Eric Arnold has covered hip-hop locally and nationally for over 30 years. Formerly the managing editor of 4080 and columnist for The Source, 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 That’s My Word, KQED's series on the history of Bay Area hip-hop.
By Eric Arnold
Turntablism’s Mightiest Heroes: The Legacy, Impact and Aesthetics of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz
How The Invisibl Skratch Piklz Put San Francisco Turntablism on the DJ Map
In ‘Can You Dig It?’ Chuck D Narrates a Missing Chapter of Hip-Hop’s History
Let ’Em Know: Oakland’s New Souls of Mischief Mural
Hiero Day 2023 Affirmed Hip-Hop’s Local Essence — and National Gravity
The Bay’s (Overlooked) Contributions to Hip-Hop
How Turf Dancing Came to Define Oakland Street Dance
Goapele: Closer to Hip-Hop Than You Knew
A Hip-Hop-Heavy Blue Note Jazz Festival Celebrates the Spiritual Lineage of Black Music
Robert Glasper Carries Black Music Into A Post-Hip-Hop World
Hyphy’s Mid-Aughts Glory Lives on at Two Oakland Celebrations
Brett Cook Reflects on 30 Years of Socially Conscious Art
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"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",
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"excerpt": "The Skratch Piklz' innovations in scratch technique, education and battle tools have impacted the globe. ",
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"title": "Turntablism’s Mightiest Heroes: The Legacy, Impact and Aesthetics of the Invisibl Skratch Piklz | KQED",
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"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>",
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"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>",
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"title": "How The Invisibl Skratch Piklz Put San Francisco Turntablism on the DJ Map",
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"headTitle": "How The Invisibl Skratch Piklz Put San Francisco Turntablism on the DJ Map | KQED",
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"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",
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"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>",
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"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>",
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"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>",
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"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>",
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"content": "\u003cp>[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he story of Black Benjie and the Ghetto Brothers is “a prequel to hip-hop,” explains Chuck D \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">—\u003c/span> best known as the frontman of Public Enemy, the rebels without a pause who brought fiery social commentary to hip-hop’s golden era.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>His latest project, as the narrator and executive producer of PB&J Productions’ podcast \u003ca href=\"https://www.audible.com/pd/Can-You-Dig-It-Podcast/B0CBCW31N8\">\u003cem>Can You Dig It?\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, fills in the details of an essential missing chapter in hip-hop culture’s evolution. Set in the South Bronx in the late ’60s and early ’70s, the audio docu-series traces the story of how a street gang became a cultural organization, reforming the community and paving the way for what followed in the process.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Black Benjie and the whole scene right in the Bronx before the birth of hip-hop, really sparking the birth of hip-hop, seemed as important as any other story about hip-hop 50 that we heard this year,” Chuck says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>His voiceover reminds listeners that “while art and music offer temporary distraction from everyday life, the kids in these communities struggled well beyond the norm. Hope, prospects and positive influences were fleeting.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During a recent interview over Zoom he adds, “these weren’t bad kids, it was what it was.” The story’s takeaway isn’t that underprivileged inner-city youth in the South Bronx formed street gangs. It’s that the impetus to transform their lives and communities directly resulted in the creation of the most-influential popular culture movement of the past half-century.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.thecity.nyc/2023/06/03/black-benjie-ghetto-brothers-gangs-hoe-avenue-peace-treaty-south-bronx-longwood/\">Cornell “Black Benjie” Benjamin\u003c/a>’s life has long been an urban legend. It parallels the fictional tale of Cyrus, the enigmatic figure whose death is the catalyst for the events of the 1965 novel and 1979 Hollywood adaptation of \u003cem>The Warriors\u003c/em>. In the fictional accounts, Cyrus summons together New York’s 40,000 gang members for a summit, at which he urges them to stop fighting and killing each other — and take on The Man instead. After uttering the iconic, oft-sampled sound bite, “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bTUrWYv2vtU\">caaaaan you dig itttttt\u003c/a>,” however, Cyrus is shot and killed by Luther, leader of the Rogues, who then blames the killing on the Warriors.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In real life, Black Benjie was a gang leader and former addict who became a drug counselor and community activist. The Ghetto Brothers flew colors and maintained their territory, just like all the other Bronx gangs of that time — including the Savage Skulls, the Black Spades, the Seven Immortals and the Young Lords. But after being mentored by an art teacher, \u003ca href=\"https://ritafecher.com/news.html\">Rita Fecher\u003c/a>, and community organizer \u003ca href=\"https://www.latinxproject.nyu.edu/intervenxions/1wyt8fmrwrsdsyf3z745mjpjzl549p\">Evelina Antonetty\u003c/a>, the “Puerto Rican Rosa Parks” and founder of United Bronx Parents, the Ghetto Brothers became involved with the Youth Services Agency, a social services organization funded by then-mayor John Lindsay.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/mguK4xMpd2Y?si=aL2OK0NiLj0u_sfZ\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Ghetto Brothers gained media visibility after renouncing violence and seeking to better their community. Their efforts centered around the concept of “community control,” a self-determinant creed not unlike that of Oakland’s Black Panthers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A further complication was the Ford Foundation’s funding of community service organizations in the Bronx as part of an initiative to quell racial violence between minority populations. Ford’s agenda seemingly aligned with the YSA/Ghetto Brothers alliance, yet ran counter to New York’s entrenched political establishment, whose underdevelopment and outright neglect of the South Bronx created the hellish conditions that allowed the street gangs to proliferate.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13936707\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13936707\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1775\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-800x555.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-1020x707.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-160x111.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-768x533.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-1536x1065.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-2048x1420.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-1920x1331.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">View, across a trash-strewn vacant lot, of a colorful mural on a wall, Bronx, New York, 1975.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>[dropcap]I[/dropcap]n 1971, Black Benjie was murdered while attempting to de-escalate a confrontation between the Ghetto Brothers and a rival gang. Following his death, a local television station produced a short film examining the Ghetto Brothers’ attempts at community rejuvenation and the social and environmental conditions they sought to transcend; throughout the film, Sly Stone’s “Just Like A Baby” serves as an elegiac soundtrack to the visual narrative.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Black Benjie’s death catalyzed the Ghetto Brothers to press forward with the proposed gang truce he had been brokering, as well as to further evolve down an alternate path, undertaking cultural activities that became crucial to hip-hop’s original foundation. Other former gang leaders, such as Afrika Bambaaataa, followed in the Ghetto Brothers’ wake. In 1975, Bambaataa formed a cultural organization (the Universal Zulu Nation), renouncing violence in favor of what would become known as hip-hop and a credo of “peace, love, unity and having fun.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Bits and fragments of this story have been told before, most notably through the documentaries \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CKbqGNtkIsM\">\u003cem>Flyin’ Cut Sleeves\u003c/em>\u003c/a> and \u003cem>Rubble Kings\u003c/em>, which focused on pre-hip-hop street gang culture. Steven Hager’s reporting for \u003cem>The Village Voice\u003c/em> and his 1984 book \u003cem>Hip Hop\u003c/em> reference the fact hip-hop evolved from street gangs; Jeff Chang’s book \u003cem>Can’t Stop Won’t Stop\u003c/em> traced the social and political conditions that created the reality of the South Bronx in the late ’60s and early ’70s \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">—\u003c/span> including such urban renewal initiatives as the Cross Bronx Expressway, which isolated the neighborhood from the rest of New York (much like how the 980 freeway bifurcated West Oakland from downtown).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/CKbqGNtkIsM?si=QDML0ClaykmIMxcM\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Can You Dig It? \u003c/em>represents the deepest dive to date into the Ghetto Brothers and Black Benjie story. The docu-series demythologizes the story, Chuck maintains \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">—\u003c/span> allowing the listener to parse fact from folklore.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Its value, he says, lies in the pertinent details and the questions they raise: “It’s the story of a disenfranchised borough, a city that left it for dead. This had all the other things that went along with it. Was it serviced properly? Why were the buildings burning two or three years later? What happened to the Bronx when people came back from Vietnam?… I mean, you get into a historical backdrop. That makes the creation of hip-hop make all that much more sense.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The setting of \u003cem>Can You Dig It?\u003c/em> appealed to Chuck because of his own lived experience. “I’m different from a lot of those rap cats out there. I come from that time,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Growing up in Long Island, he was initially disconnected from what was happening in the South Bronx. But as he witnessed hip-hop’s evolution unfold “in real time,” he gained an understanding of why it was important. He remembers terminology changing from “Negro” to “colored” to “Black,” experiencing the rawness of James Brown and the revolutionary “mixing pot” of Sly Stone, as well as being “fed by the Black Panthers’ breakfast programs,” and “being privy to” Oakland and Chicago Panther chapters “getting wiped out” by the time he was 13 years old.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As a Black American, he says, “It’s almost like we live our life de-mythizing things. You know what I’m saying? I don’t believe the hype on a lot of things.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13936712\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1024px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13936712\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1575083888.jpg\" alt=\"A street sign in the Bronx, New York reads 'Cornell 'Black Benjie' Benjamin Way.'\" width=\"1024\" height=\"683\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1575083888.jpg 1024w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1575083888-800x534.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1575083888-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1575083888-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1575083888-768x512.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A stretch of street in New York’s Bronx after being renamed “Cornell ‘Black Benjie’ Benjamin Way.” \u003ccite>(Christina Horsten/picture alliance via Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In digging deeper into the environmental landscape and cultural fabric of the South Bronx and focusing on the community reform efforts of the Ghetto Brothers, the docu-series goes beyond one such common myth, that of the so-called Holy Trinity of Bambaata, Kool Herc, and Grandmaster Flash — first presented by Hager, \u003cem>The Village Voice\u003c/em> reporter. By leaning into the Ghetto Brothers’ ambitious efforts to move away from violence toward a cultural, community-centric path, \u003cem>Can You Dig It?\u003c/em> does as good a job of explaining hip-hop’s \u003cem>raison d’être\u003c/em> as any contemporary source.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Matter of fact,” Chuck elaborates, “it plugs into why hip-hop 51 is important. So the past, present and future all lined up great.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Told with an array of immersive storytelling techniques, \u003cem>Can You Dig It?\u003c/em> places archival sound bites, interviews and dialogued scenes based on real-life accounts alongside Chuck’s narrative voiceovers. The effect is a mix of historical exhibit, social documentary and theatrical drama that not only recreates the world in which Black Benjie and the Ghetto Brothers lived, but presents key context and encourages critical thinking beyond mere entertainment. [aside label='More Hip-Hop 50 Coverage' postid='arts_13934715,arts_13933590,arts_13931795']\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Growing up in the Bronx was very musical, very colorful,” photographer Joe Conzo says in the docu-series. In the pre-boombox era, local parks were awash with congueros hanging out and playing live music, as well as others with AM transistor radios. Conzo’s first photographic subjects included neighborhood figures Bambaataa and the Cold Crush Brothers, as well as Tito Puente and Eddie Palmieri. These cultural inspirations are contrasted by continuous arson fires, high unemployment and the reassignment of city blocks into gang territory that limited residents’ ability to move from place to place.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The influence of the Black Panthers — identified as a key inspiration of the Ghetto Brothers — on the Bronx shows up fairly early, at around the 19-minute mark of the first episode, when former Panther Joseph Mpa speaks. “I grew up in a time when the Bronx was burning and people were dying,” he says. After hearing about the Panthers and their police patrols on radio station WBAI, he adds, “I felt this sense of, things can change.” But in order to make that change a reality, “I have to do something.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>History tends to be cyclical. The story of the development of blues parallels that of hip-hop, Chuck says, in that the creativity sprang up as a resilient reaction to adverse, even bleak, conditions. “When they tell you, oh yeah, people in the Delta made blues out of nothing, it really wasn’t nothing. But, you know, we get it,” he explains. “If you thought that nothing was there, you’re left with nothing. And we made something out of nothing. It was the same thing with the Bronx. … But the circumstances that led up to it really had to be examined. And that’s what \u003cem>Can You Dig It?\u003c/em> does.”\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>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘\u003ca href=\"https://www.audible.com/pd/Can-You-Dig-It-Podcast/B0CBCW31N8\">Can You Dig It?\u003c/a>’ is available on Audible and Amazon Music.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class=\"utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__dropcapShortcode__dropcap\">T\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>he story of Black Benjie and the Ghetto Brothers is “a prequel to hip-hop,” explains Chuck D \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">—\u003c/span> best known as the frontman of Public Enemy, the rebels without a pause who brought fiery social commentary to hip-hop’s golden era.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>His latest project, as the narrator and executive producer of PB&J Productions’ podcast \u003ca href=\"https://www.audible.com/pd/Can-You-Dig-It-Podcast/B0CBCW31N8\">\u003cem>Can You Dig It?\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, fills in the details of an essential missing chapter in hip-hop culture’s evolution. Set in the South Bronx in the late ’60s and early ’70s, the audio docu-series traces the story of how a street gang became a cultural organization, reforming the community and paving the way for what followed in the process.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Black Benjie and the whole scene right in the Bronx before the birth of hip-hop, really sparking the birth of hip-hop, seemed as important as any other story about hip-hop 50 that we heard this year,” Chuck says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>His voiceover reminds listeners that “while art and music offer temporary distraction from everyday life, the kids in these communities struggled well beyond the norm. Hope, prospects and positive influences were fleeting.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During a recent interview over Zoom he adds, “these weren’t bad kids, it was what it was.” The story’s takeaway isn’t that underprivileged inner-city youth in the South Bronx formed street gangs. It’s that the impetus to transform their lives and communities directly resulted in the creation of the most-influential popular culture movement of the past half-century.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"https://www.thecity.nyc/2023/06/03/black-benjie-ghetto-brothers-gangs-hoe-avenue-peace-treaty-south-bronx-longwood/\">Cornell “Black Benjie” Benjamin\u003c/a>’s life has long been an urban legend. It parallels the fictional tale of Cyrus, the enigmatic figure whose death is the catalyst for the events of the 1965 novel and 1979 Hollywood adaptation of \u003cem>The Warriors\u003c/em>. In the fictional accounts, Cyrus summons together New York’s 40,000 gang members for a summit, at which he urges them to stop fighting and killing each other — and take on The Man instead. After uttering the iconic, oft-sampled sound bite, “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bTUrWYv2vtU\">caaaaan you dig itttttt\u003c/a>,” however, Cyrus is shot and killed by Luther, leader of the Rogues, who then blames the killing on the Warriors.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In real life, Black Benjie was a gang leader and former addict who became a drug counselor and community activist. The Ghetto Brothers flew colors and maintained their territory, just like all the other Bronx gangs of that time — including the Savage Skulls, the Black Spades, the Seven Immortals and the Young Lords. But after being mentored by an art teacher, \u003ca href=\"https://ritafecher.com/news.html\">Rita Fecher\u003c/a>, and community organizer \u003ca href=\"https://www.latinxproject.nyu.edu/intervenxions/1wyt8fmrwrsdsyf3z745mjpjzl549p\">Evelina Antonetty\u003c/a>, the “Puerto Rican Rosa Parks” and founder of United Bronx Parents, the Ghetto Brothers became involved with the Youth Services Agency, a social services organization funded by then-mayor John Lindsay.\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/mguK4xMpd2Y'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/mguK4xMpd2Y'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>The Ghetto Brothers gained media visibility after renouncing violence and seeking to better their community. Their efforts centered around the concept of “community control,” a self-determinant creed not unlike that of Oakland’s Black Panthers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A further complication was the Ford Foundation’s funding of community service organizations in the Bronx as part of an initiative to quell racial violence between minority populations. Ford’s agenda seemingly aligned with the YSA/Ghetto Brothers alliance, yet ran counter to New York’s entrenched political establishment, whose underdevelopment and outright neglect of the South Bronx created the hellish conditions that allowed the street gangs to proliferate.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13936707\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13936707\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1775\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-800x555.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-1020x707.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-160x111.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-768x533.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-1536x1065.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-2048x1420.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1217374638-1920x1331.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">View, across a trash-strewn vacant lot, of a colorful mural on a wall, Bronx, New York, 1975.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class=\"utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__dropcapShortcode__dropcap\">I\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>n 1971, Black Benjie was murdered while attempting to de-escalate a confrontation between the Ghetto Brothers and a rival gang. Following his death, a local television station produced a short film examining the Ghetto Brothers’ attempts at community rejuvenation and the social and environmental conditions they sought to transcend; throughout the film, Sly Stone’s “Just Like A Baby” serves as an elegiac soundtrack to the visual narrative.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Black Benjie’s death catalyzed the Ghetto Brothers to press forward with the proposed gang truce he had been brokering, as well as to further evolve down an alternate path, undertaking cultural activities that became crucial to hip-hop’s original foundation. Other former gang leaders, such as Afrika Bambaaataa, followed in the Ghetto Brothers’ wake. In 1975, Bambaataa formed a cultural organization (the Universal Zulu Nation), renouncing violence in favor of what would become known as hip-hop and a credo of “peace, love, unity and having fun.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Bits and fragments of this story have been told before, most notably through the documentaries \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CKbqGNtkIsM\">\u003cem>Flyin’ Cut Sleeves\u003c/em>\u003c/a> and \u003cem>Rubble Kings\u003c/em>, which focused on pre-hip-hop street gang culture. Steven Hager’s reporting for \u003cem>The Village Voice\u003c/em> and his 1984 book \u003cem>Hip Hop\u003c/em> reference the fact hip-hop evolved from street gangs; Jeff Chang’s book \u003cem>Can’t Stop Won’t Stop\u003c/em> traced the social and political conditions that created the reality of the South Bronx in the late ’60s and early ’70s \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">—\u003c/span> including such urban renewal initiatives as the Cross Bronx Expressway, which isolated the neighborhood from the rest of New York (much like how the 980 freeway bifurcated West Oakland from downtown).\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/CKbqGNtkIsM'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/CKbqGNtkIsM'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cem>Can You Dig It? \u003c/em>represents the deepest dive to date into the Ghetto Brothers and Black Benjie story. The docu-series demythologizes the story, Chuck maintains \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">—\u003c/span> allowing the listener to parse fact from folklore.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Its value, he says, lies in the pertinent details and the questions they raise: “It’s the story of a disenfranchised borough, a city that left it for dead. This had all the other things that went along with it. Was it serviced properly? Why were the buildings burning two or three years later? What happened to the Bronx when people came back from Vietnam?… I mean, you get into a historical backdrop. That makes the creation of hip-hop make all that much more sense.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The setting of \u003cem>Can You Dig It?\u003c/em> appealed to Chuck because of his own lived experience. “I’m different from a lot of those rap cats out there. I come from that time,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Growing up in Long Island, he was initially disconnected from what was happening in the South Bronx. But as he witnessed hip-hop’s evolution unfold “in real time,” he gained an understanding of why it was important. He remembers terminology changing from “Negro” to “colored” to “Black,” experiencing the rawness of James Brown and the revolutionary “mixing pot” of Sly Stone, as well as being “fed by the Black Panthers’ breakfast programs,” and “being privy to” Oakland and Chicago Panther chapters “getting wiped out” by the time he was 13 years old.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As a Black American, he says, “It’s almost like we live our life de-mythizing things. You know what I’m saying? I don’t believe the hype on a lot of things.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13936712\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1024px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13936712\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1575083888.jpg\" alt=\"A street sign in the Bronx, New York reads 'Cornell 'Black Benjie' Benjamin Way.'\" width=\"1024\" height=\"683\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1575083888.jpg 1024w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1575083888-800x534.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1575083888-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1575083888-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/10/GettyImages-1575083888-768x512.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A stretch of street in New York’s Bronx after being renamed “Cornell ‘Black Benjie’ Benjamin Way.” \u003ccite>(Christina Horsten/picture alliance via Getty Images)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In digging deeper into the environmental landscape and cultural fabric of the South Bronx and focusing on the community reform efforts of the Ghetto Brothers, the docu-series goes beyond one such common myth, that of the so-called Holy Trinity of Bambaata, Kool Herc, and Grandmaster Flash — first presented by Hager, \u003cem>The Village Voice\u003c/em> reporter. By leaning into the Ghetto Brothers’ ambitious efforts to move away from violence toward a cultural, community-centric path, \u003cem>Can You Dig It?\u003c/em> does as good a job of explaining hip-hop’s \u003cem>raison d’être\u003c/em> as any contemporary source.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Matter of fact,” Chuck elaborates, “it plugs into why hip-hop 51 is important. So the past, present and future all lined up great.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Told with an array of immersive storytelling techniques, \u003cem>Can You Dig It?\u003c/em> places archival sound bites, interviews and dialogued scenes based on real-life accounts alongside Chuck’s narrative voiceovers. The effect is a mix of historical exhibit, social documentary and theatrical drama that not only recreates the world in which Black Benjie and the Ghetto Brothers lived, but presents key context and encourages critical thinking beyond mere entertainment. \u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Growing up in the Bronx was very musical, very colorful,” photographer Joe Conzo says in the docu-series. In the pre-boombox era, local parks were awash with congueros hanging out and playing live music, as well as others with AM transistor radios. Conzo’s first photographic subjects included neighborhood figures Bambaataa and the Cold Crush Brothers, as well as Tito Puente and Eddie Palmieri. These cultural inspirations are contrasted by continuous arson fires, high unemployment and the reassignment of city blocks into gang territory that limited residents’ ability to move from place to place.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The influence of the Black Panthers — identified as a key inspiration of the Ghetto Brothers — on the Bronx shows up fairly early, at around the 19-minute mark of the first episode, when former Panther Joseph Mpa speaks. “I grew up in a time when the Bronx was burning and people were dying,” he says. After hearing about the Panthers and their police patrols on radio station WBAI, he adds, “I felt this sense of, things can change.” But in order to make that change a reality, “I have to do something.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>History tends to be cyclical. The story of the development of blues parallels that of hip-hop, Chuck says, in that the creativity sprang up as a resilient reaction to adverse, even bleak, conditions. “When they tell you, oh yeah, people in the Delta made blues out of nothing, it really wasn’t nothing. But, you know, we get it,” he explains. “If you thought that nothing was there, you’re left with nothing. And we made something out of nothing. It was the same thing with the Bronx. … But the circumstances that led up to it really had to be examined. And that’s what \u003cem>Can You Dig It?\u003c/em> does.”\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>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘\u003ca href=\"https://www.audible.com/pd/Can-You-Dig-It-Podcast/B0CBCW31N8\">Can You Dig It?\u003c/a>’ is available on Audible and Amazon Music.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Let ’Em Know: Oakland’s New Souls of Mischief Mural",
"headTitle": "Let ’Em Know: Oakland’s New Souls of Mischief Mural | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>If you’ve been near lower High Street in Oakland over the past few weeks, you may have noticed something beautiful taking shape: a large, colorful mural featuring Oakland’s Souls of Mischief. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The mural, which covers the building for High Street Studios, spans parts of two city blocks and features portraits of all four members of the East Oakland hip-hop group. On the High Street side, Opio appears in a setting dotted with sunstars, flowers, and birds against a multi-hued sky. Next to him, Tajai gazes out at viewers amidst a backdrop of urban buildings, geometrical shapes, and the Hiero sigil imposed over a sunset cityscape\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13934324']On the Watting Street side, Phesto Dee taps the side of his head with one hand while the other points outward, his figure partially obscuring what looks like an African mask with a speaker cone for an eye. Nearby is A-Plus, arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture in front of flowers and abstract disks. The combination of these images suggests a spiritual aspect of hip-hop you never knew existed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The vibrant painting, created by artists based out of High Street Studios, is nestled in a working-class, industrial part of the Fruitvale District. It’s a neighborhood whose environmental landscape has historically been defined by nondescript buildings: auto parts stores, an OUSD facility and a lumber company coexist with numerous warehouses and live-work spaces.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934665\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00005.jpg\" alt=\"A portion of the Souls of Mischief mural at High Street and Watting in East Oakland.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934665\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00005.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00005-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00005-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00005-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00005-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00005-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A portion of the Souls of Mischief mural at High Street and Watting in East Oakland. \u003ccite>(David Burke)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Now, the mural nods to a lesser-known element of the neighborhood’s history. Quiet as it’s kept, lower High Street has long been home to a vibrant artist community working out of those warehouses, and the area has made notable contributions to local hip-hop. In the mid-’90s, the warehouse at 4001 San Leandro was occupied by the Mystik Journeymen during a formative time in their development. The DIY hip-hop duo became known for throwing “Top Ramen” parties at the spot, where the cover charge was $5 or a package of the starchy instant noodle soup. When the crew expanded to become the Living Legends in 1996, emcees Eligh, the Grouch and Murs all moved into the space, where they lived in makeshift partitioned “rooms” and recorded some of their earliest works as a collective. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Faultline is among the currently active artist spaces in the area; others include the embattled Vulcan Lofts (whose residents have been fighting to maintain rent control and prevent displacement of 200 artists since 2019) and Oscillation Studios.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13933590']David Burke, co-lead artist for the Souls of Mischief mural, is headquartered at High Street Studios, along with co-lead artist Pancho Peskador. The two are public art veterans; Burke served as art director for Art Esteem’s Oakland Superheroes Mural Project, while Peskador was co-lead artist on the Alice Street mural that became the subject of an award-winning documentary film. The story behind their most recent mural is one of compassion, sacrifice, love — and third eye vision.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Burke and Peskador worked on the project with a third co-lead artist, Joevic Yeban, as well as assistant artists Veronica Aguilar and Pablo Ruiz, and photographer Steve Babuliak. The mural is the third in a series of “Love Letter to Oakland”-themed murals; the other two are located in Jack London Square and Temescal. Burke says additional entries in the series are continually under consideration, “but we want them to be neighborhood-specific.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934661\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_4.jpg\" alt=\"Phesto Dee of Souls of Mischief poses in front of his own likeness, painted as part of a mural in East Oakland.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1275\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934661\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_4.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_4-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_4-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_4-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_4-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_4-1536x1020.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Phesto Dee of Souls of Mischief poses in front of his own likeness, painted as part of a mural in East Oakland. \u003ccite>(Steve Babuljak)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The 30th anniversary of the Souls’ debut album \u003cem>93 Til Infinity\u003c/em> served as a catalyst for the mural, says Burke. “I thought, man, that would be a great thing to celebrate them in conjunction with this anniversary tour,” he says. In the first half of this year, Burke’s team met with the Souls and brought them into the studio for reference photos. “And then,” Burke says, “we had to find a site.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>They wanted a large-scale wall to maximize visual impact, and a spot in East Oakland, where the Souls are from. “That was really important to us, because their headquarters is right around the corner from where we eventually painted the mural,” says Burke.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13932471']After exploring various options, the best one turned out to be their home base. High Street Studios’ landlord gave them permission to paint the studio’s building, and also granted them a rent reduction for the service — which was critical, because other funding sources dried up. The muralists ended up doing their latest love letter as an actual act of love. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It’s not like we’re trying to always do this under budget or for free or anything like that,” Burke says, adding that artists sometimes have to find a balance between commercially lucrative and artistically satisfying projects. This was the latter.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934667\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1275\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934667\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_1.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_1-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_1-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_1-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_1-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_1-1536x1020.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A-Plus, David Burke, Opio, Joevic Yeban, Tajai, Pancho Peskador and Phesto Dee pose in front of the Souls of Mischief mural at High and Watting Streets in East Oakland. \u003ccite>(Steve Babuljak)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Work began in July; the entire painting process took about five weeks. Throughout, the muralists’ spirits were uplifted, Peskador says, by “the constant support and excitement of the neighborhood people” from all walks of life: OUSD employees, the unhoused, everyday residents and families.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The original sketch left room for creative inspiration. “In this mural we were jazz players,” says Peskador. “It has a structure. But also we were able to improvise on top of that structure.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We wanted to give each one of the band members their own space to operate. And each one of those portraits has their own environment,” adds Burke.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This birthed a specific design aesthetic, Peskador says. “We wanted to create an analog and futuristic vision where technology and nature are embracing each other, not necessarily in contraposition and fighting.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934660\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_3.jpg\" alt=\"A-Plus of Souls of Mischief poses in front of his own likeness, painted as part of a mural in East Oakland.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1275\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934660\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_3.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_3-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_3-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_3-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_3-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_3-1536x1020.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A-Plus of Souls of Mischief poses in front of his own likeness, painted as part of a mural in East Oakland. \u003ccite>(Steve Babuljak)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Visual symbols included musical equipment — speakers and old-school equalizers — as well as what Peskador calls “a little magic: orbs of energy coming out of Opio’s hands, cables that turn into veins and the veins turn into roots. And all that is intertwined and interconnected, giving the statement [that] nothing is separate. We are all connected.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The painters finished the day before the Sept. 3 unveiling ceremony, which turned out to be a reminder of what’s good about Oakland: culture, community, and diversity. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While waiting for the Souls to arrive, the muralists chatted with local visual artists Keena Romano and Jet Martinez, and DJ Hella Good spun underground hip-hop — including deep Hiero cuts, like Del’s “The Undisputed Ones” — while perched on a scaffold. Neighborhood residents remarked how they’d been following the mural’s progress as the crowd began to thicken with Hiero supporters: friends, family, and former Skyline High classmates. (Full disclosure: I spoke at this event, introducing the Souls by putting their legacy in context.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13924126']When it came time for the Souls to speak, the moment became weighty and poignant. Seeing the mural in person for the first time, they were visibly moved: A-Plus and Phesto, in particular, spoke in halting tones, struggling to find the right words and maintain composure. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“As guys who are wordsmiths,” Tajai began, “there’s no way to put into words” what the mural meant to them. “There is no way to possibly explain how this feels to guys who grew up here, never left here, been here the whole time, really trying to elevate what’s here. Because we know how beautiful and how important it is, just Oakland in general, worldwide.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The Panthers, the hippies, womens’ movement, people with disabilities, (the Bay Area) is a place where all these movements have been championed. And spearheaded. To be part of this permanent landscape is extremely important to us. We’re grateful to the artists and all of y’all beyond the limited ability of words to express.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934662\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_5.jpg\" alt=\"Tajai of Souls of Mischief poses in front of his own likeness, painted as part of a mural in East Oakland.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1275\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934662\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_5.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_5-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_5-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_5-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_5-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_5-1536x1020.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Tajai of Souls of Mischief poses in front of his own likeness, painted as part of a mural in East Oakland. \u003ccite>(Steve Babuljak)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>After a hectic year of doing 100-plus shows, on top of 30 years of being professional musicians, there weren’t many firsts they’d yet to achieve, Tajai added. “This here is a first like no other.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“If you know me, I could never be called a man of few words, but there’s always a day,” said A-Plus, before taking an extended pause. “I know my father’s here. I’m super-thankful, super proud. Man…” his words trailed off. “This is huge. I love y’all.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13923938']“It’s indescribable,” said Opio. “We put our heart and soul into this. It’s been a lot of hard work and dedication. To be honored in your hometown has gotta be one of the greatest honors of all time for me.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We’ve been following the progress of the mural overseas and on the North American side,” explained Phesto Dee. “When they started finishing up this side, my wife brought my kids down and they stood in front of it.” He paused to let the emphasis resonate. “They stood in front and that just did it. The scale started to really come to me at that point, just how large it was. Also, what it means for generations to come.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934664\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Burke_1.jpg\" alt=\"A portion of the Souls of Mischief mural at High Street and Watting in East Oakland.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934664\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Burke_1.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Burke_1-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Burke_1-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Burke_1-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Burke_1-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Burke_1-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Souls of Mischief mural in progress at High Street and Watting in East Oakland. \u003ccite>(David Burke)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Burke says it was important to give the Souls their flowers while they are still here, noting that many hip-hop-themed local murals are memorials painted only after the passing of a musical icon. He was also conscious of the fact the mural and its subjects represent a counter-narrative to mainstream depictions of hip-hop. During their Hiero Day performance, A-Plus told the crowd, “we’re about that peace.” When Opio came into the studio to take his reference photo, he reportedly said, “I just want to be smiling.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Love Letters crew are still planning a Phase 2, where they hope to complete the unfinished sections of the wall and honor local female hip-hop artists, along with Oakland’s graffiti history.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But for now, the artists can chill, knowing they’ve accomplished something great. For Peskador, the mural’s significance is that it has altered the neighborhood’s drab environment in a positive way.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“That is so huge for me personally, to see how people vibrate (to the mural) and how you can change places… the energy of that corner is changed forever. It’s never going to be the same corner.”\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "A vibrant new mural in East Oakland of the hip-hop group represents a 30-year milestone.",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>If you’ve been near lower High Street in Oakland over the past few weeks, you may have noticed something beautiful taking shape: a large, colorful mural featuring Oakland’s Souls of Mischief. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The mural, which covers the building for High Street Studios, spans parts of two city blocks and features portraits of all four members of the East Oakland hip-hop group. On the High Street side, Opio appears in a setting dotted with sunstars, flowers, and birds against a multi-hued sky. Next to him, Tajai gazes out at viewers amidst a backdrop of urban buildings, geometrical shapes, and the Hiero sigil imposed over a sunset cityscape\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>On the Watting Street side, Phesto Dee taps the side of his head with one hand while the other points outward, his figure partially obscuring what looks like an African mask with a speaker cone for an eye. Nearby is A-Plus, arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture in front of flowers and abstract disks. The combination of these images suggests a spiritual aspect of hip-hop you never knew existed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The vibrant painting, created by artists based out of High Street Studios, is nestled in a working-class, industrial part of the Fruitvale District. It’s a neighborhood whose environmental landscape has historically been defined by nondescript buildings: auto parts stores, an OUSD facility and a lumber company coexist with numerous warehouses and live-work spaces.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934665\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00005.jpg\" alt=\"A portion of the Souls of Mischief mural at High Street and Watting in East Oakland.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934665\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00005.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00005-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00005-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00005-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00005-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00005-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A portion of the Souls of Mischief mural at High Street and Watting in East Oakland. \u003ccite>(David Burke)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Now, the mural nods to a lesser-known element of the neighborhood’s history. Quiet as it’s kept, lower High Street has long been home to a vibrant artist community working out of those warehouses, and the area has made notable contributions to local hip-hop. In the mid-’90s, the warehouse at 4001 San Leandro was occupied by the Mystik Journeymen during a formative time in their development. The DIY hip-hop duo became known for throwing “Top Ramen” parties at the spot, where the cover charge was $5 or a package of the starchy instant noodle soup. When the crew expanded to become the Living Legends in 1996, emcees Eligh, the Grouch and Murs all moved into the space, where they lived in makeshift partitioned “rooms” and recorded some of their earliest works as a collective. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Faultline is among the currently active artist spaces in the area; others include the embattled Vulcan Lofts (whose residents have been fighting to maintain rent control and prevent displacement of 200 artists since 2019) and Oscillation Studios.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>David Burke, co-lead artist for the Souls of Mischief mural, is headquartered at High Street Studios, along with co-lead artist Pancho Peskador. The two are public art veterans; Burke served as art director for Art Esteem’s Oakland Superheroes Mural Project, while Peskador was co-lead artist on the Alice Street mural that became the subject of an award-winning documentary film. The story behind their most recent mural is one of compassion, sacrifice, love — and third eye vision.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Burke and Peskador worked on the project with a third co-lead artist, Joevic Yeban, as well as assistant artists Veronica Aguilar and Pablo Ruiz, and photographer Steve Babuliak. The mural is the third in a series of “Love Letter to Oakland”-themed murals; the other two are located in Jack London Square and Temescal. Burke says additional entries in the series are continually under consideration, “but we want them to be neighborhood-specific.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934661\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_4.jpg\" alt=\"Phesto Dee of Souls of Mischief poses in front of his own likeness, painted as part of a mural in East Oakland.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1275\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934661\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_4.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_4-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_4-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_4-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_4-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_4-1536x1020.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Phesto Dee of Souls of Mischief poses in front of his own likeness, painted as part of a mural in East Oakland. \u003ccite>(Steve Babuljak)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The 30th anniversary of the Souls’ debut album \u003cem>93 Til Infinity\u003c/em> served as a catalyst for the mural, says Burke. “I thought, man, that would be a great thing to celebrate them in conjunction with this anniversary tour,” he says. In the first half of this year, Burke’s team met with the Souls and brought them into the studio for reference photos. “And then,” Burke says, “we had to find a site.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>They wanted a large-scale wall to maximize visual impact, and a spot in East Oakland, where the Souls are from. “That was really important to us, because their headquarters is right around the corner from where we eventually painted the mural,” says Burke.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>After exploring various options, the best one turned out to be their home base. High Street Studios’ landlord gave them permission to paint the studio’s building, and also granted them a rent reduction for the service — which was critical, because other funding sources dried up. The muralists ended up doing their latest love letter as an actual act of love. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It’s not like we’re trying to always do this under budget or for free or anything like that,” Burke says, adding that artists sometimes have to find a balance between commercially lucrative and artistically satisfying projects. This was the latter.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934667\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_1.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1275\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934667\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_1.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_1-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_1-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_1-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_1-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_1-1536x1020.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A-Plus, David Burke, Opio, Joevic Yeban, Tajai, Pancho Peskador and Phesto Dee pose in front of the Souls of Mischief mural at High and Watting Streets in East Oakland. \u003ccite>(Steve Babuljak)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Work began in July; the entire painting process took about five weeks. Throughout, the muralists’ spirits were uplifted, Peskador says, by “the constant support and excitement of the neighborhood people” from all walks of life: OUSD employees, the unhoused, everyday residents and families.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The original sketch left room for creative inspiration. “In this mural we were jazz players,” says Peskador. “It has a structure. But also we were able to improvise on top of that structure.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We wanted to give each one of the band members their own space to operate. And each one of those portraits has their own environment,” adds Burke.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This birthed a specific design aesthetic, Peskador says. “We wanted to create an analog and futuristic vision where technology and nature are embracing each other, not necessarily in contraposition and fighting.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934660\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_3.jpg\" alt=\"A-Plus of Souls of Mischief poses in front of his own likeness, painted as part of a mural in East Oakland.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1275\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934660\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_3.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_3-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_3-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_3-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_3-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_3-1536x1020.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A-Plus of Souls of Mischief poses in front of his own likeness, painted as part of a mural in East Oakland. \u003ccite>(Steve Babuljak)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Visual symbols included musical equipment — speakers and old-school equalizers — as well as what Peskador calls “a little magic: orbs of energy coming out of Opio’s hands, cables that turn into veins and the veins turn into roots. And all that is intertwined and interconnected, giving the statement [that] nothing is separate. We are all connected.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The painters finished the day before the Sept. 3 unveiling ceremony, which turned out to be a reminder of what’s good about Oakland: culture, community, and diversity. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While waiting for the Souls to arrive, the muralists chatted with local visual artists Keena Romano and Jet Martinez, and DJ Hella Good spun underground hip-hop — including deep Hiero cuts, like Del’s “The Undisputed Ones” — while perched on a scaffold. Neighborhood residents remarked how they’d been following the mural’s progress as the crowd began to thicken with Hiero supporters: friends, family, and former Skyline High classmates. (Full disclosure: I spoke at this event, introducing the Souls by putting their legacy in context.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>When it came time for the Souls to speak, the moment became weighty and poignant. Seeing the mural in person for the first time, they were visibly moved: A-Plus and Phesto, in particular, spoke in halting tones, struggling to find the right words and maintain composure. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“As guys who are wordsmiths,” Tajai began, “there’s no way to put into words” what the mural meant to them. “There is no way to possibly explain how this feels to guys who grew up here, never left here, been here the whole time, really trying to elevate what’s here. Because we know how beautiful and how important it is, just Oakland in general, worldwide.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The Panthers, the hippies, womens’ movement, people with disabilities, (the Bay Area) is a place where all these movements have been championed. And spearheaded. To be part of this permanent landscape is extremely important to us. We’re grateful to the artists and all of y’all beyond the limited ability of words to express.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934662\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_5.jpg\" alt=\"Tajai of Souls of Mischief poses in front of his own likeness, painted as part of a mural in East Oakland.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1275\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934662\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_5.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_5-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_5-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_5-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_5-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Babuljak_5-1536x1020.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Tajai of Souls of Mischief poses in front of his own likeness, painted as part of a mural in East Oakland. \u003ccite>(Steve Babuljak)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>After a hectic year of doing 100-plus shows, on top of 30 years of being professional musicians, there weren’t many firsts they’d yet to achieve, Tajai added. “This here is a first like no other.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“If you know me, I could never be called a man of few words, but there’s always a day,” said A-Plus, before taking an extended pause. “I know my father’s here. I’m super-thankful, super proud. Man…” his words trailed off. “This is huge. I love y’all.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>“It’s indescribable,” said Opio. “We put our heart and soul into this. It’s been a lot of hard work and dedication. To be honored in your hometown has gotta be one of the greatest honors of all time for me.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We’ve been following the progress of the mural overseas and on the North American side,” explained Phesto Dee. “When they started finishing up this side, my wife brought my kids down and they stood in front of it.” He paused to let the emphasis resonate. “They stood in front and that just did it. The scale started to really come to me at that point, just how large it was. Also, what it means for generations to come.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934664\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Burke_1.jpg\" alt=\"A portion of the Souls of Mischief mural at High Street and Watting in East Oakland.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934664\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Burke_1.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Burke_1-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Burke_1-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Burke_1-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Burke_1-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Burke_1-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Souls of Mischief mural in progress at High Street and Watting in East Oakland. \u003ccite>(David Burke)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Burke says it was important to give the Souls their flowers while they are still here, noting that many hip-hop-themed local murals are memorials painted only after the passing of a musical icon. He was also conscious of the fact the mural and its subjects represent a counter-narrative to mainstream depictions of hip-hop. During their Hiero Day performance, A-Plus told the crowd, “we’re about that peace.” When Opio came into the studio to take his reference photo, he reportedly said, “I just want to be smiling.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Love Letters crew are still planning a Phase 2, where they hope to complete the unfinished sections of the wall and honor local female hip-hop artists, along with Oakland’s graffiti history.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But for now, the artists can chill, knowing they’ve accomplished something great. For Peskador, the mural’s significance is that it has altered the neighborhood’s drab environment in a positive way.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“That is so huge for me personally, to see how people vibrate (to the mural) and how you can change places… the energy of that corner is changed forever. It’s never going to be the same corner.”\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Hiero Day 2023 Affirmed Hip-Hop’s Local Essence — and National Gravity",
