Strike Magazine Nashville The South Has Something To Say

THE SOUTH HAS SOMETHING TO SAY

Strike Magazine Nashville, Tennessee

Ryman Auditorium

Ryman Auditorium was opened as the Union Gospel Tabernacle in 1892 by Thomas Ryman, who was influenced by the revivalist Samuel Porter Jones. Although the building was designed as house of worship, it was often used for nonreligious events to generate additional revenue. Under Lula C. Naff’s leadership since 1907, Ryman became the city’s cultural center. It was known as the home of the Grand Old Opry from 1943 to 1974. In 2001, Ryman Auditorium was designated as a National Historic Landmark. Today, it still host live performances and events.

Source: Wikipedia “Ryman Auditorium” & Ryman.com

Bite Back Jubilee

Don’t bite the hand that feeds you. So we’ve been taught by hands That only abuse – by hands That only betray.

Don’t bite the hand that feeds you. Says hands that only silence –Hands that force a muzzle over our Ravenous jaws.

Instead, bite back those hands. Bite back with sharpened incisors, Squeezing our jaws shut only until We are fed justice.

Hidden behind sturdy magnolias, there stands A victorian choral hall – imposing in stature, Yet warm and inviting

Inside the hall, singers rehearse spirituals bursting with soul and grandeur.

Many spirituals portray chronic plight only To be soothed by faith in the Lord. Others depict the quiet majesty of Tennessee’s Rolling hills.

Nonetheless, each song is a gift – a gift to Embrace our unfaltering hearts.

The Crust

Engulfed in screeching reverb, blasted with Animalistic howls, impaled by hundreds of High hat strikes – they rage. Kicking and Punching and shoving and fucking up Everything in sight, needle-tipped mohawks Clash with spike studded leather jackets.

Amid grimaces of ecstasy, the beaten and Bruised melt into each other like White hot metal into a cauldron.

A metal so hot– your eyes melt off your skull, A metal so hot– blood boils out your ears, Metal so hot– you just fucking die.

#Bachshitcrazy

As the sun sets behind the Cumberland River, Saloons beam glowing lights into the night Sky. At twilight, whiskey dyes the horizon gold, Cotton candy champagne tints the clouds pink.

The collective boom of twenty concerts Blanket the roars of vivacious bachelorettes –The clacking of their western boots adding Rhythm to this Southern waltz.

Amid their happy-go-lucky uproar, they Stay oblivious to the disruption caused.

They don’t realize the damage done by Bejeweled cowboy hats or pearly Studio apartments– the irrevocable harm caused by under-seasoned tacos.

They don’t realize their lifestyle breeds The cruelest exclusivity. Exclusivity that Exiles the marginalized to the outermost fringes of the city.

Nonetheless, they party on.

All Eyes On Me

You’re online - she’s everything, she’s everywhere. She’s the topic of every thread, her words retweeted ad infinitum, her face ubiquitous. Eternal icon.

You’re obsessed. Following her digital crumb trail Like some depraved animal, you fetishize the idea Of her, you worship her celebrity, her stardom.

Eternal Superstar. She greeds for your undying attention, expects unwavering devotion of her Subjects -the matriarch of the crazed masses.

Her face projected across billboards, your phone Screen - imprinted upon your eyes - her lust for fame enters the realm of the unreal. The Everything Girl.

Jaylin Witherspoon

Christine Kim Dzifa Dumenyo

Lily Britto Laney Dark

Bryce Tatum

Christopher Tanaka Sawan Ahmed Anna Davidson Lesleigh Taylor

CASTINGS DIRECTOR Shery Essa

Isabella Cabrera

Charlotte Edmunds

Milani Naik

Sawan Ahmed Maysa Sornthong Lesleigh Taylor Safa Shazad

Allen Zeng Shi Zhang Aaron Guo

Won Jun Seok

Christopher Tanaka Osaruyi Onaghinor Oremeyi Daniyan Sidney Vafaie-Partin Kirsten Latch

