Katalyst arts program unites youth from many backgrounds

Photo by MIKE SIEGEL / THE SEATTLE TIMES

Maya Uemoto, Mike Lont (aka Mic Flont) and Daniel “King Khazm” Kogita guide students through Katalyst hip-hop and graffiti workshops.

By Marian Liu

Seattle Times staff reporter
June 5th, 2010

Tacked together with plywood, the recording booth provided only the bare basics — a mike and a headset — but Dennis Randle didn’t care. It was his sanctuary from the streets.

“This is where one Blood and one Crip are now homies,” said Randle, 24. “You connect artistically and become close community.”

Randle spoke between recording sessions at Katalyst, a music and graffiti workshop run by Washington Asian Pacific Islander Community Services (WAPI) in the Chinatown International District. Established in 1993, the nonprofit has been offering classes since 2006 in various hip-hop disciplines (music, recording and art), taught by local artists like the Blue Scholars, Gabriel Teodros, Daniel “King Khazm” Kogita and DJ B-Girl.

“The more time [young people] put into music, they less time they put into other things,” said Mia Beardsley, aka DJ B-Girl. “We’re taking the street hustle and turning it into something positive.”

Some kids come to the class through WAPI, which conducts substance-abuse prevention and treatment for youth. Some are ordered to go by a judge for past transgressions. Others, like 13-year-old Shea Dailey, simply come to “hang out and do art.”

Together the students, from teens to 20s, are putting on a free showcase featuring youth performances and art June 18 at Hidmo, a restaurant and meeting space in the Central District. They are also collaborating on a compilation album, filled with songs recorded in class.

Randle is hard at work at his. He pokes his head out of the makeshift studio after recording a hook, asking local artist Mike Lont, aka Mic Flont, how it sounds. After a nod of approval, he continues recording.

He chants: “I walk like a champion/talk like a champion/eat like a champion/then repeat.”

“The court ordered me to come here,” said Randle, aka Greedy. “I come from being poor … but here they give us food, they give us positivity.”

The goal is to provide music certification so the students can be their own bosses as artists, and maybe even grow into the program’s teachers.

“It’s an alternative to drug usage, something that can be built into a career,” said Greg Garcia, WAPI’s executive director.

But it’s a lean program, dependent on grants. There are only 20-some students, and many come by bus on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. They huddle in little circles, in sweats and jeans, passing around their black sketchbooks and reciting their rhymes off crumpled loose-leaf binder paper. Besides these sketchbooks, they share an earnestness to learn.

“This is something I look forward to, it’s a hater-free zone,” said Charles Wilton, a senior at Rainier Beach High School. “It’s safe.”

The office is humble: There’s the plywood recording studio in the corner, and there are a few computers for production work, but some laptops were recently stolen. Decoration is minimal, except for a graffiti mural in the back with mugs of former teachers, like the popular Seattle hip-hop duo Blue Scholars. Posted on the walls on butcher paper are handwritten rules of conduct — which include “no beefing” (or fighting), “don’t come in high/drunk” and “no swearing.”

The standard is respect.

“Everybody comes in with a blank slate,” said Lont, 28. “There are no egos.”

Don Nguyen, 16, has been in treatment for 17 weeks, 15 weeks sober. Known by the tag “Junior,” he joined the class after hearing about the graffiti component: “The people here, they motivate me, they motivate me to be like them.”

Others attest to the program’s effectiveness. Both Randle and his good friend Star LeBron have gone back to school — Seattle Central and Shoreline Community College.

Growing up in New York, LeBron admits she was “all over the place, and not doing school.

“I was kind of a bad kid and I stumbled across this. … You can do court, or do music. You get free studio time here. It’s the only way to get out of this harsh lifestyle. … The environment is real. They don’t treat you as a student, they treat you as a friend.”

Katalyst program coordinator Beardsley is often the students’ confidante. They have her cell number.

“The biggest challenge of the program is attendance,” said Beardsley, a DJ, producer and hip-hop artist. “Something may happen at home, or at school, or if they’re slipping back and disappear, so I’m always so happy to see everybody.”

Sometimes, Beardsley is the only person that knows what is exactly going down in their lives.

“They have a big moment, they have to make a big decision and the key thing is to come through for them,” said Beardsley, 33. “It’s fulfilling to be that person, to gain that trust.”

She is looking into expanding Katalyst into the South End of Seattle with more classes — recording, emceeing, deejaying, production and graffiti. She also wants to kick off jam sessions on Saturdays.

“This is where red and blue rags can meet,” said Randle, referring to youths with different gang affiliations. “We don’t know where nobody lives, we just know their hearts. We all have that commitment and passion for music.”

Marian Liu: 206-464-3825 or mliu@seattletimes.com

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