Lifestyle
How L.A. Chess Club is giving nerd culture a Gen Z makeover
Picture this: It’s a Thursday night in Santa Monica, and you’re feeling good. You’re sitting across from a cute stranger, and the vibes are vibing. In a spacious warehouse-style space, which might sound a tad sketch but somehow isn’t at all, 20- and 30-somethings are seated around rows of tables with chess boards. House music is bumping, and drinks are flowing. There’s pizza being made on-site, and two tattoo artists are around if you’re feeling adventurous and looking to commemorate the experience. And if you need a buffer for maintaining conversation with someone unfamiliar, no worries.
All of this is unfolding as you play a low-stakes game of chess. This is the magic of L.A. Chess Club.
From 8 p.m. to midnight every Thursday, happy regulars and excited first-timers show up to play chess and exercise their social muscles. On this particular night in early April, 250 people show up, some opting for heels and outfits you’d see at a chic lounge, with many others going the casual route — yet neither group looks out of place. Whether you’re looking to competitively play chess, learn the game , meet new friends or mingle as a single person, all are welcome by founder Michelle Kong.
A circular chess board made by an event attendee is shown at a weekly L.A. Chess Club meetup.
Chess player Jonathan Erving waits for his opponent to make a move.
Imani Cheadle, left, and Mandy Sherma play a game of chess together with new friends.
Around the country, people are hungry for connection and eager to seek it out following the collective trauma of COVID-19 closures. In-person gatherings that lean into the preciousness of sharing space and being still with one another are on the rise, and Los Angeles is no exception. More supper clubs have emerged, while slow burns like magazine collaging are a hit. There’s more emphasis on romanticizing and reimagining everyday activities and an increased interest in speed dating. The need for more thoughtful spaces to connect with new friends or romantic prospects for a few hours of casual conversation is palpable, and L.A. residents are stepping up.
Liam Blackburn, 22, has been coming to L.A. Chess Club for the last nine months. The exciting rounds of speed chess plus the consistent young crowd initially piqued Blackburn’s interest. But the meaningful connections he’s made while attending are what quickly turned him into a regular.
“I feel like I can actually talk to people and even meet them at a deeper level instead of ‘Hey, how you doing? Wanna dance?’” Blackburn says, emphasizing the refreshing change of pace that low-key, mellow-yet-lively chess meetups offer versus the loud music and social pressure of being at L.A. bars and nightclubs.
On this night, Blackburn arrived at L.A. Chess Club with his girlfriend, Courtney Zajac, 23. After the two met and played a game of chess at a past Chess Club event, sparks flew, and they decided to spend time together again. Now the couple, both of whom were already seasoned chess players, count the Thursday event as a regular stop on their social calendar.
“Sometimes you just cross paths with someone who is an absolute breath of fresh air, and Liam is undoubtedly one of those people no matter the setting,” Zajac says of her experience connecting with Blackburn. “I didn’t attend Chess Club with the intention of finding a romantic connection but I left my first evening in attendance knowing I’d met someone whose company I couldn’t get enough of — and whose chess skills were truly humbling. It was absolutely special and memorable, and I can’t say I’ve experienced anything quite like it before.”
New friends Sofia Contreras, left, and Jen Castro play a game of chess together.
Suha Kalish, left, and couple Fred Muth and Hanz Legaspi play chess together on a multi-player board during an L.A. Chess Club night.
Founder Kong, 26, has struck gold with this formula: an event with the laid-back ease of a chill game night and all the social and romantic possibility of a night out on the town. However, what the popular weekly chess events have grown into was never Kong’s intention when she launched the club in June 2023. “I just wanted to play chess,” she says lightheartedly.
About two years ago, when Kong first started playing chess, she was “immediately hooked” and became an avid online player. “My friends didn’t play chess, and I was like, ‘I need to find people to play chess with in person,’” Kong says. “I did my own research and went to a chess club, and it was just all older men playing chess in silence in this basement.” After Kong did some additional research and checked in with friends, she noticed that chess clubs for children and adult clubs made up almost exclusively of men seemed to be the norm.
