Last spring, a collective sigh of relief spread throughout the Baltimore music community when it was announced that the Ottobar, the beloved, rough-and-tumble rock club in Remington and a local institution for the past two decades, would be purchased by its longtime bar manager, Tecla Tesnau.

Just six months earlier, it went up for sale, leaving fans of all ages wondering what it would mean for the city’s cultural landscape if that small black room and dimly lit dance floor was no longer packed with sweaty bodies. Or worse, if the graffitied walls were painted over to become just another slick venue without the same gritty heart and soul.

Behind the bar since its inception downtown on Davis Street, Tesnau had seen the Ottobar through many changes over the past 23 years, from the digitization of the music industry to the gentrification of Baltimore—none of which would prepare her, of course, for what would arrive six months after she took over, when the novel coronavirus swept around the world and left a sea of shuttered concert halls in its wake.

“After I got handed the keys, we were running full tilt, 100 miles per hour, setting records left and right, the lineup was absolutely stellar—even my accountant at one point was like, ‘Good work, kid,’ which is high praise from someone who is usually all about the books,” says Tesnau on a Tuesday afternoon in late September. “Then, boom, COVID landed, and we hit an absolute cinderblock wall. We got knocked on our ass.”

Since early March, the Ottobar stage has stood mostly empty. No crowds have gathered beneath its sparkling disco ball. No feet have dangled from the second-floor balcony. No lines have wrapped out the door, down the alleyway, and around the corner onto Howard Street. The bar is tidy, the barstools tucked in, not a drop of liquor spilled on the floor beneath them for months.

Shortly after the first case of COVID-19 arrived in Maryland, Governor Larry Hogan announced restrictions on public gatherings, first limiting groups to 250 people—half of the Ottobar’s capacity—then 50, then 10, before a statewide lockdown. For most venues, the weeks that followed meant navigating the quagmire of canceled concerts, refunded ticket sales, unemployment applications, and gathering paperwork for the Small Business Administration’s Paycheck Protection Program.

“We were literally building the airplane as we were flying it, and are still continuing to do so,” says Tesnau. “The space feels so different now. It smells better, for one—I’ve taken to cleaning it a lot. But it’s cavernous, absolutely cavernous. I can’t tell you how much I miss having music in there. Honestly, if I had known that last show was going to be our last, I would’ve been in the mosh pit, too.”

Much like restaurants, the very existence of music venues—particularly small, independent clubs that don’t have the parent companies or shareholders of those in cahoots with conglomerates like Live Nation and AEG—was upended this year as, overnight, their entire business model became virtually obsolete.

Suddenly, COVID-19 made concert-going as we know it simply unsafe, with the virus spread through respiratory droplets, be it coughing or singing, plus close proximity and indoor environments increasing the risk of transmission. Tours were called off, and venues became some of the first businesses to close.

“No one knew then what extreme toll the virus was going to take on the music industry at large,” says Tesnau. “It has absolutely decimated and devastated the music industry. And it’s this massive trickle down.”

“A lot of people don’t realize how many people work in this industry,” says Abigail Janssens, owner of The 8×10 in Federal Hill. “It goes from the artists to the bus drivers who drive them to the tractor trailers who carry the equipment to the people who load the stage to the sound engineers, the light technicians, the box-office person, the security, the bartenders. It takes many, many people to put on a show.” (Not to mention that for every $1 spent on a ticket at independent venues, an estimated $12 is generated within local economies on restaurants, hotels, transportation, and retail.)

Janssens and her husband, Brian Shupe, took over their tiny Cross Street stage in 2005, breathing new life into the live music staple that dates back to the 1980s, when it hosted the likes of Nirvana and the Red Hot Chili Peppers before they were famous. The couple added multi-night residencies and cemented the venue as a hidden gem for both local and national rock-spectrum talent. Their last show was on March 12, the same day that Governor Hogan announced his first restrictions, causing them to cancel the final round of the Charm City Bluegrass Festival’s Battle of the Bands the next evening.

“We’ve been closed ever since,” says Janssens, who called off some 100 shows through September. “Our space is so small. There’s almost no way to socially distance, and I’d be devastated if anybody came in and got sick or spread the virus to other people. No way did I think we were going to be shut down for more than a couple weeks, a few months at most.”

 

“NO WAY DID I THINK WE’D BE SHUT DOWN FOR MORE THAN A FEW MONTHS AT MOST.”

 

It has now been nine months since her staff was laid off, joining the millions of Americans who went on unemployment this year due to COVID-19. And although she received the PPP and took out a small-business loan, she has still had to take another job in order to keep the lights on at The 8×10, which was already an uphill battle prior to the pandemic, as it is for many independent club owners.

“We’re definitely not in a business to become millionaires,” says Janssens. “It’s very, very tough. There are fans that come and go, there are bands that move on from a small venue—which is great for them. Being closed, we still have to pay $12,000 a month just for bills: rent, insurance, utilities, and all the other things that go along with owning a business. Now we’re almost out of the money from our loan, and it’s starting to get scary.”

The coming months will be critical for these clubs, with cold weather forcing the world back indoors, and spiking COVID-19 cases causing cities and states to clamp down again. It is estimated that 90 percent of independent venues will close permanently within the next few months without financial help from the federal government, according to the National Independent Venue Association (NIVA), a recently established advocacy group. They are currently lobbying Congress to pass the Save Our Stages Act, which would establish a $10-billion grant program for this portion of the industry.

Locally, Governor Hogan announced state-wide emergency funding for live entertainment venues in late October, with grants up to $500,000. But even with this vital aid, without a vaccine distributed widely in the near future, and with Maryland once again in a state of emergency, the situation remains precarious.

“I feel terrible for some venues who are struggling to decide whether they should get out now or wait,” says Janssens. “Luckily, we’ve been in business for 15 years. We have good credit and were able to secure a loan. Otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to make it either. I’m saying this hoping to be open by next spring at the latest. If it goes on longer than that, then we might be in trouble.”

So far, no Baltimore venues have announced permanent closure, but the two-year-old Soundry shuttered in Columbia in July, and the decade-old U Street Music Hall went dark in D.C. in October. Several spaces, like Joe Squared, a live music respite for 15 years on North Avenue, and The Sidebar, a veteran punk club around the corner from City Hall, remain temporarily closed. As does Rituals, a DIY newcomer that opened just last summer in the former Windup Space, whose owner, Émile Weeks, described the waiting game as “moving through stages of grief.”

“Seeing so many clubs teetering on the brink of bankruptcy breaks your heart,” says Sam Sessa, Baltimore music coordinator at WTMD. “These spaces are part of what makes Baltimore’s music scene one of the best in the nation. Their loss would be a huge blow.”