Sophia Yan Rahul Koul Delanyo Mensah Elisa Wang Chidinma Onukwuru Alex Ward

Lauren Harwood Jessica Du

Jet Thurmond

Peri Gould

Ashley White Oremeyi Daniyan Audrey Heffernan

Anna Kim Mathilde Caindec

Casey Elkin Nathan Miao Shi Zhang Isabella Tyminski

Lily Britto

Abigail Wells Devan Wiley Madalynn Whitten

Letter From The Editor

Focusing on authenticity and improving the management of the fashion industry, I have watched as a community has formed from a fashion space that was once disconnected. Throughout the past 5 months, my team was patient with me as I pushed for the highest quality of work, wanting this to be our best magazine yet, and today writing this, I believe we have done that. I feel so proud of this team for sharing what they love so fearlessly, as the content would not be the same without them. To my incredible assistants, Lauren Surles, Mateo Cerro and Rosie Padilla, I could not wait any longer to thank you for the family that you have given me here at Strike. You

make the most stressful days filled with laughter and surrounded by each of you, I am reminded of who I work to become. I love you all endlessly.

Thank you to all of the Strike supporters, who have grown with us throughout our past issues, we look forward to you connecting with us like never before. When narrowing down a theme for this issue, my teammates and I held passionate conversations about the industry, our city and our community. In the end, we decided that for this fall issue, We Had Something To Say! This theme is centered around being an artist that is personable and brave, so I feel

PHOTOGRAPHY

Casey Elkin Milani Naik

Jaylin Witherspoon Westlight Studios

empowered to take this time to share my own heartfelt message.

The excitement of the fashion world that originally came from unapologetic self expression, theatrics and craftsmanship has seemingly been engulfed by ego and negativity. Simply, the fashion industry doesn’t feel fun anymore. As the fashion world currently blends itself into a sales and marketing one, nearly everything about the art has transformed to focus on who can cover a story first, or who can sell the most of a product? The industry pits us up against each other to distract us from our true missions. If we as a generation have similar missions of kindness, diversity or sustainability, then why do toxic industry structures continue to feel enforced, even in our makeshift university-aged portion of the industry? As I’ve interacted in the fashion world, I have noticed an unspoken boundary of fluffiness- the same fluff that the outside audience sees the industry to be as a whole. On one side, we find fun in the fluff as we test the limits of how boundless the innocence of a creation can be. On the other hand, there is a sharp seriousness to the industry’s toxic structures and fabricated rules, those in which we must meet with sophistication. When any person enters the scene with ego or ignorance, the industry suddenly takes three steps backwards. Thus, I ask for mindfulness of your actions as a contributor to this industry. Our generation must refuse to reinforce these toxic cycles, as so much of this space desperately needs change, kindness, patience and care. Together we can improve these systems from the inside out.

It’s normal to feel that authenticity within this industry is fading, but this isn’t the case. There is an abundance of talented, thoughtful people who are consistently creating. When I see them, I feel reinspired and remember why I entered this world in the first place – the industry needs more people like that. I ask that our readers uplift these creators, the same way they uplift already popular names in fashion. We as an audience have the choice of what we choose to engage with, thus the future of the fashion world could be all we dream it be: diverse, sustainable, embracing, limitless.

With this, I want to say a final thank you to my team. As I continue to explore this industry, Strike has reminded me of how fun it could be. Alongside kind, sincere people my optimism constantly regenerates. At Strike there is no shaming or climbing ladders, and this is why I cannot wait for the future of this organization, and the futures of those who are a part of it. This community represents what the industry could be one day. The opportunity to be the Editor in Chief for Strike Nashville has been such a transformative experience for me, I could not be more grateful. Thank you to everyone who supported me, no matter how close. As I look forward to a broader role with Strike Magazine, I am thrilled by the opportunity to watch as the next Editor in Chief takes this organization and grows it to the best it can be!

With love,

Our whole lives, we have been watching our country deteriorate. Generation Z has been misled, distracted, and suppressed under the lie that we’re capable of achieving a difference. As our rights have been slowly chipped away and our labor used as currency in a system from which we receive no benefit, we have been continuously force-fed the same message: to make an ideal society, we must continue following the same actions and laws that got us here in the first place and deny the circuslike performance of those in power. Voting doesn’t work if the electoral college outbids the American people. Protesting is pointless when those peace fully marching to end racially motivated violence and prejudice are painted as domestic terrorists.

