Crude Conversations

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.