More than a decade ago, City Paper’s photographer had an idea. Pick about 20 cool people, take their photos, interview them, and publish the results. It was a celebration of the folks who make D.C. what it is. They called it the People Issue—a simple name for a simple project.
The reporters and editors who worked on the first People Issue have moved on, but our photographer, Darrow Montgomery, has remained. Every year, the next generation of staffers pores over a list of names in search of the same celebration.
The People Issue 2024 is similar to those in years past, but with a twist. We found some cool kids again this year, but we also reinterviewed three people we featured back in the first issue from 2013 to ask them what they’ve been up to. Stan Voudrie grew a beard and moved to Annapolis. Joi-Marie McKenzie got married, had a couple kids, and became an editor in chief. And Juan Coronado moved out from behind the bar and co-founded a couple restaurants and a tequila company of his own.
As for the new people, this year you’ll meet an up-and-coming go-go singer, a teacher with a fascinating story, a pastry chef with big plans, a fearless dramaturg, and D.C.’s (likely) new shadow senator among others.
Take a moment to get acquainted (and re-acquainted) with these folks who are each contributing in their own ways to D.C. Because this place is nothing without its people.
—Mitch Ryals
Photos by Darrow Montgomery, shot over three days in September at the Hill Center at the Old Naval Academy. Interviews have been edited for length and clarity.
Donnie Simpson
The Reluctant Icon
Donnie Simpson Credit: Darrow Montgomery
Donnie Simpson doesn’t want to be an icon. He doesn’t want to be called “legendary.” He’s just Donnie. After listening to that smoky, melodic voice on the local radio stations for nearly five decades and seeing those famous green eyes on shows such as Video Soul in the ’90s, D.C. residents can’t help but revere him as a local hero. He makes us laugh. He makes us think. He makes us dance and reminisce. He is that wise and loyal family member—ever the optimist. Maybe he’ll accept the label of “role model”? —Candace Y.A. Montague
You came to D.C. in 1977 from Detroit and never left. Where did your passion for this city come from?
I found D.C. to be a very, very cool city. In the beginning I was kind of taken aback by D.C. because you would be at some parties and people were like, “What do you do? Who are you?” I felt like people couldn’t speak to you unless they saw your card. They needed to know how important you are. And I hated that. Eventually I found the real people of D.C., and that’s what I loved. I would go down to Ben’s Chili Bowl and sit down there, get on the jukebox, and play music. I’d be down there for four or five hours sometimes just playing music and talking to people. It reminded me of my mom’s record shop. D.C. is a real spiritual connection for me.
Your face is on the wall outside of Ben’s. Only icons go there. Do you consider yourself an icon?
I just consider myself to be Donnie. I mean, labels like that and titles and stuff—people put that on you. And I’m honored. I’ve noticed, like, in the last 10 years or so, people always greet me with something like that. It’s never just Donnie anymore. It’s always extra stuff. It’s kind of weird, but it’s appreciated. I used to never do autographs. Then I would say, I’ll give you mine if you give me yours. It didn’t make sense to me that my picture would be worth more than yours. It’s just weird.
D.C. has seen so many tragedies over the years and you’ve lived through them. Yet when people listen to you on the radio, you always seem to remain so optimistic and manage to make us laugh. How do you stay so upbeat? What makes you angry?
I love this journey. I love people. I always have, no matter what the situation. I always have hope for our future. I never give up on us. I always believe in people, and I think that’s what keeps me upbeat. It’s just who I am. Life always works itself out. It has no choice. It’s like a tennis match. You can lose a point and not lose the game. You can lose the game and not lose the set. You can lose the set, not lose the match. You got to keep playing.
What makes me angry is any violations against children. Oh my God, that’s the thing that just twists me. It just makes me so angry. I sit in front of my TV many nights watching the news in tears. The stuff people do to kids. I can’t stomach that. Also, calling our youth “the lost generation.” No, man, you just aren’t talking to them. A lot of them are not lost at all. They know exactly where they’re going.
Local urban radio is losing listeners to subscription-based streaming services. Why do you think that is, and do you have any advice on how to bring those listeners back to local radio?
I don’t know how you could turn this change around. And like you said, I’ve been in it for a long time. I did local, terrestrial radio for 55 years, but it’s dying. There’s no question about it. You talk to any kid and they don’t listen to the radio at all. They have all the music they want in their pockets, like we all do on our phones. But the only thing that makes it different is the presentation of that music. And that’s where that local DJ comes in. I was taught from the very beginning that we all get the same records. The only difference is how you present it. And so I always wanted to be that presenter.
The money’s gone. It’s not what it was. That whole advertising-based model is hurting. I remember having this conversation with [the late news anchor] Jim Vance. He was in contract negotiations and he said, “I know I’m going to take a cut. I just don’t know how big it is.” I said, “Jim, it’s gonna be big.” I said, “Mine was 67 percent.” So that’s reality. But I thank God that I am one of the very fortunate ones that made a lot of money doing it. So I can then look at it and say, “Well, I’m not going to do this for this dollar. You can’t have me for that. I know my value and this ain’t it.”
If you could go back to 1977, what would 70-year-old Donnie tell 20-year-old Donnie?
I would say, “You’re not gonna believe this trip, brother.” I know you’re scared coming here. Just put your life in God’s hands. … He has plans for you that are beyond any of your dreams.” That’s what I would say to our youth at this point in life. You don’t get big things from small dreams. You gotta dream big. There will be the next Michael Jordan. There will be the next Denzel Washington and Meryl Streep. It may as well be you. Somebody’s gonna do it. Why not you?
Chad Clark
The Experimentalist
Chad Clark Credit: Darrow Montgomery
He’s been embedded in D.C. music for decades, and he’s still here after surviving a life-threatening heart virus, an artificial heart recall, and finally a heart transplant. Now in his 50s, Clark has laurels he could rest on: He mastered albums by Black Eyes, Q and Not U, Mary Timony, and, of course, Fugazi; co-produced the Dismemberment Plan’s critically acclaimed Emergency & I, which turns 25 years old this month; and released adventurous and influential records with his own band Beauty Pill. But despite everything, Clark is still chasing high-stakes artistic experiments. As we speak, he’s hard at work on a new Beauty Pill album and a book of essays. —Taylor Ruckle
There’s a new Beauty Pill album that you’ve been working on. What can you tell us about the status?
I’m really excited about this record. It’s not a nostalgic record—it’s a forward-looking record, I think. I feel like there’s a lot of nostalgia running around for D.C. punk. You know, films and books, and all this stuff documenting and celebrating the history of D.C. punk. But I feel like I’m not very comfortable with nostalgia. I don’t like it, and I definitely wanna make a record that, in our own way, moves forward. This record is a collaboration with Arto Lindsay, who is co-producer, who’s a big hero of mine.
[Beauty Pill singer] Erin [Nelson] is a dancer, and she’s a choreographer, and I think that has affected the way I think about music. … The somatic function of music has become more important to me. Inspiring movement is more important to me now. I don’t know that I would wanna ever make a dance record—a club record—but it’s definitely inspiring working with Erin, let’s just put it that way.
I was hoping to have finished it this summer, but I’m still adding songs. I’m hoping to finish it and mix it this coming month, but there’s no guarantee. There’s never any guarantee with art.