All the while, those defending the right to wave a flag of bigotry, suffering and hate are seen as “Good Ol’ Americans” exercising their rights to be “heard.” Generation Z exists at the culmination of all previous generations’ mistakes. We live on land scarred by centuries of violence and injustice, where history its is veiled by a society infatuated by its own exceptionalism. An attempt to reinstate basic values of love, respect, and mutual humanity are met with mockery, tear gas, or autocratic incarceration. Where our gener ation sees an opportunity to change society for the better – to promote what makes us unique and celebrate our differences and shared compas sion – big businesses see an opportunity for profit. Corporations continuously push a “woke” agenda,

CONCEPT LEAD PHOTOGRAPHY (FILM)

WRITER

STYLISTS GRAPHIC DESIGN

HAIR SET DESIGNER MAKEUP MODELS

Bryce Tatum

Delanyo Mensah, Chidima Onukwuru, Won Jun Seok Allen Zeng

Audrey Heffernan

Oremeyi Daniyan, Sydney Vafaie-Partin

Jaylin Witherspoon

Milani Nailk, Cevonne Jones Anna Kim Lesleigh Taylor, Maysa Sornthong

Cevonne Jones, Rishi Pillai

utilizing the months of the calendar like a diver sity checklist, while simultaneously committing human rights violations across the world. Household names like Nike and Starbucks have been repeatedly criticized for their connections to unethical labor – Nike through the exploitation of imprisoned Uyghur muslims and Starbucks for violating multiple Brazilian slave labor laws on their coffee plantations. Yet both manage to buy their reputations clean through multi-million dollar ad campaigns like Starbucks’ “Race Together.” As soon as the call to action expands beyond the performative, brand’s attention, service and funding all disappear, as the goal was always self-promotion.

Our generation feels trapped in political mazes and surrounded by corporate gluttony. Trying to do what is morally necessary in the “right way” has proven itself to be unachievable. The basic liberties and equalities that we are promised are

continually usurped by the politicians who refuse to take action for their own constituents. Immobile in the deadlock between political parties, we are forced to watch as our livelihoods are signed away with the flick of a pen. They vow to represent us, to keep us safe and make us proud, but how can any of us feel safe or even considered when those in power continue to support legislation specifically created to alienate and disempower us.

Policies like the Don’t Say Gay Bill out of Florida or Tennessee’s Senate Bill 1229 are specifically crafted to promote ignorance of the masses. If we are uneducated, unprepared, or unable to think critically, we cannot question the corrupt authority that manipulates the American people.

Older generations have misjudged our willingness to conform to their crimes. With every unjust death, right removed, and promise broken there is a testament to politicians’ inept abilities to do what is right. Where civil discourse fails, we must take action.

AS A GENERATION, WE HAVE REACHED A POINT WHERE WE HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO BITE BACK.

Jubilee noun

To celebrate is to live, to appreciate the most minus cule of beings, to admire what’s right in front of us before it’s too late. To celebrate is tradition, one more year of accomplishments, one more month of surviving, one more week of errands completed, one more day of waking up. The things we celebrate are the things that represent change. A birthday with age a test with high grades, or even a championship with medals, are all commencements to the items that show our progression. In us all, we offer honor to the things that have provided us with growth.

The Fisk Jubilee Singers are a testament to driving forces that have moved African-American music and culture for decades. Founded in 1871, on the campus of Fisk University the choir was assembled for the purpose of touring and raising funds for the then, financially constrained institution. But the impact created by the group has been much more than that.

After only two years, the nine member choir expanded its group to eleven and embarked on a tour around Europe. During the European excursion, the singers performed for Queen Victoria who was so pleased with the group’s unique decorum and sound she termed them as having to be from a place of renowned music. Using the money from this tour, Fisk was able to fund the construction of fisk jubilee hall which is the oldest academic facility on the university’s campus.

Fisk Jubilee Singers

The Fisk Jubilee choir was Nashville’s claim to fame, breaking rigid racial barricades and taking the 1870s by storm, being the first group ever to acquire the title of being from the “city of music”. Due to the success of the group, this title has become the entire reputation and profit point of Nashville’s “Music City”.

