That’s the premise of their collective, Dope Music Village — a play on the letters that represent their stomping grounds, the DMV. It’s meant to support all forms of art and bring together artists and fans alike.

“It’s like, ‘Let’s build [a platform] that not only we can stand on … but other people we like and respect can stand on with us,” says Brain Rapp, who says he came up with the name at work.

That communal effort plays strongly into the trio’s first collaborative release, You’re Welcome, a project that welcomes others into their village. They join their distinct flows — Brain Rapp rides on steady, cultivated energy; Ezko hits on strong, free-flowing lyrics and Nature Boi matches his own melodic, adaptive production — in a way where not one of them outshines the other. The eight-track release shows a wide and fluid range of moods: from restless, frustrated energy in “Venting” to appreciative affection in “Ms. Amerykah Badu.”

The collective first came together in 2015, when someone said “Dope Music Village” on a track for the first time on Ezko’s Sleep EP.

Brain Rapp and Nature Boi have known each other since they were teenagers. The 20-somethings solidified a working relationship while Nature Boi produced Brain Rapp’s 2015 release Elevator Music, and they’ve even lived together. Ezko came into the mix after Brain Rapp connected with him on Facebook, noticing the younger rapper on music blogs.

“At the end of the day, these guys are my family,” Brain Rapp says.

One song, “It’s Been Lit Ever Since,” came from a phrase Ezko once uttered. Brain Rapp and Nature Boi took it and ran with it. They had to wake Ezko up to record the song.

It’s hard to categorize the hip-hop trio, Brain Rapp says. He jokes that he looks more like a Starbucks barista than a rapper. Brain Rapp’s father is a well-known entomologist, and he studied environmental science at the University of Maryland. Nature Boi has been making music for at least a decade, but he’s a collaborator at heart, and he only recently started focusing on solo work. Ezko — whom Brain Rapp likens to Joey Bada$$ —just tries things out in a freeform way until it sticks.

Together, they don’t ride only wave of hip-hop. They play with R&B rhythms and trap beats, and their subjects flow from politics to weed-smoking.

“Now that I am [older]… I can’t escape the realness and the gravity of the world,” Brain Rapp says. “For four minutes, I would like to not live in that reality.”

The three artists are working on their own projects at the moment, but Brain Rapp hopes to keep shaping Dope Music Village — into a broader collective, perhaps, or even a record label.

But no matter what, he says the focus will remain on spotlighting their music as well as their community’s. That’s what it means to be in a village.

“There’s nobody in my mind that’s up and down 295 the same way that we are,” Brain Rapp says.

“People still think we’re one person,” says Dijon Duenas, who sings and produces in the R&B group. But actually, says co-producer Abhi Raju, “We’re two different people making music with two different backgrounds.”

Growing up in Maryland, Raju says he mostly listened to Indian music and later, rock. Duenas, meanwhile, found his base in R&B and hip-hop. Together, the pair explore the pensive outer reaches of contemporary R&B music. They’ve been gradually tweaking the formula since their 2013 debut.

Raju and Duenas say they have creative clashes all the time. But those battles don’t make it into the finished product — including on their cohesive new EP, Montana (listen below), where Duenas’ wispy, reflective vocals and Raju’s sumptuous co-production sound like a fated match.

“The thing we share in common is immediacy and warmth,” Duenas says. “Whatever that means to anybody else we can’t say, but… warmth means the same thing musically to both of us. I think that’s the most important thing.”

That warmth began to take shape with “Twelve,” a 2013 track with rhythms you could find on an Aaliyah single. (The duo even brought traces of Aaliyah and producer Timbaland to “Baby Girl,” a song they produced for Talib Kweli’s surprise 2015 release, F— the Money.) Their 2015 EP, Stay Up, remains rooted in their influences, but forges a path toward a more spacious sound.

“For our last EP, we were like, ‘Yo, let’s do everything that we can possibly do,’” Raju recalls. “Now we’re more concise with it.”

On Montana, Duenas’ soft singing melts into sprawling, pulsating instrumentals. The five-track release lingers on fragmented emotions, from pettiness in “Ignore” to wistfulness in “Often.” While Stay Up felt mildly nostalgic, Montana sounds like growth.

What started as a hobby for the two self-described introverts has evolved into an “expressive exercise,” Duenas says.

“We don’t want to get caught in just any wave,” the vocalist says. They aspire to make music that’s as “sonically forward-thinking as possible without overthinking it.”

After Abhi//Dijon took a brief hiatus this year to figure out post-grad life and move from Ellicott City to Los Angeles, where they’re focusing on their craft. A top goal: refine their live show.

Onstage, Duenas says, “I never felt like I was representing myself the way I wanted to.” He struggles with anxiety, and he’s felt hampered by preconceived notions of what an R&B performer should do.

“Dijon’s not Usher,” Raju jokes.

“Seriously,” Duenas agrees. “That was the existential thing because, like, I’m not an R&B dude.” So he’s simply decided to perform more honestly. “It’s more about owning up to who you are,” he says.

She came to D.C. as a student and finished a master’s at Georgetown in 2012, but she embraced DJing a couple of years ago and eventually gave up her policy-oriented career. Now she’s DJ Ayes Cold, pronounced “ice cold.” And in committing full-time to her craft, she’s become a fixture at U Street venues like the Velvet Lounge, Tropicalia and 9:30 club.

“When I started DJing and people started responding to it, I realized that, for the first time in my life, it was crystal clear to me that I enjoyed something,” the 29-year-old says, smiling. “I feel like we go through our lives in this haze — we’re not sure if the things we enjoy come from a place of genuine passion or not. In the past I’ve found it hard to separate the things I genuinely enjoy from the things I think I should enjoy.”

The Chicago-born, India-raised musician has also played at prominent local festivals — Broccoli City and Trillectro — and opened for fellow DJ/producer TOKiMONSTA. She’s staying busy in the near future too, with a performance at U Street’s Dodge City, a youth event at the Hirshhorn Museum and a slot during a benefit show at St. Stephen’s Church.

We met up to discuss the tensions inherent in deciding to become a full-time DJ, the emotional aspects of her field and why people shouldn’t compare her to a certain South Asian artist.