As an engineer, what has it been like to see recording change as much as it has in the years you’ve been active with Beauty Pill?
I think the major events in music technology have been really toward portability. I don’t have to use a studio, and it’s easy. I have a kit of some gear, and I have some microphones, and I can make a record anywhere now. I think that’s affected this record as well; recording when inspiration strikes and not having to make a big ceremony out of it. The vocals from this record are recorded in many different places, and I feel like it’s affected the mood. A lot of it was recorded at this place called MidMountain, which is an art residency in Virginia. It has a particular ballroom that makes your voice sound cool.
[The album] could totally fail, you know? Here’s my thing about the word “experimental”: I don’t like the way people use it. People use the phrase “experimental music” basically to suggest a certain kind of music that is going to be somewhat dissonant and challenging on the ear. But I like the idea that experimentation is any time you don’t know the outcome. You’re trying something out. David Bowie’s Let’s Dance is a collaboration with Nile Rodgers, who’s a genius disco producer, and that was an experiment. It resulted in a massive hit record. I don’t think experimentation necessarily leads to marginalization.
But yes, there’s definitely more experimentation on this record because we can do it anywhere. I can bang my fist on the table, and that can be a kick drum. I can tap a spoon, and that can be the snare drum. All sounds are possible. All textures are possible.
Beauty Pill are one of the rare acts from the latter era of D.C. punk nostalgia that’s still around under their original name. What do you attribute the longevity to and the band’s continued forward-looking-ness?
It’s like a mission. We actually started with a charter. We wanted to do something that was different from the community that we’re associated with. D.C. punk has a pretty legendary sense of austerity. I appreciate that shit, you know? That economy is very important. But I was like, “What happens if we try to make something that’s lush, that’s feminine? Why do we have to adhere to this principle of austerity?” Some of the best Beauty Pill music is pretty wide-screen. I don’t know if people notice that over time, but I do think that we’ve cultivated an audience that seems to be engaged and care about the details of what we’re doing, and I’m really encouraged by that. The lushness of Beauty Pill music, the level of detail, that’s deliberate. I know that that is not what people associate, necessarily, with the scene that we come from, and I just wanna present a diverse perspective.
J’TA Freeman
The Voice of D.C.
J’TA Freeman Credit: Darrow Montgomery
J’TA Freeman has been singing since she was 8 years old. First, with her grandfather in the choir at Ebenezer United Methodist Church. Then, at 15, with Experience Unlimited when they came to do go-go Sundays. She’s sung on the Big Chair in Anacostia for the go-go anthem “You Can’t Mute Us” and on the MLK Library Rooftop; she’s on CCB’s track “Optimism” and has performed at the Kennedy Center. She’s a homegrown star in the homegrown genre, and she’s not stopping here. —Mitch Ryals
You started singing in a church choir, but how did you get into go-go music?
I started singing church with my grandfather, God rest his soul, Joseph William Freeman. And then at the age of 15, the go-go band Experience Unlimited, they used to do go-go Sundays every fifth Sunday at my church, and so I sang with them. That taught me how to perform. Our choir consists of like four people, including myself. So it was a very intimate feel. They allowed me to be free, do what I wanted to do, and find my flow and my energy and my sound.
How did you start singing professionally?
That was through Ronald Moten. He wanted me to sing on the song that’s out called “Don’t Mute Us.” That was in 2020. I was a youth mayor at the time, and he told me he wanted me to speak on the intro of the song. My mother took me to the studio, and she walked in there and she said, “Oh no, she’s not talking, she’s singing.” And I said, “No, no, no, it’s not my song, Mommy, please.” And she said, “No, you’re going to sing because you can sing.” So I got on the song, and everyone in the go-go community was just kind of like, “Who is this?”
I was 18 when I recorded this song, so I was one of the youngest performers in go-go. Still, today, I am the youngest go-go singer.
The youngest go-go singer. That sounds like it comes with a lot of pressure.
Sometimes, yes, because people want you to carry the torch and continue to promote the culture and promote the sound. It is definitely something that I want to do. I love go-go. But when you’re trying to navigate your own sound—for example, I do R&B music as well—it’s very difficult, because a lot of people will essentially say, “OK, well, just don’t forget about go-go.” So I think that’s where I feel the pressure. It’s not necessarily performing or being the youngest. It’s only when people feel that I’m going to abandon go-go.
Tell us about the time Wale called you “the voice of D.C.”
OK, let me set the scene. Boom. We’re at the Roots picnic in Philadelphia. Wale gets off stage. We’re chopping it up, and he says, “Is there anybody that you want to see in particular?” And my friend says, “Gunna!” We hop in a little golf cart and pull up to where Gunna is performing, and he gets off his bus, and we go over there, and I’m just in the back, chillin’, vibin’, taking it all in.
I’m not a fangirl. That isn’t really me. So I just was waiting, and while Wale was chopping it up with him, he says, “Hold on, I have somebody that I want you to meet. This is J’TA. She’s the voice of the city, [the] Mary J. Blige, Keyshia Cole, of D.C. You gotta listen to her.”
And Gunna is like, “Oh for real?” And I said, “Oh yeah, all that and one. Anyway, how are you? My name is J’TA. Big fan. I love your music, and you’re so fly. Keep up the great work. You’ll see me soon.”
It sounds like Wale has taken you under his wing.
He’s literally become a big brother to me. Just from the guidance and everything. He’s just such an amazing godsend of a man. He’s a literal genius.
The first time I met him, I was at a studio with him in New York City. This was my first time ever going to New York to, like, record music, and of course I had a little bit of jitters, because for me, I grew up on Wale. Definitely in my top three rappers of all time.
And so there was a little bit of anxious energy, like, “OK, J’TA, look cute, don’t mess up, be cool.”
I didn’t know what to expect, but he came in there and he just started singing “Optimistic,” which is my song with CCB. And I was like, “Oh, that’s your song, huh?” And then we literally clicked instantly. He wasn’t like, “I’m a celebrity, I’m high and mighty” or “You need to learn this from me.” It was, “Man, I miss you.” That’s the energy that I felt, like, “You remind me of home, and I miss you because I miss home.”
Do you have a specific process or routine you follow before you perform?
It consists of a lot of tea. I drink tea. And I will do shots of honey. You take a big teaspoon or, like, a cap from a medicine bottle, you pour honey in it, and you take a shot. There’s also a slight vocal warm-up that I do. My favorite one is when you hum in your lowest octave because that warms up your vocal cords. But as far as going on stage, I don’t have a routine. For me, it’s just making sure that my vocal cords are ready. When I get on stage it’s like home, so I don’t necessarily have a routine for going home.
When you go out in D.C., where are you going?
Oh, man, I’m everywhere. I would say, I definitely tried to hit up some karaoke spots. I used to go to Throw Social a lot. If I go to the club, I’m probably going on U Street—maybe find the vibe. I like Rosebar. If I want to get grown and sexy, I like Saint Yves. I just went to this karaoke at TAP at the MGM. Chef’s kiss. I love it.
I’m a very adventurous person. I’m down to do anything, everything, especially if I haven’t seen it before. Because D.C. has a lot of hidden gems, and I want to find all of them.
What’s next for your career? Where are you headed?
My plan is to become a big R&B star. But I’ll do go-go. Then, as I sell out arenas, I’ll have go-go bands open up for me.