Music City

Not stopping there, the Fisk Jubilee singers are highly celebrated for their momentum in sharing black excellence with the masses as one of the most popular and uniformed music ensembles to introduce African American Spirituals to the world.

In present times, the choir continues to tour internationally striking grace and acknowledgment upon black literacy, arts, and engagement. They have preserved the rarity of Africa’s ancestral hymns as well as circulate a confident legacy for African American youth. The work of the Fisk Jubilee Singers is a form worthy of not just observance...

but Celebration!

Isabella

Lesleigh

Flip Nashville over like a rock and you’ll see its underbelly; what’s underneath the Honky Tonks and creeping through the shadows of Broadway. If you look at the people sitting outside The End or Drkmttr you’ll see it too. Cigarettes are in every hand, boots cover the floor, and everyone has a piercing in their face or a homemade tattoo. The Crust has formed in the cracks of this city and has remained unmovable.

Nashville will always be known as the country music capital, but other factions make up Music City too. The DIY scene, a culmination of local bands varying in a multitude of subgenres, has been alive for many years. I was 16 years old when I found myself familiar with the scene. Over time, I observed the changes and growth of the rowdy community. Many of my friends are people I met at local shows and even those I don’t know are still familiar faces due to habitual attendance. If you asked anyone why they are there, you would receive an abundance of answers: the music, to have fun, self-expression, or even just to get their energy out.

“It’s a great environment to get all your feelings out. If you’re angry you can shove some people around and that energy is turned into something else. We’re a group full of people that came from backgrounds that wanted us out, so the scene is what you, the individual, want it to be for yourself.” With this mindset, intersectionality is pushed and embraced, the scene absorbs whoever wants to be a part of it. Though there are always issues within every community, The Crust values individualism, outcasts, and a safe community.

“Zander saw someone in the pit being a huge creep, so he flat out just took him to the end of our driveway and knocked him out in one punch. We’ll call you out on your shit.” Scout, a resident of the local house venue, Crossroads, told me. They continued with “the scene itself has become my home. It’s a home for those of us who get pushed out, so we don’t take lightly to an unsafe envi ronment.” It doesn’t matter who you are, at the end of it, everyone leaves the same: sweaty, makeup smudged, stale beer on your skin, and absolutely exhausted.

Few people recognize Nashville’s hardcore punk scene. It may be surprising that we have such an unrestrained genre impacting the city, but that’s because it’s not always welcomed. Many of the venues that host punk shows are small, discreet, holes in the wall. These venues are surviving off of the punk community itself. Recently, issues have arisen due to the uprooting of venues. Larger companies are buying out lots and previous owners cannot afford rent. Ethan, lead vocalist of the punk band Black Market Kidney Surgeon, explained to me, “Even in Murfreesboro where we used to have multiple punk houses, the rent is so damn high now that there’s a lot of difficulties finding a space to host shows.”

Thankfully, community members have continuously fought for our spaces and raised money to keep them surviving, but that can only go so far. “We’re just glad that we’re seeing younger folks in the scene. It lets us know that there are people who would want to be in our shoes someday.” This is a community that constantly needs advocacy. The Crust is a place of belonging to many, and it is slowly being dug out from under our feet.

Even with only small spaces, band members or supporters of the scene will gladly volunteer their own homes for shows. Hosts are left with souvenirs, varying from sweat and spit on the floor, to boot scuffs and mud prints on the ceiling. These smaller shows are, to be simple, wild. One night I went to Crossroads, a punk house in the middle of nowhere. Fighting against the floorboards were stacked amps, people falling on top of one another, a drum set that was getting the shit beaten out of it, and me–among

many others– with beers in hand, jumping along with the rest of the crowd. I was sure that the old floor would cave in. I saw teeth kicked out and bloody noses dripping onto floors, where others were still dancing. The energy in the room was electric. After the band was done performing, the energy died down and the herd moved outside to take breaths of fresh air and light up cigarettes. The floor was still intact and it became a minor concern, the bigger one being that I desperately needed to be consumed with that energy again. Scout told me, “I’ve had piercings pulled out and didn’t even know they were gone until the set finished.” I’ve watched people, smaller than me, voluntarily run into mosh pits that would obviously leave bruises. While outsiders may see it as barbaric, this liveliness is what my community chases.

