1912 Market Street), at least there was a kind of mental escape in the form of Laura Rokas and Erik Bender’s lime-hued show. This has been an important year for a certain slimy shade, but Rokas and Bender’s take on the color is less \u003ci>brat\u003c/i>, more lime Jell-O, with flashes of green-as-otherworldly threat from 1979’s \u003ci>Alien\u003c/i>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Their work is a study in contrasts, and yet both artists exhibit an eye-catching attention to their surfaces. Rokas’ paintings on canvas, linen and paper employ an almost photorealist approach to found images. Bender is the abstractionist of the pair, with dark, very vertical paintings ruptured by organic slices of green.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966219\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000.jpg\" alt=\"two paintings on white wall, one small and abstract, the other of a figure in leather holding a switch\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1461\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966219\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000-800x584.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000-1020x745.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000-160x117.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000-768x561.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000-1536x1122.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-1_2000-1920x1403.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Installation view of ‘Call of the Void’ with Erik Bender’s ‘Burning Star (Gate I),’ at left and Laura Rokas’ ‘Coup de Fouet’ at right. \u003ccite>(Courtesy the artists and 1599fdT)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>As is often the case with art first seen on a screen, I was completely thrown by the scale of the work in \u003ci>Call of the Void\u003c/i>. Some of Rokas’ framed paintings on paper are jewel-like: small, concentrated renderings of a dated Jell-O dish and a woman bent backward, exposing her throat. They’re eerie, compelling in their beautifully rendered detail, but their size somewhat conceals their power. By contrast, there’s no missing the impact of \u003ci>Coup de Fouet\u003c/i> (“whiplash” in French), a portrait of a leather-clad dominatrix from the haughty lips down.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fittingly, this 36-by-32-inch painting exerts an assured dominance over the show, even opposite Bender’s six-foot-tall stunner \u003ci>Soulbreaker\u003c/i>. Rendered in cool gray-blues that capture the sheen of the figure’s jacket, \u003ci>Coup de Fouet\u003c/i> is held taut by the curve of a switch. Such tension characterizes Rokas’ work throughout: a freeze frame of a cyclist’s padded rear end; a sleek bike brake waiting to be squeezed; a Jell-O dish sure to quiver as soon as it’s set upon the table.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966220\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1983px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"large abstract painting with gray green plant shape at center on dark green and orange background\" width=\"1983\" height=\"2560\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966220\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-scaled.jpg 1983w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-800x1033.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-1020x1317.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-160x207.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-768x991.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-1190x1536.jpg 1190w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-1586x2048.jpg 1586w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Install-8_2000-1920x2479.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1983px) 100vw, 1983px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Erik Bender, ‘Circadia,’ 2024; Acrylic on canvas, 47 x 35 inches. \u003ccite>(Courtesy the artist and 1599fdT)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Bender’s acrylic and oil paintings on canvas (and sometimes carved plaster) trade detail for layers and textures. Where Rokas’ greens seem to come from the oversaturated ink of ’70s printed matter, Bender uses the hue as a sickly warning color — too toxic to signal anything but “beware.” With loose brushwork, he conjures green plant shapes out of dark backgrounds, or gestures delicately at the fine filaments of a twisting, portal-like spiderweb.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In \u003ci>Circadia\u003c/i>, his strongest contribution to the show, black and olive paint washes over another warning color: safety orange. A ghostly, sanded-down silhouette at the painting’s center is almost figurative — an orchid turned into a specter.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The call of the void is an intrusive, self-destructive thought. What if I jumped? What if I swerved? But the void is also the blank canvas, the empty work table, the clean expanse of a white gallery wall. While certain variables are shared between the artists in this show (both Bender and Rokas make paintings, both have leaned toward the chartreuse end of the spectrum), \u003ci>Call of the Void\u003c/i> is more about the very different approaches the two have towards delightfully unsettling their viewers.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>‘\u003ca href=\"https://www.1599fdt.com/call\">Call of the Void\u003c/a>’ is on view at 1599fdT (1912 Market St., San Francisco) through Nov. 9, 2024.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13966213/call-of-the-void-laura-rokas-erik-bender-1599fdt","authors":["61"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_70"],"tags":["arts_769","arts_585","arts_901"],"featImg":"arts_13966217","label":"arts"},"food_1337741":{"type":"posts","id":"food_1337741","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"food","id":"1337741","score":null,"sort":[1728405340000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"nancy-pelosi-reps-bay-area-pizza","title":"Nancy Pelosi Reps Bay Area Pizza","publishDate":1728405340,"format":"video","headTitle":"Nancy Pelosi Reps Bay Area Pizza | KQED","labelTerm":{},"content":"\u003cp>We caught up with Nancy Pelosi walking the halls of KQED after her \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/forum/2010101906876/nancy-pelosi-explains-the-art-of-power\">Forum interview\u003c/a> earlier this month. We couldn’t miss an opportunity to ask her the most pertinent follow-up question of all: What Bay Area meal will help fuel us through this election season?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Pelosi didn’t miss a beat before responding pizza.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Pizza? Not the dish most would associate with the Bay Area and it got us thinking. What \u003cem>is\u003c/em> Bay Area pizza? We asked our followers on KQED Food’s Instagram account for their take on what defines local pizza. Some of you said sourdough crust, others said fresh toppings. We took to the streets to try some of your suggestions for ourselves, including \u003ca href=\"https://cheeseboardcollective.coop/\">Cheese Board\u003c/a> in North Berkeley and \u003ca href=\"https://www.goldenboypizza.com/sanfrancisco.php\">Golden Boy\u003c/a> in North Beach.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Subscribe to KQED Food’s \u003cstrong>\u003ca href=\"http://youtube.com/@KQEDFood?sub_confirmation=1\">YouTube channel\u003c/a> \u003c/strong>and follow us on \u003cstrong>\u003ca href=\"http://instagram.com/KQEDFood\">social\u003c/a>.\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>About No Crumbs:\u003c/strong> In KQED’s No Crumbs, host Josh Decolongon is a foodie field reporter, uncovering histories and celebrating the culture behind the Bay Area’s exciting and diverse culinary landscape. No Crumbs will inspire new perspectives on the Bay Area food scene you thought you knew. No Crumbs is produced by Josh Decolongon and Janelle Hessig for KQED.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":null,"status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728407536,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":7,"wordCount":214},"headData":{"title":"Nancy Pelosi Reps Bay Area Pizza | KQED","description":"We asked Nancy Pelosi what Bay Area meal would help fuel us through election season and she suggests pizza. But what is Bay Area pizza?","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialDescription":"We asked Nancy Pelosi what Bay Area meal would help fuel us through election season and she suggests pizza. But what is Bay Area pizza?","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Nancy Pelosi Reps Bay Area Pizza","datePublished":"2024-10-08T09:35:40-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-08T10:12:16-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"videoEmbed":"https://youtu.be/9hzPyr69meQ?feature=shared","source":"Food","sourceUrl":"https://www.kqed.org/food","sticky":false,"nprByline":"Josh Decolongon","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","showOnAuthorArchivePages":"No","articleAge":"0","path":"/food/1337741/nancy-pelosi-reps-bay-area-pizza","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>We caught up with Nancy Pelosi walking the halls of KQED after her \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/forum/2010101906876/nancy-pelosi-explains-the-art-of-power\">Forum interview\u003c/a> earlier this month. We couldn’t miss an opportunity to ask her the most pertinent follow-up question of all: What Bay Area meal will help fuel us through this election season?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Pelosi didn’t miss a beat before responding pizza.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Pizza? Not the dish most would associate with the Bay Area and it got us thinking. What \u003cem>is\u003c/em> Bay Area pizza? We asked our followers on KQED Food’s Instagram account for their take on what defines local pizza. Some of you said sourdough crust, others said fresh toppings. We took to the streets to try some of your suggestions for ourselves, including \u003ca href=\"https://cheeseboardcollective.coop/\">Cheese Board\u003c/a> in North Berkeley and \u003ca href=\"https://www.goldenboypizza.com/sanfrancisco.php\">Golden Boy\u003c/a> in North Beach.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Subscribe to KQED Food’s \u003cstrong>\u003ca href=\"http://youtube.com/@KQEDFood?sub_confirmation=1\">YouTube channel\u003c/a> \u003c/strong>and follow us on \u003cstrong>\u003ca href=\"http://instagram.com/KQEDFood\">social\u003c/a>.\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>About No Crumbs:\u003c/strong> In KQED’s No Crumbs, host Josh Decolongon is a foodie field reporter, uncovering histories and celebrating the culture behind the Bay Area’s exciting and diverse culinary landscape. No Crumbs will inspire new perspectives on the Bay Area food scene you thought you knew. No Crumbs is produced by Josh Decolongon and Janelle Hessig for KQED.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/food/1337741/nancy-pelosi-reps-bay-area-pizza","authors":["byline_food_1337741"],"series":["food_331"],"categories":["food_1"],"tags":["food_373","food_371","food_261","food_372"],"featImg":"food_1337778","label":"source_food_1337741"},"arts_13966121":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13966121","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13966121","score":null,"sort":[1728073404000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"guatemalan-food-truck-san-jose-shaddai","title":"San Jose Gets a Guatemalan Food Truck","publishDate":1728073404,"format":"standard","headTitle":"San Jose Gets a Guatemalan Food Truck | KQED","labelTerm":{},"content":"\u003cp>Food trucks tend to focus on meals that can be enjoyed on the go, so when I came across Shaddai, a new Guatemalan food truck in San Jose, I was shocked to see cooks walking steaming-hot bowls of pepián de gallina and caldo de res over to eager diners. More than that, the menu is huge — literally a banner as tall as the truck — and features hard-to-find specialties like chow mein tostadas and Guatemalan enchiladas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Located in a bustling food truck park on the outskirts of downtown, Shaddai is the creation of Betxaida Lopez. Lopez and her family moved from the Guatemalan city of Tiquisate, Escuintla to San Jose when she was seven years old. As an adult, she started a housecleaning business with her mother, Irma Lopez. They often talked about opening a restaurant together but never expected the opportunity would come straight to their door.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“My brother is a contractor,” Lopez explains. “A guy who hired him couldn’t pay cash, so he offered him the truck.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966136\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966136\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck.jpg\" alt='A food truck. The name on the logo reads, \"Shaddai Guatemalan Cuisine.\"' width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The truck is located in a food truck park just outside of downtown San Jose. \u003ccite>(Octavio Peña)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Although Lopez’s professional kitchen experience up until that point was limited to a few months at a local pizzeria, she jumped at the opportunity. In the months before the truck launched, she and her mother cooked side by side until Lopez felt she had mastered her mother’s repertoire of traditional recipes and techniques.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Her hard work has paid off. The churrasco chapin at Shaddai feels like a plate you might be offered at a Lopez family barbecue. While it resembles the kind of carne asada plate you might find at other Latin American restaurants, the flavors and textures are distinctly Guatemalan. The grilled steak is loaded with chirmol, a charred tomato salsa; the black beans have been blended to a thick, pudding-like consistency; and the rice is speckled with peas and carrots. If you want the full family party experience, visit Shaddai on the weekends and sit under the gazebo adorned with string lights while brave diners sing Spanish oldies at the outdoor karaoke station and children play in the bounce house.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966137\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966137\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin.jpg\" alt=\"A Styrofoam plate with salsa-covered steak, rice, puréed beans and a side of tortillas.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The churrasco chapin is a distinctly Guatemalan take on the typical carne asada plate. \u003ccite>(Octavio Peña)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>I heard one customer exclaim, “¡A la gran puchica voz!” (essentially, “damn!”) just from reading a sticker on Shaddai’s window — a reflection, perhaps, of how excited locals are to have a Guatemalan food option close to home.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Most of our customers are Guatemalan,” says Lopez. “There’s no food truck or restaurant that’s Guatemalan in San Jose. People tell us they would travel to San Francisco, but now it’s here.” (While there are a small handful of \u003ca href=\"https://www.yelp.com/biz/antojitos-chapines-guatemala-and-mexican-food-san-jose\">Guatemalan-owned food businesses\u003c/a> in the area, none of them serve a full-fledged, exclusively Guatemalan menu like Shaddai’s.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Since Shaddai is located in a parking lot packed with a variety of other food trucks, it also attracts a fair number of wandering customers unfamiliar with the cuisine. After all, it’s hard to walk past a menu promoting tostadas topped with chow mein and dry, salted cheese without doing a double-take. While that particular dish sounds like a strange, modern fusion, chow mein tostadas actually have roots in Guatemala’s Chinese immigrant community going back to the \u003ca href=\"http://web.archive.org/web/20130912105353/http://publicogt.com/2013/06/05/migraciaon-china-en-guatemala/\">early 1900s\u003c/a>. They remain a \u003ca href=\"https://lamag.com/news/essential-t-chow-mein-tostadas-at-guatemalteca-bakery-restaurant\">popular street food item\u003c/a> to this day. Another notable variation on tostadas is Shaddai’s garnachas: fresh tortilla chips topped with shredded beef along with the same salsa and curtido that accompany pupusas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966138\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966138\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada.jpg\" alt=\"A tostada topped with ground beef, pickled beets and a slice of hard-boiled egg.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Guatemala’s version of enchiladas consists of a tostada topped with ground beef, pickled beets and a slice of hard-boiled egg. \u003ccite>(Octavio Peña)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>When Lopez mentioned that her favorite dish is enchiladas, I nodded along in agreement, thinking of the saucy fried tortillas my family enjoys each week. Then Lopez clarified, “It’s way different from Mexican enchiladas.” As it turns out, the Guatemalan version is made by tossing ground meat in tomato sauce and loading it onto a tostada with mayo, lettuce, pickled beets and slices of hard-boiled egg. Every bite is fresh, bright and savory.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13923359,arts_13954112,arts_13925233']Some items like pepián de gallina, a chicken stew made with pumpkin seeds and sesame seeds, are only available on weekends when the truck is fully staffed. “Pepián is our signature dish in Guatemala,” says Lopez. “It’s like the mole for Mexico. We would love to have it every day, but it’s delicate.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s also always a surprise or two on the menu each weekend. In past weeks, Lopez has made frijol colorado con costillas, chiles rellenos, and an incredibly crisp version of fried chicken. I’ve tried almost everything. Among the weekend specials, one of my favorites is the rellenitos — plump, fried, sugar-coated ovals made from plantains and stuffed with sweet beans or manjar (a milk-based filling).\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966140\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966140\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos.jpg\" alt=\"Sugar-coated rellenitos, a fried plantain pastry.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1125\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos-1920x1080.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Rellenitos, a sugar-coated dessert made with fried mashed plantains. \u003ccite>(Octavio Peña)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Each plate of food at Shaddai comes staked with a toothpick that proudly waves a Guatemalan flag. It’s a reflection of Lopez’s pride for her home country and excitement to share the cuisine with the South Bay. These days, she and her mother cook together on the truck six days a week — a fulfillment of the elder Lopez’s lifelong dream.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“At a young age, my mom taught me to shoot for the stars,” Lopez says. “Little by little we’re getting there. It feels nice to say I’m a business owner.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/shaddai.cuisine/\">\u003ci>Shaddai Guatemalan Cuisine\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003ci> (1302 South 1st St., San Jose) is open Tuesday–Friday 11 a.m to 8 p.m., Saturday and Sunday 11 a.m.–10 p.m. Cash only.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966134\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966134\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez.jpg\" alt=\"Two women — the operators of the Shaddai food truck — pose for a portrait in front of the truck.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1373\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez-800x549.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez-1020x700.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez-160x110.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez-768x527.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez-1536x1054.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez-1920x1318.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Irma (lef) and Betxaida Lopez. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Shaddai)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Shaddai serves an expansive menu of hard-to-find traditional dishes like garnachas and chow mein tostadas.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1728074051,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":16,"wordCount":1039},"headData":{"title":"San Jose Gets a Guatemalan Food Truck | KQED","description":"Shaddai serves an expansive menu of hard-to-find traditional dishes like garnachas and chow mein tostadas.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"San Jose Gets a Guatemalan Food Truck","datePublished":"2024-10-04T13:23:24-07:00","dateModified":"2024-10-04T13:34:11-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"source":"Food","sourceUrl":"https://www.kqed.org/food","sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13966121","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13966121/guatemalan-food-truck-san-jose-shaddai","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Food trucks tend to focus on meals that can be enjoyed on the go, so when I came across Shaddai, a new Guatemalan food truck in San Jose, I was shocked to see cooks walking steaming-hot bowls of pepián de gallina and caldo de res over to eager diners. More than that, the menu is huge — literally a banner as tall as the truck — and features hard-to-find specialties like chow mein tostadas and Guatemalan enchiladas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Located in a bustling food truck park on the outskirts of downtown, Shaddai is the creation of Betxaida Lopez. Lopez and her family moved from the Guatemalan city of Tiquisate, Escuintla to San Jose when she was seven years old. As an adult, she started a housecleaning business with her mother, Irma Lopez. They often talked about opening a restaurant together but never expected the opportunity would come straight to their door.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“My brother is a contractor,” Lopez explains. “A guy who hired him couldn’t pay cash, so he offered him the truck.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966136\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966136\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck.jpg\" alt='A food truck. The name on the logo reads, \"Shaddai Guatemalan Cuisine.\"' width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Truck-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The truck is located in a food truck park just outside of downtown San Jose. \u003ccite>(Octavio Peña)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Although Lopez’s professional kitchen experience up until that point was limited to a few months at a local pizzeria, she jumped at the opportunity. In the months before the truck launched, she and her mother cooked side by side until Lopez felt she had mastered her mother’s repertoire of traditional recipes and techniques.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Her hard work has paid off. The churrasco chapin at Shaddai feels like a plate you might be offered at a Lopez family barbecue. While it resembles the kind of carne asada plate you might find at other Latin American restaurants, the flavors and textures are distinctly Guatemalan. The grilled steak is loaded with chirmol, a charred tomato salsa; the black beans have been blended to a thick, pudding-like consistency; and the rice is speckled with peas and carrots. If you want the full family party experience, visit Shaddai on the weekends and sit under the gazebo adorned with string lights while brave diners sing Spanish oldies at the outdoor karaoke station and children play in the bounce house.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966137\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966137\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin.jpg\" alt=\"A Styrofoam plate with salsa-covered steak, rice, puréed beans and a side of tortillas.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Churrasco-Chapin-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The churrasco chapin is a distinctly Guatemalan take on the typical carne asada plate. \u003ccite>(Octavio Peña)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>I heard one customer exclaim, “¡A la gran puchica voz!” (essentially, “damn!”) just from reading a sticker on Shaddai’s window — a reflection, perhaps, of how excited locals are to have a Guatemalan food option close to home.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Most of our customers are Guatemalan,” says Lopez. “There’s no food truck or restaurant that’s Guatemalan in San Jose. People tell us they would travel to San Francisco, but now it’s here.” (While there are a small handful of \u003ca href=\"https://www.yelp.com/biz/antojitos-chapines-guatemala-and-mexican-food-san-jose\">Guatemalan-owned food businesses\u003c/a> in the area, none of them serve a full-fledged, exclusively Guatemalan menu like Shaddai’s.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Since Shaddai is located in a parking lot packed with a variety of other food trucks, it also attracts a fair number of wandering customers unfamiliar with the cuisine. After all, it’s hard to walk past a menu promoting tostadas topped with chow mein and dry, salted cheese without doing a double-take. While that particular dish sounds like a strange, modern fusion, chow mein tostadas actually have roots in Guatemala’s Chinese immigrant community going back to the \u003ca href=\"http://web.archive.org/web/20130912105353/http://publicogt.com/2013/06/05/migraciaon-china-en-guatemala/\">early 1900s\u003c/a>. They remain a \u003ca href=\"https://lamag.com/news/essential-t-chow-mein-tostadas-at-guatemalteca-bakery-restaurant\">popular street food item\u003c/a> to this day. Another notable variation on tostadas is Shaddai’s garnachas: fresh tortilla chips topped with shredded beef along with the same salsa and curtido that accompany pupusas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966138\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966138\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada.jpg\" alt=\"A tostada topped with ground beef, pickled beets and a slice of hard-boiled egg.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Enchilada-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Guatemala’s version of enchiladas consists of a tostada topped with ground beef, pickled beets and a slice of hard-boiled egg. \u003ccite>(Octavio Peña)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>When Lopez mentioned that her favorite dish is enchiladas, I nodded along in agreement, thinking of the saucy fried tortillas my family enjoys each week. Then Lopez clarified, “It’s way different from Mexican enchiladas.” As it turns out, the Guatemalan version is made by tossing ground meat in tomato sauce and loading it onto a tostada with mayo, lettuce, pickled beets and slices of hard-boiled egg. Every bite is fresh, bright and savory.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13923359,arts_13954112,arts_13925233","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Some items like pepián de gallina, a chicken stew made with pumpkin seeds and sesame seeds, are only available on weekends when the truck is fully staffed. “Pepián is our signature dish in Guatemala,” says Lopez. “It’s like the mole for Mexico. We would love to have it every day, but it’s delicate.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s also always a surprise or two on the menu each weekend. In past weeks, Lopez has made frijol colorado con costillas, chiles rellenos, and an incredibly crisp version of fried chicken. I’ve tried almost everything. Among the weekend specials, one of my favorites is the rellenitos — plump, fried, sugar-coated ovals made from plantains and stuffed with sweet beans or manjar (a milk-based filling).\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966140\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966140\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos.jpg\" alt=\"Sugar-coated rellenitos, a fried plantain pastry.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1125\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Rellenitos-1920x1080.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Rellenitos, a sugar-coated dessert made with fried mashed plantains. \u003ccite>(Octavio Peña)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Each plate of food at Shaddai comes staked with a toothpick that proudly waves a Guatemalan flag. It’s a reflection of Lopez’s pride for her home country and excitement to share the cuisine with the South Bay. These days, she and her mother cook together on the truck six days a week — a fulfillment of the elder Lopez’s lifelong dream.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“At a young age, my mom taught me to shoot for the stars,” Lopez says. “Little by little we’re getting there. It feels nice to say I’m a business owner.”\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/shaddai.cuisine/\">\u003ci>Shaddai Guatemalan Cuisine\u003c/i>\u003c/a>\u003ci> (1302 South 1st St., San Jose) is open Tuesday–Friday 11 a.m to 8 p.m., Saturday and Sunday 11 a.m.–10 p.m. Cash only.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13966134\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13966134\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez.jpg\" alt=\"Two women — the operators of the Shaddai food truck — pose for a portrait in front of the truck.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1373\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez-800x549.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez-1020x700.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez-160x110.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez-768x527.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez-1536x1054.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/10/Irma-Left-and-Betxaida-Right-Lopez-1920x1318.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Irma (lef) and Betxaida Lopez. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Shaddai)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13966121/guatemalan-food-truck-san-jose-shaddai","authors":["11903"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_12276"],"tags":["arts_10278","arts_1297","arts_22196","arts_14801","arts_1084"],"featImg":"arts_13966130","label":"source_arts_13966121"},"arts_13955802":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13955802","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13955802","score":null,"sort":[1713390752000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"bay-area-rappers-food-lyrics-illustrations-e-40-larry-june","title":"Here’s What Bay Area Rappers Are Eating (According to Their Lyrics)","publishDate":1713390752,"format":"standard","headTitle":"Here’s What Bay Area Rappers Are Eating (According to Their Lyrics) | KQED","labelTerm":{},"content":"\u003cp>[dropcap]W[/dropcap]hen conveying what it means to really be from the Bay Area, I often return to this simple yet revelatory \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/mac-dre\">Mac Dre\u003c/a> lyric: “In the Bay Area, we dance a little different.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Whether it’s in our music, political activism or technological contributions, there’s a certain out-of-box forwardness that tends to manifest from Bay Area minds — a distinguishable pride in how we approach everything with a savvy sprinkling of game, hustlership and top-tier ideation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The same can be said for the Bay Area’s food scene, which ranks among the nation’s best and most imaginative. From sourdough bread to the eternal Mission-style burrito, the Bay’s foodmakers have often been ahead of the curve, helping to revolutionize menus nationwide with their fresh farm-to-table approach. To borrow from the great Mac, one could say that in the Bay Area, we \u003ci>eat\u003c/i> a little different.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[aside postID='arts_13907726,arts_13934248']\u003c/span>It’s no surprise, then, that in the history of local rap, food has always been a strong reference point — a metaphorical kitchen for creative exchange. An endless platter of well-seasoned slang. For decades, our rappers have delivered punchlines involving sauce, lasagna and \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XMah0rX6pGU\">lumpia\u003c/a>; dropped verses that generously reference \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkBJR5L2nas\">desserts and bakeries\u003c/a>; and supplied entire songs about stacking bread, cheese and lettuce as lucrative sandwiches.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.sfchronicle.com/food/restaurants/article/bay-area-rap-shrimp-crab-17915372.php\">Food-loving Bay Area rappers\u003c/a> have always been bold when it comes to transmorphing culinary items and kitchen utensils into slang that others then appropriate and even misuse (see: “\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13908052/food-doesnt-slap\">food doesn’t slap\u003c/a>”). Shock G once talked about getting busy in a Burger King bathroom and declared, “I like my oatmeal lumpy.” On “Dreganomics,” Mac Dre himself asked, “What’s spaghetti without the sauce?” We’ve got Suga T (sweet) and Spice 1 (hot). Berner founded \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/cookiessf/?hl=en\">Cookies\u003c/a>. And just a few weeks ago, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13900085/stunnaman02-and-the-big-steppin-energy-in-the-room\">Stunnaman02\u003c/a> dropped a whole series of viral videos centered on his latest single. His focus? \u003ca href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/@jayworrld/video/7340701934355254574\">Eating a salad\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s a unifying ethos in Bay Area food and rap: \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E6GU3PmttyI\">Everybody eats\u003c/a>. So here’s a brief ode to some of our region’s most skilled vocabulary chefs and the tasteful ways they’ve reimagined the ingredients of language that are possible in a kitchen — and the recording studio.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956090\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956090\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper E-40 in sunglasses and a beige apron, holding a glass of red wine. In front of him are a burrito and a grilled cheese sandwich.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">E-40 might be the most prolific inventor of food-related slang words in the English language. He’s a head chef in the Bay Area’s rap kingdom. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>E-40: Green eggs, hams, candy yams, Spam, cheese, peanut butter and jam on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=etIBcRriUJY\">The Slap\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Digital scale, green eggs and hams / Yams, candy yams, Spam, damn! / Loaded, my cheese, peanut butter and jam / Sammich, mannish, me and my Hispanics / Vanish, talkin’ in codes like we from different planets.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though it may sound like gibberish to the uninitiated, rest assured that \u003ca href=\"https://firstwefeast.com/eat/2013/12/food-rap-decoded-with-e-40-video\">99.99% of anything 40 Water vocalizes has a cleverly associative meaning\u003c/a>. For anyone who has listened to one of the more than 25 studio albums from Vallejo’s kingpin, you’ve surely heard him mention food — perhaps in a variety of languages (some real, some ingeniously invented). In addition to the smorgasbord he notes above in “The Slap,” he has pioneered rhymes across generations that give new meanings to Gouda, feta, mozzarella, lettuce, bread, sausage, salami, paninis, spaghetti, tacos and enchiladas — ad infinitum. Unsurprisingly, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13907726/e-40-goon-with-the-spoon-bay-area-rappers-food-entrepreneurs-hustle\">Mr. Fonzarelli is an actual purveyor of foods and beverages\u003c/a>, with a line of products that includes malt liquor, ice cream and burritos; he even co-owns \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/thelumpiacompany/\">The Lumpia Company\u003c/a>. There’s no one with a bigger million-dollar mouthpiece who can distribute as much word candy (“S-L-A-N-G”) quite as flavorfully as the Goon With The Spoon himself.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Andre Nickatina: TOGO’s #41 sandwich with the hot peppers on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FU1XdPE6lM\">Fa Show\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Baby don’t act dumb, I’m number 41, high stepper / TOGO’s sandwich with the hot peppers / At 90 degrees I might freeze, so when it’s hot I sport leather.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fillmore’s finest, and among \u003ca href=\"https://www.passionweiss.com/2016/11/17/andre-nickatina/\">the most criminally underrated San Francisco rappers in history\u003c/a>, Andre Nickatina has always had a penchant for the spicy, the flavorful, the extemporaneously saucy. From rapping about eating Cap’n Crunch around drug dealers to sarcastically handing out Baskin Robbins dollars to his enemies, Nicky Nicotine (formerly known as Dre Dog) raps about food as casually as any rapper would ever dare. Unlike many of today’s international rap personalities, who seem to only eat at \u003ca href=\"https://www.reddit.com/r/OutOfTheLoop/comments/6frbt9/why_are_rappers_obsessed_with_nobu_sushi/\">high-priced sushi conglomerates\u003c/a>, Nickatina is a Bay Area real one, electing to stay fed at a regional sandwich chain from San Jose. The enigmatic “number 41” on the \u003ca href=\"https://www.togos.com/menu/?gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAjwoPOwBhAeEiwAJuXRh69gJ2fS8J9qmnAKJEnCmI5720psTxEmhEmkgFAemWoe3auyNuuxExoCTm0QAvD_BwE\">Togo’s menu\u003c/a> has since been discontinued, but a spokesperson for the restaurant IDed it as a sirloin steak and mushroom sandwich that was introduced as a seasonal special back in 2002 — the same year “Fa Show” was released. There is no doubt it must’ve been fire, given its endorsement by a legend who knows how to professionally “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8TXpoi-goE\">Break Bread\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956088\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956088\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper Kamaiyah eating from a plate of chicken alfredo tucked under her arm. Next to her is a bottle of champagne.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kamaiyah’s album covers often feature food, Hennessey and champagne — a reflection of the rapper’s saucy, bossy lifestyle. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Kamaiyah: Champagne and chicken on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yls2dMJ63tM\">Whatever Whenever\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Just drink champagne with all my chicken meals.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s fitting that East Oakland’s Kamaiyah — who cooked up the searingly hot single “How Does It Feel” on her transcendent debut, \u003ci>A Good Night in the Ghetto\u003c/i> — continued to double down on aspirational living and good eating with her sophomore release, \u003ci>Got It Made\u003c/i>. As always, the bodacious trapper rhymes over a synth-laced, floaty-spaceship soundscape while bragging about her California riches — and cuisine. The music video for “Whatever Whenever” features Kamaiyah roaming the untainted grounds of a Napa Valley-esque chateau. Her album covers over the years have also featured bags of potato chips, Hennessy and double-fisted bottles of champagne. It’s always bottoms up when Kamaiyah is on the track.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Too $hort: Macaroni, steak and collard greens on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ru5B8cFskaw\">All My B*tches Are Gone\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Eat some shit up / macaroni, steak, collard greens, or whatever the fuck.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With over 35 years of classic albums like \u003ci>Cocktails\u003c/i> and \u003ci>Gettin’ It\u003c/i>, there’s no doubt that Short Dogg knows how to feed his multi-generational fanbase. He doesn’t shy away from straightforward lyrics — or having a large appetite for nefarious activities — and he has continued to make seasoned slaps for precisely 225,000 hours and counting (“get a calculator, do the math”). This OG’s plate of choice includes classic soul food staples served with a slab of steak. As the veteran unmistakably outlines on “This How We Eat”: “We make money, we eat, we feed.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956087\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956087\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper Larry June in an SF Giants cap, holding a crab cracker in one hand and a fork in the other. In front of him is a whole lobster on a plate.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Besides establishing himself as the healthiest rapper in Bay Area lore, Larry June is also known for sporting vintage muscle cars and cracking lobsters in Sausalito as part of his luxurious lifestyle. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Larry June: Crab legs on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=luIhlZBrJos\">Lifetime Income\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“This not my girlfriend, we just eatin’ crab legs.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you know Larry June, then you know he’s all about smoothies, green teas, organic juices and oranges (yee hee!). But just as buttery are his numerously silky references to luxury meals and late-night outings with a seemingly endless rotation of women friends. Without question, the Hunters Point rapper has one of the healthiest appetites of anyone around a microphone, regularly dropping rhymes about his organic sustenance. Since Uncle Larry makes a living off his out-of-pocket food references, he merits an honorable mention for dropping other absolute bangers like “I might write a motherfuckin’ smoothie book or somethin’ … Sell this shit for thirty dollars” and “Watermelon juice riding bikes with my latest chick / I don’t do the clubs that often, I got a check to get.” It’s fitting that \u003ca href=\"https://uproxx.com/music/larry-june-interview-san-francisco/\">he also co-owns Honeybear Boba in the Dogpatch\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Iamsu!: Chicken strips and Moscato on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQcxMU3uvLg\">Don’t Stop\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Keep it real I don’t brag though… / Chicken strips, no escargot / [sippin’] on the Moscato.