Chicagoans don’t need an excuse to talk about house music, but when the biggest pop star in the world drops a record indebted to house, you can expect more than just a conversation. Beyoncé’s Renaissance has effectively evangelized for this Chicago-born sound since the album came out in July, not least because she shaped it with help from major players in the genre’s history. Pop critic, dance-music historian, and Reader contributor Michaelangelo Matos has noted in the New York Times that Renaissance track “Cozy” obliquely references Adonis’s 1986 Trax Records heater “No Way Back” with its sly bass line, and it also includes contributions from two Chicago natives who built careers during later waves of house: Honey Dijon and Curtis Alan Jones (aka Green Velvet, fka Cajmere). 

“Cozy” got me thinking about the old house records I own—the ones from the early days of Chicago house, when the local scene was still putting down roots. When you buy house records in the city that birthed house, you’re often shopping in stores where the staff and customers include people who still shape that scene. 

In the 1970s, DJs in New York City shaped the sound of hip-hop by messing around with their favorite bits on the records they owned. Grandmaster Flash developed a method of writing directly on the grooves of a record that allowed him to find the break he wanted in no time at all. “I would mark the record with a grease pencil or a crayon, where the break lived, and all the intersecting points,” he told Vulture in 2014. “So when I wanted to repeat a break all I had to do is just watch how many times the intersecting line passed the tone arm.”

House DJs didn’t tend to build songs out of looped breaks, though—they’ve always been more likely to play a track through. None of the 12-inch house singles I’ve bought has marks on its grooves, just on its labels or sleeve. The 12-inch was de rigueur in dance by the time house music began being released on vinyl in 1984, and modest independent labels such as Trax and DJ International rode the homemade sound to outsize success. In May 1976, Salsoul had released the first commercial “giant single,” Double Exposure’s “Ten Per Cent,” which gave a single song nearly ten minutes to unwind across an entire side of an LP-size record. This format suited house music just fine, and it also allowed everyday record buyers easy access to versions of songs typically only heard in nightclubs. 

Of the house records I’ve found that were marked up by DJs, most simply bear the names of their previous owners, though decoding them can be tricky. In 2008, in a 5 magazine oral-history project dedicated to producer and DJ Armando Gallop, house pioneer Farley “Jackmaster” Funk described one way such markings can be deceptive. He’d left some of his old vinyl in Gallop’s basement, and Gallop added his own stamp. “He’d color ’em up and tell me they’re not mine!” Funk said. “‘Look at this little spot right there—that’s my record! What are you doin’?’ . . . He didn’t have records from way back then! But I didn’t mind though.”

The 1987 single “G.T.B.” by Pierre’s Pfantasy Club

The marginalia on the used dance vinyl in my collection are frequently at least that hard to interpret. Did my copy of the sultry 1987 single “G.T.B.” by Pierre’s Pfantasy Club previously belong to Chosen Few member Mike Dunn, or did someone else Sharpie the name “DUNN” in capital letters on the record’s B side? Who was the person named Julien who got Julian “Jumpin” Perez of the Hot Mix 5 (who’s currently running for 26th Ward alderman) to sign the sleeve of a copy of Perez’s 1987 single “Jack Me Till I Scream”? Why did Phillip Jackson—or the person who rubber-stamped Jackson’s name on a copy of DJ Milton’s 1995 EP Trax-4-Daze—underline the title of the bubbly, bass-forward cut “Southside Beat Down” and draw four stars above it? 

Some of the names scrawled on these 12-inches, such as “DJ Chris,” are so common that an online search brings up a uselessly huge pool of results. In other cases, I can’t tell what the letters on a hub label are supposed to mean; if you wrote “M M M” on a copy of Mr Lee’s poppy 1987 Trax single “Come to House,” please get in touch. 

I did figure out which DJs had owned at least some of my used records, or I think I did. Unfortunately, almost none of them responded when I reached out. Aurora-based DJ Tito “Latino” actually replied—I’d asked him about a few records marked “DJ Mister Tito”—but he just told me I had the wrong guy. Tito “Latino” had previously spun under a different name, but it was “Tito Jumpin Jimenez.”

During my search I swung by Signal Records, the shop that Blake Karlson (former label head of Chicago Research) opened in Avondale this summer. I found a cache of used 12-inches with marked-up hub labels in the shop’s two-dollar bins, and eventually tracked down a DJ who’d previously owned a few of them: Jerry Lange Jr., aka Jackmaster Jay of the Chicago Cutting Crew. 

In the mid-80s, Lange found his way to DJing through breaking. “I tried that and I sucked,” he says. “I saw that movie Beat Street in ’84, and they had everything in it. I’m like, ‘Oh, let me try the DJ part of it.’” 

House music had already spread beyond nightclubs by that point, in part because the Hot Mix 5 had debuted on WBMX in 1981. Lange got familiar with the crew through the daily Hot Lunch show, and he found other kids in his neighborhood interested in dance music. When he started buying records, he originally sought out Italo disco. “The Italo records were more expensive, because they’re imported,” Lange says. “The Chicago ones, you could get for four bucks a copy, so I started buying more of that stuff.”

Three of Jackmaster Jay’s old records: K Joy’s “My Phone” from 1986; Fast Eddie’s collaboration with Tyree and Chic, “The Whop,” from 1987; and Denise Motto’s “Tell Jack (Jack the House),” also from 1987 Credit: Kirk Williamson for Chicago Reader

Lange was a teen who couldn’t drive and didn’t have much cash, but he still had record-shopping options in the 1980s. He grew up near a flea market on Cicero and Division where he found vinyl, and he took public transit to more conventional stores such as Disco City in Logan Square and Importes, Etc. in Printer’s Row, which was partly responsible for giving house music its name. 

Lange had a turntable at home, and he found a couple friends who could supply the other necessary equipment to properly DJ a party—a mixer and a second turntable. He began building a reputation by spinning neighborhood house parties, and in 1987 he joined the Chicago Cutting Crew. The following year he won first place in a mobile DJ competition as part of the tenth annual Great Battle of the DJs at Navy Pier. “Right around that time frame, around 1988, I was doing parties all the time,” he says. On Facebook a friend of his has posted a scan of a flyer from a February 1989 blowout at the A.C. Club that also featured the Hot Mix 5’s Ralphi Rosario and Mickey Oliver. 