This interview has been edited for brevity and clarity.

Bandwidth: What pushed you to make the jump to being a full-time DJ?

DJ Ayes Cold: My earliest gigs were house parties and little art openings, for friends. Before that, I released a few mixes on Soundcloud and I realized that mixing came very intuitively to me. And I also realized that I really enjoyed it. I could just go down a rabbit hole and just test out blends and mixes for hours and hours and hours kind of like a child playing a videogame — that level of intensity and focus. When I started going out there and doing house parties and stuff, I felt like people’s enthusiasm and reception of me DJing matched the intensity and passion from which I came at it. So as soon as I saw that those two things actually aligned, like people’s enthusiasm with my own passion, that’s when I realized that there was an opportunity here and an opportunity I had to seize.

“My parents came from this background of very educated, intellectually aspiring, middle-class Indians, so you can imagine the things they were listening to.”

And was there anyone trying to hold you back from making that jump?

Everybody was encouraging, but I guess the pragmatist in me, at the time, was definitely a little conflicted and I had to fight that voice, which was like “Oh, you’ve worked so hard to go down this policy-oriented path, and you’re just going to leave it so you can move into a completely different direction of work?”

So most of that doubt was coming from yourself rather than other people?

Absolutely. That’s my biggest challenge, I think, is my own self-doubt. I have this ability to put on this confident exterior but I think a lot of artists struggle with crippling self-doubt. I feel like I’m also very sensitive, and I think that’s what makes people dance, to be honest. It’s because I’m very much about reading the energy from a crowd and that helps me when I get it right, but that makes it also hard to have a thick skin when you care about people. I guess I’m a hyper-empathetic person, or a hyper-empath. [Chugh references Octavia Butler’s novel Parable of the Sower, where the protagonist has “hyperempathy.”] I’m not literally her, but I do feel like I identify with her. I feel like the part of me that I used to want to work [on] before I started DJing, which was that super-sensitive part of me, I feel like now it’s a source of strength. Of course, a source of weakness too, but now a source of strength which is being able to connect with people and take them on a journey.

DJ Ayes Cold (Photo by Africanist)

How did you get into music? It seems, as a DJ, you have to know a lot about music.

To be honest, there’s still a lot of music that I’m still learning about. The more I DJ, the more I learn about music. The more spaces I go in, the more people come up and ask me for things I don’t have. I’m learning from people, I’m often getting a lot of tips from people in the crowd. Funk, hip-hop, early R&B — I’m still catching up to [them] because I spent my childhood outside of the U.S. It’s just classic, there’s nothing like it: the sound of ’90s R&B. I play it, but I didn’t grow up to a lot of ’90s R&B, I grew up to classic rock that my parents were listening to. Some DJs come from the angle that they [want to share their musical catalogs]. I don’t think I come from that angle. I’m going to be real with you, it’s not something that motivated me to DJ. I grew up listening to Eric Clapton, The Doors, INXS, Guns N Roses, Prince. If there was any R&B my parents had, it would be Seal, Sade, Whitney Houston — but Bodyguard era. Classic rock — in India it had a huge following. And then there was random Indian music, qawwali, folk music, Indian music they thought was “tasteful.” My parents came from this background of very educated, intellectually aspiring, middle-class Indians, so you can imagine the things they were listening to. Like Abida Parveen. If there were any Bollywood soundtracks, it would be to the film Bombay, I remember that from my childhood. And some Punjabi music, because my mom’s a Sikh, like Bally Sagoo, early bhangra, pop stuff. It was an interesting mix.

“People are very narrow-minded about brown women in music.”

Are you interested in incorporating more South Asian musical influences into your music?

I’m actually working on a track that has this bhangra influence but, I just — I don’t feel the urge to make South Asian-inspired music. I grew up playing the piano and I taught myself the guitar so I don’t really have an intimate understanding of Desi music. I don’t want to claim that. Why should I do it just because I’m brown? Although, this one track I’m working on, I took a mix that has a lot of old Bollywood music on it and I [sampled] some of the best parts. This is Bollywood music from the ’40s, ’50s, maybe ’60s, and there’s certain sitar riffs but I distort them. That’s a narrative that’s out there — the expectation or hope that I would make South Asian inspired beats. People hope that I can conform to it because I’m a South Asian woman and M.I.A. set [a precedent] for that.

But your sound is really different from M.I.A.

That’s true. But people are very narrow-minded about brown women in music. You don’t know how many times people have compared me to M.I.A., which is so ridiculous because we’re just so different. They just think “brown woman doing music with dye in her hair.” People are so quick to make comparisons to M.I.A. when you’re a brown woman doing something!

Any future projects in the works?

I have a series called The Freezer and there’s definitely a Vol. 6 coming out. I take forever to put them together so hoping I get my act together and release Vol. 6 early in the fall, but probably October or November. And I’m working on a lot of beats, and a lot of them are sitting on my hard drive but I know I want to release at least three of them by the late fall. I have enough material that I think I can do that, but the past six to eight months have been an intense process for me where I’ve been learning about music production, testing out different things, making beats, fine-tuning them; there’s so much that I constantly learn that’s new everyday and so I feel like by the fall, early winter, I’ll have reached a point where I’ll put something out. Probably a three-track EP, just a demo, just to test the waters.

What do you find roots you?

I have a hard time answering that right now. Rootlessness is something that I’m dealing with and that I’ve dealt with since I was a child. What roots me are values. What roots me is my approach to what I do. And that my approach is shaped by values and those values are hard work, not thinking about all the other distracting stuff, doing what I do from — it’s going to sound corny — a perspective of love and keeping that pure. Doing what I do from the perspective of really loving your craft and focusing on the craft. That’s what roots me. Everyone coming at me, asking me about my influences and where I’m going, not to say those questions shouldn’t be asked because that’s what helps make sense of artists, but I don’t really have good answers to those questions. I just really love playing with sounds. All kinds of music. I love every kind of music under the sun — except for really annoying EDM! But it’s my love of music that really is the grounding thing. I don’t know what the end game is from DJing, the future is uncertain, and you can see it as dark times and sometimes I feel that gravity, but the thing that brings me back down to focusing is the feeling I get when I DJ. It’s the pure feeling of joy; that’s what grounds me.

