Crude Conversations

EP 128 Self-realization, reclamation and embracing their Eyak heritage with Brother Buffalo

In this one, Cody talks to brothers Garrett and Jake Swenson of the hip hop group Brother Buffalo. They’re of Eyak heritage, with roots in Cordova, Alaska, but they grew up in Anchorage. As far as their understanding of their heritage goes, they didn’t have much to go on because so much of the culture was taken from their people and documentation of it was either destroyed or spread across a number of museums. So, it was hard for them to figure out what being Eyak actually meant. Their connection to their past was limited and their access to generational stories were few. One connection they remember, though, was having traditional headbands that they’d wear to weddings and to special get-togethers. But then, in 2008, after Chief Marie Smith passed away, the language was declared dead. She was the last fluent Eyak language speaker.
 
In the last 5 to 10 years, the Eyak language has made a comeback. For their part, Garrett and Jake are learning the language and using it in their raps. They’ve been taking language classes for a few years now. The group meets once every two weeks, learning and practicing the language. In these meetings, Garrett and Jake say they’re learning more about themselves and their people. For them, the whole thing — understanding their culture and creating their music — is about self-realization and reclamation. They call their sound Inlet Music because that’s where they grew up — in Anchorage, surrounded by the Cook Inlet. Except for they don’t acknowledge the Captain Cook part of Cook Inlet because of what it represents — colonialism and erasure. That’s why they named their most recent album “Our Inlet.” It’s a reclamation of what was taken.

EP 127 Alaska cold cases, a family tragedy and the book that helped him process it all with Glen Klinkhart

In this one, Cody talks to former homicide detective Glen Klinkhart. In 1981, Glen’s older sister was sexually assaulted and murdered at their home in Anchorage, Alaska. She had thrown a party at her house and after everyone left, a nineteen year old classmate returned. To cover up his crime, he burned down their house. He was later caught and sentenced to 75 years in prison.
Glen says that we can intellectualize why people commit heinous crimes as much as we want to, but the reason is ultimately very simple: People do it because they want to. Now, that choice might be corrupted by other things like anger, deviancy, mental illness or drugs, but at the end of the day it’s a conscious choice. The outcome of which is devastating to all those it affects. He says that, so often, the crime perpetrated on someone becomes their identity. It becomes all consuming and can result in a lifetime of guilt and bitterness. But recently, Glen has found ways to let go of those feelings. One of them is digitizing all of his dad’s 35 mm slides. He’s going through so many family photos and it’s giving him the opportunity to see his sister through a whole new lens, as the beautiful young woman she was.
Years ago, Glen was teaching a homicide class and one of his students asked him if having a murdered sister made him a better detective or did it make the job more difficult. He’d never thought about it before that moment, but he’ll always remember his response. He said, “You don’t have to have a murdered sister to be a good homicide detective, but it helps.” That became the first sentence in his true crime memoir, “Finding Bethany.” The book details his upbringing all the way to him becoming a detective for the Anchorage Police Department, with a focus on finding a young woman named Bethany Correira. He says that, in addition to his sense of duty to her and her family, working Bethany’s case — a case that had so many similarities to his sister’s —  also helped him process his sister’s murder.

EP 126 Boarderline, snowboarding and the importance of listening to your gut with Tim Weisser

In this one, Cody talks to Tim Weisser. Like so many people, he came to Alaska to chase a dream. It was 1993 and he was a young snowboarder who wanted to ride the drastic and iconic mountains Alaska is known for. He had visions of bluebird days and big pow turns. So, with a few hundred bucks and his snowboard gear, he moved to Girdwood. There, he got a dishwashing job at Chair 5, but it wasn’t long until he met Rob Baker, who worked at Boarderline, a snow and skate shop in Anchorage. That meeting between Tim and Rob led to a phone interview with one of the owners, Cody's dad, Scott Liska.
 
Tim went on to work at the Dimond Center Boarderline. He found that he was good at keeping the shop tidy and also mentoring some of the kids who came into the shop. He grew up with a few mentors of his own, so he felt a responsibility to pay it forward. He realized that these kids didn’t always need advice, what they needed was somebody to listen to them and to acknowledge their hardships.
 
