Lifestyle
South L.A.'s hottest dance party happens at 'Granny's house' — and it feels revolutionary
On a breezy Saturday evening in South L.A., the sounds of heavy kick drums and electric claps trail down the block from a tan, two-story house with a well-manicured lawn. Through the large front window, passersby can catch a glimpse of a DJ in a dimly lighted living room, meticulously turning knobs on a mixer and blending house records together. In the dining room, about 15 people dance and socialize under a crystal chandelier. Dark liquor flows into red cups. A man sits between a woman’s legs as she braids his hair into cornrows, while another guest taps a tambourine to the beat of the music.
From a distance, this scene may look like a typical house party, which is exactly the allure of “Black House Radio,” a YouTube show and L.A. event series spotlighting Black DJs who specialize in house music. Throughout the gathering, no one pays much attention to the cameras recording, and for the hundreds of thousands of viewers at home, watching the videos feels like you’ve been ushered into a high energy kickback.
Winston jams out at Black House Radio.
At a time when DJs are showcasing their skills in creative ways and in sometimes unexpected settings — at parks, on elevators, at the beach, inside loft apartments, in the subway and at laundromats — “Black House Radio” stands out because of its familial charm and devotion to the genre it highlights.
“I want ‘Black House Radio’ to feel like a warm, nostalgic hug from a grandmother,” says founder Michael Donte, who’s also a filmmaker, producer and DJ. He hosts the intimate gathering roughly once a month at his best friend Jeremy’s ancestral house, which his late grandparents bought in 1963 after moving to L.A. from Millport, Ala., during the Second Great Migration. Everything in the home, including a blue-patterned couch, teal-colored carpet, vintage drapes and framed family photos, is in the same place it’s been since the 1970s.
“Black house music was made in our homes,” says Donte. He adds that he felt frustrated when he would go out and see more white DJs getting booked to play house music than Black performers, who created and popularized the genre in the 1970s. Aside from at select events like newcomer TheyHouse and Utopia, which have been elevating house music in L.A. for years. “[A white DJ is] very different than a Black person playing house music — it’s just a feeling.”
“I think my friends and I do a good job of making it a safe space for people to show up as themselves, and that’s just beautiful to watch,” says founder Michael Donte.
Family photos displayed on the wall.
After getting laid off last year from his job as a creative executive for YouTube Originals, Donte learned how to DJ, and then launched “Black House Radio” to bring the genre back home, literally, by hosting events in spaces that are vital to the Black community, such as family homes, hair salons, barber shops and churches.
Donte hosted the first “Black House Radio” event the day before Thanksgiving in 2023 and served collard greens and cornbread. About a dozen of his friends showed up with their own soul food dishes, while he and three other L.A.-based DJs — Naygod, Silhouwet, DJ Bodii — provided the soundtrack for the hours-long event.
Video by Kailyn Brown / Los Angeles Times; Photo by Zay Monae / For The Times
DJ Terrell Brooke and DJ Chinua embrace each other.
Then, in February, during Black History Month, Donte began posting live sets from that November day on YouTube, where he’s since acquired more than 50,000 subscribers and has built a community of loyal house heads who look forward to every drop. The most watched video so far is a set by Ashley Younniä, which had nearly 425,000 views on YouTube as of late June.
Some of L.A.’s most exciting DJs have been past guests, including Terrell Brooke (founder of TheyHouse and co-creator of Casual, Mez (who runs an event called Signal Underground), Rush Davis (a singer, producer, creative director and DJ) and Chrysalis (who toured with singer Rochelle Jordan).
Shaun Ross immediately knew he wanted to be a part of “Black House Radio” when one of his friends shared its Instagram page with him.
“I feel like it’s a train to get on — to actually bring back Black house music,” says Ross, a celebrated model, DJ and recording artist. He’s performed at two “Black House Radio” functions so far. “A lot of DJs don’t really play Black house music, and I feel like today, the world has this wrong notion of what house music is so when you play it, people are like, ‘It’s not hype enough. It’s not giving me a Vegas show.’”
Ross says the YouTube show also gives younger generations the opportunity to go back and look at people who are uplifting house music today. “I love that it’s Black and queer, and I love that it’s healing for everybody here,” adds Ross, who hosts a house music party called “Stardust.”
Michael Donte keeps the house as it is for each of the “Black House Radio” recordings.
“Black House” attendees socialize in the kitchen over slices of pizza and homemade pound cake.
Back at the party, Vaughan Higgins pours herself a drink in the kitchen as other attendees grab slices of pizza and homemade pound cake. Higgins regularly goes to Black and queer events in L.A. but says being inside a Black ancestral house carries an extra layer of significance for her.
“It mainly makes me think of resistance and survival,” says the L.A.-born musician, who decided to attend because her friend DJ Nico was spinning. “The fact that this house is even still in Black hands and they are using it to bring Black joy — that is all a part of this. It’s really beautiful.”
