Lifestyle
Nevada grand jury indicts witness in killing of Tupac Shakur
Frank Wiese/AP
LAS VEGAS — One of the last living witnesses to the fatal drive-by shooting of rapper Tupac Shakur in Las Vegas was charged with murder with use of a deadly weapon Friday in the 1996 killing, a long-awaited breakthrough in a case that has frustrated investigators and fascinated the public ever since the hip-hop icon was gunned down 27 years ago.
A Nevada grand jury indicted Duane “Keffe D” Davis in the killing, prosecutors announced in court Friday. Chief Deputy District Attorney Marc DiGiacomo said a grand jury had been seated in the case for “several months.” DiGiacomo described Davis as the “on-ground, on-site commander” who “ordered the death” of Shakur.
The charges were revealed hours after Davis, 60, was arrested this morning while on a walk near his home, according to DiGiacomo.
Davis has long been known to investigators and has himself admitted in interviews and in his 2019 tell-all memoir, “Compton Street Legend,” that he was in the Cadillac from which the gunfire erupted during the September 1996 drive-by shooting. Shakur was 25 when he was killed.
Las Vegas police raided a home in mid-July in the Las Vegas suburb of Henderson that is tied to Davis. Police were looking for items “concerning the murder of Tupac Shakur,” according to the search warrant. They collected multiple computers, a cellphone and hard drive, a Vibe magazine that featured Shakur, several .40-caliber bullets, two “tubs containing photographs” and a copy of Davis’ memoir.
Clark County District Judge Jerry Wiese denied Davis bail.
It wasn’t immediately clear if Davis has an attorney who can comment on his behalf. Davis hasn’t responded to multiple phone and text messages from The Associated Press seeking comment or an interview in the more than two months since the house raid.
Shakur was in a BMW driven by Death Row Records founder Marion “Suge” Knight in a convoy of about 10 cars. They were waiting at a red light when a white Cadillac pulled up next to them and gunfire erupted. Shakur was shot multiple times and died a week later at the age of 25.
The rapper’s death came as his fourth solo album, “All Eyez on Me,” remained on the charts, with some 5 million copies sold. Nominated six times for a Grammy Award, Shakur is still largely considered one of the most influential and versatile rappers of all time.
In his memoir, Davis said he was in the front passenger seat of the Cadillac and had slipped the gun used in the killing into the backseat, from where he said the shots were fired.
Davis implicated his nephew, Orlando “Baby Lane” Anderson, saying he was one of two people in the backseat. Anderson, a known rival of Shakur, had been involved in a casino brawl with the rapper shortly before the shooting.
After the casino brawl, “Mr. Davis formulated a plan to exact revenge upon Mr. Knight and Mr. Shakur” in his nephew’s defense, DiGiacomo said.
Anderson died two years later. He denied any involved in Shakur’s death.
Davis revealed in his memoir that he first broke his silence in 2010 during a closed-door meeting with federal and local authorities. At the time, he was 46 and facing life in prison on drug charges when he agreed to speak with them about Tupac’s killing, as well as the fatal shooting six months later of Tupac’s rap rival, Biggie Smalls, also known as the Notorious B.I.G.,
“They offered to let me go for running a ‘criminal enterprise’ and numerous alleged murders for the truth about the Tupac and Biggie murders,” he wrote. “They promised they would shred the indictment and stop the grand jury if I helped them out.”
Shakur was feuding at the time with rap rival Biggie Smalls, who was fatally shot in March 1997. At the time, both rappers were in the middle of an East Coast-West Coast rivalry that primarily defined the hip-hop scene during the mid-1990s.
Greg Kading, a retired Los Angeles police detective who spent years investigating the Shakur killing and wrote a book about it, said he’s not surprised by Davis’ arrest.
The former Los Angeles police detective said he believed the investigation gained new momentum in recent years following Davis’ public descriptions of his role in the killing, including his 2019 memoir.
“It’s those events that have given Las Vegas the ammunition and the leverage to move forward,” Kading said. “Prior to Keffe D’s public declarations, the cases were unprosecutable as they stood.”
Lifestyle
Check out the fashion as stars arrive at the 2024 Emmys red carpet
The 76th Primetime Emmys Awards are on Sunday night, hosted by father-son duo Eugene and Dan Levy, creators and stars of the hit TV series Schitt’s Creek. Nominees and stars hit the red carpet on Sunday evening outside of the Peacock Theater in Los Angeles. Here are some of their looks.
Lifestyle
Planeta and Wavey, two designers tapping into the shared language of L.A. and Mexico City
This story is part of Image’s September Image Makers issue, celebrating some of the most daring and innovative artists working in fashion today.