In 1994, Tim opened up the first Juneau Boarderline. He took the ferry there and the first thing he did was ditch his surfboard in the bushes. He says he didn’t wanna drive around Juneau looking like a kook with a surfboard on his car. So, the next thing he does is call Scott to see what his next move should be. Scott tells him to get a hold of a 15 year old kid named Chris Currier. Chris had been calling the shop in Anchorage and talking about how Juneau needs a snow and skate shop there. Chris, by the way, would soon become one of the first Juneau Boys, a group of riders in Juneau who were pushing the boundaries of snowboarding in the ‘90s and early 2000s.
 
After his time in Alaska, he went on to have a successful career in sales in the snowboard industry. He worked for Nitro Snowboards, DaKine and Smith Optics. Throughout his time in sales, he worked as a rep, in customer service, as a Marketing Manager, a Product Manager and then as a Sales Manager. Those jobs gave him the opportunity to snowboard, but more importantly, through them, he was introduced to people he now considers family. That same thing was true for Alaska. He says that most of his memories of the riding he did there have faded away over the years. There’s a couple standout days, for sure, but it was everything around snowboarding and around the scene that really made an impression on him.

Ep 125 Overcoming trauma and perfecting an artistic process with Ed Washington

In this episode, Cody talks to musician Ed Washington. He says that a lot of his music comes from a cathartic place — not necessarily from a need to be heard, but a need to express. He’s been that way since he was a child. In fact, there’s this video his dad took of him when he was a baby and he’s singing to himself. It was an early moment of something he would continue to do throughout his life, sing himself happy.Last year, Ed spent a lot of time busking in downtown Anchorage. When he was out there, he sang songs and he shared stories. He even did it barefoot because he wanted to be one with the city and the people. Connecting with people he encountered was important because he wanted to win them over and make their day just a little better. That’s what busking is, he says, you’re out there giving and not asking for anything in return. And if people feel compelled to pay you or take a picture, then that’s their choice.For as long as he’s been doing music, he’s been a workhorse, dedicating every ounce of his time and energy to it. It’s something he took pride in — working to physical and mental exhaustion without paying any attention to his personal wellbeing. It took a bad breakup, a broken bone and working through his childhood trauma for him to refocus on his own health. He’s since reexamined old beliefs and techniques. The idea of perfection is a big one. He’s a believer that practice doesn’t make perfect. Perfection, or greatness, is in the fact that you show up and that you practice. The act of practicing is a way of life, and by doing it consistently Ed is seeking to perfect the process rather than perfecting himself.

EP 124 King of the Hill Part 5: Bonded by punk rock with Rick DeVoe

In this one, Cody talks to Rick DeVoe. From 1994 to 2018, he promoted and managed bands like Pennywise, Unwritten Law, The Offspring and Blink 182. The bands weren’t the ubiquitous names they are today, they were local bands. Punk rockers from California, still trying to make a name for themselves. Until Rick had an idea: What if he got their music into surf videos? They could play at video premieres, events and competitions. The first time this idea was put into effect was in 1994, with director Taylor Steele’s “Good Times.” Taylor’s videos featured guys like Kelly Slater, Shane Dorian and Rob Machado, and the sound of punk went right along with their styles of surfing. Eventually, with the help of guys like Rob Morrow — the founder of Morrow Snowboards — Rick found that that punk sound fit nicely into snowboard culture as well. He found that, at the time, there was a common language of anti-establishment and punk rock mentality that ran through surfing, skateboarding and snowboarding.
In the early 90s, Rick brought punk bands to the King of the Hill competition in Thompson Pass twice. The first time, it was Pennywise and The Offspring. The second time, it was Pennywise again, but this time with Blink 182. He admits they were all out of their element in the mountains, but when they took the stage they were right back in their element, rocking a crowd. Before all of that, though, they were on a plane — Rick, the bands and their entourages. There were about 20 to 25 of them and they had flown from LAX to Anchorage, then they hopped on a smaller plane that took them to Valdez. This moment, in that small plane, is one that Rick will remember for the rest of his life. How some of the most influential punk rockers of this generation were buzzing along, headed to some of the most iconic mountains in the world.
Thank you to Loft 100 Studios in Carlsbad, California for letting Rick use their studio to record.