“I really needed a chess club for people my age and in my proficiency level as well, so I made one,” she says.
After the success of L.A. Chess Club’s singles event for Valentine’s Day in February, Kong better understood how many people came to the events in search of deeper, meaningful connections. The club has relocated to a permanent location in the downtown Arts District to accommodate its growing roster of regulars.
Actor and event producer DeShawn Cavanaugh says L.A. Chess Club is helping to meet the growing need for fresh social spaces beyond the typical nightlife scene.
Cavanaugh, who produces comedy events around L.A. such as Curson n’ Screamin’ and A Tribe Called Melanin through his company 3mpower Media, enjoyed himself during his first Chess Club experience.
“I think people are looking for activities and something stimulating that’s not just drinking or listening to music,” he says. “All of those things are great, but especially in L.A., we have so many artists, they need something to chew on. These types of social events have been a really great way for people to reconnect with others and themselves.”
Janet Akisanmi, left, from Dallas, plays a game against Kabir Kang, of Los Angeles. Akisanmi and her friend Grace Feyisetan were visiting L.A. for a month from Dallas and saw the event on TikTok, so they decided to check it out.
Tiger Ji, left, and Imani Cheadle play chess together during a recent L.A. Chess Club night. It was Ji and Cheadle’s first time at the event. “It’s really fun,” Ji says. “I got really into chess during COVID, but most of it was playing online. It’s rarely social. This is less so about playing chess and much more about getting to know people. I just moved to L.A., and this is great.”
Bijan Sanchez, 30, has been in quite a few chess communities in L.A., but none were a great fit. “I stopped playing chess for the longest time, and I just joined Catan clubs. I feel like the community is more friendly,” Sanchez says.
After friends recommended he visit L.A. Chess Club, Sanchez has finally found a chess environment that resonates. “I loved it a lot. I think it was one of my favorite nights out in L.A.,” he says. “I like that there was a good diversity of different people. I feel like everyone is kinda like cool nerds, and I think I identify as that, as someone that’s an outgoing nerdy guy. I vibe with the culture and people.”
Sofia Contreras felt compelled to visit L.A. Chess Club after seeing the event highlighted on TikTok by Taylor Morgan McPherson, a.k.a. the Sparkle Queen. McPherson featured the event in her “Where to Meet Men” series, which has grown increasingly popular among L.A. singles, and helped boost awareness of Chess Club. “She motivated me to come out. The [turnout] was a lot better than what I expected it to be,” Contreras says with a smile, standing next to Jen Castro, a friend she made earlier in the evening. “I’m here now and I’m having fun.”
“I’m always checking out what’s new in L.A. to meet people in person because I don’t have the best luck on dating apps,” says McPherson. “You know, being a Black woman, dating apps aren’t really skewed for us.” On McPherson’s first visit to Chess Club, she arrived solo and had a pleasant experience. “I was a little nervous. I was a little timid,” she says.
“Men approached me immediately. It was really nice,” McPherson says, recounting a positive experience at the bar and that more seasoned male players patiently walking her through the game. “Everyone was so open and willing to teach, which was so refreshing.” By the end of the night, McPherson had made a connection and exchanged numbers with someone. Now, McPherson is another attendee-turned-vendor who offers a range of glittery body, face and hair embellishments to Chess Club members each week through her Kourtney Kardashian-approved biodegradable Sparkle Bar.
Kamarya Singh makes a move against her opponent at L.A. Chess Club.
Tattoo artist Clover Fields gives Eliana Pandian a small heart tattoo behind her ear during L.A. Chess Club. Other highlights included a DJ, glitter tattoos, hair tinsel and tarot readings.
Dennis Neymit, a.k.a. DJ Dill, plays music during the second half of L.A. Chess Club on a recent April night.
Attending the event cost $60 for men, with free admission for women. Regulars can access a discounted rate through a recently launched loyalty program.