Jackmaster Jay owned a copy of K Joy’s 1986 single “My Phone.”

I have three of Jackmaster Jay’s old records, all from that critical era in his DJ career. K Joy’s “My Phone” came out in 1986, and Denise Motto’s “Tell Jack (Jack the House)” and Fast Eddie’s collaboration with Tyree and Chic, “The Whop,” both landed in 1987. 

“Just having a new track meant a lot to me at the time,” Lange says. He frequently spun sets with other DJs, so he wrote his name on his records for strictly practical reasons. “You don’t want no one stealing your copy,” he says. “Most of the times, when we had a partner, each had one copy of the same record, and some guys were not taking care of their records, so they just throw them around—whereas I marked mine, I took care of mine.” He’d mark his preferred side with a big “A,” then put a “B” on the flip side—which is why the A side of “The Whop” has two “Bs” in Sharpie. 

Lange stopped DJing regularly in 1992. “I was getting older,” he says. “My parents were like, ‘Are you gonna stick with this as a profession, or are you gonna start working?’ I didn’t see myself going further with the DJ thing at that moment.” He’s kept collecting records, though, sometimes replacing 12-inches he already owns with better copies and selling or donating his originals. “Any records I buy now, I don’t mark them,” he says. “Because they’re staying at my house.”

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As the last days of summer creep closer to Riot Fest descending onto the front yards of west-siders, records the Reader reviewed help reveal where the infamous music festival’s money is spent: on permit fees, fines for damaging park grounds, and political donations to influential alderpersons. 

According to contracts obtained through a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request to the Chicago Park District, Riot Fest has paid an average of $248,000 in permit fees every year since moving to Douglass Park in 2015. It has also paid tens of thousands of dollars some years in “violations” for wear and tear sustained by the park during the festival, which brings about 45,000 daily visitors to the park during its three-day run.

At a park district board meeting on Wednesday, officials proposed amending park district code to require board approval on all future large-scale events of 10,000 people or more. This comes as Douglass Park residents continue to demand the removal of Riot Fest and other music festivals, which they say damage the park, limit public use, and disrupt hospital quiet zones.

According to the contract language, in 2015 and 2016 the park district initially charged Riot Fest  flat fees of more than $2 million per year that were then reduced by “discounts” of about 90 percent. The records we obtained show that in 2015 Riot Fest only paid $233,508 of $2.35 million after the park district applied multiple discounts through an “approved partnership” and “approved agreement.”

A spokesperson for the Chicago Park District said the agreement discount, which is a negotiated rate, was “incorrectly identified” as a partnership discount in the 2015 Riot Fest contract and that no additional discounts were provided because of the clerical error.

The following year Riot Fest received discounts on permit fees through an “approved agreement” for a fee reduction of 91 percent. Records show Riot Fest paid just $212,079 of $2.4 million in permit fees in 2016.

The park district apparently changed how it structured event contracts after that. Riot Fest has not received a discount since 2016, but the district significantly reduced the upfront permit fees, according to the contracts. In 2017, the permit fee dropped to $225,000. Since then, fees have slightly increased each year.  

A spokesperson for the Chicago Park District did not respond to questions about why the Riot Fest permit fees were reduced or why the fees were different each year.

The contracts also show that since 2015, the park district has charged Riot Fest tens of thousands of dollars in “violation or damage” fees. A spokesperson for the park district said such fees are for restoring park grounds that are torn up during the festival. The spokesperson did not respond to questions about why the district continued to approve permits for Riot Fest despite the repeated violations. 

According to special event permit applications, events like Riot Fest are required to pay their permit fees in full 30 days prior to the event, but payment for this year’s permit was not submitted until three days before the event, according to a spokesperson for the festival. 

In a statement to the Reader, a Riot Fest representative said that the festival “paid all permit fees and repair costs that have been assessed over the years in full.” 

Since moving to Douglass Park seven years ago, Riot Fest has been the target of complaints from residents who say the large music festivals commandeer the park and hardly invest into the surrounding communities. 

“Douglass Park and the surrounding area in North Lawndale is already a community that has seen grave divestment for decades now,” said Anton Adkins, whose family has been living across the street from Douglass Park for over 50 years. “To have such festivals within our community that the community itself does not profit from, and benefit from in any way, is harmful to the people of North Lawndale.”

Now, with three large music festivals occupying Douglass Park including Riot Fest, Lyrical Lemonade’s Summer Smash, and Heatwave, residents lose public access to the park for a quarter of the summer, according to a Chicago Park District spokesperson. 

“Nothing has been repaired in seven years,” said Denise Ferguson, a longtime resident of Douglass Park. “We didn’t get new sidewalks, we didn’t get new walking trails, we didn’t even get working bathrooms or access to drinking water in our park. None of that is there.”

Special events as large as Riot Fest are only eligible for a discount on permit fees if the host organization is a nonprofit or if 100 percent of the event proceeds solely benefit a nonprofit organization. Nonprofit organizations can receive at maximum a 75 percent discount on permit fees depending on annual income levels.

Riot Fest applied for a permit as a private company each year and never requested a nonprofit discount, according to the permit application submitted by independent contractor Scott Fisher, whose Special Event Services Group provided equipment for Riot Fest until recently. 

In a statement to the Reader, a spokesperson for the park district said “fees for all large scale events permitted on Park District property are negotiated between the District and the event organizers based on a number of considerations including, size of event, event features and park location.” 

Ticket sales for this year’s three-day festival range between $109.98 for a one-day general admission ticket to $1,999.98 for an “ultimate” three-day pass—a jump from 2018 ticket prices, when it was possible to buy a three-day ticket for less than $100.  

With 45,000 daily attendees and ticket prices of hundreds to thousands of dollars, back-of-the-envelope math shows Riot Fest likely makes millions in ticket sales each year. 

“Someone is making a lot of money and it’s benefiting someone, but none of that is coming back to us,” Ferguson said. 

Over the years, Riot Fest has given tens of thousands of dollars to political action committees tied to Alderperson George Cardenas (12th) and former Alderperson Michael Scott Jr. (24th), whose wards include Douglass Park.