EP 123 Creating new positive stereotypes with Martin Sensmeier

In this one, Cody talks to actor Martin Sensmeier. As a kid, he would daydream about being an actor. His older brother helped influence that dream. He had the first laserdisc player and the first flat screen TV in Yakutat, Alaska. So, Martin would go to his house to watch movies with him. He remembers it being such a special event. It was also special to see movies in the theater, but there wasn’t one in Yakutat. So, the only time he was able to go was when he went to Anchorage, Juneau or Fairbanks. His mom would drop him off at the theater in the morning and he’d watch movies all day long. For two or three days in a row, he’d watch every single movie in the theater and some of them he’d watch multiple times.
Growing up in Yakutat, Martin always wanted to play in the NBA or be an actor. It was always gonna be one of the two. The path to being a professional basketball player just involved so much coaching, travel and practicing around those who were also pursuing it at that level. So, acting won out, but it hasn’t been an easy road. Before he made the move to pursue acting, he worked in longshoring, in a logging camp, in construction, as a welder and on oil rigs. He was actually  fired from his job in Prudhoe Bay, something he now considers to be a blessing in disguise. If he hadn’t been, he might still be up there waiting on an opportunity or the courage to leave and be an actor.
Martin pursues acting like he does everything in his life, like a warrior. He’s of Tlingit and Koyukon-Athabascan heritage and says that, in traditional Tlingit culture, young men started their warrior training at the age of seven. They learned how to test their bodies by training, running and hunting. He mentions one exercise where they would sit in the ocean and soak in cold water. Thinking about what it means to be a warrior today, he says it means being responsible, having good values and being an example of what it means to be a good person. This goes for how we treat each other too. Rather than getting caught up in divisiveness, we can break negative stereotypes by creating positive new ones.

Chatter Marks EP 55 Traditional Chilkat weaving with Lily Hope

Lily Hope is a traditional Chilkat Weaver from Juneau, Alaska. Both of her parents worked as full-time artists, so she grew up around the hustle of entrepreneurship and the responsibility of carrying on tradition. Her mom, Clarissa Rizal, learned how to weave from the late Master Chilkat Weaver, Jennie Thlunaut. Lily says that her mom probably felt the urgency of her own mortality, that it was imperative to teach her daughter the art of weaving because in the last 150 years there have been less than a dozen Chilkat ceremonial robe makers. So, Lily was introduced to it at 14 or 15 years old. It wasn’t a pleasurable experience though. Her mom pretty much forced her into it, making her weave rows and rows before she could do anything leisurely like hang out with friends. It was a chore, but it also turned out to be her calling.
Whether she’s weaving among a group or teaching others how to do it, she finds her happy place in human connection. When she’s with a group of other weavers, there’s commiserating, there’s camaraderie, there’s knowledge sharing. When she’s teaching, she’s passing on tradition and she’s helping her students understand techniques. Seeing them finally wrap their minds around the intricacies of a technique and implement it is one of her greatest joys.
Lily weaves ceremonial regalia for museums now. She says that her mom helped her understand and be comfortable with the idea. That they’ve been making these Chilkat blankets and robes for hundreds, if not thousands of years, and many of them live in museums. And, for right now, museums operate as incubators, taking care of these pieces and sharing their stories, until it’s time for them to be released back into the world.

EP 122 Hockey, journalism and being the last editor of the Anchorage Press with O’Hara Shipe

In this episode, Cody talks to O’Hara Shipe. She’s a former professional hockey player and a journalist. She started playing hockey at 5 years old after she was told she couldn’t because she’s a girl. So, the next thing she did was go to her parents and tell them that’s what she was gonna to do. They signed her up that fall and she walked over to the coach and said she was gonna be their next goalie.
 
She’s never liked being told that she’s limited, that she can’t do something. So, when her professional hockey career came to an end in 2013, it was devastating. She contracted viral meningitis from a dirty back injection. The infection led to myalgic encephalomyelitis, or ME, and causes neurological disorders. Hand tremors, memory loss, neuropathy, excruciating pain. There are even times when her ability to speak is taken from her. When she was first diagnosed, she was bed-bound, but she worked her way up to playing hockey and rock climbing a couple times a week. She’s an eternal optimist. That’s how she defines herself in so many aspects of her life, and the last thing she was going to do was let this illness define her.
 