But a lot of times when I say, “Oh, I want to be an R&B artist,” people think I’m saying I’m abandoning go-go.
No! I can be everything. I can do both. Beyoncé just dropped a country music album. Taylor Swift started off as a country music artist and is now one of the biggest pop artists in the scene. There is no box, especially when it comes to creativity and artistry. So why try to place me in one?
Juan Coronado
The Cool Cat in the Hat
Juan Coronado Credit: Darrow Montgomery
Since he was featured in our first People Issue, Juan Coronado has taken on many roles. He was the “cocktail innovator” for Jose Andres’ Think Food Group when we spoke with him in 2013. Now he’s the co-founder of Mijenta Tequila and Tres Tribus Mezcal under the Altos Planos umbrella. (You may have spotted some of his bottles at your favorite bars.) Coronado is also a co-creator of Colada Shop, RAMMY’s 2024 hottest sandwich shop, and Serenata cocktail bar inside La Cosecha; and he’s a partner at the modern French restaurant Bresca. —Crystal Jones
You’re a man who wears many hats. What drives your passion for these diverse businesses, and how do they connect to your personal journey?
I’m someone who can’t stay still. I have many projects and ideas I want to fulfill one day, with constant research and development. Development is key because not every idea will happen. Executing them requires a team that believes in you and your vision. Staying busy with all these projects is natural for me, like a sequence in my head and soul. Coming from the hospitality industry, I’m used to juggling multiple tasks at once. This is the one area where I can truly multitask. I guess I’m wired that way.
Coronado, circa 2013 Credit: Darrow Montgomery/file
What was your vision behind Altos Planos Collective, Mijente Tequila, and Tres Tribus Mezcal? How has that vision evolved over time?
My vision was to create a traditional tequila made only with water, yeast, and agave. The maturity of the agave, the water quality, and how you treat it are crucial. Yeast delivers the flavor and aroma, so working with the best yeast is key. I aimed to craft a unique culinary profile in traditional tequila. With Ana Maria Romero, the “goddess of tequila,” we developed our Mijente profile, and it’s been a success! We became the first B Corp tequila company in the world (businesses that pledge to meet certain environmental and social standards and commit to accountability and transparency), and Altos Planos are International Wine & Spirit Competition winners. We’re still No. 1—or number “Juan,” as I like to say.
Colada Shop and Serenata have strong ties to cultures. How important is it to create a space that fosters it?
Culture is like a big dictionary, and we all play a part in it. But, there are languages. Coffee from Cuba is a language, a daiquiri is a language. Those are like vehicles for storytelling and hospitality. From the glassware to the way it’s made, it’s an invitation into our culture.
At Colada Shop, we’re a huge onion where we can peel back layers, keeping people intrigued for weeks. In Cuba, drinking coffee is a social moment with friends or family. It’s a few moments to let go of all the things that are bothering you. It’s a social moment, same with food. It takes you away from your bubble.
With Serenata, we try to offer romanticism into cocktails. If you go to Peru, they love pisco and will go to war for it. If you go to the Dominican Republic, it’s rum. It’s embracing everything into one movement.
What’s the key to maintaining Michelin Star standards at Barmini, where you’re the “Cocktail Innovator,” and Bresca, where you’re a partner?
Being able to coordinate a Michelin career with new opportunities requires humility. There will always be someone more talented. I celebrate bartenders who make a “wow” cocktail and encourage others to do the same. You have to be humble, keep your head up, celebrate the industry, and appreciate how we can all beautifully coexist.
With Michelin and all those big recognitions, I always say they’re a big responsibility. It’s easy to get them. But how about maintaining them? So you have to rely on a team, and make sure you’re all going in the same direction and keeping the boat afloat.
What’s the most surprising or unusual drink or dish you’ve ever experimented with?
There’s a cocktail still running at Barmini that was inspired by a long 10-hour flight experience. Back then, meals weren’t always provided, so I was left with only a bag of peanuts and water. The flight drained me, but those were the best peanuts I had in my life. I savored each one. By the time we landed, I already had a cocktail in mind. It incorporates distilled roasted peanuts with sugar cane distillate. Then I made a shrub, and added acidity, earthiness, and sweetness. To me, this cocktail is a moment in history—a mini masterpiece that’s delicious and perfect for enjoying one or three.
If you could invite any three people to share a cocktail made with your tequila, who would they be and why?
The first person I’d invite would be Mohammad Ali. I know he will say no, but I would convince him to have one sip, and it will be an extraordinary match right there. I would love to pick his brain, his attitude, and his moments when getting ready for a fight. Every day we have a fight, and I would love to know his approach.
The second would be Barack Obama. Every time he speaks, it’s like addressing a large group. You may not know exactly what to say, but you have something valuable to share. He speaks from the heart. It’s a great quality, especially as a mentor helping to impact others’ careers.
The most important person I’d love to have a cocktail with is Anna Celeste, my grandmother. She is the original mold of my family. Besides me being her favorite grandson (sorry, cousins, she said it), I admire the way she raised our family. Very motherly but in a very unique way. She would not allow us to fail. She would encourage and celebrate us in such a magical way. I never saw her with a cocktail, but I would raise a glass to her for making us the way we are.
What drinks would you make for each of them?
I’d make a nonalcoholic cocktail for Mohammad Ali. I’d definitely strike Obama with a martini chased by a nice beer because I know he likes them. And my grandma, something very tropical with sweet flavors that she likes, with a low ABV.
Ankit Jain
The Freshman Senator
Ankit Jain Credit: Darrow Montgomery
When Ankit Jain started putting out feelers about a run for shadow senator, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Former At-Large Councilmember Elissa Silverman told him he was “crazy” for wanting the job, considering its lack of any formal power and his well-funded opposition in longtime politico Eugene Kinlow. But the voting rights attorney threw his hat in the ring anyway—winning perhaps the biggest upset in the entire June primary—and coming away as the Democratic nominee to replace the retiring Michael D. Brown. So long as he beats some token opposition in the general, Jain is poised to become the first Indian American (and Asian American and Pacific Islander candidate of any kind) to win citywide office in D.C., not to mention the fifth person to ever hold the office since it was created in 1991. —Alex Koma
How do you think you pulled off a primary win?
I think people compared my background and my promises and my platform to my opponent’s background and platform and thought I was the better candidate. And what I mean by that is, I think most voters got their ballot in the mail, and they opened their ballot, and they said, “What is a shadow senator, and who are these people running for it?” And they googled both of our names. We had good, clear policy platforms on our website, and we had a good list of endorsers, and we were very clear on what my background was. My opponent didn’t even put up a website until 25, 30 days before the election, after ballots had gone out to people. And then I think they saw some of the allegations against him. I respect the work he’s done, but he had some troubling allegations that might not make him the best person to be in this position.
Kinlow has a decades-long history in D.C. politics, with deep family ties in Ward 8, whereas this was your first time running for anything. How did that affect the race?
People overestimate the degree to which being involved with establishment politics and having that history makes a difference for the average voter. I mean, 99 percent of people didn’t know who I was, and maybe 97 percent of people didn’t know who he was. So we kind of started from a more equal playing field and people were open to both of us. I think, to the average voter, the fact that he had been around didn’t resonate with them, because they didn’t know what he was doing. And I had support from people who were involved in D.C. politics (Silverman and Ward 1 Councilmember Brianne Nadeau were among Jain’s endorsers), so it wasn’t like I was coming out of nowhere.