Without ticket sales, not to mention food and drink—an important source of revenue for many venues—some have been able to stay afloat through alternative outlets. The Crown in Station North has shifted operations into its secondary restaurant space downstairs, with the club’s bouncer, Tony MacDonald, still checking IDs, but now also temperatures. The Ottobar, with its alleyway patio, and the Creative Alliance, with its roving Sidewalk Serenades, were able to utilize the outdoors during warm weather.

Others have tried their hands at smaller indoor concerts as Maryland entered new stages of its coronavirus recovery plan this fall. At press time, however, Baltimore City has just reverted to Phase One, with venues now allowed to operate at only 25 percent capacity, including staff. This creates an economic pickle for smaller spaces who have to decide if those numbers make any financial sense.

“Fifty people doesn’t even begin to pay a band, and is it worth it for my bartenders to come in and possibly get sick for nothing that they’re used to making?” says Janssens, whose 8×10 typically holds 250 people.

“It’s going to help us maintain, but it’s still a very big challenge to keep hanging on,” says Adam Savage, music manager at Baltimore Soundstage, which launched limited-seating concerts at its downtown venue that typically holds 1,000 people. He also works at the Metro Gallery in Station North, which has remained closed since March, as it’s difficult to social distance in a 240-person room.

Still, it is uncertain whether or not audiences will even feel comfortable coming back inside. The Keystone Korner in Harbor East and Cat’s Eye Pub in Fells Point have already had some initial success—and Ticketmaster is now toying with the idea of verifying COVID test results and vaccination statuses before admittance to shows in 2021, which may be the way of the future—but for the time being, it’s not for everyone. “It’s unfortunate, but I don’t think people feel comfortable, and I don’t feel comfortable having a band on our stage, and I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon,” says Tesnau.

For that, there has been a sort of second digital renaissance within the industry. Several years back, albums moved onto the internet, forever changing the way we consume music. Now, artists themselves have shifted to social media, with virtual concerts becoming the new way for performers big and small to reach fans in the comforts of their own homes.

Every Tuesday since late March, singer-songwriter Cris Jacobs has taken to Facebook Live for at-home concerts, accepting online tips to support his family and out-of-work band and crew. Rapper DDm and indie-rockers Future Islands also released new records via video performances, while dozens of jazz and classical artists, like Warren Wolf and Lafayette Gilchrist, have beamed out sets via YouTube through Mount Vernon’s An Die Musik. And audiences are tuning in, not just in Baltimore, but from across the globe.

“There’s definitely a democratization that’s happened to performance during this pandemic, which is wonderful—we’re all competing for the same eyeballs,” says Josh Kohn, performance director at the Creative Alliance, whose Virtual Front Row livestream series, featuring local artists such as Lea Gilmore and Super City, has evolved into a hybrid in-person offering. “But it leaves the question: what is the role of a venue right now, when you can’t put people in a room together?”

 

“WHAT IS THE ROLE OF A VENUE WHEN YOU CAN’T PUT PEOPLE IN A ROOM TOGETHER?”

 

It also raises the question of longevity. Artists and venues are making investments into livestream technologies, like better sound and camera equipment, but most acknowledge the reality of screen fatigue, perhaps due in part to an increasingly technology-tied world in quarantine. Even more likely, it’s because online performances miss something harder to grasp or define—that kinetic electricity of a tiny room reverberating with sound.

“There’s just this vibration during a live performance that you can’t replicate in any other way,” says Kohn. “There’s an energy and a magic when something powerful happens in front of a group of people together. Personally, I came to the Creative Alliance because I love that room. I really miss it.”

Of course, the absence of venues has also had an immense impact on the musicians themselves, who use these stages to not only make a living but also hone their craft and feed off the exchange with a live audience.

“I’m used to it now, but the first few weeks, there was just silence after I played a song, which was really strange,” Cris Jacobs told us this summer. “Playing [virtual] shows made me realize just how much I do miss live music. It’s what I’ve done for so long. Until it’s gone, you maybe don’t realize all the ways it served you, and everybody.”

In recent years, one venue in particular, The Crown, has become a pivotal proving ground for a diverse array of DIY artists, with the small blue room and main red room serving as stepping stones to bigger clubs. This is where Abdu Ali started their iconic Kahlon parties back in 2013 that helped put Baltimore’s music scene on the map and launch the avant-garde rapper on a trajectory toward indie stardom.

“So many young, new artists come through there—it’s really one of the last underground venues in America, as gentrification has hit cities so hard so that places like The Crown literally cannot exist,” says Ali, who also tips their hat to Metro Gallery and mentions the important work that more venues need to do to nurture marginalized creatives. “It’s very important for artists to have the comfort of knowing they have a space where they can do their thing in their city, in their community, in their own backyard.”

For now, for the foreseeable future, most music venues will stay closed, as many states shut down, and the reopening of businesses remaining a point of national debate. In last-ditch efforts to buy more time, the Ottobar and 8×10 launched GoFundMe campaigns this fall, receiving an outpouring of community support, and perhaps a glimmer of hope.

“There is still a huge hunger for live music in people’s lives,” says Savage, who helped Soundstage put on drive-in concerts at the Frederick Fairgrounds this summer. “We’ve been gathering around drums in caves since the very beginning. Live music is part of human existence. It’s something we need on an absolute fundamental level. It just can’t go away.”

Typically, New Year’s Eve goes one of two ways. Either you keep it casual and watch the ball drop from the comfort of someone’s living room or you dress to the nines and head out for an extravagant evening on the town. But part of the beauty of being in Baltimore on December 31 is that there are plenty of opportunities to do something that falls somewhere in between.

If you want to go out without getting too fancy, you can hit up a neighborhood bar or head to a concert at an intimate venue. Or, if the goal is to do something outside of the box, there’s even a dog-themed dance party and a Divine-inspired fête.

From dinners and dance parties to open-bar bashes and big she-bangs, here are our picks for the best ways to ring in 2019.

