dilla’s house @ the broad

In mid-July, I took myself to an event that reminded me why I continue to pay 40% higher rent than the national average to live in LA.

As a part of their summer concert series, The Broad Museum hosted Dilla’s House, an outdoor concert with performances from artists who have worked with and/or have been inspired by the late, Detroit-born rapper, record producer, and hip hop pioneer, James Dewitt Yancey, aka, J Dilla. Known for his membership in the underground hip hop group Slum Village as well as the rotating collective of 90’s experimental Black music artists, Soulquarians, Dilla worked with artists such as Madlib, Janet Jackson, Busta Rhymes, Erykah Badu, and more.

The lineup included Moodyman, Dez Andrés, Mark De-Clive Lowe, and the Detroit-based female soul group, Dames Brown. Not only did a ticket get me into both the concert, it also gave access to the museum’s then-current exhibit Mickalene Thomas: All About Love, which showcased a series of large-scale acrylic paintings of Black women confidently owning their sexuality in different moments of domestic leisure. An absolutely iconic series. You can read more about it here.  

Thomas’s exhibit, All About Love, peeled back layers unveiling emotional strength, sexual complexity, and domestic intimacy surrounding Black womanhood—layers that Thomas represents in her work using a playful array of multi-colored textiles, paint, and rhinestones expertly layered on canvas in a way that whispers to the viewer an invitation to come inside and spill some secrets. The feminine focus in All About Love beautifully balanced J Dilla’s signature, more masculine sound style— creamy hip hop beats blended with long-winded melodic house and slightly off-kilter percussion. During the 90’s, Dilla’s set his sound apart from mainstream rhythmic hip hop styles best described as “straight” or “swung” —he did this by disabling the quantize feature on his samples which gave his music a pleasurable, slightly-disorienting feel. Although Moodyman and the other artists performing played their own music, they made sure to pay tribute to Dilla’s distinct, spontaneous sound in their own performances.

Going alone—

I look up and see the inverted penne-pasta shaped holes covering the front of the obscurely-shaped building that is The Broad. Groups of people filter in. I clocked a group of middle-aged women wearing leopard print, wide-brim statement glasses, and felt jackets with juicy shoulder pads. They spoke with sharp diction, passionately nodding their heads and pointing around as they discussed something that felt quite important. A super tall dude sauntered by them wearing saggy jeans that exposed his checkered boxers and a red hat with “Rich Fuq” written on the front. A congregation of both LA’s eclectic fine art community and fans of an iconic 90’s hip hop producer—this should be interesting.

I meander through a dimly lit, concrete hallway on the first floor until I reach the entrance to All About Love. I enter through the parted black curtain and immediately to the left is a set display of a living room that has been feng-shui’d with evening mood lighting, multi-patterned 70s-style furniture and floorscape, and four of Thomas’s paintings hanging on the walls featuring women lounging leisurely in lingerie. A record player spun vinyl in the corner. A pair of shiny gold crocs that appeared to have been tossed into the corner. The whole scene drips with glam and soul. It seduces you into wanting to take off your shoes and hangout until 3am.

Continuing on, Thomas’s paintings grow more sultry, featuring women exposing their bare chest or engaging in playful foreplay. One painting hones on a more serious political statement—a black and white collage featuring Black female faces slightly blocked by other elements of the piece and written exclamations such as “WOMEN OF COLOR HAVE ALWAYS LED,” “I CAN’T BREATHE,’ and “RACISM KILLS” peppered amongst the recurring theme of multiple patterns and dimensions.

I stare at each piece wide eyed, my emotional pendulum swinging from awe to anger to inspiration and back again. It crossed my mind as I was making my way through the exhibit how perfect museums are for spending time alone. I’d even argue that museums are meant to be experienced alone, so one can fully absorb and meditate on the full context and history of each piece without social distraction. Music on the other hand is not meant to be experienced alone. It’s a very different kind of mediation when you’re experiencing live music alone because, unlike museums and other more introspective activities, music naturally facilitates socialization—and when you go alone, you gotta socialize with yourself.