 The 2015 and 2016 permit contracts include letters to the Department of Cultural Affairs and Special Events from Cardenas expressing support for the music festival. In recent years, community groups based in Pilsen have also written letters of support for Riot Fest including Economic Strategies Development Corporation (ESDC), ABC-Pilsen, and Ballet Folklórico Xochitl. 

A handful of vendors contracted by Riot Fest also gave tens of thousands of dollars to PACs tied to Cardenas and Scott over the years. 

All Around Amusement Inc., which provided carnival rides during the festival, has donated over $12,000 to PACs tied to Cardenas since 2010. Special Event Services Group has donated $2,000 to the committee Friends of George A. Cardenas. Technotrix Inc., which Cardenas mentioned in one of his letters, donated $1,000 to the committee. 

In 2015, Riot Fest formed a charitable foundation with the purpose of promoting the arts while supporting causes “that effect positive change in our neighborhoods.” According to its 2015 tax returns available on ProPublica’s nonprofit database, the Riot Fest foundation donated less than $9,000 in concert tickets to local organizations and raised about $6,700 for school programs.

The park district proposal that would require board approval for large-scale events will be open to public feedback for 45 days.

“I hope that going forward, Douglass Park will see better days,” Adkins said.

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Since its inception in 2011, the Chicago Film Society has remained one of the most valuable arts institutions in the city. The organization is run by a small but impassioned group of cinephiles whose love for the medium has allowed for numerous screenings on analog film. They’re also behind one of the most exciting Chicago film events of the year: Celluloid Now, an ambitious nine-program extravaganza running from September 15 to 18. With dozens of short films playing at three different venues, Celluloid Now will showcase artists who are “pushing analog filmmaking in bold and exciting new directions.”

Such language hints at the type of films that define much of the programming: avant-garde experiments, nonnarrative curios, dazzling formal exercises. Nowadays, it’s easy for the average person to be completely unfamiliar with such films’ existences—they’ll appear in a small shorts program at the Chicago International Film Festival, or be presented on the Criterion Channel for the more daring viewer. There’s an inherent cordoning off of such works from the general population that keeps the scene needlessly niche, and CFS is hoping to bring more people into the immediate, awe-inspiring pleasures that such films provide. “I want everyone to feel the enjoyment of being able to go out again and seeing some truly wild works,” says CFS archivist, programmer, and poster designer Tavi Veraldi.

Julian Antos, executive director of CFS, explains that his goal for Celluloid Now was to keep the event as inclusive as possible. “I really feel like there’s something everyone can enjoy in each of these programs,” he explains. “So many of these films are very direct and personal that it’s hard not to have a very human connection to them.” Take a few of the works that appear in the first program, which is titled “35mm: Industry Standard” and takes place at the Gene Siskel Film Center on September 15. There’s Jessica Dunn Rovinelli’s Marriage Story (2020), which uses dramatic reds, spoken poetry, and sex to capture how intimacy delivers both ecstasy and domestic comforts. Alexandre Larose’s brouillard – passage #14 (2013) features 39 overlapping shots of a walk taken from the director’s family cottage to a lake, and the result is a hypnotic reproduction of a memory. Even Rainer Kohlberger’s keep that dream burning (2017), one of the more abstract films here, will provide dazzling sensory overload as flickers and TV-like static transform into a stirring, grandiose epic.

Each of the nine programs in Celluloid Now has an overarching theme. The second, for example, is titled “16mm Visions”—it takes place on September 16 at Constellation. Traditionally a music venue, the space will allow for cello accompaniment during Kioto Aoki’s dance film 6018Dance (2022). Also on the docket: a new 16mm preservation of Caroline and Frank Mouris’s Impasse (1978), which has simple but lively percussion to match its playful animations; Sasha Waters’s Burn Out the Day (2014), which provides a ruminative examination of a home burned to the ground alongside stately instrumentation; and Vicky Smith’s not (a) part (2019), whose flaring black-and-white splotches are made more invigorating because of the sparse but bracing soundtrack. In this program especially, it’s obvious how much sound can enhance the power of images.

Rebecca Lyon, who is a projectionist and programmer with CFS, notes that the weekly screenings they hold often include films that don’t make their way into traditional programming, such as educational films and trailers. “I think we’ve taken a similar approach here,” she says of Celluloid Now. “We’re screening more well-known filmmakers alongside first-timers.” One can see that in the must-see ninth program, “2x16mm: Double the Fun,” which will take place at the Chicago Cultural Center on Sunday, September 18. There will be four double-projection 16mm films, including a restoration of Razor Blades (1968) from avant-garde extraordinaire Paul Sharits. The film’s flashing images and colors will remind viewers of the enduring strength of scintillating juxtapositions. Also present is Hangjun Lee’s Why Does the Wind Blow (2012), which is taken from the Korean filmmaker’s archive of educational films, and Daïchi Saïto’s Never a Foot Too Far, Even (2012), which is the only film on the program where its projections will overlap instead of appear side by side.

Celluloid NowThe Chicago Film SocietyHosted at the Chicago Cultural Center, Gene Siskel Film Center, and Constellation; September 15-18; free-$15; celluloidnow.org

“Everybody loves to talk about Paul Thomas Anderson and Quentin Tarantino as analog standard-bearers,” explains CFS projectionist and programmer Cameron Worden. “But there are analog film artists working worldwide, most with significantly smaller budgets.” Indeed, Celluloid Now is lifting up independent artists from around the world, and those attending will witness how varied and thrilling the offering is. Austrian filmmaker Antoinette Zwirchmayr’s two films at the event, Oceano Mare (2020) and At the edge of the curtain (2022), possess an acute understanding of space, staging, and color to be seductively beguiling. Typefilm an armory show (2021) seesBrazilian artist João Reynaldo typing onto 16mm film with a typewriter, constructing something akin to concrete poetry. And Tetsuya Maruyama’s ANTFILM (2021) forgoes the camera altogether, using dead ants and Super-8 film to create an awe-inspiring spectacle.