You’ve made tackling housing in the District a big part of your platform, even though the bulk of the shadow senator job is about advocating for statehood. Why?
I’m a renter, and so I deal with higher rent costs, and one of the main issues that people in the city confront is how insanely expensive it is to live here. It feels like half of [Prince George’s] County grew up in Washington, D.C. And from an environmental standpoint, I worked for the Sierra Club for four years, so I know that building more housing in cities—dense, walkable communities—is really important. So it’s important to the city, and it’s important to me personally. And I do think there are ways the federal government stops us from building affordable housing, and that is exactly within the ambit of the shadow senator position to address those issues. The Height Act is the perfect example, because it is a federal law. Obviously statehood is the main goal, but I think another important aspect of being a good shadow senator is being involved in these federal issues, laws that directly impact D.C.
The national election looks like a coin flip. How do you feel about statehood’s chances in 2025?
Kamala [Harris] probably gives us a better chance. She actually lives in D.C. [and attended Howard University], so she has some understanding of what it’s like here. I do think statehood will happen in the near- to medium-term future, and I will work hard with Republicans and in the Congress to try to make it happen. I think it’s more likely to happen if Democrats have full control of government, sure, and Kamala being the nominee helps our odds with that. So if we get full control of government, I am very hopeful that statehood will happen.
What would it mean to your community to win this race? There’s certainly a large South Asian population in Northern Virginia, where you grew up, but less so in D.C. proper.
People told me my name wasn’t going to help me, and I think that that is probably true, and I probably had to do a little bit more work to show people that I was someone who would represent them well, just because of my background. But I think it is especially important for young people to realize that they can do this, too, that they can be anything they want to be in the city. If you’re a young Indian boy or a Latina girl, you don’t have to look like everyone else in the majority population in the city to run for office and get elected. D.C. is Chocolate City, and everyone knows that, but what people don’t talk about as much is that we have a large immigrant population. It’s important for that community to have representation and people who understand that perspective. My parents had to work really hard to get citizenship in this country and get on a pathway to vote. Then when I moved across the border from NoVa to D.C., I lost the voting rights that they worked really hard to get for themselves and for me. Having that background and perspective will be important.
Isabel Coss
The Pastry Artist
Isabel Coss Credit: Darrow Montgomery
Isabel Coss is riding a rocket right now. Perhaps you read one of the myriad rave reviews for Pascual, a love letter to her hometown of Mexico City, which the pastry chef helms with her husband, chef Matt Conroy. Maybe you saw her in Food & Wine when they named her a Best New Chef of 2023. Or you’ve been lucky enough to snag a reservation at Lutèce and experience her head-spinningly creative desserts. She is collaborating, popping up, and headlining events. Lucky for us, the relentlessly cheerful pastry innovator slowed down for a few minutes to chat about her creative process, must-order dessert, and what’s coming next. —Nevin Martell
What’s your creative process for developing desserts?
I need to be moving. I cannot create while sitting. Ideas come to me in two ways: It’s either something I dream or it’s a piece of art I saw—maybe a sculpture or painting—that I want to re-create. The other elements for me are figuring out what pastry technique I can showcase and a good flavor combination.
Is there a dessert you’ve been working on for a while that you just can’t seem to nail?
I would love to re-create a Hilma af Klint painting. I’ve tried to do them on meringues, but it always looks like the Target logo, so I stop.
What’s your favorite piece of kitchen equipment?
I love an X-ACTO knife because it’s never not sharp. You can cut your labels straight, open boxes nicely, and cut plastic wrap just the right size so you don’t waste any.
Who else do you think is doing interesting desserts in D.C.?
Susan Bae at Moon Rabbit is doing really fun stuff. You can see she has been building her career for a long time, and it’s so pretty to watch. And I love Rochelle Cooper at the Duck & the Peach. She’s involved in her community and her restaurant, and she’s a mom, but she seems to do it all so effortlessly. I’m sure it’s not effortless, but she does it all in such a nice way and stays on top of it.
Is there one dessert that you will always order if it’s on the menu?
Rice pudding; arroz con leche. I love the creaminess, the textures, and the combinations of flavors that pastry chefs do.
You’re incredibly engaged and prolific on social media. What’s your advice for staying healthy and fresh in that space?
I see social media as a tool that’s fun to use. I don’t try to make money from Instagram, so, once I take that pressure away, I can post whatever I want. It’s just a reflection of what I’m doing. I used to not post a lot, thinking I was trying to build a grid or some aesthetic. But when I look at a lot of past desserts I’ve done, which were so beautiful, I wish I had posted them before, but now it’s too late. So now I post as much as I want.
When Pascual opened, you also announced a sister spot, Volcán, which was going to be a coffee shop serving out of a window on the side of the restaurant. When is that going to open?
Pascual got so busy that the space for the bakery got completely overtaken, so we’re currently trying to find a space within the building to make it a bigger thing, but still a traditional Mexican breakfast place. We’re pushing to make it happen this year.
Do you have plots and plans for what comes after that?
The Popal Group (which owns Pascual, Lapis, Lutèce, and Lapop) is currently working on Maison, a wine and cocktail bar across the street from Lapis in Adams Morgan. It’s under construction now.
Stan Voudrie
The Optimist
Stan Voudrie Credit: Darrow Montgomery
When City Paper last interviewed Stan Voudrie in 2013, the development executive tried to guess what a conversation about his work in Anacostia would look like 10 years in the future. “I’m 42, but you’ll probably be having the same conversation with me at 52, and we’ll have a few buildings up and a few buildings to go,” he said back then. Turns out, he was half right. All this time later, Voudrie’s Four Points, LLC is still building pieces of its massive Reunion Square project alongside Curtis Investment Group. The companies have persevered through legal troubles and political squabbling to open the new home for the D.C. Department of Health on Shannon Place SE. Voudrie, however, left the business for semi-retirement in 2019. He still dabbles in smaller scale development with his new firm, Morningstar Community Development, but he’s no longer at the heart of Anacostia’s evolution as the board chair of its business improvement district and its most prominent builder. He’s moved out to Annapolis, but he has no plans to abandon the District anytime soon. —Alex Koma
How have things changed since City Paper last profiled you?
I didn’t have a beard.
Stan Voudrie, circa 2013 Credit: Darrow Montgomery/file
True enough. What else? Did things turn out in Anacostia like you’d hoped?
Things happen differently than you might think, but it all worked. Was it Marion [Barry]’s vision? Was it [Adrian] Fenty’s vision, [Vince] Gray’s vision, my vision, Curtis’ vision? Who knows. But if you drive there today, it’s radically changed, absolutely. I remember we opened the Big Chair Cafe, the first “restaurant” opened on MLK [Avenue SE] since the ’50s or ’60s, in 2000. Now there’s a Starbucks there and a Busboys [and Poets].
How has that fit into the broader evolution of the Southeast waterfront?
You don’t realize how long some of this stuff takes, but then it happens, and it’s like, “Oh, wow, this is what the vision was all along.” You see the soccer stadium, the baseball stadium, you could walk or ride your bike, go right across the Frederick Douglass Bridge. You could go right across the South Capitol Street Bridge and come back on the Anacostia Park side, and that’s a totally legit bike or jogging loop or whatever else. We were talking about it at the time and it seemed so far-fetched. We were so incredibly young and naive. But it was all possible.
