Get it Together, Together, with Dailen Williams

Dailen Williams (she/they) is a lot of things: a self-taught musician, DJ, visual artist, and an educator. She is also an organizer experienced in starting arts organizations and community projects from scratch, with a special emphasis on designing and managing human-centered systems. Dailen’s latest big idea is Club:Club, a kind of experimental educational platform where anyone can learn the basics of DJing and music production in a friendly, welcoming atmosphere. 

The Well (TW): You’re pretty busy, Dailen. Give us four stories to set this up, super fast.

Dailen Williams (DW): There are many, but here’s four that come to mind. That time me and all my neighbors had a potluck and started chess boxing, complete with gloves. There’s the time I tracked down an illegal street racing crew in LA because I wanted to see them do donuts in the middle of traffic...and riding my bike through the mall during a Critical Mass—ten years ago? Almost got run over by an enraged security guard. In Alaska, my crew and I went on the water in a little skiff during a hurricane to try and keep one of the boats from sinking.

TW: And we’re off! What’s on your mind today? Lately?

DW: Space. Space to learn, space to share, space to celebrate and find each other. This is part of why I helped start Binch Press, why I helped organize Que Dulce, and part of why I insist on making music. Third spaces are in short supply locally, which is tragic because they are so crucial to individual growth and strongly interwoven communities. How are we to build supportive networks, share and celebrate moments of triumph, and learn new perspectives if we only ever make friends at work? Bars are okay, but I'm more interested in other kinds of spaces, places, and projects.

TW: Short supply is slightly better than non-existent so, what are some positive examples happening as we speak?

DW: Lost Bag and The Garden come to mind. I also advocate for other sources of community healing and neighborhood support, besides spaces and nonprofits. While nonprofits are incredible and instrumental, a lot of additional good can be done by smaller groups, open projects, and mutual aid initiatives that aren't bogged down by bureaucracy or competing for the same three or four restrictive grants. Projects like John Brown Mutual Aid, Trash City Medic Collective, and Red Ink.

Above: A seaplane near Bear Garden Fishery off Kodiak, Alaska. Photo by Dailen Williams.

TW: Can we get an example of a project you personally produced in an alternative or, third space, one that’s still with you today. Something temporary, fleeting, memorable…

DW: Years ago my friend Kit Paloma (formerly “cmov”) and I ran an experimental club night series, Approximate ≈, at Capitol Records—that’s the giant brick building at the intersection of Harris and Atwells. Details and memories are hazy, but we ran maybe 3 or 4 of them. This was probably 2015–2016. We focused on making space for Queer and Trans artists who struggled to fit the molds of what [dance] music was supposed to be. Paloma is a dear friend of mine and everyone should check out her work.

TW: For a bit you were also Booking Manager at AS220, which I think people might point to, correctly or not, as the kind of space you’re getting at. That only lasted a year, though—how come?

DW: When I first got hired, I think they and I were both really excited; I have a lot of experience building systems, connecting people, and creating spaces with others. As time progressed I realized that I was not receiving the resources I needed to create the kinds of positive change I thought I'd be able to. My time there followed the tired trope of kind and well-intentioned people burning themselves out to the point of not being able to hear the community around them nor support the workers within the organization itself. Don't get me wrong, I really appreciate the work they've done, and they're definitely a fixture in this city. I just couldn't hang.

TW: What message do you think wasn’t / isn’t being heard? Not just at AS220 during a specific year but, broadly.

DW: I think a lot about the word community and the idea of inclusivity. Community is often used vaguely, or as a marketing buzzword folks use to get grants. Or worse, it gets used by people to lump together (and feel closer to) groups they actually know very little about. Whose community are we actually talking about? Black people living on the South Side? Artists with degrees? Big program funders?

When people pretend that we all exist in the Great Big Circle in the exact same ways, we end up with values and policies so banal and undirected we mirror and recreate the inherent harms of capitalism wherever we go. Now, this isn't an indictment against efforts towards inclusivity. Rather, I think that inclusivity is something we should strive for within the context of clearly defined communities. That is to say, communities can center certain experiences without alienating or excluding others, thereby being inclusive to those willing to learn and grow.

There are, of course, many points of overlap in experience from person to person, but clearly defining a community is key to actually serving its needs. In my opinion, projects that try to serve everyone in the exact same ways generally fall flat and leave most participants, except maybe the most privileged, feeling disappointed.