The price structure is a move that aims to boost the low number of women in chess while eliminating barriers to entry, says Kong, adding that many of the club’s long-term male members were supportive and willing to pay double in support of the mission.
“Women making up only 10% of chess players is crazy,” Kong says. “The statistics do not look great. Our ratio is almost 2 to 1 now, women to men, and it’s proven that it works. A lot of people are very supportive. It’s really great to see.”
Ultimately, the event is what you make of it, Kong says, noting that people who’ve attended L.A. Chess Club have made all sorts of connections: finding roommates, meeting romantic partners (straight and queer) and making new friends.
For Nyne Nelson, 33, an intuitive and attendee-turned-vendor at L.A. Chess Club, getting to know people within the chess community has been rewarding, especially after enduring the intense isolation of the COVID-19 shutdown. “I’m a very introverted person, so coming to a place where I can play a game and talk to people works out very well for me — and also reading people and giving guidance,” says Nelson, who offers tarot readings on a sliding scale at the weekly event. “Sometimes people just need guidance, and that’s what I’m here to do. I don’t tell the future. I just give a direction on where to go.”
Nyne Nelson, a.k.a. Haus of 9 Tarot, gives a reading during L.A. Chess Club.
Jonathan Erving, center left, and Kamarya Singh play chess against each other as friends Jared Washington and Brandon Walker cheer them on.
Kong left her finance job and focused on L.A. Chess Club full time. “I think betting on yourself when you’re young yields good returns,” she says. “I invested everything I had to keep Chess Club running every week for nine months before I monetized [it]. It’s not easy. I’m just very determined.”
Despite the club still being in its infancy, the growth has been rapid, with weekly events averaging about 200 people.
“When you’re waking up at 5 a.m. and listening to Bloomberg in the morning and looking at stocks, it’s a very different start of the day than when you get to wake up and work on something you’re passionate about,” she says. “There’s so much opportunity here, especially compared to the environments that I was exposed to when I first went to chess clubs. I’m so happy that I’m able to bring this type of positive experience to people for the first time they interact with chess.”
Lifestyle
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By Chevaz Clarke and Daniel Fetherston
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Lifestyle
Bill Cosby Rape Accuser Donna Motsinger Says He Won’t Testify At Trial
Bill Cosby
Rape Accuser Says Cosby Won’t Take Stand At Trial
Published
Bill Cosby‘s rape accuser Donna Motsinger says the TV star can’t be bothered to show up to court for a trial in a lawsuit she filed against him.
According to new legal docs, obtained by TMZ. Motsinger says Bill will not testify in court … she claims it’s “because he does not care to appear.”
Motsinger says Bill won’t show his face at the trial either … and the only time the jury will hear from him will be a previously taped deposition.
As we previously reported, Motsinger claims Bill drugged and raped her in 1972. In the case, Bill admitted during a deposition that he obtained a recreational prescription for Quaaludes that he secured from a gynecologist at a poker game.
TMZ.com
Bill also said he planned to use the pills to give to women in the hopes of having sex with them.
Motsinger alleged Bill gave her a pill that she thought was aspirin. She claimed she felt off after taking it and said she woke up the next day in her bed with only her underwear on.
Here, it sounds like Motsinger wants to play the deposition for the jury.
Lifestyle
Baz Luhrmann will make you fall in love with Elvis Presley
Elvis Presley in Las Vegas in Aug. 1970.
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“You are my favorite customer,” Baz Luhrmann tells me on a recent Zoom call from the sunny Chateau Marmont in Hollywood. The director is on a worldwide blitz to promote his new film, EPiC: Elvis Presley in Concert — which opens wide this week — and he says this, not to flatter me, but because I’ve just called his film a miracle.
See, I’ve never cared a lick about Elvis Presley, who would have turned 91 in January, had he not died in 1977 at the age of 42. Never had an inkling to listen to his music, never seen any of his films, never been interested in researching his life or work. For this millennial, Presley was a fossilized, mummified relic from prehistory — like a woolly mammoth stuck in the La Brea Tar Pits — and I was mostly indifferent about seeing 1970s concert footage when I sat down for an early IMAX screening of EPiC.