All that being said, affordable developers are warning that they’re nearing a crisis in D.C. As someone who largely spent their career building affordable housing, how do you see things right now?
I’ve been doing affordable housing since 2001, so I’ve seen it go up and down. But it’s a difficult time to be a real estate developer in Washington, D.C., whether that’s affordable housing, office, or anything else. Downtown is not what it was pre-pandemic, right? Some of that’s just the real estate cycle. Some of it is work from home. The costs of construction are way up, and then you couple that with the District’s budget, because of their funding sources being down and constrained with higher interest rates. It’s just a difficult time to try to be doing real estate development in the District of Columbia. I don’t know that it’s a great time to be doing real estate development anywhere, but in the District of Columbia, in particular.
So are you bullish on D.C.’s future, in general?
In the long run, I am. I’m an investor and a believer in the District. We’re in a challenging cycle right now. But if you’d asked me in the days after 9/11 whether I was optimistic on the District, it would have been harder. If you’d asked me in the early days of the great financial crisis [in 2007 and 2008] whether I was optimistic, it would have been harder. There’s always challenges, but things are going to continue to evolve for the better.
If we call you up again another 10 years from now, what will we be talking about?
It was easier 10 years ago to see things coming together. Clearly, it was the Anacostia Waterfront Initiative that launched things. The Wharf, Navy Yard, a couple of bridges, St. Elizabeth’s [East]. Build a statue of Tony Williams. Now it’s harder to see. Is there going to be a mass wave of office-to-residential conversions downtown? Is that going to be the impetus? Is it going to be a new football stadium? What is going to be the thing that drives it? It’s hard to see. But generally the graph is going to be heading up and to the right.
Alexi Muhumure
The Educator
Alexi Muhumure Credit: Darrow Montgomery
Alexi Muhumure fled his childhood home in the Democratic Republic of Congo at about age 9 due to war. He and his oldest brother ended up settling in New Jersey, but their parents did not join them. For most of his childhood and adolescence, until about age 14, Muhumure didn’t know if they were alive. During that time, he completed high school, earned a bachelor’s degree, and joined the Peace Corps. He now teaches science to middle schoolers in D.C. —Mitch Ryals
Not only did you grow up half a world away from your parents, you and your siblings didn’t even know if they were alive. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.
It played such a huge role in my development. One of the things I learned is how to be independent. I haven’t lived at home since I graduated high school. I didn’t know what to do after college, so I joined the Peace Corps, and when I got back all my siblings were like, “Come live with us, you don’t have to pay rent.” And I was like, “I want to be my own person. I want to forge my own path.”
Even without your parents, it sounds like you had a good family support system in your siblings.
Yeah, I’m one of 10 kids. I’m the youngest. I had a lot of help, obviously, and a lot of teachers played such a huge role for me.
I always talk about this specific teacher I met in seventh grade, Mrs. Assini. I told her, “Hey I need help with homework,” and she was like, “Well, you do sports after school, so how about we meet an hour before school starts?” She would make tea for us, and we’d do homework in the mornings, and we did that from seventh through eighth grade.
When I got to high school, she helped me edit my resume for college applications, told me what college classes would be like, and helped me figure out what to do after college. That’s what an independent person does: You have to have the willingness to ask for help when you need it.
I would have loved to have my parents around. I’ve had days when I’ve missed them terribly, especially when I was younger. At the end of day, it’s OK to miss them but you have to figure out how to live life.
The fact that we had no idea if they were alive or not also played a pretty big part. The question I always ask myself is: Would I have been the same if I knew they were still out there, living in Tanzania?
Is that where you reconnected with them?
No. After I graduated college—I was maybe 24?—I joined the Peace Corps, and I moved back to the continent, and I did my service in Rwanda. And my parents were able to come visit me.
What it was like to reconnect and build a relationship with them?
Well, we found out they were alive in, like, 2009, but at the time we didn’t have the means to go visit and they didn’t have the means to come visit us. It’s been really interesting to reshape that relationship and understand what it is. But when I saw them for the first time, and we were actually able to hug each other, my mother was very, very emotional—so was my father. I got a little emotional, too.
Are you close with them now?
Yeah, very much. Even though we haven’t spent a lot of time in person, we speak on the phone a lot.
You were teaching in Rwanda as part of your Peace Corps work?
Yes, I taught literature to middle school students, and then for high school, 11th and 12th grades, I taught an English class where I got to design my own curriculum. It was kind of like a class to help them as they transition into college or after high school. So we did things like learning how to build a resume, how to conduct an interview, how to prepare for an interview, and how to write a professional email.
A lot of it was: This is how you do it in English. It was a really nice class, because they were older kids, and they loved talking about American culture, and I got to kind of exchange cultures with them. Sometimes it would show up in lessons, or they wanted to listen to rap music because they wanted to learn the meaning of the songs that they were listening to.
What rap music would you play for them?
It was music they wanted to listen to, mostly older music like Biggie and Tupac and Nas, that type of stuff. They liked Chris Brown, like early Chris Brown. A lot of the girls loved listening to Beyoncé.
And now you teach middle school science at Mary McLeod Bethune Day Academy. Did you choose that subject and those grades?
Yeah, I love middle school students. I think they’re mostly just misunderstood. They just want somebody to complain to, somebody to shout at. As one of my mentors taught me earlier on: Just don’t take it seriously. Don’t let it get to you because they don’t mean it. They’ll say something to you, and then the next day they’ll forget, like, “Why would I say that?” Exactly. A little patience goes a long way with them.
What kinds of things do they say?
They love to comment on my fashion. One time, I was standing outside my classroom, and one of the eighth graders walks by, and she’s looking at me, like up and down, and she goes, “Mr. Muhumure, did you look in the mirror before you left home?” And I said, “Yeah. Why?” She goes, “And you chose to come to school like that?” And I just said, “Get in the classroom, please, don’t start with me.”
What’s one thing that middle schoolers have taught you?
I see the way they treat each other, and I feel like it’s not the way that we were treating each other as middle schoolers. They have a lot more empathy and love for each other, in my opinion. Not to say they don’t get into arguments and bicker sometimes. But it all, to me, comes from a place of love and genuine care for each other.
Joi-Marie McKenzie
The Editor
Joi-Marie McKenzie Credit: Darrow Montgomery
We last spoke with Joi-Marie McKenzie, the “society blogger,” in the heyday of the Fab Empire, her social and nightlife blog. In the decade-plus since, she has held a number of media jobs, from NBC and ABC to Good Morning America and Essence magazine, with a stint at Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism squeezed in between. She’s written two books, gotten married, had a couple kids, and is now the editor in chief of Business Insider’s lifestyle division. She lives just outside New York City and took the train down to catch up. —Mitch Ryals
Thinking back to yourself 11 years ago, did you ever imagine yourself in this job?
You don’t ever quite know. But I found a journal from when I was 8 years old, because I was writing back then, and I listed five goals that I wanted to accomplish, and one of those was being editor in chief.
You found a lot of success with your blog, Fab Empire, but blogs don’t exist in the same way anymore. Do you see influencers as the new bloggers?
I often say, if I started the Fab Empire 10 years later, I would be rich right now.