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"headTitle": "Hiero Day 2023 Affirmed Hip-Hop’s Local Essence — and National Gravity | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934333\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00413.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00413.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00413-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00413-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00413-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00413-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00413-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Common on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\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 year-long exploration of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop\">Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a> history.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With stellar performances from headlining act Common and the eponymous Hieroglyphics crew, Hiero Day 2023 did not disappoint.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In its second year at Frank Ogawa Plaza, in front of Oakland City Hall – downsized from the previous location at Third Street and Linden, which saw crowds in excess of 20,000 – the daylong hip-hop festival felt just right. With little crowd congestion, one could easily stroll through the vendors and food options, or traverse between two stages. Yet it was dense enough to evoke a sense of collective excitement amongst attendees – a mix of hip-hop fans from seemingly all ages, walks of life, and ethnic backgrounds.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13924126']It’s safe to say people will be talking about Common’s Oakland appearance long afterwards. The Chicago emcee, actor, activist and philanthropist delivered a top-notch set that interspersed his own hits with iconic hip-hop songs by other artists, in honor of “Hip Hop 50” – the 50th anniversary of hip-hop, a through-line for many acts throughout the day. Colorfully dressed in a short sleeve button-down shirt, Common’s charisma and commanding stage presence were in evidence for all to see. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934339\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00335.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934339\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00335.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00335-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00335-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00335-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00335-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00335-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Common talking with Davey D backstage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Common began his set with his ode to hip-hop culture, “I Used to Love H.E.R.,” which first catapulted him to national attention in the mid-’90s. Like De La Soul’s “Stakes Is High,” the song stands as a cautionary tale, warning against cultural co-option and commodification while underscoring what’s attractive and endearing about the culture in the first place. With poetic flair, Common spins his tale by metaphorically referring to hip-hop as a girl he fell in love with at the age of 10, who “was fresh, yo, when she was underground.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At first “original, pure, untampered, a down sister,” she changed – moving to the West Coast and embracing a gangsta lifestyle instead of Afrocentricity, then becoming popular with suburban crowds. Though his love has been defiled and degraded, Common pledges at the end of the song: “I’ma take her back, hopin’ that the shit stop / ‘Cause who I’m talkin’ about, y’all, is hip-hop.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It proved to be the perfect set opener, a classic tune made before many in the audience were born, that remains relevant in its message while aligning with the Hip Hop 50 theme. Another highlight was “The Corner,” from the album \u003cem>Be\u003c/em>, produced by Kanye West (back when he was hip-hop’s rising star on the boards), the album version of which features Umar Bin Hassan of the Last Poets, the socially-conscious spoken word artists known as the godfathers of rap. It was a solid selection that peeled back Common’s Hollywood sheen for some authentic grit. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934336\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00132.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934336\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00132.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00132-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00132-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00132-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00132-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00132-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Del the Funky Homosapien and Ras Ceylon backstage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Common closed his set, and the show, with “The Light,” a single from the heyday of the neo-soul era that remains one of hip-hop’s sweetest love songs. Though Common has a reputation as a ladies’ man – Oakland mayor Sheng Thao gushed over him earlier in the day – his approach to the opposite sex has always been respectful. So it wasn’t difficult for the ladies in the house to get completely into the song’s mellow, feel-good vibe, singing along to the chorus lifted from the late Bobby Caldwell: “There are times, when you need someone / I will be by your side / There is a light that shines / Special for me and you.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Right before Common’s set, Hieroglyphics performed a short but impactful set that seemed to roll back the clock 30 years in terms of their on-stage energy – except their kineticism was tempered by veteran savvy. Up-and coming emcees in the crowd were likely taking notes; this was a masterclass in live performance dynamics. Kicking off with 1998’s “Oakland Blackouts,” the fan favorite’s laid-back album version donned a supercharged carapace live, as Del the Funky Homosapien and Opio traded verses well-qualified to be hip-hop quotables. This may be the only rap song in history to compare emcees to “platypuses,” and the two emcees’ internal rhyme schemes were impeccable throughout. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Oakland Blackouts” set the tone for the rest of the set, as the other Hieros fed off Del and Opio with lots of crowd-amping gestures and hand raises. There were noticeable rushes from the audience for particularly nasty lyrical flurries by Tajai and Pep Love, although there really wasn’t a weak flow to be found amongst any of the Hieros. It would have been nice had the set afforded more exposition of deep cuts from the collective’s three-decade catalog – “The Powers That Be,” from 2003’s \u003cem>Full Circle\u003c/em>, sounded epic. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934882\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1920\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934882\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Hieroglyphics on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The song’s bouncy, boom-bap beat shows why Domino is highly underrated as a producer, while the verses from Opio, Tajai, Del and Pep Love were a wicked whirlwind of battle-rap braggadocio and pop culture references (including Chow Yun Fat and Voltron). When Del says “I’m kinda different yo / what I say is thought-provoking,” he could easily be referring to his entire crew. “This is rap Olympics / Hieroglyphics, the dream team,” Pep Love proclaimed. In that moment, no one witnessing the show would have reasonably disagreed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13927692']Hieroglyphics closed their set with Souls of Mischief’s iconic “93 Til Infinity,” which has to be one of the top hip-hop anthems of all time. There’s just something about the A-Plus-produced track that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Maybe it’s the pitch-shifted Billy Cobham sample, or maybe it’s the breezy lyrics which evoke the epitome of laid-back Cali cool (“Now we feel the good vibrations / So many females, so much inspiration”). The song never gets old.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>An unexpected highlight took place between Hieroglyphics and Common’s sets, when Oakland Mayor Sheng Thao and Mystik Journeymen/Living Legends emcee Corey “Sunspot Jonz” Johnson announced that the City has partnered with Hiero Day – a development that illustrates just how far hip-hop has come. Some may recall when Oakland’s annual Art & Soul festival avoided booking hip-hop acts altogether, or Oakland’s year-long moratorium on rap shows at City-owned facilities. Just as Hieroglyphics broke the mold by performing at Art & Soul, this year’s Hiero Day appeared to usher in a new era of municipal collaboration with the hip-hop community. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934330\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00356.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934330\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00356.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00356-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00356-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00356-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00356-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00356-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Oakland Mayor Shen Thao on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Thao, for her part, certainly seemed to embrace the culture. Dressed in a hella fresh varsity-style jacket with Oakland’s tree logo embroidered on the back, she looked amped to be able to talk about something other than rising crime rates, police scandals, and the deteriorating relationship with the Oakland A’s. She handed out a series of commemorative proclamations honoring the contributions of community mainstays and culture keepers, including Johnson; radio personality, DJ, and educator Davey D; Eastside Arts Alliance co-founders Elena Serrano and Traci Bartlow; visual artist and filmmaker Shomari Smith; and rapper, entrepreneur and activist Mistah F.A.B. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Each of the honorees gave a short speech. “I brought the underground here,” Johnson remarked, while Serrano noted that her association with hip-hop predates Eastside’s founding, going back to the late ’90s at Berkeley’s La Pena. F.A.B. made a point of speaking to underserved kids dealing with trauma: “It’s possible. Whether your father’s incarcerated or your mother’s on drugs, it’s possible to make it” – referring to his own uncertain upbringing and triumphant transformation into a certified cultural hero. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934335\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1920\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934335\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Chuck Johnson and Mistah F.A.B. pose with singer Alanis Morissette, husband and rapper Soul Eye and their family at Hiero Day in Oakland’s Frank Ogawa Plaza on Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The presentations closed with Thao handing Common a heavyweight boxing-style belt, acknowledging his community work. Later, during his set, the rapper noted that he had been inspired by “the Town”’s examples, citing both Hieroglyphics and the Black Panthers, and name-checking Fred Hampton, the martyred leader of Chicago’s Panther chapter and subject of the recent film \u003cem>Judas and the Black Messiah\u003c/em>. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The pacing at the end — Hiero, Thao, and Common — capped a day that started at noon and gradually built up momentum, as up-and-coming artists rocked both stages and attendees filtered into the venue. Some of the undercard was hit-or-miss, and the production’s timing got skewed, forcing some set times to be shortened, but there were still plenty of highlights.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934360\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00040.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934360\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00040.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00040-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00040-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00040-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00040-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00040-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Richie Cunning on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A sparsely-attended early set by Richie Cunning on the second stage probably deserved a bigger audience. Cunning has been an emcee on the rise for many years now, and his flow, delivery, and punchline game seem increasingly ready for prime time. For fans of hardcore Bay Area mobb music, it was great to see Cellski with DJ T.C. the Enhancer. The Kev Choice Ensemble added jazzy musicality with a trip through hip-hop history, from Chic’s “Good Times” to a nod to Zumbi of Zion-I with “Don’t Lose Your Head.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934334\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00230.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934334\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00230.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00230-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00230-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00230-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00230-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00230-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kev Choice on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>L.A. underground legend Medusa, who once bested Eminem in a rap battle back in the ’90s, delivered a fiery and fierce-as-fuck set. It was great to see the former member of duo Feline Science and Project Blowed alumnus still doing her thing. Her set was unfortunately truncated, but not before she ripped the recent single “Catch Yo Feelinz” (“You better catch your feelings / I’m about to jump off!”), which shows she can flow over anything, even a contemporary-sounding trap beat. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Ultimate Breaks and Beats\u003c/em> curator Breakbeat Lou performed a high-level DJ set with sublime segues, like the Funky Four + 1’s “That’s The Joint” into Naughty By Nature’s “Uptown Anthem,” The Whole Darn Family’s “Seven Minutes of Funk” into Dru Down’s “Pimp of the Year,” and Digable Planets’ “Rebirth of Slick” into E-40’s “Yay Area.” Blending original songs with later tracks that used them as sample sources further carried the theme of hip-hop history as a progression and evolution of a cultural movement that started from the bottom and ended up at City Hall – literally. Yadidahmean?\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934340\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00110.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934340\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00110.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00110-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00110-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00110-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00110-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00110-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Cellski on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Throughout the day, several of the artists spoke backstage about hip-hop’s evolution and their personal journeys through the culture. Del, reflecting on 50 years of hip-hop, said, “I just want our values and everything we based it on to live on.” Those values include“self-improvement goals and knowing your environment, being able to deal with motherfuckers in a competitive way instead of fighting or killing each other.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934348\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00271.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934348\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00271.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00271-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00271-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00271-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00271-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00271-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Opio on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A-Plus remarked on the longevity of “93 Til Infinity”: “I feel appreciative, honored. You know that I produce many different things, man. But that one is certainly special. It’s done everything for Souls of Mischief and for Hiero. The ways it’s aged, and the new generation with streaming, they’re looking back at it and then finding their own way with music.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That’s enabled Hiero’s fanbase to expand beyond old heads, he says. “Young kids are part of our demo at this point. And it’s just really surreal. You don’t think that far ahead, like 30 years from now, young kids are going to think your song is the shit.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934887\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1920\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934887\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Medusa on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Mistah F.A.B. specifically saluted Souls of Mischief’s milestone and what it means for the Bay Area and for Oakland. “To me, Hip Hop 30 is more important to Hip Hop 50, which is kind of weird. Crazy. But Hip Hop 30 for Hiero is very important, man. And I just love the fact that we’ve been included (in the Hiero Day celebration) to be able to watch our hometown guys come through, and for years continue to maintain relevancy, and continue to keep pushing and representing Oakland.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934346\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00055.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934346\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00055.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00055-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00055-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00055-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00055-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00055-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mistah F.A.B. at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>That said, there would be no 30th anniversary for Souls had the culture never existed in the first place. F.A.B. continued: “Big shout out to the forefathers that opened up the doors. We’re happy to be here. Let’s continue to get another 50 up out of it, and not let the culture die, by preserving and respecting our elders and continuing to keep doing new work.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934344\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00348.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934344\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00348.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00348-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00348-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00348-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00348-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00348-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The crowd at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" 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\n",
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"excerpt": "With headliner Common, the Hieroglyphics crew celebrated 30 years of '93 Til Infinity' in front of Oakland City Hall. ",
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"title": "Hiero Day 2023 Affirmed Hip-Hop’s Local Essence — and National Gravity | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934333\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00413.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934333\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00413.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00413-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00413-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00413-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00413-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00413-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Common on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\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 year-long exploration of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop\">Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a> history.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With stellar performances from headlining act Common and the eponymous Hieroglyphics crew, Hiero Day 2023 did not disappoint.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In its second year at Frank Ogawa Plaza, in front of Oakland City Hall – downsized from the previous location at Third Street and Linden, which saw crowds in excess of 20,000 – the daylong hip-hop festival felt just right. With little crowd congestion, one could easily stroll through the vendors and food options, or traverse between two stages. Yet it was dense enough to evoke a sense of collective excitement amongst attendees – a mix of hip-hop fans from seemingly all ages, walks of life, and ethnic backgrounds.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>It’s safe to say people will be talking about Common’s Oakland appearance long afterwards. The Chicago emcee, actor, activist and philanthropist delivered a top-notch set that interspersed his own hits with iconic hip-hop songs by other artists, in honor of “Hip Hop 50” – the 50th anniversary of hip-hop, a through-line for many acts throughout the day. Colorfully dressed in a short sleeve button-down shirt, Common’s charisma and commanding stage presence were in evidence for all to see. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934339\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00335.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934339\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00335.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00335-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00335-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00335-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00335-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00335-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Common talking with Davey D backstage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Common began his set with his ode to hip-hop culture, “I Used to Love H.E.R.,” which first catapulted him to national attention in the mid-’90s. Like De La Soul’s “Stakes Is High,” the song stands as a cautionary tale, warning against cultural co-option and commodification while underscoring what’s attractive and endearing about the culture in the first place. With poetic flair, Common spins his tale by metaphorically referring to hip-hop as a girl he fell in love with at the age of 10, who “was fresh, yo, when she was underground.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At first “original, pure, untampered, a down sister,” she changed – moving to the West Coast and embracing a gangsta lifestyle instead of Afrocentricity, then becoming popular with suburban crowds. Though his love has been defiled and degraded, Common pledges at the end of the song: “I’ma take her back, hopin’ that the shit stop / ‘Cause who I’m talkin’ about, y’all, is hip-hop.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It proved to be the perfect set opener, a classic tune made before many in the audience were born, that remains relevant in its message while aligning with the Hip Hop 50 theme. Another highlight was “The Corner,” from the album \u003cem>Be\u003c/em>, produced by Kanye West (back when he was hip-hop’s rising star on the boards), the album version of which features Umar Bin Hassan of the Last Poets, the socially-conscious spoken word artists known as the godfathers of rap. It was a solid selection that peeled back Common’s Hollywood sheen for some authentic grit. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934336\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00132.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934336\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00132.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00132-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00132-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00132-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00132-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00132-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Del the Funky Homosapien and Ras Ceylon backstage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Common closed his set, and the show, with “The Light,” a single from the heyday of the neo-soul era that remains one of hip-hop’s sweetest love songs. Though Common has a reputation as a ladies’ man – Oakland mayor Sheng Thao gushed over him earlier in the day – his approach to the opposite sex has always been respectful. So it wasn’t difficult for the ladies in the house to get completely into the song’s mellow, feel-good vibe, singing along to the chorus lifted from the late Bobby Caldwell: “There are times, when you need someone / I will be by your side / There is a light that shines / Special for me and you.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Right before Common’s set, Hieroglyphics performed a short but impactful set that seemed to roll back the clock 30 years in terms of their on-stage energy – except their kineticism was tempered by veteran savvy. Up-and coming emcees in the crowd were likely taking notes; this was a masterclass in live performance dynamics. Kicking off with 1998’s “Oakland Blackouts,” the fan favorite’s laid-back album version donned a supercharged carapace live, as Del the Funky Homosapien and Opio traded verses well-qualified to be hip-hop quotables. This may be the only rap song in history to compare emcees to “platypuses,” and the two emcees’ internal rhyme schemes were impeccable throughout. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Oakland Blackouts” set the tone for the rest of the set, as the other Hieros fed off Del and Opio with lots of crowd-amping gestures and hand raises. There were noticeable rushes from the audience for particularly nasty lyrical flurries by Tajai and Pep Love, although there really wasn’t a weak flow to be found amongst any of the Hieros. It would have been nice had the set afforded more exposition of deep cuts from the collective’s three-decade catalog – “The Powers That Be,” from 2003’s \u003cem>Full Circle\u003c/em>, sounded epic. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934882\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1920\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934882\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Hiero.Group_.2023-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Hieroglyphics on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The song’s bouncy, boom-bap beat shows why Domino is highly underrated as a producer, while the verses from Opio, Tajai, Del and Pep Love were a wicked whirlwind of battle-rap braggadocio and pop culture references (including Chow Yun Fat and Voltron). When Del says “I’m kinda different yo / what I say is thought-provoking,” he could easily be referring to his entire crew. “This is rap Olympics / Hieroglyphics, the dream team,” Pep Love proclaimed. In that moment, no one witnessing the show would have reasonably disagreed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Hieroglyphics closed their set with Souls of Mischief’s iconic “93 Til Infinity,” which has to be one of the top hip-hop anthems of all time. There’s just something about the A-Plus-produced track that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Maybe it’s the pitch-shifted Billy Cobham sample, or maybe it’s the breezy lyrics which evoke the epitome of laid-back Cali cool (“Now we feel the good vibrations / So many females, so much inspiration”). The song never gets old.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>An unexpected highlight took place between Hieroglyphics and Common’s sets, when Oakland Mayor Sheng Thao and Mystik Journeymen/Living Legends emcee Corey “Sunspot Jonz” Johnson announced that the City has partnered with Hiero Day – a development that illustrates just how far hip-hop has come. Some may recall when Oakland’s annual Art & Soul festival avoided booking hip-hop acts altogether, or Oakland’s year-long moratorium on rap shows at City-owned facilities. Just as Hieroglyphics broke the mold by performing at Art & Soul, this year’s Hiero Day appeared to usher in a new era of municipal collaboration with the hip-hop community. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934330\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00356.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934330\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00356.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00356-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00356-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00356-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00356-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00356-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Oakland Mayor Shen Thao on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Thao, for her part, certainly seemed to embrace the culture. Dressed in a hella fresh varsity-style jacket with Oakland’s tree logo embroidered on the back, she looked amped to be able to talk about something other than rising crime rates, police scandals, and the deteriorating relationship with the Oakland A’s. She handed out a series of commemorative proclamations honoring the contributions of community mainstays and culture keepers, including Johnson; radio personality, DJ, and educator Davey D; Eastside Arts Alliance co-founders Elena Serrano and Traci Bartlow; visual artist and filmmaker Shomari Smith; and rapper, entrepreneur and activist Mistah F.A.B. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Each of the honorees gave a short speech. “I brought the underground here,” Johnson remarked, while Serrano noted that her association with hip-hop predates Eastside’s founding, going back to the late ’90s at Berkeley’s La Pena. F.A.B. made a point of speaking to underserved kids dealing with trauma: “It’s possible. Whether your father’s incarcerated or your mother’s on drugs, it’s possible to make it” – referring to his own uncertain upbringing and triumphant transformation into a certified cultural hero. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934335\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1920\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934335\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00062-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Chuck Johnson and Mistah F.A.B. pose with singer Alanis Morissette, husband and rapper Soul Eye and their family at Hiero Day in Oakland’s Frank Ogawa Plaza on Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The presentations closed with Thao handing Common a heavyweight boxing-style belt, acknowledging his community work. Later, during his set, the rapper noted that he had been inspired by “the Town”’s examples, citing both Hieroglyphics and the Black Panthers, and name-checking Fred Hampton, the martyred leader of Chicago’s Panther chapter and subject of the recent film \u003cem>Judas and the Black Messiah\u003c/em>. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The pacing at the end — Hiero, Thao, and Common — capped a day that started at noon and gradually built up momentum, as up-and-coming artists rocked both stages and attendees filtered into the venue. Some of the undercard was hit-or-miss, and the production’s timing got skewed, forcing some set times to be shortened, but there were still plenty of highlights.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934360\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00040.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934360\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00040.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00040-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00040-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00040-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00040-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00040-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Richie Cunning on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A sparsely-attended early set by Richie Cunning on the second stage probably deserved a bigger audience. Cunning has been an emcee on the rise for many years now, and his flow, delivery, and punchline game seem increasingly ready for prime time. For fans of hardcore Bay Area mobb music, it was great to see Cellski with DJ T.C. the Enhancer. The Kev Choice Ensemble added jazzy musicality with a trip through hip-hop history, from Chic’s “Good Times” to a nod to Zumbi of Zion-I with “Don’t Lose Your Head.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934334\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00230.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934334\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00230.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00230-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00230-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00230-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00230-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00230-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kev Choice on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>L.A. underground legend Medusa, who once bested Eminem in a rap battle back in the ’90s, delivered a fiery and fierce-as-fuck set. It was great to see the former member of duo Feline Science and Project Blowed alumnus still doing her thing. Her set was unfortunately truncated, but not before she ripped the recent single “Catch Yo Feelinz” (“You better catch your feelings / I’m about to jump off!”), which shows she can flow over anything, even a contemporary-sounding trap beat. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Ultimate Breaks and Beats\u003c/em> curator Breakbeat Lou performed a high-level DJ set with sublime segues, like the Funky Four + 1’s “That’s The Joint” into Naughty By Nature’s “Uptown Anthem,” The Whole Darn Family’s “Seven Minutes of Funk” into Dru Down’s “Pimp of the Year,” and Digable Planets’ “Rebirth of Slick” into E-40’s “Yay Area.” Blending original songs with later tracks that used them as sample sources further carried the theme of hip-hop history as a progression and evolution of a cultural movement that started from the bottom and ended up at City Hall – literally. Yadidahmean?\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934340\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00110.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934340\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00110.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00110-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00110-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00110-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00110-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00110-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Cellski on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Throughout the day, several of the artists spoke backstage about hip-hop’s evolution and their personal journeys through the culture. Del, reflecting on 50 years of hip-hop, said, “I just want our values and everything we based it on to live on.” Those values include“self-improvement goals and knowing your environment, being able to deal with motherfuckers in a competitive way instead of fighting or killing each other.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934348\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00271.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934348\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00271.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00271-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00271-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00271-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00271-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00271-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Opio on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A-Plus remarked on the longevity of “93 Til Infinity”: “I feel appreciative, honored. You know that I produce many different things, man. But that one is certainly special. It’s done everything for Souls of Mischief and for Hiero. The ways it’s aged, and the new generation with streaming, they’re looking back at it and then finding their own way with music.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That’s enabled Hiero’s fanbase to expand beyond old heads, he says. “Young kids are part of our demo at this point. And it’s just really surreal. You don’t think that far ahead, like 30 years from now, young kids are going to think your song is the shit.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934887\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1920\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934887\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/Medusa.HieroDay2023-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Medusa on stage at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Mistah F.A.B. specifically saluted Souls of Mischief’s milestone and what it means for the Bay Area and for Oakland. “To me, Hip Hop 30 is more important to Hip Hop 50, which is kind of weird. Crazy. But Hip Hop 30 for Hiero is very important, man. And I just love the fact that we’ve been included (in the Hiero Day celebration) to be able to watch our hometown guys come through, and for years continue to maintain relevancy, and continue to keep pushing and representing Oakland.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934346\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00055.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934346\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00055.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00055-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00055-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00055-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00055-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00055-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mistah F.A.B. at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>That said, there would be no 30th anniversary for Souls had the culture never existed in the first place. F.A.B. continued: “Big shout out to the forefathers that opened up the doors. We’re happy to be here. Let’s continue to get another 50 up out of it, and not let the culture die, by preserving and respecting our elders and continuing to keep doing new work.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13934344\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00348.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1440\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13934344\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00348.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00348-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00348-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00348-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00348-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/09/DSC00348-1536x1152.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The crowd at Hiero Day in Frank Ogawa Plaza, Oakland, Sept. 4, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"slug": "the-bays-overlooked-contributions-to-hip-hop",