Seven of the nine programs at Celluloid Now will take place at the Cultural Center, and Worden emphasizes how crucial this is to the bold vision they have for the event. Beyond offering these programs for free, this venue allows them to “try out some nontraditional formats for screenings, including a 20-minute shorts program and an ‘open mic’ where anybody who has a print of their work can show up and we’ll run it.” The former refers to the fifth program on Saturday, titled “A Miniature Screening of Miniature Films,” which focuses on 8mm films. The latter is a “celluloid open mic” which will take place on Sunday morning. Also welcome is a program later that afternoon where a “16mm projector dissection” will take place for anyone interested in learning the ins and outs of the machine. Test films will be shown during this educational program, though it should be noted that unannounced, secret films will also screen during programs one, two, four, and eight.

Lyon sums up the excitement and passion surrounding Celluloid Now neatly: “I really think our lives became significantly uglier when film stopped being the norm. So to have several days of screenings where people can just rest their eyes on all these beautiful prints feels really special to me.” If you’re looking to fall in love with film and its potential to inspire, look no further than Celluloid Now.

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Chicagoans don’t need an excuse to talk about house music, but when the biggest pop star in the world drops a record indebted to house, you can expect more than just a conversation. Beyoncé’s Renaissance has effectively evangelized for this Chicago-born sound since the album came out in July, not least because she shaped it with help from major players in the genre’s history. Pop critic, dance-music historian, and Reader contributor Michaelangelo Matos has noted in the New York Times that Renaissance track “Cozy” obliquely references Adonis’s 1986 Trax Records heater “No Way Back” with its sly bass line, and it also includes contributions from two Chicago natives who built careers during later waves of house: Honey Dijon and Curtis Alan Jones (aka Green Velvet, fka Cajmere). 

“Cozy” got me thinking about the old house records I own—the ones from the early days of Chicago house, when the local scene was still putting down roots. When you buy house records in the city that birthed house, you’re often shopping in stores where the staff and customers include people who still shape that scene. 

In the 1970s, DJs in New York City shaped the sound of hip-hop by messing around with their favorite bits on the records they owned. Grandmaster Flash developed a method of writing directly on the grooves of a record that allowed him to find the break he wanted in no time at all. “I would mark the record with a grease pencil or a crayon, where the break lived, and all the intersecting points,” he told Vulture in 2014. “So when I wanted to repeat a break all I had to do is just watch how many times the intersecting line passed the tone arm.”

House DJs didn’t tend to build songs out of looped breaks, though—they’ve always been more likely to play a track through. None of the 12-inch house singles I’ve bought has marks on its grooves, just on its labels or sleeve. The 12-inch was de rigueur in dance by the time house music began being released on vinyl in 1984, and modest independent labels such as Trax and DJ International rode the homemade sound to outsize success. In May 1976, Salsoul had released the first commercial “giant single,” Double Exposure’s “Ten Per Cent,” which gave a single song nearly ten minutes to unwind across an entire side of an LP-size record. This format suited house music just fine, and it also allowed everyday record buyers easy access to versions of songs typically only heard in nightclubs. 

Of the house records I’ve found that were marked up by DJs, most simply bear the names of their previous owners, though decoding them can be tricky. In 2008, in a 5 magazine oral-history project dedicated to producer and DJ Armando Gallop, house pioneer Farley “Jackmaster” Funk described one way such markings can be deceptive. He’d left some of his old vinyl in Gallop’s basement, and Gallop added his own stamp. “He’d color ’em up and tell me they’re not mine!” Funk said. “‘Look at this little spot right there—that’s my record! What are you doin’?’ . . . He didn’t have records from way back then! But I didn’t mind though.”

The 1987 single “G.T.B.” by Pierre’s Pfantasy Club

The marginalia on the used dance vinyl in my collection are frequently at least that hard to interpret. Did my copy of the sultry 1987 single “G.T.B.” by Pierre’s Pfantasy Club previously belong to Chosen Few member Mike Dunn, or did someone else Sharpie the name “DUNN” in capital letters on the record’s B side? Who was the person named Julien who got Julian “Jumpin” Perez of the Hot Mix 5 (who’s currently running for 26th Ward alderman) to sign the sleeve of a copy of Perez’s 1987 single “Jack Me Till I Scream”? Why did Phillip Jackson—or the person who rubber-stamped Jackson’s name on a copy of DJ Milton’s 1995 EP Trax-4-Daze—underline the title of the bubbly, bass-forward cut “Southside Beat Down” and draw four stars above it? 

Some of the names scrawled on these 12-inches, such as “DJ Chris,” are so common that an online search brings up a uselessly huge pool of results. In other cases, I can’t tell what the letters on a hub label are supposed to mean; if you wrote “M M M” on a copy of Mr Lee’s poppy 1987 Trax single “Come to House,” please get in touch. 

I did figure out which DJs had owned at least some of my used records, or I think I did. Unfortunately, almost none of them responded when I reached out. Aurora-based DJ Tito “Latino” actually replied—I’d asked him about a few records marked “DJ Mister Tito”—but he just told me I had the wrong guy. Tito “Latino” had previously spun under a different name, but it was “Tito Jumpin Jimenez.”

During my search I swung by Signal Records, the shop that Blake Karlson (former label head of Chicago Research) opened in Avondale this summer. I found a cache of used 12-inches with marked-up hub labels in the shop’s two-dollar bins, and eventually tracked down a DJ who’d previously owned a few of them: Jerry Lange Jr., aka Jackmaster Jay of the Chicago Cutting Crew. 

In the mid-80s, Lange found his way to DJing through breaking. “I tried that and I sucked,” he says. “I saw that movie Beat Street in ’84, and they had everything in it. I’m like, ‘Oh, let me try the DJ part of it.’” 

House music had already spread beyond nightclubs by that point, in part because the Hot Mix 5 had debuted on WBMX in 1981. Lange got familiar with the crew through the daily Hot Lunch show, and he found other kids in his neighborhood interested in dance music. When he started buying records, he originally sought out Italo disco. “The Italo records were more expensive, because they’re imported,” Lange says. “The Chicago ones, you could get for four bucks a copy, so I started buying more of that stuff.”

Three of Jackmaster Jay’s old records: K Joy’s “My Phone” from 1986; Fast Eddie’s collaboration with Tyree and Chic, “The Whop,” from 1987; and Denise Motto’s “Tell Jack (Jack the House),” also from 1987 Credit: Kirk Williamson for Chicago Reader

Lange was a teen who couldn’t drive and didn’t have much cash, but he still had record-shopping options in the 1980s. He grew up near a flea market on Cicero and Division where he found vinyl, and he took public transit to more conventional stores such as Disco City in Logan Square and Importes, Etc. in Printer’s Row, which was partly responsible for giving house music its name. 