I do think we’re still blogging today, like even at Business Insider, that’s one of our strategies: taking what everyone was talking about and presenting it in a way that’s conversational and short. So I still think that blogging plays a huge role in media, but I also think, as you said, you can do it in any sort of medium—whether it’s the Micro podcast, which I subscribe to, or influencers on TikTok taking us through their day, which is something that we did at Fab Empire.
It’s so embarrassing now. I hope I’ve made all these videos private, but we would go to parties and put it on YouTube. I’m so proud of my 20-something-year-old self, because I don’t think I would have the gumption to do it now, quite frankly, because I know what being such an online personality can do, how much loss you can experience with that.
The Fab Empire ended when you went off to New York for a job?
It continued for a few years afterward. I did a soft goodbye, because it was a part of my identity. And we almost sold, and then we didn’t.
Why not?
Something in my gut told me not to, and I’m glad I didn’t.
You come from a long line of journalists and media folks. You’ve said that your grandmother died while working on a scoop. I have to know: What was the story?
No one has ever asked me that, but that’s real. My grandmother was an entertainment editor, and I always say she was an entertainment editor until the very day that she died. She was covering a festival in Baltimore called For Sisters Only, but she was there, and I heard that’s where she passed. You know, someone found her there.
Were you close to your grandmother?
Yeah, she would take me to those events. She would take me to tea. She took me to my first concert—Immature, for the record, an amazing R&B group. I do think that’s where I get my outgoing personality. She would just float around the room and be able to make connections and take pictures and get her captions. She was very much a society journalist and did amazing interviews, and she passed all those skills down to us at the kitchen table.
How has working in media changed over the past decade?
I try to lead by example in my newsroom. Gen Z has made that easier. I admire how much they advocate for themselves in the workplace. And as a millennial manager, we come with our own stereotypes. I’m up at 7 a.m. every day thinking about stories. But I will schedule that Slack message at 9 a.m. Or if something’s happening at 6 o’clock at night, I really do want to send it, because boomers raised me, however, I’m going to schedule it to send the next day. I try to respect those boundaries because that’s what I would have wanted; we did not get that. But I can also respect that, too, because the news doesn’t stop at 5:30 p.m.
McKenzie, circa 2013 Credit: Darrow Montgomery/file
During your last People Issue interview, you talked about diversity in nightlife reporting—both who’s covering and who is getting covered. As you’ve ascended to upper management, did you encounter bumps along the way because of who you are?
None that I would be comfortable sharing in print. If you would have asked me 10 years ago, I would have given you an answer. I’m in the position of power, yes, but I’m not the majority of our society. So I would much prefer you to ask that question to a person who holds that power, who can make change in a way that I may not be able to because of who I am. That’s where I am with the question.
Fair enough. What about in your own coverage—how do you ensure diversity? What do those conversations look like?
It’s a newsroom effort, and it starts from the top. We have embedded in our ethos at Business Insider to ensure that we are staffing in a diverse way, and that doesn’t just mean by race. That means by religion or location. How are we authentically talking to the Midwest? How are we authentically talking to the South?
Also, I lead a lifestyle team, and so naturally, a lot of those journalists skew women. Every quarter, I’m thinking: How can we serve men? How can we serve the nonbinary community? How are we being reflective of that, not just in the stories that we tell, but also in the images we’re selecting? These are everyday conversations, and I think that what it requires is to be intentional about it.
Is there a story you’ve wanted but haven’t been able to get?
Like every entertainment journalist, I want Beyoncé.
What would you ask her?
I feel like it’s for Beyoncé, so it’s what she wants to say, right? I mean, when you’re working with someone at that level, she’s going to give you as much as she wants to give you. I almost wouldn’t even ask her a question. Maybe the question would be the last question that every journalist should ask, which is like, what have I not asked? What do you want to say? Or what should I be asking?
Do you have advice for the 2013 version of you?
I don’t know if she needs advice. She wouldn’t listen to me anyway. But if she were listening, I would say have fun with it.
What about advice for aspiring arts journalists?
I will say I have been dissuaded at every turn. There was one class in journalism school that was about writing for the arts, and we were all in there. We didn’t win the awards at the end of the school year. We’re always at the bottom of the home page. I often think that because it looks easy to do, it’s overlooked. But I reject that. If you love the arts and you want to report for the arts and you want to help artists ensure that the work that they do is in the annals of history and is remembered and is critiqued, then do that. It’s important news. It brings us together.
LilBro YP
The Rap Philosopher
LilBro YP Credit: Darrow Montgomery
After 10 years in the music business, 26-year-old LilBro YP aims to elevate the D.C. drill music scene. More than just an ode to his beloved neighborhood, Sursum Corda, LilBro sees his music as a way to pass on life lessons through entertainment. A young father with a 5-year-old daughter, he is focused on creating a legacy for his child and is motivated by concern for the District’s youth. With a mixtape set to drop in November, LilBro spoke with City Paper about his musical aspirations, love of classic Black cinema, and his hopes for the District’s future. —Suzie Amanuel
How is D.C. drill similar to or different from drill from other cities?
It’s all the same subject, but everybody has their own lingo and style. Drill music is coming from a specific part of every city. It’s parts of cities [throughout the country] that are going through poverty, and the same stuff is going on in every project in every city in America. They all rap about the same stuff, and it became a genre because they’re all going through the same day-to-day hardships. What I feel like is missing is go-go. That’s really what our heart and soul is, but even without go-go, I feel like we stand out from a lot of other cities.
As a rapper who writes their own lyrics, how do you feel about law enforcement using rap lyrics in criminal prosecutions?
It’s obviously unfair. I feel like artists just have to find a better way around it, but how? We have to figure out a way because they’re gonna just keep making new laws to prosecute you and use it against you. You gotta work around it, but it’s free speech and that’s crazy.
Looking back on your journey so far, what’s one thing you learned that you didn’t expect when you first started out?
That music is really just a business. You’ll start music because you love it, but then once you get a little traction in it [you] see it’s more business than just loving it. It’s a good lesson.
What do you want your listeners to take away from your music?
It doesn’t matter where you come from. You can always overcome anything and have fun. I make feel-good music, and you can still feel good expressing your hardships.
In your video for “Guns and Butter,” you show a clip from classic Black movie Baby Boy, with a speech about the importance of building wealth. What spoke to you about that scene?
A lot of people just live for now or want to be the man now, and they don’t really save for later. You can build wealth for your family or spend for your entertainment—like just teaching about the difference between assets and liabilities. It went over my head as a kid, but watching the movie as an adult, that’s what made it stick to me. I watched a lot of movies like that as a kid. You’ll love it not even knowing what you’re watching, and then, like, as an adult, you’ll re-watch it and it’s like, damn.
Which ones?
Boyz n the Hood. That was the first time I ever heard the word gentrification, but I didn’t understand it. But then my neighborhood was going through it, and I’m learning about it in school, I’m remembering the movie. It was just a surreal thing, seeing the movie as a kid, and I’m going through exactly what he was talking about in the movie. Gentrification is really changing neighborhoods.
How so?