Eric Solis describes his photos as “cyberghetto,” “flow 2000s,” “raver chic.” Models wearing cargos layered with neon mesh shorts, stand among the rims at a car lot, using a purse inspired by one. Remixed plaid jorts. A durag with a blinged-out butterfly bikini top. Club kid platforms accessorized with ripped black tights. The concept: Moda sin fronteras. Solis, an L.A. native who now lives in Mexico City, where much of his family is from, wanted the photos to tell a story about the connection between two brands — L.A.-based Planeta and Mexico City-based Wavey — and in a larger sense, to “blur the lines between how people perceive what fashion is, or how it should look, in both the contexts of L.A. and Mexico.”
For Solis — a multi-hyphenate who works as an architect, event producer, photographer, art director and creative consultant, among other things — this project was an opportunity to capture the conversation he sees happening between Mexico City and L.A. in terms of fashion and style, in a way that felt expansive and not necessarily confined by gender or culture. The models themselves are young people who are mostly from Mexico City (or live there) spanning queer, trans and Indigenous communities that Solis met through fashion shows. The entire team — from the stylist Tuzza to the hair artist Ozmar Báez — was an intentional part of the conversation he was trying to create through the clothes and photos, he says.
Solis was thinking about the dichotomy of the two communities in L.A. and Mexico City, and at least in terms of style, how they were taking from each other and presenting it in new ways. He wanted to take what he was seeing and present it so that it wasn’t L.A. style, wasn’t Mexico City style, but was a hybrid of both.
The shoot acted as a catalyst for a pop-up called “No Hablamos Inglés” that Solis is curating on Sept. 21 at Planeta’s DTLA store. He is bringing the work of more than 20 emerging Mexican designers — spotlighting a scene of alternative, young, queer artists who are morphing how we think about Mexican style — including Palida Studios, Tlacuache Muerto and Resurrected. The name is important; for Solis it stands for cultural pride and community: “Sometimes, Mexicans on the Mexico side feel like they should learn English to better their lives or to be better in business, but this is almost like a saying of defiance. It’s almost rebellious: ‘No Hablamos Inglés.’”
This project is also Solis’ contribution to an ongoing conversation artists have been sparking between L.A. and Mexico for years, chief among them artist and curator Anita Herrera. From the beginning, Herrera has infused her practice with the mission of finding the connection and disconnections between L.A. and Mexico. Her ongoing series, “Diaspora Dialogues,” has consistently used fashion as a medium to explore these topics — as has much of Herrera’s work; she went to fashion school and started her career in the fashion industry.
Israel wears Wavey zig-zag top, bejeweled beanie, acid cargo pants, chrome fanny pack, Planeta neon mesh shorts, Tuzza custom reflector earring.
Solis met Herrera through helping with “Diaspora Dialogues” and met the founders of Planeta at one of Herrera’s exhibitions in Mexico City, “A Través de la Moda,” where she displayed personal pieces from her closet that drew from images and symbols that Mexican Americans hold dear — La Virgen de Guadalupe, the Aztec calendar — “as an exploration of history, myths and novelties between L.A. and Mexico City,” Herrera says. Planeta, founded by designers Hoza Rodriguez and Richard Resendez, has an IYKYK cult-like kind of status among the fashion people, artists and club kids who wear it. Their work is best recognized by the magic they do with upcycling — flannel shirts layered on top of baggy denim become a new genre entirely, something from the future. When they went to Mexico City for the exhibition and were able to see the city through the eyes of Solis and Herrera (Rodriguez and Herrera have been friends since 2009, when they were both starting their careers in the fashion industry), something clicked. “Everything’s unisex,” Rodriguez says of the style he observed in Mexico. “And I learned that they are not influenced by us, we are influenced by them.”
Wavey, a Mexico City brand and store founded by Talulah Rodriguez-Anderson in 2018, makes the kind of things you might wear at a rave on the beach. It’s always been dedicated to communicating its clothing as unisex. Rodriguez-Anderson grew up in L.A. and was inspired by her visual experiences and memories on both sides of the border when starting her brand. The brand’s store, in Colonia Juárez, carries this same energy, with its aesthetic drawing from the cargo trailers that go from Mexico City to the States. A Wavey piece borrows from Chicano silhouettes and images, told through a Mexican streetwear lens — the latter of which Rodriguez-Anderson says is “evolving very quickly.”