DJ Ayes Cold plays at U Street’s Dodge City on Aug. 28, a youth event at the Hirshhorn Sculpture Garden on Aug. 29, and a benefit St. Stephen’s Church on Sept. 1.

“Let’z” single, Sugg Savage — Half of the freaky-cool duo Akoko, Sugg Savage no longer calls Maryland home. The emcee from Fort Washington recently swapped coasts to soak up sunbeams in Los Angeles. So maybe it’s the spike in Vitamin D that’s fueling her artistic growth spurt. As a solo artist, Savage has embraced a hip-hop/club hybrid that would sound right at home on Azealia Banks’ Broke With Expensive Taste. Her skittering new single “Let’z” finds her vaulting — with Bilesian finesse — from speedy rhymes to fluid vocals. “You know everybody don’t move like this,” goes the bridge, sounding both slyly boastful and 100 percent factual. (Listen to “Let’z” in our playlist, below.) — Ally Schweitzer

Spirit Plots, Spirit Plots — The D.C. trio has been building to this self-titled LP for a couple of years, and anyone who embraced the 2014 EP or the 2015 single will find a plethora of similar guitar-bass-drum vibes within. Don’t be intimidated by the 15-track inventory — most songs come in below 2:00, focusing on hooks where other D.C. bands with similarly precise sonics might choose to dwell too long in a postpunk groove. Obligatory comparison to a ’90s hero: Every corner of Spirit Plots abounds with hints of the wound-up intelligence found in Ted Leo’s peak work. — Joe Warminsky

Romantic Comedies, Foozle — The D.C. trio’s 11-song second LP captures part of the Gen-Y zeitgeist with its self-aware, post-teen angst and a conspicuous use of emoticons — “¯\_(ツ)_/¯” is the title of the closing track. The retro, lo-fi production never feels gimmicky, and the simple lyrics stay just clear of twee. The album cover depicts a half-unpacked apartment; the songs inside reflect this half-opened, half-boxed-up feeling. It’s ultimately an album about the need for — and fear of — emotional intimacy. (Listen to a song in our playlist, below.) — MacKenzie Reagan

“Wait Up” single, Prinze George — What would a montage of the most significant moments of your life feel like? The Maryland group goes there on “Wait Up.” It’s not just the lyrics, though they certainly help (“now we’ve allowed time and space to build a wall and break us”). It’s more so the ephemeral synths, overlayed with vocals that fall somewhere between Phantogram, Adele and Monsters of Men. A subtle beat and reverbed snapping carries you through a tortuous auditory expression of the “what could have been” — all coalescing in the single frozen moment right after you witness a car wreck and realize you’re still alive. Did I mention the song is good? (Listen to “Wait Up” in our playlist, below.) — Courtney Sexton

Young Jefe 2, Shy Glizzy — The Southeast D.C. rapper with close to 800,000 Instagram followers continues to earn praise for his melodic MC style, with Pitchfork calling him “simply a joy to listen to, one of the most distinctive and technically adventurous rappers working today.” Young Jefe 2 smartly plays up his verbal stylings, couching his sing-songy, introspective street tales within spacious beats. He’s due for a pop breakout at some point, but even if one never comes, he’s permanently solidified his position as one of D.C.’s distinct musical voices. (Listen to a song in our playlist, below.) — Joe Warminsky

Citadel, Dagger Moon — Dagger Moon effortlessly blends the pummeling, heavily distorted riffs of a sludge band with the gritty production and intense atmosphere of early black-metal bands. With the shortest track on Citadel coming in at just over six minutes, it’s an album that relies on a gradually increasing sense of anxiety, pushing and pulling the listener through its apocalyptic soundscapes. It’s gloomy, frightening and absolutely fantastic. — Keith Mathias

“Paused Parade” single, Young Summer — “Paused Parade” reminds listeners that the sunniest season brings a lot of rain, too. Gentle, sparse piano and whispers of percussion are paired with Young Summer’s hypnotic vocals to create a cocoon of serenity. The song ultimately builds a cool hideaway for self-reflection. When she sings, “Are you with me? Or are you with me?” … we’re definitely with her. “Paused Parade” will be part of an upcoming EP. (Listen to “Paused Parade” in our playlist, below.) — Teta Alim

“Blood In the Water” single, Prowess The Testament — Tia Abner, a.k.a. Prowess the Testament, grabbed attention earlier this year with the Air.Human|Breath.Divine EP, which instantly established the short-statured MC as a fierce, intelligent voice. She continues to rain down lyrical lightning bolts on her new single “Blood In the Water” (which also appears on the Right Where I Left It EP). Prowess wields Thor’s hammer and anvil, grinds gods into granules and annihilates the false authenticity of D.C. transplants and other pretend veterans, none of whom could walk a mile in her gladiator sandals. Producer P-Tech Santiago’s boom-bap beat frames it all with the excitement of a classic superhero comic. (Listen to “Blood In the Water” in our playlist, below.)— Justyn Withay

Any Day Now, Lee Mitty — What do you get when you take a slight savior complex and mix it with the realism of Baltimore’s woes? You get Any Day Now. The album, which focuses on the duality of vices — in Mitty’s case, the desire to break free of a tough system that also inspires her — is a complex listen. That’s because it also captures the duality and strife within the city itself. On tracks such as “Bang,” “Leave Me Alone” and “Muses,” Mitty puts her realistic, relatable lyricism over beats that are introspective without being heavy-handed. (Listen to a song in our playlist, below.) — Johnthan Speed

Wanted Man, Wanted Man — Forget vaporous subgenre designations and convoluted classifications — the full-length debut by Wanted Man is a rock album, the kind that showcases stellar musicianship and oozes with cool. Bassist John Scoops and drummer Rick Irby anchor each track with airtight rhythms, backing up Kenny Pirog’s guitar and vocals across 11 tunes that touch on everything from punk to surf. — Keith Mathias

Messix EP, Ocobaya — From Mike Petillo and Aaron Leitko, the two D.C. beat-heads behind Protect-U, comes a side project that’s less heavy on the math and more heavy on the psych. Numbers do still matter to them, of course — namely 4/4, as in the root time signature of classic techno and house. Overall, the Messix EP confidently expands the dance-music conversation happening at 1432 R, the D.C. label known so far for its Ethiopian connections. (Listen to a song in our playlist, below.) — Joe Warminsky