PUB PARTIES

One Star Country Club

This Federal Hill favorite is known to get rowdy after an Orioles or Ravens win, and we can only imagine the energy will be exactly the same when the clock strikes twelve. One Star is inviting revelers to pregame for the big moment with a premium open bar from 9-10 p.m. for $10. Afterwords, enjoy a complimentary champagne toast at midnight and cash bar until 2 a.m. 38 E. Cross St. 9 p.m.-2 a.m. $5-15

Sir Duke Bar & Liquor Store

The drinks will be flowing at this artsy Fells Point hangout, which is opening all three bars for a two-floor dance party with DJs spinning all night. Attendees who buy tickets early will be able to roll up and skip the line when they arrive. 701 S. Bond St. 9 p.m.-4 a.m. $10

The Chasseur

Head up to the third-floor skybar at this Canton corner spot to ring in 2019 with friends and neighbors. Admission to The Chassuer’s annual party includes passed hors d’oeuvres, party favors (who doesn’t love a shiny headband?), and plenty of bubbly at midnight. 3328 Foster Ave. 10 p.m.-1 a.m. $40

Hair of the Dog

South Baltimore watering hole Hair of the Dog is pulling an all-nighter with festivities running until 8 a.m. on New Year’s Day. The main event begins at 9 p.m. with $40 open-bar access that includes live music spun by DJ Eden, and a full-blown buffet by chef Kenya Butler. The spot will open to the public at 1 a.m., and keep the party going until sunrise. 1649 S. Hanover St. 9 p.m.-8 a.m. $40

Alexander’s Tavern

Alexander’s in Fells Point is going all out with bottomless eats and drinks from 9 p.m.-1 a.m. Line your stomach with buffet fare like crab dip, soft pretzels, gourmet pizzas, signature tots, and mac and cheese while indulging in open bar access all night. 710 S. Broadway. 9 p.m.-1 a.m. $65

MIDNIGHT MUSIC

Big Vibe NYE 2018 at The Crown
Mr. 14th, D.K. the Punisher, and other surprise guest performers will be providing the soundtrack for this New Year’s Eve rager. Take advantage of the positive energy and start your year on a high note at The Crown, which is offering pay-what-you-want tickets until the night of the event. The Crown. 1910 N. Charles St. 9 p.m.-3 a.m. $5-10 at the door.

New Queer’s Eve at the Windup Space
Say goodbye to 2018 at this all-night show spotlighting bands from the local LGBTQ community. The lineup features favorites like experimental rockers Joseph & The Beasts, Manners Manners, Sybling, and Dreambush. The Windup Space. 12 W. North Ave. 8 p.m.-1 a.m. $10

A Mobtown New Year’s Eve
The annual soiree at Mobtown Ballroom in Pigtown will begin with cocktails and live jazz before guests make their way to the dance floor for Sarah Sullivan and the Honey Guzzlers. Other live entertainment throughout the evening will include burlesque performances and post-midnight DJ music. 861 Washington Blvd. 7 p.m. $50

2 K9 TEEN: BROS New Year’s Eve Bash
A group of Baltimore greats—including Outcalls, DJ Pancakes, and Joe Keyes and the Late Bloomer Band—are set to take the stage at this dog-themed dance party hosted by the Baltimore Rock Opera Society (BROS). In between the tail-wagging sets, BROS members will be performing their best tricks for (human) treats. Ottobar. 2549 N. Howard St. 9 p.m. $20

NYE Soul Train ’69 at the Creative Alliance
It might be 2019 at midnight, but the Creative Alliance is hosting this funk-fueled bash for anyone who wants to travel back in time 50 years. Get down to Motown jams by DJ Landis Expandis, DJ Rob Macy, and The Jonathan Gilmore Experience, who will be covering James Brown, The Supremes, and everything in between. Creative Alliance. 3134 Eastern Ave. 8:30 p.m.-3 a.m. $30-35

Better Off Dead New Year’s Eve Bash

Rock out to familiar Grateful Dead and Jerry Garcia anthems with local tribute band Better Off Dead at The 8 x 10. An opening set by progressive funk collective Squaring the Circle will get the party started off right. The 8 x 10. 10 E. Cross St. 8 p.m.-1:30 a.m. $30

FIREWORKS FESTIVITIES

Baltimore’s New Year’s Eve Spectacular
Gather around the Inner Harbor Amphitheater for live music and dance performances before the annual fireworks display at midnight. The nearby Pandora Ice Rink will be open until 12:30 a.m. for those hoping to catch the show while practicing their triple axel tricks. Inner Harbor. 9 p.m.- 12:30 a.m. Free

Wit & Wisdom

It’s going to be a bittersweet evening at this seven-year-old staple inside the Four Seasons Baltimore in Harbor East. New Year’s Eve marks the restaurant’s final night of service as it prepares to transition into a new concept, but it’s going out with a bang. Enjoy light bites and a ringside seat to the fireworks show while toasting Wit’s run. 200 International Drive. 8:30 p.m. $250

Minnow
Not only is this Riverside seafood spot offering a Mediterranean-inspired prix-fixe menu on New Year’s Eve, but it’s also hosting a rooftop soiree for guests who have other dinner plans. The party starts with hors d’oeuvres, beer, and wine in the bar at 10 p.m., followed by a trip up to the roof just before midnight to watch the fireworks light up the sky. 2 E. Wells St. 10 p.m.-12:30 a.m. $60

Vida Taco Bar

Vida is celebrating its first-ever New Year’s Eve in Harbor Point accordingly with all-you-can-eat street tacos, oysters, shrimp, ceviche, crudite, and more. There will also be an open bar (with plenty of tequila) and live music by DJ Rolo. The best part? The spot is surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows with killer views of the Inner Harbor fireworks. 1401 Point St. 9 p.m.-1:30 a.m. $100-125

Constellation Deck Party

Climb aboard the Inner Harbor’s USS Constellation for unlimited gourmet eats, picture-perfect views of the fireworks, and, of course, plenty of bubbly to go around at midnight. Pier 1, E. Pratt St. $25-85

BAR-HOPPING BASHES

Barcocina and Bond Street Social
Hop back and forth between these sister spots overlooking the water in Fells Point. A $40 ticket includes admission to both bars, passed bites, noisemakers, and a champagne toast at midnight. 1629 Thames St. 9 p.m.-2 a.m. $40

NYE: Charles Street Block Party
South Charles Street neighbors Bandito’s, Wayward, and 101 Baltimore are hosting this joint celebration in Federal Hill. Dance your way into the New Year at all three bars, which will offer three-hour open bar access and plenty of light fare to keep you going well past midnight. “Fast Pass” ticket options are available for those who want to jump the lines. 1117-1118 S. Charles St. 9 p.m.-1 a.m. $79

New Year’s Eve at Tagliata, The Elk Room, and Italian Disco
The cluster of Atlas Restaurant Group concepts on Fleet Street in Harbor East are coming together to throw one massive party. Wander around to enjoy piano music at Tagliata, a full jazz band at The Elk Room, and live DJ entertainment at Italian Disco—which will also air the Times Square ball drop on its big screens. All of the eateries will offer bottomless eats and drinks. 1012 Fleet St. 7 p.m.-3 a.m. $175

NYE: Live 2019
Make your way around 10 different bars inside Power Plant Live to take advantage of all-inclusive eats and drinks with live music at each venue. The downtown nightlife district is also hosting an epic countdown with lasers, confetti, and tons of balloons. 34 Market Place. 9 p.m. $95