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To be fair, this lyric is from a young, mixtape-era Iamsu! and might not reflect the current palate of the multi-platinum rapper and producer from Richmond. (In fact, that’s probably true of every rapper on this list, so take these lyrics with a grain of salt.) But when I first heard this song in my 20s, it’s a line that did — and still does — resonate for its unglamorized celebration of living on a low-budget microwaveable diet while maintaining a glimmer of high-life ambition. Personally, I’d take chicken strips over escargot nine out of ten times. And, from the sound of it, so would Suzy 6 Speed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956086\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956086\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"The rapper P-Lo wiggles his fingers in delight over a plate of chicken wings sitting on a bed of dollar bills.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">P-Lo often raps about his love of chicken (chicken adobo, fried chicken, chicken wings), and his favorite food-related slang word is also “chicken” (as a stand in for “money”). \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>P-Lo: Chicken wings in the strip club on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-ajtPhAQ1U\">Going To Work\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“In the strip club eating chicken wings.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">[aside postID='arts_13938479']\u003c/span>There may not be another rapper on this list with as much love for chicken wings as Pinole’s P-Lo. For starters, the lyricist and producer launched a transnational food tour, teaming up with Filipino restaurants around the U.S. and Canada to deliver collaborative one-off dishes, including \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13935891/p-lo-senor-sisig-filipino-food-tour-oakland\">his own spicy sinigang wings at Señor Sisig in Oakland\u003c/a>. If that’s not enough, he has popped up on popular social media channels like \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/bayareafoodz/?hl=en\">Bay Area Foodz\u003c/a> as \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJYkVcpM6E0\">he searches for the best wings around the Yay\u003c/a>. His songs are even featured on \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/reel/CwyzdhfrNCE/\">national commercials for Wingstop\u003c/a>. For P-Lo, it’s always time to bring back the bass — and taste.\u003cb>\u003ci>\u003c/i>\u003c/b>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Guap (formerly Guapdad 4000): Chicken adobo on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1DaovaJgytE\">Chicken Adobo\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“How I fell in love with you it was beautiful / Like chicken adobo how you fill me up.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the Black Filipino American rapper from West Oakland, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13905208/a-new-generation-of-filipino-hip-hop-builds-on-a-deep-bay-area-legacy\">food has always played a central role in his upbringing\u003c/a>. The anime-loving, Marvel comics fan grew up in a Filipino household eating champorado, and his songs have never shied away from references to his dual cultures. In what might be his most well-known song, Guap equates romantic satiation to filling up on a bowl of chicken adobo. His love of food goes beyond the booth — he recently spoke out on \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13950363/keith-lee-tiktok-oakland-sf-bay-area-struggles\">the recent Keith Lee fiasco\u003c/a>, and he also put together\u003ca href=\"https://trippin.world/guide/oaklands-top-food-joints-with-rapper-guapdad-4000\"> a map of his favorite places to eat around The Town\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Cellski: Canadian bacon, hash browns and cheddar cheese on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6wFRZOd7n8\">Chedda\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Gotta get the cheddar, fuck the [federals].”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As most food mentions in Bay Area rap goes, Cellski’s mention of this quintessentially North American breakfast combo isn’t exactly a homage to the real ingredients, as much as it is a reference to his hustling. His 1998 \u003ca href=\"https://www.discogs.com/release/841568-Cellski-Canadian-Bacon-Hash-Browns/image/SW1hZ2U6NDg3ODMxNzk=\">album cover\u003c/a> for \u003ci>Canadian Bacon & Hash Browns \u003c/i>features a cartoon depiction of the rapper getting pulled over and arrested by a Canadian mountie, with an open trunk revealing pounds of medicinal herbs. Nonetheless, there’s a good chance that the veteran San Francisco spitter actually does like to carry Canadian bacon, hash browns and cheddar around — \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13922141/cellskis-big-mafi-burgers-come-with-a-side-of-sf-rap-history\">he’s a part-time foodie who runs his own burger pop-up, after all\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956089\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956089\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper Dru Down in gold sunglasses and a black trench coat, holding an ice cream cone in one hand and an ice cream sundae on the table in front of him.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">In a famous 1996 beef, Dru Down and the Luniz accused New Orleans rapper Master P (who started his musical career in the Bay Area) for stealing their concept of the “Ice Cream Man” — slang for a narcotics dealer. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Dru Down: Ice cream on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uNv2qAje-Q\">Ice Cream Man\u003c/a>” (with the Luniz)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Get your ice cream, ice cream / Not Ice-T, not Ice Cube, ice cream.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Not intended for children, the classic 1993 anthem off Dru Down’s \u003ci>Fools From The Street \u003c/i>paints a startling picture of addiction and illicit drug distribution around Oakland in the wake of Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan’s War on Drugs. Despite its unapologetic content, “Ice Cream Man” went on to establish an indisputably popular food motif in national rap music: ice cream as a stand-in for drug dealing. Since the production includes an audio sampling of an ice cream truck’s inimitable tune, listening to it evokes a sense of nostalgia for the frozen treat — and for \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop\">golden-era Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"A brief look at some of the Bay Area’s most notoriously hungry rappers — and the foods they’ve lyricized about.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726791358,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":28,"wordCount":2210},"headData":{"title":"Bay Area Rappers and Food Lyrics | KQED","description":"A brief look at some of the Bay Area’s most notoriously hungry rappers — and the foods they’ve lyricized about.","ogTitle":"Here’s What Bay Area Rappers Are Eating (According to Their Lyrics)","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"Here’s What Bay Area Rappers Are Eating (According to Their Lyrics)","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialTitle":"Bay Area Rappers and Food Lyrics %%page%% %%sep%% KQED","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Here’s What Bay Area Rappers Are Eating (According to Their Lyrics)","datePublished":"2024-04-17T14:52:32-07:00","dateModified":"2024-09-19T17:15:58-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"source":"Food","sourceUrl":"https://www.kqed.org/food","sticky":false,"excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13955802/bay-area-rappers-food-lyrics-illustrations-e-40-larry-june","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class=\"utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__dropcapShortcode__dropcap\">W\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>hen conveying what it means to really be from the Bay Area, I often return to this simple yet revelatory \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/tag/mac-dre\">Mac Dre\u003c/a> lyric: “In the Bay Area, we dance a little different.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Whether it’s in our music, political activism or technological contributions, there’s a certain out-of-box forwardness that tends to manifest from Bay Area minds — a distinguishable pride in how we approach everything with a savvy sprinkling of game, hustlership and top-tier ideation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The same can be said for the Bay Area’s food scene, which ranks among the nation’s best and most imaginative. From sourdough bread to the eternal Mission-style burrito, the Bay’s foodmakers have often been ahead of the curve, helping to revolutionize menus nationwide with their fresh farm-to-table approach. To borrow from the great Mac, one could say that in the Bay Area, we \u003ci>eat\u003c/i> a little different.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13907726,arts_13934248","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/span>It’s no surprise, then, that in the history of local rap, food has always been a strong reference point — a metaphorical kitchen for creative exchange. An endless platter of well-seasoned slang. For decades, our rappers have delivered punchlines involving sauce, lasagna and \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XMah0rX6pGU\">lumpia\u003c/a>; dropped verses that generously reference \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkBJR5L2nas\">desserts and bakeries\u003c/a>; and supplied entire songs about stacking bread, cheese and lettuce as lucrative sandwiches.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.sfchronicle.com/food/restaurants/article/bay-area-rap-shrimp-crab-17915372.php\">Food-loving Bay Area rappers\u003c/a> have always been bold when it comes to transmorphing culinary items and kitchen utensils into slang that others then appropriate and even misuse (see: “\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13908052/food-doesnt-slap\">food doesn’t slap\u003c/a>”). Shock G once talked about getting busy in a Burger King bathroom and declared, “I like my oatmeal lumpy.” On “Dreganomics,” Mac Dre himself asked, “What’s spaghetti without the sauce?” We’ve got Suga T (sweet) and Spice 1 (hot). Berner founded \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/cookiessf/?hl=en\">Cookies\u003c/a>. And just a few weeks ago, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13900085/stunnaman02-and-the-big-steppin-energy-in-the-room\">Stunnaman02\u003c/a> dropped a whole series of viral videos centered on his latest single. His focus? \u003ca href=\"https://www.tiktok.com/@jayworrld/video/7340701934355254574\">Eating a salad\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s a unifying ethos in Bay Area food and rap: \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E6GU3PmttyI\">Everybody eats\u003c/a>. So here’s a brief ode to some of our region’s most skilled vocabulary chefs and the tasteful ways they’ve reimagined the ingredients of language that are possible in a kitchen — and the recording studio.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956090\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956090\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper E-40 in sunglasses and a beige apron, holding a glass of red wine. In front of him are a burrito and a grilled cheese sandwich.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/E40-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">E-40 might be the most prolific inventor of food-related slang words in the English language. He’s a head chef in the Bay Area’s rap kingdom. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>E-40: Green eggs, hams, candy yams, Spam, cheese, peanut butter and jam on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=etIBcRriUJY\">The Slap\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Digital scale, green eggs and hams / Yams, candy yams, Spam, damn! / Loaded, my cheese, peanut butter and jam / Sammich, mannish, me and my Hispanics / Vanish, talkin’ in codes like we from different planets.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though it may sound like gibberish to the uninitiated, rest assured that \u003ca href=\"https://firstwefeast.com/eat/2013/12/food-rap-decoded-with-e-40-video\">99.99% of anything 40 Water vocalizes has a cleverly associative meaning\u003c/a>. For anyone who has listened to one of the more than 25 studio albums from Vallejo’s kingpin, you’ve surely heard him mention food — perhaps in a variety of languages (some real, some ingeniously invented). In addition to the smorgasbord he notes above in “The Slap,” he has pioneered rhymes across generations that give new meanings to Gouda, feta, mozzarella, lettuce, bread, sausage, salami, paninis, spaghetti, tacos and enchiladas — ad infinitum. Unsurprisingly, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13907726/e-40-goon-with-the-spoon-bay-area-rappers-food-entrepreneurs-hustle\">Mr. Fonzarelli is an actual purveyor of foods and beverages\u003c/a>, with a line of products that includes malt liquor, ice cream and burritos; he even co-owns \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/thelumpiacompany/\">The Lumpia Company\u003c/a>. There’s no one with a bigger million-dollar mouthpiece who can distribute as much word candy (“S-L-A-N-G”) quite as flavorfully as the Goon With The Spoon himself.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Andre Nickatina: TOGO’s #41 sandwich with the hot peppers on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_FU1XdPE6lM\">Fa Show\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Baby don’t act dumb, I’m number 41, high stepper / TOGO’s sandwich with the hot peppers / At 90 degrees I might freeze, so when it’s hot I sport leather.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fillmore’s finest, and among \u003ca href=\"https://www.passionweiss.com/2016/11/17/andre-nickatina/\">the most criminally underrated San Francisco rappers in history\u003c/a>, Andre Nickatina has always had a penchant for the spicy, the flavorful, the extemporaneously saucy. From rapping about eating Cap’n Crunch around drug dealers to sarcastically handing out Baskin Robbins dollars to his enemies, Nicky Nicotine (formerly known as Dre Dog) raps about food as casually as any rapper would ever dare. Unlike many of today’s international rap personalities, who seem to only eat at \u003ca href=\"https://www.reddit.com/r/OutOfTheLoop/comments/6frbt9/why_are_rappers_obsessed_with_nobu_sushi/\">high-priced sushi conglomerates\u003c/a>, Nickatina is a Bay Area real one, electing to stay fed at a regional sandwich chain from San Jose. The enigmatic “number 41” on the \u003ca href=\"https://www.togos.com/menu/?gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAjwoPOwBhAeEiwAJuXRh69gJ2fS8J9qmnAKJEnCmI5720psTxEmhEmkgFAemWoe3auyNuuxExoCTm0QAvD_BwE\">Togo’s menu\u003c/a> has since been discontinued, but a spokesperson for the restaurant IDed it as a sirloin steak and mushroom sandwich that was introduced as a seasonal special back in 2002 — the same year “Fa Show” was released. There is no doubt it must’ve been fire, given its endorsement by a legend who knows how to professionally “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8TXpoi-goE\">Break Bread\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956088\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956088\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper Kamaiyah eating from a plate of chicken alfredo tucked under her arm. Next to her is a bottle of champagne.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/KAMAIYAH-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kamaiyah’s album covers often feature food, Hennessey and champagne — a reflection of the rapper’s saucy, bossy lifestyle. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Kamaiyah: Champagne and chicken on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yls2dMJ63tM\">Whatever Whenever\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Just drink champagne with all my chicken meals.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s fitting that East Oakland’s Kamaiyah — who cooked up the searingly hot single “How Does It Feel” on her transcendent debut, \u003ci>A Good Night in the Ghetto\u003c/i> — continued to double down on aspirational living and good eating with her sophomore release, \u003ci>Got It Made\u003c/i>. As always, the bodacious trapper rhymes over a synth-laced, floaty-spaceship soundscape while bragging about her California riches — and cuisine. The music video for “Whatever Whenever” features Kamaiyah roaming the untainted grounds of a Napa Valley-esque chateau. Her album covers over the years have also featured bags of potato chips, Hennessy and double-fisted bottles of champagne. It’s always bottoms up when Kamaiyah is on the track.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Too $hort: Macaroni, steak and collard greens on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ru5B8cFskaw\">All My B*tches Are Gone\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Eat some shit up / macaroni, steak, collard greens, or whatever the fuck.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With over 35 years of classic albums like \u003ci>Cocktails\u003c/i> and \u003ci>Gettin’ It\u003c/i>, there’s no doubt that Short Dogg knows how to feed his multi-generational fanbase. He doesn’t shy away from straightforward lyrics — or having a large appetite for nefarious activities — and he has continued to make seasoned slaps for precisely 225,000 hours and counting (“get a calculator, do the math”). This OG’s plate of choice includes classic soul food staples served with a slab of steak. As the veteran unmistakably outlines on “This How We Eat”: “We make money, we eat, we feed.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956087\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956087\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper Larry June in an SF Giants cap, holding a crab cracker in one hand and a fork in the other. In front of him is a whole lobster on a plate.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/LARRY-JUNE-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Besides establishing himself as the healthiest rapper in Bay Area lore, Larry June is also known for sporting vintage muscle cars and cracking lobsters in Sausalito as part of his luxurious lifestyle. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Larry June: Crab legs on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=luIhlZBrJos\">Lifetime Income\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“This not my girlfriend, we just eatin’ crab legs.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you know Larry June, then you know he’s all about smoothies, green teas, organic juices and oranges (yee hee!). But just as buttery are his numerously silky references to luxury meals and late-night outings with a seemingly endless rotation of women friends. Without question, the Hunters Point rapper has one of the healthiest appetites of anyone around a microphone, regularly dropping rhymes about his organic sustenance. Since Uncle Larry makes a living off his out-of-pocket food references, he merits an honorable mention for dropping other absolute bangers like “I might write a motherfuckin’ smoothie book or somethin’ … Sell this shit for thirty dollars” and “Watermelon juice riding bikes with my latest chick / I don’t do the clubs that often, I got a check to get.” It’s fitting that \u003ca href=\"https://uproxx.com/music/larry-june-interview-san-francisco/\">he also co-owns Honeybear Boba in the Dogpatch\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Iamsu!: Chicken strips and Moscato on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQcxMU3uvLg\">Don’t Stop\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Keep it real I don’t brag though… / Chicken strips, no escargot / [sippin’] on the Moscato.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To be fair, this lyric is from a young, mixtape-era Iamsu! and might not reflect the current palate of the multi-platinum rapper and producer from Richmond. (In fact, that’s probably true of every rapper on this list, so take these lyrics with a grain of salt.) But when I first heard this song in my 20s, it’s a line that did — and still does — resonate for its unglamorized celebration of living on a low-budget microwaveable diet while maintaining a glimmer of high-life ambition. Personally, I’d take chicken strips over escargot nine out of ten times. And, from the sound of it, so would Suzy 6 Speed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956086\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956086\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"The rapper P-Lo wiggles his fingers in delight over a plate of chicken wings sitting on a bed of dollar bills.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/PLO-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">P-Lo often raps about his love of chicken (chicken adobo, fried chicken, chicken wings), and his favorite food-related slang word is also “chicken” (as a stand in for “money”). \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>P-Lo: Chicken wings in the strip club on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-ajtPhAQ1U\">Going To Work\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“In the strip club eating chicken wings.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13938479","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/span>There may not be another rapper on this list with as much love for chicken wings as Pinole’s P-Lo. For starters, the lyricist and producer launched a transnational food tour, teaming up with Filipino restaurants around the U.S. and Canada to deliver collaborative one-off dishes, including \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13935891/p-lo-senor-sisig-filipino-food-tour-oakland\">his own spicy sinigang wings at Señor Sisig in Oakland\u003c/a>. If that’s not enough, he has popped up on popular social media channels like \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/bayareafoodz/?hl=en\">Bay Area Foodz\u003c/a> as \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJYkVcpM6E0\">he searches for the best wings around the Yay\u003c/a>. His songs are even featured on \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/reel/CwyzdhfrNCE/\">national commercials for Wingstop\u003c/a>. For P-Lo, it’s always time to bring back the bass — and taste.\u003cb>\u003ci>\u003c/i>\u003c/b>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Guap (formerly Guapdad 4000): Chicken adobo on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1DaovaJgytE\">Chicken Adobo\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“How I fell in love with you it was beautiful / Like chicken adobo how you fill me up.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the Black Filipino American rapper from West Oakland, \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13905208/a-new-generation-of-filipino-hip-hop-builds-on-a-deep-bay-area-legacy\">food has always played a central role in his upbringing\u003c/a>. The anime-loving, Marvel comics fan grew up in a Filipino household eating champorado, and his songs have never shied away from references to his dual cultures. In what might be his most well-known song, Guap equates romantic satiation to filling up on a bowl of chicken adobo. His love of food goes beyond the booth — he recently spoke out on \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13950363/keith-lee-tiktok-oakland-sf-bay-area-struggles\">the recent Keith Lee fiasco\u003c/a>, and he also put together\u003ca href=\"https://trippin.world/guide/oaklands-top-food-joints-with-rapper-guapdad-4000\"> a map of his favorite places to eat around The Town\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Cellski: Canadian bacon, hash browns and cheddar cheese on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6wFRZOd7n8\">Chedda\u003c/a>”\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Gotta get the cheddar, fuck the [federals].”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As most food mentions in Bay Area rap goes, Cellski’s mention of this quintessentially North American breakfast combo isn’t exactly a homage to the real ingredients, as much as it is a reference to his hustling. His 1998 \u003ca href=\"https://www.discogs.com/release/841568-Cellski-Canadian-Bacon-Hash-Browns/image/SW1hZ2U6NDg3ODMxNzk=\">album cover\u003c/a> for \u003ci>Canadian Bacon & Hash Browns \u003c/i>features a cartoon depiction of the rapper getting pulled over and arrested by a Canadian mountie, with an open trunk revealing pounds of medicinal herbs. Nonetheless, there’s a good chance that the veteran San Francisco spitter actually does like to carry Canadian bacon, hash browns and cheddar around — \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13922141/cellskis-big-mafi-burgers-come-with-a-side-of-sf-rap-history\">he’s a part-time foodie who runs his own burger pop-up, after all\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13956089\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13956089\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1.jpg\" alt=\"Illustration of the rapper Dru Down in gold sunglasses and a black trench coat, holding an ice cream cone in one hand and an ice cream sundae on the table in front of him.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"2000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-1536x1536.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/04/DRU-DOWN-Color-1-1920x1920.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">In a famous 1996 beef, Dru Down and the Luniz accused New Orleans rapper Master P (who started his musical career in the Bay Area) for stealing their concept of the “Ice Cream Man” — slang for a narcotics dealer. \u003ccite>(Torre / @torre.pentel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Dru Down: Ice cream on “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uNv2qAje-Q\">Ice Cream Man\u003c/a>” (with the Luniz)\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>“Get your ice cream, ice cream / Not Ice-T, not Ice Cube, ice cream.”\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Not intended for children, the classic 1993 anthem off Dru Down’s \u003ci>Fools From The Street \u003c/i>paints a startling picture of addiction and illicit drug distribution around Oakland in the wake of Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan’s War on Drugs. Despite its unapologetic content, “Ice Cream Man” went on to establish an indisputably popular food motif in national rap music: ice cream as a stand-in for drug dealing. Since the production includes an audio sampling of an ice cream truck’s inimitable tune, listening to it evokes a sense of nostalgia for the frozen treat — and for \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop\">golden-era Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13955802/bay-area-rappers-food-lyrics-illustrations-e-40-larry-june","authors":["11748"],"series":["arts_22314"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_12276","arts_69"],"tags":["arts_21883","arts_5397","arts_1601","arts_10278","arts_1297","arts_3771","arts_831","arts_21738","arts_1558","arts_9337","arts_1143","arts_1803","arts_1146","arts_19347","arts_3478","arts_3800"],"featImg":"arts_13956152","label":"source_arts_13955802"},"arts_13952260":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13952260","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13952260","score":null,"sort":[1707929631000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"turntablism-invisibl-skratch-piklz-legacy-impact","title":"Turntablism’s Mightiest Heroes: The Legacy, Impact and Aesthetics of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz","publishDate":1707929631,"format":"aside","headTitle":"Turntablism’s Mightiest Heroes: The Legacy, Impact and Aesthetics of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz | KQED","labelTerm":{},"content":"\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952272\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1080px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952272\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1080\" height=\"1080\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017.jpg 1080w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-768x768.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1080px) 100vw, 1080px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Invisibl Skratch Piklz’ cultural impact over the past 40 years has been felt around the globe. The crew is pictured here backstage in San Francisco in 2017. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003cstrong>Editor’s note\u003c/strong>: This story is part of \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">That’s My Word\u003c/a>\u003cem>, KQED’s story series on \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a> history.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On an overcast November day in Oakland, DJ Shortkut – a member of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz DJ crew – was the featured performer on a boat cruise, as part of the DMC World DJ Finals festivities. The weather didn’t get too rough during the two-hour tour, which meandered out to the Bay Bridge and back to port at Jack London Square. The worst was some mildly choppy squalls into fierce headwinds. Because this wasn’t your average boat cruise – its attendees mainly consisted of DJs from all over the world in town for the DMC battle – the ship’s crew circled around Treasure Island for a bit, instead of heading further out into the open sea.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The calmer waters allowed Shortkut, who had been playing a vibrant set of mostly classic midtempo hip-hop, to show off his mixing and scratching skills a bit. As the boat headed back toward its East Bay dock, Shortkut unleashed an impressive display of scratching skills that lasted for a good five minutes. As the boat neared its mooring, the DJ called his peers to the turntables. What followed was an unforgettable, and super-fun, display of global turntablism at its best, as each DJ in succession laid down a wicked scratch segment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13937761\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13937761\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"A person with a shaved head stands at a table as a screen behind them shows the images of several people.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut performs with Invisibl Skratch Piklz during the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>It seemed appropriate for Shortkut to be leading the activities. Once a battle entrant in the DMCs himself and understudy to fellow Piklz Qbert, Apollo, and Mix Master Mike, Shortkut has become an accomplished master in his own right – most recently playing an opening set on LL Cool J’s star-studded Hip Hop 50 tour. The message to the younger DJs on the boat was clear: keep developing your skills and be a balanced DJ who can rise to any occasion – scratching and beat-juggling skills are nice, but rocking a party with impeccable selection while displaying your skills is even better.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Perfecting – and Teaching – the Art\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Piklz first rose to prominence during the ’90s, winning multiple world DJ battle titles as a crew and individually while displaying innovative new techniques that elevated turntablism to unprecedented heights. After revolutionizing the artform and birthing scratch music as a genre, by the decade’s end, they had left an indelible mark on DJ culture and furthered its global reach.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952265\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952265\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1196\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-800x544.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-1020x694.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-768x522.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-1536x1044.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Japan in 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Christie Zee, the organizer for 2023’s DMC World Battle, held in San Francisco, has worked off and on for the London-based organization since 1998. She first became aware of the Piklz from an old boyfriend’s copy of DJ Qbert’s \u003cem>Demolition Pumpkin Squeeze Musik\u003c/em> mixtape – “It just had so much scratching and it was so fun,” she says. She recalls meeting the crew for the first time in 1999, at the DMC World Finals.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I’m really delicate, really careful about (saying) \u003cem>pioneer\u003c/em> versus \u003cem>legend\u003c/em>, but I do think they were pioneering, because of things they’ve innovated and presented and invented,” she says. “They didn’t invent the scratch, but they just progressed the hell out of it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Obviously they have titles under their belts,” says Rob Swift, a founding member of the X-Men/X-Ecutioners, the New York turntablists who famously battled the Piklz in 1996. “But for me, I would say their most pivotal contribution to DJing is teaching the art. Before the Invisibl Skratch Piklz, nobody was teaching. DJing was a secret art.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952266\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952266\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1192\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-800x542.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-1020x691.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-768x520.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-1536x1041.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz with Japanese fans, 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Swift – who’s been teaching a DJ course at the New School for Liberal Arts in New York since 2014 – speaks from experience. Within months of Qbert developing the crab scratch, Swift was using the technique in battles. He cites the instructional \u003cem>Turntable TV\u003c/em> series of video tutorials as not only an inspiration for the X-Men, but also for other DJs and even corporate entities. As a result, more people started DJing and the culture grew.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Before the Piklz, all of us had our own personal terminology for DJing. But the Piklz started (creating) terms that globally started to become accepted and become the consensus terms… Q started giving individual techniques specific names. In doing so, it made the art teachable, because you can’t teach someone by saying, yo, make it go \u003cem>wigga wigga wigga wigga\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Now these guys are selling videos to kids in Japan, kids in Canada, kids across the country, kids in Europe that had no clue how to do this shit… Myself, (Roc) Raida, Mista Sinista, (Total) Eclipse, we were inspired by Q, and we started teaching how to juggle, and we made videotapes just like them.” Without the Picklz, he says, there wouldn’t be “the ripple effects of what we see now, of all these DJ schools, all of these people teaching on YouTube, all these online tutorials, all these companies designing gear with all these effects.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952270\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952270\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1156\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-800x526.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-1020x670.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-160x105.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-768x505.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-1536x1009.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at Vestax headquarters in Tokyo, Japan, to preview their signature mixer. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Signature Models and Scratch Technique\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Piklz also served as consultants to audio companies like Vestax and Ortofon to develop ISP-branded mixers and needles; more recently, Shortkut served as a brand ambassador for Serato’s vinyl emulation software. In a 2022 video tutorial for \u003cem>Wired\u003c/em>, the master turntablist demonstrates 15 levels of scratching, from the basic “baby scratch” to complex combos, rhythm and drum scratches, and the beat-juggle.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>According to Shortkut, beat-juggling is “live manual remixing, basically, with two turntables and a mixer” utilizing two copies of the same record, or two different records. When done properly, the technique creates an entirely new beat using existing sounds.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mix Master Mike estimates that he and Qbert have named hundreds of specific scratches. Among his original contributions is the “Tweaker,” which was developed accidentally, due to a power outage. “When you cut a turntable off, the sound still comes out of it” when the needle is left on the record. “You got to manually move the belt with your hand, which (makes) a totally way-out, dragging sound from the record.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952268\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1186\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952268\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-800x539.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-1020x688.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-768x518.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-1536x1036.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz, mid-routine in Seattle, 1994. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In live shows, Mike deploys an arsenal of sound banks with trees of various audio samples for different instruments. He often improvises his sets – rarely playing the same scratch solo twice. With all the scratches he’s invented, “If I’m performing live, it’s all about if I can remember it on the spot.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Qbert’s most ubiquitous scratch may be the crab, which uses the crossfader to chop the audio signal, similar to the transformer scratch. Unlike the transformer – performed with just thumb and forefinger – the crab utilizes a rapid tapping motion with the other three fingers, resulting in finer chops, like a triplet of 1/16th notes instead of quarter-notes. The crab can then be combined with other techniques like the stab, the tear, or the orbit to create an infinite number of scratch patterns.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Q says the crab has nothing to do with crustaceans, actually. It was originally called the crepe, based off a food order he’d made in Lebanon. Except no one could pronounce the rolled r’s of a Lebanese accent correctly. Among the other scratches he’s named personally, “there’s like the hydro, the laser, the phaser, the swipe, oh man, let’s see, there’s the clover tear, the prism scratch. … there’s so many.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952274\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 749px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952274\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/1996-Vestax-ISP-ad.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"749\" height=\"960\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/1996-Vestax-ISP-ad.jpg 749w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/1996-Vestax-ISP-ad-160x205.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 749px) 100vw, 749px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A Vestax advertisement for the Invisibl Skratch Piklz’ signature mixer. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>100mph Backsliding Turkey Kuts\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Piklz began developing tools for DJs with the original \u003cem>Battle Breaks\u003c/em> vinyl record, which resampled various sound effects and verbal phrases, making them more scratch-friendly and accessible. Their imprint Dirt Style has released dozens of such records over the decades with names like \u003cem>Bionic Booger Breaks\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Buttcrack Breaks\u003c/em>, or \u003cem>Scratch Fetishes of the Third Kind\u003c/em>. These records are sometimes credited to DJ Qbert, DJ Flare or Mix Master Mike, and sometimes credited to aliases like the Psychedelic Scratch Bastards, The Wax Fondler and Darth Fader.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Battle Breaks\u003c/em> led to another innovation: the \u003cem>Scratchy Seal\u003c/em> series of skipless records. As Qbert explains, there’s a science behind this. “If you look at the turntable, it spins at 33 ⅓ — 33.33333 (revolutions) per minute. If you just make the BPM of the sound effect 33-point-dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee, the magic number, it’s all going to be repetitive. No matter where the needle jumps, it’s going to land on the same sound again.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952264\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952264\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Qbert and Mix Master Mike backstage at the 2023 DMC championships in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>How\u003c/em> the Piklz scratched also made a difference. According to crew member D-Styles, prior to the Piklz, “a lot of the scratch styles were straight ahead. It was very on the beat. ” He likens the Piklz’ approach to Bird and Dizzy’s excursions in the bebop era – “being ahead of the beat, or behind the beat, being more free with it, not so (much) in the line.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While there were other DJ crews before the Piklz, Swift says, the idea of a turntable orchestra was uncharted territory. “One guy would take a horn hit, another guy would take drums, the other guy would take vocals. Nobody was doing that before the Piklz.” This became a common practice, and led to the introduction of team routines in major battles. Qbert remarks that he and the other Piklz have been doing synchronized routines for so long, the communication between them has become telepathic. “It’s just kind of like walking in step.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952269\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1173\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952269\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Qbert onstage with guitarist Buckethead at the Jazznojazz Festival in Zurich, 1995. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Another advancement was the first all-scratching record, i.e. a musical composition consisting entirely of scratched sounds. The scratch music trend resulted in a slew of solo releases — many of them on the now-defunct Bomb Hip Hop label – as well as group albums from the X-Ecutioners, The Allies, and Birdy Nam Nam, and one-offs like El Stew, an alternative supergroup featuring guitarist Buckethead, ISP alumni DJ Disk and producer Eddie Def. After turntablism’s initial wave died down in the early 2000s, the Piklz continued to develop the genre, which Shortkut says has become its own culture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It’s a niche market,” Qbert says. “But I’m totally immersed in it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952275\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952275\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at a Red Bull event. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘It’s Just Some Human Shit, and It’s a Beautiful Thing’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>On his solo albums, Qbert has frequently explored sci-fi themes, beginning with 1998’s \u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em>, and continuing with 2014’s \u003cem>Extraterrestria\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Galaxxxian\u003c/em>, 2020’s \u003cem>Origins (Wave Twisters 0)\u003c/em>, and 2022’s \u003cem>Next Cosmos\u003c/em>. He’s imagined what scratch music from across the galaxy might sound like, evoking starships navigating irradiated asteroid belts, alien creatures scurrying across cratered landscapes, and underwater temples emanating immemorial chants over percussive beats, while turning Rakim and Too Short phrases into Zen mantras. He’s done all this by embracing the musical possibilities of the turntable.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“On what other equipment could you make the sounds go backwards and forwards and just do all these weird things with it? You know, with your hands,” he says. Unlike pressing buttons on a computer, “this is like fucking connected to your soul. It’s not like AI can do it. It’s just some human shit, and it’s a beautiful thing.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mix Master Mike served as the official DJ for the Beastie Boys from 1998 up until 2012, later joined Cypress Hill, and has toured with arena rock giants Metallica, Guns ‘N’ Roses, and Godsmack, playing to crowds of up to 50,000. His solo catalog has expanded the turntablism field into new arenas – literally. “I’ve always targeted the rock audience,” Mike says. “I’m not just hip-hop. I’m everything around it. The greatness is having to conquer uncharted territories.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I like to remain mysterious in that sense as far as being a mysterious artist and being unpredictable. I’m the risk taker, right? It’s therapeutic for me at this point, but it’s like I’m just taking it as a mission because nobody’s doing this.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952267\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952267\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1196\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-800x544.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-1020x694.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-768x522.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-1536x1044.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>This philosophy extends from live shows to recordings. “Growing up, I was always listening to soundtrack music. Lalo Schifrin, Quincy Jones, Ennio Morricone.” His goal in making records is to capture a cinematic sense, to make “a soundtrack that can live forever.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>His newest release, 2023’s \u003cem>Opus X Magnum\u003c/em>, is a headphone album with arena sensibilities. Or vice-versa. There’s lots of subtle instrumental and sound effect-y passages, along with chest-pumping drums and serpentine basslines. The quieter moments are few, but precious. MMM’s Pikl heritage is evident in the way horns, keyboards and vocal phrases are scratched vicariously, resulting in twisty turns that keep your ears guessing what’s next. To the artist’s credit, \u003cem>Opus\u003c/em> does sound epically cinematic throughout, its constantly changing moods and textures suggesting perpetual motion and a full dose of adrenaline.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>D-Styles’ two solo albums, released 17 years apart, illustrate his artistic growth. 2002’s \u003cem>Phantazmagorea\u003c/em> delves into dark themes, with vocal phrases seemingly selected for shock value, along with recognizable scratched snippets from KRS-One and Stetsasonic. 2019’s \u003cem>Noises In the Right Order\u003c/em> – inspired by a residency at Low End Theory, a club night frequented by lo-fi producers – recalls DJ Shadow’s \u003cem>Endtroducing\u003c/em> and the trip-hop era, while still using found vocals as documentary. D-Styles says \u003cem>Noises\u003c/em> was about being “more musical and less technical.” There’s plenty of scratching, but the emphasis is on overall composition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952271\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 597px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952271\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-at-HEIRO-DAY-2016.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"597\" height=\"506\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-at-HEIRO-DAY-2016.jpg 597w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-at-HEIRO-DAY-2016-160x136.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 597px) 100vw, 597px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at Hiero Day 2016 in Oakland. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Being a turntable composer, D-Styles maintains, means using scratching’s vocabulary as a musical language. “You look at it like an alphabet. You got chirps, you got flares, you got crabs, you got autobahns, you got Stewie’s, and all of that stuff. You can add swing to it, you could be ahead of the beat. Behind the beat. You can accent. There’s so much that goes into putting these combinations together.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Many Styles\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Apollo and Shortkut, meanwhile, joined forces with former ITF World Champion Vin Roc in 1999 to form Triple Threat, a DJ crew whose mission was to integrate turntablism into party-rocking live sets. “Just coming up as turntablists, we kind of like, created little monsters everywhere,” Apollo says. “All they would do is scratch in their bedrooms.” There’s more to DJing, he says, than just doing tricks and scratching and juggling.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Triple Threat released a well-received 2003 album, \u003cem>Many Styles\u003c/em>, which blended turntablist-oriented tracks with emcee features from Planet Asia, Black Thought, Souls of Mischief and Zion-I. The trio toured the United States and Asia regularly, and remained active up until the late 2010s. Apollo – who judged the DMC World Finals last year – still identifies as a Pikl, and says his focus nowadays is on upgrading his studio and reestablishing himself as a producer; he hopes to contribute some tracks to future ISP albums.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952276\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1440px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1440\" height=\"1920\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952276\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut.jpg 1440w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-1152x1536.jpg 1152w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1440px) 100vw, 1440px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut, at right, on the F.O.R.C.E. Tour with (L–R) DJ Z-Trip, LL Cool J and DJ Jazzy Jeff. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Shortkut’s recorded output mainly consists of DJ mixtapes covering a wide variety of genres, but he did produce 2012’s “Twelve,” a funky, fun track with “Sesame Street”-esque vocal samples, for the Beat Junkies 45 Series, as well as 2017’s “Mini-Wheels,” a 7-inch single for Thud Rumble, and “Short Rugs,” a limited-edition slipmat designed for 45 rpm records and a 7-inch record with three skipless vinyl scratch tracks. He’s been an occasional headliner at DJ Platurn’s 45 Sessions party; playing all-vinyl sets, he says, helps him maintain his sanity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After a lengthy break following 2000’s “final” performance, Qbert, Shortkut and D-Styles officially reformed as ISP for 2015’s \u003cem>The 13th Floor\u003c/em>, their first full-length release. “This was the first time as a scratch artist that I’ve felt able to do shows with the Piklz where people know the songs,” Shortkut says. The album’s moods range from dark to soulful to jazzy, and were intended to be templates for live performances that typically involve improvised scratch soloing over a structured song with defined instrumental parts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952273\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1500px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952273\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1500\" height=\"1000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015.jpg 1500w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-768x512.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1500px) 100vw, 1500px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Japan, making their ’13th Floor’ album in 2015. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Many of \u003cem>The 13th Floor\u003c/em>’s compositional elements were developed by D-Styles, who went on to become an online instructor at the Beat Junkies Institute of Sound in 2019. He notes the Piklz are more than halfway through their next, as-yet-untitled album — several tracks from which they previewed live during their recent DMC showcase in San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“My strength is, I’m always in the studio,” says D-Styles. “I always have these ideas, these sketches that I’ll try at home by myself. But I always have parts in mind, so if i have drums, I’ll be like, this is perfect for Shortkut. And then I have these keyboards, you know, these notes. So I’ll carry that side. And then I’ll give Q this (vocal) phrase. And I know he’ll know what to do with it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Aesthetics That ‘Vibrate a Certain Way’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Qbert maintains he’s still a student, trying to learn new things after all these years. He keeps pushing himself to new levels because he doesn’t want to repeat what he’s already done. “You got to come unique and original, or else it’s like, fucking wack. Or it’s, \u003cem>ah… he did the same shit last time\u003c/em>, you know? I don’t want to hear that.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952294\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1811px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1811\" height=\"600\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952294\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_.jpg 1811w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-800x265.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-1020x338.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-160x53.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-768x254.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-1536x509.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1811px) 100vw, 1811px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A sample of Qbert’s visual aesthetic from three full-length albums: ‘Extraterrestria,’ ‘Origins Wave Twisters 0,’ and ‘Next Cosmos in 5D.’\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The most sublime aspect of the Piklz legacy may be their aesthetic, best described as part kung-fu, part sci-fi, part zany humor, yet firmly grounded in DJ culture and hip-hop expression. This is reflected in Mike and Q’s outsize personalities. “Those two in particular are very much outside of this Earth,” says Christie Z, noting that Mike’s custom Serato vinyl is covered in Zectarian language. (In 2017, Qbert joined Mike for a duo performance of MMM’s alienesque single “Channel Zecktar” live at the NAMM showcase.) Artists are sometimes kooky, she says, but she’s used to it by now. “That’s what they do.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Unsurprisingly, perhaps, Mike sees himself as a glowing, ultramagnetic, cosmic antenna. “I would say, you know, my brain is like a super cerebral satellite dish that I’m just logging into the channels in my mind, and I call it the access to the interstellar network, my own interstellar network that’s going on in my head.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As for Qbert, “nowadays I work off of karma,” he says. Though he’s consulted for audio companies before, when he’s asked for input, he doesn’t insist on contractual agreements. “I’ll give you the honest truth.” If a mixer could be sleeker and more ergonomic, he’ll say so. He feels equipment makers could be more visionary and futuristic with their products. “They could put chromatherapy in these things, you know, they vibrate a certain way to make it heal you as a human.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For all of Qbert’s zany sense of humor and embracing of otherworldliness, he’s remarkably down to earth at times. That is to say, his ideology isn’t illogical at all – just advanced.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“With any art, if you’re deep into it, you’re already touching infinity,” he says. “So you could do so many things in it that you haven’t done. And there’s freakin’ a bag of infinity left — that is never-ending.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-11687704\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"60\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-400x30.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-768x58.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"The Skratch Piklz' innovations in scratch technique, education and battle tools have impacted the globe. ","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726790337,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":46,"wordCount":3685},"headData":{"title":"Turntablism’s Mightiest Heroes: The Legacy, Impact and Aesthetics of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz | KQED","description":"The Skratch Piklz' innovations in scratch technique, education and battle tools have impacted the globe. ","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"Turntablism’s Mightiest Heroes: The Legacy, Impact and Aesthetics of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz","datePublished":"2024-02-14T08:53:51-08:00","dateModified":"2024-09-19T16:58:57-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"source":"That's My Word","sourceUrl":"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop","sticky":false,"templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13952260/turntablism-invisibl-skratch-piklz-legacy-impact","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952272\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1080px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952272\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1080\" height=\"1080\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017.jpg 1080w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-1020x1020.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-backstage-in-SF-2017-768x768.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1080px) 100vw, 1080px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Invisibl Skratch Piklz’ cultural impact over the past 40 years has been felt around the globe. The crew is pictured here backstage in San Francisco in 2017. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003cstrong>Editor’s note\u003c/strong>: This story is part of \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">That’s My Word\u003c/a>\u003cem>, KQED’s story series on \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a> history.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On an overcast November day in Oakland, DJ Shortkut – a member of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz DJ crew – was the featured performer on a boat cruise, as part of the DMC World DJ Finals festivities. The weather didn’t get too rough during the two-hour tour, which meandered out to the Bay Bridge and back to port at Jack London Square. The worst was some mildly choppy squalls into fierce headwinds. Because this wasn’t your average boat cruise – its attendees mainly consisted of DJs from all over the world in town for the DMC battle – the ship’s crew circled around Treasure Island for a bit, instead of heading further out into the open sea.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The calmer waters allowed Shortkut, who had been playing a vibrant set of mostly classic midtempo hip-hop, to show off his mixing and scratching skills a bit. As the boat headed back toward its East Bay dock, Shortkut unleashed an impressive display of scratching skills that lasted for a good five minutes. As the boat neared its mooring, the DJ called his peers to the turntables. What followed was an unforgettable, and super-fun, display of global turntablism at its best, as each DJ in succession laid down a wicked scratch segment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13937761\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13937761\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"A person with a shaved head stands at a table as a screen behind them shows the images of several people.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-22-BL-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut performs with Invisibl Skratch Piklz during the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>It seemed appropriate for Shortkut to be leading the activities. Once a battle entrant in the DMCs himself and understudy to fellow Piklz Qbert, Apollo, and Mix Master Mike, Shortkut has become an accomplished master in his own right – most recently playing an opening set on LL Cool J’s star-studded Hip Hop 50 tour. The message to the younger DJs on the boat was clear: keep developing your skills and be a balanced DJ who can rise to any occasion – scratching and beat-juggling skills are nice, but rocking a party with impeccable selection while displaying your skills is even better.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Perfecting – and Teaching – the Art\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Piklz first rose to prominence during the ’90s, winning multiple world DJ battle titles as a crew and individually while displaying innovative new techniques that elevated turntablism to unprecedented heights. After revolutionizing the artform and birthing scratch music as a genre, by the decade’s end, they had left an indelible mark on DJ culture and furthered its global reach.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952265\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952265\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1196\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-800x544.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-1020x694.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-768x522.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.decks_.93-1536x1044.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Japan in 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Christie Zee, the organizer for 2023’s DMC World Battle, held in San Francisco, has worked off and on for the London-based organization since 1998. She first became aware of the Piklz from an old boyfriend’s copy of DJ Qbert’s \u003cem>Demolition Pumpkin Squeeze Musik\u003c/em> mixtape – “It just had so much scratching and it was so fun,” she says. She recalls meeting the crew for the first time in 1999, at the DMC World Finals.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I’m really delicate, really careful about (saying) \u003cem>pioneer\u003c/em> versus \u003cem>legend\u003c/em>, but I do think they were pioneering, because of things they’ve innovated and presented and invented,” she says. “They didn’t invent the scratch, but they just progressed the hell out of it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Obviously they have titles under their belts,” says Rob Swift, a founding member of the X-Men/X-Ecutioners, the New York turntablists who famously battled the Piklz in 1996. “But for me, I would say their most pivotal contribution to DJing is teaching the art. Before the Invisibl Skratch Piklz, nobody was teaching. DJing was a secret art.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952266\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952266\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1192\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-800x542.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-1020x691.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-768x520.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan2_-1536x1041.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz with Japanese fans, 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Swift – who’s been teaching a DJ course at the New School for Liberal Arts in New York since 2014 – speaks from experience. Within months of Qbert developing the crab scratch, Swift was using the technique in battles. He cites the instructional \u003cem>Turntable TV\u003c/em> series of video tutorials as not only an inspiration for the X-Men, but also for other DJs and even corporate entities. As a result, more people started DJing and the culture grew.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Before the Piklz, all of us had our own personal terminology for DJing. But the Piklz started (creating) terms that globally started to become accepted and become the consensus terms… Q started giving individual techniques specific names. In doing so, it made the art teachable, because you can’t teach someone by saying, yo, make it go \u003cem>wigga wigga wigga wigga\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Now these guys are selling videos to kids in Japan, kids in Canada, kids across the country, kids in Europe that had no clue how to do this shit… Myself, (Roc) Raida, Mista Sinista, (Total) Eclipse, we were inspired by Q, and we started teaching how to juggle, and we made videotapes just like them.” Without the Picklz, he says, there wouldn’t be “the ripple effects of what we see now, of all these DJ schools, all of these people teaching on YouTube, all these online tutorials, all these companies designing gear with all these effects.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952270\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952270\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1156\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-800x526.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-1020x670.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-160x105.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-768x505.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Japan_.vestax-1536x1009.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at Vestax headquarters in Tokyo, Japan, to preview their signature mixer. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Signature Models and Scratch Technique\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Piklz also served as consultants to audio companies like Vestax and Ortofon to develop ISP-branded mixers and needles; more recently, Shortkut served as a brand ambassador for Serato’s vinyl emulation software. In a 2022 video tutorial for \u003cem>Wired\u003c/em>, the master turntablist demonstrates 15 levels of scratching, from the basic “baby scratch” to complex combos, rhythm and drum scratches, and the beat-juggle.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>According to Shortkut, beat-juggling is “live manual remixing, basically, with two turntables and a mixer” utilizing two copies of the same record, or two different records. When done properly, the technique creates an entirely new beat using existing sounds.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mix Master Mike estimates that he and Qbert have named hundreds of specific scratches. Among his original contributions is the “Tweaker,” which was developed accidentally, due to a power outage. “When you cut a turntable off, the sound still comes out of it” when the needle is left on the record. “You got to manually move the belt with your hand, which (makes) a totally way-out, dragging sound from the record.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952268\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1186\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952268\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-800x539.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-1020x688.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-768x518.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.3fromsideshortkut-1536x1036.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz, mid-routine in Seattle, 1994. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In live shows, Mike deploys an arsenal of sound banks with trees of various audio samples for different instruments. He often improvises his sets – rarely playing the same scratch solo twice. With all the scratches he’s invented, “If I’m performing live, it’s all about if I can remember it on the spot.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Qbert’s most ubiquitous scratch may be the crab, which uses the crossfader to chop the audio signal, similar to the transformer scratch. Unlike the transformer – performed with just thumb and forefinger – the crab utilizes a rapid tapping motion with the other three fingers, resulting in finer chops, like a triplet of 1/16th notes instead of quarter-notes. The crab can then be combined with other techniques like the stab, the tear, or the orbit to create an infinite number of scratch patterns.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Q says the crab has nothing to do with crustaceans, actually. It was originally called the crepe, based off a food order he’d made in Lebanon. Except no one could pronounce the rolled r’s of a Lebanese accent correctly. Among the other scratches he’s named personally, “there’s like the hydro, the laser, the phaser, the swipe, oh man, let’s see, there’s the clover tear, the prism scratch. … there’s so many.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952274\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 749px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952274\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/1996-Vestax-ISP-ad.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"749\" height=\"960\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/1996-Vestax-ISP-ad.jpg 749w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/1996-Vestax-ISP-ad-160x205.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 749px) 100vw, 749px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A Vestax advertisement for the Invisibl Skratch Piklz’ signature mixer. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>100mph Backsliding Turkey Kuts\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Piklz began developing tools for DJs with the original \u003cem>Battle Breaks\u003c/em> vinyl record, which resampled various sound effects and verbal phrases, making them more scratch-friendly and accessible. Their imprint Dirt Style has released dozens of such records over the decades with names like \u003cem>Bionic Booger Breaks\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Buttcrack Breaks\u003c/em>, or \u003cem>Scratch Fetishes of the Third Kind\u003c/em>. These records are sometimes credited to DJ Qbert, DJ Flare or Mix Master Mike, and sometimes credited to aliases like the Psychedelic Scratch Bastards, The Wax Fondler and Darth Fader.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Battle Breaks\u003c/em> led to another innovation: the \u003cem>Scratchy Seal\u003c/em> series of skipless records. As Qbert explains, there’s a science behind this. “If you look at the turntable, it spins at 33 ⅓ — 33.33333 (revolutions) per minute. If you just make the BPM of the sound effect 33-point-dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee, the magic number, it’s all going to be repetitive. No matter where the needle jumps, it’s going to land on the same sound again.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952264\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952264\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_MMM_best_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2000-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Qbert and Mix Master Mike backstage at the 2023 DMC championships in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>How\u003c/em> the Piklz scratched also made a difference. According to crew member D-Styles, prior to the Piklz, “a lot of the scratch styles were straight ahead. It was very on the beat. ” He likens the Piklz’ approach to Bird and Dizzy’s excursions in the bebop era – “being ahead of the beat, or behind the beat, being more free with it, not so (much) in the line.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While there were other DJ crews before the Piklz, Swift says, the idea of a turntable orchestra was uncharted territory. “One guy would take a horn hit, another guy would take drums, the other guy would take vocals. Nobody was doing that before the Piklz.” This became a common practice, and led to the introduction of team routines in major battles. Qbert remarks that he and the other Piklz have been doing synchronized routines for so long, the communication between them has become telepathic. “It’s just kind of like walking in step.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952269\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1173\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952269\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.buckethead-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Qbert onstage with guitarist Buckethead at the Jazznojazz Festival in Zurich, 1995. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Another advancement was the first all-scratching record, i.e. a musical composition consisting entirely of scratched sounds. The scratch music trend resulted in a slew of solo releases — many of them on the now-defunct Bomb Hip Hop label – as well as group albums from the X-Ecutioners, The Allies, and Birdy Nam Nam, and one-offs like El Stew, an alternative supergroup featuring guitarist Buckethead, ISP alumni DJ Disk and producer Eddie Def. After turntablism’s initial wave died down in the early 2000s, the Piklz continued to develop the genre, which Shortkut says has become its own culture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It’s a niche market,” Qbert says. “But I’m totally immersed in it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952275\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952275\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/IMG_2459-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at a Red Bull event. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘It’s Just Some Human Shit, and It’s a Beautiful Thing’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>On his solo albums, Qbert has frequently explored sci-fi themes, beginning with 1998’s \u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em>, and continuing with 2014’s \u003cem>Extraterrestria\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Galaxxxian\u003c/em>, 2020’s \u003cem>Origins (Wave Twisters 0)\u003c/em>, and 2022’s \u003cem>Next Cosmos\u003c/em>. He’s imagined what scratch music from across the galaxy might sound like, evoking starships navigating irradiated asteroid belts, alien creatures scurrying across cratered landscapes, and underwater temples emanating immemorial chants over percussive beats, while turning Rakim and Too Short phrases into Zen mantras. He’s done all this by embracing the musical possibilities of the turntable.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“On what other equipment could you make the sounds go backwards and forwards and just do all these weird things with it? You know, with your hands,” he says. Unlike pressing buttons on a computer, “this is like fucking connected to your soul. It’s not like AI can do it. It’s just some human shit, and it’s a beautiful thing.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mix Master Mike served as the official DJ for the Beastie Boys from 1998 up until 2012, later joined Cypress Hill, and has toured with arena rock giants Metallica, Guns ‘N’ Roses, and Godsmack, playing to crowds of up to 50,000. His solo catalog has expanded the turntablism field into new arenas – literally. “I’ve always targeted the rock audience,” Mike says. “I’m not just hip-hop. I’m everything around it. The greatness is having to conquer uncharted territories.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I like to remain mysterious in that sense as far as being a mysterious artist and being unpredictable. I’m the risk taker, right? It’s therapeutic for me at this point, but it’s like I’m just taking it as a mission because nobody’s doing this.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952267\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952267\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1196\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-800x544.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-1020x694.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-768x522.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMMonthedecks-1536x1044.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>This philosophy extends from live shows to recordings. “Growing up, I was always listening to soundtrack music. Lalo Schifrin, Quincy Jones, Ennio Morricone.” His goal in making records is to capture a cinematic sense, to make “a soundtrack that can live forever.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>His newest release, 2023’s \u003cem>Opus X Magnum\u003c/em>, is a headphone album with arena sensibilities. Or vice-versa. There’s lots of subtle instrumental and sound effect-y passages, along with chest-pumping drums and serpentine basslines. The quieter moments are few, but precious. MMM’s Pikl heritage is evident in the way horns, keyboards and vocal phrases are scratched vicariously, resulting in twisty turns that keep your ears guessing what’s next. To the artist’s credit, \u003cem>Opus\u003c/em> does sound epically cinematic throughout, its constantly changing moods and textures suggesting perpetual motion and a full dose of adrenaline.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>D-Styles’ two solo albums, released 17 years apart, illustrate his artistic growth. 2002’s \u003cem>Phantazmagorea\u003c/em> delves into dark themes, with vocal phrases seemingly selected for shock value, along with recognizable scratched snippets from KRS-One and Stetsasonic. 2019’s \u003cem>Noises In the Right Order\u003c/em> – inspired by a residency at Low End Theory, a club night frequented by lo-fi producers – recalls DJ Shadow’s \u003cem>Endtroducing\u003c/em> and the trip-hop era, while still using found vocals as documentary. D-Styles says \u003cem>Noises\u003c/em> was about being “more musical and less technical.” There’s plenty of scratching, but the emphasis is on overall composition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952271\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 597px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952271\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-at-HEIRO-DAY-2016.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"597\" height=\"506\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-at-HEIRO-DAY-2016.jpg 597w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-at-HEIRO-DAY-2016-160x136.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 597px) 100vw, 597px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at Hiero Day 2016 in Oakland. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Being a turntable composer, D-Styles maintains, means using scratching’s vocabulary as a musical language. “You look at it like an alphabet. You got chirps, you got flares, you got crabs, you got autobahns, you got Stewie’s, and all of that stuff. You can add swing to it, you could be ahead of the beat. Behind the beat. You can accent. There’s so much that goes into putting these combinations together.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Many Styles\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Apollo and Shortkut, meanwhile, joined forces with former ITF World Champion Vin Roc in 1999 to form Triple Threat, a DJ crew whose mission was to integrate turntablism into party-rocking live sets. “Just coming up as turntablists, we kind of like, created little monsters everywhere,” Apollo says. “All they would do is scratch in their bedrooms.” There’s more to DJing, he says, than just doing tricks and scratching and juggling.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Triple Threat released a well-received 2003 album, \u003cem>Many Styles\u003c/em>, which blended turntablist-oriented tracks with emcee features from Planet Asia, Black Thought, Souls of Mischief and Zion-I. The trio toured the United States and Asia regularly, and remained active up until the late 2010s. Apollo – who judged the DMC World Finals last year – still identifies as a Pikl, and says his focus nowadays is on upgrading his studio and reestablishing himself as a producer; he hopes to contribute some tracks to future ISP albums.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952276\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1440px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1440\" height=\"1920\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952276\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut.jpg 1440w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-800x1067.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-1020x1360.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-768x1024.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/LLCoolJ.Ztrip_.shortkut-1152x1536.jpg 1152w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1440px) 100vw, 1440px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut, at right, on the F.O.R.C.E. Tour with (L–R) DJ Z-Trip, LL Cool J and DJ Jazzy Jeff. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Shortkut’s recorded output mainly consists of DJ mixtapes covering a wide variety of genres, but he did produce 2012’s “Twelve,” a funky, fun track with “Sesame Street”-esque vocal samples, for the Beat Junkies 45 Series, as well as 2017’s “Mini-Wheels,” a 7-inch single for Thud Rumble, and “Short Rugs,” a limited-edition slipmat designed for 45 rpm records and a 7-inch record with three skipless vinyl scratch tracks. He’s been an occasional headliner at DJ Platurn’s 45 Sessions party; playing all-vinyl sets, he says, helps him maintain his sanity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After a lengthy break following 2000’s “final” performance, Qbert, Shortkut and D-Styles officially reformed as ISP for 2015’s \u003cem>The 13th Floor\u003c/em>, their first full-length release. “This was the first time as a scratch artist that I’ve felt able to do shows with the Piklz where people know the songs,” Shortkut says. The album’s moods range from dark to soulful to jazzy, and were intended to be templates for live performances that typically involve improvised scratch soloing over a structured song with defined instrumental parts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952273\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1500px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952273\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1500\" height=\"1000\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015.jpg 1500w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-making-of-The-13th-Floor-album-Japan-2015-768x512.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1500px) 100vw, 1500px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Japan, making their ’13th Floor’ album in 2015. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Many of \u003cem>The 13th Floor\u003c/em>’s compositional elements were developed by D-Styles, who went on to become an online instructor at the Beat Junkies Institute of Sound in 2019. He notes the Piklz are more than halfway through their next, as-yet-untitled album — several tracks from which they previewed live during their recent DMC showcase in San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“My strength is, I’m always in the studio,” says D-Styles. “I always have these ideas, these sketches that I’ll try at home by myself. But I always have parts in mind, so if i have drums, I’ll be like, this is perfect for Shortkut. And then I have these keyboards, you know, these notes. So I’ll carry that side. And then I’ll give Q this (vocal) phrase. And I know he’ll know what to do with it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Aesthetics That ‘Vibrate a Certain Way’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Qbert maintains he’s still a student, trying to learn new things after all these years. He keeps pushing himself to new levels because he doesn’t want to repeat what he’s already done. “You got to come unique and original, or else it’s like, fucking wack. Or it’s, \u003cem>ah… he did the same shit last time\u003c/em>, you know? I don’t want to hear that.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952294\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1811px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1811\" height=\"600\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952294\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_.jpg 1811w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-800x265.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-1020x338.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-160x53.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-768x254.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Qbert_.LPs_-1536x509.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1811px) 100vw, 1811px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A sample of Qbert’s visual aesthetic from three full-length albums: ‘Extraterrestria,’ ‘Origins Wave Twisters 0,’ and ‘Next Cosmos in 5D.’\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The most sublime aspect of the Piklz legacy may be their aesthetic, best described as part kung-fu, part sci-fi, part zany humor, yet firmly grounded in DJ culture and hip-hop expression. This is reflected in Mike and Q’s outsize personalities. “Those two in particular are very much outside of this Earth,” says Christie Z, noting that Mike’s custom Serato vinyl is covered in Zectarian language. (In 2017, Qbert joined Mike for a duo performance of MMM’s alienesque single “Channel Zecktar” live at the NAMM showcase.) Artists are sometimes kooky, she says, but she’s used to it by now. “That’s what they do.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Unsurprisingly, perhaps, Mike sees himself as a glowing, ultramagnetic, cosmic antenna. “I would say, you know, my brain is like a super cerebral satellite dish that I’m just logging into the channels in my mind, and I call it the access to the interstellar network, my own interstellar network that’s going on in my head.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As for Qbert, “nowadays I work off of karma,” he says. Though he’s consulted for audio companies before, when he’s asked for input, he doesn’t insist on contractual agreements. “I’ll give you the honest truth.” If a mixer could be sleeker and more ergonomic, he’ll say so. He feels equipment makers could be more visionary and futuristic with their products. “They could put chromatherapy in these things, you know, they vibrate a certain way to make it heal you as a human.