“Mrs. Jones” single, Neffy — The wrenching song from Arlington native Mecca Russell, a.k.a. Neffy, was featured on the “New School Free Press Live” series. Give the song a minute. Literally. The first 60 seconds are a slow, sleepy build to a moment of deep, pointed heartache that comes when Neffy hits the first note in the chorus — and it’s pure soul, killing you softly till the end. The video is great exposure, but doesn’t do the song, or the voice, justice. Neffy’s new EP is scheduled to drop in late 2016 or early 2017. — Courtney Sexton

Mirror Image/Mirage, Big Hoax — Hey, really, why shouldn’t a group from Baltimore take a shot at making an Epic American Rock Album? Vocalist and bandleader Luke Alexander likes to take his voice from a whisper to a yelp, and almost all the tunes build from nearly nothing to totally something (with help from banjo, cello and so on). That dynamic befits a band that calls itself Big Hoax and an album title that refers to a mirror and a mirage. The point here is actually realness, and it’s hard to argue that Alexander doesn’t find some at whatever folk-rock crossroads he’s picturing in his mind. — Joe Warminsky

“Summer” single, Innanet James The Maryland rapper’s most recent track belongs in crowded basements and open rooftops, as long as the heat wave rolls on and there’s enough humidity to make skin shine with constant sweat. Repping MoCo, Innanet James brings just enough charm with his flow so that his lyrical foreplay doesn’t cross over the line from teasing to sleazy. “Summer” is meant to be fleeting — a burst of bright, body-rolling fun that shouldn’t last too long. About his upcoming debut EP, James told Pitchfork in an interview: “I want you want to be like, ‘Oh, that’s witty as s–t.’ I want you to see the words.” (Listen to “Summer” in our playlist, below.)— Teta Alim

“Appalachian Motel” video, Greenland — A moody track from the D.C. rock band’s otherwise lively S***ty Fiction album gets an animated treatment that initially seems like a cryptic but largely two-dimensional commentary on notions of romantic and familial relationships. But then it gets really weird. What’s up with all of those long, pointy noses? No face is safe. — Joe Warminsky

Lanterns, their March 2015 debut, was a journey through the cosmos with suspended, airy beats and dreamy vocals. The firmer, more direct “Beasts” is the cornerstone of the followup EP, Note to Self, which offers a much-needed landing, with April George’s precise vocals venturing into more gravelly territory and Matt Thompson’s production taking a more inquisitive turn.

George explains that “Beasts” came together as they were trying to figure out their place and their direction in music. (The full EP arrives July 28.)

“It was kind of like we were venturing through uncharted land,” she says. “It felt like we were going through a very primal stage in our career, like we were beasts moving through some type of jungle.”

“Perseverance is what it’s about,” Thompson adds.

The two Maryland residents currently work as graphic designers, but as they keep pushing to find new audiences, they’re hoping the double-career life can merge into one just focused on music.

“I just want to live off of music for real,” Thompson says, laughing.

Following Lanterns, George had the chance to collaborate and tour with fellow DMV artist Goldlink (a 2015 XXL magazine “Freshman Class” honoree) after meeting him through a mutual friend.

“There’s a lot of value in collaboration,” George says. “It really introduced me to a new way of thinking, music-wise, because [Goldlink’s] music is dance-y, very upbeat. So it helped me with my writing, just my understanding of music. I’ll be able to take the things I learned with him and his crew to what we did.”

Musically, George says she and Thompson have the “same brain,” but their approaches can differ.

“I’m really into raw, dark imagery and April’s really into colors and things that are vibrant. So we initially clash sometimes but we always really find a dope middle ground,” Thompson says.

When they do find it, it’s contemplative and sincere.

“I always say that you go through things to help other people,” George says. “I really do believe that the experiences we have in our lives, we experience them because we can help someone else deal with whatever they’re dealing with. You can only help someone if you are super honest about where you are.”

April + VISTA perform July 23 at 7DL Studios on 2008 8th St. NW.

The D.C. soul and R&B singer — whose voice can easily slip from smooth spoken word to focused singing — has a freeform, organic style that parallels a recent shift in her lifestyle.

“I’m more organic than I used to be,” says the Brookland native. “I mean, I’m vegan now — for almost three years.” She made the change after the release of her last studio album, Gold.

The Grammy-nominated vocalist has set aside precision and rigidity, easing into a flow that unfurls on its own time. Her newest release — Chapter 1: Where You Are, out today — is a four-song EP that previews her upcoming LP, RISE [STORY 1]. Malachi plans to release three full albums as part of a trilogy called Rise of the Modern Natural.

“Rise is the story about experiencing life on your own terms,” Malachi says, “and that’s what I’ve been fighting to do for years.”

Her latest singles, “Blowing Smoke” and “We Like Money,” follow two different but shared journeys. “Blowing Smoke” simmers with deep bass lines and a lilting piano. Malachi’s voice curls around each note, completely in control but with a grip loose enough to let the music develop naturally. The bouncy “We Like Money” — featuring go-go vocalist Michelle Blackwell — pays homage to go-go music and its innovator, Chuck Brown, harking back to Brown’s classic “We Need Some Money.”

Before the release of Chapter 1: Where You Are, I spoke to Malachi — who happens to be a former college basketball player — about being an independent artist, why D.C. could be called a music town and the influence of her jazz pianist great-grandfather.

Bandwidth: You recently played the D.C. Jazz Fest. How did that go?

Malachi: I really enjoy coming home to play. We get a lot of love on the road, but there’s such a knowing and an understanding of what we’re doing musically because D.C. is such a diverse… it’s a music town. Yes, it’s a political center but it’s a music town as well. So when we transition in our music while we’re playing, the audience is right there — I mean, they get it. That comfort level is just really nice to come home to.

This is the first I’ve heard D.C. described as a music town.