FANCY FOOD

A Divine Pretty in Pink New Year’s Eve at Encantada
The whimsical restaurant inside the American Visionary Art Museum is dedicating its New Year’s bash to the legendary Divine with pops of pink, a themed buffet, and open bar access. There will also be a live DJ, photo booth, and Divine impersonator to make it a New Year’s Eve for the books. 800 Key Highway. 8 p.m.-12:30 a.m. $130

Charleston

Treat yourself to an elegant, prix-fixe meal prepared by chef Cindy Wolf at this waterfront destination in Harbor East. The restaurant is offering two seatings, both including four savory courses and dessert. 1000 Lancaster St. 5:30 p.m. & 8:30 p.m. $149-319

La Cuchara

Chef Ben Lefenfeld is whipping up a four-course, Basque-inspired meal with dishes such as bluefin tuna crudo, duck magret with huckleberry jus, rockfish with heirloom carrots, and banana rum cake with coconut buttercream. 3600 Clipper Mill Rd, Ste. 125. 5 p.m.-12 a.m. $99

Cosima
Before those New Year’s resolutions go into effect, spend your final meal of 2018 eating Italian comfort foods at this Woodberry restaurant. Chef Donna Crivello’s special menu highlights roasted butternut squash bisque with duck confit, stuffed branzino with lobster couscous, porcini-crusted tenderloin, and a chocolate chestnut cake with sweet mascarpone. 3000 Falls Rd. $100-135

Chez Hugo
A seven-course menu of innovative French fare is in store for diners at this downtown bistro. The meal will begin with crab cakes and sunchoke hummus before chef Steve Monnier moves on to serve carrot tartare with radishes and sorrel, halibut in gremolata butter, and duck breast with persimmon jam. 206 E. Redwood St. 5-11 p.m. $85

Gertrude’s Chesapeake Kitchen
Chef John Shields’ 20-year-old favorite at the Baltimore Museum of Art is taking on a supper club vibe for the big night, offering two seatings at 5:30 p.m. and 9 p.m. Both will include vegan and vegetarian options, and live jazz and guitar music. Dishes to look out for include lobster bisque, baked wild oysters, rockfish imperial, seafood linguine, and chocolate toffee crunch pie. 10 Art Museum Drive, 5 p.m.-12 a.m. $49-95

Rye Street Tavern
Foodies will flock to this Port Covington party featuring buffet fare around every corner. Spend the final hours of 2018 indulging in endless passed canapes, fried chicken, carved meats, and raw bar favorites. Rye Street is even devoting an entire room to desserts. Other highlights will include live music and a champagne toast overlooking the water at midnight. 13 Rye St. 7 p.m.-1:30 p.m. $140

BIG BLOWOUTS

New Year’s Eve Masquerade Ball at the Sagamore Pendry

Throw on a vintage mask and head to the luxury hotel on Broadway Pier in Fells Point for a Venetian-themed evening. Sip unlimited drinks, snack on light bites, and dance in the historic ballroom before watching the fireworks blast over the water. 1715 Thames St. 9 p.m.-2 a.m. $139

New Year’s Eve Party and 90th Birthday Bash at the Lord Baltimore
To celebrate its 90th birthday, the Lord Baltimore Hotel is paying homage to its roots with a live swing band in the historic Calvert Ballroom. The combined birthday and New Year’s Eve celebration will also feature a spread of oysters and hors d’oeuvres, as well as holiday cocktails and French sparkling wine at midnight. A portion of all ticket proceeds will benefit the Baltimore National Heritage Area. 20 W. Baltimore St. 9 p.m.-2 a.m. $75

The Bygone Ball
There’s nothing quite like the panoramic views from the 29th floor of the Four Seasons Baltimore. Bygone will be celebrating in style with a black-tie ball offering premium open bar service, and a standing buffet with caviar, raw bar staples, and a meat-carving station. 400 International Drive, 29th floor. 7 p.m.-3 a.m. $375

Charm City Countdown: Midnight in Hollywood
Pose for cameras on the red carpet before entering this massive affair at the Hilton Baltimore in Linthicum. Equipped with 12 different party areas—including its own silent disco—the Los Angeles-inspired blowout will feature unlimited eats and drinks, five regional DJs, and a festive balloon drop at midnight. A portion of proceeds will benefit local charities CityFam and Caring Communities. Hilton Baltimore BWI. 1739 W. Nursery Rd. Linthicum Heights. 8 p.m.-2 a.m. $109

EAT

June 9: Feastival

Sandlot, 1000 Wills St. 12-4 p.m. $65-5,000. 410-628-0795.

All you need to make a difference this weekend is an appetite. On Saturday, head to Sandlot, Harbor Point’s buzzy waterfront oasis, for an all-you-can-taste foodie fundraiser to benefit the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation of Maryland. With your toes in the sand, sample eats from the event’s stellar lineup of local vendors, including Blue Pit BBQ, The Charmery, and Wit & Wisdom, and sip on free-flowing cocktails made by the Baltimore Bartenders Guild.

DRINK

June 9: The Ready Room Grand Opening

Old Line Spirits, 4201 E. Pratt St. 5 p.m.-12 a.m. Free. 443-218-9984.

Since opening its doors last February, Old Line Spirits has become a popular destination for local whiskey and rum connoisseurs. This Friday, founders Mark McLaughlin and Arch Watkins will celebrate the grand opening of the Highlandtown hoochery’s full-service cocktail bar with libations made from their award-winning spirits. Soak up the specialty cocktails, sample bites from chef Nancy Longo of Pierpoint Restaurant, and revel in the city’s first-ever distillery bar.

SEE

June 9: Baltimore Floatilla

Canton Waterfront Park, 3001 Boston St. 8 a.m.-2 p.m. $40. 443-743-3308.

The Waterfront Partnership’s Healthy Harbor Initiative is making a big impact on our local waterways—we might be able to swim in the Inner Harbor by 2020—but there’s still plenty of work to be done. This Saturday, do your part by paddling as part of a kayak and canoe fleet dressed in Baltimore-inspired costumes as it glides from Canton Waterfront Park to the Inner Harbor to benefit local restoration efforts. Don’t have your own vessel? Show your support from the shoreline with banners and cheer during its annual rally and after party to continue the fight for clean waters.

HEAR

June 9: The Crown Five-Year Anniversary Party

The Crown, 1910 N. Baltimore St. 8 p.m.-1:30 a.m. Free. 410-625-4848.

It feels like we blinked and five years of killer karaoke and all-night dance parties flew by at this Station North arts staple. To celebrate a half-decade of shows, screenings, events, and the city’s DIY arts scene, The Crown will host a packed lineup including a medley of local musical acts like R&B duo Chiffon, clubby singer-songwriter Hunter Hooligan, electronic pop artist Micah E. Wood, and psychedelic rockers Bubble Wand, plus Detroit’s futuristic noise group The Imaginatron. Just be sure not to miss Brendan Sullivan, the venue’s former manager and Weekends bandmate when he returns from New York for a homecoming set.