After the exhibit, I go outside to the stage where Moodyman is bumpin’ smooth, funky Detroit house beats as Dez Andres jams on a pair of congo drums. The audience is lightly packed, lit up by circling pink and yellow stage lights. A milky layer of smoke lingers above the crowd.

Damn, I should have brought weed.

I look around as I decide whether I want a drink. Literally everyone here is mingling in groups of six or more. Couples sway in each other’s arms, friends pass around joints, and, strangely, a lot of people are standing absolutely dead still. As I walk through the audience, my nerves start to flare up.

How are people not dancing to this music?

The music is phenomenal, but the audience keeps throwing me off. I feel hypersensitive to everything going on around me—maybe it’s a symptom of being sober in the wake of too many non-sober people. I head to the bar to grab a drink, but stop in my tracks when I see the line. It would take me the rest of the show to get to the front.

Wow, I really wish I brought weed.

No, I don’t need it. I don’t need a substance crutch to feel like I belong.

I turn around as I talk to myself and walked back toward the stage, mentally unlubercated, weaving and shimmying my way through the crowd until I find a spot next to a group of girls who are all at least a foot and a half shorter than me. After a few minutes, one of them lights a joint, and a simultaneous gust of wind blows the smoke directly into my face.

I inhale.
Mmmmmm.

Dang the music is fire.

As Moodyman freestyles playfully, he sings the words ‘I love LA’ over and over again while Mark De-Clive Lowe works the decks. I try to get lost in the melodies, but since we’re outside, the music isn’t as loud as the chatter around me.

Anxious thoughts pop into my brain like microwave popcorn.

Was it dumb to come here alone?
Wouldn’t I be having more fun if I were here with my friends?
Why am I doing this?
This doesn’t make sense.
I should just go home.
I shouldn’t be here.
I feel like a loser.

As I begin to spiral, another gust of smoke blows through my nostrils, and I’m reminded that my anxiety could be from the weed. I’m an extrovert, but I can’t socialize when I’m high.
Am I even high, though? Maybe I just need to talk to someone. Just to prove that I’m here and there isn’t some invisible wall separating me from the rest of the crowd.

I look down at one of the short girls smoking a joint in front of me and tap her on the shoulder. She turns her head and looks at me with glossy red eyes. I throw out my best girlypop ice breaker. “Babe, you look so hot! Where did you get that top?” She looks down at her shirt and puffs on her joint. As she exhales, she smiles. “It’s vintage,” An arm wraps around her from the side. It belongs to a taller girl with curtain bangs holding two drinks in one hand. She hands one of them to her friend and looks me up and down as she speaks “She’s taken, babe.” Curtain Bangs swipes the joint from her girlfriend’s hand and takes a puff before turning around and leading her group closer toward the stage.

Okay, this is ridiculous. I came here to see the music and experience the art, not to force social encounters because I feel self-conscious.

I move closer to the front of the crowd and force myself to portal to the present moment, directing every ounce of my attention to the kickoff of Dames Brown’s soulful performance. This group is incredible. Three powerhouse Detroit-based women— their music fuses upbeat funk and disco-house with classic Motown soul, giving a retro feel to their sound while staying relevant in the eyes of contemporary dance music lovers. The glamorous trifecta dances in unison, bouncing their heads and shoulders to the funk-driven bass line as they belt out powerhouse harmonies that stack on each other like warm, crisp, freshly folded sheets. Their performance made one thing clear: wherever Dames Brown goes, they have fun. Their sound and energy immediately puts you in a good mood. By the end of their set, my impromptu anxiety high has worn off and I’m finally dancing.

I left this event with a lot of questions—a big one being: why did I have so much anxiety tonight? Will I feel that uncomfortable at the next show I go to alone? Will those feelings ever subside? I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to see.

And then I asked myself—would I go again and have the same experience now that I’ve experienced the art?

Yes, absolutely.

The Broad Events Page
Instagram. 

Parking and Safety:

I parked Joe’s Auto Parks Parking at 233 Main St for a flat $10 rate, which I would recommend. It’s only a few blocks down the hill away from the Broad. 

I felt safe walking alone. There’s heavy foot traffic in this area. As a woman, I always carry mace with me when I’m alone. Notify a friend and have them track you as well if that makes you feel more comfortable.