Sustaining the city

Day 5 of the Seattle trip. Tonight was the beginning of the Boogie Down the Block party at Washington Hall, an all ages Graff Jam Party hosted by 206 Zulu. I went, expecting a lot of children and a large crowd. I found a rather low-key, mellow event: a few men working with black books around a table, and Bean, one of the first b-girls I interviewed, in the parking lot with Snap1, a b-girl who had flown in from Alaska to compete in the all-women's battle scheduled for Sunday, setting up.

Low key was lovely. It gave my rather shy self a way to slide in, and begin to get a feel for one of the groups of people and spaces that give hip-hop in this city its pulsating energy.

Bean gave me a warm enthusiastic hug when she saw me, and began to apologize for not keeping me abreast on the all-women's hip-hop battle she has organized with her husband Pele for the past three years, the Queen on Queen. She confessed to me that she wasn't sure that there would be a budget for the event until just a few weeks ago.

I told her not to worry, and that it was great to just see her and reconnect. She had just come from teaching a break-dancing workshop to ten-year-old girls and was doing a hip-hop camp next week.

As we talked, a van blasting music in a sort of 21st century version of Kool Herc's car and big speakers pulled up. Both b-girls Bean and Snap1 exclaimed with joy as they heard the music and began dancing in the street. The van had banners for Boogie Down the Block plastered all over it, and had been creating a mobile flash mob to promote the event in the central city the weekend before. The operator explained that he drove the van around town promoting products for clients and had been providing informal "pre-entertainment" to the crowd that gathered on Broadway a few days earlier for the Macklemore video shoot.

Washington Hall is at 14th Avenue and Yesler Way. This corner has a bit of a reputation as being one of the most down-and-out intersections in Seattle, and many of the qualities associated with "down-and-out" continue to characterize the block. There is no shortage of graffiti tags. There is public housing. The juvenile detention center is nearby. The sound of police and ambulance sirens often pierces the air.

But the corner feels safe. It also feels welcoming, and as if it is ready to take on life. Much more than the stilted, staid blocks that led up to Madison Park Beach. Much more than the trendy, crowded row of restaurants and bars that lined 12th Avenue on the south side of Capitol Hill.

The sense of safety, welcome, and life-giving energy is a vibe that I felt in my walks through Seattle numerous times this week. It seemed somewhat random, and concentrated in a few places: around 7th Avenue and King, around 24th Avenue and Spring, at Broadway and Denny by the post office, and now at 14th and Yesler. These were all places in the city where hip-hop was in the house: the Massive Monkees dance studio is at 7th and King; Umoja Peace Center is at 24th and Spring; Macklemore fans were hanging near Broadway and Denny, which also was the site of at least two anti-establishment flag burnings in 1989 and 1991; and 206 Zulu, the local chapter of the Universal Zulu Nation, has made its home base at Washington Hall.

Bean, Snap and I headed inside. At the "black book" writers bench table, Khazm, the head of 206 Zulu, was working with graf. Bean explained that after Washington Hall had become a historic building, it had been opened up to community groups. 206 Zulu was one of the anchor tenants, which is a change from the time that I first became acquainted with it in 2010. The group previously met at an Eritrean restaurant, and organized practice sessions for b-boying/b-girling, emceeing, deejaying, and graffiti writing at different locales throughout Seattle. Its community educational and entertainment events would migrate from one location to the next.

"Now," says Bean. "It's all here. Washington Hall is like a second home."

Opening the door to a room that is to become a future coffeehouse, Bean showed off 206 Zulu's hip-hop museum. Snap1 and I both exclaimed in delight. The room was filled with memorabilia of Seattle hip-hop events: posters for shows, promotional postcards, pictures of record covers, a turntable, scratched records.

"I want to make this my room," exclaimed Snap1. "It's just so dope."

I still struggle with hip-hop slang, but I agree with her assessment. Spaces like Washington Hall often rot into oblivion. As old buildings, they need a lot of maintenance, and resources for such work are often limited. As the buildings rot, so do their neighborhoods. Making space for hip-hop community groups reverses that process.