DO

June 9-10: Honfest

W. 36th St., Hampden. Sat. 11 a.m.-10 p.m., Sun. 12-6 p.m. Free.

This weekend, Bawlmer’s pride and joy turns 25 and is only getting better with age, hon! Get gussied up in your wildest feather boas and bejeweled shades for this annual two-day festival that honors the city’s historic working-class women with a can’t-miss block party. On Saturday and Sunday, stroll through the streets of Hampden to hear live music by local acts, like Soul Cannon and J Pope and the HearNow, browse through dozens of eclectic craft vendors, and, of course, cheer on your favorite Hon in the annual “Best Hon” competition.

Jessica Hyman is one of the most hardworking DJs in Baltimore. As her moniker, Trillnatured, she has made a name for herself as a master of feel-good grooves, appearing on dynamic bills from The Crown to The Baltimore Museum of Art, even cementing her own monthly dance party, Version, as a vital part of the Baltimore arts scene for its dedication to and celebration of the queer community. We sat down with the lauded Balti Gurls artist to discuss her musical upbringing, discovering her passion, and giving back to the youth. The next Version kicks off Saturday, May 12, at The Crown, at 10 p.m. Next month, she will also host a special Baltimore Pride edition on June 16.  

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You grew up outside of the city?
I grew up in Harford County, which is a red county—it’s conservative, it’s white, it’s farmland, at least up top. In the middle of the county, you’ve got Edgewood, which is where I grew up, and Aberdeen, which are browner, blacker, and include a lot of folks who moved out from the city. I went to an almost predominantly black school, but if I’d lived on the other side of a particular street, I would have gone to one of the predominantly white schools. My adolescence would have been a lot different. That’s where I got into club music and listening to 92Q.  

You’ve talked about not discovering hip-hop until middle school. What was your initiation?
When I was a kid, because I attended a mostly white elementary school, I was listening to Spice Girls, N’Sync, Ace of Base. Then one day, when I was like 10 or 11, I was in the car with a friend who was listening to 92Q. “Big Willy Style” by Will Smith was on. I was like, ‘Woah, what is this?!’ From there, I just went back and learned all the music and fell in love with ’90s hip-hop and R&B.
 

Was your family musical?
My dad was always playing music. He listened to everything, but his favorites were, and are, Luther Vandross, Sade, Phyllis Hyman, Regina Belle. Those artists are really special to me. But as my brother and I started listening to hip-hop, he would listen to what we were listening to, too. He was always on top of it—the cool dad. I think that’s where my love for collecting music came from.  

Even before I started DJing, I was borrowing CDs from my friends, copying them on the computer, and putting them on my iPod. I’d listen to the radio and if I didn’t know a song—this was before Shazam—I’d write it down then get on Limewire. I’d stay up late and just download all night. I loved gathering music and playing it for other people. If there was a cookout at my grandmother’s house or Christmas dinner, they’d tell me to bring my iPod.  

As you got older, did you start going to see live music yourself?
My first show probably wasn’t until undergrad, when I started going out. But the important time is when I decided to come out, because that’s when I started going to the Hippo and the Paradox and watching all the DJs. The first time I approached a DJ was at the Hippo. Her name was DJ eXeL, and she’d fill in for DJ Rosie every once in a while. I went up to her after the party was over and asked if I could come stand in the booth and watch her play next week. I just became enamored by the dopeness of it all. I was drawn to it.
 

Do you think coming out inspired you to pursue this newfound passion?
That was a time of developing confidence and a new sense of self. It was also awesome to see another queer woman DJing. If I didn’t have those experiences at the Hippo, I don’t know if I would have paid attention or connected to that whole experience.  

How did you make the transition into DJing yourself?
I had just been sitting on it, but a couple of years later, I finally decided to try it. In 2014, I bought a controller with a refund check. DJ eXeL gave me some tips and taught me how to count beats, and from there, I watched a lot of YouTube videos and learned the fundamentals. I learned blending and transitions. I got a couple books and read about the history of dance music and discos. I didn’t learn on vinyl, so I don’t play traditionally, but the most important thing is you being able to read and talk to the crowd. My goal is just to refine my skills. Four years feels like a minute but it’s still early in my career. I have to remind myself of that. I started playing for a certain reason and I have my own trajectory.
 

How would you describe your sound or style?
I’m not a genre DJ. I play everything. I mix club music in with hip hop and R&B and stuff you wouldn’t expect, like Avril Lavigne. I like to be unpredictable. I’m always thinking about music all the time. I can’t even listen to music like normal people because I get so excited. I have an endless note in my phone with songs that come into my head as I’m walking or that I hear coming out of somebody’s car.  

You put a lot of those songs on display at Version, your dance party which is now in its second year with at The Crown. How did that come to be?
I had been playing at The Crown every now and then, and in January 2017, I got the opportunity to start a new residency. I did it for a year before deciding to make it a queer party. I shied away from it for a little while; I thought it might pigeonhole me or have an effect on the crowd volume. But when the anniversary was coming up this year, I thought, let me go for this.  I needed to be more intentional about declaring what kind of space it was. It was a hole that needed to be filled; an explicitly queer party, by a queer DJ, does not exist, at least not at The Crown. And it works. Kotic Couture has been an awesome partner. He’s a classic MC. He’s just really good at what he does. The vibe feels better. And it’s continuing to grow. This month, I’ll be bringing in Tomi Yeyo from D.C., and in June, it’s usually the second Saturday of the month, but I worked it out to be on the Saturday of Baltimore Pride, which will be awesome.  

You also now teach young people through Baltimore Youth Arts.
This is the first time I’m connecting my youth work with the arts. I’ve worked at CCBC as an academic coach, in Student Life, as an Outward Bound counselor, but now I’m doing community arts. BYA has its own studio in the old Platform Gallery space, where the youth participate in programming or just drop in to hang out. They also have a couple of partnerships. I’ve been at the Lillian Jones Rec Center in Sandtown for a few months now. I set up in a room and kids just come in and work with me. There are a few consistent ones who are really feeling it. A lot of them are really young, like elementary school, but they pick up on things really quickly. I’m working on figuring out how to give them skills that actually stick. It’s my favorite part of the week. At the end of the spring, I’ll start at the juvenile jail downtown, doing classes once a week. After I get my master’s in social work, I’ll actually be able to do my own programs. I’m so close, I just gotta finish.  