TW: Want to propose a solution or, maybe a first step?

DW: When we create spaces we need to be specific, intentional, and at times protective of the specific culture(s) we’re trying to cultivate. Much of that process requires vetting and educating others to be certain that newcomers in a space can come to understand and respect that community's values—not its ethnicity, not its tax bracket, nor even its goals. It all comes back to sharing values. What do you believe in? What won’t you stand for? What do you protect? When people find that they have shared values they can finally let their guards down and begin to radically heal for real, even if they find that they exactly don't want the same things.

Above: Dailen performing as DJ Caloric. Photo courtesy of Dailen Williams.

TW: Not much to disagree with there. Thinking about your values and sense of self—do you have anything like an origin tale? Memories from youth that you can draw lines back to?

DW: Well, for the first 7 or 8 years of my life I was an only child, mostly left alone to watch TV, stare at bugs in the grass, or mix dangerous chemicals together. I loved drawing, Pokémon, and taking things apart. In second grade I made some money selling custom “tech decks” for a quarter—used popsicle sticks from the cafeteria I'd color and draw shapes and symbols on. Then, during class we'd all take out our counterfeit tech decks and pretend to snowboard instead of listening. I hid all my earnings in a water jug under the sink in the bathroom.

TW: Early with the hustle. When you got a sibling; how did that impact you? 

TW: By 15 I was the oldest of 10 kids! Well, not all at once. My family—immediate and extended—moved around a bit, and when my mom and multiple aunts weren’t actively fighting each other, they'd opt to live together in different configurations throughout the years to keep rent low. As a result, at any given time I was generally responsible for at least 5 other kids, my two siblings and many cousins, as all of our parents were either always working or asleep. Most every adult was a CNA working 3rd shift multiple nights a week.

TW: That’s a lot of responsibility. Fast forward to present day—you have all these varied projects...does life still feel like a balancing act? Or art pays the bills and you’re good? Where are you at?

DW: Actually, I’m not doing so hot! I don’t talk to my family, and when I did I was the one giving my money to them. I've never been a person with a lot of financial security in childhood, or adulthood, and since quitting my job in December I have been getting by on savings, gigs, and odd jobs. More recently, I started running CLUB:CLUB and, apart from being a public resource, it seems to be something that could actually yield a sustainable living wage! Needs a bit more figuring out to get it there, though. Wish me luck! :)

TW: Club-world seems like a place where you’re maintaining this role of “person who holds it together” and in return, perhaps, are offered more of a chosen family? 

DW: When I say that I don’t really talk to family, I mean that I am not in contact with any of the adults that had a hand in raising me. I do talk with the kids of those people from time to time, but we largely lead separate lives. After college I began living on my own, and though we all lived in the same city my mom never brought them to visit because she didn’t want my younger brothers meeting gay people. Everything was on her terms, and not being their actual parent there wasn't very much I could do. After I stopped talking to her I unfortunately had to stop talking to them as well.

Above: Dailen as DJ Caloric, in a bathtub. Photo by Julia C Liu.

DW: As for my chosen family I’ve been close to and relied on so many wonderful, kind, and complicated friends. Like with blood family I’ve found myself in pretty disastrous relationships with those I consider kin. Simply having a shared background or experience of the world is not enough. Communication and clear expectations are key to any family, blood or not, surviving and growing together in a healthy way.

TW: We want to revisit something from your first answer...Alaska?

DW: Kodiak, Alaska. I really needed money and I learned from some friends that you could make a bunch really quickly if you worked the salmon run for three months straight. This would only be partly true. When I got there I met some of the most conservative, ornery, self-reliant people I had ever known. The strangest thing was that they were so far right that they didn't even care that I was trans. They just wanted to know if I could kill a fish with my hands. I came back to Providence with a deeper and more profound appreciation for my community.

TW: Once your hands were deemed sufficiently deadly to fish, did people there get more interested in you; your history, background, queerness, etc?

DW: Not really! Mostly a “Kill fish and earn your keep” kind of energy, paired with a real lack of curiosity—the work and hours were far too grueling to confer much time for small talk. To be fair I didn’t really tell anyone about my queerness at first; my friend who also came to Alaska for similar reasons spilled the beans when they wished me a happy 25th birthday over ham radio. The wife of the captain was upset that I kept a “secret” from her, and not actually super interested in engaging with what the secret actually was or why I wouldn't be forthright in the first place. For how big a deal she made, she completely failed to make any effort to get my pronouns right after the fact.

