I was not born in the South, but consider myself a Southerner; in the same way, I am not from Washington, D.C., but I am of Washington, D.C. It is as much a part of me as I am of it.  

On June 5, 2006, I stepped into the pizza slice-shaped building at 635 Mass. Ave., as the summer intern for NPR's All Songs Considered. And now, two decades later, I have never left D.C. Naturally, perhaps even neurotically, I am a nostalgic person, so I've been reflecting on my career a lot lately: the triumphs, but also the patterns that need to be broken. I hope that I am always willing to evolve as a professional music person — to keep my ears, mind and heart open.

But mostly I've been thinking about this city. You really have to choose D.C., but once you find your people, there's generally one or two degrees of separation from just about anyone you meet. It's a city with a mid-sized town mentality, and while I have a solid crew of friends that stretch back to my earliest days here, I am constantly fortified by meeting others, particularly organizers and neighbors, who care just as much about making D.C. a home for everyone.

But home is not always an easy place to love. Our mayor sells out small businesses and Black families to developers, it's increasingly difficult for any kind of middle-class to survive and, more generally, the rest of the country doesn't really care about how the federal government treats residents of D.C., as we're currently under occupation and surveillance by troops and cops alike. There's a song by Paint Branch from 2013 called "I Wanna Live" that I've always read as a pained love letter to home. In it, Chris Richards (Q And Not U) sings with a sigh, "It's a love you know you'll never get back." And, yet, if you ask him about the culture of the city now, Chris will not stutter in his response: "D.C. REMAINS UNDEFEATED." I love that complication. I love that defiance. I love that fight for the place and the people that matter most to you. I feel the same exact way.

Once I decided to stay, it took me a few years to figure out how to navigate the D.C. music scene. There was some cool noise stuff happening, some perfectly serviceable indie-rock, Food for Animal's experimental rap debut Belly, Wale's go-go-infused Mixtape About Nothing and Coke Bust was just beginning to reignite D.C. hardcore. But when I first arrived, things felt somewhat formless.

That's where this mixtape of my favorite D.C. albums, EPs and 7"s, which spans 2008–2026, picks up: As a disparate-yet-supportive group of punks, weirdos and whatnot convened in DIY spaces like Fort Reno, Union Arts, St. Stephen's, The Cherch, Rocketship, Velvet Lounge, Corpse Fortress and 611 Florida… and later, Rhizome and Pie Shop. The energy was (and remains) informed by, yet distinct from, the Dischord Records lineage. Which felt important, like something these musicians, fans, zinesters, photographers, visual artists and enthusiasts could claim as their own — that sense of self has continued to energize what I consider one of the most unique music scenes in the country.

No ranking, just mixed chronologically, starting with the cello noise of Blk W/ Bear, weaving through the sludgy doom metal of Salome, Pygmy Lush's ghost stories, Maxmillion Dunbar's chill jamz, Priest's scene-shaping punk, Monument's emo revival, Ex Hex's lipstick-smeared rock and roll, Pure Disgust's raging hardcore, Beauty Pill's sophisticated sound world, Bad Moves' anthemic power-pop, Yasmin Williams' playful fingerstyle guitar, NØ MAN's chaotic hardcore, Goetia's squealing death metal and April + VISTA's undefineable crazy quilt of cool. —Lars Gotrich, vikingschoice.org