Do you think you learn better through experience?
Things didn’t really start meaning anything to me until I got out of school and started making connections. I majored in gender studies in undergrad but I was just reading the books and talking the talk. It didn’t really resonate or ignite anything in me. Now that I’m part of Balti Gurls—going around talking about being a queer woman and what that means to me personally and building a platform for other queer folks—it all clicks. Balti Gurls has helped me come into my identity as an artist. I didn’t really feel like I was one, or that I fit into the scene. But being part of a women-of-color artist collective means not only that I see myself as an artist but that other people do, too. That’s where I started building my sense of community, not feeling so alone in the music scene with a bunch of guys.  

You meet your girlfriend, Jenné Afiya, through Balti Gurls. Do you inspire each other through your art?
It’s been interesting to work closely with someone that I’m dating. She’s very supportive, even just in the sense of showing up and being there. Sometimes I’ll get in the dumps about a bad show, or about not getting booked, and she’ll just talk me out of it and encourage me. I’m definitely hard on myself; that’s a thing for a lot of performers.  

What are some areas for growth that you still see within the local scene?
Venues and resources. Baltimore has such a rich artist scene, but we need to pay more attention to each other and prop each other up more than just pulling all our best artists out a couple times a year for big things like Light City. We need that support all the time. The Crown is very special for that; I see that continuing on and becoming a legendary place. It already is a legendary place. But we’re still sort of segregated. I want us to come together more. I see myself continuing to build with Balti Gurls, continuing to work with youth, taking my platform and using it to give back. Hopefully I make a couple new DJs out of it.

On the eve of their fifth birthday, Natural Velvet has released a stellar new album, their second with local label Friends Records, and it is everything we wanted and more. On each track, the post-punk quartet shows up with a pure, raw energy that’s packed with searing guitar, thunderous drums, and the wild howl of frontwoman Corynne Ostermann. 

As they tackle themes like femininity, identity, and rage, the band careens between melodies that are dark and brooding or bright and loud as a hot strike of lightning. It’s the kind of music that, as Ostermann puts it, blooms, the more you listen, even as a black rose on the vine. We talked with her about their new songs, band gangs, and villainesses like Cruella de Vil.

How long have you been working on this new album, Mirror To Make You?
Corynne Ostermann, lead singer and bassist, pictured far right: There was a natural break at the end of the last record, She Is Me, because it came out in September 2015, and by October, I had lost my long-term relationship, as well as the home I was sharing with that person, and a good friend from high school, who died overnight. I think everyone had a really rough 2016, and I would say mine started in late 2015 and I’m still just trying to push through it. The music was my natural reaction to the world trying to cut me down. 

At the end of the day, I knew what I wanted to write about. I wanted to write about this specific feminine rage, which is something that doesn’t get any play within popular culture. I wanted to talk about both the over-the-top camp aspect of that feminine rage, but I also wanted to humanize it in a way. From there, it was just fitting the puzzle pieces where they needed to go.

Was writing these songs cathartic?
Yes and no. Anytime we perform them, I’m re-experiencing that rage. I also think there are a lot of people out there, especially feminine people, who don’t allow themselves the right to anger because it’s not culturally sanctioned. Masculinity, sure—you can be angry and break things and be hardcore—but it was very much a learned thing for me. I grew up evangelical Christian and there’s a lot of unlearning that had to go with that. Allowing myself to be angry and dark and brooding took years of practice. You can still be soft and feminine and pretty but also angry. Anger and rage can be positive influences. They can signal change—like a calling to arms—where you have to express yourself but also step back and ask, ‘Okay, how do I fix this? How do I make my place right in the universe?’

I was also learning to identify with these overly camp feminine icons of film and pop culture. A lot of it was based off of me repeatedly watching Faye Dunaway as Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest. And Sailor Moon cartoons, where the villainess is like, ‘You’ll never defeat me.’ Ultimately I’d be sad at the end when the protagonist would win over the antagonist because they were so much more fabulous and well dressed and way more fun to watch. Another great example of this is Glenn Close as Cruella de Vil in 101 Dalmations. You love it when she’s sitting in her chair yelling at her subordinates. It was super cathartic for me to watch these films and write these lyrics based within that kind of femininity because it’s pretty much private revenge fantasy. [Laughs.] 

Ultimately the goal is to talk about these realities of living while also still having fun. At the end of the day, I’m an entertainer. I want people to enjoy this record. I don’t want to make them have a bad day. But I do want there to be something for them to chew on. 

Have you always been interested in that deconstructing the concept of femininity? 

I am a trained painter and I’ve been working with the concept of aggressive femininity for years, specifically related to pop culture. Give me Paris Hilton and Britney Spears with a shaved head in 2007 or give me nothing. Painting has always been a feminist battleground from the get-go. The painting department at the Maryland Institute College of Art is also like bro-zone USA. [As a student there,] I was an out feminist, making work within this hyper masculine culture, so I had to defend myself. 

Having been raised religious in the Midwest during the Bush years, by the time I figured out that I was a feminist, I was pretty saturated in it. I was a high schooler with a copy of Simone de Beauvoir’s Second Sex. I also minored in Gender Studies at MICA.

How do you share concepts with your bandmates?
My bandmates have their own inspiration and we have our own little band culture and language, as all bands do. Bands are pretty much glorified street gangs. But my band mates are people of color and also queer people, and I have to contend with the fact that I am a white woman, writing about feminism. Ultimately I’m writing about my perspectives—nobody else’s—because I couldn’t pretend to speak for them. 

Instrumentally, we write all of the songs together. The majority of the time, they’re jammed out in the basement. We’re blessed that we’re all good friends and we hang out outside of band time. Just the other day, we went over to Greg’s [Hatem, drummer] and did a double feature of John Waters’ films that Spike [Arreaga, guitarist] had never seen. We started the band so young—I was 21—and we’ve all seen each other go through so many different phases.

Speaking of friends, Mirror To Make You is your second album with local label Friends Records. How does it feel to be a part of that musical family?
We are incredibly blessed to be able to work with Friends. Jimmy [MacMillan, owner] is one of the good guys. He looks out for each band on the label and his active roster is on the smaller side so you get a lot of individual attention. It has been instrumental in allowing us to grow.

They have nurtured such a nest of diverse local talent. 
I was at a talk last night at The Crown where they were interviewing younger artists. The word ‘artist’ had such a connotation to them. They were like, ‘We just need to be respected,’ and I’m like, you also have to understand that ‘the artist’ is the product of the community in which you’re based. Future Islands does this particularly well. They have always been very local  and have really favored working with local bands and artists. 

Like Beth Hoeckel and Lesser Gonzales for past album art, and Post Typography for their current tour posters.
They’ve always given back to the community. We would be nothing as a band if it weren’t for working with the community and playing on bills with all of these local artists and musicians. There’s accountability in Baltimore, especially with the art scene being so small. You can’t be shitty. You have to take care of your neighbors. 