Interestingly, I happened to be stationed with another transwoman a little older than me, a person the captain and his wife knew personally and watched grow up. It was nice to have a queer person to experience the ordeal with, even if I was the first Queer person, and Black person, that she had ever interacted with in real life. We later had quite a few conversations about how to take the theory she’d read (Audre Lorde, bell hooks) and implement them in ways that didn’t make me feel weird. I hope she’s doing well.

TW: And what’s your take on Rhode Island, generally. What comes to mind first when you close your eyes and whisper the word quahog. 

DW: Providence is this odd, left-leaning urban small town in an otherwise pretty red state. In 2014 it was crowned the least "bible-minded" place in the country, and it also happens to be where I spent some of my most formative years. I love this city, and even though it’s been making it more and more clear that it probably doesn’t love me back, I hope we can all work together to figure out a way to re-squish it into a weird zone for people to hang out, hold hands, and make art. To get a deeper understanding of my relationship with RI, read this NPR article, this Trip Advisor page on Splash at Jordan’s Furniture, and this bit on Resmini lore.

Above: Williams as DJ Caloric, during a residency at Black Sheep. Photo (cropped) by Rory Maynard-Dean.

TW: How about something you love. Besides Vegas-style attractions at furniture showrooms.

DW: Teaching! Teaching others really requires not only that you understand a subject thoroughly, but also that you’re in tune enough with your students and curious enough about the rest of the world to be able to notice and draw similarities between completely separate things. As a result of teaching others, I’ve really learned how to teach myself new things.

I also try to record moments, photographs, videos, and voice memos. I'm prone to taking notes during casual conversations, especially if it's with a new friend. It's so easy to forget small details, and at least for me it's those little things that spark sudden moments of inspiration. I'm trying to enjoy my life more and spend more time with people I care about. Also, whenever I bike by a mulberry tree in the summer months I make sure to pull over and stuff my face as penance for working so much.

TW: Can’t say we’ve ever just ripped into a mulberry bush. Will have to check that scene out. Actually…that banger jam All Around the Mulberry Bush, being a youth-tune, reminds us to ask you about your time with New Urban Arts.

DW: My time at New Urban Arts was generally positive, it’s where I made most of my oldest adult friends. I was pretty young then, and honestly, at the time I probably was not mature enough yet to be a supportive role model for teens, being only 20 or so and living under extremely unstable circumstances myself. As for my own comics, I tend to write stories about workers and working, and how capitalism dulls the imagination—even in fantastic settings.

TW: What kinds of fantastic settings; what are the storylines?

DW: There’s an anthropomorphic eggplant who raids tombs to pay off her art school loans, and an impoverished village using magic gardening techniques to fight off police knights. I’ve done comics about starving freelance banking wizards who had to spend their own money to cast spells and close deals, and militarized hospitals fighting over patients in armored ambulances. I don't draw so much anymore, instead choosing to work on music and group projects while silently working on my world-building and writing skills.

TW: On writing...We’re getting ready to hit the beach next month—what books should we have in the tote?

DW: In no particular order...Getting the Love You Want. I’m trying to get like Hellen and Harville, and you probably should too. Animal Land is a really beautiful story about community and perseverance that halfway through, becomes a bizarre action story that isn’t very good. For that reason I recommend quitting the series after you finish Vol 7. Finally, The Body Keeps the Score. The guy who wrote it kinda sucks and it comes out a bit in some sections, but the info is pretty good and it really recontextualized a lot of things for me. Be forewarned: it’s extremely dense and at times, disturbing.

TW: OK, so not exactly a Sue Grafton summer. That’s cool. What’s something coming up in the next couple of months? This is your end-of-interview promo moment.

DW: I’m doing an artist showcase with Joe Stopsign and Noizcode at Inspiria on August 2nd! I really like Creeps and Sam and what they're doing with that space for different communities. CLUB:CLUB’s social club is returning from hiatus on September 9, and finally, I'm co-planning a really big party for the end of the summer. But that's all I can say for now.

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The cover photo for this interview, Dailen Williams in L.A., is by Maya Gutmann-McKenzie, 2023