There is still a dismissive stigma surrounding the scene in The South. Not only do some onlookers dislike the music, but their hate is directed toward people within the punk community. The scene welcomes out-of-the-box style and expres sion which contrasts the norms of Tennessee and those living here. Unfortunately, there are automatic assumptions that those of us at these shows, and in the punk community, are delinquents, satan-worshippers, druggies, you name it.

This begs me to question why there is prejudice against our neighbors? Yes, some of the fun may involve hearing the lead singer yell into the microphone, “IF YOU WANNA STAPLE SOMETHING ON US, STAPLE TIPS” clear as day through my earplugs, but this is a community of good people that embrace every spectrum of expression or identity. Just like everyone else, the people that make up this group are those trying to find a space where they belong. It's a collective of individuals that the mainstream pushed out to fill the cracks. It’s The Crust.

WHAT’S HIDING UNDER THE SURFACE?

Glaring eyes of onlookers fix on Nashville’s ever-changing scenery, changes brought upon by outlanders who come for the ritz the city has to offer. Boots clink the dirtied streets of Broadway as Honky-Tonks welcome new faces to its vibrant music scene, seizing the gaze of sight seers. With its country twang of a note or flash of the newest billboard, tourists live out their fantasy of escapism.

Meanwhile, local observers watch helplessly as their hometowns are forced to submit to the tourist-cen tered persona of the city. While governments prior itize the desires of flashy, happy-go-lucky groups who come and go, locals witness their city being reinvented, misunderstood, and mishandled before their eyes by the hands of such oblivious partygoers.

outlanders who come for the ritz the city has to offer

As the city’s tourism rates skyrocket and more vacationists flock to Nashville’s attractions, the livelihoods of native Nashvillians plummet. They take the vigorous hit of gentrification and cost of living increases head-on. Small businesses are left scrambling to pay rent as bigger businesses flock to the city seeking to dominate a hot, new market.

As the Nashville government continues to cater to the needs and wants of visitors, this crowd-pleasing, monetary gain objective only leaves the city soulless. Once these temporary beings of interest leave for their homes elsewhere, locals are left with trashy entertainment venues that replace what was once a historic, loved, neighborhood.

The soul of Nashville lies in the hearts of citizens who cared for the city long before it was the hot spot for bachelorette parties.

Though the oblivious and destructive fun of the tourists roams free in the streets of downtown, the undesirable outcome weighs heavy on the locals who have no choice but to stay and clean up the mess.

Sawan Ahmed

Isabella Cabrera , Kirsten Cañas

Guo Lily Britto

Sawan Ahmed Jessica Du Malia Sardinha

You are perfection.

I am loved, yes, it’s true. But I am also hated, strongly and passionately. They only see a pretty young thing with a life that many would kill for, and a body and face that people kill themselves for. They don’t see the horrible things I have endured to achieve it. They don’t know about the grueling days and nights spent obsessing over every inch of my skin, pulling, probing, and clawing at parts of me I would have never learned to hate, if it weren’t for the very people who claim to love and support me. The parts of me that are obsessed over by strangers, who should have never had a say. I feel like I am the only one without one.

We are never asked the same questions as men, questions about our career are the last to cross from anyone’s lips. They don’t know that I read all of their “innocent” comments, every single one, no matter how vile and demeaning. I read their darkest desires, the things they wish they could do to me, whether I consent or not. As if I am not an artist, but nothing more than an object of their fantasy. That is all women are supposed to be. But we are never supposed to question it all. We are supposed to cater to these horrific desires with a smile. We are supposed to look sexy, but not over the top.

Desirable, but always available. Experienced, but innocent. We are forced into this mold with no choice, and no escape. I remember the bile that rose in my throat when I read a comment online, written by a man twice my age, after I had just celebrated my eighteenth birthday. That day, there were so many comments like that, one after the other, as if they had been waiting for the day they could begin to lust over me, legally.