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"headTitle": "The Bay’s (Overlooked) Contributions to Hip-Hop | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cp dir=\"ltr\">\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 dir=\"ltr\">\u003cem>This episode contains explicit language.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\">Hip-hop turns 50 years old today, and it’s no secret that the Bay Area gets overlooked.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\">Today, Eric Arnold and Nastia Voynovskaya join us to talk about KQED’s yearlong series exploring the history of Bay Area hip-hop — and how our region has shaped hip-hop through the years.\u003c/p>\n\u003cdiv class=\"card card--enclosed grey\">\n\u003cp id=\"embed-code\" class=\"inconsolata\">\n\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=KQINC4288213762&light=true\" width=\"100%\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\n\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Links:\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cli dir=\"ltr\">\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/about\">That’s My Word\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003cli dir=\"ltr\">\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13924126/the-bay-area-was-hip-hop-before-there-was-hip-hop\">The Bay Area Was Hip-Hop Before There Was Hip-Hop\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003cli dir=\"ltr\">\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13932076/bay-area-hip-hop-50th-anniversary-celebrations?fbclid=PAAaZcaqjnWQAiiryVrSIk6Al7RPtcyhHWfzhiKwZI3F7M0rBUYGFqBmyZtNs_aem_AUZ0PtDPz3MWlew-JR0jIwgFa-ybrWmHEhDnZ8FYJ6bn3tV7IFtSGjM-Yz8hrtQuNMU\">Hip-Hop’s 50th Anniversary: Where to Celebrate in the Bay Area\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003cli dir=\"ltr\">\u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0qR8qB6JbTVhK2HDodBv4b?si=297f92cb403f4300\">That’s My Word, Spotify Playlists celebrating 50 years of Bay Area Hip Hop \u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003cli dir=\"ltr\">\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13930867/whats-pimpin-culture-hip-hop-rap-sexism-misogynoir-black-women\">It’s Time to Unpack Pimp Culture in Bay Area Hip-Hop\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\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>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>I’m Ericka Cruz Guevarra and Welcome to the Bay. Local News to Keep You Rooted. Today marks 50 years of hip hop. This anniversary traces back to August 11th, 1973, when a teenage deejay Kool Herc, mixed records at a back to school party in the Bronx. But before that, long before hip hop even had a name, the Bay Area was laying the foundations of hip hop culture. Even if the region doesn’t get the credit.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>When I started digging into this, I noticed that there were all these things, all these really kind of foundational elements of hip hop that were not only identified with the Bay Area but originated with the Bay Area.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>So today we’re talking about KQED’s That’s My Word series, a yearlong exploration of the Bay Area’s contributions to hip hop culture. We’ll talk about how the Bay has shaped some of the most important elements of the genre and how the Bay Area was hip hop before there even was hip hop. Stay with us.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>Bay Area hip hop is so diverse. We’re really talking about it in a geographic sense.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>This is Nastia Voynovskaya, associate editor of KQED Arts and Culture. She co-edited KQED’s That’s My Word series, exploring the Bay’s contributions to hip hop with veteran hip hop journalist Eric Arnold.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>We’re talking about five decades of evolution and this region that has so many distinct cities with their own scenes. You know, we have Oakland. Vallejo. Richmond. San Francisco. San Jose is Palo Alto, Pittsburgh. Fairfield. All different corners of the bay. And the artists from those scenes cross-pollinate and collaborate and influence one another. Even when you go back to the eighties, when the Bay Area scene really started taking off. In Oakland alone, you have two short making mob music and rapping about the underworld of the streets.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>Just like we had to work for my eight years on the mark and I’m not joking. So to start coming straight from Oakland.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>You have Digital Underground making fun, funky, silly and expressive music that tells people it’s okay to be different and weird. My name is.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>And you have M.C.Hammer making pop rap and dancing and entertaining.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>And in San Francisco, there is Paris, who is known as the Black Panther of hip hop’s wisdom.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>So all of these elements, the street, the revolutionary, experimental and commercial aspects are mixing together and influencing each other, and they continue to do so. So there’s not one sound or one style of Bay Area hip hop, and it’s all of these things.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>Eric Arnold, you’ve covered hip hop in the Bay Area for many years. Have you felt that Bay Area hip hop has been overlooked.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>Almost every single day? I mean, it has it’s almost a defining characteristic of the bay, you know, And it it’s sort of the underground underdog mentality, the chip on the shoulder type thing, though we’re different where, you know, we’re not L.A., we’re not New York. But we made hella contributions to hip hop’s culture at its esthetic over the decades. You know, of course, we’ve created all these phrases like pushes that have gone on to become part of rap’s lexicon.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>You wrote a piece for that’s My Word, titled The Bay Area was hip hop before there was hip hop. So I want to stick with you for a little bit. First of all, why go back to before hip hop was even a word?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>Hip hop was created or invented in 1973, but it wasn’t even named until 1981. So that means that that it was a culture of flops. And in development that entire time, it was still evolving. It was still emerging. So when I started digging into this, I noticed that there were all of these things, all these really kind of foundational elements of hip hop that were not only identified with the Bay Area, but originated with the Bay Area prior to 1973 or, you know, concurrent with, you know, 1973 to 1981. Whatever time period, you you know, you want to put on that.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>In one of Eric’s pieces for that’s my word. He lays out three key ways that the Bay Area shaped hip hop that you can still see and hear today. The first is Boogaloo, a street dance movement pioneered by black youth in East Oakland. The second is Bay Area Funk. And third, the political movements that influenced a social consciousness in Bay Funk that we would later find in hip hop. Well, let me dig into Boogaloo with you. You describe it as sort of the ancestor of pop locking years before hip hop had a name and that it’s really this like whole culture with its own rituals and esthetic to it also, right?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>It is. Back in like 1964. It was youth driven. It came from the inner city. It was this inventive dance that kind of started with James Brown. But then people in East Oakland just started adding moves and developing this dance vocabulary and having competitive battles. As you do that, you actually create a cultural esthetic. So it becomes like this whole movement that spreads from East Oakland to West Oakland to North Oakland to Berkeley, to Emeryville, to Richmond, to San Francisco. When it gets to San Francisco, it’s called strutting. When it gets to Richmond, it’s called robotic. So it was very, very foundational and it occupied a place in sort of like the cultural milieu of the times that hip hop occupies now.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>And then it eventually reaches L.A., Right. How does it sort of transform into some of the dances that we now associate with hip hop.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>With Boogaloo? There were certain techniques or groups that became foundational to that, get it taking where you kind of move your hand like a clock, like the like the second hand of a clock on double tripping, which is like kind of like a side to side motion where you’re kind of you’re going forward, but moving kind of side to side, kind of sideways, getting down. And the opening hit, which is like, you’re dancing, then all of a sudden you stop on the beat, we’re gonna die. Well, that got integrated into what L.A. was doing, which was locking The Oakland hit became the pop. So that added the pop to the lot. And then you get pop locking. And then when breakdancing becomes integrated with pop locking in L.A. in the early eighties, the Oakland hit or the pop becomes part of that esthetic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>I know. Aside from Boogaloo, another foundational element that you talk about in your piece is Bay Area Funk. How is Bay Area Funk in particular important to hip hop’s early sound and also esthetic and ideology?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>So you had funk invented by James Brown, and James Brown was an established artist. Right. So he already had a sound. But when Sly Stone came up, he has, like, this entirely different approach. He was this musical prodigy raised in the church in Vallejo. He had produced psychedelic records. And he starts to emphasize the interplay between the bass and the drum a little bit more and also creates space in the music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>And his bass player, Larry Graham, created the slap bass sound of the Pet Express, which then becomes the ubiquitous sound of Bach. Every fan group picks up that sound.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>And all that stuff.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>But Sly Stone also crosses over to this mainstream multiethnic audience, and he’s able to do that while retaining a black identity so that every single black artist starts trying to get that sly Stone sound and do the same thing. And if you look at hip hop, hip hop has sort of embodied all of those characteristics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>And another, I think, characteristic of Bay Funk and in particular Sly Stone’s sort of version of Funk, is this sort of social consciousness that he brings to the music. Right? And I know you also sort of point to this social consciousness as really central to Bay Area hip hop. As we, of course, know, this region has this really long legacy of progressive politics and multicultural social justice movements. So how do these social movements in the Bay Area in particular also become foundational to hip hop everywhere?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>So Bay Area, fuck it. You know, you mentioned that it was very progressive. I mean, it also censured women such as Sugar, Pride, as Tanto, the Pointer Sisters, and the Bride of Frankenstein.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>And there was a time when all of a sudden, like Funk said, Well, we need to be relevant to these times. And people are talking about liberation movements. And that all started with the Bay Area.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>And that that sort of because that’s a foundational element it sort of gets transposed into hip hop.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>So the Black Panthers were happening at the same time that the funk movement was happening and the boogaloo movement was happening. But they went national very early on in like the late sixties. They had more than 30 national chapters at one point. And the Black Panthers actually had a punk band called the Lumpen that addressed political topics back in the day. They also had a newsletter that had a circulation of between 350 to 400000. So when you think about Chuck D’s quote, that rap is at CNN of Black America for the Panther newsletter was a CNN of Black America before there was CNN or even before there was rap.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>In 1968, the Black Panthers opened up a field office in Bronx River. Now, Bronx River is the birthplace of hip hop. And at that field office, they did outreach to the exact same. You became the first generation of New York hip hop. So literally, the Black Panther ideology is embedded in hip hop’s DNA, afros, the leather jackets, the sort of militant radical self-expression that they had. That’s all part of the esthetic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>Then you think about people like Tupac, whose parents were Panthers. He was a Panther cub. And Tupac sort of embodies this idea of the next generation and their expression. You know, not being Foxx, but being hip hop.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>Nastia, I want to bring you in here and kind of come back to the present day as well. What are some of the ways that you see some of this history that Eric is talking about in hip hop today?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>Yeah, I mean, Eric mentioned the nineties generation being Panther cubs. Now you have and the millennial and Gen Z generations, Panther, Grand Cub’s.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>League, one of the more popular Bay Area rappers out. You know Rex Fries has his dad kind of grew up around the Black Panthers and he infuses his music with that political consciousness even though he’s not a purely political artist. We are about.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>He and other rappers that are gaining prominence right now, like Le Russell and Samba, also talk about community healing and their own personal healing, which is I feel like that’s the way that our generation’s kind of evolving that conversation with more consciousness around mental health and things like that.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>And then, you know, the other elements of Bay Area hip hop we’ve been talking about. And those conversation are still present and evolving in different ways.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>And Larry June, who has a hit record out right now he’s kind of carrying over that funky sound but in a more modernized where he kind of has that old school player element that’s been foundational to Bay Area hip hop since the two short days.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>You’re out. Also have artists like PUA sweetie drawing from behavior move man making that sort of uptempo party music but in a current way and you know their music is gaining mainstream traction.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>Yeah, I feel like something that I’ve also noticed about Bay Area Music is this almost sort of DIY, entrepreneurial, independent spirit that I think Eric was describing earlier is very sort of underdog. How is that sort of a characteristic of Bay Area hip hop? And and does that also to you have roots in some of the history that we were talking about?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>I mean, when you go back to. You know, artists selling tapes on consignment and selling out the trunk and outselling national artists. So the Bay Area was doing equal or better independently without radio play, without distribution. So I think that kind of typifies the independent mentality, having this mentality where you don’t feel like you have to conform to commercialism. But I also think that that connects to Afrofuturism and Afrofuturism as part of the Black Arts movement, which is also rooted in the Bay and rooted in Sun Ra and his type of expression. And then we see that in, you know, Bay Area rappers like Dell and Black Alicia’s and the Mystic Journeymen and how they’ve just come completely from left field and said, Okay. We’ve got this piano player stuff on one hand, but then we’ve got the super abstract backpack, stuff like that, and it’s all hip hop.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>He talks about artists like to for any 40 selling tapes out the trunk. You know that continued with CD is one those became available and then Bay area artists also really ran with the early social media like the pack and Little B really exploded on MySpace. So so did the hyphy movement, actually. And then, you know, artists like really embraced YouTube in its early days and people say that Mag Dres trill tbh predated blogging because he made these crazy DIY. A party documentary is about just all of his after hours escapades and kind of showing off like the sideshow culture and party culture of the bay. So Bay Area artists have always found a way, even if we don’t have the infrastructure of the mainstream music industry behind us. And I think, yeah, that underdog mentality still really defines the Bay.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong> Pilo on his song put me on some says last year they even like the bay You know that’s something that people sing along to Any time that plays in the club and just wear it as a badge of pride.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>I want to look ahead here with the two of you. Nazia We’re celebrating 50 years of hip hop, but how are you thinking about where hip hop is heading, particularly here in the Bay Area?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>Well, one really exciting thing we’ve been able to do with this project is include a lot of women’s voices and also kind of critically examine Bay Area hip hop with love and as fans and practitioners of the culture. The Bay Area hip hop scene is revolutionary and progressive in all these ways, but we’ve really seen misogyny get a huge pass because of that underdog mentality in the Bay Area. People have been hesitant to, you know, also criticize some aspects of the culture. But the scene is also evolving to include a lot more women’s voices. So now you have artists like Kinky Will Kill a stony alien marketeer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>Now I’m really excited to see how those conversations continue to develop, especially around women and queer and trans folks. These are all artists who are just super bold, expressive and captivating on stage, and I’m so excited to see how they’re going to evolve.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>Well, I see it as a progression and I see it as a continuum and I see it as evolution. All of those things have continued to happen with hip hop in terms of it being a space where multiculturalism can flourish and come together. And we saw that with Sly Stone in, you know, everyday people, but we also saw it with to shore added lipids to shore it and you know, all the great Bay Area anthems, right? All of these things that brought people together and were really continuations of these social movements, these cultural movements, these political movements, these pushes for economic equity that began decades ago. And so history really is cyclical. When you look at the 16th Street train station in Oakland, it’s such a historic location. And knowing that it has all this history with with the Pullman porters. And then it was the place where they choreographed the turf dancers and tell me when to go really makes it seem like, you know, all that history is connected. Just one just one housekeeping thing. So we did mention Mac Dre R.I.P., but we also have to say R.I.P. to Dream. Gift of Gab. Zombie shot. Gee, all of our OG’s that we’ve lost along with Oscar Grant, all of our OGs that we’ve lost along the way who are still with us and we carry their memory to this day.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>Yeah, The Jacka, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>The Jacka.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>Traxamillion.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>Traxamillion. Mr. C from RBL. I mean, the list goes on.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>Yeah, but that’s a big reason for why we really want to thoroughly document and preserve this history, because unfortunately, we’re losing some of our hip hop legends.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>Well, Eric and Nastia, I feel like I could talk to you all for so much longer than this. But thank you so much for coming on the show.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>Thanks so much for having us.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>Yeah, thank you. I can’t I can’t wait for this to come out.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>That was Nastia Voynovskaya, associate editor of arts and culture for KQED, and Eric Arnold, a veteran hip hop journalist and co contributing editor of KQED’s That’s My Word. Nastia, Eric and the whole team are going to continue their coverage of Bay Area hip hop throughout the year. The series is also led by KQED’s Pendarvis Harshaw and Gabe Meline. Check out all the amazing work that they’re doing on this project at Bay Area Hip hop dot com. We’ve also got a bunch of other links in our show notes, including where to celebrate 50 years of hip hop right here in the Bay.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC].\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>This conversation was cut down and edited by producer Maria Esquinca. It was produced and scored by me. Alan Montecillo is our senior editor. The rest of our team here at KQED includes Jen Chien, the director of podcasts. Katie Sprenger, our podcast operations manager. We also get audience engagement support from César Saldaña. Holly Kernan is our chief content officer. I’m Ericka Cruz Guevarra. Thanks for listening. Peace\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\n\u003c/p>\n",
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"excerpt": "Today, Eric Arnold and Nastia Voynovskaya join us to talk about KQED’s yearlong series exploring the history of Bay Area hip-hop.",
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"title": "The Bay’s (Overlooked) Contributions to Hip-Hop | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp dir=\"ltr\">\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 dir=\"ltr\">\u003cem>This episode contains explicit language.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\">Hip-hop turns 50 years old today, and it’s no secret that the Bay Area gets overlooked.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\">Today, Eric Arnold and Nastia Voynovskaya join us to talk about KQED’s yearlong series exploring the history of Bay Area hip-hop — and how our region has shaped hip-hop through the years.\u003c/p>\n\u003cdiv class=\"card card--enclosed grey\">\n\u003cp id=\"embed-code\" class=\"inconsolata\">\n\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=KQINC4288213762&light=true\" width=\"100%\" class=\"iframe-class\">\u003c/iframe>\n\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>Links:\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cli dir=\"ltr\">\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop/about\">That’s My Word\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003cli dir=\"ltr\">\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13924126/the-bay-area-was-hip-hop-before-there-was-hip-hop\">The Bay Area Was Hip-Hop Before There Was Hip-Hop\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003cli dir=\"ltr\">\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13932076/bay-area-hip-hop-50th-anniversary-celebrations?fbclid=PAAaZcaqjnWQAiiryVrSIk6Al7RPtcyhHWfzhiKwZI3F7M0rBUYGFqBmyZtNs_aem_AUZ0PtDPz3MWlew-JR0jIwgFa-ybrWmHEhDnZ8FYJ6bn3tV7IFtSGjM-Yz8hrtQuNMU\">Hip-Hop’s 50th Anniversary: Where to Celebrate in the Bay Area\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003cli dir=\"ltr\">\u003ca href=\"https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0qR8qB6JbTVhK2HDodBv4b?si=297f92cb403f4300\">That’s My Word, Spotify Playlists celebrating 50 years of Bay Area Hip Hop \u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003cli dir=\"ltr\">\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13930867/whats-pimpin-culture-hip-hop-rap-sexism-misogynoir-black-women\">It’s Time to Unpack Pimp Culture in Bay Area Hip-Hop\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-content post-body\">\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>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>I’m Ericka Cruz Guevarra and Welcome to the Bay. Local News to Keep You Rooted. Today marks 50 years of hip hop. This anniversary traces back to August 11th, 1973, when a teenage deejay Kool Herc, mixed records at a back to school party in the Bronx. But before that, long before hip hop even had a name, the Bay Area was laying the foundations of hip hop culture. Even if the region doesn’t get the credit.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>When I started digging into this, I noticed that there were all these things, all these really kind of foundational elements of hip hop that were not only identified with the Bay Area but originated with the Bay Area.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>So today we’re talking about KQED’s That’s My Word series, a yearlong exploration of the Bay Area’s contributions to hip hop culture. We’ll talk about how the Bay has shaped some of the most important elements of the genre and how the Bay Area was hip hop before there even was hip hop. Stay with us.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>Bay Area hip hop is so diverse. We’re really talking about it in a geographic sense.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>This is Nastia Voynovskaya, associate editor of KQED Arts and Culture. She co-edited KQED’s That’s My Word series, exploring the Bay’s contributions to hip hop with veteran hip hop journalist Eric Arnold.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>We’re talking about five decades of evolution and this region that has so many distinct cities with their own scenes. You know, we have Oakland. Vallejo. Richmond. San Francisco. San Jose is Palo Alto, Pittsburgh. Fairfield. All different corners of the bay. And the artists from those scenes cross-pollinate and collaborate and influence one another. Even when you go back to the eighties, when the Bay Area scene really started taking off. In Oakland alone, you have two short making mob music and rapping about the underworld of the streets.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>Just like we had to work for my eight years on the mark and I’m not joking. So to start coming straight from Oakland.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>You have Digital Underground making fun, funky, silly and expressive music that tells people it’s okay to be different and weird. My name is.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>And you have M.C.Hammer making pop rap and dancing and entertaining.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>And in San Francisco, there is Paris, who is known as the Black Panther of hip hop’s wisdom.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>So all of these elements, the street, the revolutionary, experimental and commercial aspects are mixing together and influencing each other, and they continue to do so. So there’s not one sound or one style of Bay Area hip hop, and it’s all of these things.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>Eric Arnold, you’ve covered hip hop in the Bay Area for many years. Have you felt that Bay Area hip hop has been overlooked.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>Almost every single day? I mean, it has it’s almost a defining characteristic of the bay, you know, And it it’s sort of the underground underdog mentality, the chip on the shoulder type thing, though we’re different where, you know, we’re not L.A., we’re not New York. But we made hella contributions to hip hop’s culture at its esthetic over the decades. You know, of course, we’ve created all these phrases like pushes that have gone on to become part of rap’s lexicon.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>You wrote a piece for that’s My Word, titled The Bay Area was hip hop before there was hip hop. So I want to stick with you for a little bit. First of all, why go back to before hip hop was even a word?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>Hip hop was created or invented in 1973, but it wasn’t even named until 1981. So that means that that it was a culture of flops. And in development that entire time, it was still evolving. It was still emerging. So when I started digging into this, I noticed that there were all of these things, all these really kind of foundational elements of hip hop that were not only identified with the Bay Area, but originated with the Bay Area prior to 1973 or, you know, concurrent with, you know, 1973 to 1981. Whatever time period, you you know, you want to put on that.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>In one of Eric’s pieces for that’s my word. He lays out three key ways that the Bay Area shaped hip hop that you can still see and hear today. The first is Boogaloo, a street dance movement pioneered by black youth in East Oakland. The second is Bay Area Funk. And third, the political movements that influenced a social consciousness in Bay Funk that we would later find in hip hop. Well, let me dig into Boogaloo with you. You describe it as sort of the ancestor of pop locking years before hip hop had a name and that it’s really this like whole culture with its own rituals and esthetic to it also, right?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>It is. Back in like 1964. It was youth driven. It came from the inner city. It was this inventive dance that kind of started with James Brown. But then people in East Oakland just started adding moves and developing this dance vocabulary and having competitive battles. As you do that, you actually create a cultural esthetic. So it becomes like this whole movement that spreads from East Oakland to West Oakland to North Oakland to Berkeley, to Emeryville, to Richmond, to San Francisco. When it gets to San Francisco, it’s called strutting. When it gets to Richmond, it’s called robotic. So it was very, very foundational and it occupied a place in sort of like the cultural milieu of the times that hip hop occupies now.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>And then it eventually reaches L.A., Right. How does it sort of transform into some of the dances that we now associate with hip hop.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>With Boogaloo? There were certain techniques or groups that became foundational to that, get it taking where you kind of move your hand like a clock, like the like the second hand of a clock on double tripping, which is like kind of like a side to side motion where you’re kind of you’re going forward, but moving kind of side to side, kind of sideways, getting down. And the opening hit, which is like, you’re dancing, then all of a sudden you stop on the beat, we’re gonna die. Well, that got integrated into what L.A. was doing, which was locking The Oakland hit became the pop. So that added the pop to the lot. And then you get pop locking. And then when breakdancing becomes integrated with pop locking in L.A. in the early eighties, the Oakland hit or the pop becomes part of that esthetic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>I know. Aside from Boogaloo, another foundational element that you talk about in your piece is Bay Area Funk. How is Bay Area Funk in particular important to hip hop’s early sound and also esthetic and ideology?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>So you had funk invented by James Brown, and James Brown was an established artist. Right. So he already had a sound. But when Sly Stone came up, he has, like, this entirely different approach. He was this musical prodigy raised in the church in Vallejo. He had produced psychedelic records. And he starts to emphasize the interplay between the bass and the drum a little bit more and also creates space in the music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>And his bass player, Larry Graham, created the slap bass sound of the Pet Express, which then becomes the ubiquitous sound of Bach. Every fan group picks up that sound.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>And all that stuff.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>But Sly Stone also crosses over to this mainstream multiethnic audience, and he’s able to do that while retaining a black identity so that every single black artist starts trying to get that sly Stone sound and do the same thing. And if you look at hip hop, hip hop has sort of embodied all of those characteristics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>And another, I think, characteristic of Bay Funk and in particular Sly Stone’s sort of version of Funk, is this sort of social consciousness that he brings to the music. Right? And I know you also sort of point to this social consciousness as really central to Bay Area hip hop. As we, of course, know, this region has this really long legacy of progressive politics and multicultural social justice movements. So how do these social movements in the Bay Area in particular also become foundational to hip hop everywhere?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>So Bay Area, fuck it. You know, you mentioned that it was very progressive. I mean, it also censured women such as Sugar, Pride, as Tanto, the Pointer Sisters, and the Bride of Frankenstein.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>And there was a time when all of a sudden, like Funk said, Well, we need to be relevant to these times. And people are talking about liberation movements. And that all started with the Bay Area.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>And that that sort of because that’s a foundational element it sort of gets transposed into hip hop.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>So the Black Panthers were happening at the same time that the funk movement was happening and the boogaloo movement was happening. But they went national very early on in like the late sixties. They had more than 30 national chapters at one point. And the Black Panthers actually had a punk band called the Lumpen that addressed political topics back in the day. They also had a newsletter that had a circulation of between 350 to 400000. So when you think about Chuck D’s quote, that rap is at CNN of Black America for the Panther newsletter was a CNN of Black America before there was CNN or even before there was rap.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>In 1968, the Black Panthers opened up a field office in Bronx River. Now, Bronx River is the birthplace of hip hop. And at that field office, they did outreach to the exact same. You became the first generation of New York hip hop. So literally, the Black Panther ideology is embedded in hip hop’s DNA, afros, the leather jackets, the sort of militant radical self-expression that they had. That’s all part of the esthetic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>Then you think about people like Tupac, whose parents were Panthers. He was a Panther cub. And Tupac sort of embodies this idea of the next generation and their expression. You know, not being Foxx, but being hip hop.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>Nastia, I want to bring you in here and kind of come back to the present day as well. What are some of the ways that you see some of this history that Eric is talking about in hip hop today?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>Yeah, I mean, Eric mentioned the nineties generation being Panther cubs. Now you have and the millennial and Gen Z generations, Panther, Grand Cub’s.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>League, one of the more popular Bay Area rappers out. You know Rex Fries has his dad kind of grew up around the Black Panthers and he infuses his music with that political consciousness even though he’s not a purely political artist. We are about.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>He and other rappers that are gaining prominence right now, like Le Russell and Samba, also talk about community healing and their own personal healing, which is I feel like that’s the way that our generation’s kind of evolving that conversation with more consciousness around mental health and things like that.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>And then, you know, the other elements of Bay Area hip hop we’ve been talking about. And those conversation are still present and evolving in different ways.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>And Larry June, who has a hit record out right now he’s kind of carrying over that funky sound but in a more modernized where he kind of has that old school player element that’s been foundational to Bay Area hip hop since the two short days.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>You’re out. Also have artists like PUA sweetie drawing from behavior move man making that sort of uptempo party music but in a current way and you know their music is gaining mainstream traction.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>Yeah, I feel like something that I’ve also noticed about Bay Area Music is this almost sort of DIY, entrepreneurial, independent spirit that I think Eric was describing earlier is very sort of underdog. How is that sort of a characteristic of Bay Area hip hop? And and does that also to you have roots in some of the history that we were talking about?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>I mean, when you go back to. You know, artists selling tapes on consignment and selling out the trunk and outselling national artists. So the Bay Area was doing equal or better independently without radio play, without distribution. So I think that kind of typifies the independent mentality, having this mentality where you don’t feel like you have to conform to commercialism. But I also think that that connects to Afrofuturism and Afrofuturism as part of the Black Arts movement, which is also rooted in the Bay and rooted in Sun Ra and his type of expression. And then we see that in, you know, Bay Area rappers like Dell and Black Alicia’s and the Mystic Journeymen and how they’ve just come completely from left field and said, Okay. We’ve got this piano player stuff on one hand, but then we’ve got the super abstract backpack, stuff like that, and it’s all hip hop.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>He talks about artists like to for any 40 selling tapes out the trunk. You know that continued with CD is one those became available and then Bay area artists also really ran with the early social media like the pack and Little B really exploded on MySpace. So so did the hyphy movement, actually. And then, you know, artists like really embraced YouTube in its early days and people say that Mag Dres trill tbh predated blogging because he made these crazy DIY. A party documentary is about just all of his after hours escapades and kind of showing off like the sideshow culture and party culture of the bay. So Bay Area artists have always found a way, even if we don’t have the infrastructure of the mainstream music industry behind us. And I think, yeah, that underdog mentality still really defines the Bay.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong> Pilo on his song put me on some says last year they even like the bay You know that’s something that people sing along to Any time that plays in the club and just wear it as a badge of pride.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>I want to look ahead here with the two of you. Nazia We’re celebrating 50 years of hip hop, but how are you thinking about where hip hop is heading, particularly here in the Bay Area?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>Well, one really exciting thing we’ve been able to do with this project is include a lot of women’s voices and also kind of critically examine Bay Area hip hop with love and as fans and practitioners of the culture. The Bay Area hip hop scene is revolutionary and progressive in all these ways, but we’ve really seen misogyny get a huge pass because of that underdog mentality in the Bay Area. People have been hesitant to, you know, also criticize some aspects of the culture. But the scene is also evolving to include a lot more women’s voices. So now you have artists like Kinky Will Kill a stony alien marketeer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>Now I’m really excited to see how those conversations continue to develop, especially around women and queer and trans folks. These are all artists who are just super bold, expressive and captivating on stage, and I’m so excited to see how they’re going to evolve.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>Well, I see it as a progression and I see it as a continuum and I see it as evolution. All of those things have continued to happen with hip hop in terms of it being a space where multiculturalism can flourish and come together. And we saw that with Sly Stone in, you know, everyday people, but we also saw it with to shore added lipids to shore it and you know, all the great Bay Area anthems, right? All of these things that brought people together and were really continuations of these social movements, these cultural movements, these political movements, these pushes for economic equity that began decades ago. And so history really is cyclical. When you look at the 16th Street train station in Oakland, it’s such a historic location. And knowing that it has all this history with with the Pullman porters. And then it was the place where they choreographed the turf dancers and tell me when to go really makes it seem like, you know, all that history is connected. Just one just one housekeeping thing. So we did mention Mac Dre R.I.P., but we also have to say R.I.P. to Dream. Gift of Gab. Zombie shot. Gee, all of our OG’s that we’ve lost along with Oscar Grant, all of our OGs that we’ve lost along the way who are still with us and we carry their memory to this day.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>Yeah, The Jacka, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>The Jacka.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>Traxamillion.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>Traxamillion. Mr. C from RBL. I mean, the list goes on.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>Yeah, but that’s a big reason for why we really want to thoroughly document and preserve this history, because unfortunately, we’re losing some of our hip hop legends.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>Well, Eric and Nastia, I feel like I could talk to you all for so much longer than this. But thank you so much for coming on the show.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Nastia Voynovskaya: \u003c/strong>Thanks so much for having us.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Eric Arnold: \u003c/strong>Yeah, thank you. I can’t I can’t wait for this to come out.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>That was Nastia Voynovskaya, associate editor of arts and culture for KQED, and Eric Arnold, a veteran hip hop journalist and co contributing editor of KQED’s That’s My Word. Nastia, Eric and the whole team are going to continue their coverage of Bay Area hip hop throughout the year. The series is also led by KQED’s Pendarvis Harshaw and Gabe Meline. Check out all the amazing work that they’re doing on this project at Bay Area Hip hop dot com. We’ve also got a bunch of other links in our show notes, including where to celebrate 50 years of hip hop right here in the Bay.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>MUSIC: \u003c/strong>[MUSIC].\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\u003cstrong>Ericka Cruz Guevarra: \u003c/strong>This conversation was cut down and edited by producer Maria Esquinca. It was produced and scored by me. Alan Montecillo is our senior editor. The rest of our team here at KQED includes Jen Chien, the director of podcasts. Katie Sprenger, our podcast operations manager. We also get audience engagement support from César Saldaña. Holly Kernan is our chief content officer. I’m Ericka Cruz Guevarra. Thanks for listening. Peace\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp style=\"font-weight: 400\">\n\u003c/p>\n\u003c/div>"
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"slug": "turf-dancing-oakland-street-dance",
"title": "How Turf Dancing Came to Define Oakland Street Dance",
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"headTitle": "How Turf Dancing Came to Define Oakland Street Dance | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932907\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Gary_6.jpg\" alt=\"Garion Morgan, a.k.a. Icecold 3000 of the Turf Fienz, dancing near the Port of Oakland in 2019.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1080\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932907\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Gary_6.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Gary_6-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Gary_6-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Gary_6-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Gary_6-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Gary_6-1536x864.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Garion Morgan, a.k.a. Icecold 3000 of the Turf Fienz, dancing near the Port of Oakland in 2019. In recent years, turf dancing has undergone a revival, extending and building upon its hyphy-era origins. \u003ccite>(Elie M. Khadra)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Editor’s note: This story is part of \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop\">That’s My Word\u003c/a>\u003cem>, KQED’s year-long exploration of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop\">Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a> history.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[dropcap]I[/dropcap]t was a hard-fought dance battle in front of a live audience, with some of the region’s top turfers competing against an array of styles, from popping to fusion. After a rained-out Oakland contest, Red Bull’s Dance Your Style had reconvened in San Jose, and turf dancing — the Oakland-originated street dance form integral to Bay Area hyphy culture — took center stage. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When the smoke cleared, Oakland’s rising star Hector “Intricate” Ascencio stood alone at the top. With a flurry of Wing Chun-esque hand motions, floor drops, pantomimed gut punches, and expressive footwork, Intricate earned the right to compete in the National Finals, held in Chicago on May 20. Though he didn’t win, owing to tough competition and a song selected by the DJ that wasn’t especially turf-friendly (Ghost Town DJ’s “My Boo”), he represented the Bay to the fullest.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Just winning for Oakland and in the Bay Area in general means so much, because we deserve to get put on the map,” Intricate said, a few days after his victory. “It’s a very rich culture in the Bay Area that obviously needs to be exposed more to the nation and to the world.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932912\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Hector-Intricate-Ascencio-wins-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-competition-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932912\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Hector-Intricate-Ascencio-wins-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-competition-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Hector-Intricate-Ascencio-wins-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-competition-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Hector-Intricate-Ascencio-wins-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-competition-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Hector-Intricate-Ascencio-wins-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-competition-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Hector-Intricate-Ascencio-wins-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-competition-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Hector-Intricate-Ascencio-wins-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-competition-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Hector ‘Intricate’ Ascencio wins the Red Bull Dance Your Style competition on Friday, May 12, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Indeed, turf dancing has undergone a resurgence, returning to local repute and national stages in the past few years. For the second year in a row, Red Bull’s Dance Your Style has chosen Oakland as one of its host cities around the globe. Platforms like TikTok have introduced turfing to a new generation, and this month, E-40 — who included turfing in his landmark “Tell Me When to Go” video — brought back turf dancers for his newest video, “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HW1Xxbalqh4\">The Bay\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Red Bull has also named Turf Inc. founder Johnny “Johnny 5” Lopez a cultural ambassador, and spotlighted Oakland turfer \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pcsqyp85HmY\">Yung Phil in a mini-documentary\u003c/a>. In 2020, GoDaddy produced a \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8IDHKWepzQ\">mini-doc on turfing\u003c/a>, featuring Ice Cold 3000 and T7, founding members of iconic Oakland crew the Turf Feinz. And this year, the Oakland Museum of California featured turf dancing as part of its 2023 Black History Month events. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With renewed attention on the culture coming from multiple sources, “I feel like turf dancing is at a renaissance point right now,” says Intricate. “Actually, it’s at a point of reviving, and keeping itself alive. The dancers in my generation, right now, are bringing it back to the people.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2rYCB-DszM\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Street Origins and Early Battles\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Oakland’s street dance culture started with boogaloo in the 1960s, and predates the emergence of hip-hop dance by almost a decade. And yet its influential history – which includes turfing – is frequently overlooked. Media reports have mistakenly pegged turf dancing as a derivative of breakdancing, and until recently, many in the dance community assumed popping originated in Los Angeles, not Oakland. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The exact origin point of turf dancing is unknown. Some accounts date it back as far as the mid-’90s, as an improvisational, informal neighborhood dance that started in West Oakland’s Lower Bottoms and adapted stylistically as it spread to other parts of the city. But its cultural roots date back to the boogaloo era, which introduced now-ubiquitous moves like creeping, tutting, ticking, animation, and “the Oakland hit” (which became known as “the pop” when it traveled down to Southern California during the 1970s).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13923938']Turfing added its own moves and aesthetic of expressive storytelling to the boogaloo blueprint – free-form Brookfield glides, buoyant West Oakland bounces, backflips, ballet-like jetes and \u003cem>en pointe\u003c/em> maneuvers, as well as “bone-breaking,” or disarticulation of limbs. It was more balanced than boogaloo in terms of upper- and lower-body movements, and typically didn’t incorporate breaking’s established footwork routines or power moves like windmills or headspins.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Originally, turfing was known as gigging, and was practiced by inner-city youth and even some adults as a form or creative expression — and a way to resolve hood disputes without resorting to violence. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932910\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2264px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2264\" height=\"2336\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932910\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528.jpg 2264w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528-800x825.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528-1020x1052.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528-160x165.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528-768x792.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528-1489x1536.jpg 1489w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528-1985x2048.jpg 1985w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528-1920x1981.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2264px) 100vw, 2264px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jeriel Bey teaches dance techniques to Toby Hall at Berkeley High School in 2007. \u003ccite>(Carlos Avila Gonzalez/San Francisco Chronicle/Getty Images )\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In 2000, Jeriel Bey, a dancer, educator and promoter originally from L.A., moved to West Oakland, next door to the Wood Street studio of musician D’Wayne Wiggins’ (of Tony Toni Toné). Bey had linked up with Richmond dance group Housing Authority, and was taking classes at Oakland’s Alice Arts Center. One day he was in his driveway practicing his steps when a neighborhood youth, Demetrius Zigler, rode up on his bike. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Man, I’ll chew you,” Bey recalls Zigler saying, adding confidently. “I be fucking with it.” As the two began to show off their dance moves, Zigler danced in a way Bey had never seen. “What is that?” Bey said. “Man, I don’t know, I just be gigging,” Zigler replied. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“That turned into an everyday thing,” Bey says. “He’d come by the house and we’d be dancing.” Soon Zigler would bring other neighborhood kids to Bey, and they would all jump into Wiggins’ minivan and dance at birthday parties. Bey saw the potential to market the dance. But first it needed a name.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13891300']Bey went to visit his cousin in San Diego, and that’s when the lightbulb moment happened. “I was like, I got these kids that come to my apartment all the time. They all be dancing. They say they be fucking with it, but I cant really market that. It’s like turf dancing, they all be turfing, but I can’t sell that either, because white people gonna look at that and think it’s some kind of gang shit. So I came up with the acronym Taking Up Room on the Floor. When I came back to Oakland, I said, look, when people ask what we’re doing next time we do these birthday parties, we tell them we’re turf dancing, and it stands for taking up room on the floor. The name kinda stuck.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Bey organized the first turf dance competition in late 2004, held at Laney College. “For the first hour, no one showed up,” he recalls. “Maybe like 30 minutes later, two thousand people hit the corner. Boom! I didn’t have no security or nothing. I had kids from South Central L.A., some krump dancers, and I had some kids from West Oakland, some turf dancers, you know what I’m saying?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A month later, the wide-release movie \u003cem>Rize\u003c/em> featured some L.A. dancers from the Laney battle. Word on the streets was “some little kids from West Oakland beat the kids from this movie,” Bey says with a laugh. “After that it just kind of took off from there.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932911\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1995\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932911\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-800x623.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-1020x795.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-160x125.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-768x598.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-1536x1197.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-2048x1596.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-1920x1496.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jeriel Bey teaches turf dance techniques to students at Berkeley High School in 2007. \u003ccite>(Carlos Avila Gonzalez/San Francisco Chronicle/Getty Images )\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In November 2005, Bey was preparing for a rehearsal when he got the news that Zigler had been shot and killed right down the street. In his honor, Bey says, “I made a promise to myself that no matter what happens, I’m gonna keep promoting the culture.” He continued to organize street dance battles between turfers and dancers from Los Angeles and Memphis. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“City-to-city hood dance battles is what I’m known for,” Bey says, noting that his events were “something different” from what had been done before. “I didn’t come up with the \u003cem>dance\u003c/em> turf dancing, but I coined the term, to give it some life and bring attention to it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Turf dancing, he says, “is a way of telling a story. It’s an attitude.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At that time, he says, “There wasn’t really a lot of people doing what I was doing in the community.” Back in the day, he continues, “there was the Black Resurgents, Gentlemen of Production, Demons of the Mind – a lot of the founding fathers of the Bay Area, strutters, robotters, breakdancers – set the precedent for us. So now we’re able to look at that, and add to it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932906\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Dopey-Fresh-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932906\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Dopey-Fresh-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Dopey-Fresh-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Dopey-Fresh-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Dopey-Fresh-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Dopey-Fresh-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Dopey-Fresh-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Dopey Fresh competes at the Red Bull Dance Your Style event on Friday, May 12, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Bey eventually formed the pioneering turf dance crew the Architectz with the kids from his West Oakland neighborhood, and used his music industry connections to get the crew featured in the original video for Keak Da Sneak’s iconic song “Super Hyphy.” (Bey himself is the one saying “fa sho” and “fa sheezy” on the song’s hook.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By that time, some older turf dancers had already appeared in music videos by Baby Bash and the Federation, and as the hyphy movement unfolded, turfing became its unofficial dance. As a street-bred phenomenon, turf dancing wasn’t initially regarded as a legitimate art form; Bey had championed the dance as part of a community health initiative, but that view wasn’t shared by the city of Oakland.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We were a little too street for the Art & Soul festival,” he says. \u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>The Hyphy Explosion Meets the Youth Center\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Other institutions, however, welcomed turfers. In 2005, Bey recalls organizing turf dance battles at East Oakland youth development center Youth UpRising, a one-stop shop that offered wraparound services including music and video production, academic preparedness, job training, teenage pregnancy services and mental health counseling.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Bey remembers Wiggins telling him about the center and suggesting he do events there. So he went down to meet with the staff and said, “If I throw battles here, a whole lot of kids are going to show up.” Which was exactly what the center – part of a multi-agency initiative aimed at curbing violence and improving academic performance – wanted to happen.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932915\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1441\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932915\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-1536x865.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-2048x1153.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-1920x1081.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L-R) Zel Koozi, Tee Seven, Yung Phil and Icecold 3000 of the Turf Fienz in 2019. \u003ccite>(Elie M. Khadra)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Jacky Johnson, currently Digital Services and Events Manager for Oakland non-profit Urban Peace Movement, recalls, “When I started at Youth UpRising, we were trying to figure out how we were going to get young people into the center. We had this big 25,000-square-foot space, programming was free, it was for 13- to 24-year-olds, and we were a very small staff.