“There are so few spaces for us,” bartender and musician Valerie Dean says. She’s been slinging Red Bull vodkas and White Claws for Trans*cendent partygoers on and off since the event’s early days in a Boyle Heights basement, which to her felt like a DIY punk gig.
It’s rare for trans women to feel a sense of ease in public space. But multiple times a year Trans*cendent takes over locations around L.A. creating one of the only underground raves curated by and for trans women and their allies.
Prompted by a lack of spaces for trans people, Lydia Savage, along with collaborators Sabrina, Naomi, Marc and Elith (all asked to not include their last names), decided to create Trans*cendent in 2023. After three years, the one-of-a-kind party is in danger of closing. Not because of a lack of care from the community or bad curation, but because, like most parties in Los Angeles, costs are rising and they are simply not making enough money.
Trans*cendent is something between a public and private event, emphasizing music and dancing, creating community gatherings held in secret locations which are announced hours before the party to ticketholders only. It operates on a shoestring budget, providing a fun and sexy respite from the dangers and stressors of transphobia for a few hours, set to a soundtrack created by trans and queer DJs.
DJ and party attendee Sarah Graves loves the queer vendors selling accessories, giving out harm-reduction materials, and zines, and the Piercings by Mire booth that frequently pops up at the rave. “Self-expression is such an important part of living your truth as a trans person,” she says, so “it’s only right to see body modifications being available safely in a place like this.” She also notes that the chillout room upstairs, all-gender bathrooms and gaming station are all special components of Trans*cendent. “Outside of these walls is a world that can be cruel, uncertain, and dangerous for people like us but inside these walls at this rave, we are truly free.”
DJs play for a warehouse crowd at Trans*cendent
(Corey Quidangen)
Savage was motivated to create this rave for trans women to feel free behind the decks and on the dancefloor. She explains how trans women DJs are at the forefront of new genres of heavy, beat-driven electronic music in the underground. Hard groove swings like techno-infused disco, donk is named for its round and repetitive bass sound, and sex trance feels punk, distorted with fast BPMs, “kind of like if hyperpop was interesting,” Savage jokes. She’s become a microgenre expert. The rave’s unspoken motto has ironically become “Kill the DJ.”
Trans*cendent prioritizes queer women DJs who create sets inspired by people on the dance floor instead of just hitting play on pre-created playlists. This is a necessary intervention: according to Savage, many DJs have gotten lazy, and electronic dance music is a boys club that’s difficult for trans and cisgender women to break into. Trans*cendent also features live lighting and effects to match those vibes done on a custom-made rig with proprietary software built by Marc, whom Savage refers to as an honorary trans girl since he spends so much time and effort making the party as cool as possible for the community, donating his tech skills and his gear.
A trans ravegoer named Alice has attended nearly every rave and remembers the basement days fondly. “Trans*cendent has always been about community first and foremost,” she says, mentioning that she feels like “everything was built from the ground up to make it a genuinely welcoming space, especially for people who feel alienated from or unsafe in from the broader party scene.” When Alice was unemployed Savage covered her entrance cost every single time. “Even as the venue changed, the atmosphere and focus stayed. It’s still a place you can show up at alone and leave with a half dozen good friends.”
Trans*cendent’s entry fee is sliding scale for the trans community with nobody turned away for lack of funds, important given that trans people statistically make much less money than other members of the LGBTQ community. A recent HRC study on the queer wage gap found that trans women earn only 60 cents for every dollar a “typical worker” makes, according to the Bureau of Labor’s statistics. On average trans men and nonbinary people make 70 cents to each “typical” dollar.
Since 2023, Trans*cendent has offered trans women one of Los Angeles’ rare nightlife spaces where they can dance, connect and feel safe, with queer DJs and community-centered care.
(Corey Quidangen)
Trans women are simultaneously hyper visible and made to feel invisible. “You can tell there are a lot of people who aren’t used to having a bar experience that feels safe to them,” Dean explains, breaking down the intricacies of how trans women are often disregarded and disrespected in nightlife spaces, something she’s familiar with being an out trans woman for 11 years, and working as a bartender for the last seven. “You’re always the outlier. Being in a space where you’re the norm is … kind of like taking your bra off.”