Lange had a turntable at home, and he found a couple friends who could supply the other necessary equipment to properly DJ a party—a mixer and a second turntable. He began building a reputation by spinning neighborhood house parties, and in 1987 he joined the Chicago Cutting Crew. The following year he won first place in a mobile DJ competition as part of the tenth annual Great Battle of the DJs at Navy Pier. “Right around that time frame, around 1988, I was doing parties all the time,” he says. On Facebook a friend of his has posted a scan of a flyer from a February 1989 blowout at the A.C. Club that also featured the Hot Mix 5’s Ralphi Rosario and Mickey Oliver. 

Jackmaster Jay owned a copy of K Joy’s 1986 single “My Phone.”

I have three of Jackmaster Jay’s old records, all from that critical era in his DJ career. K Joy’s “My Phone” came out in 1986, and Denise Motto’s “Tell Jack (Jack the House)” and Fast Eddie’s collaboration with Tyree and Chic, “The Whop,” both landed in 1987. 

“Just having a new track meant a lot to me at the time,” Lange says. He frequently spun sets with other DJs, so he wrote his name on his records for strictly practical reasons. “You don’t want no one stealing your copy,” he says. “Most of the times, when we had a partner, each had one copy of the same record, and some guys were not taking care of their records, so they just throw them around—whereas I marked mine, I took care of mine.” He’d mark his preferred side with a big “A,” then put a “B” on the flip side—which is why the A side of “The Whop” has two “Bs” in Sharpie. 

Lange stopped DJing regularly in 1992. “I was getting older,” he says. “My parents were like, ‘Are you gonna stick with this as a profession, or are you gonna start working?’ I didn’t see myself going further with the DJ thing at that moment.” He’s kept collecting records, though, sometimes replacing 12-inches he already owns with better copies and selling or donating his originals. “Any records I buy now, I don’t mark them,” he says. “Because they’re staying at my house.”

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As the last days of summer creep closer to Riot Fest descending onto the front yards of west-siders, records the Reader reviewed help reveal where the infamous music festival’s money is spent: on permit fees, fines for damaging park grounds, and political donations to influential alderpersons. 

According to contracts obtained through a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request to the Chicago Park District, Riot Fest has paid an average of $248,000 in permit fees every year since moving to Douglass Park in 2015. It has also paid tens of thousands of dollars some years in “violations” for wear and tear sustained by the park during the festival, which brings about 45,000 daily visitors to the park during its three-day run.

At a park district board meeting on Wednesday, officials proposed amending park district code to require board approval on all future large-scale events of 10,000 people or more. This comes as Douglass Park residents continue to demand the removal of Riot Fest and other music festivals, which they say damage the park, limit public use, and disrupt hospital quiet zones.

According to the contract language, in 2015 and 2016 the park district initially charged Riot Fest  flat fees of more than $2 million per year that were then reduced by “discounts” of about 90 percent. The records we obtained show that in 2015 Riot Fest only paid $233,508 of $2.35 million after the park district applied multiple discounts through an “approved partnership” and “approved agreement.”

A spokesperson for the Chicago Park District said the agreement discount, which is a negotiated rate, was “incorrectly identified” as a partnership discount in the 2015 Riot Fest contract and that no additional discounts were provided because of the clerical error.

The following year Riot Fest received discounts on permit fees through an “approved agreement” for a fee reduction of 91 percent. Records show Riot Fest paid just $212,079 of $2.4 million in permit fees in 2016.

The park district apparently changed how it structured event contracts after that. Riot Fest has not received a discount since 2016, but the district significantly reduced the upfront permit fees, according to the contracts. In 2017, the permit fee dropped to $225,000. Since then, fees have slightly increased each year.  

A spokesperson for the Chicago Park District did not respond to questions about why the Riot Fest permit fees were reduced or why the fees were different each year.

The contracts also show that since 2015, the park district has charged Riot Fest tens of thousands of dollars in “violation or damage” fees. A spokesperson for the park district said such fees are for restoring park grounds that are torn up during the festival. The spokesperson did not respond to questions about why the district continued to approve permits for Riot Fest despite the repeated violations. 

According to special event permit applications, events like Riot Fest are required to pay their permit fees in full 30 days prior to the event, but payment for this year’s permit was not submitted until three days before the event, according to a spokesperson for the festival. 

In a statement to the Reader, a Riot Fest representative said that the festival “paid all permit fees and repair costs that have been assessed over the years in full.” 

Since moving to Douglass Park seven years ago, Riot Fest has been the target of complaints from residents who say the large music festivals commandeer the park and hardly invest into the surrounding communities. 

“Douglass Park and the surrounding area in North Lawndale is already a community that has seen grave divestment for decades now,” said Anton Adkins, whose family has been living across the street from Douglass Park for over 50 years. “To have such festivals within our community that the community itself does not profit from, and benefit from in any way, is harmful to the people of North Lawndale.”

Now, with three large music festivals occupying Douglass Park including Riot Fest, Lyrical Lemonade’s Summer Smash, and Heatwave, residents lose public access to the park for a quarter of the summer, according to a Chicago Park District spokesperson. 

“Nothing has been repaired in seven years,” said Denise Ferguson, a longtime resident of Douglass Park. “We didn’t get new sidewalks, we didn’t get new walking trails, we didn’t even get working bathrooms or access to drinking water in our park. None of that is there.”

Special events as large as Riot Fest are only eligible for a discount on permit fees if the host organization is a nonprofit or if 100 percent of the event proceeds solely benefit a nonprofit organization. Nonprofit organizations can receive at maximum a 75 percent discount on permit fees depending on annual income levels.

Riot Fest applied for a permit as a private company each year and never requested a nonprofit discount, according to the permit application submitted by independent contractor Scott Fisher, whose Special Event Services Group provided equipment for Riot Fest until recently. 

In a statement to the Reader, a spokesperson for the park district said “fees for all large scale events permitted on Park District property are negotiated between the District and the event organizers based on a number of considerations including, size of event, event features and park location.” 