By the end of its rollicking, exhilarating 90 minutes, I turned to my wife and said, “I think I’m in love with Elvis Presley.”
“I’m not trying to sell Elvis,” Luhrmann clarifies. “But I do think that the most gratifying thing is when someone like you has the experience you’ve had.”
Elvis made much more of an imprint on a young Luhrmann; he watched the King’s movies while growing up in New South Wales, Australia in the 1960s, and he stepped to 1972’s “Burning Love” as a young ballroom dancer. But then, like so many others, he left Elvis behind. As a teenager, “I was more Bowie and, you know, new wave and Elton and all those kinds of musical icons,” he says. “I became a big opera buff.”
Luhrmann only returned to the King when he decided to make a movie that would take a sweeping look at America in the 1950s, ’60s, and ’70s — which became his 2022 dramatized feature, Elvis, starring Austin Butler. That film, told in the bedazzled, kaleidoscopic style that Luhrmann is famous for, cast Presley as a tragic figure; it was framed and narrated by Presley’s notorious manager, Colonel Tom Parker, portrayed by a conniving and heavily made-up Tom Hanks. The dark clouds of business exploitation, the perils of fame, and an early demise hang over the singer’s heady rise and fall.
It was a divisive movie. Some praised Butler’s transformative performance and the director’s ravishing style; others experienced it as a nauseating 2.5-hour trailer. Reviewing it for Fresh Air, Justin Chang said that “Luhrmann’s flair for spectacle tends to overwhelm his basic story sense,” and found the framing device around Col. Parker (and Hanks’ “uncharacteristically grating” acting) to be a fatal flaw.
Personally, I thought it was the greatest thing Luhrmann had ever made, a perfect match between subject and filmmaker. It reminded me of Oliver Stone’s breathless, Shakespearean tragedy about Richard Nixon (1995’s Nixon), itself an underrated masterpiece. Yet somehow, even for me, it failed to light a fire of interest in Presley himself — and by design, I now realize after seeing EPiC, it omitted at least one major aspect of Elvis’ appeal: the man was charmingly, endearingly funny.
As seen in Luhrmann’s new documentary, on stage, in the midst of a serious song, Elvis will pull a face, or ad lib a line about his suit being too tight to get on his knees, or sing for a while with a bra (which has been flung from the audience) draped over his head. He’s constantly laughing and ribbing and keeping his musicians, and himself, entertained. If Elvis was a tragedy, EPiC is a romantic comedy — and Presley’s seduction of us, the audience, is utterly irresistible.
Unearthing old concert footage
It was in the process of making Elvis that Luhrmann discovered dozens of long-rumored concert footage tapes in a Kansas salt mine, where Warner Bros. stores some of their film archives. Working with Peter Jackson’s team at the post-production facility Park Road Post, who did the miraculous restoration of Beatles rehearsal footage for Jackson’s 2021 Disney+ series, Get Back, they burnished 50-plus hours of 55-year-old celluloid into an eye-popping sheen with enough visual fidelity to fill an IMAX screen. In doing so, they resurrected a woolly mammoth. The film — which is a creative amalgamation of takes from rehearsals and concerts that span from 1970 to 1972 — places the viewer so close to the action that we can viscerally feel the thumping of the bass and almost sense that we’ll get flecked with the sweat dripping off Presley’s face.
This footage was originally shot for the 1970 concert film Elvis: That’s The Way It Is, and its 1972 sequel, Elvis on Tour, which explains why these concerts were shot like a Hollywood feature: wide shots on anamorphic 35mm and with giant, ultra-bright Klieg lights — which, Luhrmann explains, “are really disturbing. So [Elvis] was very apologetic to the audience, because the audience felt a bit more self conscious than they would have been at a normal show. They were actually making a movie, they weren’t just shooting a concert.”