In many of the YouTube videos, Donte infuses archival footage — some that he’s found online and others that his friends have given him — of Black families dancing at cookouts or participating in praise and worship at church — his way of preserving Black culture, he says.
“That’s one thing I feel like is missing from video streaming,” says Sevyn, who performed a groovy DJ set for ”Black House Radio” in April. “I feel like compared to other streaming things I’ve done, this one just has a story and also, I’ve been here. This is my granny’s house. It’s familiar.”
Although each of “Black House Radio’s” YouTube sets, which typically start in the afternoon and go into the evening, are invite-only due to limited space at the house, Donte has recently started hosting public events so house aficionados can enjoy the experience offline.
Dj Nico, a sound selector visiting from Memphis, Tenn., grins between sips of Auntie’s Coffee cold brew after her set.
The first one, called “Church,” was held in June at the Pico Union Project, a nonprofit housed in a building that was once home to Sinai Temple (built in 1909). Like at the house functions, Donte displayed framed portraits around the space, which had church pews, flameless candles and a piano. (Video cameras were here too, but Donte doesn’t plan to release a video. You just had to be there.) He’s also got his eyes set on doing a Black house music festival in the near future.
When he reflects on the rise of “Black House Radio,” Donte says he thinks people connect with the show because of its authenticity.
“It’s not trying to be unique,” he says. “It’s not trying to be something different or new. I want it to feel familiar. I want you to be able to smell what you see on that TV. You know what that house smells like. You know what the carpet feels like. You know what the food is probably on the stove.”
Video by Kailyn Brown / Los Angeles Times; Photo by Zay Monae / For The Times
Shaun Ross at Black House Radio.
(Justin Lawson)
He adds, “I think my friends and I do a good job of making it a safe space for people to show up as themselves, and that’s just beautiful to watch.”
Around 8 p.m., when the last DJ finishes their set, one person shouts, “Keep the party going.” Donte hops back onto the decks and plays upbeat house music. Two guests vogue in the living room, and attendees socialize over more drinks. The cameras are no longer recording, but no one cares or even notices. They are in the company of family. They are at home.
Lifestyle
Mundane, magic, maybe both — a new book explores ‘The Writer’s Room’
There’s a three-story house in Baltimore that looks a bit imposing. You walk up the stone steps before even getting up to the porch, and then you enter the door and you’re greeted with a glass case of literary awards. It’s The Clifton House, formerly home of Lucille Clifton.
The National Book Award-winning poet lived there with her husband, Fred, starting in 1967 until the bank foreclosed on the house in 1980. Clifton’s daughter, Sidney Clifton, has since revived the house and turned it into a cultural hub, hosting artists, readings, workshops and more. But even during a February visit, in the mid-afternoon with no organized events on, the house feels full.
The corner of Lucille Clifton’s bedroom, where she would wake up and write in the mornings
Andrew Limbong/NPR
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Andrew Limbong/NPR
“There’s a presence here,” Clifton House Executive Director Joël Díaz told me. “There’s a presence here that sits at attention.”
Sometimes, rooms where famous writers worked can be places of ineffable magic. Other times, they can just be rooms.
Princeton University Press
Katie da Cunha Lewin is the author of the new book, The Writer’s Room: The Hidden Worlds That Shape the Books We Love, which explores the appeal of these rooms. Lewin is a big Virginia Woolf fan, and the very first place Lewin visited working on the book was Monk’s House — Woolf’s summer home in Sussex, England. On the way there, there were dreams of seeing Woolf’s desk, of retracing Woolf’s steps and imagining what her creative process would feel like. It turned out to be a bit of a disappointment for Lewin — everything interesting was behind glass, she said. Still, in the book Lewin writes about how she took a picture of the room and saved it on her phone, going back to check it and re-check it, “in the hope it would allow me some of its magic.”
Let’s be real, writing is a little boring. Unlike a band on fire in the recording studio, or a painter possessed in their studio, the visual image of a writer sitting at a desk click-clacking away at a keyboard or scribbling on a piece of paper isn’t particularly exciting. And yet, the myth of the writer’s room continues to enrapture us. You can head to Massachusetts to see where Louisa May Alcott wrote Little Women. Or go down to Florida to visit the home of Zora Neale Hurston. Or book a stay at the Scott & Zelda Fitzgerald Museum in Alabama, where the famous couple lived for a time. But what, exactly, is the draw?

Lewin said in an interview that whenever she was at a book event or an author reading, an audience question about the writer’s writing space came up. And yes, some of this is basic fan-driven curiosity. But also “it started to occur to me that it was a central mystery about writing, as if writing is a magic thing that just happens rather than actually labor,” she said.