Ticket sales for this year’s three-day festival range between $109.98 for a one-day general admission ticket to $1,999.98 for an “ultimate” three-day pass—a jump from 2018 ticket prices, when it was possible to buy a three-day ticket for less than $100.  

With 45,000 daily attendees and ticket prices of hundreds to thousands of dollars, back-of-the-envelope math shows Riot Fest likely makes millions in ticket sales each year. 

“Someone is making a lot of money and it’s benefiting someone, but none of that is coming back to us,” Ferguson said. 

Over the years, Riot Fest has given tens of thousands of dollars to political action committees tied to Alderperson George Cardenas (12th) and former Alderperson Michael Scott Jr. (24th), whose wards include Douglass Park.

 The 2015 and 2016 permit contracts include letters to the Department of Cultural Affairs and Special Events from Cardenas expressing support for the music festival. In recent years, community groups based in Pilsen have also written letters of support for Riot Fest including Economic Strategies Development Corporation (ESDC), ABC-Pilsen, and Ballet Folklórico Xochitl. 

A handful of vendors contracted by Riot Fest also gave tens of thousands of dollars to PACs tied to Cardenas and Scott over the years. 

All Around Amusement Inc., which provided carnival rides during the festival, has donated over $12,000 to PACs tied to Cardenas since 2010. Special Event Services Group has donated $2,000 to the committee Friends of George A. Cardenas. Technotrix Inc., which Cardenas mentioned in one of his letters, donated $1,000 to the committee. 

In 2015, Riot Fest formed a charitable foundation with the purpose of promoting the arts while supporting causes “that effect positive change in our neighborhoods.” According to its 2015 tax returns available on ProPublica’s nonprofit database, the Riot Fest foundation donated less than $9,000 in concert tickets to local organizations and raised about $6,700 for school programs.

The park district proposal that would require board approval for large-scale events will be open to public feedback for 45 days.

“I hope that going forward, Douglass Park will see better days,” Adkins said.

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Bundled up on the Pratt Street Beach under the Sunday moonlight a week before the show, Freddy Maurico, my best friend from college, and I grabbed our sandy red Solo cups filled with Barefoot wine. As we were bitten by sand flies, songs that spanned Kehlani’s discography played from his speaker. The dark bass of “RPG” off her album While We Wait quickly enveloped us both, and Freddy told me about the first time he saw her in concert.

“Oh my god, like, I was so captivated,” he said. It was 2016 and we were freshmen. Our college hosted an undergraduate show and Kehlani was the opening act. They only had two backup dancers and a chair, and he was amazed by her singing, dancing, and rapping. “Like it was all introduced to me like in this one performance. That was like my first interaction with someone that could do all of that.” We both were loyal fans within a year. But Freddy’s obsession peaked much before mine, and it was through him that I fell for the artist myself.

https://chicagoreader.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/09/FreddyDescribesKehlaniFirstImpression.wavHear Freddy Maurico describe his first time hearing Kehlani.

In high school, mid-20s pop artists like Marina and the Diamonds, Demi Lovato, Ellie Gouding, and Ariana Grande were on the marquee for Freddy. He would also soon discover the slow and sexy sound singers like Kali Uchis and Frank Ocean made. “I think that’s how Kehlani started to fit in,” the 24-year-old said.

Kehlani’s music “[has] that R&B pop sound” that’s euphoric, he said. Freddy likes the rap-singing Kehlani incorporates, which he saw first expressed by Beyoncé in Destiny’s Child. “So it’s like, uhhhh I’m lost in the music. But it’s also hard and sexy at the same time.” 

Freddy explained that while he adores Ariana Grande, her music comes off as a bit manufactured because she has several co-writers and less creative control. Kehlani co-wrote most of the songs on Blue Water Road. Another Kehlani fan told me they felt Ariana Grande is a “pop princess” who “writes for radio,” and that can be limiting.

“But with Kehlani I was like, oh, like she’s all of it,” Freddy said. “That’s all her life, all her coming from her body, her soul, her passion.” 

Kehlani was the first and only openly queer R&B artist he listened too. Their music pushed him to self-discovery. “Kehlani’s music kinda opened my eyes,” he said. “‘Like, I am so sexy but also so vulnerable.” Freddy laughed. “It’s OK to be both.’”

One of Freddy’s favorite tracks is “Everything Is Yours” off of 2017’s SweetSexySavage:

Up at a time when I shouldn’t be / Thinking ‘bout things that I shouldn’t be / Sad about shit I’ve been sad about for the past year / I’ve been low, I’ve been down and out it . . .  I would give it all to make it all work (Oh, oh) / I wish I could say that you knew my worth. 

​​“That’s an example, I think, of depending so much on a person and loving a person so fully,” Freddy said. “And like, hyperfixating on what they think of me and just giving my all and expecting it all from like this one person,” with an urgency, outward preoccupation, and abandonment of self that doesn’t make it into the most recent project. 

On the beach that night, we could hear the waves of Lake Michigan crashing, but we could hardly see them. I turned on “Get Me Started (feat. Syd),” Freddy’s favorite song off of Blue Water Road.

A smooth upward moving bass grooved repetitively under the singer’s soft vocals and a hard beat: “I guess, choose peace over stress (oh) / Can’t clean up your mess / You wanna leave? Be my guest / Pushin’ my buttons, you gon’ get me started / Call me aggressive, I’m just being honest.”

“You know in the lyrical content, they’re not even engaging with this person’s attitude and pettiness,” Freddy said. “That’s why it’s so much more grounded and mature. All the songs are in this mindset throughout the album. I was like, wow, that is growth. And this throwback R&B just makes me dance.”

https://chicagoreader.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/09/FreddyDescribesGetMeStartedTrack.wavHear Freddy describe Kehlani’s song “Get Me Started” from the album Blue Water Road.

On the Wednesday evening two days before the show, I sat with Toni Akunebu at Foster Beach, as dozens slowly reentered the water after the lifeguard on duty went home for the day. The 25-year-old said they preferred music which they could cook to, smoke to, or fuck to. Kehlani provides all three. 

As we dug our feet into the sand and caught the last hour of daylight as the sun escaped below Lake Michigan, Toni talked to me about Blue Water Road and how Kehlani puts “love and tenderness” into what they do, from music videos to clothing and choreography. “It always feels like something new, and it always feels like something that just hasn’t been done before,” Toni said. Kehlani’s self-direction shines through what Toni describes as an eclectic discography. 

