I started writing professionally about music and the Los Angeles rave scene while in college in the early ’90s. I watched a newspaper reporter facilitate police busts of underground events and realized that this wasn’t the type of writing that I wanted to do, but still made the mistake of writing about a smaller, unlicensed monthly happening before it was ready for an external spotlight.
The intention was to share something positive and joyful with others who would appreciate it rather than to draw negative attention from the authorities, but it wasn’t a good idea in retrospect. While nothing bad ultimately came out of it, in some ways, what I wrote was a violation of a safe and sacred space that could have stifled its creative expression or existence.
A recent rash of local media snitching has amplified the underground happenings that have kept the Bay Area magical, running the risk of shut down the fun, at best—or, at worst, putting operators in danger, destroying safe spaces, and inviting unwanted surveillance of vulnerable communities.
I love being the first to be able to write about a person, place, or event if it means I’m turning people on to something wonderful that will also give a boost to my subject. It’s an honor and the best part about my work. I also keep certain topics that would not benefit from such attention off of my pitch lists.
Music is still one of my big beats, and food came into the picture around 2008. Looking for intersections of the two, I naturally gravitated towards a growing street food scene that wasn’t entirely permitted, from a hot dog maker slinging elaborate tacos in a Haight Street alley to a baker peddling pies out of a bicycle basket. I probably published too much about certain concepts that were more lawless than others, but I always asked the vendors before sharing info publicly, and we always had peace, love, unity, and respect.
Today, it’s a little different on the streets, but no less thrilling to research. Some of the tacos I’ve encountered in recent years have cannabis in them, for example, and the bike baskets are filled with high-end confections infused with psilocybin. These are high-quality snacks in more ways than one, but I haven’t published their makers or disclosed how to get them. There’s some chance that no one would be able to eat them again if I did.
So, yeah, this respectfully goes out to all the journalists who really needed to hear this a few weeks ago. There should be no shortage of compelling stories to tell about our home without jeopardizing the safety of individuals and the life of positive creative movements. Stop being lazy. We could be raving in caves and feasting on sushi in controversially prehistoric suburban houses, but no—you had to blow up the spots!
Tamara Palmer is a DJ, Music Book Club host and the Good Taste food columnist for 48hills. She knows how to keep a secret.