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For all of Qbert’s zany sense of humor and embracing of otherworldliness, he’s remarkably down to earth at times. That is to say, his ideology isn’t illogical at all – just advanced.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“With any art, if you’re deep into it, you’re already touching infinity,” he says. “So you could do so many things in it that you haven’t done. And there’s freakin’ a bag of infinity left — that is never-ending.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-11687704\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"60\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-400x30.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-768x58.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13952260/turntablism-invisibl-skratch-piklz-legacy-impact","authors":["11839"],"series":["arts_22314"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_69"],"tags":["arts_2854","arts_21712","arts_2852","arts_17218","arts_21940","arts_1146","arts_19347","arts_21711"],"featImg":"arts_13952262","label":"source_arts_13952260"},"arts_13952208":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13952208","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13952208","score":null,"sort":[1707929580000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"invisibl-skratch-piklz-filipino-djs-daly-city-san-francisco-turntablism-history","title":"How The Invisibl Skratch Piklz Put San Francisco Turntablism on the DJ Map","publishDate":1707929580,"format":"standard","headTitle":"How The Invisibl Skratch Piklz Put San Francisco Turntablism on the DJ Map | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":22314,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003cstrong>Editor’s note\u003c/strong>: This story is part of \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">That’s My Word\u003c/a>\u003cem>, KQED’s story series on \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a> history.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On a recent Friday night in San Francisco, a couple thousand fans of DJ culture crammed into the cavernous main room of a nightclub in Hunters Point.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Inside The Midway, it was elbow room-only from the stage to the back patio; many of those in the crowd were DJs themselves. The scene recalled the late ’90s-early 2000s glory days of the Bay Area, when turntablism seemed destined to become the Next Big Thing, and DJ nights dominated SF’s club scene. No one was there to dance; it wasn’t that kind of party.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13937762\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13937762\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"A person wearing a baseball cap stands at a table under fluorescent lighting.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">DJ Qbert performs with Invisibl Skratch Piklz during the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The occasion was the DMC World Championship DJ Battle Finals, with some of the best DJs in the world competing against each other. But there was another attraction too: live showcases by the Invisibl Skratch Piklz and Mix Master Mike, the legendary DJs who transformed the Bay Area into a turntablist Mecca during a seminal era for local hip-hop. DMC event organizer Christie Zee put the proceedings into their proper context: “You can’t have a battle in the Bay without the Skratch Piklz.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As midnight approached, the lights dimmed, and the Piklz – Qbert, Shortkut and D-Styles – were announced to cheers that echoed throughout the high-ceilinged room. The Piklz opened with the 2015 ISP track “Fresh Out of FVCKs,” with its ominous electric organ melody that transitions into repeating melodic chords. A snare drum beat came in, followed by a rhythmically scratched snippet of a stuttering vocal phrase. The electric organ chords shifted into a chopped melody as the snare dropped out, then returned. And that’s all before the mind-bending scratch solos that followed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Piklz proceeded to display their musicality, keeping their technical acumen within the groove pocket with synchronized timing. As is customary with the Piklz, each played the part of a specific instrumentalist: D-Styles as the keyboardist, Shortkut as the drummer, and Qbert as the scratch soloist.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952244\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952244\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike at the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A live version of “Death By A Thousand Paper Cuts” – a song from D-Styles’ 2019 album \u003cem>Noises In the Right Order\u003c/em> – and several unreleased ISP songs showed that \u003ca href=\"https://ccnmtl.columbia.edu/projects/jazzglossary/g/ghost_note.html\">ghost notes\u003c/a> aren’t just associated with jazz music. The turntable trio used the spaces between to impart a sense of presence and feel, a minimalist approach that allowed their scratches, cuts and juggles to resonate with maximum impact.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This would have been a hard act to follow for anyone but Mix Master Mike. The ISP co-founder, who’s been a solo artist since 1995 or so, has a gigantic stage presence and skills to match. A one-man musical blender, MMM unleashed a maelstrom of sonic fury, with bone-crunching drums, an entire range of musical and vocal phrases, and precise turntable cuts that deconstructed the individual pieces of a live performance — only to reconstruct all the fragments into an emotionally-thrilling pastiche. After his set, when Mike was celebrated with a Lifetime Achievement Award, the honor was clearly well-deserved.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Invisible Skratch Piklz were celebrating, too – 2023 marks their 30th anniversary – and it’s safe to say no Bay Area crew has done more to advance the DJ artform. Along with New York’s X-Ecutioners and LA’s Beat Junkies, ISP have defined the term turntablist, carving out a cultural niche that rests on a hip-hop foundation but exists in its own space.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13937759\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13937759\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"People stand in a crowd leaning on a barrier indoors.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A crowd watches finalists compete during the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The Piklz have counted many firsts. As hip-hop’s relationship with the DJ has flipped from essential to inconsequential, they’ve maintained the DJ tradition for future generations, and extended its global reach. Over the past four decades, they’ve gone from students of the scratch to wizened masters of turntable music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And like most cultural icons, their backstory is involved, multilayered and fascinating.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952236\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1528px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952236\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1528\" height=\"1032\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_.jpg 1528w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-800x540.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-1020x689.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-768x519.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1528px) 100vw, 1528px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A young Qbert at a community hall mobile DJ dance party. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>The Garage Party Era\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Invisibl Skratch Piklz story begins in what former ISP manager Alex Aquino calls the “pre-hip-hop era” of the late ’70s-early ’80s, when youth-oriented street dance intersected with pioneering mobile DJ crews and a Filipino-American tradition of garage parties.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“This was before breakdancing,” Aquino says. He recalls being 6 or 7 and seeing strutters, poppers and elements of DJ culture – including the Filipino mobile DJ crews who established a scene built around vinyl records, large stereo systems and frequent dance parties.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of those Filipino DJs was Apollo Novicio, a.k.a. DJ Apollo, a founding member of ISP who spent his early childhood roaming around the Mission District. By the time he reached middle school, his family had relocated to Daly City – where he likely attended some of the same parties as Aquino. “Back in the day, they’d have garage parties and there would be a DJ in the corner of the garage, set up on a washing machine and dryer and stuff like that. And at the parties, they would have popping and locking circles. Strutting, popping and locking. Breakdancing wasn’t even here yet, really. This was, I’d say, early ’80s, and that was pretty much my first exposure to the DJing and dancing element of it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952292\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1004px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1004\" height=\"674\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952292\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty.png 1004w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty-800x537.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty-160x107.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty-768x516.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1004px) 100vw, 1004px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Setup for a typical mobile DJ party in the early 1990s. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In 1982, Aquino remembers, a New York transplant named Oscar Sop had introduced B-boying and fat laces to the neighborhood, becoming one of the Bay Area’s first breakdancers. Meanwhile, the DJ crews were becoming more professional, and getting hired for weddings, quinceaneras, traditional Filipino celebrations and the occasional school dance party.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Apollo recalls “doing the strutting, popping, locking thing before B-boying got here.” Back then, “I didn’t even know it was hip-hop. I was such a young age. I’m like, just doing it and like, later on find out, oh, this is a hip-hop culture.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition to dancing being popular among Filipino youth, he remembers DJ groups proliferating at local high schools. “It was just kind of like the thing to do,” he says. “All the kids would form DJ groups.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I don’t know how to explain (why), but there was a lot of Filipino mobile disc jockey groups,” says DJ Apollo. ”Back in the seventies, my older brothers and sisters, they used to collect music and listen to music. Everybody had to go to the record store and buy vinyl.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952212\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1030px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952212\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1030\" height=\"778\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty.jpg 1030w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-800x604.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-1020x770.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-160x121.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-768x580.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1030px) 100vw, 1030px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A mobile DJ party in 1991. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Dr. Oliver Wang, author of \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.dukeupress.edu/legions-of-boom\">Legions of Boom: Filipino American Mobile DJ Crews in the San Francisco Bay Area\u003c/a>\u003c/em> and a professor of sociology at CSU Long Beach, explains that “the mobile DJ scene that the Piklz’ members got their start in wasn’t an exclusively Filipino phenomenon at all; there were Black, White, Latino and Chinese crews around then too. But the Fil-Am scene flourished above and beyond those other groups because they had distinct advantages coming from an immigrant community with strong social ties and large social networks.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition, Wang says, “Filipino American families have parties for practically any occasion — birthdays, debuts, christenings, graduations, or just plain house/garage parties for the heck of it. Importantly, those parties all wanted music, and that meant that DJs had all these opportunities to find gigs.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By the time breakdancing became popularized through movies like \u003cem>Beat Street\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Breakin’,\u003c/em> Apollo says, “DJing was already here… there were dances every weekend, and DJ battles and showcases almost every other weekend. That’s how it was when I was growing up around the San Francisco and Daly City area in the early ’80s.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952219\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1163px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1163\" height=\"831\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952219\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs.jpg 1163w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-800x572.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-1020x729.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-160x114.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-768x549.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1163px) 100vw, 1163px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Appearing as FM2O (Furious Minds 2 Observe), Qbert, Mix Master Mike and Apollo perform at an ‘eco-rap’ show in San Francisco, circa 1989–1990. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Apollo)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>One of the top mobile DJ crews at that time was Unlimited Sounds. “They were like the biggest group from Daly City, and they were already established,” Apollo says. Many of the crew members were older and attended Jefferson High School. Apollo remembers hanging out at Serra Bowl, becoming friends with Unlimited Sounds and gradually being drawn into the world of DJing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Every day after school, I would just hang out at their garage and practice,” he says. “All the equipment was there, the records were all there, the lights, everything.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Apollo saved his allowance and lunch money to buy his first set of turntables, and formed makeshift DJ crews with his friends. “We would gather our parents’ equipment, like home stereo equipment and gather it all up. I would get my parents’ home stereo system combined with my homies’ parents’ stereo system, combined with my other homie’s house system. And then we would put all the equipment together and we saw we had a DJ group.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Apollo started making mixtapes — he still remembers the first time he had enough records to make an all-hip-hop tape — and eventually became good enough to join Unlimited Sounds in 1985, who at the time had gigs all over the Bay Area. That experience gave him a solid foundation in DJing parties and playing a wide variety of records, but he was more interested in “scratching, juggling, trick-mixing — turntablism before it was even called that.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952233\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/RSC-DJs-Psycho-City-Cover.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"401\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952233\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/RSC-DJs-Psycho-City-Cover.jpeg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/RSC-DJs-Psycho-City-Cover-160x107.jpeg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Rock City DJs at the famed San Francisco graffiti spot Psycho City, January 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Prior to joining Unlimited Sounds, Apollo had hooked up with another up-and-coming DJ who was becoming known for his pause-tape mixes and obsessive focus on scratching: Michael Anthony Schwartz, a.k.a. Mix Master Mike, a Filipino-German kid who attended Jeffferson, the same high school as Aquino and Apollo. Rather than practice the blends and beat-matching typically used at parties, though, Apollo and Mix Master Mike would “do more scratching or tricks, routines and that type of stuff.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With those bedroom routines, a reimagining of the turntable’s possibilities had begun.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>‘Oh, Snap — What Did We Just Do?’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Mix Master Mike didn’t come up in the mobile DJ scene. His early inspiration was seeing Run-DMC’s Jam Master Jay live.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Watching Jay DJ for DMC and Run, he says, he remembers thinking, “Oh, they’re using records, but they sound more like they’re a full-fledged band, you know? That was just profound to me, that he was using records and rocking the house, \u003cem>with just records\u003c/em>. And that’s when I immediately knew that’s what I wanted to be.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952222\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1732px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952222\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1732\" height=\"1177\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway.jpg 1732w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-800x544.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-1020x693.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-768x522.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-1536x1044.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1732px) 100vw, 1732px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike on the subway in Japan, 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Not long after Run-DMC brought their Raising Hell tour to a sold-out Oakland Coliseum arena, Apollo and Mike formed an informal DJ crew called Together With Style (not to be confused with the SF graffiti crew of the same name) and held long practice sessions in Apollo’s garage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But with Mike, “we did go hard on scratching and tricks and juggling – which later on turned into turntablism.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Individually, they would take turns on Apollo’s set of turntables. But one day, they decided to work in tandem — a moment that altered the course of DJ history.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As Apollo remembers it: “Me and Mike were messing around with the turntables and… we’re like, well, let’s just do something together, since we don’t have to wait our turn (to practice). So I grabbed one turntable, and he grabbed the other turntable and we kind of just started making a beat with two records and one mixer. I got the bass kick and he grabbed the snare and we just started making a beat like, \u003cem>boom, cha, boom boom boom cha, boom boom\u003c/em>, you know? And then we’re just like, ‘Oh, snap, what did we just do? That was crazy.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952218\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 604px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952218\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/10423_136960922731_697132731_2526758_2429020_n.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"604\" height=\"408\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/10423_136960922731_697132731_2526758_2429020_n.jpg 604w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/10423_136960922731_697132731_2526758_2429020_n-160x108.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 604px) 100vw, 604px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Rock Steady Crew DJs in 1991. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Apollo)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Apollo and Mike would perfect the two-man routine over a period of several years, “and we just started performing it all over the place at showcases and dances, you know, wherever. People were seeing it and being amazed. We were amazed by it ourselves.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[pullquote size='large' align='center' citation='DJ Apollo']I got the bass kick and he grabbed the snare and we just started making a beat like, boom, cha, boom boom boom cha, boom boom, you know? And then we’re just like, ‘Oh, snap, what did we just do?” [/pullquote] \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One witness to the early routine was Richard Quitevis, an acquaintance of Mike and Apollo who went by the name DJ Qbert.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Qbert saw it one time and he was amazed by it. He’s like, \u003cem>Oh, what is that?!?\u003c/em>,” Apollo says.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Qbert Enters the Picture\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>DJ Qbert grew up in San Francisco’s Excelsior district. Like Apollo, his first exposure to hip-hop precedes the term itself. He recalls fishing at Pier 39 at the age of 12 and seeing the Fillmore dance crew \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=weKkAF9NdCI\">Demons of the Mind\u003c/a>. “There would be all these poppers; at the time they were called strutters. They would be playing this really fast electro music. And it was like, ‘Look at these robot-like guys in shiny little outfits with these silver hats.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Qbert was fascinated not only with the vibrant dancers, but the sounds. “I was like, ‘Man, this is crazy. I love it, but where are they getting this music from?’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952215\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1371px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952215\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1371\" height=\"984\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna.jpg 1371w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-800x574.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-1020x732.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-160x115.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-768x551.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1371px) 100vw, 1371px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut, Mix Master Mike and Qbert gettin’ up in Bologna, Italy. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Qbert remembers early attempts at breakdancing with his friends, who fashioned their own makeshift outfits. But it was the DJ scratch – particularly the skills displayed by Mix Master Ice on UTFO’s 1985 single “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0KE3-IyLsg8\">Leader of the Pack\u003c/a>” – that really drew his interest. “I just started collecting the music, always collecting the music. And that’s what made me become a DJ.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One day, Qbert was asked to DJ a garage party. “Everybody was about 12, 13, 14, 15, and everybody was breaking in the garage. And we were playing all my records on a big-ass giant box. Like, you open the top and you put the record in, and you just let that play. And the kids were spinning and they couldn’t control themselves. They would spin and they would spin, right into the DJ box, the turntable box. That was my first time being a mobile DJ.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He explains his early attraction to turntables and scratching: “You could manipulate sound by grabbing (the record), moving forward and backward,” he says, imitating a scratch sound. “It was like a toy. A toy that was like a musical instrument. I didn’t even know it was a musical instrument. I was just thinking of it as like, it just sounds crazy. You just pull sound out of the air and move it, like, ‘Oh, what a weird contraption.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Eventually, Q joined a mobile DJ crew called Live Style Productions, and came to the attention of Apollo and Mix Master Mike, who remember going to Balboa High School to see him spin.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Q, we just knew from around the way,” Apollo says. “We would go to different showcases on the weekends and see him perform. And so we knew about Q.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952240\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952240\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/600_us_champ_trophy.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"407\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/600_us_champ_trophy.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/600_us_champ_trophy-160x109.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz with the U.S. Championship trophy. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In 1991, Qbert entered the DMCs, winning the U.S. Championships and advancing all the way to the World Finals in London, where he took 2nd place. Aquino claims Qbert’s technical skills were so advanced, they went over most of the audience’s heads, but Qbert admits he got cocky and didn’t practice before his set: “I was sloppy,” he says. That loss instilled in him the importance of practicing, which he took to with rigorous discipline.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>The Turntables Might Wobble\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Hip-hop journalist and author Adisa Banjoko, a friend, recalls once being at Qbert’s house and hearing him scratch the rhythms of Rakim’s verses from Eric B. & Rakim’s “I Ain’t No Joke” – using entirely scratched tones to replicate Rakim’s stanzas. “You gotta record that,” Banjoko told Q, who just shrugged and said, “Nah, I do that all the time.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Around this time, Apollo and Mike were honing their two-man routine and making beats with the intention of forming a rap crew, with them as producers and DJs. After returning from London with his U.S. title, Qbert introduced Mike and Apollo to a rapper who used to hang out at his house named Nim-FHD.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“This is where it all comes together,” Apollo says. “Me and Mike were making beats, and we always wanted to find a voice for our beats. And so when Qbert introduced us to this rapper, and when me and Mike heard that guy’s voice, Nim’s voice, we were like, ‘Oh man, that’s the voice for our music.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952232\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 604px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952232\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/n1071373619_171639_1875.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"604\" height=\"416\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/n1071373619_171639_1875.jpg 604w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/n1071373619_171639_1875-160x110.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 604px) 100vw, 604px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The extended crew. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Apollo)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Apollo explained his vision to Nim, and they enlisted H2O, another emcee they met through Qbert, who also joined the group. “We told Q, do you want to be a part of the ‘\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sd5gFx001qg\">Peter Piper\u003c/a>’ routine? And he was like, overjoyed. Like, ‘Let’s do it. Absolutely, let’s do it.’ So then we’re like… why don’t we become the DJs for this group that will be the first rap group with three DJs and two rappers? And we’ll do all the beats and scratching.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>They christened themselves FM2O – an acronym for “Furious Minds To Observe” — the first iteration of what would become the Invisibl Skratch Piklz. As Mike says, “it was definitely a meant-to-be moment, when I hooked up with Q.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The group was managed by Aquino, who had left Unlimited Sounds and started throwing parties while trying to establish an independent hip-hop label, Ace Beat. While working on a demo tape, FM2O played local venues and music industry showcases like the Gavin Convention and New Music Seminar. In 1992, they appeared at the Omni in Oakland on a bill with Banjoko’s crew, Freedom T.R.O.O.P. 187, plus Organized Konfusion, Gangstarr and headliner Body Count. Epic as that lineup is, Apollo, Mike and Qbert’s orchestrated turntable segment during FM2O’s set was the absolute showstopper.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>FM2O’s music was slightly ahead of its time; in the early ’90s, “alternative hip-hop” hadn’t yet established itself in the mainstream. No hip-hop group had ever featured three DJs, all of them scratch fanatics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While Aquino tried unsuccessfully to secure FM2O a label deal, the DJs made moves in the battle scene.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952242\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952242\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike with his DMC Legend jacket at The Midway in San Francisco, 2023. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>The First Major World Titles\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Qbert’s second-place 1991 DMC finish earned him props from Clark Kent, a well-respected New York DJ and producer of the New Music Seminar DJ Battle for World Supremacy. Kent asked Qbert to judge the 1992 battle alongside NYC heavyweights like EPMD’s DJ Scratch and Gangstarr’s DJ Premier. Mix Master Mike, meanwhile, entered as a contestant – and ended up winning the battle. (Ironically, Aquino says, instead of practicing before his routine, Mike had stayed up all night.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLRprNA_GSk\">Video of the battle\u003c/a> – during which Mike performs eight different routines, besting Japan’s DJ Honda in the final showdown before taking on defending champ Supreme in a challenge match – confirms he was on a mission to crush all competition. He doubles up Word of Mouth’s “King Kut” with blinding speed and finesse, blends Schooly D and Flavor Flav phrases to dis “sucker DJs,” slows down the records to juggle entirely new beats, deconstructs the wax into a series of melodic tones, and maintains a sense of rhythmic mastery that’s chaotic and jarring but never veers out of control. Boisterous shouts from the crowd testify to Mike’s determined brilliance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Billed as the Rocksteady DJs (with the blessing of Bronx B-boy legend Crazy Legs, from the Rock Steady Crew), Qbert, Mike and Apollo won the DMCs that same year with the “Peter Piper” routine. The following year, with DJ Apollo unavailable while touring as the Souls of Mischief’s DJ, Mike and Qbert, billed as the Dream Team, again won the DMC World Championship. Mike still remembers the anticipation and energy that went into the preparations for the battle, along with the ginseng they imbibed before their set “like Chinese martial arts masters.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952237\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/l_f99accf3c766cef703abeb72c042e21e.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"397\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952237\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/l_f99accf3c766cef703abeb72c042e21e.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/l_f99accf3c766cef703abeb72c042e21e-160x106.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike, pictured at center: ‘It was a discovery. Right? ‘Oh, shit. We could take this and flip it anyway we want to,’ you know?’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>These victories were culturally significant. Not only had no West Coast DJ ever been crowned a World Champion before, but no Filipino DJ had ever placed that high in a major competition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To explain just how significant, it’s necessary to understand the evolution of the DJ artform.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The first development, playing “break” sections of records (known as breakbeats), was initially a clumsy needle-drop technique originated by hip-hop pioneer Kool Herc. Grandmaster Flash refined the DJ vocabulary with backspinning, cueing, cutting, punch phrasing, quick-mixing and reading the record like a clock. Grand Wizzard Theodore developed the basic scratch. Steve Dee invented the beat-juggle. But no DJ was doing synchronized team routines that reimagined the turntables as individual instruments prior to the Rocksteady DJs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“That was an awesome thing,” Mike says. “It just started from a thought. The collective team, it was like it was a unit. We all had the same aspirations and goals of doing things people had never, ever seen or heard before. And it just spawned this whole movement. And it’s just something that we love to do. It was a discovery. Right? ‘Oh, shit. We could take this and flip it anyway we want to,’ you know? And that was the beauty of it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952220\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952220\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1715\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-800x536.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-1020x683.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-768x515.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-1536x1029.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-2048x1372.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-1920x1286.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Sporting championship jackets in Tokyo, 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Their succession of three major titles in two years elevated the DJ artform and raised the bar for battles. Teams of three or more DJs would soon proliferate throughout the DJ universe, and battle routines became more well-rounded, with emphasis on scratching, beat-juggling, and musicality or rhythmic coherence, as well as sheer technical ability.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It also led to a backlash of sorts: Mike confirms that after dominating for three years in a row, his crew was politely asked to retire from the DMC competition. He characterizes the request as a “giving other people a chance to win type deal.” But to him and his other Bay Area battlers, “We felt like it wasn’t fair to us because we got a lot in the tank. Let’s go. Keep going. See how far we can go… we were ready to defend the next year. But unfortunately they wanted to make us judges.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As it turned out, stepping away from the competitive battle scene proved to be a blessing in disguise. “After we stopped battling,” Mike says, “I was like, okay, what’s next? We’re going to make records now. I’m gonna become a full fledged artist, you know? I don’t want to be this DJ dude. I don’t want to be a DJ guy that’s playing other people’s records standing up there. We’ve done that already. I’m going to get in the studio and be a producer, and I’m going to make music out of this whole thing, like, springboard into making original compositions. And so that’s what I’m doing, to this day.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952238\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1430px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952238\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1430\" height=\"1039\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996.jpg 1430w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-800x581.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-1020x741.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-160x116.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-768x558.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1430px) 100vw, 1430px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Hawaii, 1996. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>But first, the crew needed a new name. During their time DJing for FM2O, the three DJs were collectively known as Shadow of the Prophet, or simply, The Shadow. A chance encounter with an early-career DJ Shadow – who apologetically offered to change his name – led to Qbert graciously telling him that he could keep the name “Shadow,” and that he’d change his group’s name instead. “Rocksteady DJs” and “The Dream Team” were one-offs, for the most part. They needed something catchy that also reflected who they were.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One day it came to them. As Qbert recounts, “We was on one, and we were laughing and laughing. And I think Mix Master Mike said, “Why don’t we be called the Invisible Pickles? We were just cracking up and we were thinking about, you know, an invisible pickle.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The next day, Qbert got a call from his pal Lou Quintanilla, a.k.a. DJ Disk. “And he said, ‘How about Invisible Scratch Pickles?’ I was like, that kind of sounds dope.” (Though it may sound abstract, the name is rooted in a concrete concept: the turntable as an “invisible instrument” that could be almost any instrument – drums, guitar, vocals, anything.) The crew’s offbeat sense of humor reflected in their new name had long been evident; in 1992, they released \u003cem>Battle Breaks\u003c/em>, one of the first DJ tool records specifically designed for scratching, officially credited to the Psychedelic Scratch Bastards on the Dirt Style label. In later years they would put out various releases under an affiliate record label that they named Galactic Butt Hair.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Before settling on the new name, though, they ran it by a younger DJ who was asked to join the crew — Jonathan Cruz, a.k.a. DJ Shortkut.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952228\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952228\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1193\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-800x543.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-1020x692.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-768x521.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-1536x1042.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Electro and the Art of the Quick Mix\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Growing up in Daly City, Shortkut caught the DJ bug thanks to a Filipino mobile crew who played his 6th grade dance. He started DJing at age 13, after the local Filipino sound system culture had cycled through disco, metal, and New Wave, before arriving at hip-hop, freestyle and Miami bass.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of Shortkut’s first exposures to a DJ battle took place in a large hall.“There would be about four to six sound systems separately set up in the one room with their own individual sound systems. Each group would get about like 20 minutes to do their thing, and then at the end of the night, whoever won. The word got out that group won, and then that’s who everyone wanted to book for school dances or birthday parties.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Shortkut joined a crew called Just 2 Hype, which played freestyle, Miami bass and 808-laced Mantronix singles. “That’s why I think the Bay Area is specifically more scratch-DJ based,” he says, “because everyone scratched to fast beats, all the classic electro stuff.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He also worked on perfecting the art of the quick-mix, changing up the record every four or eight bars. But records like DJ Jazzy Jeff’s “Live At Union Square” drew him into the world of scratch-mixing. “When I first started scratching, I just listened to records, basically. All the early records I used to buy, I would just try to copy what I heard on record.”\u003cbr>\nIn the late ’80s and early ’90s, he says, “I really got into embracing hip-hop” – catching up with records that hadn’t been hugely popular in the Filipino scene, and becoming further enthralled with scratching and beat-juggling. “That’s when I was first hearing about Qbert and Apollo and Mix Master Mike,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952223\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1742px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1742\" height=\"1190\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952223\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_.jpg 1742w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-800x546.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-1020x697.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-768x525.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-1536x1049.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1742px) 100vw, 1742px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">First trip to Japan, 1993. At far left is B-boy and dancer Richard Colón, a.k.a. Crazy Legs from the Rock Steady Crew. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Back then, Apollo was the big name, being from Unlimited Sounds. “He was the party rocker. But he was kind of the B-boy out of all the Filipino guys I knew.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As he attempted to build his DJ skills, Shortkut remembers listening to cassette tapes of Qbert scratching and mixing. Initially, he had only basic equipment, and used belt-driven turntables. “I got better once I got to direct-drives because I already knew how to handle it and have a certain feel to it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Qbert winning the U.S. DMC Championship in 1991 was huge, he says. “We didn’t really have any role models, as a Filipino kid.” He took the win as validation – and inspiration.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I lived about five minutes from Q’s house,” he says. “I used to go to Q’s house with the guy who taught me how to DJ. We both cold-called Q because we knew he was the one who had all the battle videos. So we would go to his house and dub the videos and while they were dubbing, me and Q would scratch.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During this time, Shortkut says, Mike had moved to Sacramento, and Apollo was DJing for Branford Marsalis, “so I would hook up with Q and Disk a lot.” Q used to bring Shortkut and Disk along when he opened up shows in the Bay – affording the younger DJs valuable stage experience. Shortkut, Mike, and Q eventually formed a crew briefly called the Turntable Dragons, pre-ISP. Then, in 1993, Shortkut, Mike, and Q played a \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13935467/the-bomb-magazine-label-san-francisco-turntablism-djs\">Bomb Hip-Hop\u003c/a> Party – possibly the first time they had been billed as the Invisibl Skratch Piklz.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952239\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 250px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952239\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/invisblskratchp_002-h.gif\" alt=\"\" width=\"250\" height=\"250\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The five-man crew. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘Everyone That Worked There Was Filipino’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Dave Paul, publisher of \u003cem>Bomb Hip Hop Magazine\u003c/em>, coincidentally also began as a mobile DJ in 1984 with a crew called Midnight Connections. He tells a funny story about working an after-school job for Chevron. “I wasn’t that great. So they moved me from, like, the main Chevron on Geary Street over to one on California Street. And everyone that worked there was Filipino. Turned out everyone that worked there was also a DJ.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Paul knew of Apollo from Unlimited Sounds, and had seen Qbert perform a famous “Mary Had A Little Lamb” routine during a San Jose battle around 1989 or 1990. “That really got his name out,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During the annual Gavin Convention in San Francisco, Bomb Hip Hop magazine would present live performance showcases. Paul booked the Piklz on multiple occasions, beginning in 1992, when they were still called the Rocksteady DJs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>According to Paul, the vibe of those early performances “was always sort of the \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kDLzGtQmMyw\">don’t-give-a-fuck style\u003c/a>. Like, things didn’t have to be clean. They were just really raw. And it was just ill. They were doing stuff that no one else was doing at the time.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10345320\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-10345320\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/01/QBertMain.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/01/QBertMain.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/01/QBertMain-400x225.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">DJ QBert. \u003ccite>(Thud Rumble)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>After releasing a now-legendary compilation tape that featured Qbert along with a Canadian MC named Madchild, as well as local underground artists like Homeless Derelix, Blackalicious, Bored Stiff, and Mystik Journeymen, Bomb Hip Hop became a record label in 1995 with the release of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13937489/best-bay-area-turntablism-scratch-dj-albums\">\u003cem>Return of the DJ Vol. 1\u003c/em>\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That record essentially started the movement of turntablism as a musical genre. The Skratch Piklz (at that time, Qbert, Shortkut and Disk) were featured on “Invasion of the Octopus People,” while Mix Master Mike contributed his first official solo production, “Terrorwrist.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Return of the DJ \u003c/em>evolved into a compilation series spanning multiple volumes, and inspired numerous others, like Om Records’ \u003cem>Deep Concentration\u003c/em> and Ubiquity’s \u003cem>Audio Alchemy\u003c/em> compilations. Asphodel, an alternative label known for ultra-underground somnolent, ambient, droney electronic music, signed the Skratch Piklz to a deal, which resulted in 1996’s single “Invisibl Skratch Piklz vs. Da Klamz Uv Deth,” which featured Qbert, Shortkut, and Mix Master Mike.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952246\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1938px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952246\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1938\" height=\"1882\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca.jpg 1938w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-800x777.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-1020x991.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-160x155.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-768x746.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-1536x1492.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-1920x1865.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1938px) 100vw, 1938px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Invisibl Skratch Piklz vs. Da Clamz Uv Deth,’ 1997. \u003ccite>(Asphodel Records)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“A very strange thing about that (single) is, I had just invented scratch music,” Qbert says. “Which is this thing where every sound is scratched. Drums are scratched, the hi-hats are scratched, the snare and vocals are scratched, the chords, every single thing is scratched! No matter what is in there. So that was tracked out — like, every track was off the turntables, making a complete scratch song.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Turntablism spread quickly through San Francisco’s progressive club scene in the mid-’90s. Mark Herlihy’s art/performance collective Future Primitive established itself as an avant garde music label with a live recording of Shortkut and Cut Chemist at Cat’s Alley, on Folsom Street. An outer Tenderloin hole in the wall, Deco, became a headquarters for unfiltered, ultra-creative DJ expression in its basement, via “Many Styles” nights curated by Apollo. Qbert was part of the groundbreaking alternative hip-hop group Dr. Octagon along with producer Dan the Automator and MC Kool Keith, who recorded an indie classic that got re-released nationally by Dreamworks. To this day, Qbert’s scratch solo on Dr. Octagon’s “Earth People” stands out as a particular flashpoint, the turntable equivalent, perhaps, of the guitar solos on “Hotel California” or “Comfortably Numb.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Needless to say, it’s not an empty boast when Mix Master Mike says he and the Skratch Piklz “pretty much created this genre of music.” No one was doing it before them, and many followed in their footsteps. Locally, the Bullet Proof Scratch Hamsters (aka the Space Travelers), Supernatural Turntable Artists, and the Oakland Faders all scratched and juggled. Live bands incorporating turntablists included Live Human (DJ Quest) and Soulstice (Mei-Lwun). New York’s X-Ecutioners were probably ISP’s closest counterparts nationally, having formed in 1989. But despite their turntable innovations, even they weren’t performing or recording as a \u003cem>band\u003c/em> until after the Skratch Piklz.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952245\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952245\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Back when they were known as the X-Men, the X-Ecutioners faced off against the Piklz in a landmark 1996 battle in New York’s Manhattan Center – a contest so epic, it’s listed among \u003cem>Mixmag\u003c/em>’s \u003ca href=\"https://mixmag.net/feature/the-10-best-dj-scratch-battles-of-all-time\">Top 10 DJ Scratch Battles of All Time\u003c/a>. X-Ecutioners member and DJ historian Rob Swift says Qbert first came on his radar in 1991, when he beat X-Ecutioners founder Steve Dee to win the US DMC Finals.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We thought he was Hawaiian,” Swift says, because Qbert appeared to be wearing a lei in the battle video. “We didn’t know that he was this Filipino DJ that came out of this Filipino community of DJs in the Bay Area. We didn’t know that there \u003cem>were\u003c/em> DJs out there.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Swift later entered the 1991 New Music Seminar battle, where Qbert was a judge; the two exchanged numbers and began calling each other and exchanging videos regularly.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When rappers began increasingly excluding the DJ throughout the ’90s, he says he and Qbert would discuss what to do about it., “We would both be like, ‘You’ve got these rappers (not respecting the DJ). Fuck them, and we’re going to create our own DJ scene. If the music industry is going to turn their backs on DJing, we need to figure out a way to just create our own scene.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“And,” he adds, “that’s exactly what we did.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952225\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952225\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1166\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-800x530.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-1020x676.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-768x509.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-1536x1018.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Lebanon. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Enter the ITF — and D-Styles\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>When the Pilkz battled the X-Ecutioners, it was as much about gaining respect for turntable culture as it was about individual bragging rights. Though the court of public opinion is still split on who won, the battle put a spotlight on both crews. As Swift says, “We started strategizing ways to book our own tours and create all-DJ competitions (like) the ITF, the International Turntablist Federation,” who organized the historic battle.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Founded by Alex Aquino with help from Shortkut, the ITF was established in 1995 and stayed active until 2005. It was intended as a cultural organization, and as somewhat of a critique of the DMC, which had become the only major DJ competition, following the demise of the New Music Seminar.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Without the DMC,” Aquino says, “we wouldn’t have this world stage for the guys to be on. But after Q lost that first battle, we were like, something has to change.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Specifically, the criteria. “And so, we were like, let’s do our own battle. Let’s have real turntablists and DJs judge it, like a New Music Seminar, but instead of just the one-on-one battle, the advancement class for the belt, let’s do a scratching category. Let’s do a beat-juggling category. And let’s do a team category. And that’s how we started out.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952211\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1366px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952211\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1366\" height=\"1834\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine.jpg 1366w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-800x1074.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-1020x1369.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-160x215.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-768x1031.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-1144x1536.jpg 1144w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1366px) 100vw, 1366px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">In a Japanese magazine, date unknown. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>DJs like Vin Roc, Babu, Craze, and A-Trak all won ITF titles, as did teams like the Allies and Beat Junkies. The ITF succeeded in giving turntablists a visible platform to showcase their skills and in further popularizing the artform in the U.S. and internationally. (In 1999, the DMC would add a team category, and the organization currently rotates additional categories, including Scratch, Portablist, and Beat Juggling.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After \u003cem>Return of the DJ\u003c/em>’s “Octopus People,” with Apollo unavailable and Mix Master Mike pursuing a solo career, the Skratch Piklz needed new blood. For the next few years, ISP membership became somewhat fluid, swelling and contracting as new members joined for a while, before going off to do other projects. DJ Disk, DJ Flare, Canadian teenage prodigy A-Trak, and former Thud Rumble label manager Ritche Desuasido, a.k.a. Yogafrog, were all ISP members at one time or another, along with Shortkut.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1996, Beat Junkies member Dave Cuasito, a.k.a. D-Styles, joined the Piklz and became a linchpin for the group; Aquino calls him “the hidden master.” Though not as flashy or famous as Qbert, he’s well-respected in turntablist circles and has helped focus the Pilkz on compositional elements in their music while also being able to scratch, cut and juggle at a high level.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Born in the Philippines, D-Styles grew up in San Jose. Like the other Piklz, he was exposed to hip-hop through breaking and its accompanying soundtrack. “I would hear the songs that they were playing, but then they would scratch certain words and certain parts of that song. And so I was always curious how they were doing it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952229\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952229\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1168\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-1536x1020.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Grandmaster DXT and Qbert. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>His answer came when he saw Grandmixer DST (now known as DXT)’s scratch segment on Herbie Hancock’s “Rockit.” After getting a basic Realistic mixer for his birthday, he, too, joined a mobile DJ crew (Sound City), who pooled their equipment like so many others – and spent their meager proceeds on post-gig Denny’s meals. After taking part in typical mobile battles with crews exchanging 20-minute sets, he discovered there was a battle specifically for scratch DJs, and competed in the 1993 DMC.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1996, he moved to San Francisco to attend college, but what he really wanted was to pursue music. He was already familiar with Mike, Qbert and Shortkut from the battle scene, and from hanging out on Tuesday night at Deco, a small speakeasy-style jazz bar with open turntables in the basement.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“One strange night, I got a phone call on my answering machine and it was Yogafrog and Q, and they were like, ‘Hey, man’ – I don’t know if they were drunk or what – but they were like, ‘we need to talk, man. We think we should all come together and form a crew.” They met up and talked, and soon after, he was asked to officially join the group.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>D-Styles stoic demeanor compliments the other Piklz, yet beneath his focused concentration lies a punk rock attitude that aligns with Qbert’s philosophy that the only rule is there are no rules. Likewise, his turntable-composition approach balances the others’ battle-DJ backgrounds.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952235\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 636px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952235\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/SK-A-TRAK-1997-at-Qs.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"636\" height=\"474\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/SK-A-TRAK-1997-at-Qs.png 636w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/SK-A-TRAK-1997-at-Qs-160x119.png 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 636px) 100vw, 636px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut and A-Trak at Qbert’s place, 1997. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“As far as a turntable composer, I feel like we definitely embrace the more musical side of it, and less technical,” he says. “For the battle DJs, they really try to spray like a Uzi, you know what I mean? And just get off a bunch of power stuff and try to wow the the crowd and the judges. For music, it’s more about the long-term thing. We want to make music that’s timeless. And it’s not based off of a five-minute routine.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With the core Piklz now set with Qbert, Shortkut and D-Styles, Mix Master Mike – who remained affiliated with the crew – says, “I felt like we had the perfect stew. Everyone had their own style, their own identity.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Around this time, Mike began putting together his first solo album, \u003cem>Anti-Theft Device\u003c/em>, which he envisioned as “not an underground album (but) a worldwide release.” He imagined himself as a sonic transducer, attracting and reshaping matter into different forms. He drew on inspirations like Led Zeppelin’s John Bonham, early Public Enemy, Thelonious Monk, Rage Against the Machine and Ennio Morricone. He contemplated the subtlety of silence, of ghost notes and pregnant pauses. And then he went out and made an album with booming, deafening drums and thumping bass on nearly every track.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I focused on the drums first,” Mike says. “I wanted to make sure those drums were hitting really hard.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952249\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952249\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1000\" height=\"984\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft.jpg 1000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft-800x787.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft-160x157.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft-768x756.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1000px) 100vw, 1000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike’s ‘Anti-Theft Device,’ 1998. \u003ccite>(Asphodel Records)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>On \u003cem>Anti-Theft Device\u003c/em>, the found sounds and quirky vocal samples (“NASA maintains this is \u003cem>not\u003c/em> Colonel Blaha’s voice”) often present on DJ mix tapes resurface often, along with boom-bap beats and scratched phrases, instruments and sound effects. There are elements of intoxicated or altered reality, and bug-out moments that suggest turboized vocoders spouting underwater propellers, or seemingly random musical sample generators harnessing infinite libraries of sound, from raga to reggae to rock.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“At the end of the day,” Mike says, “it’s about spearheading the evolution of the battle DJ – as artist, composer, tastemaker.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While Mike was the first Pikl to make a solo album, Qbert crafted an especially ambitious concept for his first official solo debut. As Mike tells it, he had some extra tracks left over, which he gave to Qbert. “And he fuckin’, just like, went crazy on those beats. And then, yeah. It became \u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952250\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952250\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/R-16932444-1610670653-3566.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/R-16932444-1610670653-3566.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/R-16932444-1610670653-3566-160x160.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">DJ Qbert’s ‘Wave Twisters,’ 1998. The album spawned a cult-classic 2001 animated film of the same name. \u003ccite>(Galactic Butt Hair Records)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Wave Twisters, the Beasties and Beyond\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em> holds the rare distinction of being a soundtrack around which a movie was later designed. The album received extremely positive reviews, making many music critics’ year-end lists. To this day, it’s regarded as one of the best turntablism albums of all time. Tracks like “Destination: Quasar 16.33.45.78” took ISP battle routines to new levels, imagining a battle in inner space between a heroic dental hygienist and the minions of a villain named Lord Ook. The track revels in sci-fi tropes, with vocal cues like “Attention, starship!” coloring the scratched, transformed and cut-up audio landscape.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>According to Qbert, \u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em> was willed into existence. “I intentionally foresaw it because in the back of my head, I was like, I’m gonna make every song like a storyline. It’s going to be a thing. And somebody’s going to animate this. And then out of nowhere, the universe made it all work.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13937489']Meanwhile, Mix Master Mike was setting his own intentions – around becoming a member of the Beastie Boys. A longtime fan of their music, he says, “even before I met them, I always thought I was the fourth Beastie, and I was the missing element.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After meeting the Beasties’ MCA during a Rock Steady Crew anniversary in 1996, Mike took an unusual route to make his dreams come true. “I went up to MCA and introduced myself,” he recalls. “He knew who I was through all the competitions and the battles, and we exchanged phone numbers and went back home. And late at night, I would just leave these scratch messages on his answering machine. Two, three in the morning, just leaving these scratches on his machine, hoping that these transmissions would penetrate. Fortunately they did. \u003ca href=\"http://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/timeline#mix-master-mike-becomes-the-beastie-boys-dj\">And the rest is history\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952251\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952251\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1611\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-800x503.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-1020x642.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-160x101.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-768x483.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-1536x967.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-2048x1289.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-1920x1208.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L-R) Mixmaster Mike, Mike Diamond, Adam ‘MCA’ Yauch, and Adam ‘Ad-Rock’ Horovitz of The Beastie Boys attend the MTV Europe Music Awards 2004 at Tor di Valle Nov. 18, 2004 in Rome, Italy. \u003ccite>(Bruno Vincent/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Mike joined the Beasties in time for 1998’s \u003cem>Hello Nasty\u003c/em> album, remaining part of the group until MCA died of cancer in 2012 and the Beastie Boys disbanded. “So at the end of the day,” Mike says, “it’s all about power of intention, right? And my intention was to get in the band or work with the band.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As the ’90s drew to a close, the Piklz weren’t quite done. They produced Skratchcon 2000, a scratching convention, bringing together pioneering masters and acolytes of DJ scratch music. “That was our old manager, Yogafrog,” Qbert says. “His idea to put on a convention called Scratchcon, that was a genius idea of his, and we should do a Part II. We got all the best, most popular scratchers on the planet to come through. It was huge. Steve Dee was there, even Aladdin, all the X-Ecutioners, everybody. It was amazing.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952252\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1500px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952252\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1500\" height=\"983\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_.jpg 1500w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-800x524.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-1020x668.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-160x105.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-768x503.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1500px) 100vw, 1500px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L–R) Shortkut, D-Styles, Mix Master Mike, Yogafrog and QBert in QBert’s garage in the Excelsior District of San Francisco, 1998. \u003ccite>(Liz Hafalia /The San Francisco Chronicle via Getty Images))\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Skratchcon drew fans from all over the country, in addition to current and historic scratch DJs,for live showcases and demonstrations like DJ Radar’s introduction of scratch notation. The convention culminated with a live concert at the Fillmore Auditorium, billed at the time as the ISP’s last official performance. To this day, it stands as one of the highpoints of a decade overflowing with revolutionary developments in hip-hop DJ culture, which saw the Invisibl Skratch Piklz make history and become iconic representatives of turntablism.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As Mix Master Mike says, “There is no ceiling to this. No, it’s whatever you think about is whatever you create and whatever you can apply.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-11687704\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"60\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-400x30.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-768x58.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"A comprehensive history of the pioneering DJ crew, from Daly City garage parties to world domination.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726790339,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":121,"wordCount":8314},"headData":{"title":"How The Invisibl Skratch Piklz Put San Francisco Turntablism on the DJ Map | KQED","description":"A comprehensive history of the pioneering DJ crew, from Daly City garage parties to world domination.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"How The Invisibl Skratch Piklz Put San Francisco Turntablism on the DJ Map","datePublished":"2024-02-14T08:53:00-08:00","dateModified":"2024-09-19T16:58:59-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13952208/invisibl-skratch-piklz-filipino-djs-daly-city-san-francisco-turntablism-history","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003cstrong>Editor’s note\u003c/strong>: This story is part of \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">That’s My Word\u003c/a>\u003cem>, KQED’s story series on \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/\">Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a> history.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On a recent Friday night in San Francisco, a couple thousand fans of DJ culture crammed into the cavernous main room of a nightclub in Hunters Point.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Inside The Midway, it was elbow room-only from the stage to the back patio; many of those in the crowd were DJs themselves. The scene recalled the late ’90s-early 2000s glory days of the Bay Area, when turntablism seemed destined to become the Next Big Thing, and DJ nights dominated SF’s club scene. No one was there to dance; it wasn’t that kind of party.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13937762\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13937762\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"A person wearing a baseball cap stands at a table under fluorescent lighting.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-28-BL-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">DJ Qbert performs with Invisibl Skratch Piklz during the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The occasion was the DMC World Championship DJ Battle Finals, with some of the best DJs in the world competing against each other. But there was another attraction too: live showcases by the Invisibl Skratch Piklz and Mix Master Mike, the legendary DJs who transformed the Bay Area into a turntablist Mecca during a seminal era for local hip-hop. DMC event organizer Christie Zee put the proceedings into their proper context: “You can’t have a battle in the Bay without the Skratch Piklz.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As midnight approached, the lights dimmed, and the Piklz – Qbert, Shortkut and D-Styles – were announced to cheers that echoed throughout the high-ceilinged room. The Piklz opened with the 2015 ISP track “Fresh Out of FVCKs,” with its ominous electric organ melody that transitions into repeating melodic chords. A snare drum beat came in, followed by a rhythmically scratched snippet of a stuttering vocal phrase. The electric organ chords shifted into a chopped melody as the snare dropped out, then returned. And that’s all before the mind-bending scratch solos that followed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Piklz proceeded to display their musicality, keeping their technical acumen within the groove pocket with synchronized timing. As is customary with the Piklz, each played the part of a specific instrumentalist: D-Styles as the keyboardist, Shortkut as the drummer, and Qbert as the scratch soloist.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952244\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952244\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM_DJ_mixer_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2275-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike at the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A live version of “Death By A Thousand Paper Cuts” – a song from D-Styles’ 2019 album \u003cem>Noises In the Right Order\u003c/em> – and several unreleased ISP songs showed that \u003ca href=\"https://ccnmtl.columbia.edu/projects/jazzglossary/g/ghost_note.html\">ghost notes\u003c/a> aren’t just associated with jazz music. The turntable trio used the spaces between to impart a sense of presence and feel, a minimalist approach that allowed their scratches, cuts and juggles to resonate with maximum impact.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This would have been a hard act to follow for anyone but Mix Master Mike. The ISP co-founder, who’s been a solo artist since 1995 or so, has a gigantic stage presence and skills to match. A one-man musical blender, MMM unleashed a maelstrom of sonic fury, with bone-crunching drums, an entire range of musical and vocal phrases, and precise turntable cuts that deconstructed the individual pieces of a live performance — only to reconstruct all the fragments into an emotionally-thrilling pastiche. After his set, when Mike was celebrated with a Lifetime Achievement Award, the honor was clearly well-deserved.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Invisible Skratch Piklz were celebrating, too – 2023 marks their 30th anniversary – and it’s safe to say no Bay Area crew has done more to advance the DJ artform. Along with New York’s X-Ecutioners and LA’s Beat Junkies, ISP have defined the term turntablist, carving out a cultural niche that rests on a hip-hop foundation but exists in its own space.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13937759\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13937759\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED.jpg\" alt=\"People stand in a crowd leaning on a barrier indoors.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/11/231103-DMCBattle-13-BL-KQED-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A crowd watches finalists compete during the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Beth LaBerge/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The Piklz have counted many firsts. As hip-hop’s relationship with the DJ has flipped from essential to inconsequential, they’ve maintained the DJ tradition for future generations, and extended its global reach. Over the past four decades, they’ve gone from students of the scratch to wizened masters of turntable music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And like most cultural icons, their backstory is involved, multilayered and fascinating.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952236\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1528px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952236\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1528\" height=\"1032\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_.jpg 1528w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-800x540.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-1020x689.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-160x108.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/q.sta_-768x519.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1528px) 100vw, 1528px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A young Qbert at a community hall mobile DJ dance party. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>The Garage Party Era\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>The Invisibl Skratch Piklz story begins in what former ISP manager Alex Aquino calls the “pre-hip-hop era” of the late ’70s-early ’80s, when youth-oriented street dance intersected with pioneering mobile DJ crews and a Filipino-American tradition of garage parties.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“This was before breakdancing,” Aquino says. He recalls being 6 or 7 and seeing strutters, poppers and elements of DJ culture – including the Filipino mobile DJ crews who established a scene built around vinyl records, large stereo systems and frequent dance parties.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of those Filipino DJs was Apollo Novicio, a.k.a. DJ Apollo, a founding member of ISP who spent his early childhood roaming around the Mission District. By the time he reached middle school, his family had relocated to Daly City – where he likely attended some of the same parties as Aquino. “Back in the day, they’d have garage parties and there would be a DJ in the corner of the garage, set up on a washing machine and dryer and stuff like that. And at the parties, they would have popping and locking circles. Strutting, popping and locking. Breakdancing wasn’t even here yet, really. This was, I’d say, early ’80s, and that was pretty much my first exposure to the DJing and dancing element of it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952292\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1004px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"1004\" height=\"674\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952292\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty.png 1004w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty-800x537.png 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty-160x107.png 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobiledjparty-768x516.png 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1004px) 100vw, 1004px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Setup for a typical mobile DJ party in the early 1990s. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In 1982, Aquino remembers, a New York transplant named Oscar Sop had introduced B-boying and fat laces to the neighborhood, becoming one of the Bay Area’s first breakdancers. Meanwhile, the DJ crews were becoming more professional, and getting hired for weddings, quinceaneras, traditional Filipino celebrations and the occasional school dance party.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Apollo recalls “doing the strutting, popping, locking thing before B-boying got here.” Back then, “I didn’t even know it was hip-hop. I was such a young age. I’m like, just doing it and like, later on find out, oh, this is a hip-hop culture.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition to dancing being popular among Filipino youth, he remembers DJ groups proliferating at local high schools. “It was just kind of like the thing to do,” he says. “All the kids would form DJ groups.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I don’t know how to explain (why), but there was a lot of Filipino mobile disc jockey groups,” says DJ Apollo. ”Back in the seventies, my older brothers and sisters, they used to collect music and listen to music. Everybody had to go to the record store and buy vinyl.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952212\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1030px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952212\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1030\" height=\"778\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty.jpg 1030w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-800x604.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-1020x770.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-160x121.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.mobileDJparty-768x580.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1030px) 100vw, 1030px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A mobile DJ party in 1991. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Dr. Oliver Wang, author of \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.dukeupress.edu/legions-of-boom\">Legions of Boom: Filipino American Mobile DJ Crews in the San Francisco Bay Area\u003c/a>\u003c/em> and a professor of sociology at CSU Long Beach, explains that “the mobile DJ scene that the Piklz’ members got their start in wasn’t an exclusively Filipino phenomenon at all; there were Black, White, Latino and Chinese crews around then too. But the Fil-Am scene flourished above and beyond those other groups because they had distinct advantages coming from an immigrant community with strong social ties and large social networks.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition, Wang says, “Filipino American families have parties for practically any occasion — birthdays, debuts, christenings, graduations, or just plain house/garage parties for the heck of it. Importantly, those parties all wanted music, and that meant that DJs had all these opportunities to find gigs.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By the time breakdancing became popularized through movies like \u003cem>Beat Street\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Breakin’,\u003c/em> Apollo says, “DJing was already here… there were dances every weekend, and DJ battles and showcases almost every other weekend. That’s how it was when I was growing up around the San Francisco and Daly City area in the early ’80s.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952219\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1163px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1163\" height=\"831\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952219\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs.jpg 1163w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-800x572.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-1020x729.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-160x114.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/rscdjs-768x549.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1163px) 100vw, 1163px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Appearing as FM2O (Furious Minds 2 Observe), Qbert, Mix Master Mike and Apollo perform at an ‘eco-rap’ show in San Francisco, circa 1989–1990. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Apollo)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>One of the top mobile DJ crews at that time was Unlimited Sounds. “They were like the biggest group from Daly City, and they were already established,” Apollo says. Many of the crew members were older and attended Jefferson High School. Apollo remembers hanging out at Serra Bowl, becoming friends with Unlimited Sounds and gradually being drawn into the world of DJing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Every day after school, I would just hang out at their garage and practice,” he says. “All the equipment was there, the records were all there, the lights, everything.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Apollo saved his allowance and lunch money to buy his first set of turntables, and formed makeshift DJ crews with his friends. “We would gather our parents’ equipment, like home stereo equipment and gather it all up. I would get my parents’ home stereo system combined with my homies’ parents’ stereo system, combined with my other homie’s house system. And then we would put all the equipment together and we saw we had a DJ group.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Apollo started making mixtapes — he still remembers the first time he had enough records to make an all-hip-hop tape — and eventually became good enough to join Unlimited Sounds in 1985, who at the time had gigs all over the Bay Area. That experience gave him a solid foundation in DJing parties and playing a wide variety of records, but he was more interested in “scratching, juggling, trick-mixing — turntablism before it was even called that.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952233\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/RSC-DJs-Psycho-City-Cover.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"401\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952233\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/RSC-DJs-Psycho-City-Cover.jpeg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/RSC-DJs-Psycho-City-Cover-160x107.jpeg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Rock City DJs at the famed San Francisco graffiti spot Psycho City, January 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Prior to joining Unlimited Sounds, Apollo had hooked up with another up-and-coming DJ who was becoming known for his pause-tape mixes and obsessive focus on scratching: Michael Anthony Schwartz, a.k.a. Mix Master Mike, a Filipino-German kid who attended Jeffferson, the same high school as Aquino and Apollo. Rather than practice the blends and beat-matching typically used at parties, though, Apollo and Mix Master Mike would “do more scratching or tricks, routines and that type of stuff.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With those bedroom routines, a reimagining of the turntable’s possibilities had begun.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>‘Oh, Snap — What Did We Just Do?’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Mix Master Mike didn’t come up in the mobile DJ scene. His early inspiration was seeing Run-DMC’s Jam Master Jay live.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Watching Jay DJ for DMC and Run, he says, he remembers thinking, “Oh, they’re using records, but they sound more like they’re a full-fledged band, you know? That was just profound to me, that he was using records and rocking the house, \u003cem>with just records\u003c/em>. And that’s when I immediately knew that’s what I wanted to be.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952222\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1732px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952222\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1732\" height=\"1177\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway.jpg 1732w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-800x544.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-1020x693.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-768x522.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.MMM_.japan_.subway-1536x1044.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1732px) 100vw, 1732px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike on the subway in Japan, 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Not long after Run-DMC brought their Raising Hell tour to a sold-out Oakland Coliseum arena, Apollo and Mike formed an informal DJ crew called Together With Style (not to be confused with the SF graffiti crew of the same name) and held long practice sessions in Apollo’s garage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But with Mike, “we did go hard on scratching and tricks and juggling – which later on turned into turntablism.