I don’t know. I was born in ’98, and right after Mayor Fenty, D.C. felt like a game of Monopoly. Every year, you just look up and it’s, like, five new buildings. Southwest is probably one of the biggest gentrified areas. Back then, we would be outside or at the Boys and Girls Clubs. It was just everything for kids to do, to not want to worry about what else is going on. The neighborhood was bad but you didn’t even notice what was going on because you were occupied. There was so much stuff to keep the kids’ minds off what they were living in. We didn’t know what we were living in until we were of age. Kids these days are waking up and seeing it.
What happened to the Boys and Girls Club in your neighborhood?
They just re-opened the one in my neighborhood but it’s been 10 years.
What would you do for the community if you had Jay-Z money?
I keep going back to the Boys and Girls Club because I know this really helped me in that age group. In the environments we grew up in, you were in it, but you didn’t really see it until maybe, like, 15. These little kids are maybe 9 and understanding everything that’s going on. I fuck with the young generation to the fullest, I do, but I don’t know, where are they gonna go? You got to start with them now and change the mindset, because they’re the ones who are going to be 15 and 20 within the next 10 years.
Ambrose Lane Jr.
The Father’s Son
Ambrose Lane Jr. Credit: Darrow Montgomery
Ambrose Lane Jr. was born with one heck of a name to live up to. His father, Ambrose Lane Sr., was a racial justice activist, newspaper publisher, politician, minister, and, perhaps most prominently, a longtime host at D.C.’s progressive radio station WPFW. You could hardly blame the younger Lane for wanting to chart a different path and escape that long shadow. Instead, he picked up his father’s mantle and pushed into areas all his own. Over the past few years, Lane has become one of the preeminent voices drawing attention to the District’s opioid crisis via his Health Alliance Network, pushing for resources to aid struggling communities east of the Anacostia River. He’s also become a key political activist in his home Ward 7. And, of course, he has his own show on WPFW, too. —Alex Koma
How did you choose public health as a focus?
I was at the Marshall Heights Community Development Organization. I was there when Tom Brown was there, and this was just as Obamacare was being rolled out, and we had several meetings about enrolling people into Obamacare, and I just realized that there wasn’t any type of group to represent residents in terms of health advocacy. So I started asking: What do people need? What are the real issues in health?
You’ve been pushing the District to do more in response to opioid overdoses, specifically. Are people listening?
You know how government works. Government is slow. But they’ve been listening and moving on some things. It’s good that they are distributing Narcan at the rate they’re distributing it, but there are still some real issues. We have maintained our stance that we need more treatment centers in locations where the actual problem is. We have 24-hour treatment centers, but we need them east of the river, because that’s mainly where the issue is. We want youth treatment centers that are also 24 hours, we need a substance use disorder urgent care center.
There’s been a recent drop in overdoses in the city after seeing persistently high rates compared to other states. Why?
We don’t know the actual reason. It could be several reasons, some of them are good, some are bad. One is the distribution of Narcan. That’s one thing the city and community organizations have done very well. Another is the mayor’s crime bill and the drug-free zones. We don’t have the data yet, but how many arrests were made of people that had an opioid use disorder? Because you cannot use while you’re in jail, so that would show, on the outside, that there’s been a reduction, right? It also could have been that all the messaging we’re doing in terms of prevention has begun to seep through. But the last reason, and this isn’t necessarily good, is that addiction has really been concentrated among seniors. It’s trickling down, but it’s mainly among seniors. And there just aren’t more seniors to die.
With Vince Gray and other senior leaders east of the river leaving civic life, how are wards 7 and 8 changing politically? Will the next generation be able to drive attention to these problems?
There is a sense of a changing of the guard, but I have yet to see whether or not that will bring the resources that are needed. That has to come from the executive branch, and there has to be an intention to do that. Now, I know there have been some investments that the mayor has made in the new hospital and some other things. You can say, “I’ve done $2 billion worth of investment,” but that might be in brick and mortar and not in the programs that are needed to lift people out of poverty.
You’ve followed in your father’s footsteps with a new show at WPFW. What’s that been like?
I actually started at WPFW in the mid-’90s as a host for D.C.’s first progressive hip-hop show. I introduced D.C. to the Roots. I was a show host under the name X Man, and we were very, very popular by the time my show was over, doing Friday nights from midnight to 3 a.m. But there was a change with the program director, and we parted ways. I basically just went to work in D.C. doing various things. [WPFW] asked me to come back about two and a half years ago, because they know my work east of the river. Now I focus on all aspects of life there, from politics to health to art to all of that stuff. I really enjoy it, and it gives voice to the residents east of the river.
Is it hard being in your dad’s shadow?
My dad was such a luminary on WPFW, there for 35 years, and he was all politics. But, interestingly enough, he didn’t focus directly on D.C. politics unless it was a serious issue that came up. He was more focused on federal politics, national politics, and things that affected all communities. He was a progressive, for sure. So following in those footsteps, it’s big shoes to fill. Literally, too, because he was a big guy, 6 feet, 5 inches tall, and 280. But I enjoy it. And you know, being Ambrose Lane Jr. has its benefits, has its perks, and, of course, I’m very proud of that.
You wear so many different hats in the city. What do you do if you ever have free time?
I make award-winning chili. And also top-notch collard greens. It’s been revered.
Lauren Halvorsen
The Drama Queen
Lauren Halvorsen Credit: Darrow Montgomery
Lauren Halvorsen didn’t know what a dramaturg was when saw the term on a poster in college. But she has since gone on to provide research, context, and theatrical tweaks to dozens of productions, as well as serving as the associate literary director at Studio Theatre. In 2020, she moved to working in theater on a freelance basis and launched her widely read newsletter Nothing For the Group, which covers theater locally and nationally, as an art form and an industry. —Stephanie Rudig
How did you start the newsletter?
It was a very interesting time for theater, June 2020. Every theater was basically hemorrhaging staff and on the verge of collapse at the same time that there were all of these long-overdue conversations about racial parity and equity and pay disparity. Since we were on this pause and not caught up in the grind of producing, we [could] actually have conversations about the ways in which this industry is not sustainable. If we’re having to take this huge break, what are we coming back as?
I joked that I was writing Vox explainers, but for theater drama. There are obviously theater critics who write about plays, but there was never any sort of writing around institutional messaging and decision-making, and critiquing it. I was like, “I’m not going to work in a theater for a while, so who cares?”
Do you at all feel shy about putting out the newsletter segment “That’s Not a Living Wage” or talking about pay disparity as a freelancer?
No. I was surprised when I started getting offers because I figured nobody would want to work with me, but it was actually quite the opposite. It makes contract negotiation easier, because when you write about living wages, you can’t give me a contract for some bullshit amount of money. It gives me a space to advocate for better wages for dramaturgs because if you say no, that’s fine. I have a day job, but it’s for the next dramaturg that comes along. I want them to not have to take a lowball offer.
I was working at a theater and the managing director was asking me about the “That’s Not a Living Wage” section because they had been featured in it. He said, “I just want you to know that we’re working on it and it’s going to take place, probably our next budget year.” That makes me feel like I’m having an impact. It’s not a shaming exercise. I try not to say anything that I wouldn’t say to somebody’s face. Would I tell this person that I think they’re girlbossing too close to the sun? You know what, I would.
What is it about D.C.’s theater scene that keeps you rooted here? And what kinds of work could entice you away?