Solis wanted to highlight Planeta and Wavey because they felt like family in his mind — with a shared ethos, a look that felt like it was drawing from similar references. “To me, they’re like siblings, they’re like cousins,” Solis says. “They sort of talk to each other in terms of their style.” This is shown in the styling of one of the models, Jorge, who wears reworked checkered Dickies shorts from Planeta pointing to an early-2000s L.A. skater aesthetic, and a blinged-out shirt with the initials “MX” from Wavey as a nod to Mexico City. “It’s a new aesthetic,” Solis says. “It’s not California, it’s not quite Mexican. But it’s both, it’s something else.”
With the shoot, and with the pop-up, Solis says he wanted to show a “cross-section of Mexican youth, real Mexican youth.” He chose Colonia Juárez for the location, specifically an area that’s home to many auto body shops, because it felt true to where these looks would actually be worn. The environment and the clothes are in communion with each other, Solis says. “I also wanted to shoot it in a location that was authentically Mexican. Whereas I feel like La Condesa, or Roma, it can feel foreign, almost.”
“For me, that shoot, when I look at it, it brings some sort of happiness and some sort of truth of who we are as Latinos, as the LGBTQ community, and as human beings,” says Planeta co-founder Rodriguez, also the founder of L.A. brand Hologram City. “When I see that, it makes me happy to know what we really are: we’re talented, we’re creative, we look like superheroes, we’re the s—.”
Even as an architect, Solis has always worked in creative or community realms. He was on the team of designers for the 6th Street Bridge — and curated the art, photography and architecture exhibit “Nuestre Puente,” in collaboration with Estevan Oriol, in celebration of the bridge’s opening. He’s also one of the founders of the DTLA Proud festival. When he moved to Mexico City, he wanted to find a way to blend his obsession with fashion, art and culture, and embed himself into the creative community there as much as possible. Solis frequents Tianguis La Lagunilla once a month, which is where he says he came to really understand Mexico City’s fashion youth culture and meet some of the brands he’s bringing to L.A.
“Moving to Mexico City four years ago and really starting to understand by living here and building community here, [I realized] how our communities are not quite as connected as they could be because of those political, policy barriers that separate communities,” Solis says. “I have a whole circle of friends here in Mexico City that are artists, designers. They have their own brands, very integrated in the creative community here, and many, almost all of my friends who want to expose their brand or expose themselves as artists in the United States, they can’t — because they literally can’t go.” He wants to create connections for these Mexican designers, and allow the people of L.A. to experience their work. As a Mexican and U.S. citizen, Solis feels like he’s able to bridge the two sides — bringing Mexican designers to L.A. through their artistry, even if they’re not able to come here themselves.
The collection of designers that Solis is bringing to his L.A. pop-up this month conjures some key phrases for him: “It’s queer as in f— you.” “Barrio bratz.” “Sin género.” “Mexa-core.” The designers include Ese Chico, known for its irreverent graphic T-shirts and slogan: “Locura sin piedad,” or “madness without piety” — Herrera included it in her “A Través de la Moda” exhibition when she brought it to L.A. earlier this year. Another is Squid, a brand “inspired by nature” that transforms garments through upcycling, airbrush and screen printing into one-of-a-kind works of art. It was crucial for Solis that the pop-up captured this moment in Mexico City’s fashion scene, which he describes as “infinite.”
Jorge Líos of Palida Studios — a brand with a style Líos describes as a balance of elegance and deterioration — is a native of Nezahualcoyotl, an area about an hour outside of Mexico City. The spirit of Mexico City’s street-level fashion scene is a mix of “vulgar, atrevido y chido,” he says. “Como que la gente justo está desmitificando esta idea de que lo que debes de usar solamente son marcas gabachas y ya está volteando a ver marcas Mexicanas. Sobre todo, la escena está construyendo o reafirmando la identidad de ser Mexicano.” (That is, people are demystifying the idea that you should only use foreign brands and are turning to Mexican brands. The Mexico City scene is building up and reaffirming Mexican identity.) Since he was a kid, it was Líos’ dream to travel to L.A. or New York. He loves hip-hop and was inspired by the music culture in both cities. The fact that he is now traveling to L.A. through his designs and that they’re reaching a new audience that might be moved by them? “Es una locura.”
The list of L.A.’s sister cities includes Salvador, Brazil; Busan, South Korea; Berlin; and, of course, Mexico City. For Solis, it’s more than just a connection or conversation: there are familial ties. “The shared passion through fashion is something that really connects us and really unites us,” he says. “I’ve begun to see how fashion can actually build an identity that is of neither place, but is of both places.”