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The turf battles started out small and informal, but soon ballooned to hundreds of kids, Johnson recalls. The Architectz were involved early on, as were offshoots like the Animaniaks. “Some of the Turf Fienz were affiliated with a group called the Goon Stars, and there were dancers in our battles that weren’t affiliated with any of the groups.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Youth UpRising also hosted turf dancing classes and, combined with the ongoing battles, shifted turfing culture’s epicenter from West Oakland to the Eastside. According to Johnson, “There definitely has always been a void for safe spaces that the culture can be celebrated and housed in. And I think that it was just a lot of energy around the center.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GZbaXdK8Js\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\nAfter E-40’s representatives called Johnson to organize a music video shoot at the location, Bey was asked to choreograph turfers for what became the national hit “Tell Me When to Go.” Following this, the Architectz were featured in the Federation’s “18 Dummy” video and went on tour with E-40. Bey later choreographed music videos for artists like Snoop Dogg, while the Amimaniaks added vocals to DJ Shadow’s 2006 single “Turf Dancing” (which, curiously, did not have a video).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now 27, Intricate began turf dancing at 12 years old. He was in the sixth grade when a friend, Raymond Silviera, whose turf name is Nemesis, showed him some moves in the school library. Later, they watched turfing videos on YouTube. “It got addictive, like a good drug,” he says. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Intricate recalls turf dancing’s prominence in the hyphy movement. “It was just such a big inspiration in the Bay Area and the culture, within the turf dancing (community), it was just beautiful. It was the main dance for that movement, you know, just being hyphy, going dumb, going stupid, going to the sideshows in Oakland, and just going crazy.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932905\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Intricate-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932905\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Intricate-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Intricate-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Intricate-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Intricate-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Intricate-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Intricate-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Hector ‘Intricate’ Ascencio competes at the Red Bull Dance Your Style event on Friday, May 12, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Jesus “Zeus” El, a former member of the Architectz and the Anamaniaks, has been turf dancing since the age of 10. Now 35, he says turfing is “something that you didn’t even have to really be a dancer to know how to interpret. It’s just part of the culture and atmosphere. I got involved just being in West Oakland in the neighborhood.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Turf dance, he says, is “definitely a style with its own swag, it kind of encompasses Bay Area type of energy, the culture we all share already. It’s that energy mixed with animation and popping and different breakdown moves that we’ve had, as our foundational moves. But mainly, it’s a feeling. Like in the hyphy era, the feeling we had around rebelliousness and self-expression and movement and creativity.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bD42PYx5hdM\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\nFor Zeus, turf dancing is a way to tell stories, but also a spiritual practice. When he’s dancing, he says, he forgets about stress and trauma, and enters a zone of blissful joy. He’s able to communicate non-verbally through movement and miming with unhoused people on his block; he fondly remembers the rapport he shared with his former neighbor \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13920198/zumbi-zion-i-improper-restraint-at-hospital\">Zumbi of Zion-I\u003c/a>, who used to watch the turfer freestyle dance moves from outside his window.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Turf dancing’s raw energy often comes from deeply-rooted emotions. In “Liquid Flow,” a 2019 mini-documentary produced for the Oakland Museum of California (OMCA) featuring the Turf Fienz and directed by YAK Films, Darrell “D-Real” Amstead says, “Oakland is a city of artists. Layer on layer. That pressure, the need to express yourself? It’s everywhere. Homicide. Housing. Money flowing out but never in. Somebody you know dead. Some people say all this, that we do now, came from all that.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>A Viral Moment, Born From Grief\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Yoram Savion, founder and principal of YAK Films, was born in France but grew up in East Oakland and attended Castlemont High School. In 2006, while an undergrad at UC Berkeley, working as a teacher at San Quentin State Prison and a multimedia instructor at Youth UpRising, he shifted from digital photography to video production. In 2008, he began documenting turf dancers as part of OMCA’s “Cool Remixed” project. This led to him befriending the Turf Feinz, and to one of turf dancing’s most high-visibility moments, filmed on a Monday morning on the corner of MacArthur and 90th.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JQRRnAhmB58\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\n“RIP Rich D” is a dance suite in memory of Rich D., the brother of one of the dancers. “It was a rainy morning,” Savion says. “D-Real’s brother had just passed away in a car accident on MacArthur, and we all felt very emotional and needed to save some of those emotions.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The video, sometimes known as “Dancing in the Rain,” is a haunting, poetic demonstration of street ballet. Shot handheld in a cinema verite style complete with cars passing by, the Turf Fienz met the moment with glides, pirouettes, head-to-toe animation, freezes, handspins, splits, reverse somersaults, backflips, and handstands – all set to a slow-rolling, hypnotic hip-hop beat by Yung FX, Erk tha Jerk & COOP.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13924109']The video went viral on multiple online platforms, ultimately notching more than eight million views on YouTube alone. “That kind of made everything take off,” Savion says. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For many, “RIP Rich D” was their first exposure to turf dancing. Many of the views, Savion says, came from outside the United States. “I heard Jay-Z being interviewed by a famous DJ in London at the time, and he brought it up as a cultural reference,” Savion says. “Pretty much everybody in England has heard or seen it, and it was in an exhibit at the Oakland Museum that retraced the history of hyphy or turf. It’s often included when people are doing, you know, an homage to the Oakland cultural legacy.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932929\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1707\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932929\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-2048x1365.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Hyphy was known as a high-energy, flamboyant movement, but layered beneath its Bay Area traditions was no small amount of trauma. \u003ccite>(D-Ray)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>But, Savion emphasizes, “it’s very important to remember where that video came from.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s not just entertainment for entertainment’s sake, he says. “The video came from loss and grief, and a celebration of life. And so its purpose is very deep and meaningful for us who were involved in making it. The music is from the Town. We made it right there in Oakland. All the dancers are from Oakland.” The emotion in the dancing is immediately felt, Savion adds. “It also speaks on a lot of the things we were talking about at the time – criminalization and mass incarceration.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Savion went on to make dozens of videos of the Turf Fienz and other dancers with the same stripped-down aesthetic. By going viral online, he bypassed many of the media gatekeepers who had overlooked Oakland in the past, while opening doors to others. “At the time,” Savion says, “we really felt there was an alternative to the mainstream. It was very noticeable to us when these videos started going viral and we got more fame online. A lot of the local news stations hit us; we even were on ABC’s \u003cem>Nightline\u003c/em>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K_Vc4HXqM8E\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\nThese interactions, though, revealed a sociocultural dynamic not uncommon in mainstream news reporting: inherent bias. “To see the reactions of these TV crews when they would come to the neighborhood — these are places that we were at every day, with cameras in hand. And I never felt threatened or in danger in that way. And to see how their news crews were reacting, you could tell that there was this real sense of fear.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To Savion, the hood documentarian and former prison educator, “That fear is something that comes through in a lot of the social interactions with people in neighborhoods that have been overly policed, or where people have been sent to mass incarceration in disproportionate rates,” leading to what he terms “a changing of the culture.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The politics of gentrification aside, YAK Films helped make inner-city Oakland culture attractive to mainstream media outlets, while also creating opportunities for crews like the Turf Fienz and dancers like Zeus to travel and to work overseas. Perhaps most importantly, this exposure created renewed interest in turf dancing among the younger generation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This became especially critical as hyphy’s hot streak cooled off in the 2010s. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932916\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_3.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1080\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932916\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_3.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_3-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_3-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_3-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_3-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_3-1536x864.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Yung Phil dances at MacArthur BART in 2019. \u003ccite>(Elie M. Khadra)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>For Some, a Bittersweet Return to the Limelight \u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>In 2012, Turf Fienz member Johnny “Johnny 5” Lopez founded his own production company, Turf Inc., and began producing turf battles in conjunction with event producer Sarah Sexton’s Oakland Indie Mayhem. The events soon widened to include boogaloo demonstrations by Oakland dance OGs and “all-styles” battles open to poppers, krumpers, and breakers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the mid-2010s, Turf Inc. began producing events on its own and organized a turf dance battle produced by YAK Films and held during the Art & Soul festival in Oakland’s Ogawa Plaza – keeping the dance visible, engaging veteran dancers like iDummy and Krow the God, and drawing a rapt audience of kids, teenagers and young adults. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That wave of momentum has continued through the present day, as Turf Inc. has grown into the Bay Area turf dance production company of record, producing larger and larger events and eventually getting Red Bull to come on board.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932914\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Johnny-5-dances-in-front-of-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932914\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Johnny-5-dances-in-front-of-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Johnny-5-dances-in-front-of-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Johnny-5-dances-in-front-of-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Johnny-5-dances-in-front-of-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Johnny-5-dances-in-front-of-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Johnny-5-dances-in-front-of-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Johnny 5 of Turf Inc. dances on the sidewalk in San Jose on Friday, May 12, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Lopez was first exposed to turfing as a youngster in the 2000s during a sideshow in his East Oakland neighborhood. Now he’s one of the culture’s most prominent faces, having been involved with music videos for Kanye West, Kendrick Lamar and Britney Spears. In the past year, he’s hosted an international delegation of Oakland turfers traveling to South America; and produced local events at San Francisco’s Westfield Center and Oakland nightclubs Complex and the New Parish.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Possessed of an ostentatious sense of style – he’s been known to sport a slicked-up flattop in various shades of neon – with acrobatic moves to match, Lopez has at times turf danced while wearing cowboy boots, a maneuver not recommended for folks at home.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13924126']Two things he doesn’t lack are confidence and a belief in himself. As he says, “Almost every major thing that I’ve done in my life, I manifested.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Dance Your Style debuted in Oakland in 2022; in the process, Lopez became a producer and consultant for Red Bull. The first event was a pilot, “but I knew it was going to work.” Afterward, he says, “the whole Global (Red Bull network) was talking about the Oakland event, and that’s how they got more information about hyphy and boogaloo.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932918\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Telice-Summerfield-at-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932918\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Telice-Summerfield-at-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Telice-Summerfield-at-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Telice-Summerfield-at-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Telice-Summerfield-at-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Telice-Summerfield-at-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Telice-Summerfield-at-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Telice Summerfield at Guildhouse in San Jose on Friday, May 12, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>For Intricate, the 2023 Oakland champion, opportunities abound, and being on a big stage only makes him want to compete more. “It could be a very well-known dancer with a big name, and I know a lot of dancers outside of our community who tend to just submit to that dancer. I love turf dancers because if we see even a bigger name against us, we’re going to go for it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Turf dancing’s future appears to be so bright, it’ll need to keep its stunna shades on. But to some veterans, the shinier lights offer bittersweet feelings and cautionary tales.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Savion readily admits he’s more into the artistically pure aspect of the culture. He’s discovered he doesn’t really enjoy producing events, except for the annual Life is Living festival, held at Oakland’s DeFremery Park. He views big corporate sponsors with a bit of a side-eye: in his estimation, they see the dance as a product to be marketed, and their involvement can dilute the grassroots aspects of the culture without creating true sustainability for its practitioners. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='news_11954252']For Zeus, who built a side career as an \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13832672/remembering-a-warriors-superhero-on-and-off-the-court\">acrobatic dunker for the Golden State Warriors\u003c/a> and other NBA teams, and now works with restorative justice youth programs, turf dancing is “sacred.” Despite being seen by younger turfers as a legendary figure, and still occasionally getting flown to cities like L.A. to perform, he likens the current state of turfing to an ex-girlfriend: “You still love her, but you gonna give her some static.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Apologizing during a long interview – the recent death of his brother weighing heavily on his mind – he collects his thoughts for a moment of clarity: “What turf dancing means to me is the ability to express yourself. Without worry, without judgment, and you’re able to create the pictures and paint the pictures that you like the most. Good or bad.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Bey, the originator of the acronym T.U.R.F., worries he will be forgotten by history. He admits to making mistakes as a younger person, and blames “Oakland politics” for his work not being as accepted or revered as it deserves. Although born in L.A., he reiterates that he was back and forth between the two regions in his youth; the “not from Oakland” tag has left him admittedly hurt, although he refuses to be bitter. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“For me, the brand turfing was something I coined, something I wanted to protect. Because of a student who inspired me, who got murdered many years ago. And now, so much has happened.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"60\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-11687704\" 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",
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"excerpt": "Hyphy videos, youth centers and street battles all propelled Oakland's 'street ballet' of turfing, now known around the world. ",
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"title": "How Turf Dancing Came to Define Oakland Street Dance | KQED",
"description": "Hyphy videos, youth centers and street battles all propelled Oakland's 'street ballet' of turfing, now known around the world. ",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932907\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Gary_6.jpg\" alt=\"Garion Morgan, a.k.a. Icecold 3000 of the Turf Fienz, dancing near the Port of Oakland in 2019.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1080\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932907\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Gary_6.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Gary_6-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Gary_6-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Gary_6-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Gary_6-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Gary_6-1536x864.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Garion Morgan, a.k.a. Icecold 3000 of the Turf Fienz, dancing near the Port of Oakland in 2019. In recent years, turf dancing has undergone a revival, extending and building upon its hyphy-era origins. \u003ccite>(Elie M. Khadra)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Editor’s note: This story is part of \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop\">That’s My Word\u003c/a>\u003cem>, KQED’s year-long exploration of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop\">Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a> history.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class=\"utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__dropcapShortcode__dropcap\">I\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>t was a hard-fought dance battle in front of a live audience, with some of the region’s top turfers competing against an array of styles, from popping to fusion. After a rained-out Oakland contest, Red Bull’s Dance Your Style had reconvened in San Jose, and turf dancing — the Oakland-originated street dance form integral to Bay Area hyphy culture — took center stage. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When the smoke cleared, Oakland’s rising star Hector “Intricate” Ascencio stood alone at the top. With a flurry of Wing Chun-esque hand motions, floor drops, pantomimed gut punches, and expressive footwork, Intricate earned the right to compete in the National Finals, held in Chicago on May 20. Though he didn’t win, owing to tough competition and a song selected by the DJ that wasn’t especially turf-friendly (Ghost Town DJ’s “My Boo”), he represented the Bay to the fullest.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Just winning for Oakland and in the Bay Area in general means so much, because we deserve to get put on the map,” Intricate said, a few days after his victory. “It’s a very rich culture in the Bay Area that obviously needs to be exposed more to the nation and to the world.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932912\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Hector-Intricate-Ascencio-wins-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-competition-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932912\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Hector-Intricate-Ascencio-wins-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-competition-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Hector-Intricate-Ascencio-wins-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-competition-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Hector-Intricate-Ascencio-wins-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-competition-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Hector-Intricate-Ascencio-wins-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-competition-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Hector-Intricate-Ascencio-wins-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-competition-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Hector-Intricate-Ascencio-wins-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-competition-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Hector ‘Intricate’ Ascencio wins the Red Bull Dance Your Style competition on Friday, May 12, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Indeed, turf dancing has undergone a resurgence, returning to local repute and national stages in the past few years. For the second year in a row, Red Bull’s Dance Your Style has chosen Oakland as one of its host cities around the globe. Platforms like TikTok have introduced turfing to a new generation, and this month, E-40 — who included turfing in his landmark “Tell Me When to Go” video — brought back turf dancers for his newest video, “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HW1Xxbalqh4\">The Bay\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Red Bull has also named Turf Inc. founder Johnny “Johnny 5” Lopez a cultural ambassador, and spotlighted Oakland turfer \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pcsqyp85HmY\">Yung Phil in a mini-documentary\u003c/a>. In 2020, GoDaddy produced a \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8IDHKWepzQ\">mini-doc on turfing\u003c/a>, featuring Ice Cold 3000 and T7, founding members of iconic Oakland crew the Turf Feinz. And this year, the Oakland Museum of California featured turf dancing as part of its 2023 Black History Month events. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With renewed attention on the culture coming from multiple sources, “I feel like turf dancing is at a renaissance point right now,” says Intricate. “Actually, it’s at a point of reviving, and keeping itself alive. The dancers in my generation, right now, are bringing it back to the people.”\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/x2rYCB-DszM'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/x2rYCB-DszM'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Street Origins and Early Battles\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Oakland’s street dance culture started with boogaloo in the 1960s, and predates the emergence of hip-hop dance by almost a decade. And yet its influential history – which includes turfing – is frequently overlooked. Media reports have mistakenly pegged turf dancing as a derivative of breakdancing, and until recently, many in the dance community assumed popping originated in Los Angeles, not Oakland. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The exact origin point of turf dancing is unknown. Some accounts date it back as far as the mid-’90s, as an improvisational, informal neighborhood dance that started in West Oakland’s Lower Bottoms and adapted stylistically as it spread to other parts of the city. But its cultural roots date back to the boogaloo era, which introduced now-ubiquitous moves like creeping, tutting, ticking, animation, and “the Oakland hit” (which became known as “the pop” when it traveled down to Southern California during the 1970s).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Turfing added its own moves and aesthetic of expressive storytelling to the boogaloo blueprint – free-form Brookfield glides, buoyant West Oakland bounces, backflips, ballet-like jetes and \u003cem>en pointe\u003c/em> maneuvers, as well as “bone-breaking,” or disarticulation of limbs. It was more balanced than boogaloo in terms of upper- and lower-body movements, and typically didn’t incorporate breaking’s established footwork routines or power moves like windmills or headspins.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Originally, turfing was known as gigging, and was practiced by inner-city youth and even some adults as a form or creative expression — and a way to resolve hood disputes without resorting to violence. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932910\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2264px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2264\" height=\"2336\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932910\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528.jpg 2264w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528-800x825.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528-1020x1052.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528-160x165.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528-768x792.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528-1489x1536.jpg 1489w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528-1985x2048.jpg 1985w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863528-1920x1981.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2264px) 100vw, 2264px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jeriel Bey teaches dance techniques to Toby Hall at Berkeley High School in 2007. \u003ccite>(Carlos Avila Gonzalez/San Francisco Chronicle/Getty Images )\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In 2000, Jeriel Bey, a dancer, educator and promoter originally from L.A., moved to West Oakland, next door to the Wood Street studio of musician D’Wayne Wiggins’ (of Tony Toni Toné). Bey had linked up with Richmond dance group Housing Authority, and was taking classes at Oakland’s Alice Arts Center. One day he was in his driveway practicing his steps when a neighborhood youth, Demetrius Zigler, rode up on his bike. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Man, I’ll chew you,” Bey recalls Zigler saying, adding confidently. “I be fucking with it.” As the two began to show off their dance moves, Zigler danced in a way Bey had never seen. “What is that?” Bey said. “Man, I don’t know, I just be gigging,” Zigler replied. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“That turned into an everyday thing,” Bey says. “He’d come by the house and we’d be dancing.” Soon Zigler would bring other neighborhood kids to Bey, and they would all jump into Wiggins’ minivan and dance at birthday parties. Bey saw the potential to market the dance. But first it needed a name.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Bey went to visit his cousin in San Diego, and that’s when the lightbulb moment happened. “I was like, I got these kids that come to my apartment all the time. They all be dancing. They say they be fucking with it, but I cant really market that. It’s like turf dancing, they all be turfing, but I can’t sell that either, because white people gonna look at that and think it’s some kind of gang shit. So I came up with the acronym Taking Up Room on the Floor. When I came back to Oakland, I said, look, when people ask what we’re doing next time we do these birthday parties, we tell them we’re turf dancing, and it stands for taking up room on the floor. The name kinda stuck.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Bey organized the first turf dance competition in late 2004, held at Laney College. “For the first hour, no one showed up,” he recalls. “Maybe like 30 minutes later, two thousand people hit the corner. Boom! I didn’t have no security or nothing. I had kids from South Central L.A., some krump dancers, and I had some kids from West Oakland, some turf dancers, you know what I’m saying?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A month later, the wide-release movie \u003cem>Rize\u003c/em> featured some L.A. dancers from the Laney battle. Word on the streets was “some little kids from West Oakland beat the kids from this movie,” Bey says with a laugh. “After that it just kind of took off from there.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932911\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1995\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932911\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-800x623.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-1020x795.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-160x125.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-768x598.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-1536x1197.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-2048x1596.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-1408863565-1920x1496.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jeriel Bey teaches turf dance techniques to students at Berkeley High School in 2007. \u003ccite>(Carlos Avila Gonzalez/San Francisco Chronicle/Getty Images )\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In November 2005, Bey was preparing for a rehearsal when he got the news that Zigler had been shot and killed right down the street. In his honor, Bey says, “I made a promise to myself that no matter what happens, I’m gonna keep promoting the culture.” He continued to organize street dance battles between turfers and dancers from Los Angeles and Memphis. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“City-to-city hood dance battles is what I’m known for,” Bey says, noting that his events were “something different” from what had been done before. “I didn’t come up with the \u003cem>dance\u003c/em> turf dancing, but I coined the term, to give it some life and bring attention to it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Turf dancing, he says, “is a way of telling a story. It’s an attitude.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At that time, he says, “There wasn’t really a lot of people doing what I was doing in the community.” Back in the day, he continues, “there was the Black Resurgents, Gentlemen of Production, Demons of the Mind – a lot of the founding fathers of the Bay Area, strutters, robotters, breakdancers – set the precedent for us. So now we’re able to look at that, and add to it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932906\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Dopey-Fresh-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932906\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Dopey-Fresh-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Dopey-Fresh-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Dopey-Fresh-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Dopey-Fresh-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Dopey-Fresh-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Dopey-Fresh-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Dopey Fresh competes at the Red Bull Dance Your Style event on Friday, May 12, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Bey eventually formed the pioneering turf dance crew the Architectz with the kids from his West Oakland neighborhood, and used his music industry connections to get the crew featured in the original video for Keak Da Sneak’s iconic song “Super Hyphy.” (Bey himself is the one saying “fa sho” and “fa sheezy” on the song’s hook.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By that time, some older turf dancers had already appeared in music videos by Baby Bash and the Federation, and as the hyphy movement unfolded, turfing became its unofficial dance. As a street-bred phenomenon, turf dancing wasn’t initially regarded as a legitimate art form; Bey had championed the dance as part of a community health initiative, but that view wasn’t shared by the city of Oakland.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We were a little too street for the Art & Soul festival,” he says. \u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>The Hyphy Explosion Meets the Youth Center\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Other institutions, however, welcomed turfers. In 2005, Bey recalls organizing turf dance battles at East Oakland youth development center Youth UpRising, a one-stop shop that offered wraparound services including music and video production, academic preparedness, job training, teenage pregnancy services and mental health counseling.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Bey remembers Wiggins telling him about the center and suggesting he do events there. So he went down to meet with the staff and said, “If I throw battles here, a whole lot of kids are going to show up.” Which was exactly what the center – part of a multi-agency initiative aimed at curbing violence and improving academic performance – wanted to happen.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932915\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1441\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932915\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-1536x865.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-2048x1153.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_2-1920x1081.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L-R) Zel Koozi, Tee Seven, Yung Phil and Icecold 3000 of the Turf Fienz in 2019. \u003ccite>(Elie M. Khadra)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Jacky Johnson, currently Digital Services and Events Manager for Oakland non-profit Urban Peace Movement, recalls, “When I started at Youth UpRising, we were trying to figure out how we were going to get young people into the center. We had this big 25,000-square-foot space, programming was free, it was for 13- to 24-year-olds, and we were a very small staff.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The turf battles started out small and informal, but soon ballooned to hundreds of kids, Johnson recalls. The Architectz were involved early on, as were offshoots like the Animaniaks. “Some of the Turf Fienz were affiliated with a group called the Goon Stars, and there were dancers in our battles that weren’t affiliated with any of the groups.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Youth UpRising also hosted turf dancing classes and, combined with the ongoing battles, shifted turfing culture’s epicenter from West Oakland to the Eastside. According to Johnson, “There definitely has always been a void for safe spaces that the culture can be celebrated and housed in. And I think that it was just a lot of energy around the center.”\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/2GZbaXdK8Js'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/2GZbaXdK8Js'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\nAfter E-40’s representatives called Johnson to organize a music video shoot at the location, Bey was asked to choreograph turfers for what became the national hit “Tell Me When to Go.” Following this, the Architectz were featured in the Federation’s “18 Dummy” video and went on tour with E-40. Bey later choreographed music videos for artists like Snoop Dogg, while the Amimaniaks added vocals to DJ Shadow’s 2006 single “Turf Dancing” (which, curiously, did not have a video).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now 27, Intricate began turf dancing at 12 years old. He was in the sixth grade when a friend, Raymond Silviera, whose turf name is Nemesis, showed him some moves in the school library. Later, they watched turfing videos on YouTube. “It got addictive, like a good drug,” he says. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Intricate recalls turf dancing’s prominence in the hyphy movement. “It was just such a big inspiration in the Bay Area and the culture, within the turf dancing (community), it was just beautiful. It was the main dance for that movement, you know, just being hyphy, going dumb, going stupid, going to the sideshows in Oakland, and just going crazy.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932905\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Intricate-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932905\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Intricate-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Intricate-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Intricate-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Intricate-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Intricate-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Intricate-competes-at-the-Red-Bull-Dance-Your-Style-event-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Hector ‘Intricate’ Ascencio competes at the Red Bull Dance Your Style event on Friday, May 12, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Jesus “Zeus” El, a former member of the Architectz and the Anamaniaks, has been turf dancing since the age of 10. Now 35, he says turfing is “something that you didn’t even have to really be a dancer to know how to interpret. It’s just part of the culture and atmosphere. I got involved just being in West Oakland in the neighborhood.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Turf dance, he says, is “definitely a style with its own swag, it kind of encompasses Bay Area type of energy, the culture we all share already. It’s that energy mixed with animation and popping and different breakdown moves that we’ve had, as our foundational moves. But mainly, it’s a feeling. Like in the hyphy era, the feeling we had around rebelliousness and self-expression and movement and creativity.”\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/bD42PYx5hdM'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/bD42PYx5hdM'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\nFor Zeus, turf dancing is a way to tell stories, but also a spiritual practice. When he’s dancing, he says, he forgets about stress and trauma, and enters a zone of blissful joy. He’s able to communicate non-verbally through movement and miming with unhoused people on his block; he fondly remembers the rapport he shared with his former neighbor \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13920198/zumbi-zion-i-improper-restraint-at-hospital\">Zumbi of Zion-I\u003c/a>, who used to watch the turfer freestyle dance moves from outside his window.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Turf dancing’s raw energy often comes from deeply-rooted emotions. In “Liquid Flow,” a 2019 mini-documentary produced for the Oakland Museum of California (OMCA) featuring the Turf Fienz and directed by YAK Films, Darrell “D-Real” Amstead says, “Oakland is a city of artists. Layer on layer. That pressure, the need to express yourself? It’s everywhere. Homicide. Housing. Money flowing out but never in. Somebody you know dead. Some people say all this, that we do now, came from all that.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>A Viral Moment, Born From Grief\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Yoram Savion, founder and principal of YAK Films, was born in France but grew up in East Oakland and attended Castlemont High School. In 2006, while an undergrad at UC Berkeley, working as a teacher at San Quentin State Prison and a multimedia instructor at Youth UpRising, he shifted from digital photography to video production. In 2008, he began documenting turf dancers as part of OMCA’s “Cool Remixed” project. This led to him befriending the Turf Feinz, and to one of turf dancing’s most high-visibility moments, filmed on a Monday morning on the corner of MacArthur and 90th.\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/JQRRnAhmB58'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/JQRRnAhmB58'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\n“RIP Rich D” is a dance suite in memory of Rich D., the brother of one of the dancers. “It was a rainy morning,” Savion says. “D-Real’s brother had just passed away in a car accident on MacArthur, and we all felt very emotional and needed to save some of those emotions.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The video, sometimes known as “Dancing in the Rain,” is a haunting, poetic demonstration of street ballet. Shot handheld in a cinema verite style complete with cars passing by, the Turf Fienz met the moment with glides, pirouettes, head-to-toe animation, freezes, handspins, splits, reverse somersaults, backflips, and handstands – all set to a slow-rolling, hypnotic hip-hop beat by Yung FX, Erk tha Jerk & COOP.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>The video went viral on multiple online platforms, ultimately notching more than eight million views on YouTube alone. “That kind of made everything take off,” Savion says. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For many, “RIP Rich D” was their first exposure to turf dancing. Many of the views, Savion says, came from outside the United States. “I heard Jay-Z being interviewed by a famous DJ in London at the time, and he brought it up as a cultural reference,” Savion says. “Pretty much everybody in England has heard or seen it, and it was in an exhibit at the Oakland Museum that retraced the history of hyphy or turf. It’s often included when people are doing, you know, an homage to the Oakland cultural legacy.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932929\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1707\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932929\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-2048x1365.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/HyphyKids.Dray_-1920x1280.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Hyphy was known as a high-energy, flamboyant movement, but layered beneath its Bay Area traditions was no small amount of trauma. \u003ccite>(D-Ray)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>But, Savion emphasizes, “it’s very important to remember where that video came from.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s not just entertainment for entertainment’s sake, he says. “The video came from loss and grief, and a celebration of life. And so its purpose is very deep and meaningful for us who were involved in making it. The music is from the Town. We made it right there in Oakland. All the dancers are from Oakland.” The emotion in the dancing is immediately felt, Savion adds. “It also speaks on a lot of the things we were talking about at the time – criminalization and mass incarceration.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Savion went on to make dozens of videos of the Turf Fienz and other dancers with the same stripped-down aesthetic. By going viral online, he bypassed many of the media gatekeepers who had overlooked Oakland in the past, while opening doors to others. “At the time,” Savion says, “we really felt there was an alternative to the mainstream. It was very noticeable to us when these videos started going viral and we got more fame online. A lot of the local news stations hit us; we even were on ABC’s \u003cem>Nightline\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/K_Vc4HXqM8E'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/K_Vc4HXqM8E'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\nThese interactions, though, revealed a sociocultural dynamic not uncommon in mainstream news reporting: inherent bias. “To see the reactions of these TV crews when they would come to the neighborhood — these are places that we were at every day, with cameras in hand. And I never felt threatened or in danger in that way. And to see how their news crews were reacting, you could tell that there was this real sense of fear.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To Savion, the hood documentarian and former prison educator, “That fear is something that comes through in a lot of the social interactions with people in neighborhoods that have been overly policed, or where people have been sent to mass incarceration in disproportionate rates,” leading to what he terms “a changing of the culture.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The politics of gentrification aside, YAK Films helped make inner-city Oakland culture attractive to mainstream media outlets, while also creating opportunities for crews like the Turf Fienz and dancers like Zeus to travel and to work overseas. Perhaps most importantly, this exposure created renewed interest in turf dancing among the younger generation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This became especially critical as hyphy’s hot streak cooled off in the 2010s. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932916\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_3.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1080\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932916\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_3.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_3-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_3-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_3-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_3-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Oakland_Turfing_Still_3-1536x864.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Yung Phil dances at MacArthur BART in 2019. \u003ccite>(Elie M. Khadra)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>For Some, a Bittersweet Return to the Limelight \u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>In 2012, Turf Fienz member Johnny “Johnny 5” Lopez founded his own production company, Turf Inc., and began producing turf battles in conjunction with event producer Sarah Sexton’s Oakland Indie Mayhem. The events soon widened to include boogaloo demonstrations by Oakland dance OGs and “all-styles” battles open to poppers, krumpers, and breakers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the mid-2010s, Turf Inc. began producing events on its own and organized a turf dance battle produced by YAK Films and held during the Art & Soul festival in Oakland’s Ogawa Plaza – keeping the dance visible, engaging veteran dancers like iDummy and Krow the God, and drawing a rapt audience of kids, teenagers and young adults. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That wave of momentum has continued through the present day, as Turf Inc. has grown into the Bay Area turf dance production company of record, producing larger and larger events and eventually getting Red Bull to come on board.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932914\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Johnny-5-dances-in-front-of-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932914\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Johnny-5-dances-in-front-of-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Johnny-5-dances-in-front-of-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Johnny-5-dances-in-front-of-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Johnny-5-dances-in-front-of-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Johnny-5-dances-in-front-of-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Johnny-5-dances-in-front-of-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Johnny 5 of Turf Inc. dances on the sidewalk in San Jose on Friday, May 12, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Lopez was first exposed to turfing as a youngster in the 2000s during a sideshow in his East Oakland neighborhood. Now he’s one of the culture’s most prominent faces, having been involved with music videos for Kanye West, Kendrick Lamar and Britney Spears. In the past year, he’s hosted an international delegation of Oakland turfers traveling to South America; and produced local events at San Francisco’s Westfield Center and Oakland nightclubs Complex and the New Parish.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Possessed of an ostentatious sense of style – he’s been known to sport a slicked-up flattop in various shades of neon – with acrobatic moves to match, Lopez has at times turf danced while wearing cowboy boots, a maneuver not recommended for folks at home.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Two things he doesn’t lack are confidence and a belief in himself. As he says, “Almost every major thing that I’ve done in my life, I manifested.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Dance Your Style debuted in Oakland in 2022; in the process, Lopez became a producer and consultant for Red Bull. The first event was a pilot, “but I knew it was going to work.” Afterward, he says, “the whole Global (Red Bull network) was talking about the Oakland event, and that’s how they got more information about hyphy and boogaloo.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932918\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Telice-Summerfield-at-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1280\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932918\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Telice-Summerfield-at-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Telice-Summerfield-at-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Telice-Summerfield-at-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Telice-Summerfield-at-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Telice-Summerfield-at-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Telice-Summerfield-at-Guildhouse-in-San-Jose-on-Friday-May-12-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-1536x1024.jpg 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Telice Summerfield at Guildhouse in San Jose on Friday, May 12, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>For Intricate, the 2023 Oakland champion, opportunities abound, and being on a big stage only makes him want to compete more. “It could be a very well-known dancer with a big name, and I know a lot of dancers outside of our community who tend to just submit to that dancer. I love turf dancers because if we see even a bigger name against us, we’re going to go for it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Turf dancing’s future appears to be so bright, it’ll need to keep its stunna shades on. But to some veterans, the shinier lights offer bittersweet feelings and cautionary tales.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Savion readily admits he’s more into the artistically pure aspect of the culture. He’s discovered he doesn’t really enjoy producing events, except for the annual Life is Living festival, held at Oakland’s DeFremery Park. He views big corporate sponsors with a bit of a side-eye: in his estimation, they see the dance as a product to be marketed, and their involvement can dilute the grassroots aspects of the culture without creating true sustainability for its practitioners. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>For Zeus, who built a side career as an \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13832672/remembering-a-warriors-superhero-on-and-off-the-court\">acrobatic dunker for the Golden State Warriors\u003c/a> and other NBA teams, and now works with restorative justice youth programs, turf dancing is “sacred.” Despite being seen by younger turfers as a legendary figure, and still occasionally getting flown to cities like L.A. to perform, he likens the current state of turfing to an ex-girlfriend: “You still love her, but you gonna give her some static.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Apologizing during a long interview – the recent death of his brother weighing heavily on his mind – he collects his thoughts for a moment of clarity: “What turf dancing means to me is the ability to express yourself. Without worry, without judgment, and you’re able to create the pictures and paint the pictures that you like the most. Good or bad.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Bey, the originator of the acronym T.U.R.F., worries he will be forgotten by history. He admits to making mistakes as a younger person, and blames “Oakland politics” for his work not being as accepted or revered as it deserves. Although born in L.A., he reiterates that he was back and forth between the two regions in his youth; the “not from Oakland” tag has left him admittedly hurt, although he refuses to be bitter. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“For me, the brand turfing was something I coined, something I wanted to protect. Because of a student who inspired me, who got murdered many years ago. And now, so much has happened.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"slug": "goapele-closer-to-hip-hop",
"title": "Goapele: Closer to Hip-Hop Than You Knew",
