Kat Says: “I Was Flogged! A Very-Special Rave Report From Portola 2022.”
The dream of the 2000s is alive in San Francisco, and I couldn’t be happier to know it.
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Hey friends,
There’s this crazy conversation going down on Twitter right now. Apparently, some sex worker filmed herself getting gang banged at Lost Lands—the dinosaur-themed dubstep festival fronted by Excision in a place called Legend Valley, Ohio—and people who were there are not fucking cool.
I mean that sincerely. They’re clearly not cool people, because they’re debasing this adult who makes her living off of sex for daring to do her thing in front of other people. I clicked on the Tweet thread looking for someone, anyone who would mirror my take that having consensual sex in public is just not that big of a fucking deal.
I mean, when the President of the U.S. tries to overthrow the government in front of the whole country; and a black kid who played violin to kitty cats (because he believed in the power of music to heal) is shot in the street by police officers, I think a lady eating a few dicks to dubstep is like, one win for the other side of life.
If you don’t want to watch people have sex, walk away! Don’t go rant on the Internet about how that woman (are the men involved not equally responsible?! Why is it only HER who “did something wrong”?!?!) ruined your fucking life by having some fun! I don’t even think it’s that big of a deal for kids to see public sex acts. They have the internet. They’ve seen it all.
Sex is joyous. Sex is healthy. Sex is natural. Sex is not fucking weird at all, and if it’s okay for adults to take drugs in public and walk around with their eyes so far back in their heads that you can barely see their pupils, I think one public gang bang is allowed. If your time at a music festival was ruined because someone else had consensual sex in your area, I think you have a lot more therapy in your future.
BUT HEY! MAYBE I AM BIASED. I SPENT MY SUNDAY MORNING GETTING FLOGGED IN THE STREET AND WATCHING CARTOON DOG HEADS SUCK DICK UNDER THE RARE SAN FRANCISCO SUN AT FOLSOM STREET FAIR!
AND I LOVED IT!
What is Folsom Street Fair?
It’s an annual BDSM and leather subculture celebration that’s taken place on Folsom Street in queer-and-proud San Francisco since 1984. It’s a place where those who are confined by society’s norms can steal one day of unadulterated freedom and let their freak flag fly high in the sky, far from the judging eyes of those who would have them stay locked in a cage or be embarrassed by the clothing, actions and people that give them a feeling of love, acceptance, pleasure and joy. It’s all very safe and consensual, and it’s truly a special and important part of the Bay Area cultural history.
The street is closed off for blocks, so you can’t just accidentally find yourself sharing the sidewalk with two men who wanna put their foreheads and foreskins together in a sensual embrace; and a donation is accepted at the gate, because the whole thing is ostensibly free for the people.
I’ve heard about Folsom for years, but this was my first chance to experience it first hand. I was expecting something more debauched, to be honest. I keep telling people, “at times, it felt like being at a weird farmer’s market for dicks—but then you’d look over and see a man dressed as a leather puppy with a cute lil’ tale shoved up his ass, lapping water from a doggie bowl on the concrete.”
That puppy’s name is Biscuit, by the way, and he is a real good boy in every sense of the term.
This is a woman that has been vacuum sealed into PVC with only a hole for her mouth to breath. She could talk, and she loved it!
Local businesses along the street remained open, serving artisanal sandwiches and $4 water bottles to any hungry or thirsty weirdos who wanted a refresh. There was a DJ playing loud music and sexy dancers; live demonstrations of different kinks and toys; aforementioned vendors selling leather goods, outfits, masks and more.
There were furries and pony players. I saw some beer-gutted men swimming happily in a kiddie pool of pee.
Even Channel 5 was there! I got interviewed! Cross your fingers I make the final cut :)
At times, I felt bad that I was staring at the sex acts. I have always been fascinated by this kind of public intimacy, but it’s not every day you’re invited to see inside someone’s deepest fantasy; but everyone kept reminding me “they want you to look. They’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” and it was great!
I understand that walking Folsom Street Fair may not be for everyone, but I would encourage any open-minded adult to check it out. There is simply nothing more free than being surrounded by humans who have taken their freedom into their own hands, and created a safe space that is all their own.
And that, ladies and gentleman, is why I fucking love raves.
I did not fly to San Francisco last weekend simply to attend the Folsom Street Fair. I was, as I have told you in this newsletter before, on my way to experience the first-ever Portola festival.
As soon as this event was announced, it shook the dance music world to its core. The lineup was an unparalleled exercise in the underground. Where else will you find yourself standing between two main stages at peak hour, brain whirling in the battling beats of Flume (a man who won a Grammy for his experimental approach to electronic pop) and Arca (a trans, non-binary producer from Venezuela who mixes industrial noise with Latin rhythms, and produces radio hits for The Weeknd, Rosalia and Sia in her free time).
It was a lineup representative of the old school golden era, with headline performances from DJ Shadow, The Avalanches, Fatboy Slim and The Chemical Brothers; as well as the new school that takes its influences directly from the early-aught peak.
Shygirl, Charli XCX, Bicep and Fred Again.. served shiny sets full of sing-along melodies and cutting edge grit. Bay Area chillwave babe Toro Y Moi and French sextet L'Impératrice gave perfect day-time performances that felt so smooth under the blue sky; and the whole thing was given this urban cool as we danced packed on San Francisco’s Pier 80, staring up at industrial mega-cranes and a hulking military ship parked right beside the tented stages.
