It started at a Zumba studio in South Central.
Malik “Memo” Williams had persuaded the owner to rent out the location for what he expected to be a small party. Equipped with crates of funk records and inherited turntables, he wanted to create a space where he and his friends could listen to all their favorite oldies without the gaze of an older crowd. The 28-year-old dubbed the gathering the “Night of the Blaxican,” named after his own mixed ethnicity (Black and Mexican). As the smooth sounds of soul and R&B flowed through the residential neighborhood, a line of more than 300 people began to form.
“We didn’t even think it was going to pack out like that. It was crazy,” Williams said. “The studio ended up telling us we could never do it again, but it didn’t matter because we already did it. We knew people wanted this kind of social gathering.”
A woman dances during the Night of the Blaxican event at the Compound in Commerce.
(Michael Blackshire / Los Angeles Times)
Since 2016, Night of the Blaxican has grown from sporadic meet-ups to a full-blown celebration of oldies culture, complete with lowriders and the sounds of Smokey Robinson. The monthly party is hosted at venues around the L.A. area — from Thunder Studios in Long Beach to the Canyon in Montclair — with upward of 3,000 people attending. During every function, Williams brings together a mix of live bands like the Delfonics and the Dazz Band, DJs, small business vendors and even carnival rides to embrace the music and culture he grew up with.
With a DJ for a father, Williams says he has always felt a deep connection to the oldies — with a soft spot for ‘60s and ‘70s funk and soul. But every time he attended an oldies-themed event, the South Central-born promoter would often find that he was the youngest person there.
Finding a widespread community of young people who indulge in these older genres of music proved to be an easy feat for Williams. Newer generations have always looked to the past for cultural elements to bring back with a contemporary spin — whether it’s Gen Z’s obsession with Y2K fashion or millennials’ revival of vinyl records. And in L.A., many young people of color are turning to the oldies.
At Night of the Blaxican, the idea of oldies culture takes on a rather loose-fitting definition. The term itself is quite expansive, meaning anything from ‘60s Motown to ‘90s R&B. It could be associated with lowrider mixtapes like “East Side Story,” that feature both the Shirelles and Etta James; or backyard family parties complete with the sounds of War and Zapp. Even as these artists, genres and experiences differ, the traveling party taps into the crowd’s common craving for nostalgia as a joining force.
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1. Night of the Blaxican founder Malik “Memo” Williams talks to friends during his event. (Michael Blackshire/Los Angeles Times) 2. A woman shows her neck tattoo in Commerce. (Michael Blackshire / Los Angeles Times) 3. A couple embrace after the party. (Michael Blackshire / Los Angeles Times)
As the line for the August edition of the party wrapped around the Pico Rivera Sports Arena, tunes of the ‘70s, ‘80s and ‘90s filled the outdoor area. Attendees, some in Raiders gear and others in pachuco-style hats, guzzled their last sips of alcohol and chatted excitedly before heading in. Besides a few parents who brought their teenagers, the partygoers were almost all under the age of 30 — born well after each of these genre’s initial popularity. Williams considers his recurring party to be a contemporary tribute to the parties of the past.
“I want kids to come to our s— and feel how their parents felt at that time. It’s like a time capsule of what it was like going to a funk show,” said Williams. “These kids literally can say that they met a girl at a funk show. Just like our parents.”
First-timer Eric Talardo was eager to get inside. Waiting in line, he said hearing the echoing sounds of Marvin Gaye reminded him of driving around in the back seat of his grandparents’ car. Since their passing, he said listening to their music has allowed him to celebrate who they were and the memories they shared.
“The music that they used to listen to back in the day is just peaceful. It’s way different than the music we have now. I feel like it’s really aggressive these days,” Talardo said. “The music they play here is something that you could dance and vibe to.”
Nearby, a large group of teenagers chatter excitedly about what they hope to experience that night. As frequent attendees, Marley Chavez and Alexandra Rodriguez say they are happy to have finally found a crowd where they fit in.
“We go to other clubs, and we can never vibe with other Chicanos who have the same taste as us,” said Chavez. “It feels like family here. It’s just very much a ‘just come, shut up and dance’ vibe.”
People dance outside at Alpha Studios Production Lot.
(Michael Blackshire / Los Angeles Times)
Rodriguez says hearing this kind of music reminds her of doing chores as a kid.
“Whenever my mom put on oldies, I knew I had to get a broom or something,” Rodriguez recalls. “It’s bittersweet that everyone likes this music now. It’s like, thank God it’s still living on, but at the same time, it’s a special kind of group that only understands what this music means to us.”
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1. A couple embraces on the dance floor at the Night of the Blaxican. (Michael Blackshire / Los Angeles Times) 2. People hang out during the Night of the Blaxican event. (Michael Blackshire / Los Angeles Times)
As the steady Motown snare drum of the Elgins’ 1966 single “Darling Baby” overtakes the crowd, everyone starts to sway to the beat. A man in saggy jeans and a Dodger cap grabs a partner while a woman in a trendy Y2K corset top belts out every word. In that moment, no matter what part of oldies culture these partygoers resonated with, Modelo beers were raised to the sky in appreciation for the music and the moment.
“We’re all the kids of the lowriders. And they taught us everything,” said Williams. “We have to keep the culture alive because if we don’t, nobody will remember it.”
The next Night of the Blaxican will be Nov. 24 at the Montclair Mall.