In a lot of ways, the book is a debunking of the myths we’re presented about writers in their rooms. She writes about the types of writers who couldn’t lock themselves in an office for hours on end, and instead had to find moments in-between to work on their art. She covers the writers who make a big show of their rooms, as a way to seem more writerly. She writes about writers who have had their homes and rooms preserved, versus the ones whose rooms have been lost to time and new real estate developments. The central argument of the book is that there is no magic formula to writing — that there is no daily to-do list to follow, no just-right office chair to buy in order to become a writer. You just have to write.
Lifestyle
Bruce Johnston Retiring From The Beach Boys After 61 Years
Bruce Johnston
I’m Riding My Last Wave With The Beach Boys
Published
Bruce Johnston is riding off into the California sunset … at least for now.
The Beach Boys legend announced Wednesday he’s stepping away from touring after six decades with the iconic band. The 83-year-old revealed in a statement to Rolling Stone he’s hanging up his touring hat to focus on what he calls part three of his long music career.
“It’s time for Part Three of my lengthy musical career!” Johnston said. “I can write songs forever, and wait until you hear what’s coming!!! As my major talent beyond singing is songwriting, now is the time to get serious again.”
Johnston famously stepped in for co-founder Brian Wilson in 1965 for live performances, becoming a staple of the Beach Boys’ touring lineup ever since. Now, he says he’s shifting gears toward songwriting and even some speaking engagements … with occasional touring member John Stamos helping him craft what he’ll talk about onstage.
“I might even sing ‘Disney Girls’ & ‘I Write The Songs!!’” he teased.
But don’t call it a full-on farewell tour just yet. Johnston made it clear he’s not shutting the door completely, saying he’s excited to reunite with the band for special occasions, including their upcoming July 2-4 shows at the Hollywood Bowl as part of the Beach Boys’ 2026 tour. The run celebrates both the 60th anniversary of “Pet Sounds” and America’s 250th birthday.
“This isn’t goodbye, it’s see you soon,” he wrote. “I am forever grateful to be a part of the Beach Boys musical legacy.”
Lifestyle
On the brink of death, a woman is saved by a stranger and his family
In 1982, Jean Muenchrath was injured in a mountaineering accident and on the brink of death when a stranger and his family went out of their way to save her life.
Jean Muenchrath
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Jean Muenchrath
In early May 1982, Jean Muenchrath and her boyfriend set out on a mountaineering trip in the Sierra Nevada, a mountain range in California. They had done many backcountry trips in the area before, so the terrain was somewhat familiar to both of them. But after they reached one of the summits, a violent storm swept in. It began to snow heavily, and soon the pair was engulfed in a blizzard, with thunder and lightning reverberating around them.
“Getting struck and killed by lightning was a real possibility since we were the highest thing around for miles and lightning was striking all around us,” Muenchrath said.
To reach safer ground, they decided to abandon their plan of taking a trail back. Instead, using their ice axes, they climbed down the face of the mountain through steep and icy snow chutes.
They were both skilled at this type of descent, but at one particularly difficult part of the route, Muenchrath slipped and tumbled over 100 feet down the rocky mountain face. She barely survived the fall and suffered life-threatening injuries.

This was before cellular or satellite phones, so calling for help wasn’t an option. The couple was forced to hike through deep snow back to the trailhead. Once they arrived, Muenchrath collapsed in the parking lot. It had been five days since she’d fallen.
”My clothes were bloody. I had multiple fractures in my spine and pelvis, a head injury and gangrene from a deep wound,” Muenchrath said.
Not long after they reached the trailhead parking lot, a car pulled in. A man was driving, with his wife in the passenger seat and their baby in the back. As soon as the man saw Muenchrath’s condition, he ran over to help.
”He gently stroked my head, and he held my face [and] reassured me by saying something like, ‘You’re going to be OK now. I’ll be right back to get you,’” Muenchrath remembered.
For the first time in days, her panic began to lift.
“My unsung hero gave me hope that I’d reach a hospital and I’d survive. He took away my fears.”
Within a few minutes, the man had unpacked his car. His wife agreed to stay back in the parking lot with their baby in order to make room for Muenchrath, her boyfriend and their backpacks.
The man drove them to a nearby town so that the couple could get medical treatment.
“I remember looking into the eyes of my unsung hero as he carried me into the emergency room in Lone Pine, California. I was so weak, I couldn’t find the words to express the gratitude I felt in my heart.”

The gratitude she felt that day only grew. Now, nearly 45 years later, she still thinks about the man and his family.
”He gave me the gift of allowing me to live my life and my dreams,” Muenchrath said.
At some point along the way, the man gave Muenchrath his contact information. But in the chaos of the day, she lost it and has never been able to find him.
”If I knew where my unsung hero was today, I would fly across the country to meet him again. I’d hug him, buy him a meal and tell him how much he continues to mean to me by saving my life. Wherever you are, I say thank you from the depths of my being.”
My Unsung Hero is also a podcast — new episodes are released every Tuesday. To share the story of your unsung hero with the Hidden Brain team, record a voice memo on your phone and send it to myunsunghero@hiddenbrain.org.
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