It is. I mean, it’s overshadowed because we got federal government here and now there’s a lot of tech happening… but you know, if you just visit the different corridors, visit the different wards and go to venues and hear what’s happening, you know there are all of these different music scenes which honestly I didn’t really know about until I became a member of the D.C. Grammy chapter. And within that chapter, we have all kinds of people representing their different communities and they’re speaking up, talking about their projects and they’re describing diverse music cultures here that really don’t interact with each other.

Let’s talk about your background then. What got you into music and how much of it was inherited versus chosen by you?

Well, I’ve been writing music all of my life — songs, poetry, what have you. I [was] introduced to music production technology when I was an undergrad at Shepherd University out in West Virginia. … So I just started to perform around campus and build the vibe and found the band. … Then I moved from West Virginia to Baltimore for work and just kept doing the same thing, music, writing, [finding] musicians to play and ways to improve vocally. And that’s just the process I’ve been in for the past few years.

But I think what is inherited is — you know, the only other musician in my direct line is John Malachi, who was a jazz pianist and my great-grandfather. So if anything’s inherited, it’s his demeanor and his work ethic. And what I’ve learned about him from stories told by my family and the couple of years I had to interact with him and my memories of him — I remember him being a very warm person, so I try to be warm to people… I try to make sure I understand why I’m doing this, I try to be very real with myself and with my audiences. I try to be the best I can be, just like he did.

Do you think that jazz is still accessible today, or is it harder to get people into that genre of music?

I think that it’s changing. You know, you have Robert Glasper who’s taking the genre and moving it forward with his approach. And you have entities like the D.C. Jazz Festival, and you have the guys at Capital Bop — I’m speaking locally — who are taking jazz and putting it in neighborhoods and making sure that the culture is upheld, making suring that the music has a presence here in the city. It’s the same thing with go-go music.

What explains the gap between Gold and your next album? Why have you planned a trilogy?

In the past two years I’ve been writing music, but maybe it’s taken so long because I’m one who wants to get things right. I’m trying to make sure that what I actually want to communicate actually comes across in the music, and that it’s not just something I’m dumping out into the world. I speak with intention. And sometimes it takes a lot of time to get people together. I work with people who collaborate out of love. You know, as an independent artist, at this stage in my career, everything is pretty much self-funded. So while, yeah, I’m taking my time, it also means I have to make good business decisions and smart financial decisions in making sure that my resources are managed properly.

How do you relieve stress and stay upbeat about music?

It is stressful, I can’t lie. It can be lonely, especially on the road. But honestly, when I’m with my band, I don’t feel that. They’re my brothers and we’re out having a good time. When we start playing, whatever happens, we could be in the car on our way to a gig and there’s a problem, as soon as we get on stage, whatever it was it disappears and it never comes back.

How did you meet your band?

We actually met about two years ago in Upper Marlboro. They were playing at a club. So when I was out having dinner — you know just out in the town — and I walked in, the emcee says, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have national recording artist Carolyn Malachi in the building.” And I’m like mid-bite, fork in mouth and everything. So I look up and wave. The band starts playing my record and I look up and see somebody was motioning me to the stage. I wasn’t on the road at this time and I had taken a couple of weeks off to just chill but I thought I could go up and have some fun. And they killed. I’ve never heard a band interpret my music that way. Never. So we started working together. That was it.

Why go vegan?

Three years ago, I decided I wanted to cut out the middleman. I wanted to get my energy from the sun, from plants, to be much healthier than I was. I think I did that because I was making a series of decisions in relationships — there’s always a love story when talking to musicians, right? — and making decisions in relationships that were not delivering the results I expected. And I was listening to somebody, some inspirational [speaker], and they said that anytime you’re in a situation with different people and you’re experiencing the same thing, maybe you need to look at what you’re doing — like, what’s up with you. So I cut off animal byproducts out of my life as a symbol.

Why is it important for you to stay independent?

For me, going the independent route was sort of natural — like, that was what was available to me. Labels were not knocking on my door, even after the Grammy nomination. And now, I haven’t spoken to any that can offer my team, my band or I anything different than what we’re already doing. So at this point, we’re self-sufficient and we have a groove so it makes sense to just keep flowing in the way that we do. I’m uninterrupted.

What made you want to make an album as part of a trilogy or series?

Well, conceptually, life is just such a beautiful story and journey and we really thought this approach would fit for everything we’ve gone through. Plus I know that a lot of my fans are readers, so it’s something that they would be able to identify with — and with people who listen to my music, from [ages] 18 to 81. So I have 18-year-olds— they’re online and listening and maybe they’re not listening to an entire record, but the 81-year-olds want a CD they can put in their CD player and vibe out to for a longer period of time and want to live in the moment a little bit longer. So approaching the record in this way allows it to really connect with the diverse audience that we have.

Do you worry that if people don’t listen to albums in full, they’re not getting the entire message?

I don’t think that I worry about that. I know that I did my job communicating the full message. I know that there are some people who are really going to be into the music and listen to the all the lyrics, listen to all of the runs the bass player is putting out and [listen] to everything that’s going on. … But then there are people who like to feel good in that moment and not get deep into it. It caters to the person who has to think about it and break everything down to enjoy it, and then it’s also for the person who just wants to feel it as much as they can. However you experience it is totally fine with me. As long as you’re listening to my music.

That has happened to Nox, the emerging D.C. punk trio whose members are still in their teens.

“There’s nothing that really separates us [from other bands] besides our age,” says guitarist and vocalist Anna Wilson, 16. “I think the only limiting thing is that we can’t tour and we have trouble getting paid at times.”

That won’t last forever. The members of Nox know what they’re doing. That’s clear from their music, particularly the band’s latest song. On “Entitled,” the group’s rolling guitar lines, pounding bass throbs and chilly vocals come together for a seasoned, familiar sound. If anything could betray the musicians’ age, it may be their lyrics, which exude a certain millennial ennui.

“Nox is angst-central,” says drummer Claire Lewis, 15.

Wilson, Lewis and bassist and vocalist Stella Green, 18, formed Nox under the guidance of Ex Hex leader Mary Timony. The trio’s music has all the makings of a classic D.C. punk-rock band — head-banging instrumentals, pointed lyrics and production credits from Timony and ex-Fugazi drummer Brendan Canty, whom they met through family and friends — and they’ve already played a few high-profile gigs, sharing the stage with established bands Waxahatchee, Downtown Boys and Priests.