“I feel like there’s a little bit for everyone, like, there’s a lot of R&B, there’s a lot of soul. There’s a lot of mixing . . . freeform poetry; it feels like little love notes just being given to you.” Toni also identifies deep spirituality through the artist’s work, and said embodiment is the best description they can give for the catalog, and that themes like self-awareness and “yearning for connection” appear on albums.

“There’s a lot of the songs where I’m shaking my ass,” Toni said. “There’s other ones where I’m just like, ‘OK, I just have to sit, be here in this moment and just really be present.’ And so I feel like a lot of their music is really about honoring those moments with yourself, those parts of yourselves at different times.” 

Toni appreciates how they’re able to witness how life experiences change an artist, and those changes are reflected in the artist’s music. Toni said they learned about the singer’s queerness even earlier in 2018, after Hayley Kiyoko and Kehlani collbaorated as best friends turned lovers in a music video, kissing in what Toni described as “the kiss heard around the world.” Last year, Kehlani went on Instagram Live and responded to a fan’s request for life updates with, “You wanna know what’s new about me? I finally know I’m a lesbian!” 

Earlier this year the singer released a music video filmed in a cottage in São Paulo, Brazil,  featuring tender, romantic moments with her real-life lover, rapper 070 Shake. 

Kehlani had primarily dated cis men in the public eye, so they received a lot of media scrutiny for renouncing men in 2021, even though they were releasing songs like “Honey” years earlier (“I like my girls just like I like my honey, sweet / A little selfish / I like my women like I like my money, green / A little jealous”). Blue Water Road distinguishes itself by exploring the mature, queer relationship that Kehlani yearns for in earlier projects.

“There really just isn’t a lot of queer folks, especially like, gender-fluid, gender-nonconforming folks, just like in mainstream media at the same caliber,” Toni said.

I had a video call with Imani Wilson six hours before the show. She’ll tell me later that “it was one of the best nights I’ve had in a while. I wish I could go see it again.”

The 24-year-old has “24/7” tattooed above her knee, an ode to Kehlani’s 2016 single in which the rapper describes their struggle with depression. “It’s OK to not be OK / To dive in your pain / And it’s alright to not be alright / To search for your light.”

Wilson said that what makes Kehlani unique, especially as a queer artist, is their insistence on being authentic and honest in their music—which mostly concerns romance and love—even when those relationships might end in the public eye.

In 2020, for example, five days after releasing a joint Valentine’s Day single with their former lover YG, the rapper released a song on streaming called “Valentine’s Day (Shameful)” that croons of sudden heartbreak: “Torn between crying for help / And not letting them see me sweat / I took a risk loving loudly / Defended you proudly.”

A few months later on It Was Good Until It Wasn’t, Kehlani dropped “Belong to the Streets Skit,” where young voice actors are discussing the singer’s romantic life callously, saying, “Always got a different nigga though, bruh, like, we get it (yeah).” Kehlani seemingly explains herself and her tenacity to love out loud in the starting bars of “Everybody Business”: “I ain’t never been a half-ass lover / Rather lay out on the train tracks for ya / Hit the pavement for ya / Make a statement.”

Wilson said she admires how Kehlani can address past ways of being and say, “Yeah, this was who I was at one point,” but also acknowledge that people change. And as an artist, they leave a record of who they’ve been. Kehlani walks through those past iterations of themself with a lot of peace. “People are fluid,” Wilson said. “That’s one of her favorite words to use, ‘fluid.’ And seeing her navigate herself and figuring out who she is, helps [me].”

A few songs into Kehlani’s set, the concoction of blinking red and yellow stage lights and theater smoke created an atmosphere reminiscent of a sex dungeon or planet Mars. “Fuck that, sing it to me!” the rapper demanded, beckoning the audience to join in the transition from verse to chorus in their song “Can I.” The audience complied, and sang half the chorus (“Can I / Stop by / To see you / Tonight?”) while Kehlani and her four dancers—none of them men—reenacted partner intimacy for our enjoyment.

The star dropped to their knees behind one of their dancers, who was already on all fours in front, and grinded on the dancer from the back, while balancing their own weight on their knees. By the second time through that chorus, Kehlani was the one on the ground, ass up while one of the masculine-presenting dancers grabbed the artist from the back and playfully grinded on them.

As the band crescendoed into the second verse, Kehlani continued singing the second verse balanced on the ground. The choreography of queer play and chase continued throughout the night, with dancers pulsing toward and away from the singer in flowing, sensual motion. “Don’t worry about if the strap is thicker thank you!” the rapper yelled, replacing the original line for the gay rendition. The audience screamed. 

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After the comedy revolution during the COVID-19 pandemic, when many performers began speaking out about toxic culture in the sketch and improv world, iO was one of the many theaters that had to close its doors, seemingly for good. Upright Citizens Brigade, which began its life in Chicago, closed its longtime New York venue; they also faced charges that they had fostered institutional racism. While many theaters remained open, mainstays like Second City had to completely rethink their mission towards diversity and inclusion. 

After the iO space was purchased by real estate executives Scott Gendell and Larry Weiner in 2021, it, too, needed such a makeover. Annoyance Theatre’s Jennifer Estlin and Mick Napier stepped in to help guide iO into the comedy future. 

For Estlin and Napier, the most important step was hiring a core management staff. These newest staff members are an integral part of the conversation in filling in the blanks on what is happening with the new iO.

Under Charna Halpern’s management, iO faced allegations of institutional racism, leading to a petition from BIPOC performers that circulated prior to Halpern’s decision in summer of 2020 to close the theater. There had also been earlier allegations that Halpern had not done enough to address a culture of sexual harassment both in Chicago and at the now-shuttered iO West. Halpern and iO weren’t alone in facing such allegations; Second City՚s former owner, CEO, and executive producer Andrew Alexander stepped down in 2020 after Black performers went public with what they experienced there, and SketchFest founder Brian Posen stepped down in 2018 from the festival and as executive director for Stage 773 in the wake of widespread allegations of sexual harassment. (That venue is in the process of reinventing itself as Whim, an “experiential theater” with cocktails.)