Because it was Portola’s first run, there wasn’t much in the way of stage production of on-site activations. Honestly though, I kind of prefer it that way. It was a stripped-down atmosphere, and it created the feeling that it was all about you, your friends and the music.
That communal energy was everywhere. It was the best part of the festival, too. Everywhere you looked were smiling friends dancing in circles, like fawns and witches around fairy tale campfires. My nostalgia was further stimulated by the outfits, because the early ‘00s are indeed back, and with them came tiny t-shirts and fat-legged jeans, bucket hats and the like.
Sure, Portola wasn’t without its hiccups. M.I.A. had to cancel at the last minute, and Fred Again.. damn-near started a riot by packing out the massive warehouse stage to the point where security had to shut it the fuck down. I don’t really understand why we had to deal with the warehouse stage line at all, although my friend smartly figured it had to do with counting the amount of people in and out for Fire Marshall stuff, which seems likely. I can abide.
Generally though, it was a successful party that really helped me tap back into the roots of why I love dance music in the first place. It felt like being back at that old-school rave where different rooms banged different styles. Oh, you wanna hear Justin Martin get real funky in the Crane Tent? Then we can hear the start of TSHA’s soulful garage-house heaters and run over to catch Sad Night Dynamite explode on the Ship Stage.
I spent a lot of my time running around filming things and interviewing folks in the crowd for my vlog, which I’m putting together now and should have ready for you all by Wednesday. I met some truly incredible characters from all over the world, and everyone was so fucking kind and sweet and in love with the music.
I actually started crying when Duke Dumont played his finale. I didn’t mean to, but the screen was flashing “TOGETHER” and the kids next to me were all hugging each other, and I was there with one of my lifelong besties and some really nice people who recognized me from the internet and my Kat Calls with Gary Richards in 2020, and it all became so overwhelming.
It’s so beautiful and so magical to be reminded that we humans are here. We really exist and only for a short time, and we can live the life we dream of, dancing and hugging—and yes, sometimes fucking and flogging—together, under one sky, and no amount of corporate greed or social injustice or institutionalized racism and sexism and queer-phobia can strip us of our power to just be ourselves.
Not if we really, really fight for it, and the way we fight for it is with love.
WOW, PLUR CAN BE REAL, Y’ALL.
Nah, but for real. If you find yourself at a music festival or a street corner or a dark room in a club, and you see someone grabbing their joy by the hands, remember that their joy does not have to be your joy. Even if you think it might be disgusting, choose not to see the act itself but instead the smile on the person’s face, and see that a little bit of love however it’s afforded is something to celebrate, not denigrate.
“Don’t yuck someone’s yum” is a phrase I recently learned, and I’m now obsessed with it. If that yum isn’t actually hurting anyone, then hell yeah! Go for it.
Oh, and also, The Chemical Brothers are still one of the best touring acts on the planet. I lost all sense of reality in the middle of their set because they had this crazy hypnotic bit with red-and-blue superimposed images of vaguely esoteric shit, and then this voice said “and I felt like I was dreaming,” and I came back into my body and it was the most wild shit that happened to me all weekend—AND I WAS PUBLICLY FLOGGED AT FOLSOM.
Alright! That’s this week’s essay. I hope you all learned something. I sure did. I hope you go to Portola next year, too, and that it’s the same weekend as Folsom again. I think it’s an important part of the whole vibe of San Fran to have those two extremes meeting in the middle.
Coming Up Next
No Kat Calls planned for this Thursday, and I’m wrapping up the Portola vlog which I am so, so excited to show you!
Kat Calls will be back on Thursday, Oct. 13, with Ninajirachi, though! I’ll share more about her amazing career in next week’s newsletter. Stay tuned!
Alsooooo
I had the wonderful opportunity to reconnect with Sam Gellaitry for Billboard Dance. Our Kat Calls chat is the most-watched on my channel, and his fans are always begging me to get him back on the show. I fucking love this guy, his energy is great and his music is even better! Read all about his new mixtape and his approach to life.
Speaking of baddies! Arielle Lana LeJarde wrote the recent cover story for Mixmag, speaking to none other than Hudson fuckin’ Mohwake about his recent viral sex single, memes and his awesome LP Cry Sugar.
Absolutely Necessary
(This is the part where I share songs that are so good, they’re absolutely necessary to listen to. That’s it. That’s the bar.)
I made two Spotify playlists for this section that you can follow: one weekly playlist updated with just the new stuff every week, and one cumulative playlist that will host every song I pick ever (until Spotify tells me it's full). Check them out! I made them for you—and me, but mostly you.
Okay! I actually have to gtfo of this hotel in Los Angeles, because I’m heading to my good friend Jaime’s birthday party in Joshua Tree. I still have to hit up Spirit Halloween and buy a cop costume for the murder mystery roleplay game she has planned for tonight, so I am not going to list out all the new tunes, but the playlists have been updated, so go ham!
THANK YOU FOR ANOTHER GREAT WEEK, MY FRIENDS.
Thanks for tuning into my newsletter. Listen to the playlists on Spotify. One is updated weekly with all the songs from each edition. The other is cumulative with all the updates ever!