Wilson and Lewis, along with 18-year-old bassist and vocalist Stella Green, have made music together since 2009. They started out playing covers of The Go-Go’s but eventually developed their own material. Green and Wilson wrote their first songs in middle school.

“When I was in the 7th grade, I was getting into a lot of punk music that was political,” Wilson says. “But the thing was, I was in the 7th grade, so I didn’t have a lot of politics. I would just write about how much I hated standardized testing.”

They had always wanted to record their music, but it took some time to muster up the money to do it. So they saved up money from shows and T-shirt sales.

Asked about the band’s savings plan, Green says, “We had a box.”

“It’s a shoebox,” Wilson adds.

In the past few years, Nox has strived for independence, with Wilson handling most of the band’s bookings. She’s also been studying up on how to get a tax ID and fill out W9 forms.

Beyond business, Nox’s love of yesteryear rock runs deep. Lewis’ first concert was Cyndi Lauper and The B-52’s. Green cites a love for Queen and the similarities between her hair and that of Brian May. With shaking hands, Wilson credits Joan Jett for giving her a “formative music-listening experience.”

“The first music that I got passionate about was punk music,” Wilson says.

“[Punk is] best for a live show, too,” Green adds. “It’s very fun and very intense.”

Green leaves for New York University in August, which might put Nox on hiatus. But the band is staying busy in the meantime. Nox has a seven-song release — called Space Candy — planned for this summer, plus plenty of shows.

“Anyone can do this,” Lewis says with a smile. “People think that to get shows and to play music and be a band, they have to be some kind of prodigy or really, really, really amazing or have to know everyone. But it’s really not true.”

Wilson concurs. “It makes me sad to see people who have music in them to think, ‘Oh, I just need to wait for somebody. Something will happen and if nobody reaches out to me, I’m not good enough and I should just quit.’ That’s not true.”

“Make people listen to your music,” the high school sophomore says, grinning.

Nox plays June 26 at VFW Post No. 350 in Takoma Park and July 9 at Hole in the Sky in D.C.

“I think about the idea that our bodies are policed at other places, and what are the possibilities of feeling free somewhere, and what are the possibilities of connecting with each other in ways that aren’t blocked by language?” says Kristy La Rat — stylized as Kristy la rAt — through a crackly phone. “Parties are a way of creating unexpected interactions, which are hopefully really positive and transformative.”

As the collective makes clear on the Facebook invitation for its five-year anniversary Friday night: “This fiesta is a mixed-community-amor, queer-fly, immigrant-posi, POC-centered, genderpolice-free, nena-run, friends-welcome, mucho-respeto space! No wackness, no one-identity-dominance! You are importante, loves! Gracias a todxs por ser inspiradorxs.”

Kristy la rAt started Maracuyeah — the name is an enthusiastic take on maracuyá, the Spanish word for passion fruit — with fellow DJ Mafe Escobar, known as DJ Mafe. Since its inception in 2011, the collective has grown to include other D.C.-area “Latinx” DJs, including Carmen Rivera, aka DJ Carmencha. (The “x” is a way to eliminate a/o gender distinctions in Spanish words.)

The community has stretched beyond the city, to Mexico, Austin, Texas and Paris. The goal is “world domination,” DJ Mafe deadpans, but then lets a laugh escape. She’s been in Paris for a couple of years, spreading the Maracuyeah gospel.

But despite that increasingly international reach, Kristy la rAt believes in keeping some of the action firmly in D.C.

“One strong element is a very local party that contributes something to the local scene,” she says. Both Kristy la rAt and DJ Mafe have backgrounds in community organizing.

The five-year anniversary show is Friday at a regular venue, a Salvadoran restaurant in the U Street NW neighborhood named Judy’s. Before the birthday bash, the DJs reflect their time together and what the future holds.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Bandwidth: What is your relationship to music? How did you come upon music and how does it play in your life?

DJ Carmencha: It’s hard to define my relationship to music. I think that my relationship to music started in my living room listening to records with my family, and I try to carry that with me everywhere I go. All those songs and the way they make me feel in my heart.

DJ Mafe: I think growing up a Colombian, you’re pretty much surrounded by music 24/7. So you go to the store, you go anywhere and there’s music blaring there. In my relationship to music, it’s very important. I’m in finals week right now so I’m listening to a lot of music. I love this app called TuneIn where you can listen to radio stations from across the world. So I started with a radio station in Cartagena, Colombia, and then I moved to a station in Lagos, Nigeria, and then one in Tallahassee.

Kristy la rAt: In childhood, it’s how I related to different parts of my family and understood moving between a lot of different spaces. it was kind of like the soundtrack of different experiences that helped me make friends and move through hybrid identity spaces. And then I would also say that growing up in this area, one of the amazing things is that it’s one of the more all-ages type city. So if you’re a teenager, maybe 13, 14, music was the way I could socialize with other people, express myself, even as a participant. I feel like also another really important part of music is raising money for different things. Some collectives I’ve been a part of here, they’re really grassroots efforts and a lot of the time, we end up getting into DJing as a great way to throw parties and raise money and fund our organizations that didn’t have any other funding.

“I don’t really believe that music can exist in an apolitical vacuum at all. We’re working with all different kinds of music at our parties. We’re touching on themes of gender and race and ethnicity and migration and safety, and all those are political and social concepts.” — DJ Carmencha of Maracuyeah

So following that, how exactly did you get into DJing? What made you want to be behind the table as opposed to in front of it, in a sense?

Kristy la rAt: Now looking back, a big purpose was to support different community initiatives. It was for grassroots radical organizing without having to deal with some sort of funding world or a funding world that didn’t want to fund what we were doing. But also, I started organizing and DJing dance parties in Lima when I was there during college. We organized a femme-organized — or “nena-run,” as they say in Spanglish — event space, so we brought a lot of elements of our identities into the vision and how we wanted to move and how we wanted boundaries and how we wanted our bodies to feel existing in that space and how we express ourselves. So kind of creating a space for our experience was a big part of it.