“They won’t ever see this, it’s no big deal.”

I cried myself to sleep that night.

“You should be glad that people want you.” I go everywhere in fear of my privacy, and my safety.

The flash of cameras used to blind me, leaving white dots swirling around in the vast emptiness when I closed my eyes. It was disorienting. The world always spun around me in those moments. The millions of people who all know your name as they scream for you, they have no idea of the things I have witnessed. Millions of people shove their noses deep into my life and their phones into my face, where I have no concept of what peace means anymore. Privacy is unfortunately a luxury that fame cannot buy.

I kissed someone once without checking my surroundings. Not even a day later, the media exploded with news of my relationship before I could take a breath and speak. I went to the wrong places. To them. I saw the wrong people, I said the wrong things. To them. No matter what I did, it was never enough. I try so hard for them. But the media never sees what it is supposed to. They don’t see the men with unsettling grins who stand too close and put their hands on me, everywhere they don’t belong. But if I fought back, if I bared my teeth instead of standing sweetly with a reluctant smile on my face, I would somehow be the one at fault. But they will never notice these things. I will always suffer in silence.

Would you be happy?

But you have everything you could ever want, you must be happy!

Acoustic Ave

DIRECTOR + PHOTOGRAPHY PHOTOGRAPHY

GRAPHIC DESIGN WRITER

Allen Zeng Shi Zhang, Aaron Guo

Jaylin Witherspoon, Christine Kim Emily Carney

Broadway is characterized by bedazzled cowboy hats and boots broken in by spilled beers and cigarette butts. Revamped tractors haul hoards of screaming bachelorettes and rowdy bachelors, all of whom are seemingly wasted by 2 pm.

The passengers are cruised at record low speeds down one way streets.

While the honky tonk facade and reinvented country music is alluring to the tourists passing through for a weekend, Nashville locals reminisce on the sound of acoustic guitar and family owned restaurants where a table was always available.

The appearance of Broadway feels like a caricature of its former self, but the husk of what the city once was is held together by the sounds of Broadway, calling in those who find comfort in its humble roots. Flashing lights fade away as you stroll past the wide windows marking each storefront, and the voices of hometown musicians drown out the incessant buzz of pounding bass, reviving the pulse of the city.

Beauty and artistry now are forced to thrive within these unexpected placesopen mic nights, coffee shops, and house shows. While owners of Broadway bars continue to profit off the streets’ descent into a downward spiral, the musicians who breathed life into this street must remain the focal point of its magnetic energy. Without music and the ones who create it, Broadway loses all connection with its history, leaving behind a soulless string of bars occupied by tourists who only seem to tip the artists with fake country accents. As the city hubs grow and transplants flock from around the country, Broadway stands as a glaring example of what Nashville used to be, and what it is becoming.. As long as profit flows into the pockets of the immoral, the original placemakers of Broadway will be treated as disposable.

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Strike Magazine Nashville

Founded in 2020, Strike Magazine’s Nashville chapter is comprised of student creatives from a variety of disciplines who are interested & inspired by fashion, art, & culture. Our organization provides students with a safe environment to explore their passions & think outside of boxes, break rules, & deconstruct binaries we have been placed in. Strike also exists to cultivate community & motivate young artists to pursue their vocational & creative aspirations. In a myriad of ways, our magazine issues serve as time capsules–– both of decades past, as well as an homage to our own contemporary, collective stories. Strike is the nation’s largest student-run publication, & we hope our work proves exactly why it is widely loved by so many. We hope it speaks to you, too.

You can… check out our website: www.strikemagazines.com connect with us on Instagram: @strikemagazinenashville jam out with us on Spotify: Strike Magazine Nashville or contact us directly at: eic.strike.nashville@gmail.com

Tennessee State Capitol

In the 1950’s, the Capitol Hill redevelopment plan led by Nashville Housing authority cleared the area that city officials called “Hell’s Half Acre.” This low-income residential area was populated by predominantly black and immigrant communities. Although the area contained brothels, bars, and secret gambling houses, the Capitol Hill redevelopment plan caused the displacement of many black families.

Source: The Tennesseean & The Historical Commission of Metropolitan Nasvhille