Before she was its editor, she took photos and wrote articles for the Anchorage Press. The second article she wrote for the paper was about the band Buckcherry. They were in Anchorage playing a show and they gave her a candid, warts-and-all interview. It was a transformative experience for her as a journalist, to see an entire picture of a celebrity, not just their public image. She says that was the turning point for her, when she really started to consider herself a writer. And the more she wrote and took photos for the paper, the better she understood the function of alt-weeklies, how they provide a unique opportunity to talk about the things that fall outside of traditional media, the human stories behind the news.
 
When she became the editor of the Anchorage Press, she wanted to return it to what she considered its heyday. For her, that was under the editorship of Susy Buchanan. O’Hara says the paper was well-designed, the stories were insightful, hard-hitting and they had a point of view. Her goal was to return it back to that, but with such a small budget to pay contributors it was hard. Instead of being able to pay contributors each week for content, she was responsible for writing four or five articles and taking most of the photos. It was definitely a labor of love. She’d go on 36-hour work benders to design, copy-edit and rewrite articles when necessary. This lasted for about nine months, and then on December 16, 2022 she was told the paper was closing and was given less than an hour to gather her things.

EP 121 A fear of money and the pursuit of success with Nick Carpenter

In this episode, Cody talks to Nick Carpenter of Medium Build. He grew up in a religious household, so the church and its teachings ruled everything. Money was important too, but he says it was always just out of their reach. So, in many ways, that resulted in them idolizing it because so many emotions were attached to it. Obsession, fear, paranoia, shame. It influenced their perception of themselves and others. This led Nick to his fear of money — that if he didn’t remain vigilant and aware of the pitfalls of wealth, it would consume him. So, he and his brother made a conscious effort to undo a lot of what they were taught and, in the process, figure out who they are without those teachings. Today, he and his parents have found understanding in their differences. They focus on connecting on the things they enjoy — food, music, playing board games. They stay honest with each other and they remind themselves that they’re stronger together.
 
When he was 8 years old, Nick started singing in front of hundreds, sometimes thousands, of people at his church. Then, when he was 15, he realized that he wanted to write and play his own music. He wrote a song and played it for a girl he had a crush on. She didn’t like him, but she liked the song. So, he knew he had an ability to entertain people and connect with them.
 
He says that his songs are his journal entries. Historically, they’ve been self-referential, but recently they’ve become more fictional. Many times borrowing from people and situations he observes. It all helps him process his life and the world around him. He wants it to be his career, to travel around the world singing his stories. But he says that if it all stopped — if his manager left him and no one booked him for shows anymore — he would still play music. Most likely he’d be at the open mics around Anchorage.

Chatter Marks EP 53 A liver transplant and directing a horror movie starring an Inuit cast with Nyla Innuksuk

Nyla Innuksuk is an Indigenous director from Canada and she recently released Slash/Back, a horror / sci-fi movie about a group of Inuit girls who save their remote arctic community from an alien invasion. She says that the horror genre has always been a big part of her life. Her mom — being a fan as well — introduced it to her, actually. One day when Nyla and a friend were having a sleep over, her mom rented Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds for them. They were 8 years old. That was the same year that Nyla and another friend would ride their bikes to the graveyard, they’d sit there and they’d write ghost stories. That’s how she spent most of her days until she was about 13 or 14. She lived in a town that was predominently Christian and realized that her love of witches and magic was probably not appropriate. But by then, she had moved onto writing scripts anyway.
Making Slash/Back was important to Nyla for a couple reasons. For one, she was able to film the script she’d been working on for years. It also helped her recover from a liver transplant. When she got the news about needing the tranplant, she was told that she had a 50/50 chance of surviving the month. It was a grim and scary situation, but she made it through the month and received a transplant in May of 2017. That September, she went to Nunavut and shot the proof of concept for the movie. She wasn’t wasting any time. Facing her mortality brought things intro focus and helped her recognize the things that she believes are really important in life. Friends, family and the relationships we build with them. It also helped her understand the importance of pursuing the things she wants in life.