Luhrmann chose to leave in many shots where camera operators can be seen running around with their 16mm cameras for close-ups, “like they’re in the Vietnam War trying to get the best angles,” because we live in an era where we’re used to seeing cameras everywhere and Luhrmann felt none of the original directors’ concern about breaking the illusion. Those extreme close-ups, which were achieved by operators doing math and manually pulling focus, allow us to see even the pores on Presley’s skin — now projected onto a screen the size of two buildings.
The sweat that comes out of those pores is practically a character in the film. Luhrmann marvels at how much Presley gave in every single rehearsal and every single concert performance. Beyond the fact that “he must have superhuman strength,” Luhrmann says, “He becomes the music. He doesn’t mark stuff. He just becomes the music, and then no one knows what he’s going to do. The band do not know what he’s going to do, so they have to keep their eyes on him all the time. They don’t know how many rounds he’s going to do in ‘Suspicious Minds.’ You know, he conducts them with his entire being — and that’s what makes him unique.”
Elvis Presley in Las Vegas in Aug. 1970.
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It’s not the only thing. The revivified concerts in EPiC are a potent argument that Elvis wasn’t just a superior live performer to the Beatles (who supplanted him as the kings of pop culture in the 1960s), but possibly the greatest live performer of all time. His sensual, magmatic charisma on stage, the way he conducts the large band and choir, the control he has over that godlike gospel voice, and the sorcerer’s power he has to hold an entire audience in the palm of his hands (and often to kiss many of its women on the lips) all come across with stunning, electrifying urgency.
Shaking off the rust and building a “dreamscape”
The fact that, on top of it all, he is effortlessly funny and goofy is, in Luhrmann’s mind, essential to the magic of Elvis. While researching for Elvis, he came to appreciate how insecure Presley was as a kid — growing up as the only white boy in a poor Black neighborhood, and seeing his father thrown into jail for passing a bad check. “Inside, he felt very less-than,” says Luhrmann, “but he grows up into a physical Greek god. I mean, we’ve forgotten how beautiful he was. You see it in the movie; he is a beautiful looking human being. And then he moves. And he doesn’t learn dance steps — he just manifests that movement. And then he’s got the voice of Orpheus, and he can take a song like ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ and make it into a gospel power ballad.
“So he’s like a spiritual being. And I think he’s imposing. So the goofiness, the humor is about disarming people, making them get past the image — like he says — and see the man. That’s my own theory.”
Elvis has often been second-classed in the annals of American music because he didn’t write his own songs, but Luhrmann insists that interpretation is its own invaluable art form. “Orpheus interpreted the music as well,” the director says.
In this way — as in their shared maximalist, cape-and-rhinestones style — Luhrmann and Elvis are a match made in Graceland. Whether he’s remixing Shakespeare as a ’90s punk music video in Romeo + Juliet or adding hip-hop beats to The Great Gatsby, Luhrmann is an artist who loves to take what was vibrantly, shockingly new in another century and make it so again.
Elvis Presley in Las Vegas in Aug. 1970.
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Luhrmann says he likes to take classic work and “shake off the rust and go, Well, when it was written, it wasn’t classical. When it was created, it was pop, it was modern, it was in the moment. That’s what I try and do.”
To that end, he conceived EPiC as “an imagined concert,” liberally building sequences from various nights, sometimes inserting rehearsal takes into a stage performance (ecstatically so in the song “Polk Salad Annie”), and adding new musical layers to some of the songs. Working with his music producer, Jamieson Shaw, he backed the King’s vocals on “Oh Happy Day” with a new recording of a Black gospel choir in Nashville. “So that’s an imaginative leap,” says Luhrmann. “It’s kind of a dreamscape.”
On some tracks, like “Burning Love,” new string arrangements give the live performances extra verve and cinematic depth. Luhrmann and his music team also radically remixed multiple Elvis songs into a new number, “A Change of Reality,” which has the King repeatedly asking “Do you miss me?” over a buzzing bass line and a syncopated beat.
I didn’t miss Elvis before I saw EPiC — but after seeing the film twice now, I truly do.
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