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Individually, they would take turns on Apollo’s set of turntables. But one day, they decided to work in tandem — a moment that altered the course of DJ history.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As Apollo remembers it: “Me and Mike were messing around with the turntables and… we’re like, well, let’s just do something together, since we don’t have to wait our turn (to practice). So I grabbed one turntable, and he grabbed the other turntable and we kind of just started making a beat with two records and one mixer. I got the bass kick and he grabbed the snare and we just started making a beat like, \u003cem>boom, cha, boom boom boom cha, boom boom\u003c/em>, you know? And then we’re just like, ‘Oh, snap, what did we just do? That was crazy.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952218\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 604px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952218\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/10423_136960922731_697132731_2526758_2429020_n.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"604\" height=\"408\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/10423_136960922731_697132731_2526758_2429020_n.jpg 604w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/10423_136960922731_697132731_2526758_2429020_n-160x108.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 604px) 100vw, 604px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Rock Steady Crew DJs in 1991. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Apollo)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Apollo and Mike would perfect the two-man routine over a period of several years, “and we just started performing it all over the place at showcases and dances, you know, wherever. People were seeing it and being amazed. We were amazed by it ourselves.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"I got the bass kick and he grabbed the snare and we just started making a beat like, boom, cha, boom boom boom cha, boom boom, you know? And then we’re just like, ‘Oh, snap, what did we just do?” ","name":"pullquote","attributes":{"named":{"size":"large","align":"center","citation":"DJ Apollo","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One witness to the early routine was Richard Quitevis, an acquaintance of Mike and Apollo who went by the name DJ Qbert.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Qbert saw it one time and he was amazed by it. He’s like, \u003cem>Oh, what is that?!?\u003c/em>,” Apollo says.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Qbert Enters the Picture\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>DJ Qbert grew up in San Francisco’s Excelsior district. Like Apollo, his first exposure to hip-hop precedes the term itself. He recalls fishing at Pier 39 at the age of 12 and seeing the Fillmore dance crew \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=weKkAF9NdCI\">Demons of the Mind\u003c/a>. “There would be all these poppers; at the time they were called strutters. They would be playing this really fast electro music. And it was like, ‘Look at these robot-like guys in shiny little outfits with these silver hats.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Qbert was fascinated not only with the vibrant dancers, but the sounds. “I was like, ‘Man, this is crazy. I love it, but where are they getting this music from?’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952215\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1371px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952215\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1371\" height=\"984\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna.jpg 1371w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-800x574.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-1020x732.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-160x115.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-bologna-768x551.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1371px) 100vw, 1371px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut, Mix Master Mike and Qbert gettin’ up in Bologna, Italy. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Qbert remembers early attempts at breakdancing with his friends, who fashioned their own makeshift outfits. But it was the DJ scratch – particularly the skills displayed by Mix Master Ice on UTFO’s 1985 single “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0KE3-IyLsg8\">Leader of the Pack\u003c/a>” – that really drew his interest. “I just started collecting the music, always collecting the music. And that’s what made me become a DJ.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One day, Qbert was asked to DJ a garage party. “Everybody was about 12, 13, 14, 15, and everybody was breaking in the garage. And we were playing all my records on a big-ass giant box. Like, you open the top and you put the record in, and you just let that play. And the kids were spinning and they couldn’t control themselves. They would spin and they would spin, right into the DJ box, the turntable box. That was my first time being a mobile DJ.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He explains his early attraction to turntables and scratching: “You could manipulate sound by grabbing (the record), moving forward and backward,” he says, imitating a scratch sound. “It was like a toy. A toy that was like a musical instrument. I didn’t even know it was a musical instrument. I was just thinking of it as like, it just sounds crazy. You just pull sound out of the air and move it, like, ‘Oh, what a weird contraption.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Eventually, Q joined a mobile DJ crew called Live Style Productions, and came to the attention of Apollo and Mix Master Mike, who remember going to Balboa High School to see him spin.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Q, we just knew from around the way,” Apollo says. “We would go to different showcases on the weekends and see him perform. And so we knew about Q.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952240\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952240\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/600_us_champ_trophy.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"407\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/600_us_champ_trophy.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/600_us_champ_trophy-160x109.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz with the U.S. Championship trophy. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In 1991, Qbert entered the DMCs, winning the U.S. Championships and advancing all the way to the World Finals in London, where he took 2nd place. Aquino claims Qbert’s technical skills were so advanced, they went over most of the audience’s heads, but Qbert admits he got cocky and didn’t practice before his set: “I was sloppy,” he says. That loss instilled in him the importance of practicing, which he took to with rigorous discipline.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>The Turntables Might Wobble\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Hip-hop journalist and author Adisa Banjoko, a friend, recalls once being at Qbert’s house and hearing him scratch the rhythms of Rakim’s verses from Eric B. & Rakim’s “I Ain’t No Joke” – using entirely scratched tones to replicate Rakim’s stanzas. “You gotta record that,” Banjoko told Q, who just shrugged and said, “Nah, I do that all the time.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Around this time, Apollo and Mike were honing their two-man routine and making beats with the intention of forming a rap crew, with them as producers and DJs. After returning from London with his U.S. title, Qbert introduced Mike and Apollo to a rapper who used to hang out at his house named Nim-FHD.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“This is where it all comes together,” Apollo says. “Me and Mike were making beats, and we always wanted to find a voice for our beats. And so when Qbert introduced us to this rapper, and when me and Mike heard that guy’s voice, Nim’s voice, we were like, ‘Oh man, that’s the voice for our music.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952232\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 604px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952232\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/n1071373619_171639_1875.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"604\" height=\"416\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/n1071373619_171639_1875.jpg 604w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/n1071373619_171639_1875-160x110.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 604px) 100vw, 604px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The extended crew. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Apollo)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Apollo explained his vision to Nim, and they enlisted H2O, another emcee they met through Qbert, who also joined the group. “We told Q, do you want to be a part of the ‘\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sd5gFx001qg\">Peter Piper\u003c/a>’ routine? And he was like, overjoyed. Like, ‘Let’s do it. Absolutely, let’s do it.’ So then we’re like… why don’t we become the DJs for this group that will be the first rap group with three DJs and two rappers? And we’ll do all the beats and scratching.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>They christened themselves FM2O – an acronym for “Furious Minds To Observe” — the first iteration of what would become the Invisibl Skratch Piklz. As Mike says, “it was definitely a meant-to-be moment, when I hooked up with Q.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The group was managed by Aquino, who had left Unlimited Sounds and started throwing parties while trying to establish an independent hip-hop label, Ace Beat. While working on a demo tape, FM2O played local venues and music industry showcases like the Gavin Convention and New Music Seminar. In 1992, they appeared at the Omni in Oakland on a bill with Banjoko’s crew, Freedom T.R.O.O.P. 187, plus Organized Konfusion, Gangstarr and headliner Body Count. Epic as that lineup is, Apollo, Mike and Qbert’s orchestrated turntable segment during FM2O’s set was the absolute showstopper.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>FM2O’s music was slightly ahead of its time; in the early ’90s, “alternative hip-hop” hadn’t yet established itself in the mainstream. No hip-hop group had ever featured three DJs, all of them scratch fanatics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While Aquino tried unsuccessfully to secure FM2O a label deal, the DJs made moves in the battle scene.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952242\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952242\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_MMM_jacket_PhotobyJeffStrawBranding-2387-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike with his DMC Legend jacket at The Midway in San Francisco, 2023. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>The First Major World Titles\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Qbert’s second-place 1991 DMC finish earned him props from Clark Kent, a well-respected New York DJ and producer of the New Music Seminar DJ Battle for World Supremacy. Kent asked Qbert to judge the 1992 battle alongside NYC heavyweights like EPMD’s DJ Scratch and Gangstarr’s DJ Premier. Mix Master Mike, meanwhile, entered as a contestant – and ended up winning the battle. (Ironically, Aquino says, instead of practicing before his routine, Mike had stayed up all night.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLRprNA_GSk\">Video of the battle\u003c/a> – during which Mike performs eight different routines, besting Japan’s DJ Honda in the final showdown before taking on defending champ Supreme in a challenge match – confirms he was on a mission to crush all competition. He doubles up Word of Mouth’s “King Kut” with blinding speed and finesse, blends Schooly D and Flavor Flav phrases to dis “sucker DJs,” slows down the records to juggle entirely new beats, deconstructs the wax into a series of melodic tones, and maintains a sense of rhythmic mastery that’s chaotic and jarring but never veers out of control. Boisterous shouts from the crowd testify to Mike’s determined brilliance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Billed as the Rocksteady DJs (with the blessing of Bronx B-boy legend Crazy Legs, from the Rock Steady Crew), Qbert, Mike and Apollo won the DMCs that same year with the “Peter Piper” routine. The following year, with DJ Apollo unavailable while touring as the Souls of Mischief’s DJ, Mike and Qbert, billed as the Dream Team, again won the DMC World Championship. Mike still remembers the anticipation and energy that went into the preparations for the battle, along with the ginseng they imbibed before their set “like Chinese martial arts masters.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952237\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/l_f99accf3c766cef703abeb72c042e21e.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"397\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952237\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/l_f99accf3c766cef703abeb72c042e21e.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/l_f99accf3c766cef703abeb72c042e21e-160x106.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike, pictured at center: ‘It was a discovery. Right? ‘Oh, shit. We could take this and flip it anyway we want to,’ you know?’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>These victories were culturally significant. Not only had no West Coast DJ ever been crowned a World Champion before, but no Filipino DJ had ever placed that high in a major competition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To explain just how significant, it’s necessary to understand the evolution of the DJ artform.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The first development, playing “break” sections of records (known as breakbeats), was initially a clumsy needle-drop technique originated by hip-hop pioneer Kool Herc. Grandmaster Flash refined the DJ vocabulary with backspinning, cueing, cutting, punch phrasing, quick-mixing and reading the record like a clock. Grand Wizzard Theodore developed the basic scratch. Steve Dee invented the beat-juggle. But no DJ was doing synchronized team routines that reimagined the turntables as individual instruments prior to the Rocksteady DJs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“That was an awesome thing,” Mike says. “It just started from a thought. The collective team, it was like it was a unit. We all had the same aspirations and goals of doing things people had never, ever seen or heard before. And it just spawned this whole movement. And it’s just something that we love to do. It was a discovery. Right? ‘Oh, shit. We could take this and flip it anyway we want to,’ you know? And that was the beauty of it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952220\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952220\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1715\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-800x536.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-1020x683.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-768x515.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-1536x1029.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-2048x1372.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.jackets-1920x1286.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Sporting championship jackets in Tokyo, 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Their succession of three major titles in two years elevated the DJ artform and raised the bar for battles. Teams of three or more DJs would soon proliferate throughout the DJ universe, and battle routines became more well-rounded, with emphasis on scratching, beat-juggling, and musicality or rhythmic coherence, as well as sheer technical ability.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It also led to a backlash of sorts: Mike confirms that after dominating for three years in a row, his crew was politely asked to retire from the DMC competition. He characterizes the request as a “giving other people a chance to win type deal.” But to him and his other Bay Area battlers, “We felt like it wasn’t fair to us because we got a lot in the tank. Let’s go. Keep going. See how far we can go… we were ready to defend the next year. But unfortunately they wanted to make us judges.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As it turned out, stepping away from the competitive battle scene proved to be a blessing in disguise. “After we stopped battling,” Mike says, “I was like, okay, what’s next? We’re going to make records now. I’m gonna become a full fledged artist, you know? I don’t want to be this DJ dude. I don’t want to be a DJ guy that’s playing other people’s records standing up there. We’ve done that already. I’m going to get in the studio and be a producer, and I’m going to make music out of this whole thing, like, springboard into making original compositions. And so that’s what I’m doing, to this day.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952238\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1430px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952238\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1430\" height=\"1039\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996.jpg 1430w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-800x581.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-1020x741.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-160x116.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP-in-Hawaii-1996-768x558.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1430px) 100vw, 1430px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Hawaii, 1996. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>But first, the crew needed a new name. During their time DJing for FM2O, the three DJs were collectively known as Shadow of the Prophet, or simply, The Shadow. A chance encounter with an early-career DJ Shadow – who apologetically offered to change his name – led to Qbert graciously telling him that he could keep the name “Shadow,” and that he’d change his group’s name instead. “Rocksteady DJs” and “The Dream Team” were one-offs, for the most part. They needed something catchy that also reflected who they were.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One day it came to them. As Qbert recounts, “We was on one, and we were laughing and laughing. And I think Mix Master Mike said, “Why don’t we be called the Invisible Pickles? We were just cracking up and we were thinking about, you know, an invisible pickle.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The next day, Qbert got a call from his pal Lou Quintanilla, a.k.a. DJ Disk. “And he said, ‘How about Invisible Scratch Pickles?’ I was like, that kind of sounds dope.” (Though it may sound abstract, the name is rooted in a concrete concept: the turntable as an “invisible instrument” that could be almost any instrument – drums, guitar, vocals, anything.) The crew’s offbeat sense of humor reflected in their new name had long been evident; in 1992, they released \u003cem>Battle Breaks\u003c/em>, one of the first DJ tool records specifically designed for scratching, officially credited to the Psychedelic Scratch Bastards on the Dirt Style label. In later years they would put out various releases under an affiliate record label that they named Galactic Butt Hair.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Before settling on the new name, though, they ran it by a younger DJ who was asked to join the crew — Jonathan Cruz, a.k.a. DJ Shortkut.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952228\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952228\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1193\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-800x543.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-1020x692.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-768x521.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.shortkut-1536x1042.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Electro and the Art of the Quick Mix\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Growing up in Daly City, Shortkut caught the DJ bug thanks to a Filipino mobile crew who played his 6th grade dance. He started DJing at age 13, after the local Filipino sound system culture had cycled through disco, metal, and New Wave, before arriving at hip-hop, freestyle and Miami bass.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of Shortkut’s first exposures to a DJ battle took place in a large hall.“There would be about four to six sound systems separately set up in the one room with their own individual sound systems. Each group would get about like 20 minutes to do their thing, and then at the end of the night, whoever won. The word got out that group won, and then that’s who everyone wanted to book for school dances or birthday parties.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Shortkut joined a crew called Just 2 Hype, which played freestyle, Miami bass and 808-laced Mantronix singles. “That’s why I think the Bay Area is specifically more scratch-DJ based,” he says, “because everyone scratched to fast beats, all the classic electro stuff.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He also worked on perfecting the art of the quick-mix, changing up the record every four or eight bars. But records like DJ Jazzy Jeff’s “Live At Union Square” drew him into the world of scratch-mixing. “When I first started scratching, I just listened to records, basically. All the early records I used to buy, I would just try to copy what I heard on record.”\u003cbr>\nIn the late ’80s and early ’90s, he says, “I really got into embracing hip-hop” – catching up with records that hadn’t been hugely popular in the Filipino scene, and becoming further enthralled with scratching and beat-juggling. “That’s when I was first hearing about Qbert and Apollo and Mix Master Mike,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952223\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1742px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1742\" height=\"1190\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952223\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_.jpg 1742w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-800x546.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-1020x697.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-768x525.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan1_-1536x1049.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1742px) 100vw, 1742px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">First trip to Japan, 1993. At far left is B-boy and dancer Richard Colón, a.k.a. Crazy Legs from the Rock Steady Crew. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Back then, Apollo was the big name, being from Unlimited Sounds. “He was the party rocker. But he was kind of the B-boy out of all the Filipino guys I knew.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As he attempted to build his DJ skills, Shortkut remembers listening to cassette tapes of Qbert scratching and mixing. Initially, he had only basic equipment, and used belt-driven turntables. “I got better once I got to direct-drives because I already knew how to handle it and have a certain feel to it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Qbert winning the U.S. DMC Championship in 1991 was huge, he says. “We didn’t really have any role models, as a Filipino kid.” He took the win as validation – and inspiration.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I lived about five minutes from Q’s house,” he says. “I used to go to Q’s house with the guy who taught me how to DJ. We both cold-called Q because we knew he was the one who had all the battle videos. So we would go to his house and dub the videos and while they were dubbing, me and Q would scratch.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During this time, Shortkut says, Mike had moved to Sacramento, and Apollo was DJing for Branford Marsalis, “so I would hook up with Q and Disk a lot.” Q used to bring Shortkut and Disk along when he opened up shows in the Bay – affording the younger DJs valuable stage experience. Shortkut, Mike, and Q eventually formed a crew briefly called the Turntable Dragons, pre-ISP. Then, in 1993, Shortkut, Mike, and Q played a \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13935467/the-bomb-magazine-label-san-francisco-turntablism-djs\">Bomb Hip-Hop\u003c/a> Party – possibly the first time they had been billed as the Invisibl Skratch Piklz.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952239\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 250px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952239\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/invisblskratchp_002-h.gif\" alt=\"\" width=\"250\" height=\"250\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The five-man crew. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘Everyone That Worked There Was Filipino’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Dave Paul, publisher of \u003cem>Bomb Hip Hop Magazine\u003c/em>, coincidentally also began as a mobile DJ in 1984 with a crew called Midnight Connections. He tells a funny story about working an after-school job for Chevron. “I wasn’t that great. So they moved me from, like, the main Chevron on Geary Street over to one on California Street. And everyone that worked there was Filipino. Turned out everyone that worked there was also a DJ.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Paul knew of Apollo from Unlimited Sounds, and had seen Qbert perform a famous “Mary Had A Little Lamb” routine during a San Jose battle around 1989 or 1990. “That really got his name out,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During the annual Gavin Convention in San Francisco, Bomb Hip Hop magazine would present live performance showcases. Paul booked the Piklz on multiple occasions, beginning in 1992, when they were still called the Rocksteady DJs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>According to Paul, the vibe of those early performances “was always sort of the \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kDLzGtQmMyw\">don’t-give-a-fuck style\u003c/a>. Like, things didn’t have to be clean. They were just really raw. And it was just ill. They were doing stuff that no one else was doing at the time.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10345320\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-10345320\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/01/QBertMain.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/01/QBertMain.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/01/QBertMain-400x225.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">DJ QBert. \u003ccite>(Thud Rumble)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>After releasing a now-legendary compilation tape that featured Qbert along with a Canadian MC named Madchild, as well as local underground artists like Homeless Derelix, Blackalicious, Bored Stiff, and Mystik Journeymen, Bomb Hip Hop became a record label in 1995 with the release of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13937489/best-bay-area-turntablism-scratch-dj-albums\">\u003cem>Return of the DJ Vol. 1\u003c/em>\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That record essentially started the movement of turntablism as a musical genre. The Skratch Piklz (at that time, Qbert, Shortkut and Disk) were featured on “Invasion of the Octopus People,” while Mix Master Mike contributed his first official solo production, “Terrorwrist.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Return of the DJ \u003c/em>evolved into a compilation series spanning multiple volumes, and inspired numerous others, like Om Records’ \u003cem>Deep Concentration\u003c/em> and Ubiquity’s \u003cem>Audio Alchemy\u003c/em> compilations. Asphodel, an alternative label known for ultra-underground somnolent, ambient, droney electronic music, signed the Skratch Piklz to a deal, which resulted in 1996’s single “Invisibl Skratch Piklz vs. Da Klamz Uv Deth,” which featured Qbert, Shortkut, and Mix Master Mike.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952246\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1938px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952246\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1938\" height=\"1882\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca.jpg 1938w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-800x777.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-1020x991.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-160x155.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-768x746.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-1536x1492.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ezgif-3-ae00e595ca-1920x1865.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1938px) 100vw, 1938px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Invisibl Skratch Piklz vs. Da Clamz Uv Deth,’ 1997. \u003ccite>(Asphodel Records)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“A very strange thing about that (single) is, I had just invented scratch music,” Qbert says. “Which is this thing where every sound is scratched. Drums are scratched, the hi-hats are scratched, the snare and vocals are scratched, the chords, every single thing is scratched! No matter what is in there. So that was tracked out — like, every track was off the turntables, making a complete scratch song.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Turntablism spread quickly through San Francisco’s progressive club scene in the mid-’90s. Mark Herlihy’s art/performance collective Future Primitive established itself as an avant garde music label with a live recording of Shortkut and Cut Chemist at Cat’s Alley, on Folsom Street. An outer Tenderloin hole in the wall, Deco, became a headquarters for unfiltered, ultra-creative DJ expression in its basement, via “Many Styles” nights curated by Apollo. Qbert was part of the groundbreaking alternative hip-hop group Dr. Octagon along with producer Dan the Automator and MC Kool Keith, who recorded an indie classic that got re-released nationally by Dreamworks. To this day, Qbert’s scratch solo on Dr. Octagon’s “Earth People” stands out as a particular flashpoint, the turntable equivalent, perhaps, of the guitar solos on “Hotel California” or “Comfortably Numb.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Needless to say, it’s not an empty boast when Mix Master Mike says he and the Skratch Piklz “pretty much created this genre of music.” No one was doing it before them, and many followed in their footsteps. Locally, the Bullet Proof Scratch Hamsters (aka the Space Travelers), Supernatural Turntable Artists, and the Oakland Faders all scratched and juggled. Live bands incorporating turntablists included Live Human (DJ Quest) and Soulstice (Mei-Lwun). New York’s X-Ecutioners were probably ISP’s closest counterparts nationally, having formed in 1989. But despite their turntable innovations, even they weren’t performing or recording as a \u003cem>band\u003c/em> until after the Skratch Piklz.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952245\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952245\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/AAA_Q_ISP_11_JeffStraw-2144-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz at the DMC World DJ Finals at The Midway in San Francisco, Calif., on Nov. 3, 2023. \u003ccite>(Jeff Straw)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Back when they were known as the X-Men, the X-Ecutioners faced off against the Piklz in a landmark 1996 battle in New York’s Manhattan Center – a contest so epic, it’s listed among \u003cem>Mixmag\u003c/em>’s \u003ca href=\"https://mixmag.net/feature/the-10-best-dj-scratch-battles-of-all-time\">Top 10 DJ Scratch Battles of All Time\u003c/a>. X-Ecutioners member and DJ historian Rob Swift says Qbert first came on his radar in 1991, when he beat X-Ecutioners founder Steve Dee to win the US DMC Finals.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We thought he was Hawaiian,” Swift says, because Qbert appeared to be wearing a lei in the battle video. “We didn’t know that he was this Filipino DJ that came out of this Filipino community of DJs in the Bay Area. We didn’t know that there \u003cem>were\u003c/em> DJs out there.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Swift later entered the 1991 New Music Seminar battle, where Qbert was a judge; the two exchanged numbers and began calling each other and exchanging videos regularly.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When rappers began increasingly excluding the DJ throughout the ’90s, he says he and Qbert would discuss what to do about it., “We would both be like, ‘You’ve got these rappers (not respecting the DJ). Fuck them, and we’re going to create our own DJ scene. If the music industry is going to turn their backs on DJing, we need to figure out a way to just create our own scene.’”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“And,” he adds, “that’s exactly what we did.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952225\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952225\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1166\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-800x530.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-1020x676.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-768x509.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Lebanon.trophy-1536x1018.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Invisibl Skratch Piklz in Lebanon. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Enter the ITF — and D-Styles\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>When the Pilkz battled the X-Ecutioners, it was as much about gaining respect for turntable culture as it was about individual bragging rights. Though the court of public opinion is still split on who won, the battle put a spotlight on both crews. As Swift says, “We started strategizing ways to book our own tours and create all-DJ competitions (like) the ITF, the International Turntablist Federation,” who organized the historic battle.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Founded by Alex Aquino with help from Shortkut, the ITF was established in 1995 and stayed active until 2005. It was intended as a cultural organization, and as somewhat of a critique of the DMC, which had become the only major DJ competition, following the demise of the New Music Seminar.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Without the DMC,” Aquino says, “we wouldn’t have this world stage for the guys to be on. But after Q lost that first battle, we were like, something has to change.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Specifically, the criteria. “And so, we were like, let’s do our own battle. Let’s have real turntablists and DJs judge it, like a New Music Seminar, but instead of just the one-on-one battle, the advancement class for the belt, let’s do a scratching category. Let’s do a beat-juggling category. And let’s do a team category. And that’s how we started out.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952211\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1366px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952211\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1366\" height=\"1834\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine.jpg 1366w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-800x1074.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-1020x1369.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-160x215.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-768x1031.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.japan_.magazine-1144x1536.jpg 1144w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1366px) 100vw, 1366px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">In a Japanese magazine, date unknown. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>DJs like Vin Roc, Babu, Craze, and A-Trak all won ITF titles, as did teams like the Allies and Beat Junkies. The ITF succeeded in giving turntablists a visible platform to showcase their skills and in further popularizing the artform in the U.S. and internationally. (In 1999, the DMC would add a team category, and the organization currently rotates additional categories, including Scratch, Portablist, and Beat Juggling.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After \u003cem>Return of the DJ\u003c/em>’s “Octopus People,” with Apollo unavailable and Mix Master Mike pursuing a solo career, the Skratch Piklz needed new blood. For the next few years, ISP membership became somewhat fluid, swelling and contracting as new members joined for a while, before going off to do other projects. DJ Disk, DJ Flare, Canadian teenage prodigy A-Trak, and former Thud Rumble label manager Ritche Desuasido, a.k.a. Yogafrog, were all ISP members at one time or another, along with Shortkut.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1996, Beat Junkies member Dave Cuasito, a.k.a. D-Styles, joined the Piklz and became a linchpin for the group; Aquino calls him “the hidden master.” Though not as flashy or famous as Qbert, he’s well-respected in turntablist circles and has helped focus the Pilkz on compositional elements in their music while also being able to scratch, cut and juggle at a high level.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Born in the Philippines, D-Styles grew up in San Jose. Like the other Piklz, he was exposed to hip-hop through breaking and its accompanying soundtrack. “I would hear the songs that they were playing, but then they would scratch certain words and certain parts of that song. And so I was always curious how they were doing it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952229\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1759px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952229\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1759\" height=\"1168\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_.jpg 1759w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.qbert_.dst_-1536x1020.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1759px) 100vw, 1759px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Grandmaster DXT and Qbert. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Alex Aquino)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>His answer came when he saw Grandmixer DST (now known as DXT)’s scratch segment on Herbie Hancock’s “Rockit.” After getting a basic Realistic mixer for his birthday, he, too, joined a mobile DJ crew (Sound City), who pooled their equipment like so many others – and spent their meager proceeds on post-gig Denny’s meals. After taking part in typical mobile battles with crews exchanging 20-minute sets, he discovered there was a battle specifically for scratch DJs, and competed in the 1993 DMC.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1996, he moved to San Francisco to attend college, but what he really wanted was to pursue music. He was already familiar with Mike, Qbert and Shortkut from the battle scene, and from hanging out on Tuesday night at Deco, a small speakeasy-style jazz bar with open turntables in the basement.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“One strange night, I got a phone call on my answering machine and it was Yogafrog and Q, and they were like, ‘Hey, man’ – I don’t know if they were drunk or what – but they were like, ‘we need to talk, man. We think we should all come together and form a crew.” They met up and talked, and soon after, he was asked to officially join the group.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>D-Styles stoic demeanor compliments the other Piklz, yet beneath his focused concentration lies a punk rock attitude that aligns with Qbert’s philosophy that the only rule is there are no rules. Likewise, his turntable-composition approach balances the others’ battle-DJ backgrounds.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952235\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 636px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952235\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/SK-A-TRAK-1997-at-Qs.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"636\" height=\"474\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/SK-A-TRAK-1997-at-Qs.png 636w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/SK-A-TRAK-1997-at-Qs-160x119.png 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 636px) 100vw, 636px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Shortkut and A-Trak at Qbert’s place, 1997. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Shortkut)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“As far as a turntable composer, I feel like we definitely embrace the more musical side of it, and less technical,” he says. “For the battle DJs, they really try to spray like a Uzi, you know what I mean? And just get off a bunch of power stuff and try to wow the the crowd and the judges. For music, it’s more about the long-term thing. We want to make music that’s timeless. And it’s not based off of a five-minute routine.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With the core Piklz now set with Qbert, Shortkut and D-Styles, Mix Master Mike – who remained affiliated with the crew – says, “I felt like we had the perfect stew. Everyone had their own style, their own identity.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Around this time, Mike began putting together his first solo album, \u003cem>Anti-Theft Device\u003c/em>, which he envisioned as “not an underground album (but) a worldwide release.” He imagined himself as a sonic transducer, attracting and reshaping matter into different forms. He drew on inspirations like Led Zeppelin’s John Bonham, early Public Enemy, Thelonious Monk, Rage Against the Machine and Ennio Morricone. He contemplated the subtlety of silence, of ghost notes and pregnant pauses. And then he went out and made an album with booming, deafening drums and thumping bass on nearly every track.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I focused on the drums first,” Mike says. “I wanted to make sure those drums were hitting really hard.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952249\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952249\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1000\" height=\"984\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft.jpg 1000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft-800x787.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft-160x157.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/MMM.antitheft-768x756.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1000px) 100vw, 1000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mix Master Mike’s ‘Anti-Theft Device,’ 1998. \u003ccite>(Asphodel Records)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>On \u003cem>Anti-Theft Device\u003c/em>, the found sounds and quirky vocal samples (“NASA maintains this is \u003cem>not\u003c/em> Colonel Blaha’s voice”) often present on DJ mix tapes resurface often, along with boom-bap beats and scratched phrases, instruments and sound effects. There are elements of intoxicated or altered reality, and bug-out moments that suggest turboized vocoders spouting underwater propellers, or seemingly random musical sample generators harnessing infinite libraries of sound, from raga to reggae to rock.