Ruckus Revival: Where Weird Coexists With Creative Craft
7 min read
OAKLAND, Calif — Seated in judgement alongside four other attendees, I decided the fate of freestyle rappers, poets, and comedians in a clash of creative arts in the heart of Oakland — a cultural and artistic hub for the weird to express themselves.
Ruckus Revival held its monthly event last Thursday. Jan 8, in front of an energized crowd at the Continental Club in Oakland, CA.
Performers, attendees, and organizers filed into the venue an hour before the 8 p.m. show. Many wore vibrant costumes of fur, leather, and facepaint to participate in the theme of the event: Supervillains & Monsters. There were Harley Quinn, Gyatt-Zilla, Catwoman, and Crazy Hard Stuff — a sarcastic clown who brought a wonky collection of props.
Jamie DeWolf, who founded Ruckus Revival in 1998, formerly known as “Tourette’s Without Regrets,” took the stage as a performer: dressed in a vibrant green suit and a snazzy black bowler hat, playing the role of The Riddler.
His co-host Wonder Dave, who joined the show 15 years earlier as a haiku champion and stage manager, was brimming with glitter and glamour in an outfit inspired by the ringmaster in “Something Wicked This Way Comes” as he engaged the crowd.
“Stage managing with Jamie is sort of like being his co-host,” Dave said after the show. “Then I just sort of ended up being the co-host.”
Before the play could start, however, the two of them reiterated the rules to the audience:
1) Respect the Mic.
2) Ask For It.
3) Be Offended.
4) F*ck Tonight!
5) This Sh*t is Live!
6) Make Some Noise!
Rule two was the most important, as consent is a major emphasis for Jamie, who wanted to create a unique culture of intersection in Oakland.
“Having battle rappers being around burlesque for the first time — that had to get fixed,” Jamie said, as he recalled the origins of his event.
In a place where burlesque, slam poetry, battle rap, and carnival coexists, Jamie set the standard, especially as he transitioned from parking lots to legitimate venues.
“If you touch women, we’ll fuck you up. I will fuck you up,” he said.
This dedication to establishing a culture of respect and consent derives from Jamie’s experience as an Oakland native.
“I’m about as Oakland as you can get,” Jamie said. “I’ve done a million shows in Oakland, and I’ve also taught in a lot of schools in Oakland."
When you look around the Continental Club, you see a unique combination of educators, artists, blue-collar workers, and the outer community — in one space that exists for the grungy, quirky people of the Bay Area.
We Are Weird. And That’s Okay.
Syd, an attendee from last week who remembers “Tourette’s Without Regrets” in the early 2010s, was asked to describe the event in six words.
Their answer: “Shock value, revolutionary based,” and “artist driven.”
Co-host Wonder Dave, who’s a comedian, writer, producer, and performer, explained the freedom in a community space like Ruckus.
“You can be weird and interesting and messy, but also super fucking talented while being all of those things.”
Ruckus draws artists from all around the Bay Area — to laugh, scream, hug, perform, and refine their craft in creative communion.
As someone who was labeled ‘nerdy’ or ‘weird’ in early childhood, it was difficult to find a community that accepted my differences and cultivated my need to express.
This space was created for like individuals who have navigated life between the invisible lines of societal expectation.
As almost two-thirds of attendees were returners, greeting each other with infectious positivity and familiar moxie, it’s clear why people keep coming back.
Tomás, who grew up in Oakland and Castro Valley, returned to Ruckus about 18 months ago after his 10 year stint in the Navy, spending another eight years in the East Coast.
“I was so glad to see that the previous version of this, Tourette’s Without Regrets, had come back as Ruckus Revival,” he said.
As he regularly attends Ruckus, an event held once a month, Tomás has grown close to the hosts, performers, and attendees. “I’ve made friends at shows that I’ve hung out with afterwards,” he remarked. “I’ve been to enough shows that I even know some of the stage crew.”
Tomás continued: “You get to see local people who could be your neighbors, could be your teacher.” In this place that encourages the weird and the freaky to crawl out of the box of the nine-to-five, Tomás found support.
“There’s a feeling of community when you’re cheering for people that are local,” he finished in anticipation of the night’s festivities.
From The Chair of Judgement
Before I had the chance to settle into my chair and take out my notes, I was interrupted — albeit, very respectfully — by a performer named Me Again, clad in her gothic catwoman attire.
“Would you like to be a judge?,”she asked.
“Of course. Why not?,” I responded.
I was handed a cute, peachy paper plate, resembling a child’s craft of a candy apple. And before I knew it, I was thrust upon the stage and asked to perform a provocative improvisation.
As the gracious host he is, Jamie directed me: "Alright Steve [Jobs], you’re going to go first.” I was admittedly concerned about my ability to perform in front of a crowd of performers and artists with no preparation.
“I’m going to read this out loud, and you’re going to leap forward, with no hesitation, on the runway, and enact whatever this idiotic image is, in the sacred art of mime. Are you ready?”
As someone who has struggled with social anxiety, public speaking, and finding a place to fit in, my mind was racing. But I glued a smile on my face and embraced myself for the prompt.
“You are a mad scientist and you have just created a chemical compound that makes your dick bigger — but, it won’t stop growing.”
As the music initiated my movement, I took a literal leap to the front of the stage and got right to work in the laboratory. The audience encouraged me with laughs and shouts and claps which kept me going through this peculiar act.
“He’s telling a whole story here, this is a good mime,” Jamie remarked.
Feeling the energy of the crowd and the encouragement of the host, I revealed my potion as I gestured towards myself, funneling my tie between my legs with a look of awe — first to myself, then to the host, and afterwards, the crowd.
Chaotic, Yes. Unstructured? Hell no.
My role didn’t merely consist of performance but the responsibility of voting on competitive acts — such as battle rap, freestyle, poetry slam, and comedy — with four other judges. The winners were given a select amount from the total collected at the door.
“Organized chaos is what I was trying to hone,” Jamie later said, on the structure of his event. Ruckus wasn’t made to collect profits. It exists to serve a variable community.
“The show has so many different modes,” said Jamie. “It switches, and that’s why a lot of people keep coming back.” What appears on the outside to be a mashup of unrelated arts, was an intentional decision at every step of the way.
Jamie is an award-winning filmmaker, poet, writer, arts educator and circus ringmaster. He wears many hats.
His interest in many performing arts inevitably shaped his vision for the Ruckus Revival. Jamie didn’t want to feel boxed into one of his identities. Instead, he created something that challenged the status quo, refusing to recreate another artistic echo-chamber.
“A lot of producers are just putting on shows to showcase themselves,” Jamie observed. “They don’t want to incorporate other things.” It was a risk for him to intersect the communities he was familiar with.
Ruckus was the first of its kind: a variety show that spotlights performers in kink, comedy, and music. And that can make people uncomfortable. But this space is for the quirky, not the ‘normies.’ Tomás describes Ruckus as “a little bit of a fuck you, in your face.”
When he started it as "Tourette’s without Regrets” in 1998, Jamie didn’t intend for people to show up in their Sunday best. “A lot of acts that people do at the show, they don’t have other places they can do them. They’re not going to do them at a corporate event.”
In a whirlwind of activity, compacted into three hours of playful fun, Jamie opened a space for me to attempt improv, for performers to dance in burlesque, comedians and musicians to practice their craft, and circus acts which defy all normative experience — all in a logistical puzzle that somehow made sense.
“People may think it looks chaotic, but it’s absolutely a surgical ninja squad backstage,” Jamie finished.
“So many people feel like it’s their place.”