Dean loves working Trans*cendent because it reminds her of stories she’s heard about old-school lesbian bars like the Lexington in San Francisco where tight-knit groups of regulars held court night after night. Lesbian bars, and bars that cater to queer women, are few and far between. The Lesbian Bar Project reports that only 36 remain open in the U.S., and while trans women are welcome in these spaces, none of these bars specifically cater to them.
The crowd who come to Trans*cendent are primarily trans women, some who have been out for a while and some who have just come out whom Dean describes lovingly as “absolute babies.” “You can tell they’re figuring out their wardrobe and feel awkward,” she says. “Just being normal to them, complimenting their outfits, or saying ‘hi, how’s it going? I remember seeing you last time’ — being normal to people who aren’t used to being treated normal, even though it doesn’t seem like it matters, the subtext is, ‘Hey, you’re welcome here. I got you.”
Ravers at Trans*cendent.
(Corey Quidangen)
Instead of everybody facing one direction staring at the DJ, Savage wants the environment to be about the ambiance, the music, and the people in the space, not just who’s playing. While her intention is about being in space together, it also feel important to acknowledge that many trans women say that Trans*cendent is one of the few places they don’t feel constant eyes on them. Booking and paying queer DJs with unique perspectives is important to the event.
Trans*cendent DJs on deck for their event last Friday included SOFFPUPPY, Ava Blank, Eva Mayra May, Kaitlyn and Initial Rhi. Savage hopes the party will help people fall in love with queer and trans DJs who usually create music in their bedrooms and rarely get to play their music to the club.
Alyxxx is a DJ who performed at Trans*cendent who stands out to Savage because of her ability to pivot on the fly. “So many people aren’t aware of anything outside of themselves, and so it was really refreshing and took me back to how a lot of house music used to be,” Savage says.
The party has had to change locations many times because of troubles finding affordable space. Savage says that unlike live music venues and bars, most rave warehouses are owned by individuals: “trust fund kids, real estate investors and tech bros” who tend to gatekeep their spaces from queer and innovative parties, a unique challenge to rave culture. The small warehouses that Trans*cendent usually books have gotten out of her price range, even the few who have cut a deal still leave her paying a significant amount out of her own pocket, a price she’s willing to pay to ensure the space continues to exist. “It’s just too much considering we’re a niche party. It’s not like a standard rave with hundreds of people. We’re lucky to break 150 because mostly only trans people come.”
Their security team is led by Savage, with a crew of dedicated lesbians and a few men with guard cards to make sure no weapons enter the party, practicing deescalation, conflict resolution and mediation. Savage is adamant about keeping security focused on serving trans patrons, describing the difficult experience of being harassed by security guards at other clubs if the gender on your ID doesn’t match how you present. Savage recalls a few attacks on trans women at prominent L.A. raves, once while bouncers watched, and another time by bouncers themselves. “I wanted to create an event where nobody had to worry about that even being a … possibility. I wanted to create an actual rave where people could be free.”
Ravers dance in the dark Trans*cendent
(Corey Quidangen)
The rave heavily emphasizes harm reduction and provides supplies like naloxone, drug and alcohol testing kits, and condoms. They also provide constant free access to water, which Dean says is not the norm at raves in L.A. that sometimes charge up to $10 for a single bottle.
“In a time where things have gotten worse for the trans community on the national political scale, there’s this ragtag group of people who are broke but are pitching in as best they can to make a space for people to feel safe and normal and have their Friday or Saturday night out,” Dean said.
Savage hopes that partygoers have a good and safe time, make new friends, and find a space where they can be themselves, as naked or clothed as they want to be.
“There are so few spaces that are for you, but this place is,” Dean says. “I don’t have rose-colored glasses about it, it’s imperfect, like anything else. But ultimately, for a couple of hours, it’s a utopia for the girls.”
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