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"content": "\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932533\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932533\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1920\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Goapele performs at the Days With Zahrah Getaway in Napa, May 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Editor’s note: This story is part of \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop\">That’s My Word\u003c/a>\u003cem>, KQED’s year-long exploration of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop\">Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a> history.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Goapele has never been a typical R&B singer. From the start of her career in the late ’90s, the Oakland-born vocalist has defied categorization. Her breakthrough 2001 single “Closer” arrived amidst a landscape of slickly produced, radio-friendly R&B, hip-hop/soul hybrids, and then-trendy neo-soul. Produced by Amp Live of hip-hop duo Zion I, with keyboards by Mike Tiger, “Closer” broke the mold with its warm, organic sound and inspirational, near-universal message of moving closer to one’s dream.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The song quickly became a Bay Area staple, landing in KMEL rotation — a rarity for an independently released R&B song. Before long, “Closer” entered the station’s nightly “7 at 7” countdown, and began moving up in the rankings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“There was one point where they were going down the list, and 50 Cent was number two,” the singer recalls today. “And I was like, damn, I was bumped off the list. And then it got to number one and I was so happy.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tb9fkGCCV1o\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\nThat moment literally moved Goapele closer to her dreams. “It was just so affirming for my city to embrace what I was doing, and music that was so close to my heart, and music that I didn’t know what genre it fit into.” It was also a validation of the Bay’s independent spirit, rather than “emanating something that’s already out there,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Closer” became an anthem for people achieving a goal or moving forward in life. “I’ve sung it at a lot of colleges over the years. I’ve sung at weddings. I’ve ran into a lot of people that said it was their high school graduation song,” the singer recalls. The song has been embraced by rappers and singers alike, including Drake, YG, Kendrick Lamar and Chris Brown, as well as countless freestyle and mix-tape emcees. “I’m really grateful that it has stood the test of time and resonated with people.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13923938']She attributes this phenomenon to “how the drums hit” and how Tiger’s chord progression “just gives a certain feeling of like, upliftment and frustration at the same time that I think so many of us relate to.” People also relate to its central theme of “striving to get to the next level. And it can feel like a struggle sometimes even in the midst of glimpses of, you know, success.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The song remains a staple of Goapele’s live sets, even though she’s recorded plenty of new music in the 20-plus years since “Closer”’s release. She admits there was a time when she was over it, and wanted to focus on fresh material. But then she realized, “people in the audience really wanted to hear it. And I just, I had to take a step back and think about my favorite artists. Like, I love a lot of their old music. You know what I mean?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932556\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-scaled.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932556\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-800x661.jpg\" alt=\"a young Black woman in a black flowy top performs while smiling at a microphone\" width=\"800\" height=\"661\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-800x661.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-1020x842.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-160x132.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-768x634.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-1536x1268.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-2048x1691.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-1920x1585.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Goapele performs at S.O.B.’s in New York City in 2003. \u003ccite>(Johnny Nunez/WireImage)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Goapele’s 2001 album of the same name sold approximately 65,000 units on consignment, launching her as a viable new artist with a strong following. Since then, the singer has released four full-length albums and an EP, numerous music videos and a lifestyle brand (Dreamseekers) while performing live all over the world. She’s carved out a lane as a true original, never following current trends, yet always relevant, as her range has expanded from soulful, slow-tempo ballads to pulse-pounding club jams.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Shortly after her live performance at the inaugural Days with Zahra festival in Napa — as she readies herself for the release of another album, titled \u003cem>Colors\u003c/em> — she reflected on her long association with Bay Area hip-hop.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>An agent for social change\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>As it turns out, Bay Area hip-hop was an important part of Goapele’s experience growing up, one that shaped her path as an artist. The first local rapper she recalls listening to was MC Hammer, when she was in junior high school, followed by Hieroglyphics. By the time she got to high school, she says, “for me it was all about underground hip-hop.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Early in her career, she sang over hip-hop instrumentals at local spots like Mingles and La Peña. “My brother was a DJ. And so, you know, dub plates were popular.” A dub plate-style version sung over the remix of Supercat’s “Dolly My Baby” turned into one of her first singles, “Childhood Drama” — which she recently sung live in Jamaica with DJ Shortkut after not performing it in years.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Goapele’s first local rap collaborations were with Zion I, \u003ca href=\"https://youtu.be/Y1oB29QockI\">E-40\u003c/a>, and Hieroglyphics members A-Plus, Casual, and \u003ca href=\"https://youtu.be/CEKiGFLJRoA\">Pep Love\u003c/a>; the Oakland hip-hop collective also helped her independent label Skyblaze get distribution. She went on to team up with many Bay artists including \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHXi7Cr9sIQ\">Mac Mall\u003c/a>, Clyde Carson, and Keak Da Sneak, and, more recently, \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksJxJ6TV8do\">Rexx Life Raj\u003c/a>. “I was definitely surrounded by a lot of rappers,” she reminisces.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEKiGFLJRoA\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\nShe’s since recorded with national artists like Dwele and West Coast rap legends \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_PKwYCW7IDc\">Snoop Dogg\u003c/a>, Aceyalone and Planet Asia. But she says she won’t work with just any artist. “My criteria for working with anyone is just that it’s a positive vibe and we mutually want to work together… I’m open to, you know, so many different stories. But when it comes to the music I’m putting out, I just don’t want it to have a negative effect on the culture.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Goapele’s standards for collaboration and her value system reflect both her cultural background and the values of her native region — known for its activists, community-based organizations and political and social discourse in its artistic output and cultural aesthetic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13250203']As the daughter of South African exile Douglas Mohlabane and the sister of Namane Mohlabane — a co-founder of DJ collective Local 1200 — activism came naturally to Goapele. Her father was active in the anti-apartheid movement and a mainstay of a Bay Area South African exile community, while Local 1200 was known not just for their DJ skills, but their support of social justice causes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During the campaign against California’s draconian youth crime bill, \u003ca href=\"https://lao.ca.gov/ballot/2000/21_03_2000.html\">Prop. 21\u003c/a>, Goapele collaborated with singer Kimiko Joy and female emcee Toy for an updated version of Billie Holiday’s “Don’t Explain” that tackled the weighty issue of the criminalization of youth and the prison-industrial complex. The title track of her 2005 major label debut, “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulxiCibEfgc\">Change It All\u003c/a>,” addressed school closures, economic inequality, and the need to do better as a society. In 2006, she was named a Human Rights Cultural Hero by the Ella Baker Center for Human Rights during the nonprofit’s 10th anniversary celebration.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While not an overtly political artist who spouts rhetoric and ideology at every opportunity, she’s stayed down and still “got a pound for the cause,” to paraphrase Digital Underground’s Shock G — another of the artists she says inspired her when she was coming up.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932559\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 729px\">\u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-138528249.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932559\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-138528249.jpg\" alt=\"a Black woman with short hair in a suit poses in front of a display about the Black Power movement\" width=\"729\" height=\"1024\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-138528249.jpg 729w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-138528249-160x225.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 729px) 100vw, 729px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Goapele poses in the Grammy Museum in Los Angeles after a 2012 performance. \u003ccite>(Mark Sullivan/WireImage)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Transformative change and revolutionary content can take many forms — including music that adds something different and compelling to the sonic landscape. At the time of its release, Zion-I’s 2003 album \u003cem>Deep Water Slang V2.0\u003c/em> was dismissed by some critics who had trouble relating to its diverse influences and experimental qualities. Those qualities, however, are precisely what make the album stand out some 20 years later.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Goapele contributed vocals to three of the album’s standout tracks — “Flow,” “Sorry” and “Boom Bip.” Producer Amp Live plays around with ambient textures and non-cliched sonic approaches that seemingly expand hip-hop’s reach; meanwhile, Goapele supplies the hooks, reinforcing Zumbi’s conscious manifestos and emotional Zen-states.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gsOQdKhEsFQ\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\n“So don’t fight the feeling / what we got right here / we ain’t going nowhere / open your mind / what we got right here / we ain’t going nowhere,” she sings on “Boom Bip” — subverting a pimpish credo associated with Too Short and Rappin’ 4-Tay to express a more holistic and spiritually affirming mentality. On “Flow,” the hook places the word “flow,” sung by Goapele, up against a bed of minimal keyboards, upright bass, and Vin Roc’s turntable cuts. Her vocals on “Sorry” are buried deep within a mix of flute, viola, electric piano and cello — all of which contribute to an emotionally resonant song that’s more about feeling than swagger.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Despite “Flow” being one of her favorite collaborations, Goapele can’t quite recall how it came about. “I worked with Zion I off and on for years,” she says. “We even had a studio right next to them at 880 (Studios in Oakland)… Amp just like, had a way of creating things like a puzzle. And sometimes, I would come in there and record an idea over a piece of a song. And by the time I heard it, you know, he had, like, made this whole new arrangement.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='forum_2010101889218']Then there was “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEKiGFLJRoA\">The Daze\u003c/a>,” a track from her \u003cem>Even Closer\u003c/em> album featuring Zion I and Casual of Hieroglyphics, which was recorded at Amp’s home studio in El Cerrito.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I was walking into the home studio and Amp had the vibe, you know, already set in. And Steve (Zumbi) was working on his verses. And I was just like, adding whatever I could… I can remember the night that we recorded that just by the raw energy. And it was really just like a couple takes, you know what I mean?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932557\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-106227057.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932557\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-106227057-800x547.jpg\" alt=\"a young Black woman in a white and red dress and black and white sneakers performs onstage at a music festival in Golden Gate Park\" width=\"800\" height=\"547\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-106227057-800x547.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-106227057-1020x697.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-106227057-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-106227057-768x525.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-106227057.jpg 1024w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Goapele performs onstage during the 2008 Outside Lands Festival in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Jason Merritt/FilmMagic)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Ten years later, in 2013, Goapele again collaborated with Zion I on the sublime hip-hop love song, “Life’s Work” — which eschews playerisms in favor of committed monogamy. Zumbi’s love-affirming testimonials contrast beautifully with Goapele’s romantic vocals, and it’s difficult to imagine the song working as well without her contribution.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Goapele’s association with Hieroglyphics also spanned many projects. She’s made songs with Pep Love, Casual and A-Plus, along with the single and video, “Soweto,” which features the entire crew. She remembers Hiero had rented a house with a home studio in Venice Beach, and A-Plus asked her to drop some vocals on a track he was working on. “The guitar was just giving me African highlife vibes,” and the song’s hook, she says, was “just what I was feeling like, no matter where you go. We’re the same. We have the same story.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The video, she recalls, was shot in Joshua Tree National Park on one of the hottest days of the year — the temperature reached 120 Fahrenheit. “I almost did not make it through that video, but the video ended up being beautiful.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJHtCG5wqYs\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>The Motherland and the Bay\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>One of Goapele’s more interesting collaborations came about in 2010, when she worked with South African emcee Hip Hop Pantsula for “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpEPNCz98_c\">Victory\u003c/a>,” a song recorded in English, Setswana, and Xhosa, which drew attention to humanitarian efforts in South Africa and the African Diaspora. Pantsula, she says, “was incredibly talented, and I want to say kind of spearheaded or was big in the Motswako movement, which was a South African/SWANA hip-hop scene.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Pantsula, aka Double HP, who joined the ancestors in 2018, was hailed as a “musical icon” by the African National Congress. Goapele remembers being in South Africa and seeing some of his concerts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“There was a lot of rapping in Setswana and English… But the song “Victory,” it was just so exciting that the World Cup was in South Africa. I definitely was feeling a sense of pride even from afar. And I went out there to perform at the MAMA Awards. It was like an MTV Africa show, and they flew me out there along with The Game, and Clyde Carson from the Bay, who I also worked with on a bunch of other songs.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932534\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-scaled.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13932534 size-medium\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-800x600.jpg\" alt=\"a Black woman with braids smiles holding a microphone on stage\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Goapele performs at the Days With Zahrah Getaway in Napa, May 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Asked to draw a comparison between South African and Bay Area hip-hop, she says, “There wasn’t a huge music industry in the Bay Area. There’s a lot of labels in South Africa, but I feel like people have really had to create their thing from the ground up. And so there’s like maybe an organic feel to it and an edge and a soulfulness that it has.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She recalls listening to the South African band Shava, who sing in her native tongue of Setswana. “The production was just so beautiful and vibey. The drums are always a little behind the beat. There’s similar production and feels that I think probably come out of a context of influences, like the culture just being soulful and raw and there’s definitely a spirit of resistance, you know?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpEPNCz98_c\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\n“But in South Africa, it’s the triumph and struggle that’s still there. Like, my dad had to leave because of the apartheid system and, in the nineties, so much turmoil and turnover in leadership. Equality is something that’s still trying to come about. There’s so much economic disparity. People were pushed out to almost like, reservations … I came out of that.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That struggle has bred not just resistance, but cultural resilience. “There’s so much depth and raw talent that has come back, persevered through that. So there’s something to be said for that. How that affects the sound and the vibe.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In other words, in some ways, South Africa is exactly like the Bay Area. But in other ways, it’s completely different. Goapele remains connected to both places and cultures. It’s who she is.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-11687704\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/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=\"auto, (max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932533\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2560px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932533\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-scaled.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"2560\" height=\"1920\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-scaled.jpg 2560w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.MAIN_.EKA_-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 2560px) 100vw, 2560px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Goapele performs at the Days With Zahrah Getaway in Napa, May 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Editor’s note: This story is part of \u003c/em>\u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop\">That’s My Word\u003c/a>\u003cem>, KQED’s year-long exploration of \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/bayareahiphop\">Bay Area hip-hop\u003c/a> history.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Goapele has never been a typical R&B singer. From the start of her career in the late ’90s, the Oakland-born vocalist has defied categorization. Her breakthrough 2001 single “Closer” arrived amidst a landscape of slickly produced, radio-friendly R&B, hip-hop/soul hybrids, and then-trendy neo-soul. Produced by Amp Live of hip-hop duo Zion I, with keyboards by Mike Tiger, “Closer” broke the mold with its warm, organic sound and inspirational, near-universal message of moving closer to one’s dream.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The song quickly became a Bay Area staple, landing in KMEL rotation — a rarity for an independently released R&B song. Before long, “Closer” entered the station’s nightly “7 at 7” countdown, and began moving up in the rankings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“There was one point where they were going down the list, and 50 Cent was number two,” the singer recalls today. “And I was like, damn, I was bumped off the list. And then it got to number one and I was so happy.”\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/Tb9fkGCCV1o'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/Tb9fkGCCV1o'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\nThat moment literally moved Goapele closer to her dreams. “It was just so affirming for my city to embrace what I was doing, and music that was so close to my heart, and music that I didn’t know what genre it fit into.” It was also a validation of the Bay’s independent spirit, rather than “emanating something that’s already out there,” she says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Closer” became an anthem for people achieving a goal or moving forward in life. “I’ve sung it at a lot of colleges over the years. I’ve sung at weddings. I’ve ran into a lot of people that said it was their high school graduation song,” the singer recalls. The song has been embraced by rappers and singers alike, including Drake, YG, Kendrick Lamar and Chris Brown, as well as countless freestyle and mix-tape emcees. “I’m really grateful that it has stood the test of time and resonated with people.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>She attributes this phenomenon to “how the drums hit” and how Tiger’s chord progression “just gives a certain feeling of like, upliftment and frustration at the same time that I think so many of us relate to.” People also relate to its central theme of “striving to get to the next level. And it can feel like a struggle sometimes even in the midst of glimpses of, you know, success.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The song remains a staple of Goapele’s live sets, even though she’s recorded plenty of new music in the 20-plus years since “Closer”’s release. She admits there was a time when she was over it, and wanted to focus on fresh material. But then she realized, “people in the audience really wanted to hear it. And I just, I had to take a step back and think about my favorite artists. Like, I love a lot of their old music. You know what I mean?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932556\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-scaled.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932556\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-800x661.jpg\" alt=\"a young Black woman in a black flowy top performs while smiling at a microphone\" width=\"800\" height=\"661\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-800x661.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-1020x842.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-160x132.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-768x634.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-1536x1268.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-2048x1691.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-452943763-1920x1585.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Goapele performs at S.O.B.’s in New York City in 2003. \u003ccite>(Johnny Nunez/WireImage)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Goapele’s 2001 album of the same name sold approximately 65,000 units on consignment, launching her as a viable new artist with a strong following. Since then, the singer has released four full-length albums and an EP, numerous music videos and a lifestyle brand (Dreamseekers) while performing live all over the world. She’s carved out a lane as a true original, never following current trends, yet always relevant, as her range has expanded from soulful, slow-tempo ballads to pulse-pounding club jams.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Shortly after her live performance at the inaugural Days with Zahra festival in Napa — as she readies herself for the release of another album, titled \u003cem>Colors\u003c/em> — she reflected on her long association with Bay Area hip-hop.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>An agent for social change\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>As it turns out, Bay Area hip-hop was an important part of Goapele’s experience growing up, one that shaped her path as an artist. The first local rapper she recalls listening to was MC Hammer, when she was in junior high school, followed by Hieroglyphics. By the time she got to high school, she says, “for me it was all about underground hip-hop.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Early in her career, she sang over hip-hop instrumentals at local spots like Mingles and La Peña. “My brother was a DJ. And so, you know, dub plates were popular.” A dub plate-style version sung over the remix of Supercat’s “Dolly My Baby” turned into one of her first singles, “Childhood Drama” — which she recently sung live in Jamaica with DJ Shortkut after not performing it in years.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Goapele’s first local rap collaborations were with Zion I, \u003ca href=\"https://youtu.be/Y1oB29QockI\">E-40\u003c/a>, and Hieroglyphics members A-Plus, Casual, and \u003ca href=\"https://youtu.be/CEKiGFLJRoA\">Pep Love\u003c/a>; the Oakland hip-hop collective also helped her independent label Skyblaze get distribution. She went on to team up with many Bay artists including \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHXi7Cr9sIQ\">Mac Mall\u003c/a>, Clyde Carson, and Keak Da Sneak, and, more recently, \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ksJxJ6TV8do\">Rexx Life Raj\u003c/a>. “I was definitely surrounded by a lot of rappers,” she reminisces.\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/CEKiGFLJRoA'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/CEKiGFLJRoA'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\nShe’s since recorded with national artists like Dwele and West Coast rap legends \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_PKwYCW7IDc\">Snoop Dogg\u003c/a>, Aceyalone and Planet Asia. But she says she won’t work with just any artist. “My criteria for working with anyone is just that it’s a positive vibe and we mutually want to work together… I’m open to, you know, so many different stories. But when it comes to the music I’m putting out, I just don’t want it to have a negative effect on the culture.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Goapele’s standards for collaboration and her value system reflect both her cultural background and the values of her native region — known for its activists, community-based organizations and political and social discourse in its artistic output and cultural aesthetic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>As the daughter of South African exile Douglas Mohlabane and the sister of Namane Mohlabane — a co-founder of DJ collective Local 1200 — activism came naturally to Goapele. Her father was active in the anti-apartheid movement and a mainstay of a Bay Area South African exile community, while Local 1200 was known not just for their DJ skills, but their support of social justice causes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>During the campaign against California’s draconian youth crime bill, \u003ca href=\"https://lao.ca.gov/ballot/2000/21_03_2000.html\">Prop. 21\u003c/a>, Goapele collaborated with singer Kimiko Joy and female emcee Toy for an updated version of Billie Holiday’s “Don’t Explain” that tackled the weighty issue of the criminalization of youth and the prison-industrial complex. The title track of her 2005 major label debut, “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulxiCibEfgc\">Change It All\u003c/a>,” addressed school closures, economic inequality, and the need to do better as a society. In 2006, she was named a Human Rights Cultural Hero by the Ella Baker Center for Human Rights during the nonprofit’s 10th anniversary celebration.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While not an overtly political artist who spouts rhetoric and ideology at every opportunity, she’s stayed down and still “got a pound for the cause,” to paraphrase Digital Underground’s Shock G — another of the artists she says inspired her when she was coming up.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932559\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 729px\">\u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-138528249.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13932559\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-138528249.jpg\" alt=\"a Black woman with short hair in a suit poses in front of a display about the Black Power movement\" width=\"729\" height=\"1024\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-138528249.jpg 729w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-138528249-160x225.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 729px) 100vw, 729px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Goapele poses in the Grammy Museum in Los Angeles after a 2012 performance. \u003ccite>(Mark Sullivan/WireImage)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Transformative change and revolutionary content can take many forms — including music that adds something different and compelling to the sonic landscape. At the time of its release, Zion-I’s 2003 album \u003cem>Deep Water Slang V2.0\u003c/em> was dismissed by some critics who had trouble relating to its diverse influences and experimental qualities. Those qualities, however, are precisely what make the album stand out some 20 years later.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Goapele contributed vocals to three of the album’s standout tracks — “Flow,” “Sorry” and “Boom Bip.” Producer Amp Live plays around with ambient textures and non-cliched sonic approaches that seemingly expand hip-hop’s reach; meanwhile, Goapele supplies the hooks, reinforcing Zumbi’s conscious manifestos and emotional Zen-states.\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/gsOQdKhEsFQ'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/gsOQdKhEsFQ'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\n“So don’t fight the feeling / what we got right here / we ain’t going nowhere / open your mind / what we got right here / we ain’t going nowhere,” she sings on “Boom Bip” — subverting a pimpish credo associated with Too Short and Rappin’ 4-Tay to express a more holistic and spiritually affirming mentality. On “Flow,” the hook places the word “flow,” sung by Goapele, up against a bed of minimal keyboards, upright bass, and Vin Roc’s turntable cuts. Her vocals on “Sorry” are buried deep within a mix of flute, viola, electric piano and cello — all of which contribute to an emotionally resonant song that’s more about feeling than swagger.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Despite “Flow” being one of her favorite collaborations, Goapele can’t quite recall how it came about. “I worked with Zion I off and on for years,” she says. “We even had a studio right next to them at 880 (Studios in Oakland)… Amp just like, had a way of creating things like a puzzle. And sometimes, I would come in there and record an idea over a piece of a song. And by the time I heard it, you know, he had, like, made this whole new arrangement.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Then there was “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEKiGFLJRoA\">The Daze\u003c/a>,” a track from her \u003cem>Even Closer\u003c/em> album featuring Zion I and Casual of Hieroglyphics, which was recorded at Amp’s home studio in El Cerrito.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I was walking into the home studio and Amp had the vibe, you know, already set in. And Steve (Zumbi) was working on his verses. And I was just like, adding whatever I could… I can remember the night that we recorded that just by the raw energy. And it was really just like a couple takes, you know what I mean?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932557\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-106227057.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932557\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-106227057-800x547.jpg\" alt=\"a young Black woman in a white and red dress and black and white sneakers performs onstage at a music festival in Golden Gate Park\" width=\"800\" height=\"547\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-106227057-800x547.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-106227057-1020x697.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-106227057-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-106227057-768x525.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/GettyImages-106227057.jpg 1024w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Goapele performs onstage during the 2008 Outside Lands Festival in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Jason Merritt/FilmMagic)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Ten years later, in 2013, Goapele again collaborated with Zion I on the sublime hip-hop love song, “Life’s Work” — which eschews playerisms in favor of committed monogamy. Zumbi’s love-affirming testimonials contrast beautifully with Goapele’s romantic vocals, and it’s difficult to imagine the song working as well without her contribution.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Goapele’s association with Hieroglyphics also spanned many projects. She’s made songs with Pep Love, Casual and A-Plus, along with the single and video, “Soweto,” which features the entire crew. She remembers Hiero had rented a house with a home studio in Venice Beach, and A-Plus asked her to drop some vocals on a track he was working on. “The guitar was just giving me African highlife vibes,” and the song’s hook, she says, was “just what I was feeling like, no matter where you go. We’re the same. We have the same story.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The video, she recalls, was shot in Joshua Tree National Park on one of the hottest days of the year — the temperature reached 120 Fahrenheit. “I almost did not make it through that video, but the video ended up being beautiful.”\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/XJHtCG5wqYs'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/XJHtCG5wqYs'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003ch2>The Motherland and the Bay\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>One of Goapele’s more interesting collaborations came about in 2010, when she worked with South African emcee Hip Hop Pantsula for “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpEPNCz98_c\">Victory\u003c/a>,” a song recorded in English, Setswana, and Xhosa, which drew attention to humanitarian efforts in South Africa and the African Diaspora. Pantsula, she says, “was incredibly talented, and I want to say kind of spearheaded or was big in the Motswako movement, which was a South African/SWANA hip-hop scene.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Pantsula, aka Double HP, who joined the ancestors in 2018, was hailed as a “musical icon” by the African National Congress. Goapele remembers being in South Africa and seeing some of his concerts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“There was a lot of rapping in Setswana and English… But the song “Victory,” it was just so exciting that the World Cup was in South Africa. I definitely was feeling a sense of pride even from afar. And I went out there to perform at the MAMA Awards. It was like an MTV Africa show, and they flew me out there along with The Game, and Clyde Carson from the Bay, who I also worked with on a bunch of other songs.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932534\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-scaled.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13932534 size-medium\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-800x600.jpg\" alt=\"a Black woman with braids smiles holding a microphone on stage\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/08/Goapele.live_.EKA_-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/a>\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Goapele performs at the Days With Zahrah Getaway in Napa, May 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Asked to draw a comparison between South African and Bay Area hip-hop, she says, “There wasn’t a huge music industry in the Bay Area. There’s a lot of labels in South Africa, but I feel like people have really had to create their thing from the ground up. And so there’s like maybe an organic feel to it and an edge and a soulfulness that it has.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>She recalls listening to the South African band Shava, who sing in her native tongue of Setswana. “The production was just so beautiful and vibey. The drums are always a little behind the beat. There’s similar production and feels that I think probably come out of a context of influences, like the culture just being soulful and raw and there’s definitely a spirit of resistance, you know?\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/IpEPNCz98_c'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/IpEPNCz98_c'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cspan style=\"color: #ffffff\">p\u003c/span>\u003cbr>\n“But in South Africa, it’s the triumph and struggle that’s still there. Like, my dad had to leave because of the apartheid system and, in the nineties, so much turmoil and turnover in leadership. Equality is something that’s still trying to come about. There’s so much economic disparity. People were pushed out to almost like, reservations … I came out of that.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That struggle has bred not just resistance, but cultural resilience. “There’s so much depth and raw talent that has come back, persevered through that. So there’s something to be said for that. How that affects the sound and the vibe.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In other words, in some ways, South Africa is exactly like the Bay Area. But in other ways, it’s completely different. Goapele remains connected to both places and cultures. It’s who she is.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-11687704\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/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=\"auto, (max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"title": "A Hip-Hop-Heavy Blue Note Jazz Festival Celebrates the Spiritual Lineage of Black Music",
"headTitle": "A Hip-Hop-Heavy Blue Note Jazz Festival Celebrates the Spiritual Lineage of Black Music | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>Sunday evening, as the moon rose over the peach-colored Napa sky, Blue Note Jazz Festival artist-in-resident Robert Glasper got carried away in the music. His band was in the pocket, and Bilal had just demonstrated his formidable vocal range, improvising with Lalah Hathaway. Up next, Rakim took the stage. After dropping a couple verses, the legendary MC almost walked off and called it a night — until host Dave Chappelle beckoned him back by rapping a few of Rakim’s lyrics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rakim performed a soulful rendition of “Paid in Full,” but when he finished rapping, the band didn’t stop. The wine and good vibes were flowing, and more artists spontaneously emerged from backstage. Chance the Rapper, due to headline the festival in half an hour, came up to pay respects to Rakim, who \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/CoUjI38ADbo/\">paved the way\u003c/a>. Meeting for what seemed like the first time, they traded verses — and were soon joined by Vic Mensa, Talib Kweli and De La Soul’s Maseo, who gave Rakim a heartfelt salute. It felt like a history-making moment: three generations of MCs in a positive feedback loop of mutual appreciation, with a masterful band playing classic beats live.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932354\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932354\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Robert-Glasper-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Robert-Glasper-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Robert-Glasper-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Robert-Glasper-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Robert-Glasper-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Robert-Glasper-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Robert-Glasper-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Robert Glasper performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A powerful celebration of this spiritual, life-affirming musical lineage connected many of the artists at Blue Note. “I make Black American music, which is an amalgamation of rhythm, beautiful harmony, church and, you know, melodies that speak to your soul,” Meshell Ndegeocello told my colleague Eric Arnold backstage. She could’ve been describing any number of the artists at the festival, whose individual styles are leaves and branches of the same tree.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It sounds corny, but when I’m on stage and I’m immersed in the music, it’s the only time I am freed of that inner dialogue about my gender and my race,” Ndegeocello continued. “It’s the only time I just feel at one with others.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932301\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932301\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Gabrielle-Union-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Gabrielle-Union-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Gabrielle-Union-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Gabrielle-Union-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Gabrielle-Union-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Gabrielle-Union-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Gabrielle-Union-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Hip-hop is ‘one of the few things that is able to bridge the diaspora,’ Gabrielle Union told KQED’s Eric Arnold backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival. ‘And any time you start to bring people together and so they could realize their true power, that’s going to be dangerous and controversial.’ \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>That feeling of oneness was underscored by the occasion of hip-hop’s 50th anniversary, and many at the festival looked back at how far the culture has come. “I’m glad to be part of it, and I’m a teacher,” Madlib humbly reflected to Arnold. “Youngins are coming after me. That’s all.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Throughout Blue Note, which took place July 28–30 at its new home, Silverado Resort in Napa, fans and artists alike showed each other heartfelt love and gratitude for these collective moments. Our team spent the weekend at the festival, and here’s what we saw. \u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932406\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932406\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-800x600.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Ari Lennox performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Ari Lennox’s earnest reflections on love\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Demigoddess of soulful and sexy R&B Ari Lennox brought a lively eroticism to her set. Her dreamy vocals in “Whipped Cream,” a neo-soul ballad from her 2019 album \u003ci>Shea Butter Baby,\u003c/i> entranced the crowd — who fanned themselves profusely from the heat, Lennox’s raw sensuality, or both. Her stirring performance of “New Apartment” was a welcome anthem about independence and self-love. “Waste My Time,” a wry and bumping inclusion, was a reminder of her narrative range, which ended with a contemptuous “boy byeeeee!” And equally unforgettable was her citrusy orange lace corset and wrap skirt, which matched her backup singers’ monochromatic fits — orange headscarves, berets, knitwear.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Gloriously sensual hits like “Stop By” dominated her set, but Lennox sees her music moving in a tender direction, while staying true to her sensuality. Backstage, she said, “My music’s always going to be sexy because that’s innate to me, but I also see it going towards love. Love — I feel like I haven’t experienced it in a romantic way, so if I find love one day, it would be cool to talk about it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932315\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932315\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez004-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez004-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez004-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez004-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez004-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez004-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez004.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Ari Lennox performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>And that’s not the only new, loving relationship Lennox is looking for. “I want a cat,” she said, laughing. “I grew up with a cat, but it didn’t like me, so we didn’t have a great relationship.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On stage, her earnest dialogue with the crowd — which included Lennox divulging her latest dating app match with a “Chicago boy” — was a hopeful turn from her announcement on Twitter in December that her “age/sex/location” tour would be her last. That Tweet has since been deleted, and Lennox released her single “My Phone Can Die” in May. Her vulnerability and intimacy with the festival crowd felt like a reassurance that she’ll be gracing us with her presence for a while longer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Also reassuring were even more reflections on where she sees her music going. “I would say it’s just soulful — it’s continuing to be myself,” she said. “It’s R&B in a space where I’m welcoming that alternative quirky side and putting myself back into my music.” \u003cem>—Olivia Cruz Mayeda\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932305\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932305\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-and-Talib-Kweli-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-and-Talib-Kweli-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-and-Talib-Kweli-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-and-Talib-Kweli-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-and-Talib-Kweli-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-and-Talib-Kweli-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-and-Talib-Kweli-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">De La Soul and Talib Kweli perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Robert Glasper and De La Soul share a moment of gratitude\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Robert Glasper’s performance with De La Soul and several interjections by artists like saxophonist Terrace Martin and Parliament-Funkadelic’s legendary George Clinton was an obvious hit of the day, pulling a large, energetic and intergenerational crowd. Glasper delivered a rousing keyboard solo that only lulled slightly when Dave Chappelle approached, whispered something into Glasper’s ear, and the two erupted into laughter.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“This is like seeing Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee in a bar fight,” Chappelle quipped when The Roots member James Poyser joined Glasper at the keyboards. Chappelle got additional laughs when he mimed stroking the keys, lips pursed around a cigarette, while Poyser played for real behind him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932302\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932302\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">De La Soul perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>De La Soul and Glasper’s set roared to life from the get-go and was relentless to the end. From “Into the Woods” off De La Soul’s 1994 album \u003cem>Buhloone Mindstate\u003c/em> to “Rock Co.Kane Flow,” De La Soul had the crowd firmly in their grasp. The artists stopped dramatically mid-flow, Poyser’s hand hovering over the keyboard and Kelvin Mercer collapsed on the stage only to spring back to life and double down on the beat. “Louder!” Mercer yelled into the audience during “Stakes is High,” and received a robust response.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mercer noted his respect for the turnout: “Oh shit, it’s a bunch of Black people,” he said. “They’re well established, and they’re chilling.” The presence of other cultural icons like Gabrielle Union, Dwyane Wade and Chris Paul in the crowd lent emphasis to his point. “This right here is the culture,” shouted Wade, his arm over Paul.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932361\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932361\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Vincent-Mason-of-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Vincent-Mason-of-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Vincent-Mason-of-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Vincent-Mason-of-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Vincent-Mason-of-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Vincent-Mason-of-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Vincent-Mason-of-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Vincent Mason of De La Soul at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Mercer, wearing a black “Stakes Is High” tee, took a moment during the performance to speak on the emotional stakes of De La Soul’s hugely influential discography. “Don’t be afraid of your age — we made it,” he said, making references to the group’s songs about friends who died young, including De La Soul’s late member Trugoy the Dove, who died earlier this year.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mercer also talked about the significance of hip-hop’s 50th anniversary, saying, “Hip Hop is a feeling — the veins of it is a feeling — and we’ve been blessed as De La Soul to make songs that give us that feeling.” \u003cem>—Olivia Cruz Mayeda\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932341\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932341\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Digable Planets perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Digable Planets reimagine ‘Reachin” with jazz\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>In a troubled world, Digable Planets’ \u003ci>Reachin’ (A Refutation of Time and Space)\u003c/i> is a sunbeam of goodness. And it just so happens that the trio celebrates their 1993 debut album’s 30th birthday during the golden anniversary of hip-hop culture. The group’s Saturday afternoon Blue Note set felt like an especially auspicious occasion as they performed new versions of classics like “Rebirth of Slick (Cool Like Dat),” “Jettin’” and “Nickel Bags.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932348\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932348\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mariana-22Ladybug-Mecca22-Vieira-of-Digable-Planets-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mariana-22Ladybug-Mecca22-Vieira-of-Digable-Planets-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mariana-22Ladybug-Mecca22-Vieira-of-Digable-Planets-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mariana-22Ladybug-Mecca22-Vieira-of-Digable-Planets-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mariana-22Ladybug-Mecca22-Vieira-of-Digable-Planets-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mariana-22Ladybug-Mecca22-Vieira-of-Digable-Planets-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mariana-22Ladybug-Mecca22-Vieira-of-Digable-Planets-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mariana Ladybug Mecca Vieira of Digable Planets performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The Planets built their vibey sound with samples from Herbie Hancock and Parliament-Funkadelic, and their mega-talented live band (led by guitarist Thaddeus Turner, with rising star Kassa Overall on drums) gave the music new, shimmering dimensions. Butterfly, Ladybug Mecca and Doodlebug were crisp, refined and funky as ever, allowing us to rediscover the Brooklyn of their imaginations with eyes full of awe and wonder. \u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932328\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932328\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Yussef-Dayes-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Yussef-Dayes-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Yussef-Dayes-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Yussef-Dayes-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Yussef-Dayes-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Yussef-Dayes-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Yussef-Dayes-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Yussef Dayes performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>A rising London star makes his mark\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>A journey to the smaller, out-of-the-way Blue Note stage on Saturday proved well worth it for Yussef Dayes’ golden-hour set. The percussion wizard, a star of London’s lauded jazz scene, was perched atop an elaborate drum kit at center stage, speaking to the crowd through rhythm. Dayes played his drums with such finesse that they sounded almost like melodic instruments: at different points throughout his set, his drums sang and whispered invitations to groove to the fusion of Afro-diasporic rhythms.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932352\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932352\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Meshell-Ndegeocello-watches-Yussef-Dayes-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Meshell-Ndegeocello-watches-Yussef-Dayes-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Meshell-Ndegeocello-watches-Yussef-Dayes-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Meshell-Ndegeocello-watches-Yussef-Dayes-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Meshell-Ndegeocello-watches-Yussef-Dayes-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Meshell-Ndegeocello-watches-Yussef-Dayes-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Meshell-Ndegeocello-watches-Yussef-Dayes-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Meshell Ndegeocello watches Yussef Dayes perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The potent jazz, funk, soul and drum’n’bass fusion that Dayes’ band concocted on stage sounded deceptively laid back, belying each person’s incredible skill. Piano player Elijah Fox (a rising star himself who was recently featured on Kali Uchis’ latest album and sampled by Drake) seemed possessed by the groove, shifting the mood from romantic and cinematic to psychedelically otherworldly, with bassist Rocco Palladino’s deep grooves anchoring his explorations. Meshell Ndegeocello, who performed a heartfelt, vocal-driven set earlier in the afternoon, stood on the side of the stage the whole show, raising her hands in praise and losing herself in the music. Like the rest of us in the audience, she didn’t stop smiling. \u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932446\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932446\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-3-scaled-e1690842227333-800x600.