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“At the end of the day,” Mike says, “it’s about spearheading the evolution of the battle DJ – as artist, composer, tastemaker.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While Mike was the first Pikl to make a solo album, Qbert crafted an especially ambitious concept for his first official solo debut. As Mike tells it, he had some extra tracks left over, which he gave to Qbert. “And he fuckin’, just like, went crazy on those beats. And then, yeah. It became \u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952250\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952250\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/R-16932444-1610670653-3566.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/R-16932444-1610670653-3566.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/R-16932444-1610670653-3566-160x160.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">DJ Qbert’s ‘Wave Twisters,’ 1998. The album spawned a cult-classic 2001 animated film of the same name. \u003ccite>(Galactic Butt Hair Records)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Wave Twisters, the Beasties and Beyond\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em> holds the rare distinction of being a soundtrack around which a movie was later designed. The album received extremely positive reviews, making many music critics’ year-end lists. To this day, it’s regarded as one of the best turntablism albums of all time. Tracks like “Destination: Quasar 16.33.45.78” took ISP battle routines to new levels, imagining a battle in inner space between a heroic dental hygienist and the minions of a villain named Lord Ook. The track revels in sci-fi tropes, with vocal cues like “Attention, starship!” coloring the scratched, transformed and cut-up audio landscape.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>According to Qbert, \u003cem>Wave Twisters\u003c/em> was willed into existence. “I intentionally foresaw it because in the back of my head, I was like, I’m gonna make every song like a storyline. It’s going to be a thing. And somebody’s going to animate this. And then out of nowhere, the universe made it all work.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13937489","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Meanwhile, Mix Master Mike was setting his own intentions – around becoming a member of the Beastie Boys. A longtime fan of their music, he says, “even before I met them, I always thought I was the fourth Beastie, and I was the missing element.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After meeting the Beasties’ MCA during a Rock Steady Crew anniversary in 1996, Mike took an unusual route to make his dreams come true. “I went up to MCA and introduced myself,” he recalls. “He knew who I was through all the competitions and the battles, and we exchanged phone numbers and went back home. And late at night, I would just leave these scratch messages on his answering machine. Two, three in the morning, just leaving these scratches on his machine, hoping that these transmissions would penetrate. Fortunately they did. \u003ca href=\"http://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/timeline#mix-master-mike-becomes-the-beastie-boys-dj\">And the rest is history\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952251\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952251\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1611\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-800x503.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-1020x642.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-160x101.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-768x483.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-1536x967.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-2048x1289.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/Beasties.MixMasterMike.2004-1920x1208.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L-R) Mixmaster Mike, Mike Diamond, Adam ‘MCA’ Yauch, and Adam ‘Ad-Rock’ Horovitz of The Beastie Boys attend the MTV Europe Music Awards 2004 at Tor di Valle Nov. 18, 2004 in Rome, Italy. \u003ccite>(Bruno Vincent/Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Mike joined the Beasties in time for 1998’s \u003cem>Hello Nasty\u003c/em> album, remaining part of the group until MCA died of cancer in 2012 and the Beastie Boys disbanded. “So at the end of the day,” Mike says, “it’s all about power of intention, right? And my intention was to get in the band or work with the band.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As the ’90s drew to a close, the Piklz weren’t quite done. They produced Skratchcon 2000, a scratching convention, bringing together pioneering masters and acolytes of DJ scratch music. “That was our old manager, Yogafrog,” Qbert says. “His idea to put on a convention called Scratchcon, that was a genius idea of his, and we should do a Part II. We got all the best, most popular scratchers on the planet to come through. It was huge. Steve Dee was there, even Aladdin, all the X-Ecutioners, everybody. It was amazing.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952252\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1500px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952252\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1500\" height=\"983\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_.jpg 1500w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-800x524.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-1020x668.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-160x105.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/ISP.Garage.Group_-768x503.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1500px) 100vw, 1500px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L–R) Shortkut, D-Styles, Mix Master Mike, Yogafrog and QBert in QBert’s garage in the Excelsior District of San Francisco, 1998. \u003ccite>(Liz Hafalia /The San Francisco Chronicle via Getty Images))\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Skratchcon drew fans from all over the country, in addition to current and historic scratch DJs,for live showcases and demonstrations like DJ Radar’s introduction of scratch notation. The convention culminated with a live concert at the Fillmore Auditorium, billed at the time as the ISP’s last official performance. To this day, it stands as one of the highpoints of a decade overflowing with revolutionary developments in hip-hop DJ culture, which saw the Invisibl Skratch Piklz make history and become iconic representatives of turntablism.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As Mix Master Mike says, “There is no ceiling to this. No, it’s whatever you think about is whatever you create and whatever you can apply.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-11687704\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"60\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-400x30.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-768x58.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13952208/invisibl-skratch-piklz-filipino-djs-daly-city-san-francisco-turntablism-history","authors":["11839"],"series":["arts_22314"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_69"],"tags":["arts_2854","arts_21712","arts_2852","arts_10278","arts_831","arts_17218","arts_21940","arts_1146","arts_19347","arts_21711"],"featImg":"arts_13952226","label":"arts_22314"},"arts_13959726":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13959726","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13959726","score":null,"sort":[1725474738000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"vicki-starr-transgender-topless-dancer-san-francisco-lgbtq-prison-reform","title":"The Transgender Topless Dancer Who Went to War with Prison Authorities","publishDate":1725474738,"format":"standard","headTitle":"The Transgender Topless Dancer Who Went to War with Prison Authorities | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":8978,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>In 1964, after \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13953248/topless-at-the-condor-movie-review-carol-doda-documentary-north-beach-history\">Carol Doda danced topless at The Condor\u003c/a> for the first time, nightclubs across San Francisco’s North Beach erupted into a \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13958719/who-was-yvonne-dangers-1960s-topless-north-beach-star-deportation\">topless frenzy\u003c/a>. Topless bands, topless clothing stores and even a topless shoe shine all opened in quick succession. But one of the most sensational acts of the time came courtesy of Vicki “Starr” Fernandez, a beautiful transgender woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13959375']Born in Puerto Rico in 1932, Fernandez ran away to America aged just 14, so that she might live a freer, more authentic life. “As a child,” she told the Bakersfield Californian in 1968, “I was more feminine and pretty than the girls in our school … When I was a teenager, my looks and behavior became an embarrassment to my family. The other kids started making really vicious remarks to me … [In] the States, at least I can dress and act as I please without hurting myself or my family.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fernandez danced all over North Beach at clubs including Finnochio’s, El Cid, Pierre’s, Mr. D’s and Coke’s. At the Follies Burlesque, Fernandez participated in the “Battle of the Sexes” — a dance-off in which cis women went head-to-head with trans women and drag queens. (The point was that the audience could rarely tell who was who.) Fernandez was frequently billed as “Mister” (or “Mr.”) Vicki Starr, sensationalizing her trans-ness as a way to maximize audience numbers. This kind of publicity undoubtedly carried major risks for her personal safety and legal standing. Still, she boldly and diligently carried on performing, never shying away from talking about her gender identity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959772\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959772\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"A nightclub poster featuring two women, one glamorously made-up, the other standing topless, her back turned to the camera.\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1984\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-800x620.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-1020x790.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-160x124.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-768x595.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-1536x1190.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-2048x1587.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-1920x1488.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A poster from Coke’s advertising performances by Vicki Starr and Roxanne Alegria with the declaration that: ‘Boys will be girls.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the GLBT Historical Society)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In 1967, Fernandez told \u003cem>San Francisco Chronicle\u003c/em> columnist Merla Zellerbach that she was “working for one reason — to earn money to pay for the conversion operation. As soon as it’s finished, my fiancé and I will get married, possibly adopt children and settle down quietly.” What Fernandez craved, she told the reporter, was “a normal life as a woman.” She was entirely unwilling to give up on that dream, no matter the hurdles in her path. Though Fernandez enjoyed the limelight and relished every opportunity to be her most glamorous self, the nightclubs that made her famous were in many ways merely a means of survival.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Standing up for herself\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Fernandez spent much of her life kicking against social and institutional prejudice. From the time she arrived in San Francisco, Fernandez unabashedly lived every moment as the woman that she was. She was a fashionista, always clad in the most elegant styles of the day. She attracted a large, loving and very diverse friend group. She was politically active, keeping files of political pamphlets at home from the likes of George Moscone and Willie Brown, and voting for Harvey Milk when he was a candidate for the Board of Supervisors. Throughout her life, she stood up for and fiercely defended her rights as a woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of the biggest battles of Fernandez’s life started in 1971, when Fernandez’s longterm partner Richard Smith was convicted of homicide and incarcerated. It was far from the domestic bliss she had once envisioned for herself and, making matters worse, she soon found herself restricted from visiting Smith because of her gender identity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One correspondence from the California Men’s Colony in San Luis Obispo reflects the hostile policies of the era:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Ms. Fernandez remains biologically a male. Accordingly, until such time as a sex change operation is completed, and other approval to visit has been granted, Ms. Fernandez would be expected to enter the institution in male attire and utilize the male rest room.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>To Fernandez, these parameters were unacceptable. She quickly sought out the assistance of the San Francisco Neighborhood Legal Assistance Foundation (SFNLAF), and together they went about becoming a thorn in the side of the California Department of Corrections. They started with letters to the California State Prison Solano, in which Smith was originally held, then moved on to the prison in San Luis Obispo, where he was moved in 1974. That year, one letter to its director Raymond Procunier stated:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Ms. Fernandez was allowed to visit [Smith] for a period of 9 months without any questions raised. She made no attempt to hide her identity in this time. It was evidently only after Ms. Fernandez was discovered to be a trans-sexual that her visiting privilege was suddenly denied.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>For years, Fernandez and the SFNLAF badgered the Department of Corrections to change their stance on Fernandez’s clothing restrictions. And for years, the Department of Corrections tried to brush them off. Fernandez refused to back down. She began actively studying and campaigning for prison reform. She sought advice from the Prisoner’s Union, the American Civil Liberties Union and the Prison Law Collective. She contacted \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/11985739/san-franciscans-honor-glide-church-founder-rev-cecil-williams-at-memorial-ceremony\">Rev. Cecil Williams\u003c/a> of Glide Memorial, knowing he was outspoken on the topic of prison reform. She befriended Daniel Castro, the senior consultant for the select committee on corrections. She became a relentless force — and eventually, her work paid off.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1975, the San Luis Obispo Men’s Colony finally relented and permitted Fernandez to visit Smith in the clothing of her choosing. Access alone was not enough to silence her. When transphobic treatment reared its head in the visitors’ room, Fernandez made sure to document her displeasure in written complaints. One letter from the SFNLAF to H.L. Shaw, then the outside lieutenant of the San Luis Obispo prison, stated:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Ms. Fernandez has been subjected to further abuse which is uncalled for. Her attempts to hold hands and affectionately touch Mr. Smith in the way common between husband and wife has been precluded. Various sergeants under you have offended Ms. Fernandez by carefully policing her hand holding activities.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>It never mattered who she was up against, Fernandez was always ready to fight for equal treatment, no matter the venue.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>A loving legacy\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Though Fernandez’s life was not the easiest, she refused to live meekly or under anyone’s thumb. Proud of her identity, she fought tooth and nail for every scrap of progress she ever made and every shred of happiness she ever found. She was indefatigable when it came to living out loud, no matter who was judging her. But behind closed doors, she was a sensitive and sentimental soul. In the end, it was those traits that formed the foundation of Fernandez’s lasting cultural legacy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13870056']During an era when many of her contemporaries were trying their best to live under the radar and out of sight, Fernandez proudly documented her community in as many ways as she could. In her death, Fernandez left behind a comprehensive goldmine of photographs, flyers and other ephemera that continues to stand as a reflection of the LGBTQ community from the 1950s through the 1980s. These files reflect a joyful and loving community full of beautiful souls who refused to be relegated to the shadows. Now in the care of San Francisco’s GLBT Historical Society, they offer important insight into a woefully under-documented period of time for LGBTQ people.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1967, bemoaning the many hardships she faced, Fernandez told the \u003cem>Chronicle\u003c/em>: “If I’d been born all girl, none of this would have happened.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While her life would have undoubtedly been less challenging if that was the case, it was Fernandez’s trans-ness that ultimately made her so special — in her nightclub performances, in her legal battles, and in the keepsakes she ultimately left behind. “You have a very peaceful effect on people,” a friend named Susan wrote to Fernandez in the 1970s. “A harmony that lifts them and can heal them.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The personal documents Fernandez left behind will continue to do so long into the future.\u003c/p>\n\u003chr>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>To learn about other Rebel Girls from Bay Area History, visit the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/rebelgirls\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">Rebel Girls homepage\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Vicki ‘Starr’ Fernandez was a topless dancer who fought tirelessly for her right to be seen as a woman.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726770872,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":22,"wordCount":1389},"headData":{"title":"Honoring Vicki Starr, the Transgender Nightclub Sensation | KQED","description":"Vicki ‘Starr’ Fernandez was a topless dancer who fought tirelessly for her right to be seen as a woman.","ogTitle":"The Transgender Topless Dancer Who Went to War with Prison Authorities","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"The Transgender Topless Dancer Who Went to War with Prison Authorities","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialTitle":"Honoring Vicki Starr, the Transgender Nightclub Sensation %%page%% %%sep%% KQED","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"The Transgender Topless Dancer Who Went to War with Prison Authorities","datePublished":"2024-09-04T11:32:18-07:00","dateModified":"2024-09-19T11:34:32-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"nprStoryId":"kqed-13959726","templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13959726/vicki-starr-transgender-topless-dancer-san-francisco-lgbtq-prison-reform","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>In 1964, after \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13953248/topless-at-the-condor-movie-review-carol-doda-documentary-north-beach-history\">Carol Doda danced topless at The Condor\u003c/a> for the first time, nightclubs across San Francisco’s North Beach erupted into a \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13958719/who-was-yvonne-dangers-1960s-topless-north-beach-star-deportation\">topless frenzy\u003c/a>. Topless bands, topless clothing stores and even a topless shoe shine all opened in quick succession. But one of the most sensational acts of the time came courtesy of Vicki “Starr” Fernandez, a beautiful transgender woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13959375","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Born in Puerto Rico in 1932, Fernandez ran away to America aged just 14, so that she might live a freer, more authentic life. “As a child,” she told the Bakersfield Californian in 1968, “I was more feminine and pretty than the girls in our school … When I was a teenager, my looks and behavior became an embarrassment to my family. The other kids started making really vicious remarks to me … [In] the States, at least I can dress and act as I please without hurting myself or my family.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fernandez danced all over North Beach at clubs including Finnochio’s, El Cid, Pierre’s, Mr. D’s and Coke’s. At the Follies Burlesque, Fernandez participated in the “Battle of the Sexes” — a dance-off in which cis women went head-to-head with trans women and drag queens. (The point was that the audience could rarely tell who was who.) Fernandez was frequently billed as “Mister” (or “Mr.”) Vicki Starr, sensationalizing her trans-ness as a way to maximize audience numbers. This kind of publicity undoubtedly carried major risks for her personal safety and legal standing. Still, she boldly and diligently carried on performing, never shying away from talking about her gender identity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13959772\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13959772\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"A nightclub poster featuring two women, one glamorously made-up, the other standing topless, her back turned to the camera.\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1984\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-800x620.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-1020x790.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-160x124.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-768x595.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-1536x1190.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-2048x1587.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/06/20240606_134527-1920x1488.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A poster from Coke’s advertising performances by Vicki Starr and Roxanne Alegria with the declaration that: ‘Boys will be girls.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the GLBT Historical Society)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In 1967, Fernandez told \u003cem>San Francisco Chronicle\u003c/em> columnist Merla Zellerbach that she was “working for one reason — to earn money to pay for the conversion operation. As soon as it’s finished, my fiancé and I will get married, possibly adopt children and settle down quietly.” What Fernandez craved, she told the reporter, was “a normal life as a woman.” She was entirely unwilling to give up on that dream, no matter the hurdles in her path. Though Fernandez enjoyed the limelight and relished every opportunity to be her most glamorous self, the nightclubs that made her famous were in many ways merely a means of survival.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Standing up for herself\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Fernandez spent much of her life kicking against social and institutional prejudice. From the time she arrived in San Francisco, Fernandez unabashedly lived every moment as the woman that she was. She was a fashionista, always clad in the most elegant styles of the day. She attracted a large, loving and very diverse friend group. She was politically active, keeping files of political pamphlets at home from the likes of George Moscone and Willie Brown, and voting for Harvey Milk when he was a candidate for the Board of Supervisors. Throughout her life, she stood up for and fiercely defended her rights as a woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of the biggest battles of Fernandez’s life started in 1971, when Fernandez’s longterm partner Richard Smith was convicted of homicide and incarcerated. It was far from the domestic bliss she had once envisioned for herself and, making matters worse, she soon found herself restricted from visiting Smith because of her gender identity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One correspondence from the California Men’s Colony in San Luis Obispo reflects the hostile policies of the era:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Ms. Fernandez remains biologically a male. Accordingly, until such time as a sex change operation is completed, and other approval to visit has been granted, Ms. Fernandez would be expected to enter the institution in male attire and utilize the male rest room.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>To Fernandez, these parameters were unacceptable. She quickly sought out the assistance of the San Francisco Neighborhood Legal Assistance Foundation (SFNLAF), and together they went about becoming a thorn in the side of the California Department of Corrections. They started with letters to the California State Prison Solano, in which Smith was originally held, then moved on to the prison in San Luis Obispo, where he was moved in 1974. That year, one letter to its director Raymond Procunier stated:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Ms. Fernandez was allowed to visit [Smith] for a period of 9 months without any questions raised. She made no attempt to hide her identity in this time. It was evidently only after Ms. Fernandez was discovered to be a trans-sexual that her visiting privilege was suddenly denied.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>For years, Fernandez and the SFNLAF badgered the Department of Corrections to change their stance on Fernandez’s clothing restrictions. And for years, the Department of Corrections tried to brush them off. Fernandez refused to back down. She began actively studying and campaigning for prison reform. She sought advice from the Prisoner’s Union, the American Civil Liberties Union and the Prison Law Collective. She contacted \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/news/11985739/san-franciscans-honor-glide-church-founder-rev-cecil-williams-at-memorial-ceremony\">Rev. Cecil Williams\u003c/a> of Glide Memorial, knowing he was outspoken on the topic of prison reform. She befriended Daniel Castro, the senior consultant for the select committee on corrections. She became a relentless force — and eventually, her work paid off.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1975, the San Luis Obispo Men’s Colony finally relented and permitted Fernandez to visit Smith in the clothing of her choosing. Access alone was not enough to silence her. When transphobic treatment reared its head in the visitors’ room, Fernandez made sure to document her displeasure in written complaints. One letter from the SFNLAF to H.L. Shaw, then the outside lieutenant of the San Luis Obispo prison, stated:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Ms. Fernandez has been subjected to further abuse which is uncalled for. Her attempts to hold hands and affectionately touch Mr. Smith in the way common between husband and wife has been precluded. Various sergeants under you have offended Ms. Fernandez by carefully policing her hand holding activities.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>It never mattered who she was up against, Fernandez was always ready to fight for equal treatment, no matter the venue.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>A loving legacy\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Though Fernandez’s life was not the easiest, she refused to live meekly or under anyone’s thumb. Proud of her identity, she fought tooth and nail for every scrap of progress she ever made and every shred of happiness she ever found. She was indefatigable when it came to living out loud, no matter who was judging her. But behind closed doors, she was a sensitive and sentimental soul. In the end, it was those traits that formed the foundation of Fernandez’s lasting cultural legacy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13870056","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>During an era when many of her contemporaries were trying their best to live under the radar and out of sight, Fernandez proudly documented her community in as many ways as she could. In her death, Fernandez left behind a comprehensive goldmine of photographs, flyers and other ephemera that continues to stand as a reflection of the LGBTQ community from the 1950s through the 1980s. These files reflect a joyful and loving community full of beautiful souls who refused to be relegated to the shadows. Now in the care of San Francisco’s GLBT Historical Society, they offer important insight into a woefully under-documented period of time for LGBTQ people.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 1967, bemoaning the many hardships she faced, Fernandez told the \u003cem>Chronicle\u003c/em>: “If I’d been born all girl, none of this would have happened.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While her life would have undoubtedly been less challenging if that was the case, it was Fernandez’s trans-ness that ultimately made her 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>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>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>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13959726/vicki-starr-transgender-topless-dancer-san-francisco-lgbtq-prison-reform","authors":["11242"],"programs":["arts_8978"],"series":["arts_22303"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_7862","arts_75"],"tags":["arts_10278","arts_1962","arts_5747","arts_3226","arts_21841","arts_4330"],"featImg":"arts_13963471","label":"arts_8978"},"arts_13955066":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13955066","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13955066","score":null,"sort":[1715978902000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"del-martin-phyllis-lyon-lesbian-icons-lgbt-daughters-of-bilitis","title":"The San Francisco Couple Whose Lifelong Love Changed America","publishDate":1715978902,"format":"standard","headTitle":"The San Francisco Couple Whose Lifelong Love Changed America | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":8978,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>[dropcap]W[/dropcap]hen Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon co-authored \u003cem>Lesbian/Woman\u003c/em> in 1972, the effect was seismic. Dedicated to “daughters throughout the world who are struggling with their identity,” the book began with a clear, unequivocal explanation:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>A Lesbian is a woman whose primary erotic, psychological, emotional and social interest is in a member of her own sex.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>That a book about lesbian culture would even require such a definition feels bizarre today. But the lifelong work of San Francisco couple Martin and Lyon is one of the reasons that so few people require such annotations now. \u003cem>Lesbian/Woman\u003c/em> didn’t just demystify same-sex female relationships — it calmly and clearly sought to normalize them. At the time, few representations of lesbians existed outside of lurid pulp fiction or psychology textbooks. \u003cem>Lesbian/Woman\u003c/em> changed the conversation and reassured queer women everywhere that there was nothing wrong with them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13889944']When Martin and Lyon began their relationship in 1952, after two years of friendship, America was a terrifying place to be LGBTQ. Looking back in 1995, the couple wrote an essay recalling the “climate of fear, rejection and oppression” that marked the earliest days of their 56-year romance. “Lesbians and gay men, if found out,” the pair wrote, “were subject to reprisals from all quarters of society: employers, police, military, government, family and friends.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With that in mind — after moving into a Castro District apartment together on Valentine’s Day in 1953 — Martin and Lyon sought friendships with fellow lesbians outside of the oft-raided gay bars. That led to the establishment in 1955 of the \u003ca href=\"https://guides.loc.gov/lgbtq-studies/before-stonewall/daughters-of-bilitis\">Daughters of Bilitis\u003c/a> (DOB), the first lesbian-rights organization in the U.S.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Originally the idea of \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/queeriodicals/p/CFaBsyuAVGF/?img_index=1\">Rosalie Bamberger\u003c/a>, a local Filipina factory worker, the nonprofit started with just four couples. Martin was the club’s first president, and by the end of its first year, DOB had 15 official members. From there, the group expanded their ranks via the Daughters of Bilitis newsletter and, starting in October 1956, \u003ca href=\"https://archive.org/details/pub_ladder\">\u003cem>The Ladder\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, a groundbreaking lesbian magazine edited by Lyon. She held a degree in journalism from UC Berkeley, and had worked in magazines and newspapers since the ’40s — but here, she published under the pseudonym Ann Ferguson.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13958039\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13958039\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/the-ladder-scaled-e1715901912416.jpg\" alt=\"Three black and white covers of magazines. The first shows an androgynous person, the second features two cats, and the third is a sketch of a couple, viewed from behind, watching a sunset.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"891\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Issues of ‘The Ladder,’ a magazine for lesbians that began publishing in 1956. \u003ccite>(The Internet Archive)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Lyon’s pen name wasn’t the only reflection of the fear-of-being-found-out that marked the era: Daughters of Bilitis’ name came from \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Songs_of_Bilitis#:~:text=The%20Songs%20of%20Bilitis%20(%2Fb,work%20is%20considered%20a%20pseudotranslation.\">Songs of Bilitis\u003c/a>, \u003c/em>a collection of lesbian love poems published in 1894 by Pierre Louÿs, who claimed the text was based on ancient Greek scripts. If anyone asked, the women could say that DOB was merely a club for women who were passionate about Greek poetry.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And in 1960, when the organization’s first conference was held in the penthouse of San Francisco’s \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hotel_Whitcomb\">Hotel Whitcomb\u003c/a>, all attendees were careful to wear skirts and dresses, lest they be accused of cross-dressing. (They were right to do so: SFPD’s “homosexual detail” showed up to see if anything nefarious was going on.) At one point, Martin and Lyon were so concerned about their office being raided and the DOB mailing list being exposed, they hid the document in the back of their station wagon.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Still, DOB persisted, acting as a support and social group, and as a source of information for its members. Even in the organization’s earliest days, Martin carried herself with an unrivaled fortitude. In 1959, she attended a Mattachine Society convention in Denver to voice her dissatisfaction with the gay organization’s attitude towards women. Pointing out that the group was 99% male, Martin announced from the stage: “Lesbians are not satisfied to be auxiliary members or second-class homosexuals. One of Mattachine’s aims is that of sexual equality. May I suggest that you start with the lesbian?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Martin channeled that energy into her writing as well. Her first solo book, \u003ca href=\"https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/1142351\">\u003cem>Battered Wives\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, was published in 1976, becoming the first American book to discuss domestic violence in depth. By then, Martin was also the first out lesbian to have served on the National Organization of Women’s board of directors. Lyon was a fellow NOW member, which made them the first out lesbian couple to join.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he ’70s were a time of great change for Martin and Lyon. Daughters of Bilitis and \u003cem>The Ladder\u003c/em> both came to an unceremonious halt in 1970 because of intragroup politics and a couple of bad actors. Without either entity to pour their energy into, Martin and Lyon instead focused on writing \u003cem>Lesbian/Woman —\u003c/em> and this time, with incredible bravery, they used their real names. A year later came \u003cem>Lesbian Love and Liberation: The Yes Book of Sex, \u003c/em>a sex-positive guide that Martin and Lyon wrote to encourage tolerance, consent and frankness in the bedroom. The very first page came out guns blazing:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Yes, everyone has a right to a good sex life — including persons who have physical disabilities. Yes, sexuality is the most individualistic part of a person’s life. It is up to each individual to determine and then to assume responsibility for her or his own sexuality. Yes, sex is okay in its varying modes of expression — if people know what they are doing, feel good about it and don’t harm others.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>Less than two years after \u003cem>Lesbian/Woman’\u003c/em>s release, and just months after \u003cem>Lesbian Love and Liberation\u003c/em> came out, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders finally stopped defining homosexuality as a mental illness.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By 1979, the couple had established the \u003ca href=\"https://lyon-martin.org/\">Lyon-Martin Women’s Health Center\u003c/a> in San Francisco — a safe space for lesbian couples to receive healthcare. “We were trying to help lesbians find themselves,” Lyon said in 1989. “I mean, you can’t have a movement if you don’t have people that see that they’re worthwhile.” (Today, the clinic is also focused on serving trans, non-binary, gender non-conforming and intersex people.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13870056']Throughout the ’90s, as LGBTQ people increasingly found acceptance in America, Martin and Lyon celebrated how far they had come in a series of interviews and essays. While the \u003cem>San Francisco Examiner\u003c/em> referred to them as “the mothers of lesbian visibility,” the couple remained hilariously open about how long it took them to figure themselves out. In one 1992 interview, Martin joked about Lyon being a “straight lesbian for a while,” even after they were living together as a couple. Lyon laughed at the memory, admitting, “I was a little slow…”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 2004, Martin and Lyon became the first same-sex couple to marry in San Francisco. At a mass wedding reception for 600 newlyweds on Feb. 23, 2004, Lyon said: “I think it’s important for a lot of the people that got married … but also for our friends who didn’t get married.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13958064\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13958064\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"A 2004 San Francisco marriage license.\" width=\"2560\" height=\"2362\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-800x738.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-1020x941.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-160x148.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-768x709.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-1536x1417.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-2048x1890.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-1920x1771.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon’s first marriage certificate. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the San Francisco History Center)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The unions were frustratingly short-lived — within a month, the California Supreme Court had declared every same-sex marriage that had just taken place in San Francisco invalid.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But four years later, Lyon and Martin proudly returned to City Hall and made things official once more, after the California Supreme Court’s landmark decision on marriage equality. The couple were literally first in line, just as they had been in 2004, and were married by then-Mayor Gavin Newsom — the man who had sanctioned their first wedding. They even wore the same \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/GLBT_Historical_Society#/media/File:GLBTHistoryMuseum.WeddingPantsuits12_10.jpg\">mauve and turquoise suits\u003c/a> they had worn for their first ceremony. (Those outfits are now held in San Francisco’s GLBT Historical Society’s permanent collection.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='pop_102855']It was an enormously meaningful day for the couple. When Martin died at the age of 87, less than three months after their wedding, Lyon said: “I am devastated, but I take some solace in knowing we were able to enjoy the ultimate rite of love and commitment before she passed.” Castro’s Pride flag and the flags at City Hall flew at half-mast in Martin’s honor.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Lyon soldiered on without her love for another 12 years. She died in 2020, aged 95, at home in San Francisco. On learning of the news, Gavin Newsom tweeted: “Phyllis — It was the honor of a lifetime to marry you & Del. Your courage changed the course of history.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It would be a gross understatement to say that Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon’s love, and their willingness to speak openly and often about it, impacted America’s view of same-sex unions. The couple spent their whole lives putting themselves in the spotlight — and sometimes grave danger — to raise awareness, and to help women still struggling with their own sexualities.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 2017, Lyon reminded the world why she and Martin had lived their lives in service. “If you’ve got stuff you want to change, you have to get out and work on it,” she said. “You can’t just sit around and say ‘I wish this or that was different.’ You have to fight for it.”\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon, 'mothers of lesbian visibility,' spent their lives writing, organizing and celebrating their relationship.