Production Eric Solis
Models Axel, Ellie, Genesis, Israel, Jorge, Li
Makeup Beauty Dealers
Hair Ozmar Báez
Production assist Dennis Caasi
Lifestyle
'South Park' creators renovate a beloved restaurant, and find nostalgia is pricey
Maybe because most of us come from somewhere else, Americans just love replicas of foreign places — William Randolph Hearst’s faux European castle in San Simeon, Calif.; Paris Las Vegas with its half-size Eiffel Tower and mini Louvre; or the mock Alpine village you find in, of all places, Helen, Ga. Creating a giddy atmosphere that Umberto Eco dubbed “hyperreality,” such crazily ambitious simulacra fill nearly everyone with childish delight.
This includes Trey Parker and Matt Stone of South Park and The Book of Mormon fame. Although notorious for their cynical humor, both harbor a profound affection for one of the places they adored as kids: Casa Bonita, a 50,000 square foot attraction in a Lakewood, Colo., strip mall that has been dubbed the Disneyland of Mexican restaurants. It’s an Anglo businessman’s fantastical riff on an old Mexican village, one decked out with Old West outlaws, volcanoes, cliff divers and even a gorilla that runs through caverns studded with stalactites.
More than half a century after opening in 1974 — complete with TV ads featuring Ricardo Montalban! — this once-spectacular crowd-puller had fallen on such desperate times that it was doomed to close. Then it was bought out of bankruptcy “as is” by Stone and Parker, who vowed to save the beloved Colorado landmark and return it to its former glory.
Their battle to do so is the subject of the enjoyable new documentary ¡Casa Bonita, Mi Amor! Directed by Arthur Bradford and produced by MTV Documentary Films, the movie’s a treat, weaving together great archival footage, excerpts from South Park and Elvis’ movie Fun in Acapulco, plus countless scenes of Parker and Stone’s amused horror when they hear the latest reason why their labor of love is becoming a money-pit.
After a zippy capsule history of Casa Bonita, with its Pepto-Bismol-pink facade and blue fountain out front, the movie returns to the present to show everything it takes to recreate a mecca whose true meaning lay in the feelings it once induced. Because the original Casa Bonita was legendary for lousy food, they bring on an executive chef, Dana Rodriguez, who’s been nominated for James Beard Awards. She takes Parker to Oaxaca so he can soak up the atmosphere and get inspired.
Yet wondrous inspiration bumps into un-wondrous reality. Turns out that their new property is a dilapidated death trap in which everything — electricity, plumbing, air conditioning — must be redone. A renovation originally budgeted at $6 million suddenly balloons to a new estimate of $20 million plus.
Now, as ¡Casa Bonita Mi Amor! chronicles the high price of nostalgia, it also offers an offhand glimpse at one of pop culture’s signature creative teams. It doesn’t take long to spot the differences between the two longtime friends — Parker is clearly the dreamy, creative one; Stone the shrewd whetstone on which he sharpens his ideas. What you may find surprising is the secret sentimentality of guys whose comedy takes such pride in finding nothing sacred. Parker, in particular, betrays a sweetness in his romantic attachment to the innocent pleasures of childhood. He’s also a perfectionist. We see his artistic process, fussing over and tweaking every creative detail of the project.
As their crew desperately races to have everything perfect by opening day — spending even more millions along the way — it becomes clear that Parker and Stone are chasing a ghost or maybe a paradox. The original Casa Bonita was a 1970s inauthentic version of 19th-century Mexico, but to recapture its magic this new version can’t be the same Casa Bonita that Parker remembers so fondly. Just as Indiana Jones’ movies had to use top-drawer talent to emulate cheap, old movie serials, so their restaurant has to meet today’s expectations — tastier food, sharper entertainment — or visitors won’t find it as thrilling as the original. To feel the same, it has to be different.
By the time Casa Bonita finally reopens — there is a happy ending — Parker and Stone have done something that could hardly be more quintessentially American: They’ve spent a fortune to make a copy of a Mexican-themed restaurant that’s actually better than the original.
-
Politics1 week ago
Conservative economists pour cold water on Harris' new small-business tax proposal
-
World1 week ago
Voting under way in Algeria’s presidential election
-
News1 week ago
Cross-Tabs: September 2024 Times/Siena Poll of the Likely Electorate
-
News1 week ago
Dick Cheney's Reason for Endorsing Harris Over Trump
-
Politics1 week ago
Harris visits spice shop known for hating and slamming Republicans, calls for end of 'divisiveness'
-
World7 days ago
Researchers warn methane emissions ‘rising faster than ever’
-
Politics6 days ago
House honoring 13 US service members killed in 2021 Abbey Gate bombing during Afghanistan withdrawal
-
Politics7 days ago
Kamala Harris' new climate director said she is hesitant to have children because of climate change threats