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-3-scaled-e1690842227333-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-3-scaled-e1690842227333-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-3-scaled-e1690842227333-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-3-scaled-e1690842227333-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-3-scaled-e1690842227333-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-3-scaled-e1690842227333.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Nas performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘Straight out the dungeons of rap’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Considering he’s written some of the most memorable bars in rap history, Saturday’s headliner, Nas, didn’t need pomp and circumstance to impress. As he traveled through his decades-long catalog, he gave the people what they wanted, focusing heavily on his mid-’90s \u003ci>Illmatic\u003c/i> era, and transporting us into a Queensbridge childhood that continues to be his wellspring of inspiration.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932320\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932320\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-headlines-night-two-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-headlines-night-two-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-headlines-night-two-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-headlines-night-two-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-headlines-night-two-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-headlines-night-two-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-headlines-night-two-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Nas headlines night two of Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Nas arrived looking casual in black Air Forces and a tracksuit, but he conveyed a regal aura. With a minimal three-piece band, DJ and backing vocalist, he rapped with a searing precision, reminding us why he’s motivated generations of MCs to put pen to rhyme book. As he delivered hard-edged verses about a cutthroat world of street intrigues, his stoic demeanor at times would crack, revealing a dimpled smile each time he felt the magnitude of tens of thousands of cheers. The intergenerational audience was feeling themselves, yelling the words, and dancing along to his more club-oriented 2000s hits, each person time-traveling to the first time they were moved by this once-in-a-generation street poet.\u003cem> —Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932369\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932369\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Domi-and-JD-Beck-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"A young drummer and pianist perform in front of a purple and blue backdrop. \" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Domi-and-JD-Beck-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Domi-and-JD-Beck-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Domi-and-JD-Beck-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Domi-and-JD-Beck-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Domi-and-JD-Beck-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Domi-and-JD-Beck-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Domi and JD Beck perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Newcomers DOMi and JD Beck win over the crowd\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Plenty of newness has infused jazz in the past decade, but DOMi and JD Beck are particularly special outliers. Mixing the sounds of Weather Report and Squarepusher with Drain Gang aesthetics, the keyboard/drums duo on Sunday afternoon seemed to know their uphill battle in winning over the crowd. (Announcing a mid-set medley, Beck quipped that “nobody asked and nobody cares, so we’re just gonna play it.”) By the end of the set, though, after a tribute to Wayne Shorter (“Endangered Species”) and their own dizzying material, they got a rousing ovation. To celebrate, DOMi said, “It’s time for some underage drinking!” \u003cem>—Gabe Meline\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932376\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932376\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Bobby-McFerrin-left-performs-with-his-son-Taylor-McFerrin-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Bobby-McFerrin-left-performs-with-his-son-Taylor-McFerrin-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Bobby-McFerrin-left-performs-with-his-son-Taylor-McFerrin-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Bobby-McFerrin-left-performs-with-his-son-Taylor-McFerrin-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Bobby-McFerrin-left-performs-with-his-son-Taylor-McFerrin-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Bobby-McFerrin-left-performs-with-his-son-Taylor-McFerrin-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Bobby-McFerrin-left-performs-with-his-son-Taylor-McFerrin-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Bobby McFerrin (left) performs with his son Taylor McFerrin at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>A family affair with Taylor McFerrin with Bobby McFerrin\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Near the end of his set with his father, Taylor began talking about Bobby McFerrin’s debut album, released when he was one year old. This led into a rendition of that album’s “Sightless Bird,” augmented onstage by Taylor’s sister, Madison. The family affair continued with Little Dragon’s “Twice,” done in a slow burning style by Taylor and Madison, which, for five minutes on a Sunday afternoon, hypnotized the rapt crowd. \u003cem>—Gabe Meline\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932398\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932398\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-800x600.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Rakim performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Rakim and DJ Jazzy Jeff bring new life to classics\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Rakim isn’t a rapper so much as a vessel of the divine, and onstage, he tore through his set with his commanding, regal style. From opener “My Melody” to chiseled-in-stone classics like “I Ain’t No Joke,” “Microphone Fiend” and “Move the Crowd,” Rakim had one of hip-hop’s greatest DJs on hand for spontaneous segues and remixes. (As a clear upgrade from Rakim’s original DJ Eric B., Jazzy Jeff proved his skills with a furious scratch breakdown of L.L. Cool J’s “Rock the Bells.”) Singalongs were constant; shout out to superfan Adam Frazier from Sacramento, who recited and acted out every single word of Rakim’s set from the second row. Near the end, an a capella “Follow the Leader” led into closer “Paid in Full,” with Rakim’s timeless verse joined by horns and percussion from the Soul Rebels. A flawless hour. \u003cem>—Gabe Meline\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932377\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932377\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Anderson-.Paak-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"Anderson .Paak poses back stage wearing a pink suit, no shirt and a giant fur hat. \" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Anderson-.Paak-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Anderson-.Paak-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Anderson-.Paak-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Anderson-.Paak-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Anderson-.Paak-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Anderson-.Paak-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anderson .Paak backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>A dance party on stage for NxWorries\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>From the beginning of his set, Anderson .Paak leaned hard into his over-styled ladies-man persona: “All the ladies with the good pussy make some noise!” he shouted. Later he pleaded to “throw some bras on stage, make me feel like Drake,” and, eventually, simply invited a group of women from the crowd to dance on stage. In a massive fur hat and pink shirtless suit, and with songs like “Kutless” and “What More Can I Say,” .Paak’s alter-ego schtick was as effective as it was popular with the Blue Note crowd: on a side stage at the other end of the festival, Madlib’s DJ set only drew about 80 people. \u003cem>—Gabe Meline\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932386\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932386\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/NxWorries-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"Anderson .Paak smiles and dances with a female fan.\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/NxWorries-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/NxWorries-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/NxWorries-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/NxWorries-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/NxWorries-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/NxWorries-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">NxWorries perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932378\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932378\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-005-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-005-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-005-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-005-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-005-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-005-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-005.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The crowd at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932374\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932374\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Chance-the-Rapper-headlines-night-three-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Chance-the-Rapper-headlines-night-three-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Chance-the-Rapper-headlines-night-three-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Chance-the-Rapper-headlines-night-three-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Chance-the-Rapper-headlines-night-three-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Chance-the-Rapper-headlines-night-three-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Chance-the-Rapper-headlines-night-three-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Chance the Rapper headlines night three of Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932335\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932335\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-and-friends-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-and-friends-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-and-friends-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-and-friends-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-and-friends-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-and-friends-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-and-friends-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Madlib, Digable Planets and friends backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932342\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932342\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ishmael-22Butter-Fly22-Butler-left-and-Madlib-hug-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ishmael-22Butter-Fly22-Butler-left-and-Madlib-hug-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ishmael-22Butter-Fly22-Butler-left-and-Madlib-hug-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ishmael-22Butter-Fly22-Butler-left-and-Madlib-hug-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ishmael-22Butter-Fly22-Butler-left-and-Madlib-hug-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ishmael-22Butter-Fly22-Butler-left-and-Madlib-hug-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ishmael-22Butter-Fly22-Butler-left-and-Madlib-hug-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Ishmael Butterfly Butler (left) and Madlib hug backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932334\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932334\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.Estefany-Gonzalez0A-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.Estefany-Gonzalez0A-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.Estefany-Gonzalez0A-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.Estefany-Gonzalez0A-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.Estefany-Gonzalez0A-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.Estefany-Gonzalez0A-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.Estefany-Gonzalez0A.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Dave Chappelle backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932449\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932449\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/DJ-Jazzy-Jeff-2-2-scaled-e1690842665576-800x600.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/DJ-Jazzy-Jeff-2-2-scaled-e1690842665576-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/DJ-Jazzy-Jeff-2-2-scaled-e1690842665576-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/DJ-Jazzy-Jeff-2-2-scaled-e1690842665576-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/DJ-Jazzy-Jeff-2-2-scaled-e1690842665576-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/DJ-Jazzy-Jeff-2-2-scaled-e1690842665576-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/DJ-Jazzy-Jeff-2-2-scaled-e1690842665576.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">DJ Jazzy Jeff performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932450\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932450\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-800x600.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">De La Soul performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932388\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932388\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/MonoNeon-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/MonoNeon-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/MonoNeon-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/MonoNeon-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/MonoNeon-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/MonoNeon-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/MonoNeon-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">MonoNeon performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932294\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932294\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mary J. Blige headlines night one of Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932293\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932293\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-003-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-003-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-003-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-003-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-003-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-003-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-003.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mary J. Blige headlines night one of Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932286\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932286\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Talib-Kweli-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Talib-Kweli-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Talib-Kweli-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Talib-Kweli-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Talib-Kweli-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Talib-Kweli-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Talib-Kweli-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Talib Kweli backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932306\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932306\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-left-and-Robert-Glasper-introduce-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-left-and-Robert-Glasper-introduce-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-left-and-Robert-Glasper-introduce-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-left-and-Robert-Glasper-introduce-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-left-and-Robert-Glasper-introduce-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-left-and-Robert-Glasper-introduce-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-left-and-Robert-Glasper-introduce-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Dave Chappelle (left) and Robert Glasper introduce De La Soul at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932291\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932291\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Parliament-Funkadelic-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Parliament-Funkadelic-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Parliament-Funkadelic-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Parliament-Funkadelic-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Parliament-Funkadelic-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Parliament-Funkadelic-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Parliament-Funkadelic-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Parliament Funkadelic perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932298\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932298\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Madlib performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932346\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932346\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Madlib backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932381\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932381\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The crowd at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932319\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932319\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Amanda-Seales-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Amanda-Seales-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Amanda-Seales-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Amanda-Seales-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Amanda-Seales-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Amanda-Seales-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Amanda-Seales-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Amanda Seales backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932307\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932307\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Cordae-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Cordae-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Cordae-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Cordae-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Cordae-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Cordae-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Cordae-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Cordae performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932331\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932331\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/BJ-The-Chicago-Kid-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/BJ-The-Chicago-Kid-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/BJ-The-Chicago-Kid-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/BJ-The-Chicago-Kid-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/BJ-The-Chicago-Kid-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/BJ-The-Chicago-Kid-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/BJ-The-Chicago-Kid-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">BJ The Chicago Kid performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932360\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932360\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-Soul-Rebels-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-Soul-Rebels-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-Soul-Rebels-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-Soul-Rebels-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-Soul-Rebels-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-Soul-Rebels-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-Soul-Rebels-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Soul Rebels perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932453\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932453\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-800x600.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Taylor McFerrin performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "Mary J. Blige, Nas, Rakim, Chance the Rapper, Digable Planets, Madlib and more performed at the second-annual festival, led by Robert Glasper.",
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"twDescription": "Mary J. Blige, Nas, Rakim, Chance the Rapper, Digable Planets, Madlib and more performed at the second-annual festival, led by Robert Glasper.",
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"socialDescription": "Mary J. Blige, Nas, Rakim, Chance the Rapper, Digable Planets, Madlib and more performed at the second-annual festival, led by Robert Glasper.",
"title": "Review and Photos: Blue Note Jazz Festival in Napa | KQED",
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"headline": "A Hip-Hop-Heavy Blue Note Jazz Festival Celebrates the Spiritual Lineage of Black Music",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Sunday evening, as the moon rose over the peach-colored Napa sky, Blue Note Jazz Festival artist-in-resident Robert Glasper got carried away in the music. His band was in the pocket, and Bilal had just demonstrated his formidable vocal range, improvising with Lalah Hathaway. Up next, Rakim took the stage. After dropping a couple verses, the legendary MC almost walked off and called it a night — until host Dave Chappelle beckoned him back by rapping a few of Rakim’s lyrics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rakim performed a soulful rendition of “Paid in Full,” but when he finished rapping, the band didn’t stop. The wine and good vibes were flowing, and more artists spontaneously emerged from backstage. Chance the Rapper, due to headline the festival in half an hour, came up to pay respects to Rakim, who \u003ca href=\"https://www.instagram.com/p/CoUjI38ADbo/\">paved the way\u003c/a>. Meeting for what seemed like the first time, they traded verses — and were soon joined by Vic Mensa, Talib Kweli and De La Soul’s Maseo, who gave Rakim a heartfelt salute. It felt like a history-making moment: three generations of MCs in a positive feedback loop of mutual appreciation, with a masterful band playing classic beats live.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932354\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932354\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Robert-Glasper-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Robert-Glasper-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Robert-Glasper-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Robert-Glasper-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Robert-Glasper-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Robert-Glasper-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Robert-Glasper-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Robert Glasper performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A powerful celebration of this spiritual, life-affirming musical lineage connected many of the artists at Blue Note. “I make Black American music, which is an amalgamation of rhythm, beautiful harmony, church and, you know, melodies that speak to your soul,” Meshell Ndegeocello told my colleague Eric Arnold backstage. She could’ve been describing any number of the artists at the festival, whose individual styles are leaves and branches of the same tree.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It sounds corny, but when I’m on stage and I’m immersed in the music, it’s the only time I am freed of that inner dialogue about my gender and my race,” Ndegeocello continued. “It’s the only time I just feel at one with others.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932301\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932301\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Gabrielle-Union-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Gabrielle-Union-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Gabrielle-Union-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Gabrielle-Union-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Gabrielle-Union-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Gabrielle-Union-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Gabrielle-Union-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Hip-hop is ‘one of the few things that is able to bridge the diaspora,’ Gabrielle Union told KQED’s Eric Arnold backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival. ‘And any time you start to bring people together and so they could realize their true power, that’s going to be dangerous and controversial.’ \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>That feeling of oneness was underscored by the occasion of hip-hop’s 50th anniversary, and many at the festival looked back at how far the culture has come. “I’m glad to be part of it, and I’m a teacher,” Madlib humbly reflected to Arnold. “Youngins are coming after me. That’s all.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Throughout Blue Note, which took place July 28–30 at its new home, Silverado Resort in Napa, fans and artists alike showed each other heartfelt love and gratitude for these collective moments. Our team spent the weekend at the festival, and here’s what we saw. \u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932406\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932406\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-800x600.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-6-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Ari Lennox performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Ari Lennox’s earnest reflections on love\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Demigoddess of soulful and sexy R&B Ari Lennox brought a lively eroticism to her set. Her dreamy vocals in “Whipped Cream,” a neo-soul ballad from her 2019 album \u003ci>Shea Butter Baby,\u003c/i> entranced the crowd — who fanned themselves profusely from the heat, Lennox’s raw sensuality, or both. Her stirring performance of “New Apartment” was a welcome anthem about independence and self-love. “Waste My Time,” a wry and bumping inclusion, was a reminder of her narrative range, which ended with a contemptuous “boy byeeeee!” And equally unforgettable was her citrusy orange lace corset and wrap skirt, which matched her backup singers’ monochromatic fits — orange headscarves, berets, knitwear.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Gloriously sensual hits like “Stop By” dominated her set, but Lennox sees her music moving in a tender direction, while staying true to her sensuality. Backstage, she said, “My music’s always going to be sexy because that’s innate to me, but I also see it going towards love. Love — I feel like I haven’t experienced it in a romantic way, so if I find love one day, it would be cool to talk about it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932315\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932315\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez004-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez004-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez004-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez004-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez004-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez004-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ari-Lennox-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez004.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Ari Lennox performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>And that’s not the only new, loving relationship Lennox is looking for. “I want a cat,” she said, laughing. “I grew up with a cat, but it didn’t like me, so we didn’t have a great relationship.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On stage, her earnest dialogue with the crowd — which included Lennox divulging her latest dating app match with a “Chicago boy” — was a hopeful turn from her announcement on Twitter in December that her “age/sex/location” tour would be her last. That Tweet has since been deleted, and Lennox released her single “My Phone Can Die” in May. Her vulnerability and intimacy with the festival crowd felt like a reassurance that she’ll be gracing us with her presence for a while longer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Also reassuring were even more reflections on where she sees her music going. “I would say it’s just soulful — it’s continuing to be myself,” she said. “It’s R&B in a space where I’m welcoming that alternative quirky side and putting myself back into my music.” \u003cem>—Olivia Cruz Mayeda\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932305\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932305\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-and-Talib-Kweli-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-and-Talib-Kweli-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-and-Talib-Kweli-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-and-Talib-Kweli-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-and-Talib-Kweli-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-and-Talib-Kweli-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-and-Talib-Kweli-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">De La Soul and Talib Kweli perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Robert Glasper and De La Soul share a moment of gratitude\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Robert Glasper’s performance with De La Soul and several interjections by artists like saxophonist Terrace Martin and Parliament-Funkadelic’s legendary George Clinton was an obvious hit of the day, pulling a large, energetic and intergenerational crowd. Glasper delivered a rousing keyboard solo that only lulled slightly when Dave Chappelle approached, whispered something into Glasper’s ear, and the two erupted into laughter.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“This is like seeing Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee in a bar fight,” Chappelle quipped when The Roots member James Poyser joined Glasper at the keyboards. Chappelle got additional laughs when he mimed stroking the keys, lips pursed around a cigarette, while Poyser played for real behind him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932302\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932302\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">De La Soul perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>De La Soul and Glasper’s set roared to life from the get-go and was relentless to the end. From “Into the Woods” off De La Soul’s 1994 album \u003cem>Buhloone Mindstate\u003c/em> to “Rock Co.Kane Flow,” De La Soul had the crowd firmly in their grasp. The artists stopped dramatically mid-flow, Poyser’s hand hovering over the keyboard and Kelvin Mercer collapsed on the stage only to spring back to life and double down on the beat. “Louder!” Mercer yelled into the audience during “Stakes is High,” and received a robust response.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mercer noted his respect for the turnout: “Oh shit, it’s a bunch of Black people,” he said. “They’re well established, and they’re chilling.” The presence of other cultural icons like Gabrielle Union, Dwyane Wade and Chris Paul in the crowd lent emphasis to his point. “This right here is the culture,” shouted Wade, his arm over Paul.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932361\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932361\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Vincent-Mason-of-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Vincent-Mason-of-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Vincent-Mason-of-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Vincent-Mason-of-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Vincent-Mason-of-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Vincent-Mason-of-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Vincent-Mason-of-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Vincent Mason of De La Soul at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Mercer, wearing a black “Stakes Is High” tee, took a moment during the performance to speak on the emotional stakes of De La Soul’s hugely influential discography. “Don’t be afraid of your age — we made it,” he said, making references to the group’s songs about friends who died young, including De La Soul’s late member Trugoy the Dove, who died earlier this year.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mercer also talked about the significance of hip-hop’s 50th anniversary, saying, “Hip Hop is a feeling — the veins of it is a feeling — and we’ve been blessed as De La Soul to make songs that give us that feeling.” \u003cem>—Olivia Cruz Mayeda\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932341\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932341\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Digable Planets perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Digable Planets reimagine ‘Reachin” with jazz\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>In a troubled world, Digable Planets’ \u003ci>Reachin’ (A Refutation of Time and Space)\u003c/i> is a sunbeam of goodness. And it just so happens that the trio celebrates their 1993 debut album’s 30th birthday during the golden anniversary of hip-hop culture. The group’s Saturday afternoon Blue Note set felt like an especially auspicious occasion as they performed new versions of classics like “Rebirth of Slick (Cool Like Dat),” “Jettin’” and “Nickel Bags.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932348\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932348\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mariana-22Ladybug-Mecca22-Vieira-of-Digable-Planets-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mariana-22Ladybug-Mecca22-Vieira-of-Digable-Planets-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mariana-22Ladybug-Mecca22-Vieira-of-Digable-Planets-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mariana-22Ladybug-Mecca22-Vieira-of-Digable-Planets-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mariana-22Ladybug-Mecca22-Vieira-of-Digable-Planets-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mariana-22Ladybug-Mecca22-Vieira-of-Digable-Planets-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mariana-22Ladybug-Mecca22-Vieira-of-Digable-Planets-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mariana Ladybug Mecca Vieira of Digable Planets performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The Planets built their vibey sound with samples from Herbie Hancock and Parliament-Funkadelic, and their mega-talented live band (led by guitarist Thaddeus Turner, with rising star Kassa Overall on drums) gave the music new, shimmering dimensions. Butterfly, Ladybug Mecca and Doodlebug were crisp, refined and funky as ever, allowing us to rediscover the Brooklyn of their imaginations with eyes full of awe and wonder. \u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932328\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932328\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Yussef-Dayes-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Yussef-Dayes-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Yussef-Dayes-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Yussef-Dayes-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Yussef-Dayes-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Yussef-Dayes-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Yussef-Dayes-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Yussef Dayes performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>A rising London star makes his mark\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>A journey to the smaller, out-of-the-way Blue Note stage on Saturday proved well worth it for Yussef Dayes’ golden-hour set. The percussion wizard, a star of London’s lauded jazz scene, was perched atop an elaborate drum kit at center stage, speaking to the crowd through rhythm. Dayes played his drums with such finesse that they sounded almost like melodic instruments: at different points throughout his set, his drums sang and whispered invitations to groove to the fusion of Afro-diasporic rhythms.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932352\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932352\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Meshell-Ndegeocello-watches-Yussef-Dayes-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Meshell-Ndegeocello-watches-Yussef-Dayes-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Meshell-Ndegeocello-watches-Yussef-Dayes-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Meshell-Ndegeocello-watches-Yussef-Dayes-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Meshell-Ndegeocello-watches-Yussef-Dayes-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Meshell-Ndegeocello-watches-Yussef-Dayes-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Meshell-Ndegeocello-watches-Yussef-Dayes-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Meshell Ndegeocello watches Yussef Dayes perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The potent jazz, funk, soul and drum’n’bass fusion that Dayes’ band concocted on stage sounded deceptively laid back, belying each person’s incredible skill. Piano player Elijah Fox (a rising star himself who was recently featured on Kali Uchis’ latest album and sampled by Drake) seemed possessed by the groove, shifting the mood from romantic and cinematic to psychedelically otherworldly, with bassist Rocco Palladino’s deep grooves anchoring his explorations. Meshell Ndegeocello, who performed a heartfelt, vocal-driven set earlier in the afternoon, stood on the side of the stage the whole show, raising her hands in praise and losing herself in the music. Like the rest of us in the audience, she didn’t stop smiling. \u003cem>—Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932446\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932446\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-3-scaled-e1690842227333-800x600.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-3-scaled-e1690842227333-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-3-scaled-e1690842227333-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-3-scaled-e1690842227333-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-3-scaled-e1690842227333-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-3-scaled-e1690842227333-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-3-scaled-e1690842227333.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Nas performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>‘Straight out the dungeons of rap’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Considering he’s written some of the most memorable bars in rap history, Saturday’s headliner, Nas, didn’t need pomp and circumstance to impress. As he traveled through his decades-long catalog, he gave the people what they wanted, focusing heavily on his mid-’90s \u003ci>Illmatic\u003c/i> era, and transporting us into a Queensbridge childhood that continues to be his wellspring of inspiration.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932320\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932320\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-headlines-night-two-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-headlines-night-two-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-headlines-night-two-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-headlines-night-two-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-headlines-night-two-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-headlines-night-two-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Nas-headlines-night-two-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Nas headlines night two of Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Nas arrived looking casual in black Air Forces and a tracksuit, but he conveyed a regal aura. With a minimal three-piece band, DJ and backing vocalist, he rapped with a searing precision, reminding us why he’s motivated generations of MCs to put pen to rhyme book. As he delivered hard-edged verses about a cutthroat world of street intrigues, his stoic demeanor at times would crack, revealing a dimpled smile each time he felt the magnitude of tens of thousands of cheers. The intergenerational audience was feeling themselves, yelling the words, and dancing along to his more club-oriented 2000s hits, each person time-traveling to the first time they were moved by this once-in-a-generation street poet.\u003cem> —Nastia Voynovskaya\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932369\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932369\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Domi-and-JD-Beck-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"A young drummer and pianist perform in front of a purple and blue backdrop. \" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Domi-and-JD-Beck-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Domi-and-JD-Beck-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Domi-and-JD-Beck-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Domi-and-JD-Beck-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Domi-and-JD-Beck-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Domi-and-JD-Beck-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Domi and JD Beck perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Newcomers DOMi and JD Beck win over the crowd\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Plenty of newness has infused jazz in the past decade, but DOMi and JD Beck are particularly special outliers. Mixing the sounds of Weather Report and Squarepusher with Drain Gang aesthetics, the keyboard/drums duo on Sunday afternoon seemed to know their uphill battle in winning over the crowd. (Announcing a mid-set medley, Beck quipped that “nobody asked and nobody cares, so we’re just gonna play it.”) By the end of the set, though, after a tribute to Wayne Shorter (“Endangered Species”) and their own dizzying material, they got a rousing ovation. To celebrate, DOMi said, “It’s time for some underage drinking!” \u003cem>—Gabe Meline\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932376\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932376\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Bobby-McFerrin-left-performs-with-his-son-Taylor-McFerrin-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Bobby-McFerrin-left-performs-with-his-son-Taylor-McFerrin-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Bobby-McFerrin-left-performs-with-his-son-Taylor-McFerrin-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Bobby-McFerrin-left-performs-with-his-son-Taylor-McFerrin-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Bobby-McFerrin-left-performs-with-his-son-Taylor-McFerrin-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Bobby-McFerrin-left-performs-with-his-son-Taylor-McFerrin-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Bobby-McFerrin-left-performs-with-his-son-Taylor-McFerrin-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Bobby McFerrin (left) performs with his son Taylor McFerrin at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>A family affair with Taylor McFerrin with Bobby McFerrin\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Near the end of his set with his father, Taylor began talking about Bobby McFerrin’s debut album, released when he was one year old. This led into a rendition of that album’s “Sightless Bird,” augmented onstage by Taylor’s sister, Madison. The family affair continued with Little Dragon’s “Twice,” done in a slow burning style by Taylor and Madison, which, for five minutes on a Sunday afternoon, hypnotized the rapt crowd. \u003cem>—Gabe Meline\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932398\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932398\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-800x600.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Rakim-2-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Rakim performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Rakim and DJ Jazzy Jeff bring new life to classics\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Rakim isn’t a rapper so much as a vessel of the divine, and onstage, he tore through his set with his commanding, regal style. From opener “My Melody” to chiseled-in-stone classics like “I Ain’t No Joke,” “Microphone Fiend” and “Move the Crowd,” Rakim had one of hip-hop’s greatest DJs on hand for spontaneous segues and remixes. (As a clear upgrade from Rakim’s original DJ Eric B., Jazzy Jeff proved his skills with a furious scratch breakdown of L.L. Cool J’s “Rock the Bells.”) Singalongs were constant; shout out to superfan Adam Frazier from Sacramento, who recited and acted out every single word of Rakim’s set from the second row. Near the end, an a capella “Follow the Leader” led into closer “Paid in Full,” with Rakim’s timeless verse joined by horns and percussion from the Soul Rebels. A flawless hour. \u003cem>—Gabe Meline\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932377\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932377\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Anderson-.Paak-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"Anderson .Paak poses back stage wearing a pink suit, no shirt and a giant fur hat. \" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Anderson-.Paak-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Anderson-.Paak-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Anderson-.Paak-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Anderson-.Paak-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Anderson-.Paak-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Anderson-.Paak-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Anderson .Paak backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>A dance party on stage for NxWorries\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>From the beginning of his set, Anderson .Paak leaned hard into his over-styled ladies-man persona: “All the ladies with the good pussy make some noise!” he shouted. Later he pleaded to “throw some bras on stage, make me feel like Drake,” and, eventually, simply invited a group of women from the crowd to dance on stage. In a massive fur hat and pink shirtless suit, and with songs like “Kutless” and “What More Can I Say,” .Paak’s alter-ego schtick was as effective as it was popular with the Blue Note crowd: on a side stage at the other end of the festival, Madlib’s DJ set only drew about 80 people. \u003cem>—Gabe Meline\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932386\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932386\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/NxWorries-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"Anderson .Paak smiles and dances with a female fan.\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/NxWorries-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/NxWorries-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/NxWorries-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/NxWorries-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/NxWorries-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/NxWorries-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">NxWorries perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932378\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932378\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-005-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-005-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-005-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-005-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-005-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-005-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-005.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The crowd at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932374\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932374\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Chance-the-Rapper-headlines-night-three-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Chance-the-Rapper-headlines-night-three-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Chance-the-Rapper-headlines-night-three-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Chance-the-Rapper-headlines-night-three-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Chance-the-Rapper-headlines-night-three-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Chance-the-Rapper-headlines-night-three-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Chance-the-Rapper-headlines-night-three-of-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Chance the Rapper headlines night three of Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932335\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932335\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-and-friends-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-and-friends-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-and-friends-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-and-friends-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-and-friends-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-and-friends-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Digable-Planets-and-friends-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Madlib, Digable Planets and friends backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932342\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932342\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ishmael-22Butter-Fly22-Butler-left-and-Madlib-hug-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ishmael-22Butter-Fly22-Butler-left-and-Madlib-hug-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ishmael-22Butter-Fly22-Butler-left-and-Madlib-hug-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ishmael-22Butter-Fly22-Butler-left-and-Madlib-hug-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ishmael-22Butter-Fly22-Butler-left-and-Madlib-hug-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ishmael-22Butter-Fly22-Butler-left-and-Madlib-hug-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Ishmael-22Butter-Fly22-Butler-left-and-Madlib-hug-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Ishmael Butterfly Butler (left) and Madlib hug backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932334\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932334\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.Estefany-Gonzalez0A-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.Estefany-Gonzalez0A-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.Estefany-Gonzalez0A-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.Estefany-Gonzalez0A-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.Estefany-Gonzalez0A-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.Estefany-Gonzalez0A-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.Estefany-Gonzalez0A.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Dave Chappelle backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932449\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932449\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/DJ-Jazzy-Jeff-2-2-scaled-e1690842665576-800x600.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/DJ-Jazzy-Jeff-2-2-scaled-e1690842665576-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/DJ-Jazzy-Jeff-2-2-scaled-e1690842665576-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/DJ-Jazzy-Jeff-2-2-scaled-e1690842665576-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/DJ-Jazzy-Jeff-2-2-scaled-e1690842665576-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/DJ-Jazzy-Jeff-2-2-scaled-e1690842665576-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/DJ-Jazzy-Jeff-2-2-scaled-e1690842665576.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">DJ Jazzy Jeff performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932450\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932450\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-800x600.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/De-La-Soul-_plugs-1-and-3-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">De La Soul performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932388\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932388\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/MonoNeon-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/MonoNeon-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/MonoNeon-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/MonoNeon-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/MonoNeon-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/MonoNeon-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/MonoNeon-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">MonoNeon performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932294\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932294\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mary J. Blige headlines night one of Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932293\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932293\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-003-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-003-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-003-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-003-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-003-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-003-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Mary-J.-Blige-headlines-night-one-of-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-003.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mary J. Blige headlines night one of Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932286\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932286\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Talib-Kweli-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Talib-Kweli-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Talib-Kweli-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Talib-Kweli-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Talib-Kweli-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Talib-Kweli-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Talib-Kweli-backstage-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Talib Kweli backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932306\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932306\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-left-and-Robert-Glasper-introduce-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-left-and-Robert-Glasper-introduce-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-left-and-Robert-Glasper-introduce-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-left-and-Robert-Glasper-introduce-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-left-and-Robert-Glasper-introduce-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-left-and-Robert-Glasper-introduce-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Dave-Chappelle-left-and-Robert-Glasper-introduce-De-La-Soul-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Dave Chappelle (left) and Robert Glasper introduce De La Soul at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932291\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932291\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Parliament-Funkadelic-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Parliament-Funkadelic-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Parliament-Funkadelic-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Parliament-Funkadelic-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Parliament-Funkadelic-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Parliament-Funkadelic-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Parliament-Funkadelic-perform-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Parliament Funkadelic perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932298\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932298\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Madlib performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932346\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932346\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Madlib-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Madlib backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932381\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932381\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-crowd-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Sunday-July-30-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The crowd at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Sunday, July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932319\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932319\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Amanda-Seales-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Amanda-Seales-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Amanda-Seales-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Amanda-Seales-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Amanda-Seales-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Amanda-Seales-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Amanda-Seales-backstage-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Amanda Seales backstage at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932307\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932307\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Cordae-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Cordae-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Cordae-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Cordae-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Cordae-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Cordae-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Cordae-performs-at-the-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Friday-July-28-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez003.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Cordae performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Friday, July 28, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932331\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932331\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/BJ-The-Chicago-Kid-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/BJ-The-Chicago-Kid-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/BJ-The-Chicago-Kid-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/BJ-The-Chicago-Kid-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/BJ-The-Chicago-Kid-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/BJ-The-Chicago-Kid-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/BJ-The-Chicago-Kid-performs-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-001.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">BJ The Chicago Kid performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932360\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932360\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-Soul-Rebels-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-Soul-Rebels-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-Soul-Rebels-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-Soul-Rebels-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-Soul-Rebels-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-Soul-Rebels-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/The-Soul-Rebels-perform-at-Blue-Note-Jazz-Festival-on-Saturday-July-29-2023.-Estefany-Gonzalez-002.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The Soul Rebels perform at Blue Note Jazz Festival on Saturday, July 29, 2023. \u003ccite>(Estefany Gonzalez for KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13932453\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13932453\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-800x600.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-800x600.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-1020x765.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-768x576.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-1536x1152.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-2048x1536.jpg 2048w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Taylor-Mc-Ferrin-1920x1440.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Taylor McFerrin performs at Blue Note Jazz Festival on July 30, 2023. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Robert Glasper Carries Black Music Into A Post-Hip-Hop World",