DJ Mafe: For me, I started DJing in college, first at the radio station and then I started the first Latin-alternative party there because I was tired of all the parties that were just Top 40 Latin music. There’s so much music and artists to showcase that are different from mainstream Latin Top 40. And then when I got to D.C., it was also on the idea that nobody else was playing the music that we wanted to hear, so we just took it upon ourselves to play it and learn how to be great DJs and create these spaces and tour.

DJ Carmencha: I came into DJing after working at a radio station in Berkeley, California. I started realizing that one of my favorite parts was picking the songs to play between talk segments and sharing music with people and feeling their reactions to the music.

DJ Carmencha (Courtesy Maracuyeah)

Did it take very long to learn to DJ? What are some of the tips you’ve learned over time?

DJ Mafe: Technology is different, I would say. I started going at it with CDs and then learning the different tools. So just understanding how to do better mixing and understanding the different types of files and different types of sounds like if it sounds bass-y or not and if they go together or not, but also play with those differences. I remember there’s a lot of, how you say, prejudice if you don’t play a song or how the song should be played. So sometimes we were just like “f**k it, we don’t want to continue with the same BPM, let’s just mix it and change it up.” So I would just say keeping up with technology and covering those tools has been important.

DJ Carmencha: I was very privileged in taking a workshop that Kristy organized with another DJ in D.C. for women and gender-nonconforming people of color to learn some of the basics of digital DJing and organizing parties. And that definitely helped me very much feel more confident with what Mafe’s describing in playing with the tools and playing with the technology and experimenting. Just letting go of that perfectionist fear of making mistakes. But I’m still learning.

Kristy la rAt: One thing that I think is important before learning how to DJ is to think about your goals. Especially right now there’s a lot of hype in DJ culture and the atypical, mythological example of making it big very quickly as a DJ. And I think if that’s part of your goal, that’s fine, but it’s good to be realistic because that’s not most people’s experience. And the same elements that happen in society definitely play out in the DJ world, like attaining different levels of economic success and popularity. It’s very traditional in that way with, you know, discrimination and lack of opportunity. I think that’s why it’s important to have identity-based workshops and identity-centered spaces. Sometimes it’s easy to get confused on why you want to DJ, so just take a second to write down your purpose. Also, I think making playlists is half the battle of DJing, right? Like, a lot of the time it’s what you hear and curation is a huge part of it. And having your friends, too. DJing has always been a collective experience and a vehicle for more collective experiences that I just wouldn’t have enjoyed 100 percent alone, ever.

How have your parties changed?

Kristy la rAt: Well, we’ve learned a lot in how to organize these spaces and in the way that we DJ. And we’ve gotten a much stronger community over the years which means more people can hold down the space in a more collective way instead of the few of us who are organizing. Even the music collection has gotten a more hybrid in terms of playing with a bunch of different genres. And the space is a lot more centered on people of color and queer identities feeling welcomed, as well as everybody, but those identities feel more centered than when we began so that’s kind of cool and that was a goal and something that we’ll keep working on.

Should music always have a political role, or does it just have a social function? Or is it a combination?

DJ Carmencha: I think it’s hard to make a distinction between political and social for me. I think anywhere you exist in a space, you’re saying something with your actions or movements or the songs you’re choosing. I don’t really believe that music can exist in an apolitical vacuum at all. We’re working with all different kinds of music at our parties. We’re touching on themes of gender and race and ethnicity and migration and safety and all those are political and social concepts.

DJ Mafe: For me, music is how to share the immigrant experience and the immigrant experience is very political itself. I think it’s very difficult to separate, just as Carmen said.

Has it been hard keeping these spaces safe?

Kristy la rAt: I would say, even like safer spaces is a challenging proposition given the social conditions we’re working with that play out in most public spaces. So I’ve helped organize parties from house settings where you have more control to club settings where you really have to put your trust in the venue. I think that’s something that people don’t expect, to really create agreements with the venue and conversations about what would security look like and what would interactions look like and what does escalation look like. How do we want our guests to be treated or addressed, even thinking about something as simple as checking an ID. We have discussions on having those respectful interactions and having people not feel like their gender is being policed at the door when they’re coming to a place looking for a positive social experience. It’s a lot of work and it’s an ongoing set of questions that we’re looking to address. When we started working with Judy’s, the restaurant that we work with, it’s all-gender bathrooms, but it’s a whole system you have to work on. It’s a huge challenge and one of the most important challenges in organizing a space.

DJ Mafe: It’s just s****y when you go out to a place and you don’t have security or there’s not a positive space. Being harassed can ruin the whole night, so a space should be more open and safe spaces should include best security practices. People should demand more when they go out so that more of these practices can be shared and applied.

What tips can you give to people coming to a Maracuyeah party?

Kristy la rAt: Respect. And think about each other’s humanity. Not putting hands on other people unless you know they want you to. Not singing along to horrible words that you can’t say since they aren’t part of your identity. Just because a song is playing, doesn’t mean that gives you a pass to use that language if it’s not your place to.

Maracuyeah’s five-year anniversary takes place April 29 Judy’s Bar and Restaurant.

“I blatantly confront racism and white supremacy with my music and performance,” says the rising vocalist and rapper from Baltimore, Maryland.

With a mix of Baltimore club music, jazz and noise rap, Ali’s music blends an assortment of styles with critical theory. He strikes a balance between “turning up” and exploring deeper issues — such as living amid racism.

“I think people are over this s**t, this bubblegum music,” Ali says. “You need to go back and make music about the people again.”

Today Ali debuted his newest EP — called Mongo, after his middle name — via the Fader‘s website. A month ahead of the release, we talked about about white people listening to his work, how he feels biologically programmed to make music and what kind of “mainstream” he’d like to be.

Bandwidth: What does accessibility mean to you? Who should listen to your music? Who can listen to your music?

Abdu Ali: Who should be listening to my music? That’s a complex question. Who can listen to my music or who can interact with it… like my newer stuff, specifically, is made for POC [people of color] to raise their consciousness about social issues or self-empowerment — or just help heal. Whether they’re dealing with — well, I feel like we’re all dealing with post-traumatic slave syndrome or just the oppression of POC on the regular. My newer stuff is specifically for them. And then I have some songs that are just for people who are underrepresented: women, POC and queer, trans, intersex.

