Crude Conversations

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.

EP 120 Musical storytelling with Michele McLaughlin

In this episode, Cody talks to pianist Michele McLaughlin. She says that she’s always been musical. When she was in kindergarten, she learned to play the piano. Whatever songs they were singing in class, she would go home and learn them by ear and then play them for her class, almost as a form of show and tell. She remembers Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Mary Had a Little Lamb. Then, when she was 8, and she was getting better at playing, she learned George Winston songs by ear. Specifically his December album. Eventually, she began creating her own music.
Michele's albums have their roots in Christmas. Her first one — Beginnings — she gave out as Christmas gifts. She borrowed a digital keyboard and recorded the album onto a cassette tape. Her mom loved it and would play it in her car. So, Michele made 30 copies of that tape and decided to give them away as presents to friends and family. The feedback she got was so encouraging, that it motivated her to keep making albums. Maybe give them away for presents next Christmas. That was in 2000. By 2003, she had put her music online and that was the beginning of her career.
She calls her time at the piano her musical diary. It’s when she can express her raw emotions and raw feelings. And you can tell. Her music is contemplative, dramatic, triumphant, melancholy and joyous. It’s the result of her sitting down and pouring her heart into it. At her performances, before she plays a song, she tells the story behind it. Stories about her family, her hardships, her travels, her pursuit of love. All of the emotions and the experiences that are so integral to her music. She says it’s one of her favorite parts of her concerts: Sharing intimate pieces of her life so that her audience might, for at least a moment, feel those same emotions.

Chatter Marks EP 52 If you take care of nature, it’ll take care of you with Mossy Kilcher

Mossy Kilcher is a homesteader, a musician and an ornithologist. When she was young, she was afraid of nature. It was just so big and there were so many ways to die. But the more time she spent outdoors, the better she understood it. Making music and recording bird songs helped. She realized that it wasn’t about taming the wilderness or dominating nature — like her father believed — it was about living in unison with it. That if you take care of it, it will be there for you when you inevitably need it. Understanding her place in nature, helped her understand her role in it. For example, she found that if she sat still for long enough, she became invisible and she could see and listen to nature doing its business all around her. It carried on without her help. She says that this was a sobering thought: that everything is important, not just her.
She recently released a book — a memoir — that focuses on her upbringing. Homesteading in Alaska before it was a state, living off the grid and off the land. They hunted and they gathered. It was a self-sufficient lifestyle that her father sought out and he found it in Alaska, a place where he believed he could live simply. They settled on land about 15 miles from the nearest town and accessible only by a trail in the forest or on the beach at low tide. They used horses and a wagon to transport goods back and forth. Mossy says that she wanted to share all of this because it’s what led her to another way of looking at life, another way of looking at the world. That everything matters and we need to be good, thoughtful stewards of the planet. It’s a connection with nature that she has applied to every aspect of her life.

Chatter Marks EP 51 The Alaska punk scene with Josh Medsker

In the mid-90s and early 2000s, Josh Medsker documented the Alaska punk scene. He started out as a fan, attending as many shows as he could, and then he began documenting the scene. For about three years, he wrote for the University of Alaska Anchorage student paper, “The Northern Light,” the city’s alt-weekly, “The Anchorage Press,” and for his own publication, “Noise, Noise, Noise.” Articles, interviews, anything he could do to help tell the story of punk in Alaska. The scene was so vibrant and the energy was so infectious, that he felt a responsibility to capture as much as he could. 
There were bands with names like Skate Death, Psychedelic Skeletons and Filipino Haircut. There were bands interested in the occult, bands interested in performance art, bands interested in making genuine punk music. There was even a band that lit themselves on fire. And they were all performing in venues and eventually warehouses. But for it to be sustainable, there needed to be the right mix of culture bearers and promoters. Bands that created the music, venues that hosted shows, an alt-weekly newspaper that promoted the shows, and a college radio station that played the music. It was a mixture that sometimes worked out and sometimes didn’t. When it worked out, the scene would flourish; when it didn’t, the scene would fade. 
Josh looks back on that time as some of the happiest moments of his life. He remembers going into local music stores and buying local music. How special it was to buy a tape and listen to a local band, knowing that these musicians were walking the same streets that he walked. They understood his interests and his point of view.