Now that it’s out there, how do you feel about this new album?
I did have to give myself some distance, but when I finally came back to it, it made me extremely happy. Is it perfect? No, not by my standards at least, but there is an utter freshness that is present only in this record. It’s also sonically the most well produced record we’ve made at this point because we recorded with Martin Bisi in New York. I mean, Sonic Youth, Lydia Lunch—the giganticness of that room, the history of that room, our excitement to play, plus getting to work with Rob Girardi back here in Baltimore at WrightWay Studios. Rob is unbelievably talented; he knows how to keep a big fat sound without crushing the bloom of it. 

Do you have any favorite songs?
“It’s All Mine” is probably the most direct—I’d call it more or less the manifesto of the record. “Kristina” is probably the purest song on the record. I love that one. My friend Kristina is my BFF from college and I had not seen her for three-and-a-half years. The idea of writing a love song makes my skin crawl, like ew, barf, and I was thinking it would be way more relevant to write this song of longing and love for a friend, because those are the people who are going to stick with you longer than anyone else. 

Speaking of “It’s All Mine,” that video was so wild and fun.
That started off as a complete joke. It was born out of being stuck in a van with my band mates for too long. But it was a great shoot—I was crying and laughing the whole time. 

You’ve mentioned that it was partially inspired by the 1953 film, Gentleman Prefer Blondes.
I love Jane Russell in that film because she plays a very specific trope, which is the sassy brunette. And the script for that was written and acted out before the Hays code was reversed, so it’s loaded with innuendo, completely inappropriate for the 1950s, and unbelievably campy. I mean, you know she’s not trying to find love on that cruise ship full of the Olympic gymnastic team . . . And the beautiful part of this is, every man in that synchronized gymnast scene in flesh-toned swim trunks definitely wasn’t interested in what she was selling anyways! There’s only one instance in our entire video when I’m touched by one of the guys, and that’s when I’m thrown into the pool, and there’s a reason for that. I ultimately didn’t want to function as a sex object, where I’m being looked upon by the camera in this male-gazey kind of way. I wanted my character to function as the aggressor, the person who objectifies. I was the feminine grotesque. The anti-diva. 

It really was a feminine fantasy, with the glitter and the gold swimsuits and the aquamarine pool.
It was also really body positive in its own way. If you can at least feel comfortable enough in your own skin to drink a beer and ride an elliptical for a few hours on film, that’s great. If that makes you feel good, thank you for jumping on the trampoline.

Meet Abdu Ali, the young prince of Baltimore Club, or the breakbeat genre that fuses hip-hop, house music, and choppy, looping samples into a frenetic dance party. The 24-year-old city native grew up on the sound, living in central Baltimore’s Orchard Mews Apartments, attending Booker T. Washington Middle and magnet high school Baltimore City College, before earning a degree in creative writing at the University of Baltimore last year. By that point, he’d been making music for two years and had already started to garner a solid reputation as both a bold, unbridled artist who champions and pushes forward Bmore Club, and also as the mastermind behind Kahlon, the exceedingly popular, monthly, underground dance party at The Crown. Now, on the heels of his new Best Of mix tape and at the end of his “Keep Movin” tour, we talk with Ali about the future of Kahlon, his upcoming album, a new festival, and about always carrying Baltimore on his back. He performs his tour finale at The Crown on March 26.

So you were living in Brooklyn for a while last year, but you’re back in Baltimore?
I moved back a couple months ago. I’m a traveler, you know, I tour a lot.

Did you like Brooklyn?
I love Brooklyn. I love the energy. I love the vibe, but as far as lifestyle, it wasn’t worth the compromise. I went because, as a musician or creative, you feel like the Big Apple is the harbor, and in order to prosper, you have to go to there. I had just graduated from college and had no obligations so I thought that was the best place to be for what I wanted to do. I came back because that wasn’t the case.

Was Baltimore pulling you back home to it while you were up there?
I was pulling myself back. Sometimes you can outthink things. Before I went, I didn’t really look at the true benefits of being an artist while staying in Baltimore, especially in a place that’s my hometown. My urge to go to Brooklyn was more superficial and idealistic, but it definitely taught me a lot. It taught me to hustle, and about hard work, and to get stuff done.

Before you released your first mix tape, Invictos, in 2012, you’d never written any music before, but you did dabble in poetry?
Poetry, journalism, I had my own blog where I spotlighted local artists. I went through all the mediums I thought I’d love to do, but they weren’t completely satisfying. Then I got the urge to start doing music. It was something I’d never thought I wanted to do, but deep inside, I always saw myself as a performer, so I tried it, and it just kept flowing.

Did performing always come naturally for you? Seeing you now, you’d think you never had a nervous bone in your body
[Laughs]. I don’t know where the hell it came from, but it did come weirdly naturally. I was in the middle school choir and took some acting classes with the TWIGS program at Baltimore School for the Arts. It might have come from there, but to be honest, it just came. When I first started, I wasn’t as confident as I am now. I’m still not as confident as I probably can be.

Is performing just as rewarding for you as making the music?
They go hand in hand. It’s just as much my responsibility to perform, as it is to deliver music. It’s all one medium to me. What is music that can’t be performed or visceral to a crowd of people when you playing to them? It brings it all together.

Your performances have garnered such a following in Baltimore. How does that feel? It must be kind of strange.
People leave Baltimore for places like New York with this sort of bitterness or resentment towards it, like, Aw, you can’t make it there, you can’t be creative there, you gotta go somewhere else. To be in a city where people have that attitude, it feels really good, because I proved them wrong. Like, no, you can do it. You can be a creative. You can have people support you. In New York, a lot of people are disposable or just come and go, but in Baltimore, the people who love me or love what I do, it’s feels more genuine. It’s long lasting. It’s family. I feel really, really, really proud to have that kind of support in my hometown. I’ve especially seen that with Kahlon. Every time we threw it, the crowd just got bigger and bigger. It’s been beautiful to watch it grow in a city like Baltimore—where a lot of people doubt things, but where things like Kahlon, or artists like me, can be pioneers.

Did you have any idea Kahlon would turn into the sort of underground institution it’s become?
I’m an optimist, so I definitely envisioned it becoming big because that’s what I wanted, but it’s still shocking to see it actually happen. It’s like it’s own entity now. People are coming from D.C., Philly, New York, just for the party.

Are you going to keep throwing them?
Slowly but surely, we’ve been trying to build a good reputation and following, and I haven’t told anybody this yet, but the goal is to turn Kahlon into a festival. We’re actually starting to move in that direction. Another goal is to have it traveling. A lot of people hit me up like, Yo, you need to bring Kahlon to Philly, D.C., New York, so over the summertime, I plan to do that.

