The Art Of Storytellin’
Level 13, 341 13th St.
Oakland
Oct. 7, 2023
Twenty-five years ago, I could not have possibly known I’d be spending this past Saturday evening in the alley between 12th and 13th streets in Downtown Oakland celebrating OutKast. Nor could I have known that DJ Sake One’s “The Art Of Storytellin’” would have become a “can’t miss” event throughout my 30s and early 40s. On Tuesday, Sept. 29, 1998, I had just started my senior year of high school, and a friend decided to cut our third-period classes to go to the record store. Our anticipation insisted that waiting until 3 p.m. was out of the question. Not only was this the release date of OutKast’s third album, “Aquemini,” but albums by Jay‑Z, Black Star, Brand Nubian, and A Tribe Called Quest were also being released that same day.
Twenty-five year later I carried the historical symmetry of that date, which took place 25 years after hip-hop’s “birth,” into this year’s installment of an event called “The Art Of Storytellin’.” The party has a rich history here in the Bay Area. It took on special significance this year as commemorations of hip-hop history and milestones have been taking place all over the world in celebration of the culture’s 50th anniversary.
While versions of Sake One’s “Outkast Celebration and Tribute Party,” date back to the early 00s, it took its name and current form in 2009, when Sake moved the event from San Francisco to Oakland. That first Oakland edition of the party was held at the recently shuttered SomaR nightclub. “It went off,” Sake recalled. From there, “I kept building it and it continued to get a great reception, and we did bigger and bigger rooms and then took it to LA and NYC, where it was an annual party from 2010 to 2017. But, in all of its iterations, it has always felt like a party that belongs in Oakland.”
This past Saturday’s edition of the party was its first daytime incarnation (doors opened at 3 p.m.) and was produced in partnership with a burgeoning local cannabis company called Kounter Kulture. Set in the long narrow alley behind Oakland’s Level 13 nightclub, the venue was framed by brick exteriors adorned with murals, tags, and handstyles. The weed, the soundtrack, the setting, and the time of day all contributed to turning what was once a raucous and spry affair into something significantly more subdued. The vibe was more akin to a family reunion than a sweaty and lustful night at the club.
There was an almost liturgical quality to the proceedings. I witnessed lots of long hugs between the sort of old friends who don’t see one another as often as they once had. As DJ Emelle delivered a semi-chronological set that bounced between the group’s biggest hits and album cuts adored by the group’s biggest fans, I took a moment to observe the crowd. There were roughly 150 of us in that alley, many of us rapping along to every lyric, others nodding their heads over trays of pre-rolls and plates of fried catfish. It felt as though many in attendance were also likely to recall exactly what they were doing on 9/29/98.
I remember we were worried that morning as we scurried out of the record store tearing the plastic off of our respective “Aquemini” CDs. It felt possible that sometime between the release of their previous LP, “ATLiens,” and the release of their most recent single “Rosa Parks,” OutKast had left us behind. One half of the group, the notoriously mercurial Andre 3000, then just known as “Dre from Outkast,” had been seen wearing turbans. He was apparently no longer drinking alcohol or rapping about guns, and we were told all this was to be blamed on his romance with Erykah Badu.
I also recall with particular clarity how quickly all fears that we’d lost Dre to something softer and safer were erased. Dre’s first appearance on “Aquemini” is a single 16-bar verse on “Return Of The G,” during which he makes it abundantly clear that he had not been disarmed by love or distracted by a broader set of interests. On the contrary, he’d been invigorated. He sounded more powerful and focused than ever before, he was capable of new, more intricate, rhythmic acrobatics and his lyrics were more pointed and precise. He had only those first 16 bars to spend on those of us who had naively fretted over what might come as a result of his maturation.
Dre, and by extension OutKast, had been shown a larger world. They were in a hurry to share it with all of us. That morning, 25 years ago, and 25 years after hip-hop’s “birth” in the South Bronx, was the first of many instances when OutKast would expand my musical frame of reference to make room for the places they wanted to take me.
“Many pop acts blow up and become less interesting. In fact, that is the norm. OutKast however, became more and more interesting and in some cases weird,” said Sake “The possibilities of an OutKast theme party open up to boom-bap hip-hop, conscious rap, R&B, ghetto tech, neo-soul, pop, rock, and even house music. So, it’s not only an interesting tribute party to throw, and a popular one — it’s a super fun one to DJ.”
When we make a ritual out of celebrating the totemic musicians of our lives, we remind ourselves that artistic ambition and popular relevance can coexist. A celebration of OutKast specifically reminds me of the power there is in refusing limitation. At a time when our favorite venues have closed, and Oakland nightlife seems to be barely holding on, I was so grateful to be along for the ride as Sake and his crew endeavored to find a new context for a few of our old stories.