"headTitle": "Robert Glasper Carries Black Music Into A Post-Hip-Hop World | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>[dropcap]“B[/dropcap]lack music is a big house with a lot of rooms,” says pianist, composer, and producer Robert Glasper.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A musical unicorn who has crystallized multiple genres into his own distinct brand, Glasper’s genius lays not only in his technical ability and musical acumen, but his willingness to embrace crossover as a necessary – and not unprecedented – aspect of Black music’s evolution and survival. While he prefers the term “musician” to “jazz musician,” he is profoundly aware of jazz’s role as canon, foundation, and inspiration for today’s musical movements — notably hip-hop. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Whether it’s Abbey Lincoln and Max Roach on 1960’s “Freedom Dance” foreshadowing Public Enemy’s sociopolitical creed, or jazz samples and breakbeats becoming part of hip-hop’s DNA, “jazz and hip-hop belong together,” Glasper says. “Jazz and hip-hop were born out of necessity. They both were born out of the struggle.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/embed/_PRfWgpsjyw\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Case in point: “In Tune,” from Glasper’s latest album \u003cem>Black Radio III\u003c/em>. Amir Suleiman’s impassioned spoken-words are elegy, tribute, mourning, and resilience, a callback to the field hollers of pre-emancipation Afro-America. And, by extension, the radical truth of the Last Poets, the Black Arts Movement-identified “godfathers of rap” who developed a poetic style called “spoagraphics” to describe their visual imagery. Instead of conga drums, the heartbeat is Glasper’s piano; past the halfway mark, the song fills out with wafting horns and snare drum hits, becoming transformative and therapeutic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s not a hip-hop track per se — there are no 808 beats, no machete-like scratches, no call-and-response chants. But “In Tune” is everything hip-hop ever aspired to be artistically: a marriage of traditional folkloric culture and contemporary relevance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_10759782']As the artist-in-residence and co-curator of the annual \u003ca href=\"https://www.bluenotejazz.com/jazz-festival-napa/\">Blue Note Jazz Festival in Napa, running July 28–30\u003c/a>, Glasper has assembled a lineup based on this philosophy of pastiche, bridging the worlds of hip-hop and jazz. Headliners include the “queen of hip-hop soul” Mary J. Blige, Queensbridge emcee Nas, and Chicago’s Chance the Rapper. Glasper plays live sets each of the three days, with special guests De La Soul, Lalah Hathaway, Terrace Martin and Bilal. The undercard is further saturated with the likes of Rakim and DJ Jazzy Jeff, Talib Kweli and Madlib, Digable Planets, Cordae, and host Dave Chappele. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 2023 – a year deemed hip-hop’s 50th anniversary – Glasper knows the culture has become impossible to ignore. “Hip-hop is in itself so huge. It’s like the most global music in the world; every country has hip-hop. It’s been the leading thing in culture – not just in music, but in fashion, in sports. And it’s just so many things, and influenced so many people.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13931658\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Glasper.car_.jpg\" alt=\"A man in a brown jacket, patterned shirt and jeans leans against a luxury sportscar\" width=\"600\" height=\"900\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13931658\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Glasper.car_.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Glasper.car_-160x240.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Glasper’s informal education included sessions with Questlove and J. Dilla: ‘I literally learned from the greatest.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy Blue Note Jazz Festival)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In a live setting, Glasper says, “some hip hop artists are like having another horn in a jazz band. They’re really able to be in the moment and be able to really empathize with you, but using words, and go wherever you want to go. And that’s an art. That’s a true art.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rapping skillfully over live music and maintaining the flow of the groove is where the artistry shines, he says. “A lot of cats freestyle, (but) they’re just freestyling to a beat that’s just there, or no beat at all. You’re not freestyling to a band that could change at any moment and go different places and add elements in and out of all these different things.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Glasper points out that seminal hip-hop songs by De La Soul (“Stakes Is High”) and Nas (“The World Is Yours”) both sampled jazz pianist Ahmad Jamal. Chance The Rapper and Cordae are also heavily jazz-influenced, he adds. And not only has Madlib repurposed hundreds if not thousands of jazz records as sample loops, but DJ Jazzy Jeff’s pioneering turntablist track “A Touch of Jazz” includes elements of Marvin Gaye’s “T Plays It Cool,” Bob James’ “Westchester Lady,” and Donald Byrd’s “Change (Makes You Want to Hustle),” alongside booming drums and expressive scratch cuts. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/embed/RWJWKcUooTA\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Napa festival further accentuates the evolution of jazz culture in the Bay Area, whose history includes a San Francisco residency by New Orleans legend King Oliver in 1921, and excursions into Healdsburg by the San Francisco-based So Different jazz band during the 1920s – a time when jazz embodied the cultural leading edge of social integration efforts. Holding a major Black cultural festival in the heart of California’s wine country represents another giant step, so to speak, towards social equity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“That’s literally what (the Blue Note Jazz Festival) is, the history of jazz, mixing it with all styles of music, and mixing the styles that jazz has influenced. And the big part of this year is 50 years of hip-hop.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Steeped in Black music’s evolution\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Glasper’s history in some ways reflects the history of jazz itself. His musical education began as a young child in Texas, where his mother, a blues and jazz singer and musical director for a Baptist church, brought him along to club dates. His first public performances were in the Black church, where he became steeped in gospel and began to develop his own style of playing. A musical prodigy, he performed with a university jazz band while still in high school.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13929248']An early flashpoint was seeing Roy Hargrove freely mix jazz with contemporary genres. When he first saw the trumpeter play live, “I was in high school,” he recalls. “I was like, ‘Oh, man, you could be young, Black, wear sneakers and look like that — and play jazz?’ And then I was like, ‘Oh, you can play jazz \u003cem>and\u003c/em> you could play with D’Angelo? And you can play with Common?’ I saw that in real time in real life. That inspired me.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As a student of the New School for Jazz and Contemporary Music in New York during the late ’90s, he met singer Bilal – who would become a regular collaborator – and became enmeshed the East Coast’s burgeoning neo-soul and hip-hop scenes, which frequently intersected through now-legendary production teams like the Ummah and the Soulquarians.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/embed/GcPjI9c8kxY\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“In college, that’s what was happening around ’97, the neo-soul movement and specifically J. Dilla-infused R&B. So I was really in that scene a lot, working with Bilal, opening up for Erykah Badu and Common, and seeing people like James Poyser, who is one of the big influences on my playing.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Glasper waxes poetically over producers like J. Dilla and Q-Tip, who brought a jazz sensibility to hip-hop tracks like A Tribe Called Quest’s “Lyrics to Go” and Busta Rhymes’ “Still Shining.” “They’re both jazz lovers. Coming from the jazz world, I immediately heard the jazz nuances they would put in their music, in their beats.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13931138']Glasper considers himself fortunate to have witnessed Dilla and Q-Tip’s creative process in intimate settings. “I used to go over Tip’s house and replay samples when I was in college all the time.” His first gigs playing hip-hop were with the Roots, who worked frequently with Dilla at the time. “Literally, the Roots and Dilla pretty much raised me.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>From the Philadelphia hip-hop collective, “I learned how to stay in a pocket, and understand how to play (piano) like a sample, by playing with Questlove.” Sometimes, Dilla would be present during these woodshedding sessions. “Me being able to sit across the room with Dilla, him on the MPC, I’m on the keys — I literally learned from the greatest how to do that.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/embed/feNYt7B237M\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 2004, he released \u003cem>Mood\u003c/em>, his first album as a bandleader, a fairly traditional jazz trio album of standards and original compositions. The following year, he began his long association with Blue Note Records with the trio album \u003cem>Canvas\u003c/em>. His music began to veer toward fusion with 2007’s \u003cem>In My Element\u003c/em>, which included a cover of Radiohead’s “Everything In Its Right Place.” A 2009 offering, \u003cem>Double Booked\u003c/em>, balanced acoustic trio material with his electric band, The Robert Glasper Experiment, including a track with emcee Yasiin Bey (then known as Mos Def).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Then came his 2012 breakthrough \u003cem>Black Radio\u003c/em>, which featured guests Lupe Fiasco, Bilal, Lalah Hathaway, Erykah Badu and Yasiin Bey. Highlights included a Badu-ized version of the jazz standard “Afro Blue” and a decidedly non-grunge take on Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” The album established Glasper as a commercially successful, forward-thinking artist who could lead jazz music in new directions, engage non-traditional jazz audiences, and do it all in a way that wasn’t cringeworthy. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Here’s the thing, though. Rock is Black music. Hello!,” Glasper proclaims. “A lot of people still to this day don’t understand that (“Teen Spirit”), that’s a song that I’ve always loved. But I also know the roots of that song came from us. That was my reasoning for that and kind of doing it in a more urban way. So then, it speaks to more Black folk that way also.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/embed/KdgWiWrtMZo\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The tradition of jazz, he says, is rife with artists who expanded the genre by refusing to be pigeonholed, from John Coltrane interpreting “My Favorite Things” and Carmen McRae reimagining The Beatles to Donald Byrd, Herbie Hancock, Roy Ayers and Ramsey Lewis mixing jazz, funk, and R&B. To him, it’s all Black music, which he sees as “a lot of clay” that can be shaped and reformed infinitely. Ultimately, he says, “it all comes from Africa.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Awards, Tours, and the Festival\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Glasper’s stratospheric ascension in recent years has included releasing two more volumes of \u003cem>Black Radio\u003c/em>, along with more straightforward jazz projects, scoring films and documentaries, and collaborating with a host of hip-hop and soul artists – Kendrick Lamar, Mac Miller, Anderson .Paak, Maxwell, Big K.R.I.T., Q-Tip, Talib Kweli, Denzel Curry, Jill Scott, Snoop Dogg, and Common, to name a few.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13916940']Along the way, he’s collected all kinds of accolades, including an Emmy and five Grammys, and served as the artist-in-residence at the Blue Note Jazz Festival even before its original New York edition expanded to Napa in 2022.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Through it all, he says he feels a sense of responsibility for maintaining jazz’s relevance in a post-hip-hop landscape, where technology has become a cultural driver and true musicianship is undervalued. Music isn’t a program in many schools anymore, he notes, and most music is made on a computer or iPhone.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I feel like I’m a torchbearer, and I’ve got to survive and teach as much as I can and not feel like I’m teaching and not sound like I’m teaching,” he says. “There’s a certain way you got to do it. You just got to do stuff that speaks to people.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" 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>The Blue Note Jazz Festival runs July 28–30 at Silverado Resort in Napa. \u003ca href=\"https://www.bluenotejazz.com/jazz-festival-napa/\">Details here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em> \u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class=\"utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__dropcapShortcode__dropcap\">“B\u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>lack music is a big house with a lot of rooms,” says pianist, composer, and producer Robert Glasper.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A musical unicorn who has crystallized multiple genres into his own distinct brand, Glasper’s genius lays not only in his technical ability and musical acumen, but his willingness to embrace crossover as a necessary – and not unprecedented – aspect of Black music’s evolution and survival. While he prefers the term “musician” to “jazz musician,” he is profoundly aware of jazz’s role as canon, foundation, and inspiration for today’s musical movements — notably hip-hop. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Whether it’s Abbey Lincoln and Max Roach on 1960’s “Freedom Dance” foreshadowing Public Enemy’s sociopolitical creed, or jazz samples and breakbeats becoming part of hip-hop’s DNA, “jazz and hip-hop belong together,” Glasper says. “Jazz and hip-hop were born out of necessity. They both were born out of the struggle.”\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/_PRfWgpsjyw'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/_PRfWgpsjyw'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Case in point: “In Tune,” from Glasper’s latest album \u003cem>Black Radio III\u003c/em>. Amir Suleiman’s impassioned spoken-words are elegy, tribute, mourning, and resilience, a callback to the field hollers of pre-emancipation Afro-America. And, by extension, the radical truth of the Last Poets, the Black Arts Movement-identified “godfathers of rap” who developed a poetic style called “spoagraphics” to describe their visual imagery. Instead of conga drums, the heartbeat is Glasper’s piano; past the halfway mark, the song fills out with wafting horns and snare drum hits, becoming transformative and therapeutic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s not a hip-hop track per se — there are no 808 beats, no machete-like scratches, no call-and-response chants. But “In Tune” is everything hip-hop ever aspired to be artistically: a marriage of traditional folkloric culture and contemporary relevance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>As the artist-in-residence and co-curator of the annual \u003ca href=\"https://www.bluenotejazz.com/jazz-festival-napa/\">Blue Note Jazz Festival in Napa, running July 28–30\u003c/a>, Glasper has assembled a lineup based on this philosophy of pastiche, bridging the worlds of hip-hop and jazz. Headliners include the “queen of hip-hop soul” Mary J. Blige, Queensbridge emcee Nas, and Chicago’s Chance the Rapper. Glasper plays live sets each of the three days, with special guests De La Soul, Lalah Hathaway, Terrace Martin and Bilal. The undercard is further saturated with the likes of Rakim and DJ Jazzy Jeff, Talib Kweli and Madlib, Digable Planets, Cordae, and host Dave Chappele. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 2023 – a year deemed hip-hop’s 50th anniversary – Glasper knows the culture has become impossible to ignore. “Hip-hop is in itself so huge. It’s like the most global music in the world; every country has hip-hop. It’s been the leading thing in culture – not just in music, but in fashion, in sports. And it’s just so many things, and influenced so many people.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13931658\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Glasper.car_.jpg\" alt=\"A man in a brown jacket, patterned shirt and jeans leans against a luxury sportscar\" width=\"600\" height=\"900\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13931658\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Glasper.car_.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/07/Glasper.car_-160x240.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Glasper’s informal education included sessions with Questlove and J. Dilla: ‘I literally learned from the greatest.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy Blue Note Jazz Festival)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In a live setting, Glasper says, “some hip hop artists are like having another horn in a jazz band. They’re really able to be in the moment and be able to really empathize with you, but using words, and go wherever you want to go. And that’s an art. That’s a true art.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rapping skillfully over live music and maintaining the flow of the groove is where the artistry shines, he says. “A lot of cats freestyle, (but) they’re just freestyling to a beat that’s just there, or no beat at all. You’re not freestyling to a band that could change at any moment and go different places and add elements in and out of all these different things.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Glasper points out that seminal hip-hop songs by De La Soul (“Stakes Is High”) and Nas (“The World Is Yours”) both sampled jazz pianist Ahmad Jamal. Chance The Rapper and Cordae are also heavily jazz-influenced, he adds. And not only has Madlib repurposed hundreds if not thousands of jazz records as sample loops, but DJ Jazzy Jeff’s pioneering turntablist track “A Touch of Jazz” includes elements of Marvin Gaye’s “T Plays It Cool,” Bob James’ “Westchester Lady,” and Donald Byrd’s “Change (Makes You Want to Hustle),” alongside booming drums and expressive scratch cuts. \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/RWJWKcUooTA'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/RWJWKcUooTA'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>The Napa festival further accentuates the evolution of jazz culture in the Bay Area, whose history includes a San Francisco residency by New Orleans legend King Oliver in 1921, and excursions into Healdsburg by the San Francisco-based So Different jazz band during the 1920s – a time when jazz embodied the cultural leading edge of social integration efforts. Holding a major Black cultural festival in the heart of California’s wine country represents another giant step, so to speak, towards social equity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“That’s literally what (the Blue Note Jazz Festival) is, the history of jazz, mixing it with all styles of music, and mixing the styles that jazz has influenced. And the big part of this year is 50 years of hip-hop.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Steeped in Black music’s evolution\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Glasper’s history in some ways reflects the history of jazz itself. His musical education began as a young child in Texas, where his mother, a blues and jazz singer and musical director for a Baptist church, brought him along to club dates. His first public performances were in the Black church, where he became steeped in gospel and began to develop his own style of playing. A musical prodigy, he performed with a university jazz band while still in high school.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>An early flashpoint was seeing Roy Hargrove freely mix jazz with contemporary genres. When he first saw the trumpeter play live, “I was in high school,” he recalls. “I was like, ‘Oh, man, you could be young, Black, wear sneakers and look like that — and play jazz?’ And then I was like, ‘Oh, you can play jazz \u003cem>and\u003c/em> you could play with D’Angelo? And you can play with Common?’ I saw that in real time in real life. That inspired me.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As a student of the New School for Jazz and Contemporary Music in New York during the late ’90s, he met singer Bilal – who would become a regular collaborator – and became enmeshed the East Coast’s burgeoning neo-soul and hip-hop scenes, which frequently intersected through now-legendary production teams like the Ummah and the Soulquarians.\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/GcPjI9c8kxY'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/GcPjI9c8kxY'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>“In college, that’s what was happening around ’97, the neo-soul movement and specifically J. Dilla-infused R&B. So I was really in that scene a lot, working with Bilal, opening up for Erykah Badu and Common, and seeing people like James Poyser, who is one of the big influences on my playing.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Glasper waxes poetically over producers like J. Dilla and Q-Tip, who brought a jazz sensibility to hip-hop tracks like A Tribe Called Quest’s “Lyrics to Go” and Busta Rhymes’ “Still Shining.” “They’re both jazz lovers. Coming from the jazz world, I immediately heard the jazz nuances they would put in their music, in their beats.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Glasper considers himself fortunate to have witnessed Dilla and Q-Tip’s creative process in intimate settings. “I used to go over Tip’s house and replay samples when I was in college all the time.” His first gigs playing hip-hop were with the Roots, who worked frequently with Dilla at the time. “Literally, the Roots and Dilla pretty much raised me.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>From the Philadelphia hip-hop collective, “I learned how to stay in a pocket, and understand how to play (piano) like a sample, by playing with Questlove.” Sometimes, Dilla would be present during these woodshedding sessions. “Me being able to sit across the room with Dilla, him on the MPC, I’m on the keys — I literally learned from the greatest how to do that.”\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/feNYt7B237M'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/feNYt7B237M'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>In 2004, he released \u003cem>Mood\u003c/em>, his first album as a bandleader, a fairly traditional jazz trio album of standards and original compositions. The following year, he began his long association with Blue Note Records with the trio album \u003cem>Canvas\u003c/em>. His music began to veer toward fusion with 2007’s \u003cem>In My Element\u003c/em>, which included a cover of Radiohead’s “Everything In Its Right Place.” A 2009 offering, \u003cem>Double Booked\u003c/em>, balanced acoustic trio material with his electric band, The Robert Glasper Experiment, including a track with emcee Yasiin Bey (then known as Mos Def).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Then came his 2012 breakthrough \u003cem>Black Radio\u003c/em>, which featured guests Lupe Fiasco, Bilal, Lalah Hathaway, Erykah Badu and Yasiin Bey. Highlights included a Badu-ized version of the jazz standard “Afro Blue” and a decidedly non-grunge take on Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” The album established Glasper as a commercially successful, forward-thinking artist who could lead jazz music in new directions, engage non-traditional jazz audiences, and do it all in a way that wasn’t cringeworthy. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Here’s the thing, though. Rock is Black music. Hello!,” Glasper proclaims. “A lot of people still to this day don’t understand that (“Teen Spirit”), that’s a song that I’ve always loved. But I also know the roots of that song came from us. That was my reasoning for that and kind of doing it in a more urban way. So then, it speaks to more Black folk that way also.”\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/KdgWiWrtMZo'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/KdgWiWrtMZo'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>The tradition of jazz, he says, is rife with artists who expanded the genre by refusing to be pigeonholed, from John Coltrane interpreting “My Favorite Things” and Carmen McRae reimagining The Beatles to Donald Byrd, Herbie Hancock, Roy Ayers and Ramsey Lewis mixing jazz, funk, and R&B. To him, it’s all Black music, which he sees as “a lot of clay” that can be shaped and reformed infinitely. Ultimately, he says, “it all comes from Africa.”\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>Awards, Tours, and the Festival\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Glasper’s stratospheric ascension in recent years has included releasing two more volumes of \u003cem>Black Radio\u003c/em>, along with more straightforward jazz projects, scoring films and documentaries, and collaborating with a host of hip-hop and soul artists – Kendrick Lamar, Mac Miller, Anderson .Paak, Maxwell, Big K.R.I.T., Q-Tip, Talib Kweli, Denzel Curry, Jill Scott, Snoop Dogg, and Common, to name a few.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Along the way, he’s collected all kinds of accolades, including an Emmy and five Grammys, and served as the artist-in-residence at the Blue Note Jazz Festival even before its original New York edition expanded to Napa in 2022.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Through it all, he says he feels a sense of responsibility for maintaining jazz’s relevance in a post-hip-hop landscape, where technology has become a cultural driver and true musicianship is undervalued. Music isn’t a program in many schools anymore, he notes, and most music is made on a computer or iPhone.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I feel like I’m a torchbearer, and I’ve got to survive and teach as much as I can and not feel like I’m teaching and not sound like I’m teaching,” he says. “There’s a certain way you got to do it. You just got to do stuff that speaks to people.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" 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>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>The Blue Note Jazz Festival runs July 28–30 at Silverado Resort in Napa. \u003ca href=\"https://www.bluenotejazz.com/jazz-festival-napa/\">Details here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em> \u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>It’s been almost 20 years since The Federation dropped “\u003ca href=\"https://youtu.be/zwztQ1TWwLE\">Hyphy\u003c/a>,” the high-octane track that catalyzed an entire rap subgenre, and became the first local rap song to receive significant commercial radio play in many a moon.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The hyphy movement briefly united the Bay Area in the mid-aughts with its crunk-on-thizz signature sound, equally appropriate for going dumb in the club or at a sideshow. It saw the emergence of artists like \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13908484/mistah-fab-week-dope-era-academy-dezis-oakland\">Mistah F.A.B.\u003c/a>, The Team, and \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13907735/remembering-traxamillion-whose-beats-defined-the-bay-area-sound\">Traxamillion\u003c/a> (R.I.P.), as well as second acts for veterans like E-40, Too Short, Keak Da Sneak, The Jacka and San Quinn. It added considerably to the local slang lexicon with phrases like “ghost ride the whip” and “purple scrapers,” and popularized bold fashion statements such as multicolored hoodies, oversized “stunna shades,” white Ts and Nikes. During hyphy’s peak, audiences from the 707 to the 408 area codes participated in the most expressive youth cultural movement in ages, and it even got some national attention via MTV and mainstream media coverage. [aside postid='arts_13929461']\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Two upcoming hyphy-themed Oakland events offer the opportunity for Bay Area clubbers to feel themselves all over again \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">—\u003c/span> or, for younger folks, to see what all the hype was about. On May 18, F.A.B.’s West Coast \u003ca href=\"https://thenewparish.com/event-details/13161598/mistah-f-a-b-keak-da-sneak-d-lo-the-team-the-federation-turf-talk/\">Hyphy Era Tour\u003c/a> comes to the New Parish, featuring live performances by the Dope Era entrepreneur himself, The Federation, The Team, Keak Da Sneak, Turf Talk and D-Lo.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On May 28, Cream of Beat presents \u003ca href=\"https://crybaby.live/event-details/13165588/cream-of-beat-presents-hyphy-2007-w-goldie-nump-rick-rock-more-/\">Hyphy 2007\u003c/a> at Crybaby, with DJs Mind Motion, Ivan, Fuze and Tito Bell playing “hyphy anthems and Bay Area classics.” Goldie of The Federation and “I Gott Grapes” rapper \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13924042/nump-hyphy-i-gott-grapes-interview\">Nump\u003c/a> will perform live, plus a rare DJ set by Rick Rock, producer of “Hyphy” and E-40’s call for regional representation, “Yay Area.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There may not be any better occasions to dust off that airbrushed Mac Dre hoodie and throw on the ice-white Air Force Ones.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-11687704\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-800x60.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\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://thenewparish.com/event-details/13161598/mistah-f-a-b-keak-da-sneak-d-lo-the-team-the-federation-turf-talk/\">The Hyphy Era Tour\u003c/a> takes place at the New Parish on May 18, 8 p.m. \u003ca href=\"https://crybaby.live/event-details/13165588/cream-of-beat-presents-hyphy-2007-w-goldie-nump-rick-rock-more-/\">Hyphy 2007\u003c/a> takes place at Crybaby on May 28, 10 p.m.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>It’s been almost 20 years since The Federation dropped “\u003ca href=\"https://youtu.be/zwztQ1TWwLE\">Hyphy\u003c/a>,” the high-octane track that catalyzed an entire rap subgenre, and became the first local rap song to receive significant commercial radio play in many a moon.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The hyphy movement briefly united the Bay Area in the mid-aughts with its crunk-on-thizz signature sound, equally appropriate for going dumb in the club or at a sideshow. It saw the emergence of artists like \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13908484/mistah-fab-week-dope-era-academy-dezis-oakland\">Mistah F.A.B.\u003c/a>, The Team, and \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13907735/remembering-traxamillion-whose-beats-defined-the-bay-area-sound\">Traxamillion\u003c/a> (R.I.P.), as well as second acts for veterans like E-40, Too Short, Keak Da Sneak, The Jacka and San Quinn. It added considerably to the local slang lexicon with phrases like “ghost ride the whip” and “purple scrapers,” and popularized bold fashion statements such as multicolored hoodies, oversized “stunna shades,” white Ts and Nikes. During hyphy’s peak, audiences from the 707 to the 408 area codes participated in the most expressive youth cultural movement in ages, and it even got some national attention via MTV and mainstream media coverage. \u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Two upcoming hyphy-themed Oakland events offer the opportunity for Bay Area clubbers to feel themselves all over again \u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400\">—\u003c/span> or, for younger folks, to see what all the hype was about. On May 18, F.A.B.’s West Coast \u003ca href=\"https://thenewparish.com/event-details/13161598/mistah-f-a-b-keak-da-sneak-d-lo-the-team-the-federation-turf-talk/\">Hyphy Era Tour\u003c/a> comes to the New Parish, featuring live performances by the Dope Era entrepreneur himself, The Federation, The Team, Keak Da Sneak, Turf Talk and D-Lo.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On May 28, Cream of Beat presents \u003ca href=\"https://crybaby.live/event-details/13165588/cream-of-beat-presents-hyphy-2007-w-goldie-nump-rick-rock-more-/\">Hyphy 2007\u003c/a> at Crybaby, with DJs Mind Motion, Ivan, Fuze and Tito Bell playing “hyphy anthems and Bay Area classics.” Goldie of The Federation and “I Gott Grapes” rapper \u003ca href=\"https://www.kqed.org/arts/13924042/nump-hyphy-i-gott-grapes-interview\">Nump\u003c/a> will perform live, plus a rare DJ set by Rick Rock, producer of “Hyphy” and E-40’s call for regional representation, “Yay Area.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There may not be any better occasions to dust off that airbrushed Mac Dre hoodie and throw on the ice-white Air Force Ones.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-11687704\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2016/06/Turntable.Break_-800x60.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\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://thenewparish.com/event-details/13161598/mistah-f-a-b-keak-da-sneak-d-lo-the-team-the-federation-turf-talk/\">The Hyphy Era Tour\u003c/a> takes place at the New Parish on May 18, 8 p.m. \u003ca href=\"https://crybaby.live/event-details/13165588/cream-of-beat-presents-hyphy-2007-w-goldie-nump-rick-rock-more-/\">Hyphy 2007\u003c/a> takes place at Crybaby on May 28, 10 p.m.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"slug": "brett-cook-reflects-on-30-years-of-socially-conscious-art",
"title": "Brett Cook Reflects on 30 Years of Socially Conscious Art",
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"content": "\u003cp>One of the highlights of \u003cem>Reflection & Action\u003c/em>, Brett Cook’s career-spanning exhibit at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts (with choreographer Liz Leman) seeks to make poignant, emotionally-resonant art out of unthinkable tragedy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The Black (W)hole” is an installation of six “Young Ghosts” — people of color from Oakland, all killed before their 32nd birthdays. Cook fashioned ancestor altars for the six subjects – Alex Goodwin Jr., Sahleem Tindle, Sultan Bey, Vernon Eddins Jr., Victor McElhaney, and Yasmeen Vaughan – using oil paint, mirrored plexiglass, wood, dye-infused metal prints, artificial flowers, and string lights. The choice of a mirrored surface is especially appropriate, as viewers can gaze deeply into the portal-like portraits and see their own reflections. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The portraits, adorned with photographs of their subjects from various stages of their brief lives, effectively serve as bridges to the spirit world, and reminders that urban youth of today often face greater trauma than their parents once did. These six Black lives mattered. Honoring their lives is an opportunity to lift up community health by naming them and acknowledging their existence. Some of us knew these six young people. Many of us know people just like them, who were taken too soon. While grief is unavoidable in these situations, there is solace to be found in Cook’s art, which celebrates these unfortunate martyrs while issuing a subliminal call to end the violence on our streets that kills our youth. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928966\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.victor-1020x801.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"640\" height=\"503\" class=\"size-large wp-image-13928966\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.victor-1020x801.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.victor-800x628.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.victor-160x126.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.victor-768x603.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.victor-1536x1206.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.victor.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Brett Cook’s portrait of Victor McElhaney, as part of the ‘The Black (W)hole.’ \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>That the installation serves its intended function was confirmed by a recent visit to the YBCA gallery, where Lynette McElhaney, Victor’s mother and a former Oakland city councilmember, was observed communing with her son’s portrait. McElhaney’s suffering has been the most public of all the Young Ghosts’ mothers; it’s entirely ironic that the founder of Oakland’s Department of Violence Prevention was later personally impacted by violence. She will never be the same again. But on this Thursday afternoon, in a nearly-empty gallery, she appears to be having a therapeutic experience, staring into Victor’s portrait and thinking unspoken words. The installation won’t bring her son back. But it allows her to interact with his image in a deeply spiritual way. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cook’s artistic practice over the past 30-something years has frequently attained these elevated levels of poignance. His journey of creative expression began with a cultural identification with hip-hop, and an attraction to graffiti. Cook went from being a tagger to a piecer, and then a muralist, portraitist and multimedia creator, mastering each step along the way. His art has been intertwined with his work in education, which has added pedagogy, often of a radical nature, to his toolkit. And though he’s exhibited in Europe, completed projects in Mexico, and been part of an avant-garde New York loft scene during the late ’90s and early 2000s, much of his formative years as an artist-educator were shaped by his time in the Bay Area of the early ’80s through mid-’90s. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“When I started painting on walls, there was no hip-hop section at the record store,” Cook remembers, though hip-hop was already an extension of his cultural existence. “I was a popper. I was a writer. I wrote rhymes. And because I could draw good, I started painting on walls. I was painting in San Diego before Beat Street, before Sprite commercials with beats in them. And so there wasn’t even that traditional apprenticeship program, to kind of scaffold what I thought graffiti or hip-hop was supposed to be. It was really just a cultural expression of myself.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928965\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Crayon-800x530.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"530\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928965\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Crayon-800x530.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Crayon-1020x676.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Crayon-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Crayon-768x509.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Crayon.jpg 1089w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘The Crayon,’ spray enamel on masonry (non-permissional\u003cbr>work), Psycho City, Market and Franklin Streets, San Francisco, 1988. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Brett Cook)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Coming of age in hip-hop\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Cook arrived in the Bay Area as a young UC Berkeley undergrad in 1986 – a time when local hip-hop and the graffiti subculture were both in formative stages. During the late ’80s, “there were comic book stores all over Telegraph (Avenue in Berkeley), and people were tagging all around. You could tell what a writer looked like, and you’re still stealing caps from spray fixative shops, from the art stores. For me, that was the burgeoning of the golden age of graffiti here in the Bay.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13926619']Cook studied art classes as an undergrad. But he also got an education in Hip-Hop Community 101. His neighbor in the UC Berkeley dorms was Ben “Beni B” Nickleberry – a hip-hop DJ who would mix records on turntables in his dorm room, whose KALX-FM show featured some of the earliest appearances by Digital Underground, and who would go on to become a founding member of the Bay Area Hip-Hop Coalition and the force behind indie hip-hop label ABB Records. Cook also soon met Dave “Davey D” Cook (no relation), who would go from KALX DJ to KMEL on-air personality to KPFA public affairs host and San Francisco State professor. Cook the art student also played on the lacrosse team with Michael O’Connor, who would later become a nightlife impresario, known for legendary venues Mr. Fives, the Justice League, and the New Parish. He remembers zipping on a scooter with O’Connor to catch shows at Wolfgang’s nightclub.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We’re all just there as part of the same cultural tokens, all these people that became pillars of hip-hop evolution,” Cook says. “That was just part of our social network, you know, we need to call it hip-hop. (But) we were just like, yeah, that’s our folks.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928969\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.self_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"745\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13928969\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.self_.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.self_-160x199.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Self,’ spray enamel on masonry,\u003cbr>non-permissional public work, Fruitvale tracks, Oakland, 1998.\u003cbr>The text reads: ‘The wall is my canvas, the canvas is my message, the message is my theory, the theory is my life.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy Brett Cook)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Back then, aerosol art was regarded as “a pejorative medium,” Cook says. When he started studying painting at UC Berkeley, his art teachers “would not look at this as a legitimate medium. And I understood that as racist. It was almost part of this chip on my shoulder that I had as a young practitioner.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In San Diego, Cook recalls associating hip-hop with Black and brown inner-city communities, and thinking that was what defined hip-hop. The Bay’s multiculturalism threw him for a loop, before becoming part of his milieu. Another compelling aspect was the Bay’s focus on social justice and activism, and the influence of both institutional and non-profit spaces. In addition to hip-hop culture and graffiti style being embraced locally, he says, “this is a place with a mural tradition. This is a place with a public art tradition. There were all these other kind of engines that gave it energy in a unique way.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the late ’80s, he says, the Bay stood out from other regions. “Chicago, Los Angeles and San Francisco were all mural-making centers at that time,” Cook says, but “spray paint was not really embraced the same way it was here.” While New York also had an established mural tradition, and was obviously a major center of hip-hop culture, Cook notes street artists there felt more pressured to go the commercial route. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928959\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.headshot-800x800.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"600\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928959\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.headshot-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.headshot-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.headshot-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.headshot.jpg 1000w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Brett Cook. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Brett Cook)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In the ’90s, Cook threw himself into street art, most of it non-permitted, sometimes collaborating with another artist named Aaron Wade, sometimes piecing on his own. In addition to graffiti’s continued development, all kinds of other public work flourished at the time, in what Cook refers to as “a high-water mark of public art expression.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Institutional support came first from community-oriented nonprofits and cultural centers, and later spread to museums and academic institutions. Early on, he says, the Luggage Store and Mural Resource Center supported emerging artists, as did Precita Eyes, which named Cook “Best New Muralist” for his spray-paint creations in 1993. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[aside postID='arts_13928681']In the mid-’90s, Cook became part of the first wave of Bay Area aerosol artists to exhibit at larger, well-respected institutional spaces, along with Barry “Twist” McGee. Those years were especially vibrant: Cook worked at Southern Exposure as a curator, created murals in Mission District alleys and elsewhere around the city, and still painted at the railroad tracks. “There was a really diverse way of understanding what it meant to be an artist,” he says. “(You) didn’t have to just be a writer, didn’t have to just do portraits, didn’t have to just be in the nonprofit system. That, I think, is part of how I got to manifest in the complexity that I am now.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928962\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.youngghosts-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928962\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.youngghosts-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.youngghosts-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.youngghosts-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.youngghosts-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.youngghosts-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.youngghosts.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A portion of Brett Cook’s ‘Reflection & Action,’ at YBCA. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Voices of the people\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Intentionally, Cook’s portraits at YBCA aren’t overly photorealistic, which would perhaps conceal the human essence of the subjects, the seeming imperfections which reveal character and intangible qualities. Instead, though his portraits utilize photos as starting points, the finished images contain vibrant color palettes imbued with dynamic energy that become windows into the souls of the people Cook paints. The Young Ghosts – all of them joyful and filled with vitality – will be remembered as they were on their best days.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This empathetic connection with his subjects stretches back at least three decades. One of Cook’s first major installations, Homelessness, was completed in 1993 on the exterior of YBCA while the center was under construction. By all accounts, that project – photos of which are included in the current exhibition – was a turning point for the artist. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He recalls applying for the project (“at the time, no one was doing construction walls”) and being accepted, along with Michael Rios and Barry McGee. In those years, SoMA “was really an extension of the Tenderloin at that time,” he says, with working-class and immigrant families alongside unhoused people, who in the public’s perception were an eyesore but not yet an epidemic. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928963\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.YBCA_93-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928963\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.YBCA_93-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.YBCA_93-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.YBCA_93-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.YBCA_93-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.YBCA_93.jpg 1086w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A portion of ‘Homelessness,’ from the YBCA construction wall site.\u003cbr>Spray enamel on wood, Third\u003cbr>and Howard Streets, San Francisco, 1992. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Brett Cook )\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Initially, for the project, Cook “was just going to do portraits with statistics about homelessness, or being unhoused — we didn’t even use that term then. And then somewhere in the process, I got this idea to actually interview the people and use their voices, their quotes. And really, that was the beginning of my 30-year practice.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After graduating from college, Cook moved to New York City in the late ’90s – a vibrant time for the city, with all kinds of cultural immersion opportunities. Headquartered in a live-work loft that he used as a studio, as well as to throw memorable all-night parties, he eased into the NYC art world and was embraced by the city’s hip-hop community. He took part in the first hip-hop exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum, and later exhibited in Europe with Sanford Biggars in another hip-hop-themed exhibition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While his art eschews hip-hop cliches, incorporating hip-hop’s social and cultural sensibilities lent Cook agency. “Doing a project in hip-hop in Brooklyn in 1999, it was an investigation for me to realize like, yeah, really, hip-hop is me,” Cook says. “It’s my culture. It comes from me, from being a Black American exposed to the kind of aesthetic cues and the postmodernist sensibility of what it was and really the expression of my voice at that time.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928964\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Poor_-800x531.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"531\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928964\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Poor_-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Poor_-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Poor_-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Poor_-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Poor_-1536x1019.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Poor_.jpg 1810w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A public project with photos from the 6th Street photography workshop and the Luggage Store. Spray enamel on wood, San Francisco, 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Brett Cook)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Cook’s approach may not sound like the revolutionary counternarrative that it is. “In the history of Western art,” he explains, “the model almost never has a voice. …When you see Gauguin paint those naked ladies in Polynesia, even when you see someone doing a character on a wall somewhere, it’s usually through the filter of the artist (that) you’re hearing about that person. What started for me 30 years ago, and now has kind of evolved, is recognizing that actually, this is an opportunity to magnify this person’s voice, both literally and using quotations from interviews with them.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Examples of this technique inform nearly every aspect of \u003cem>Reflection & Action\u003c/em>. Some of Cook’s subjects are well-known, with a degree of familiarity, celebrity, or at least expertise in their fields. But the majority are unsung figures like Oakland muralist Melanie Cervantes, grounded in community sensibilities and/or a personal aesthetic, who will be unfamiliar to many viewers. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928968\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Bedoya-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928968\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Bedoya-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Bedoya-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Bedoya-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Bedoya-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Bedoya-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Bedoya.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Brett Cook with his portrait of Oakland poet and Cultural Affairs Manager Robert Bedoya at YBCA in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Encountering Cook’s portrait of Roberto Bedoya, the viewer is led to contrast the portrait with its source photo, but also to balance the visual image with quotes about belonging, equity, and culture as important societal values. Awareness of Bedoya’s long history as a progressive Chicano-Latino poet, cultural policy advocate, and current Cultural Affairs Manager for the City of Oakland aren’t prerequisites for allowing his words and likeness to resonate. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“When I think about the conventions of the way people are trained to come into a museum or come into a gallery, there’s not the expectation that they’re supposed to do anything other than consume these passive objects,” he says. His work, however, has been informed “by the crucible of the Bay Area, of having a social justice sensibility, for so much of my life that it wasn’t just enough to make an object.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928958\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.LilBobby-800x435.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"435\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928958\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.LilBobby-800x435.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.LilBobby-1020x555.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.LilBobby-160x87.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.LilBobby-768x418.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.LilBobby.jpg 1500w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Brett Cook’s portrait of Little Bobby Hutton, accompanied by the 10th point of the Black Panthers’ Ten-Point Program, as part of a 2012 Oakland Museum of California installation in collaboration with Life is Living/Reflections of Healing. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Brett Cook)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Art as a healing force\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Healing urban communities of deep-rooted trauma has been a recurring theme of Cook’s work long before “The Black (W)hole.” \u003cem>Reflection & Action\u003c/em> includes a series of portraits done while Cook was living in Harlem in the late ’90 and 2000s that show everyday denizens of the New York neighborhood, which first appeared as public art installations intended to foster an authentic sense of community. Cook’s “Reflections of Healing” series from the 2010s immortalized local legends like former Black Panthers Lil Bobby Hutton — depicted as an angel, with wings — and Joan Tarika Lewis. This series was displayed during the annual Life Is Living festival in West Oakland’s DeFremery Park, which Cook assisted in curating, and has appeared on the exterior wall of the Oakland Museum of California, facing traffic on Lake Merritt Boulevard. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Addressing trauma remains a common theme in hip-hop as well, whether expressed through R.I.P. T-shirts, mural memorials, rapped eulogies, or turf dance tributes. Urban dwellers often have to maintain positivity in less-than-ideal living and environmental conditions, address social, cultural and economic inequity in positive ways, and claim identity separate from being othered.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928957\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Overhead.YBCA_-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928957\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Overhead.YBCA_-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Overhead.YBCA_-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Overhead.YBCA_-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Overhead.YBCA_-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Overhead.YBCA_-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Overhead.YBCA_.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">An installation view of ‘Reflection & Action’ at YBCA. \u003ccite>(Charlie Villyard/YBCA)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>But while hip-hop has leaned in on social, economic and environmental conditions as causes for trauma and PTSD, considerably less emphasis has been placed on finding ways to heal. Cook doesn’t necessarily have all the answers. But he believes members of urban communities who can relate to the struggle do; they may just not know it yet. This is where the “Action” in \u003cem>Reflection & Action\u003c/em> comes in. Cook’s art is not intended to elicit passive participation. It’s a call for an intentional response; to find answers by looking at static-seeming fields like policymaking with creative eyes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cook explains how, a few years ago, he was involved in a collaborative project with SF State and the Health Equity Institute, “looking at public housing in San Francisco and what art and healing existed there, with the idea to support funding and programs through the development of these public housing projects, to give people more access to those things.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The experience cemented a core belief in Cook’s work, and the way art interacts with the world. “I don’t think it’s just about developers,” he says. “It’s policymakers, it’s politicians, it’s educators. Within all of these different sectors, there is the possibility to be more creative with the way that we work.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2017/03/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"400\" height=\"39\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12904247\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/03/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/03/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39-160x16.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/03/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39-240x23.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/03/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39-375x37.jpg 375w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 400px) 100vw, 400px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Reflection & Action’ runs through June 11, 2023, at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts. \u003ca href=\"https://ybca.org/event/brett-cook-liz-lerman-reflection-and-action/\">Details here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>One of the highlights of \u003cem>Reflection & Action\u003c/em>, Brett Cook’s career-spanning exhibit at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts (with choreographer Liz Leman) seeks to make poignant, emotionally-resonant art out of unthinkable tragedy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The Black (W)hole” is an installation of six “Young Ghosts” — people of color from Oakland, all killed before their 32nd birthdays. Cook fashioned ancestor altars for the six subjects – Alex Goodwin Jr., Sahleem Tindle, Sultan Bey, Vernon Eddins Jr., Victor McElhaney, and Yasmeen Vaughan – using oil paint, mirrored plexiglass, wood, dye-infused metal prints, artificial flowers, and string lights. The choice of a mirrored surface is especially appropriate, as viewers can gaze deeply into the portal-like portraits and see their own reflections. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The portraits, adorned with photographs of their subjects from various stages of their brief lives, effectively serve as bridges to the spirit world, and reminders that urban youth of today often face greater trauma than their parents once did. These six Black lives mattered. Honoring their lives is an opportunity to lift up community health by naming them and acknowledging their existence. Some of us knew these six young people. Many of us know people just like them, who were taken too soon. While grief is unavoidable in these situations, there is solace to be found in Cook’s art, which celebrates these unfortunate martyrs while issuing a subliminal call to end the violence on our streets that kills our youth. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928966\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.victor-1020x801.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"640\" height=\"503\" class=\"size-large wp-image-13928966\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.victor-1020x801.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.victor-800x628.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.victor-160x126.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.victor-768x603.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.victor-1536x1206.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.victor.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Brett Cook’s portrait of Victor McElhaney, as part of the ‘The Black (W)hole.’ \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>That the installation serves its intended function was confirmed by a recent visit to the YBCA gallery, where Lynette McElhaney, Victor’s mother and a former Oakland city councilmember, was observed communing with her son’s portrait. McElhaney’s suffering has been the most public of all the Young Ghosts’ mothers; it’s entirely ironic that the founder of Oakland’s Department of Violence Prevention was later personally impacted by violence. She will never be the same again. But on this Thursday afternoon, in a nearly-empty gallery, she appears to be having a therapeutic experience, staring into Victor’s portrait and thinking unspoken words. The installation won’t bring her son back. But it allows her to interact with his image in a deeply spiritual way. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cook’s artistic practice over the past 30-something years has frequently attained these elevated levels of poignance. His journey of creative expression began with a cultural identification with hip-hop, and an attraction to graffiti. Cook went from being a tagger to a piecer, and then a muralist, portraitist and multimedia creator, mastering each step along the way. His art has been intertwined with his work in education, which has added pedagogy, often of a radical nature, to his toolkit. And though he’s exhibited in Europe, completed projects in Mexico, and been part of an avant-garde New York loft scene during the late ’90s and early 2000s, much of his formative years as an artist-educator were shaped by his time in the Bay Area of the early ’80s through mid-’90s. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“When I started painting on walls, there was no hip-hop section at the record store,” Cook remembers, though hip-hop was already an extension of his cultural existence. “I was a popper. I was a writer. I wrote rhymes. And because I could draw good, I started painting on walls. I was painting in San Diego before Beat Street, before Sprite commercials with beats in them. And so there wasn’t even that traditional apprenticeship program, to kind of scaffold what I thought graffiti or hip-hop was supposed to be. It was really just a cultural expression of myself.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928965\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Crayon-800x530.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"530\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928965\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Crayon-800x530.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Crayon-1020x676.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Crayon-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Crayon-768x509.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Crayon.jpg 1089w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘The Crayon,’ spray enamel on masonry (non-permissional\u003cbr>work), Psycho City, Market and Franklin Streets, San Francisco, 1988. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Brett Cook)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Coming of age in hip-hop\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Cook arrived in the Bay Area as a young UC Berkeley undergrad in 1986 – a time when local hip-hop and the graffiti subculture were both in formative stages. During the late ’80s, “there were comic book stores all over Telegraph (Avenue in Berkeley), and people were tagging all around. You could tell what a writer looked like, and you’re still stealing caps from spray fixative shops, from the art stores. For me, that was the burgeoning of the golden age of graffiti here in the Bay.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>Cook studied art classes as an undergrad. But he also got an education in Hip-Hop Community 101. His neighbor in the UC Berkeley dorms was Ben “Beni B” Nickleberry – a hip-hop DJ who would mix records on turntables in his dorm room, whose KALX-FM show featured some of the earliest appearances by Digital Underground, and who would go on to become a founding member of the Bay Area Hip-Hop Coalition and the force behind indie hip-hop label ABB Records. Cook also soon met Dave “Davey D” Cook (no relation), who would go from KALX DJ to KMEL on-air personality to KPFA public affairs host and San Francisco State professor. Cook the art student also played on the lacrosse team with Michael O’Connor, who would later become a nightlife impresario, known for legendary venues Mr. Fives, the Justice League, and the New Parish. He remembers zipping on a scooter with O’Connor to catch shows at Wolfgang’s nightclub.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We’re all just there as part of the same cultural tokens, all these people that became pillars of hip-hop evolution,” Cook says. “That was just part of our social network, you know, we need to call it hip-hop. (But) we were just like, yeah, that’s our folks.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928969\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.self_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"745\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13928969\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.self_.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.self_-160x199.jpg 160w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘Self,’ spray enamel on masonry,\u003cbr>non-permissional public work, Fruitvale tracks, Oakland, 1998.\u003cbr>The text reads: ‘The wall is my canvas, the canvas is my message, the message is my theory, the theory is my life.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy Brett Cook)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Back then, aerosol art was regarded as “a pejorative medium,” Cook says. When he started studying painting at UC Berkeley, his art teachers “would not look at this as a legitimate medium. And I understood that as racist. It was almost part of this chip on my shoulder that I had as a young practitioner.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In San Diego, Cook recalls associating hip-hop with Black and brown inner-city communities, and thinking that was what defined hip-hop. The Bay’s multiculturalism threw him for a loop, before becoming part of his milieu. Another compelling aspect was the Bay’s focus on social justice and activism, and the influence of both institutional and non-profit spaces. In addition to hip-hop culture and graffiti style being embraced locally, he says, “this is a place with a mural tradition. This is a place with a public art tradition. There were all these other kind of engines that gave it energy in a unique way.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the late ’80s, he says, the Bay stood out from other regions. “Chicago, Los Angeles and San Francisco were all mural-making centers at that time,” Cook says, but “spray paint was not really embraced the same way it was here.” While New York also had an established mural tradition, and was obviously a major center of hip-hop culture, Cook notes street artists there felt more pressured to go the commercial route. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928959\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.headshot-800x800.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"600\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928959\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.headshot-800x800.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.headshot-160x160.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.headshot-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.headshot.jpg 1000w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Brett Cook. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Brett Cook)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In the ’90s, Cook threw himself into street art, most of it non-permitted, sometimes collaborating with another artist named Aaron Wade, sometimes piecing on his own. In addition to graffiti’s continued development, all kinds of other public work flourished at the time, in what Cook refers to as “a high-water mark of public art expression.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Institutional support came first from community-oriented nonprofits and cultural centers, and later spread to museums and academic institutions. Early on, he says, the Luggage Store and Mural Resource Center supported emerging artists, as did Precita Eyes, which named Cook “Best New Muralist” for his spray-paint creations in 1993. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>In the mid-’90s, Cook became part of the first wave of Bay Area aerosol artists to exhibit at larger, well-respected institutional spaces, along with Barry “Twist” McGee. Those years were especially vibrant: Cook worked at Southern Exposure as a curator, created murals in Mission District alleys and elsewhere around the city, and still painted at the railroad tracks. “There was a really diverse way of understanding what it meant to be an artist,” he says. “(You) didn’t have to just be a writer, didn’t have to just do portraits, didn’t have to just be in the nonprofit system. That, I think, is part of how I got to manifest in the complexity that I am now.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928962\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.youngghosts-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928962\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.youngghosts-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.youngghosts-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.youngghosts-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.youngghosts-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.youngghosts-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.youngghosts.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A portion of Brett Cook’s ‘Reflection & Action,’ at YBCA. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Voices of the people\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Intentionally, Cook’s portraits at YBCA aren’t overly photorealistic, which would perhaps conceal the human essence of the subjects, the seeming imperfections which reveal character and intangible qualities. Instead, though his portraits utilize photos as starting points, the finished images contain vibrant color palettes imbued with dynamic energy that become windows into the souls of the people Cook paints. The Young Ghosts – all of them joyful and filled with vitality – will be remembered as they were on their best days.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This empathetic connection with his subjects stretches back at least three decades. One of Cook’s first major installations, Homelessness, was completed in 1993 on the exterior of YBCA while the center was under construction. By all accounts, that project – photos of which are included in the current exhibition – was a turning point for the artist. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He recalls applying for the project (“at the time, no one was doing construction walls”) and being accepted, along with Michael Rios and Barry McGee. In those years, SoMA “was really an extension of the Tenderloin at that time,” he says, with working-class and immigrant families alongside unhoused people, who in the public’s perception were an eyesore but not yet an epidemic. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928963\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.YBCA_93-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928963\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.YBCA_93-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.YBCA_93-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.YBCA_93-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.YBCA_93-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.YBCA_93.jpg 1086w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A portion of ‘Homelessness,’ from the YBCA construction wall site.\u003cbr>Spray enamel on wood, Third\u003cbr>and Howard Streets, San Francisco, 1992. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Brett Cook )\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Initially, for the project, Cook “was just going to do portraits with statistics about homelessness, or being unhoused — we didn’t even use that term then. And then somewhere in the process, I got this idea to actually interview the people and use their voices, their quotes. And really, that was the beginning of my 30-year practice.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After graduating from college, Cook moved to New York City in the late ’90s – a vibrant time for the city, with all kinds of cultural immersion opportunities. Headquartered in a live-work loft that he used as a studio, as well as to throw memorable all-night parties, he eased into the NYC art world and was embraced by the city’s hip-hop community. He took part in the first hip-hop exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum, and later exhibited in Europe with Sanford Biggars in another hip-hop-themed exhibition.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While his art eschews hip-hop cliches, incorporating hip-hop’s social and cultural sensibilities lent Cook agency. “Doing a project in hip-hop in Brooklyn in 1999, it was an investigation for me to realize like, yeah, really, hip-hop is me,” Cook says. “It’s my culture. It comes from me, from being a Black American exposed to the kind of aesthetic cues and the postmodernist sensibility of what it was and really the expression of my voice at that time.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928964\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Poor_-800x531.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"531\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928964\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Poor_-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Poor_-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Poor_-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Poor_-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Poor_-1536x1019.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Poor_.jpg 1810w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A public project with photos from the 6th Street photography workshop and the Luggage Store. Spray enamel on wood, San Francisco, 1993. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Brett Cook)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Cook’s approach may not sound like the revolutionary counternarrative that it is. “In the history of Western art,” he explains, “the model almost never has a voice. …When you see Gauguin paint those naked ladies in Polynesia, even when you see someone doing a character on a wall somewhere, it’s usually through the filter of the artist (that) you’re hearing about that person. What started for me 30 years ago, and now has kind of evolved, is recognizing that actually, this is an opportunity to magnify this person’s voice, both literally and using quotations from interviews with them.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Examples of this technique inform nearly every aspect of \u003cem>Reflection & Action\u003c/em>. Some of Cook’s subjects are well-known, with a degree of familiarity, celebrity, or at least expertise in their fields. But the majority are unsung figures like Oakland muralist Melanie Cervantes, grounded in community sensibilities and/or a personal aesthetic, who will be unfamiliar to many viewers. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928968\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Bedoya-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928968\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Bedoya-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Bedoya-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Bedoya-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Bedoya-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Bedoya-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Bedoya.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Brett Cook with his portrait of Oakland poet and Cultural Affairs Manager Robert Bedoya at YBCA in San Francisco. \u003ccite>(Eric Arnold)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Encountering Cook’s portrait of Roberto Bedoya, the viewer is led to contrast the portrait with its source photo, but also to balance the visual image with quotes about belonging, equity, and culture as important societal values. Awareness of Bedoya’s long history as a progressive Chicano-Latino poet, cultural policy advocate, and current Cultural Affairs Manager for the City of Oakland aren’t prerequisites for allowing his words and likeness to resonate. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“When I think about the conventions of the way people are trained to come into a museum or come into a gallery, there’s not the expectation that they’re supposed to do anything other than consume these passive objects,” he says. His work, however, has been informed “by the crucible of the Bay Area, of having a social justice sensibility, for so much of my life that it wasn’t just enough to make an object.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928958\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.LilBobby-800x435.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"435\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928958\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.LilBobby-800x435.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.LilBobby-1020x555.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.LilBobby-160x87.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.LilBobby-768x418.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.LilBobby.jpg 1500w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Brett Cook’s portrait of Little Bobby Hutton, accompanied by the 10th point of the Black Panthers’ Ten-Point Program, as part of a 2012 Oakland Museum of California installation in collaboration with Life is Living/Reflections of Healing. \u003ccite>(Courtesy Brett Cook)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch2>Art as a healing force\u003c/h2>\n\u003cp>Healing urban communities of deep-rooted trauma has been a recurring theme of Cook’s work long before “The Black (W)hole.” \u003cem>Reflection & Action\u003c/em> includes a series of portraits done while Cook was living in Harlem in the late ’90 and 2000s that show everyday denizens of the New York neighborhood, which first appeared as public art installations intended to foster an authentic sense of community. Cook’s “Reflections of Healing” series from the 2010s immortalized local legends like former Black Panthers Lil Bobby Hutton — depicted as an angel, with wings — and Joan Tarika Lewis. This series was displayed during the annual Life Is Living festival in West Oakland’s DeFremery Park, which Cook assisted in curating, and has appeared on the exterior wall of the Oakland Museum of California, facing traffic on Lake Merritt Boulevard. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Addressing trauma remains a common theme in hip-hop as well, whether expressed through R.I.P. T-shirts, mural memorials, rapped eulogies, or turf dance tributes. Urban dwellers often have to maintain positivity in less-than-ideal living and environmental conditions, address social, cultural and economic inequity in positive ways, and claim identity separate from being othered.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13928957\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Overhead.YBCA_-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13928957\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Overhead.YBCA_-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Overhead.YBCA_-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Overhead.YBCA_-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Overhead.YBCA_-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Overhead.YBCA_-1536x1024.jpg 1536w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2023/05/BR.Overhead.YBCA_.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">An installation view of ‘Reflection & Action’ at YBCA. \u003ccite>(Charlie Villyard/YBCA)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>But while hip-hop has leaned in on social, economic and environmental conditions as causes for trauma and PTSD, considerably less emphasis has been placed on finding ways to heal. Cook doesn’t necessarily have all the answers. But he believes members of urban communities who can relate to the struggle do; they may just not know it yet. This is where the “Action” in \u003cem>Reflection & Action\u003c/em> comes in. Cook’s art is not intended to elicit passive participation. It’s a call for an intentional response; to find answers by looking at static-seeming fields like policymaking with creative eyes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cook explains how, a few years ago, he was involved in a collaborative project with SF State and the Health Equity Institute, “looking at public housing in San Francisco and what art and healing existed there, with the idea to support funding and programs through the development of these public housing projects, to give people more access to those things.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The experience cemented a core belief in Cook’s work, and the way art interacts with the world. “I don’t think it’s just about developers,” he says. “It’s policymakers, it’s politicians, it’s educators. Within all of these different sectors, there is the possibility to be more creative with the way that we work.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/app/uploads/sites/2/2017/03/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"400\" height=\"39\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12904247\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/03/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/03/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39-160x16.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/03/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39-240x23.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/03/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39-375x37.jpg 375w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 400px) 100vw, 400px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Reflection & Action’ runs through June 11, 2023, at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts. \u003ca href=\"https://ybca.org/event/brett-cook-liz-lerman-reflection-and-action/\">Details here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"order": 1
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"code-switch-life-kit": {
"id": "code-switch-life-kit",
"title": "Code Switch / Life Kit",
"info": "\u003cem>Code Switch\u003c/em>, which listeners will hear in the first part of the hour, has fearless and much-needed conversations about race. Hosted by journalists of color, the show tackles the subject of race head-on, exploring how it impacts every part of society — from politics and pop culture to history, sports and more.\u003cbr />\u003cbr />\u003cem>Life Kit\u003c/em>, which will be in the second part of the hour, guides you through spaces and feelings no one prepares you for — from finances to mental health, from workplace microaggressions to imposter syndrome, from relationships to parenting. The show features experts with real world experience and shares their knowledge. Because everyone needs a little help being human.\u003cbr />\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/510312/codeswitch\">\u003cem>Code Switch\u003c/em> offical site and podcast\u003c/a>\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/lifekit\">\u003cem>Life Kit\u003c/em> offical site and podcast\u003c/a>\u003cbr />",
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"commonwealth-club": {
"id": "commonwealth-club",
"title": "Commonwealth Club of California Podcast",
"info": "The Commonwealth Club of California is the nation's oldest and largest public affairs forum. As a non-partisan forum, The Club brings to the public airwaves diverse viewpoints on important topics. The Club's weekly radio broadcast - the oldest in the U.S., dating back to 1924 - is carried across the nation on public radio stations and is now podcasting. Our website archive features audio of our recent programs, as well as selected speeches from our long and distinguished history. This podcast feed is usually updated twice a week and is always un-edited.",
"airtime": "THU 10pm, FRI 1am",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Commonwealth-Club-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
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"meta": {
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"source": "Commonwealth Club of California"
},
"link": "/radio/program/commonwealth-club",
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cDovL3d3dy5jb21tb253ZWFsdGhjbHViLm9yZy9hdWRpby9wb2RjYXN0L3dlZWtseS54bWw",
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},
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"id": "forum",
"title": "Forum",
"tagline": "The conversation starts here",
"info": "KQED’s live call-in program discussing local, state, national and international issues, as well as in-depth interviews.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 9am-11am, 10pm-11pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Forum-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED Forum with Mina Kim and Alexis Madrigal",
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"order": 9
},
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM5NTU3MzgxNjMz",
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"freakonomics-radio": {
"id": "freakonomics-radio",
"title": "Freakonomics Radio",
"info": "Freakonomics Radio is a one-hour award-winning podcast and public-radio project hosted by Stephen Dubner, with co-author Steve Levitt as a regular guest. It is produced in partnership with WNYC.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/news/wp-content/uploads/sites/10/2018/05/freakonomicsRadio.png",
"officialWebsiteLink": "http://freakonomics.com/",
"airtime": "SUN 1am-2am, SAT 3pm-4pm",
"meta": {
"site": "radio",
"source": "WNYC"
},
"link": "/radio/program/freakonomics-radio",
"subscribe": {
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/freakonomics-radio/id354668519",
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/podcasts/WNYC-Podcasts/Freakonomics-Radio-p272293/",
"rss": "https://feeds.feedburner.com/freakonomicsradio"
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},
"fresh-air": {
"id": "fresh-air",
"title": "Fresh Air",
"info": "Hosted by Terry Gross, \u003cem>Fresh Air from WHYY\u003c/em> is the Peabody Award-winning weekday magazine of contemporary arts and issues. One of public radio's most popular programs, Fresh Air features intimate conversations with today's biggest luminaries.",
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"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Fresh-Air-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
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"meta": {
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"link": "/radio/program/fresh-air",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?s=143441&mt=2&id=214089682&at=11l79Y&ct=nprdirectory",
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"info": "A live production of NPR and WBUR Boston, in collaboration with stations across the country, Here & Now reflects the fluid world of news as it's happening in the middle of the day, with timely, in-depth news, interviews and conversation. Hosted by Robin Young, Jeremy Hobson and Tonya Mosley.",
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"rss": "https://feeds.npr.org/510051/podcast.xml"
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},
"hidden-brain": {
"id": "hidden-brain",
"title": "Hidden Brain",
"info": "Shankar Vedantam uses science and storytelling to reveal the unconscious patterns that drive human behavior, shape our choices and direct our relationships.",
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"airtime": "SUN 7pm-8pm",
"meta": {
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"source": "NPR"
},
"link": "/radio/program/hidden-brain",
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},
"how-i-built-this": {
"id": "how-i-built-this",
"title": "How I Built This with Guy Raz",
"info": "Guy Raz dives into the stories behind some of the world's best known companies. How I Built This weaves a narrative journey about innovators, entrepreneurs and idealists—and the movements they built.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/news/wp-content/uploads/sites/10/2018/05/howIBuiltThis.png",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.npr.org/podcasts/510313/how-i-built-this",
"airtime": "SUN 7:30pm-8pm",
"meta": {
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},
"link": "/radio/program/how-i-built-this",
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"npr": "https://rpb3r.app.goo.gl/3zxy",
"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/how-i-built-this-with-guy-raz/id1150510297?mt=2",
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"hyphenacion": {
"id": "hyphenacion",
"title": "Hyphenación",
"tagline": "Where conversation and cultura meet",
"info": "What kind of no sabo word is Hyphenación? For us, it’s about living within a hyphenation. Like being a third-gen Mexican-American from the Texas border now living that Bay Area Chicano life. Like Xorje! Each week we bring together a couple of hyphenated Latinos to talk all about personal life choices: family, careers, relationships, belonging … everything is on the table. ",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/03/Hyphenacion_FinalAssets_PodcastTile.png",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/hyphenacion",
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"order": 15
},
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"spotify": "https://open.spotify.com/show/2p3Fifq96nw9BPcmFdIq0o?si=39209f7b25774f38",
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},
"jerrybrown": {
"id": "jerrybrown",
"title": "The Political Mind of Jerry Brown",
"tagline": "Lessons from a lifetime in politics",
"info": "The Political Mind of Jerry Brown brings listeners the wisdom of the former Governor, Mayor, and presidential candidate. Scott Shafer interviewed Brown for more than 40 hours, covering the former governor's life and half-century in the political game – and Brown has some lessons he'd like to share. ",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/The-Political-Mind-of-Jerry-Brown-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/jerrybrown",
"meta": {
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"order": 18
},
"link": "/podcasts/jerrybrown",
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},
"latino-usa": {
"id": "latino-usa",
"title": "Latino USA",
"airtime": "MON 1am-2am, SUN 6pm-7pm",
"info": "Latino USA, the radio journal of news and culture, is the only national, English-language radio program produced from a Latino perspective.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/04/latinoUsa.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "http://latinousa.org/",
"meta": {
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},
"link": "/radio/program/latino-usa",
"subscribe": {
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?s=143441&mt=2&id=79681317&at=11l79Y&ct=nprdirectory",
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"rss": "https://feeds.npr.org/510016/podcast.xml"
}
},
"marketplace": {
"id": "marketplace",
"title": "Marketplace",
"info": "Our flagship program, helmed by Kai Ryssdal, examines what the day in money delivered, through stories, conversations, newsworthy numbers and more. Updated Monday through Friday at about 3:30 p.m. PT.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 4pm-4:30pm, MON-WED 6:30pm-7pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Marketplace-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.marketplace.org/",
"meta": {
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"source": "American Public Media"
},
"link": "/radio/program/marketplace",
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"rss": "https://feeds.publicradio.org/public_feeds/marketplace-pm/rss/rss"
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},
"masters-of-scale": {
"id": "masters-of-scale",
"title": "Masters of Scale",
"info": "Masters of Scale is an original podcast in which LinkedIn co-founder and Greylock Partner Reid Hoffman sets out to describe and prove theories that explain how great entrepreneurs take their companies from zero to a gazillion in ingenious fashion.",
"airtime": "Every other Wednesday June 12 through October 16 at 8pm (repeats Thursdays at 2am)",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Masters-of-Scale-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://mastersofscale.com/",
"meta": {
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"source": "WaitWhat"
},
"link": "/radio/program/masters-of-scale",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "http://mastersofscale.app.link/",
"rss": "https://rss.art19.com/masters-of-scale"
}
},
"mindshift": {
"id": "mindshift",
"title": "MindShift",
"tagline": "A podcast about the future of learning and how we raise our kids",
"info": "The MindShift podcast explores the innovations in education that are shaping how kids learn. Hosts Ki Sung and Katrina Schwartz introduce listeners to educators, researchers, parents and students who are developing effective ways to improve how kids learn. We cover topics like how fed-up administrators are developing surprising tactics to deal with classroom disruptions; how listening to podcasts are helping kids develop reading skills; the consequences of overparenting; and why interdisciplinary learning can engage students on all ends of the traditional achievement spectrum. This podcast is part of the MindShift education site, a division of KQED News. KQED is an NPR/PBS member station based in San Francisco. You can also visit the MindShift website for episodes and supplemental blog posts or tweet us \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/MindShiftKQED\">@MindShiftKQED\u003c/a> or visit us at \u003ca href=\"/mindshift\">MindShift.KQED.org\u003c/a>",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Mindshift-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED MindShift: How We Will Learn",
"officialWebsiteLink": "/mindshift/",
"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 12
},
"link": "/podcasts/mindshift",
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM1NzY0NjAwNDI5",
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"stitcher": "https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/stories-teachers-share",
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}
},
"morning-edition": {
"id": "morning-edition",
"title": "Morning Edition",
"info": "\u003cem>Morning Edition\u003c/em> takes listeners around the country and the world with multi-faceted stories and commentaries every weekday. Hosts Steve Inskeep, David Greene and Rachel Martin bring you the latest breaking news and features to prepare you for the day.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 3am-9am",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Morning-Edition-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.npr.org/programs/morning-edition/",
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"link": "/radio/program/morning-edition"
},
"onourwatch": {
"id": "onourwatch",
"title": "On Our Watch",
"tagline": "Deeply-reported investigative journalism",
"info": "For decades, the process for how police police themselves has been inconsistent – if not opaque. In some states, like California, these proceedings were completely hidden. After a new police transparency law unsealed scores of internal affairs files, our reporters set out to examine these cases and the shadow world of police discipline. On Our Watch brings listeners into the rooms where officers are questioned and witnesses are interrogated to find out who this system is really protecting. Is it the officers, or the public they've sworn to serve?",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/On-Our-Watch-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "On Our Watch from NPR and KQED",
"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/onourwatch",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "kqed",
"order": 11
},
"link": "/podcasts/onourwatch",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "https://podcasts.apple.com/podcast/id1567098962",
"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5ucHIub3JnLzUxMDM2MC9wb2RjYXN0LnhtbD9zYz1nb29nbGVwb2RjYXN0cw",
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"stitcher": "https://www.stitcher.com/show/on-our-watch",
"rss": "https://feeds.npr.org/510360/podcast.xml"
}
},
"on-the-media": {
"id": "on-the-media",
"title": "On The Media",
"info": "Our weekly podcast explores how the media 'sausage' is made, casts an incisive eye on fluctuations in the marketplace of ideas, and examines threats to the freedom of information and expression in America and abroad. For one hour a week, the show tries to lift the veil from the process of \"making media,\" especially news media, because it's through that lens that we see the world and the world sees us",
"airtime": "SUN 2pm-3pm, MON 12am-1am",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/04/onTheMedia.png",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.wnycstudios.org/shows/otm",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "wnyc"
},
"link": "/radio/program/on-the-media",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/on-the-media/id73330715?mt=2",
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/radio/On-the-Media-p69/",
"rss": "http://feeds.wnyc.org/onthemedia"
}
},
"pbs-newshour": {
"id": "pbs-newshour",
"title": "PBS NewsHour",
"info": "Analysis, background reports and updates from the PBS NewsHour putting today's news in context.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 3pm-4pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/PBS-News-Hour-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.pbs.org/newshour/",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "pbs"
},
"link": "/radio/program/pbs-newshour",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/pbs-newshour-full-show/id394432287?mt=2",
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/radio/PBS-NewsHour---Full-Show-p425698/",
"rss": "https://www.pbs.org/newshour/feeds/rss/podcasts/show"
}
},
"perspectives": {
"id": "perspectives",
"title": "Perspectives",
"tagline": "KQED's series of daily listener commentaries since 1991",
"info": "KQED's series of daily listener commentaries since 1991.",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/Perspectives_Tile_Final.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED Perspectives",
"officialWebsiteLink": "/perspectives/",
"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 14
},
"link": "/perspectives",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/id73801135",
"npr": "https://www.npr.org/podcasts/432309616/perspectives",
"rss": "https://ww2.kqed.org/perspectives/category/perspectives/feed/",
"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly93dzIua3FlZC5vcmcvcGVyc3BlY3RpdmVzL2NhdGVnb3J5L3BlcnNwZWN0aXZlcy9mZWVkLw"
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},
"planet-money": {
"id": "planet-money",
"title": "Planet Money",
"info": "The economy explained. Imagine you could call up a friend and say, Meet me at the bar and tell me what's going on with the economy. Now imagine that's actually a fun evening.",
"airtime": "SUN 3pm-4pm",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/04/planetmoney.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.npr.org/sections/money/",
"meta": {
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"source": "npr"
},
"link": "/radio/program/planet-money",
"subscribe": {
"npr": "https://rpb3r.app.goo.gl/M4f5",
"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/planet-money/id290783428?mt=2",
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/podcasts/Business--Economics-Podcasts/Planet-Money-p164680/",
"rss": "https://feeds.npr.org/510289/podcast.xml"
}
},
"politicalbreakdown": {
"id": "politicalbreakdown",
"title": "Political Breakdown",
"tagline": "Politics from a personal perspective",
"info": "Political Breakdown is a new series that explores the political intersection of California and the nation. Each week hosts Scott Shafer and Marisa Lagos are joined with a new special guest to unpack politics -- with personality — and offer an insider’s glimpse at how politics happens.",
"airtime": "THU 6:30pm-7pm",
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