Baltimore’s club and dance music scenes have long been shaped by queer, trans, and femme energy. In an Instagram post announcing his new workshop, DJ Kade Young lists an international roster of these innovators, from K-Swift to Miss Tony to Ultra Naté to Rye Rye to JIALING to Kotic Couture.
Yet behind the turntables and software, many barriers still prevent marginalized creatives from fully participating in the craft of music production. In response, Young has joined community organizer Barae Hirsch to launch the Trans, Queer & Femme Intro to Music Production Workshop Series, an innovative and urgently-needed program that addresses those gaps by providing access, mentorship, and community to aspiring producers. Applications are open now through August 10.
The idea emerged from a series of conversations last winter between Young and Hirsch about who gets seen and supported in Baltimore’s nightlife.
“There are a lot of women, trans, and queer DJs who are really shaking the scene,” said Hirsch, “but there just aren’t that many producers of those identities.” That disconnect sparked deeper reflection: What was standing in the way?
For both organizers, the answer was clear: the twin barriers of cost and access. High prices for equipment like controllers and software licenses keep music production out of reach for many — especially for Black, trans, and femme creatives at the intersection of systemic oppressions.
That gesture is more than symbolic. Thanks to grant funding from Maryland State Arts Council and community support, not only do workshop participants receive intensive instruction, they also get to take home professional-grade gear: keyboards, software, and other essential production tools. “It was really important to us that folks walk away with what they need to keep going,” said Young. “This isn’t about a single event, it’s about setting people up for real longevity.”
The workshop is designed to remove those barriers by offering an intentional space of learning, care, and skill-building. It centers 15–20 participants who identify as trans, queer, and/or femme — most of whom are Baltimore-based artists of color. Both organizers emphasized that the program is about more than just technical instruction. “It’s about demystifying production,” Hirsch explained. “It’s overwhelming to get started, to even know what to buy or how to translate your ideas. This breaks it down into small, manageable steps.”
For Young, creating this space is personal. “I’ve been DJing and producing for years, and I know how hard it can be to get support in the early stages,” he said. “A lot of people assume you need to be in certain circles or already have the equipment. But we wanted to say: you belong here, even if you’re just starting.”
Before Young begins making music, he performs a ritual of washing his hands — a deliberate act that goes beyond hygiene. This moment serves as a symbolic cleansing, preparing his body and mind to enter a space of creation and connection. In many ways, it echoes the way a preacher washes or anoints their hands before stepping up to deliver a sermon, signaling readiness to channel something greater than themselves. The DJ, like the preacher, holds a sacred role: shaping the energy of the room, guiding the collective experience, and communicating through sound what words alone cannot express. This ritual underscores the idea that DJing is not merely about technical skill or entertainment — it is a spiritual practice, a form of care and intentionality that honors the deep emotional and cultural work happening on the dance floor. Especially within queer and people-of-color communities, this sacred labor fosters belonging, healing, and empowerment, transforming the DJ booth into a pulpit for collective uplift.
This training program is also an act of cultural preservation. The roots of Baltimore’s club scene run deep, and many of its most vital contributors have gone unrecognized. “Dance music is collaborative by nature,” said Hirsch. “Baltimore Club has always been passed down through relationships, and that transmission can either build legacy or reinforce gatekeeping.” This workshop offers an intentional shift away from exclusion and toward building new creative lineages that reflect the people who have always been at the heart of the scene.
The significance of reclaiming space and visibility for Black, queer, and trans creatives in electronic music resonates beyond Baltimore. This urgency echoes the story told in “God Said Give ‘Em Drum Machines” (2022), a documentary revealing the foundational contributions of Detroit’s Black techno pioneers like Juan Atkins and Derrick May. These artists created a genre that would eventually take the world by storm, yet their pivotal role was often overshadowed as techno became commercialized and globalized — particularly in European markets. The film highlights how cultural appropriation and erasure have long marginalized Black innovators in electronic music, making workshops like this one all the more crucial. By providing access, resources, and community to marginalized producers, the Trans, Queer & Femme Intro to Music Production Workshop Series actively pushes back against this erasure, affirming the authorship and creative power of those who have always been central to these musical movements.
“It’s not just about skill-sharing — it’s about honoring where this music comes from and who’s keeping it alive,” Young said. “Trans, queer, and femme folks have always been here. This is about making that visible.”
Equally important is the workshop’s focus on community care and safety. As someone deeply rooted in organizing work — particularly in opposition to police violence and institutional injustice — Hirsch understands the value of building grassroots systems of mutual support. “So many of the people keeping our scene alive are trans and femme people,” they said. “They’re the ones doing the harm reduction, running the safety teams, curating the lineups. This workshop is about resourcing the folks who are already holding it down.”
The space they’ve created is also about joy, connection, and collective survival. “Music is healing,” Young told me. “And for many of us, dance spaces have been the places where we feel safest, where we feel free. We’re trying to build on that legacy.”
The workshop’s partnership with local venue Quid Nunc Art Gallery is another example of grassroots collaboration. Thanks to the generosity of owner Nancy Blackwell and curatorial intern Kwame Alston, the venue is being donated for free, allowing more funds to go directly toward equipment and paying instructors. “They’ve really shown up for us,” said Hirsch. “It’s been a beautiful, organic collaboration.”
Since the program was announced, applications have poured in, shares have spread across platforms, and messages of support have flooded Young and Hirsch’s inboxes. “It’s been incredible,” said Young. “So many people reached out saying they wished something like this had existed when they were starting. That tells me we’re on the right track.”
As our conversations wrapped, I asked what they hoped participants would walk away with.
“Empowerment,” Hirsch said without hesitation. “I want people to feel an opening — to feel like producing music is something they can actually do. And I want them to feel held, to feel supported. To leave with skills, yes, but also with confidence and a sense of belonging.”
Young echoed that sentiment: “This is about skill-building, but also about building each other up. If someone leaves this workshop feeling more powerful than when they walked in, we did our job.”
That sense of belonging may be the most radical part of the program. In an industry that often sidelines or tokenizes marginalized creatives, the Trans, Queer & Femme Intro to Music Production Workshop Series doesn’t just offer entry — it erects a new scaffolding for folks to hold up the sky for future gerations.
Applications for the inaugural Trans, Queer & Femme Intro to Music Production Workshop Series close on August 10, and spots are limited. But even beyond this first iteration, the workshop offers a blueprint for a more inclusive, just, and vibrant music culture. By centering those who have historically been sidelined — Black, trans, queer, and femme artists — it affirms that music production is not just a skill, but a radical act of belonging and cultural survival. This is more than a workshop; it’s a movement to reclaim space, build legacy, and amplify the voices that keep the scene alive.
