Black & Loud Fest showcased powerful Black music: country, gospel, rock, rap, jazz, and punk all were accounted for.
Punk is Not Dead! She’s BLACK! I wrote that phrase on the back of my jean jacket in high school and was often met with confused responses. “What do you mean she’s Black?” “How could punk be Black?” My answer was always the same: punk music’s past, present, and future lie within the Black community. If you want to know where punk is right now, look to the Black community, where she came from.
On Saturday, September 14th, at The Crocodile in Seattle, WA, the kind of party that, years from now, white music historians will talk about as if they were truly there occurred.
Black & Loud.
Let me paint the scene for you. The Crocodile, including Madame Lou’s downstairs and the Here-After, transformed into a temple of sound, honoring the contributions, devotion, and talent of Black music. Country, gospel, rock, rap, jazz, and punk were all present and accounted for. Each room had a band that captivated its audience and filled the space with an exhilarating energy.
At first, I was admittedly overwhelmed. How was I supposed to enjoy everything when the acts were happening simultaneously? But I quickly found my groove: MOVE. Keep moving. When one band ended their set, I went to the next, and the next, and didn’t stop moving.
While the event’s structure was thrilling, it wasn’t accessible for those unable to climb and descend stairs as much as I did. The only solution I could think of is some kind of live feed or spreading the event over several days.
Now, let’s talk about the lineup. The first act I saw was Antwane Tyler, a country artist from Monroe, WA. The band, led by Tyler himself, was stellar. I debated whether a band this talented should have been the opener. It felt like a shame for those who arrived later and missed them — but that’s their loss.
Antwane has the swagger of a seasoned frontman, the vocals of a country star, and he commands the stage and guitar as though he’s been doing it for decades. His sound is a mix of Johnny Cash with a touch of contemporary country radio like Morgan Wallen and Chris Stapleton. During his set, he covered “Bar Song” by Shaboozey, embodying the “new country” sound.
We’re so back.
With the success of Beyoncé’s “Cowboy Carter” album, there’s a renewed focus on Black country singers. As originators of the genre, it’s only fitting. As a Texas gal, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Growing up on Dolly Parton and Patsy Cline, seeing more and more Black country musicians and fans come together warms my dry, dry, Texas heart.
Gospel was also a powerful presence at Black & Loud. I was curious to see how a band like Nikki D and the Sisters of Thunder would be received by the godless heathens of Belltown, and I was pleasantly surprised.
It’s hard to deny the group’s sheer talent and power. Nikki D has the cadence of a preacher and the bravado of James Brown. Watching this Black woman shred on steel guitar felt like being back in church. Many of our talented rock musicians, like Jimi Hendrix, got their start in church, where the connection between the spiritual, transcendent power of rock and gospel music is clear. The crowd loved it, dancing and singing along. The Holy Ghost was in that room.
Downstairs, in a little theater in the Here After, was The Black & Loud Cypher. I could almost feel the energy before I even entered the room. Seattle has a reputation for being “chilly,” with people often too shy to let loose. But not that night. The lyrical talents of Emanuel Brown, SUS, and Nobi were something special. Seattle is brimming with rap talent; it’s almost embarrassing that the city is known for only one rapper who doesn’t represent the look or sound of the streets. I often wonder why Macklemore doesn’t use his platform to uplift these talented individuals, but as the poet once said, “They not like us”.
The cypher was an energetic volley between the audience and performers, a unique connection that made the room come alive. I feel lucky to have been there.
This event is in its third year, having started just as we began to see the end of the COVID tunnel. Black & Loud was started by Cameron Lavi-Jones of King Youngblood and Anthony Briscoe of Down North after they realized they were the only Black bands on the lineup at a music festival. In just three years, Black & Loud has grown into a gargantuan event, establishing its own hub as the center of the new “Seattle Sound.”
For years, people have said the “Seattle Sound” is dead, with no more bands like Nirvana, Pearl Jam, or Alice in Chains. But it’s not dead… (say it with me now) SHE’S BLACK!
This is a fact that the gatekeepers of Seattle music are hesitant to admit. If Cameron were a white guy with stringy blonde hair and soiled sweater, he’d be hailed as Seattle’s savior. But he’s a brown-skinned man with a glorious afro in a studded leather jacket. Seattle has a way of stifling Black talent, and if it doesn’t learn to uplift its own, we’ll lose them. They’ll move to LA or NYC and make waves there, and it will be Seattle’s loss.
Cameron is one of those performers. When you see him perform, your first reaction is, “There’s someone like him… HERE?” He’s a natural talent — a star.
The band features not just guitar, bass, and drums but also cello, reminding me of symphonic metal bands like Nightwish while blending Pearl Jam and Deftones with the influences of Black culture and music.
Growing up in the same city as Jimi Hendrix, Quincy Jones, and Ernestine Anderson means you’re part of a legacy. No one wants to be compared to Nirvana, but everyone wants to be part of that lineage.
King Youngblood was followed by Ayron Jones, the event’s headliner. I’ll admit, I was unfamiliar with his game — a failing I blame on the city. Why isn’t Ayron a household name in Seattle? Earlier in the evening, as the bands arrived, Ayron was greeted by his peers with great respect. I was confused. I hadn’t heard of him, but everyone else had.
For those like me, living in a cave of their own ignorance, Ayron is a singer-songwriter and guitarist discovered by Sir Mix-A-Lot (it’s Seattle right?). In 2012, he released his debut album, and since then, he’s been performing and touring the country. In 2020, he signed with Big Machine Label Group, and his single “Mercy” reached No. 1 on the Billboard Mainstream Rock Airplay chart. In 2023 he entered the Billboard charts again with “Blood in the Water”. It’s clear Jones is only going up from here.
At the end of the night, I spoke to co-founder Cameron Lavi-Jones. We talked about the struggle to be recognized by Seattle’s cultural gatekeepers and the financial challenges of keeping Black & Loud going. It’s a privately funded event with no corporate sponsors; most expenses come out of Lavi-Jones’ pocket.
We also discussed the frustrations of AfroPunk Seattle setting up its event just a week before Black & Loud. My thoughts? More is more. There’s room for all of us.
Black & Loud has carved out a unique niche, a mix of genres, sights, and sounds only Lavi-Jones and his collaborators could create. Something special is happening here, and I’m not sure if working with AfroPunk and KEXP would have made it possible. As a lover of things—and a disaster bisexual—I want both. I want AfroPunk to continue in its own direction with the voices of Black Seattle artists, and I want Black & Loud to move in its own direction, supported by as much financial backing as possible.
There is enough talent, creativity, and audience for both. My only concern is Seattle. Are we ready to acknowledge musicians who don’t look like Pearl Jam or Nirvana? Or will we continue to pine for the past, letting our talent shrivel like a raisin in the sun, or move to greener pastures?
I don’t know, but for now, I’ll be buying a ticket to every Black & Loud show.
If you weren’t there, you missed out. Don’t miss the next one. Punks not dead, she’s at the Black & Loud show.
Featured image by Luna Reyna