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726770940,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":24,"wordCount":1623},"headData":{"title":"Honoring Lesbian Icons Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon | KQED","description":"Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon, 'mothers of lesbian visibility,' spent their lives writing, organizing and celebrating their relationship.","ogTitle":"The San Francisco Couple Whose Lifelong Love Changed America","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"The San Francisco Couple Whose Lifelong Love Changed America","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","socialTitle":"Honoring Lesbian Icons Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon%%page%% %%sep%% KQED","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"The San Francisco Couple Whose Lifelong Love Changed America","datePublished":"2024-05-17T13:48:22-07:00","dateModified":"2024-09-19T11:35:40-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"sticky":false,"templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13955066/del-martin-phyllis-lyon-lesbian-icons-lgbt-daughters-of-bilitis","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class=\"utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__dropcapShortcode__dropcap\">W\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>hen Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon co-authored \u003cem>Lesbian/Woman\u003c/em> in 1972, the effect was seismic. Dedicated to “daughters throughout the world who are struggling with their identity,” the book began with a clear, unequivocal explanation:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>A Lesbian is a woman whose primary erotic, psychological, emotional and social interest is in a member of her own sex.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>That a book about lesbian culture would even require such a definition feels bizarre today. But the lifelong work of San Francisco couple Martin and Lyon is one of the reasons that so few people require such annotations now. \u003cem>Lesbian/Woman\u003c/em> didn’t just demystify same-sex female relationships — it calmly and clearly sought to normalize them. At the time, few representations of lesbians existed outside of lurid pulp fiction or psychology textbooks. \u003cem>Lesbian/Woman\u003c/em> changed the conversation and reassured queer women everywhere that there was nothing wrong with them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13889944","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>When Martin and Lyon began their relationship in 1952, after two years of friendship, America was a terrifying place to be LGBTQ. Looking back in 1995, the couple wrote an essay recalling the “climate of fear, rejection and oppression” that marked the earliest days of their 56-year romance. “Lesbians and gay men, if found out,” the pair wrote, “were subject to reprisals from all quarters of society: employers, police, military, government, family and friends.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With that in mind — after moving into a Castro District apartment together on Valentine’s Day in 1953 — Martin and Lyon sought friendships with fellow lesbians outside of the oft-raided gay bars. That led to the establishment in 1955 of the \u003ca href=\"https://guides.loc.gov/lgbtq-studies/before-stonewall/daughters-of-bilitis\">Daughters of Bilitis\u003c/a> (DOB), the first lesbian-rights organization in the U.S.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Originally the idea of \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/queeriodicals/p/CFaBsyuAVGF/?img_index=1\">Rosalie Bamberger\u003c/a>, a local Filipina factory worker, the nonprofit started with just four couples. Martin was the club’s first president, and by the end of its first year, DOB had 15 official members. From there, the group expanded their ranks via the Daughters of Bilitis newsletter and, starting in October 1956, \u003ca href=\"https://archive.org/details/pub_ladder\">\u003cem>The Ladder\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, a groundbreaking lesbian magazine edited by Lyon. She held a degree in journalism from UC Berkeley, and had worked in magazines and newspapers since the ’40s — but here, she published under the pseudonym Ann Ferguson.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13958039\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13958039\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/the-ladder-scaled-e1715901912416.jpg\" alt=\"Three black and white covers of magazines. The first shows an androgynous person, the second features two cats, and the third is a sketch of a couple, viewed from behind, watching a sunset.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"891\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Issues of ‘The Ladder,’ a magazine for lesbians that began publishing in 1956. \u003ccite>(The Internet Archive)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Lyon’s pen name wasn’t the only reflection of the fear-of-being-found-out that marked the era: Daughters of Bilitis’ name came from \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Songs_of_Bilitis#:~:text=The%20Songs%20of%20Bilitis%20(%2Fb,work%20is%20considered%20a%20pseudotranslation.\">Songs of Bilitis\u003c/a>, \u003c/em>a collection of lesbian love poems published in 1894 by Pierre Louÿs, who claimed the text was based on ancient Greek scripts. If anyone asked, the women could say that DOB was merely a club for women who were passionate about Greek poetry.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And in 1960, when the organization’s first conference was held in the penthouse of San Francisco’s \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hotel_Whitcomb\">Hotel Whitcomb\u003c/a>, all attendees were careful to wear skirts and dresses, lest they be accused of cross-dressing. (They were right to do so: SFPD’s “homosexual detail” showed up to see if anything nefarious was going on.) At one point, Martin and Lyon were so concerned about their office being raided and the DOB mailing list being exposed, they hid the document in the back of their station wagon.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Still, DOB persisted, acting as a support and social group, and as a source of information for its members. Even in the organization’s earliest days, Martin carried herself with an unrivaled fortitude. In 1959, she attended a Mattachine Society convention in Denver to voice her dissatisfaction with the gay organization’s attitude towards women. Pointing out that the group was 99% male, Martin announced from the stage: “Lesbians are not satisfied to be auxiliary members or second-class homosexuals. One of Mattachine’s aims is that of sexual equality. May I suggest that you start with the lesbian?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Martin channeled that energy into her writing as well. Her first solo book, \u003ca href=\"https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/1142351\">\u003cem>Battered Wives\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, was published in 1976, becoming the first American book to discuss domestic violence in depth. By then, Martin was also the first out lesbian to have served on the National Organization of Women’s board of directors. Lyon was a fellow NOW member, which made them the first out lesbian couple to join.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class=\"utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__dropcapShortcode__dropcap\">T\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>he ’70s were a time of great change for Martin and Lyon. Daughters of Bilitis and \u003cem>The Ladder\u003c/em> both came to an unceremonious halt in 1970 because of intragroup politics and a couple of bad actors. Without either entity to pour their energy into, Martin and Lyon instead focused on writing \u003cem>Lesbian/Woman —\u003c/em> and this time, with incredible bravery, they used their real names. A year later came \u003cem>Lesbian Love and Liberation: The Yes Book of Sex, \u003c/em>a sex-positive guide that Martin and Lyon wrote to encourage tolerance, consent and frankness in the bedroom. The very first page came out guns blazing:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Yes, everyone has a right to a good sex life — including persons who have physical disabilities. Yes, sexuality is the most individualistic part of a person’s life. It is up to each individual to determine and then to assume responsibility for her or his own sexuality. Yes, sex is okay in its varying modes of expression — if people know what they are doing, feel good about it and don’t harm others.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>Less than two years after \u003cem>Lesbian/Woman’\u003c/em>s release, and just months after \u003cem>Lesbian Love and Liberation\u003c/em> came out, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders finally stopped defining homosexuality as a mental illness.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By 1979, the couple had established the \u003ca href=\"https://lyon-martin.org/\">Lyon-Martin Women’s Health Center\u003c/a> in San Francisco — a safe space for lesbian couples to receive healthcare. “We were trying to help lesbians find themselves,” Lyon said in 1989. “I mean, you can’t have a movement if you don’t have people that see that they’re worthwhile.” (Today, the clinic is also focused on serving trans, non-binary, gender non-conforming and intersex people.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13870056","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Throughout the ’90s, as LGBTQ people increasingly found acceptance in America, Martin and Lyon celebrated how far they had come in a series of interviews and essays. While the \u003cem>San Francisco Examiner\u003c/em> referred to them as “the mothers of lesbian visibility,” the couple remained hilariously open about how long it took them to figure themselves out. In one 1992 interview, Martin joked about Lyon being a “straight lesbian for a while,” even after they were living together as a couple. Lyon laughed at the memory, admitting, “I was a little slow…”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 2004, Martin and Lyon became the first same-sex couple to marry in San Francisco. At a mass wedding reception for 600 newlyweds on Feb. 23, 2004, Lyon said: “I think it’s important for a lot of the people that got married … but also for our friends who didn’t get married.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13958064\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13958064\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"A 2004 San Francisco marriage license.\" width=\"2560\" height=\"2362\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-800x738.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-1020x941.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-160x148.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-768x709.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-1536x1417.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-2048x1890.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/05/20240402_161657-1920x1771.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon’s first marriage certificate. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the San Francisco History Center)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The unions were frustratingly short-lived — within a month, the California Supreme Court had declared every same-sex marriage that had just taken place in San Francisco invalid.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But four years later, Lyon and Martin proudly returned to City Hall and made things official once more, after the California Supreme Court’s landmark decision on marriage equality. The couple were literally first in line, just as they had been in 2004, and were married by then-Mayor Gavin Newsom — the man who had sanctioned their first wedding. They even wore the same \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/GLBT_Historical_Society#/media/File:GLBTHistoryMuseum.WeddingPantsuits12_10.jpg\">mauve and turquoise suits\u003c/a> they had worn for their first ceremony. (Those outfits are now held in San Francisco’s GLBT Historical Society’s permanent collection.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"pop_102855","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>It was an enormously meaningful day for the couple. When Martin died at the age of 87, less than three months after their wedding, Lyon said: “I am devastated, but I take some solace in knowing we were able to enjoy the ultimate rite of love and commitment before she passed.” Castro’s Pride flag and the flags at City Hall flew at half-mast in Martin’s honor.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Lyon soldiered on without her love for another 12 years. She died in 2020, aged 95, at home in San Francisco. On learning of the news, Gavin Newsom tweeted: “Phyllis — It was the honor of a lifetime to marry you & Del. Your courage changed the course of history.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It would be a gross understatement to say that Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon’s love, and their willingness to speak openly and often about it, impacted America’s view of same-sex unions. The couple spent their whole lives putting themselves in the spotlight — and sometimes grave danger — to raise awareness, and to help women still struggling with their own sexualities.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 2017, Lyon reminded the world why she and Martin had lived their lives in service. “If you’ve got stuff you want to change, you have to get out and work on it,” she said. “You can’t just sit around and say ‘I wish this or that was different.’ You have to fight for it.”\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13955066/del-martin-phyllis-lyon-lesbian-icons-lgbt-daughters-of-bilitis","authors":["11242"],"programs":["arts_8978"],"series":["arts_22303"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_7862"],"tags":["arts_10278","arts_3226","arts_22180","arts_21841","arts_8263"],"featImg":"arts_13955067","label":"arts_8978"},"arts_13950520":{"type":"posts","id":"arts_13950520","meta":{"index":"posts_1716263798","site":"arts","id":"13950520","score":null,"sort":[1707948014000]},"guestAuthors":[],"slug":"ruth-beckford-dance-black-panthers-free-breakfast-program","title":"The Dancer Who Helped Start the Black Panthers’ Free Breakfast Program","publishDate":1707948014,"format":"standard","headTitle":"The Dancer Who Helped Start the Black Panthers’ Free Breakfast Program | KQED","labelTerm":{"term":8978,"site":"arts"},"content":"\u003cp>[dropcap]I[/dropcap]n the late 1960s, an uncommonly energetic 43-year-old named Ruth Beckford was teaching an Afro-Haitian dance class in Oakland. A dancing pro since the age of eight, Beckford had a habit of taking a close personal interest in her students. She taught the youngest ones a combination of life skills and etiquette to set them up for bright futures. She encouraged teens and young women to love themselves and pursue their dreams. And when one of her students told Beckford about her involvement with the Black Panther Party, Beckford was keen to be of assistance with that, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The student in question was LaVerne Anderson, who happened to be the girlfriend of Huey P. Newton. Beckford began by accompanying Anderson to some of Newton’s 1968 trial dates. In September of that year, when the idea for the Panthers’ Free Breakfast for School Children Program first came up, it was Beckford who sprang into action and made it happen.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='arts_13874853']Beckford had long been a parishioner at Oakland’s \u003ca href=\"https://staugepiscopal.org/\">St. Augustine’s Episcopal Church\u003c/a>, then situated at West and 27th Streets. Beckford approached her priest there, Father Earl A. Neil, to find out if St. Augustine’s was willing to host a daily program there to feed neighborhood kids. Father Neil agreed, and he and Beckford went about building a health code-safe kitchen and dining space, as well as a nutritionally balanced menu.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On the first day — a Monday in January 1969 — 11 children came to eat. By Friday, that number had swelled to 135. Beckford and Father Neil made such a success of the free breakfasts, the program was soon mandatory in all Black Panther chapters nationwide. It was also a shining example of Beckford’s ability to turn ideas into action, and to plant seeds that would one day create mighty forests. That’s something she had already been doing in her dance classes for 22 years before she got involved with the Panthers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952106\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952106\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/GettyImages-939585344-scaled-e1707777665615.jpg\" alt=\"Several young Black boys, one of whom is wearing a suit, raise their hands to speak as they sit around a table, paper plates of food in front of them.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1298\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Black Panther Party’s Free Breakfast for Children program — like this one in New York City in 1969 — combined education and good nutrition. \u003ccite>(Bev Grant/ Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>[dropcap]B[/dropcap]eckford was born on Dec. 7, 1925 in Oakland’s \u003ca href=\"https://localwiki.org/oakland/Providence_Hospital\">Providence Hospital\u003c/a> to a Jamaican father and a mother from Los Angeles. Beckford was the youngest of four — she had a big sister and a pair of twin brothers — and was raised on 38th Avenue and MacArthur Boulevard. She grew up in a household so supportive that, when they saw her kicking along to music in her crib as a baby, her parents pledged to get her into dance class as soon as she was old enough.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At three years old, Beckford began training in “every kind of dance,” her dedicated mom sewing all her costumes. It was clear from the beginning that the young girl was naturally gifted, and that dance was indeed her calling. By eight, she was a vaudeville dancer. By 14, she was teaching other children. At 17, she toured with the prestigious \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13899186/if-cities-could-dance-east-st-louis\">Katherine Dunham\u003c/a> Company, where she fully embraced African and Caribbean dance for the first time. Beckford loved the work but declined a seven-year contract from Dunham so she could attend UC Berkeley instead. (Dunham remained a mentor and friend for life, and Beckford taught in her New York dance school in 1953.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13926548,pop_102326,arts_13916612']During her studies, Beckford was the only Black dancer in UC Berkeley’s dance club, Orchesis. The experience prepared her for working in majority-white companies later on. In her 20s, as the only Black dancer with the \u003ca href=\"https://calisphere.org/item/8c65bcebbbc335b04faa0cd457e3ebd7/\">Anna Halprin and Welland Lathrop\u003c/a> modern dance company, Beckford said she could sometimes hear the audience gasp as she arrived on San Francisco’s Herbst Theatre stage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Once Beckford had graduated with a modern dance degree, she was keen to serve her community while doing what she loved most. First, she started an annual modern dance showcase that ran for over a decade. Then in 1947, aged just 21, Beckford started the Oakland Recreation Modern Dance Department — the first city-funded dance classes in the United States — and remained project director there for 20 years. Beckford insisted the classes be free so that anyone, no matter their means, would be able to attend. By the time she left in 1967, the department was running 34 modern dance classes for 700 students of all ages and abilities.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Of the importance of this program, Beckford later stated: “My philosophy for the young girls was, I would get them in through dance, but my whole goal was to make them be strong, free spirits. The girls got a lot of doses of self-empowerment training, self-esteem training,” she said. “Out of the thousands of girls that I taught, I knew a few would be dancers, but they all had to become women. I wanted them all to be strong young ladies — and it worked.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These relationships were so important to Beckford, she prioritized them over having children of her own. “I feel if I had had children,” she said in 2000, “I would not have been the mentor to the hundreds and hundreds of girls I mentored. I would give them all the attention. I would tell them they were special.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>From 1954 on, Beckford was also running her own company, the Ruth Beckford African Haitian Dance Company. Her understanding of traditional styles was so exhaustive, she was invited to choreograph a folk festival in Haiti in 1958. At home, her company’s performances — comprised of six dancers accompanied by three drummers — were unlike anything most dance fans had seen in the Bay Area before. For a start, the company was comprised entirely of Black dancers — a refreshing contrast to the companies Beckford had grown up in.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13951198\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13951198 size-full\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/01/GettyImages-576842076-scaled-e1706578196329.jpg\" alt=\"A Black male dancer does the splits in mid-air, while two Black women dance either side of him.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1516\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Students and members of Ruth Beckford’s dance group rehearse a number in Oakland. \u003ccite>(Ted Streshinsky/ CORBIS/ Corbis via Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>[dropcap]A[/dropcap]fter Beckford retired from teaching in 1975, there was still no stopping her. She became an author, writing an autobiography, two cookbooks and a \u003ca href=\"https://www.jstor.org/stable/2784188\">Katherine Dunham biography\u003c/a>. She also co-authored \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.everand.com/book/502678421/The-Picture-Man-From-the-Collection-of-Bay-Area-Photographer-E-F-Joseph-1927-1979\">The Picture Man\u003c/a>,\u003c/em> about Black Bay Area photographer E.F. Joseph. Her final work, \u003ca href=\"https://www.amazon.com/Still-Groovin-Affirmations-Women-Second/dp/0829813373\">\u003cem>Still Groovin’\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, was a book of spiritual advice and affirmations aimed squarely at mature women. “Women are sort of out there by themselves,” she said, “and women have to mentor each other. My book is a tool to help them become stronger.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Still Groovin’\u003c/em> wasn’t her only means of trying to empower her peers. Between 1984 and 1988, Beckford wrote a trilogy of plays titled \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">’\u003c/span>\u003cem>Tis the Morning of My Life\u003c/em>, about a woman named Roxie Youngblood who finds herself in a relationship with a much younger man. Beckford admitted the story was inspired by her own life.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postid='pop_102855']“I have a different energy, I think, to most men my age,” she once explained. “As long as I have this energy, I’m going to use it and have fun with younger people. Younger men have the energy I have, and I feel mine is worthy of that.” On another occasion, she noted: “Older women are marrying younger men nowadays because they find they have much more in common.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When a New York theater asked permission to stage her first play, Beckford agreed only if the original Bay Area cast could perform it. “It’s time for New York to see what the West Coast can do,” she insisted.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For a lot of people, co-founding the Black Panthers’ Free Breakfast program would have been the pinnacle achievement of a lifetime. That Beckford then went on to mentor generations of young Black women was a huge deal. And the sheer number of ways Beckford sought to be of service throughout her life is ultimately breathtaking.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She served on the Board of Oakland\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">’s\u003c/span> African American Museum and Library, where she also founded an oral history program. She counseled homeless people in Berkeley, and women in shelters and prisons around the state. She served on a dance panel at the National Endowment for the Arts and campaigned for better theater facilities in Oakland. She founded a women’s golf club. She even spent Thursday afternoons in the late 1990s volunteering in Jack London Square’s information booth so that she might pass on her passion for all things Oakland.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ruth Beckford remained indefatigable (despite surviving five back surgeries and a hip replacement) until her death at age 93. Shortly before her passing on May 8, 2019, Beckford reflected on a life thoroughly well lived.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I have a joyous life, I have a good time,” she said. “I choreographed my life. Step-by-step, year-by-year.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-800x78.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>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>To learn about other Rebel Girls from Bay Area History, visit the \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/rebelgirls\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">Rebel Girls homepage\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n","blocks":[],"excerpt":"Ruth Beckford used dance as a means to mentor thousands of young women in Oakland. She never stopped serving her community.","status":"publish","parent":0,"modified":1726771028,"stats":{"hasAudio":false,"hasVideo":false,"hasChartOrMap":false,"iframeSrcs":[],"hasGoogleForm":false,"hasGallery":false,"hasHearkenModule":false,"hasPolis":false,"paragraphCount":23,"wordCount":1542},"headData":{"title":"The Dancer Who Helped Start the Black Panthers’ Free Breakfast Program | KQED","description":"Ruth Beckford used dance as a means to mentor thousands of young women in Oakland. She never stopped serving her community.","ogTitle":"","ogDescription":"","ogImgId":"","twTitle":"","twDescription":"","twImgId":"","schema":{"@context":"http://schema.org","@type":"Article","headline":"The Dancer Who Helped Start the Black Panthers’ Free Breakfast Program","datePublished":"2024-02-14T14:00:14-08:00","dateModified":"2024-09-19T11:37:08-07:00","image":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/KQED-OG-Image@1x.png"}},"audioUrl":"https://traffic.omny.fm/d/clips/0af137ef-751e-4b19-a055-aaef00d2d578/ffca7e9f-6831-4[…]f-aaef00f5a073/6767ea25-cddc-42bd-baac-b12c0136bde8/audio.mp3","sticky":false,"templateType":"standard","featuredImageType":"standard","excludeFromSiteSearch":"Include","articleAge":"0","path":"/arts/13950520/ruth-beckford-dance-black-panthers-free-breakfast-program","audioTrackLength":null,"parsedContent":[{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class=\"utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__dropcapShortcode__dropcap\">I\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>n the late 1960s, an uncommonly energetic 43-year-old named Ruth Beckford was teaching an Afro-Haitian dance class in Oakland. A dancing pro since the age of eight, Beckford had a habit of taking a close personal interest in her students. She taught the youngest ones a combination of life skills and etiquette to set them up for bright futures. She encouraged teens and young women to love themselves and pursue their dreams. And when one of her students told Beckford about her involvement with the Black Panther Party, Beckford was keen to be of assistance with that, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The student in question was LaVerne Anderson, who happened to be the girlfriend of Huey P. Newton. Beckford began by accompanying Anderson to some of Newton’s 1968 trial dates. In September of that year, when the idea for the Panthers’ Free Breakfast for School Children Program first came up, it was Beckford who sprang into action and made it happen.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13874853","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Beckford had long been a parishioner at Oakland’s \u003ca href=\"https://staugepiscopal.org/\">St. Augustine’s Episcopal Church\u003c/a>, then situated at West and 27th Streets. Beckford approached her priest there, Father Earl A. Neil, to find out if St. Augustine’s was willing to host a daily program there to feed neighborhood kids. Father Neil agreed, and he and Beckford went about building a health code-safe kitchen and dining space, as well as a nutritionally balanced menu.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On the first day — a Monday in January 1969 — 11 children came to eat. By Friday, that number had swelled to 135. Beckford and Father Neil made such a success of the free breakfasts, the program was soon mandatory in all Black Panther chapters nationwide. It was also a shining example of Beckford’s ability to turn ideas into action, and to plant seeds that would one day create mighty forests. That’s something she had already been doing in her dance classes for 22 years before she got involved with the Panthers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13952106\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13952106\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/02/GettyImages-939585344-scaled-e1707777665615.jpg\" alt=\"Several young Black boys, one of whom is wearing a suit, raise their hands to speak as they sit around a table, paper plates of food in front of them.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1298\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Black Panther Party’s Free Breakfast for Children program — like this one in New York City in 1969 — combined education and good nutrition. \u003ccite>(Bev Grant/ Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class=\"utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__dropcapShortcode__dropcap\">B\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>eckford was born on Dec. 7, 1925 in Oakland’s \u003ca href=\"https://localwiki.org/oakland/Providence_Hospital\">Providence Hospital\u003c/a> to a Jamaican father and a mother from Los Angeles. Beckford was the youngest of four — she had a big sister and a pair of twin brothers — and was raised on 38th Avenue and MacArthur Boulevard. She grew up in a household so supportive that, when they saw her kicking along to music in her crib as a baby, her parents pledged to get her into dance class as soon as she was old enough.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"fullwidth"},"numeric":["fullwidth"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At three years old, Beckford began training in “every kind of dance,” her dedicated mom sewing all her costumes. It was clear from the beginning that the young girl was naturally gifted, and that dance was indeed her calling. By eight, she was a vaudeville dancer. By 14, she was teaching other children. At 17, she toured with the prestigious \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13899186/if-cities-could-dance-east-st-louis\">Katherine Dunham\u003c/a> Company, where she fully embraced African and Caribbean dance for the first time. Beckford loved the work but declined a seven-year contract from Dunham so she could attend UC Berkeley instead. (Dunham remained a mentor and friend for life, and Beckford taught in her New York dance school in 1953.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"arts_13926548,pop_102326,arts_13916612","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>During her studies, Beckford was the only Black dancer in UC Berkeley’s dance club, Orchesis. The experience prepared her for working in majority-white companies later on. In her 20s, as the only Black dancer with the \u003ca href=\"https://calisphere.org/item/8c65bcebbbc335b04faa0cd457e3ebd7/\">Anna Halprin and Welland Lathrop\u003c/a> modern dance company, Beckford said she could sometimes hear the audience gasp as she arrived on San Francisco’s Herbst Theatre stage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Once Beckford had graduated with a modern dance degree, she was keen to serve her community while doing what she loved most. First, she started an annual modern dance showcase that ran for over a decade. Then in 1947, aged just 21, Beckford started the Oakland Recreation Modern Dance Department — the first city-funded dance classes in the United States — and remained project director there for 20 years. Beckford insisted the classes be free so that anyone, no matter their means, would be able to attend. By the time she left in 1967, the department was running 34 modern dance classes for 700 students of all ages and abilities.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Of the importance of this program, Beckford later stated: “My philosophy for the young girls was, I would get them in through dance, but my whole goal was to make them be strong, free spirits. The girls got a lot of doses of self-empowerment training, self-esteem training,” she said. “Out of the thousands of girls that I taught, I knew a few would be dancers, but they all had to become women. I wanted them all to be strong young ladies — and it worked.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These relationships were so important to Beckford, she prioritized them over having children of her own. “I feel if I had had children,” she said in 2000, “I would not have been the mentor to the hundreds and hundreds of girls I mentored. I would give them all the attention. I would tell them they were special.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>From 1954 on, Beckford was also running her own company, the Ruth Beckford African Haitian Dance Company. Her understanding of traditional styles was so exhaustive, she was invited to choreograph a folk festival in Haiti in 1958. At home, her company’s performances — comprised of six dancers accompanied by three drummers — were unlike anything most dance fans had seen in the Bay Area before. For a start, the company was comprised entirely of Black dancers — a refreshing contrast to the companies Beckford had grown up in.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13951198\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13951198 size-full\" src=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2024/01/GettyImages-576842076-scaled-e1706578196329.jpg\" alt=\"A Black male dancer does the splits in mid-air, while two Black women dance either side of him.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1516\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Students and members of Ruth Beckford’s dance group rehearse a number in Oakland. \u003ccite>(Ted Streshinsky/ CORBIS/ Corbis via Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class=\"utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__dropcapShortcode__dropcap\">A\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>fter Beckford retired from teaching in 1975, there was still no stopping her. She became an author, writing an autobiography, two cookbooks and a \u003ca href=\"https://www.jstor.org/stable/2784188\">Katherine Dunham biography\u003c/a>. She also co-authored \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://www.everand.com/book/502678421/The-Picture-Man-From-the-Collection-of-Bay-Area-Photographer-E-F-Joseph-1927-1979\">The Picture Man\u003c/a>,\u003c/em> about Black Bay Area photographer E.F. Joseph. Her final work, \u003ca href=\"https://www.amazon.com/Still-Groovin-Affirmations-Women-Second/dp/0829813373\">\u003cem>Still Groovin’\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, was a book of spiritual advice and affirmations aimed squarely at mature women. “Women are sort of out there by themselves,” she said, “and women have to mentor each other. My book is a tool to help them become stronger.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Still Groovin’\u003c/em> wasn’t her only means of trying to empower her peers. Between 1984 and 1988, Beckford wrote a trilogy of plays titled \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">’\u003c/span>\u003cem>Tis the Morning of My Life\u003c/em>, about a woman named Roxie Youngblood who finds herself in a relationship with a much younger man. Beckford admitted the story was inspired by her own life.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"aside","attributes":{"named":{"postid":"pop_102855","label":""},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>“I have a different energy, I think, to most men my age,” she once explained. “As long as I have this energy, I’m going to use it and have fun with younger people. Younger men have the energy I have, and I feel mine is worthy of that.” On another occasion, she noted: “Older women are marrying younger men nowadays because they find they have much more in common.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When a New York theater asked permission to stage her first play, Beckford agreed only if the original Bay Area cast could perform it. “It’s time for New York to see what the West Coast can do,” she insisted.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For a lot of people, co-founding the Black Panthers’ Free Breakfast program would have been the pinnacle achievement of a lifetime. That Beckford then went on to mentor generations of young Black women was a huge deal. And the sheer number of ways Beckford sought to be of service throughout her life is ultimately breathtaking.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She served on the Board of Oakland\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">’s\u003c/span> African American Museum and Library, where she also founded an oral history program. She counseled homeless people in Berkeley, and women in shelters and prisons around the state. She served on a dance panel at the National Endowment for the Arts and campaigned for better theater facilities in Oakland. She founded a women’s golf club. She even spent Thursday afternoons in the late 1990s volunteering in Jack London Square’s information booth so that she might pass on her passion for all things Oakland.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ruth Beckford remained indefatigable (despite surviving five back surgeries and a hip replacement) until her death at age 93. Shortly before her passing on May 8, 2019, Beckford reflected on a life thoroughly well lived.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I have a joyous life, I have a good time,” she said. “I choreographed my life. Step-by-step, year-by-year.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-800x78.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>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}},{"type":"component","content":"","name":"ad","attributes":{"named":{"label":"floatright"},"numeric":["floatright"]}},{"type":"contentString","content":"\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>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>","attributes":{"named":{},"numeric":[]}}],"link":"/arts/13950520/ruth-beckford-dance-black-panthers-free-breakfast-program","authors":["11242"],"programs":["arts_8978"],"series":["arts_22303"],"categories":["arts_1","arts_966","arts_7862"],"tags":["arts_6775","arts_1346","arts_10278","arts_7408","arts_1143","arts_21841"],"featImg":"arts_13951421","label":"arts_8978"}},"programsReducer":{"possible":{"id":"possible","title":"Possible","info":"Possible is hosted by entrepreneur Reid Hoffman and writer Aria Finger. Together in Possible, Hoffman and Finger lead enlightening discussions about building a brighter collective future. The show features interviews with visionary guests like Trevor Noah, Sam Altman and Janette Sadik-Khan. Possible paints an optimistic portrait of the world we can create through science, policy, business, art and our shared humanity. It asks: What if everything goes right for once? How can we get there? Each episode also includes a short fiction story generated by advanced AI GPT-4, serving as a thought-provoking springboard to speculate how humanity could leverage technology for good.","airtime":"SUN 2pm","imageSrc":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Possible-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg","officialWebsiteLink":"https://www.possible.fm/","meta":{"site":"news","source":"Possible"},"link":"/radio/program/possible","subscribe":{"apple":"https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/possible/id1677184070","spotify":"https://open.spotify.com/show/730YpdUSNlMyPQwNnyjp4k"}},"1a":{"id":"1a","title":"1A","info":"1A is home to the national conversation. 1A brings on great guests and frames the best debate in ways that make you think, share and engage.","airtime":"MON-THU 11pm-12am","imageSrc":"https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/04/1a.jpg","officialWebsiteLink":"https://the1a.org/","meta":{"site":"news","source":"npr"},"link":"/radio/program/1a","subscribe":{"npr":"https://rpb3r.app.goo.gl/RBrW","apple":"https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?s=143441&mt=2&id=1188724250&at=11l79Y&ct=nprdirectory","tuneIn":"https://tunein.com/radio/1A-p947376/","rss":"https://feeds.npr.org/510316/podcast.xml"}},"all-things-considered":{"id":"all-things-considered","title":"All Things Considered","info":"Every weekday, \u003cem>All Things Considered\u003c/em> hosts Robert Siegel, Audie Cornish, Ari Shapiro, and Kelly McEvers present the program's trademark mix of news, interviews, commentaries, reviews, and offbeat features. Michel Martin hosts on the weekends.","airtime":"MON-FRI 1pm-2pm, 4:30pm-6:30pm\u003cbr />SAT-SUN 5pm-6pm","imageSrc":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/All-Things-Considered-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg","officialWebsiteLink":"https://www.npr.org/programs/all-things-considered/","meta":{"site":"news","source":"npr"},"link":"/radio/program/all-things-considered"},"american-suburb-podcast":{"id":"american-suburb-podcast","title":"American Suburb: The Podcast","tagline":"The flip side of gentrification, told through one town","info":"Gentrification is changing cities across America, forcing people from neighborhoods they have long called home. Call them the displaced. Now those priced out of the Bay Area are looking for a better life in an unlikely place. American Suburb follows this migration to one California town along the Delta, 45 miles from San Francisco. But is this once sleepy suburb ready for them?","imageSrc":"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/American-Suburb-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg","officialWebsiteLink":"/news/series/american-suburb-podcast","meta":{"site":"news","source":"kqed","order":17},"link":"/news/series/american-suburb-podcast/","subscribe":{"npr":"https://rpb3r.app.goo.gl/RBrW","apple":"https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?mt=2&id=1287748328","tuneIn":"https://tunein.com/radio/American-Suburb-p1086805/","rss":"https://ww2.kqed.org/news/series/american-suburb-podcast/feed/podcast","google":"https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkMzMDExODgxNjA5"}},"baycurious":{"id":"baycurious","title":"Bay Curious","tagline":"Exploring the Bay Area, one question at a time","info":"KQED’s new podcast, Bay Curious, gets to the bottom of the mysteries — both profound and peculiar — that give the Bay Area its unique identity. And we’ll do it with your help! You ask the questio