Then some songs, it’s just turn-up s**t — like, I got this new track coming out called “Did Dat” which is just being, like, patting yourself on the back like, “I did that! I killed that. I slayed it.”

As far as who should listen to it, I mean, everybody should listen to it. Everyone can benefit from listening to it; I definitely do. I made it, but I still benefit from listening to it, performing it. Everyone can listen to it. But when it comes to who is it for, that’s when I dissect it a little bit.

Warning: explicit lyrics.

Are white people coming to your shows, too? Do you feel some type of way about white people consuming your music?

You can’t really avoid that. Do I feel some type of way about them coming to my shows? Not necessarily, because it’s just positive energy and I welcome that. I don’t feel no kind of way. Do I feel some kind of way in a positive way when there’s a lot of POC and queer people there? Yeah, I feel really happy to see them. But as far as seeing white people, I just don’t feel no type of way. So, it is what it is. I don’t feel negative about it. Support is support and I appreciate that. But it ain’t like I’m bending my performance or bending my words to make them feel comfortable or anything. It’s still very much black music and for my people, you know. A lot of people be talking about that, too, but it’s hard because the more popular you get, the more… you know what I’m saying?

How do you see your music spreading?

Hmm. I like looking at it like levels — like you can be “mainstream” like Rihanna, or you can be “mainstream” like [Trina], but I don’t know, I do definitely want to get to a global level. My dream is to be able to connect to all black and brown people all over the world, you know? So I want to be global in that way, but “mainstream” as far as like, MTV Video Awards, and s**t like that, no. I don’t care about that s**t [laughs].

You’ve done writing before music and you’ve done a lot of visuals. Which is more important to you, the writing aspect or the visual aspect? Is it a combination of both? And a larger question: Are people more receptive to words or images?

Today, people are more receptive to images, for sure. I think back in the day it was words, but today, Instagram, Facebook, everything is image-based. When I make a music video for a song, people know those songs more than the songs I don’t make videos for. But what’s more important to me is the words and the production, for sure. I feel like they both need to be visceral and provoking.

Performance-wise, it has to resonate because every time I make a beat or something like that, I always think about how people are responding to it. I guess, really, the performance is more important than anything … I really, really think the performance is what solidifies me as a musician and an artist. It’s real. It’s not makeup. It’s no nothing. It’s no walls up.

How do you take care of yourself?

I don’t know, I ask myself that all the time. Because I’m always ready to be over this s**t. It’s hard. It’s like a drug, though. It’s a blessing and a curse. I can’t stop doing music — like, I really can’t stop. I have some, like, moments of fear, moments of discouragement, but I just gotta keep going. I always think of insects — like ants and bees, like they have jobs or whatever. One’s assigned to be a worker bee or worker ant… I feel it’s kind of like that where it’s just this innate, biological, thing of fate where I just have to do music.

“New York is a lot more inspiring, to be honest,” says the 21-year-old vocalist, who relocated to Astoria, Queens, last July. “Being here, everyone is out to get it, so you’re either inspired by it or you’re intimidated by it.”

It doesn’t seem like Abir is intimidated by much, especially when it comes to singing.

“Some artists, and I don’t mean to throw any shade, but they don’t really sing, they’re just riding the music,” Abir says, politely. “Me, I’m the complete opposite. I like to blow. I like to show my vocals off.”

That’s precisely what she does on “Wave,” her latest song, which debuted on the Fader‘s website in January. A sleek dance-pop track with accents of R&B and house music, it captures the gravitational pull of her vocals — she pushes and pulls, commanding a rolling tide of beats and bass. Fellow Virginian Masego wades in alongside her, bearing speedy verses and drags from his saxophone.

But Abir doesn’t need studio enhancements to sound this magnetic. She summons the same power over a simple backdrop of piano and strings.

That’s because the singer — who returns to the D.C. area Feb. 26 to open for The-Dream at Howard Theatre — moves with polished ease between genres.

When she began recording music at age 14, she focused on a more soulful sound. Now she’s working across styles. “I don’t like putting [my music] in a box,” she says, “but I’m kind of mixing jazz, a little bit of R&B and even a little bit of pop. So it’s like all three things that I grew up on.”

Though she was raised in the D.C. area, Abir moved to the U.S. from Fez, Morocco, at age 5. When Abir turned 6, her father introduced her to the music of Etta James.

“Her songwriting is, like, impeccable,” the vocalist says, a smile in her voice. “I would listen and literally try to mimic her. I would write out like, ‘She’s talking about this, she’s using this many syllables, she’s using this and this line’ — and I would go through and try to figure out ways on how to create a good song.”

She mingled her American influences with music from her home continent — particularly Egyptian singer Umm Kulthum, whom she describes as the “Aretha Franklin of Arabic music.”

“I could listen to Umm Kulthum all day long,” Abir says. “She doesn’t miss a note. I drew inspiration from that and I actually sampled one of her songs.”

Classic tastes notwithstanding, Abir has always turned an ear toward pop, hip-hop and R&B. In fact, she says, at an early public performance — her fourth grade talent show — she sang Jennifer Lopez’s “All I Have.” She even rapped LL Cool J’s verses.

Not that she foresees a future as a rapper. “Hell, no,” she says.

But Abir still keeps one foot in the hip-hop world — she cropped up on a song by Brooklyn rapper Fabolous in 2014 — and the stylish singer has dipped her toe into fashion, performing during New York Fashion Week in 2015. She gave her personal twist to ‘90s hits as models dressed in breezy Baja East designs walked the runway.

Breezy may also describe Abir’s current approach to releasing music. She came close to dropping an EP two years ago — she says it was finished and ready to go — but scrapped it. After playing some shows, she felt she’d progressed beyond the work on those recordings. She doesn’t have immediate plans for another EP or album; she says for now, she just wants to unveil new songs periodically.

Ultimately, it’s live performance — not long sessions in the studio — that keeps Abir infatuated with music.

“When I do a show, I’m singing to people and feeling their reactions, and that’s the best part about it,” she says. “In the studio, you’re thinking the worst — like, ‘When do we finish? How many more hours?’”

Abir performs Feb. 26 at Howard Theatre.