I didn’t realize until I got here how big the theater scene is. Not just in volume, but also in geographic sprawl. There’s an actual ecosystem of theaters. You have the space for super niche companies, and then you also have the space for classical and for theater solely devoted to musicals and weird ensemble groups and people who are doing really hyperlocal committed work. One of the beautiful things about working at Studio was working with a lot of the same local actors and also the same designers, so you got to build these beautiful relationships.
About what would take me out of town? I’ll go anywhere if it’s to work with people, because theater is always about the people. It makes me want to be very selective about when I do a show now. Who’s it with, is it gonna be fun, are these people that I want to sit next to in the dark and watch a show 17 times in a row?
What projects do you have coming up?
What the Constitution Means to Me at Round House Theatre. It’s probably the biggest thing, because the research for that is a lot. [Playwright Heidi Schreck] is recounting her teenage experience, doing all of these different speeches, so the play really dives deep on a lot of these amendments and a lot of portions of the Constitution. Part of the fun of being a dramaturg is you get to become a little mini expert in something.
Heidi wrote it in 2018, and obviously, [today there’s] no more Roe v. Wade, so there are certain sections that need a little bit of a tweak. So we’ve been having some conversations about that, and making sure that the play still feels resonant without it feeling distracting because you’re sad about the result. It opens on Inauguration Day, which is a choice. I guess we’ll be in Bethesda, but I remember January 6.
How much was the furor around the election a factor as you were researching this ever-evolving situation?
We start rehearsing in December. I almost can’t even think about how I’m gonna talk about it because so much of how this play is gonna be received—and what the experience of working on this play will be—hinges on what happens in November. I saw it in the middle of the Trump administration, and I actually found it a real rousing call to action.
Miri Tyler, Jael Holzman, and Liam Hughes
The Breakout Act
From the outside, Ekko Astral are having a wild year. The post-punk—or “mascara moshpit”—band released their debut album, pink balloons, in April. They’ve since been featured in outlets from Pitchfork to the Washington Post, and Stereogum named pink balloons one of the best albums of 2024. Paste called them a band to watch. We awarded them Best Local Band to See Before They Hit It Big. But the trio—Jael Holzman, Liam Hughes, and Miri Tyler—aren’t letting the attention change them. —Sarah Marloff
As of September, with the departure of Sam Elmore and Guinevere Tully, you’re a trio. Does it feel different to go from five to three?
LH: At the heart of it, it’s really always been just us three. And in the beginning it was just us three, so in a sense it’s a return to form.
We’ve been saying you’re the band that’s gonna blow up; now you’re getting loads of press. How does it feel?
JH: We’re constantly reminding ourselves of why we do this. It’s really easy to go into music to get famous and make money—if you think that’s possible, you’re foolish—but there are plenty of people who do. … There was an initial sugar high to it all, but it quickly became, we’re just another thing in the press. I know we can get attention, but what does it mean? What’s the purpose? What’s the impact? I personally enjoy frothing at the mouth about whatever bullshit someone asks me about, but … that’s not why any of us do this.
If anything, it’s shaped the way we behave. Like with [the new single] “Pomegranate Tree,” about October 7 and how our country has swallowed genocide whole and spat it out as piece of waste product—we’re dropping it independently, completely DIY.
MT: I don’t feel like [the press] has changed anything about what we do or why we’re doing it. The goal is to not let that distract you. … If community is the goal, then we want that community to be big enough to support itself and to coexist in the greater community of this country. In that sense, it helps us achieve that goal.
JH: We unfortunately live within a capitalist society.
LH: We’re still doing our same day jobs.
JH: Each of us would love the opportunity to get to take off work months at a time and make our income through touring and music—because we love it. We fucking love it. And maybe that day will come, but right now it’s very humbling that we have all this attention.
Ekko Astral are known not just for your music but also for creating community. How do you combine them?
MT: For me, it’s hard to separate them. I’ve always seen music that way—the earliest concerts I went to, I was in awe [of] … the energy of a room when you’re all there for the same thing. Punk has always been built on community and politics of that community. I’m a Grateful Dead fan—that’s a community in and of itself, and that community rides hard. Hip-hop has its own community. There’s culture that comes from music that you can’t separate, even if it’s not consciously something you’re thinking about, it’s something that’s happening.
JH: Miri and I are from Montgomery County. I went to Rockville High School. I’m used to this space. Moving back here after college. … I was not entirely enthused … because I had all these predispositions and expectations of what it meant to live in D.C. Through this band, I’ve found community. … I’ve made friends that I wouldn’t have otherwise made.
Y’all have mentioned the band Idles, classical music, jazz, and some other local bands as influences. How do you incorporate all of those disparate sounds into your sound?
LH: We love Alex Turner of Arctic Monkeys, and sometimes his lyrics are a little nonsensical but have a good flow. She’ll send me “here’s my Alex Turner lyrics”—and they turn out to be great.
JH: Once you read the lyrics in an Alex Turner voice [she demonstrates], it’s like, “oh yeah, here it is.”
MT: As a drummer, jazz is how I first learned how to play. It influences my style of playing in general. When I’m thinking about songs, I’m not thinking about them as rock songs or punk songs. I’m thinking about them as a piece of music that I’m helping to arrange. … Then, because we play really loud, and I end up hitting really hard to match that volume, it comes out sounding like punk. But if you listen closely to my drum parts on pink balloons, there’s some stuff that’s very jazz-influenced.
Also, for anybody who likes Easter eggs, on one song there’s a direct quote on the drum parts to an Elliott Smith song.
LH: There’s another one, too, that I’m surprised no one’s found yet. We have that song, “Baethoven”; when we were writing it I was like, “I gotta throw in a Beethoven riff.” I thought it would be so obvious, but no one’s pointed it out yet. It’s from Beethoven’s Fifth.
That’s where my influence comes in when we’re composing. Jael brings me the bones to a song—[Jael imitates a grinding guitar sound]—and I’m always like, “that’s cool, but I think there could be other notes.” … I’m always working with modulation and changing keys, and playing with ambiguity of keys. That’s been a throughline for all of Ekko’s compositions—me playing around with the tonality of music.
What would Ekko Astral like people to know?
JH: This band would not be where it is if it wasn’t for all of the different people that have lifted it up in this city. We started packing shows because people were telling their friends. That’s how we grew and those day ones, those are the people that aren’t gonna get featured in this article that probably should be.
If D.C. was a state, it would easily be the queerest state. Yet the mainstream culture is super cis-heteronormative. … There are very few places for queer people to safely congregate en masse and enjoy music. We are first and foremost a band that is about giving that.
And just because it’s queer does not mean it is political. I think that’s my biggest gripe with the way people write about us is: People are always like, “Oh, you’re a band with a lot of political messages.” And we’re just saying it’s hard to be out. Why is that political? Pitchfork called us progressive and I was like, “OK.”
MT: All of the trans people that live in this area—because there are a lot of us and we don’t get spotlighted in the way we should … There are so many bands with trans and queer members in this city. They’re all doing really good, original things, and also forming and providing space for the community that is so big here and so important to the lifeblood of the city.
We might be poised the best for growth—whatever that means—and it’s cool we can be the ones to help give recognition to that [queerness], but I’d like to take us out of that sentence and just say: The queerness in this city is not here because of us. We are here because of it.
Editor’s note: Due to a boneheaded editing error, we initially omitted Joi-Marie McKenzie’s interview. This version has been updated.