The familiar pattern is that theaters caught in these controversies often hire “diversity consultants,” but, for those who have followed the scene for a while, it often feels like a never-ending trail of “woke-washing” in hopes of convincing us that these institutions are actually trying to do better. 

All that being said, much rests on the backs of new iO artistic directors Katie Caussin and Adonis Holmes. Caussin has been around the improv scene for many years as a performer at iO, Second City, and the Annoyance and knows the nuances and history of the community, their performers, and producers. Holmes is newer on the scene but has been highly involved in both the Annoyance and iO. He is currently a Bob Curry fellow at Second City (a program designed to foster diverse talent, named for the first Black member of Second City’s resident company). 

Not every team member is new to iO. Managing director Steven Plock worked at the theater before they closed their doors in 2020. Plock’s institutional knowledge means he is very familiar with how the business was run previously, for better or for worse. During the pandemic, Plock went out west and worked at a “cowboy bar,” so he’s surely ready to wrangle whatever needs wrangling. His food and beverage experience is a plus, since that’s a major area of revenue for the for-profit theater.

Classes are also a major revenue driver, and Rachael Mason, known as one of Chicago’s top improvisers and instructors, will be leading classes as director of education. Mason will be managing the entire class program. Online classes, taught by longtime veterans such as Susan Messing, have been running for around three months already. 

When Estlin met Kim Whitfield, she was doing a show at the Annoyance. Subsequently Estlin hired her to direct a show Annoyance was coproducing with Dispensary 33. Whitfield joins iO as managing producer, along with technical director Kyle Anderson and Jesse Swanson, executive director, special programs/content. Swanson was formerly a production manager at Second City and producing artistic director at Off-Color Comedy in Philadelphia.

“What a great thing if we can actually pull off an iO that has all the good stuff and gets rid of the bad stuff.”

It appears that diversity among staff is a priority and will continue to be for the new iO. Racist trends die hard, and have been known to kill theaters in the past in addition to alienating incredibly talented performers of color. What is also clear is that the new staff assembled with the input of Estlin and Napier all have deep roots in the improv and comedy scene. 

By contrast, the new owners Weiner and Gendell do not, though they excel at the “business” side of running a business. The ownership team now also includes Steve Sacks, who recently sold his family’s truck-parts business and has put his focus and interests into iO. Sacks does have a history with comedy performance himself, having performed stand-up in Chicago and New York. Of the three owners, Sacks will be serving as iO’s CEO. He has become the most involved on a day-to-day basis, maintaining an office in the iO building on Kingsbury. When Sacks got involved, he read the petition that so many people had signed, and this was the driving force to his involvement in the investment process. Sacks says, “What a great thing if we can actually pull off an iO that has all the good stuff and gets rid of the bad stuff.”

In regards to how exactly Sacks and the team will combat years-old discrimination issues, Sacks had this to say: “It’s not enough to set up a diversity, equity, inclusion, and accessibility (DEIA) team and say, ‘Yeah, we checked that box.’ We really do want them to help us with concrete steps necessary to make performers and audience members feel safe. BIPOC performers didn’t feel comfortable, and we want to make sure they do feel at home and that this is a place they can thrive.”

In contrast to the way iO used to be run, Sacks states, “We’re not doing what was done before, which is one person deciding who does or doesn’t go on stage. One person deciding who is and isn’t paid. These decisions are going to be made collaboratively, and ownership is going to stay out of those decisions because we don’t want it to be a colonized management system. I think the DEIA is going to hold our future to the fire. Mistakes will be made, but we’re going to have to figure things out as we go along. We are doing it in the spirit of collaboration and healing, the spirit of equity. That’s our objective.”

When it comes to working with owners who largely aren’t from comedy backgrounds, Estlin has found collaborating with them to be quite refreshing, as they are the first to admit they don’t know anything about theater.

“These are great people, and they have been super nice to work with, very supportive,” says Estlin. “It’s always amazing when someone says they don’t know anything about a topic. They are like sponges, soaking up every bit of knowledge,” adding, “They’ve put a lot of trust in Mick and I. It’s nice when someone asks you for help and actually trusts the help you are offering.”

Building renovations are still underway and started about a month and a half ago under the direction of longtime Chicago scenic designer Bob Knuth, who has been generally working to make the bar area warmer and more conducive to hanging out with lots of people. Audience members should expect to see a refreshed and enlivened space.

Renovations at iO are expected to be finished by the second week of September, at which point they’ll begin hiring support staff for hosting, bartending, and box office. Sacks says, “Ownership believes that we can add value on the renovation of the building in creating a cozy and relaxing vibe and in allowing and facilitating our team to create hilarious shows. These creative decisions will be made in the most collaborative, equitable way possible.” Though construction and permit delays are always part of the equation, iO aims to have a soft open by early fall, with hopes of having an opening celebration closer to winter.

As far as growing postpandemic, Estlin says, “We’re constantly having to remind ourselves that the old is the way things were, and this is what we do moving forward. We want to make sure it’s an equitable space that provides opportunities for as many types of people as possible. That is super important to all of us.”

Sacks and the team are committed to producing high-quality comedy. “The shows have to be funny. The quality has to be very high, and we believe there are enough talented diverse BIPOC and para-ability comics alike. We want it to be funny; we want it to be edgy. We want it to be challenging! We want to be proud of what we’ve done, and we all want to do something good for the community. If it can be a place of momentary joy and belonging, then we’ve done something. It’s an amazing, fun challenge for us. I get to hang out with these talented people, it’s like a blessing. Our goal is to earn the trust of improvisers, work staff, and audience members who may not have felt safe or comfortable at iO. We’ll strive to create a supportive, inclusive atmosphere, and we want people to hold us accountable to that. There was a lot of trauma, and we have to gain the trust of talented improvisers that would like to perform here.”

It’s yet to be determined what iO’s place will be in this new comedy landscape, but, given its long roots in Chicago, it’s a safe bet that expectations will be high. The theater has already started programming shows that will be ready to go up toward the beginning of fall. With the help of Estlin and Napier, and the business savvy of these new owners, iO looks to be on the road to make amends for decades of damage. With so much riding on the necessary changes to its previous exclusive culture, audiences and performers alike are eager to see the future of iO.

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