How would you evolve the party and still keep the heart of it?
I’ll figure that out. I definitely want to keep the vibe and aesthetic of an underground party, with Baltimore Club, a lot of electronic music, maybe some rap and punk, R&B. It would definitely be indoors and probably an extended one-day festival, like a long party—5 or 6 hours. I’m drawing inspiration from what I hear is happening in Berlin, where they last for entire weekends. I want it to have the vibe of this different world you go into for a moment, where you get an experience that knocks you off your feet, and then you leave like what the hell just happened. I’ll probably bring like a few national and international acts into it, but it will still have a handful of Baltimore artists on the bill. That was my main reason of starting Kahlon in the first place. I wanted to create a substantial platform for Baltimore musicians to perform, showcase their work, and get exposure to a really good audience who will support and follow up on them.

You’ve had the likes of Dan Deacon, Al Rogers, and Baltimore Club forefather Scottie B, among others. You bring a lot of local people on board with your music, too.
I definitely hold Baltimore on my back, because Baltimore Club music is so universal and so powerful and it’s really important to me. Its something I grew up on; it’s a part of my narrative not only as a musician but as a person. I always try to bring awareness to it, but I also try to push the sound, push the envelope—make it more futuristic and incorporate other sounds.

Do you remember your earliest memories of hearing Baltimore Club? What it was about it that made you feel a certain way?
It wasn’t necessarily the sound itself but what the sound did for my community, my family, my people. It brought us together. It made us happy. We always heard it at celebrations, whether it was birthday or block party. Amidst all the things that were going on, when many families in Baltimore were dealing with drug addiction and HIV and AIDS and just poverty in general, that put a smile on everybody’s face. Baltimore Club brought everybody together and created this pathway to another planet. It was like an exit for us to leave our realities for a moment and just enjoy the beauties of life, music, and family.

Beyond Baltimore Club, you’re also inspired by the mid-90s hip-hop you grew up on.
Hard Core by Lil’ Kim. Reasonable Doubt by Jay Z. Ready to Die by Biggie. Illmatic by Nas. As a child, I didn’t necessarily understand everything they were saying, but as I got older, I became really drawn to them because they were something I could relate to. I grew up in the ghettos of Baltimore. I didn’t come from the most rich or financially stable family. I had been through or seen or witnessed or had family members who went through a lot of the stories they were telling. Especially Ready to Die. I empathized with Biggie’s voice and struggle and hustle, even if he had to do things he didn’t want to do. He just wanted the juicy life; he wanted something better for himself. I can always relate to that because, even as a child, I always wanted something better for myself.

What are some of the newer influences that you used on, say, the Already EP or anything you’re working on now?
I’m so topsy-turvy with music right now but I’ve been getting really into jazz.

You can definitely hear that in “Keep Movin’.”
Jazz is really futuristic music, even if it was made a long time ago, and I think those artists knew that, especially people like John Coltrane. It’s a timeless genre and I find that really powerful. I need to study and tap into that because I feel like it would be important for me to know why it’s still so beautiful.

I been getting into Alice and John Coltrane but I’ve always been into Sun Ra, who was a jazz legend and more out there than most jazz artists. I’ve also been into a lot of what I call “body and soul” music: DonChristian, an R&B artist who lives in New York, and Kelela. She’s really, really good. I love what Kanye West is doing with his new music, but I just feel like rap is turning into a lot of other things right now.

Some people have called what you’re doing the Yeezus of Baltimore.
That’s a huge compliment, you know. Kanye, and a lot of other artists, are thinking about how we listen to music. We listen to Taylor Swift in one click and Patti Smith in the next. That’s what I mean when I say rap is turning into something else. Music in general is turning into something else, where all the genres are blending into each other. It’s starting to become genre-less in a way.

I don’t even know what to call half of the stuff I do. In reviews and articles about me, everybody says its something else. It’s futuristic. It’s punk. It’s noise. It’s brass. It’s soul. You know, you ask me what it is and I say it’s a gumbo. It’s everything put together—you know what I’m saying?

Maybe that’s why so many different kinds of people resonate with your music or your performances, as you can see in the crowds of your Kahlon parties. There might be some aspects they’ve never heard before or don’t understand yet, but there also might be something in there they have or do. Your music is rooted in Baltimore Club, but with your new tracks, you’ve been striving for a sound that’s a bit more global.
I want to make music that’s more open and universal without comprising who I am. It’s kind of elitist when some musicians say, Oh, people don’t understand my music, I don’t care… I don’t think music is meant to be limited to one audience. As an artist, it’s my responsibility to make music that everybody can be a part of. I want it to be tangible. I don’t want to cast anybody out. I know what its like to not be included and I think that’s unfair.

Is that something you thought about when working on “I, Exist“? That is definitely your most accessible song yet.
I knew that Already and “I, Exist” were definitely the start of that. I started thinking: I want my mother to like my music. I want my dad to like my music, and they do. I want everybody to feel it and still keep my flare and boldness and grittiness and explicitness and rawness or whatever you want to call it. The sound is more open while the lyrics are still me and still a little out there.

Is that the direction you’re going with your upcoming album, Octarine?
It’s going to be real spacey. A lot more cosmic. But it’s really going to be dance stuff that everybody is able to feel and get into. It’s also going to be a softer side: I’m opening myself up in my lyrics, trying to put more of my life and story and feelings into them. In a lot of my earlier stuff, I was speaking out against something like a commenter, instead of putting my actual self into the narrative of the song. With Octarine, I plan to talk about things like heartbreak and love and family tragedy or, you know, simple things like smoking weed. I want people to be able to relate to my music on a personal level. I can only go so far as an artist if I don’t do that.

You’ve said that you haven’t created your definitive debut yet. Is that what this is going to be?
This will be the book. [The Best Of] is for people to be able to reconnect with my old stuff, because Octarine will be the big bang of all those songs and albums put together.

“Octarine” means the imaginary color of magic, right?
I just liked the way it sounded and the idea that it’s whatever color you want it to be. It’s whatever you see it as.

For people who have never been to your shows, how would you describe them?
It’s actually easy to describe my performances. I feel like sometimes I’m a priest who is delivering messages or speeches through music. I’m shouting. I’m in your face. It’s very visceral, and very punk; it’s intense and aggressive, but at the same time, very soft and approachable. I don’t think I scare anybody. I bring a lot of comfort through my performances—I touch people, I hug them—but they’re very raw and priest-like.

Your next Kahlon is at The Crown on April 18.
It’s going to be a mega knockout Kahlon before we take it on the road this summer. We’re going to hopefully take it traveling to New York, Philly, and D.C., followed by the festival in fall.

So I guess we better catch you while you’re Baltimore.
The next Kahlon is going to be a big-big show. I’m trying to make it huge.