The Brief

A woman wearing what can only be described as rags struggles to push something large, round, and yellow up a mountain. She lets out a primal scream. A female comedian’s face appears overhead, shimmering through ominous clouds. This is not the cold open for a wacky alt-comedy web series — it’s an ad for a plant-based cheese company.

The company in question is called Plonts, and the large yellow thing is, of course, a humongous wheel of (plant-based) cheese. From here, things get weirder: The comedian whose face looms large in the sky is Kate Berlant, a performer known for her screwball and self-referential work. As Berlant quibbles with the woman on the mountain, her wry and goofy presence instantly sets the ad’s tone. With this tongue-in-cheek approach, Plonts seems to be saying that this is not a regular plant-based cheese brand — this is a cool plant-based cheese brand, one that doesn’t take itself too seriously and doesn’t want you, the consumer, to either. This ethos is aptly summarized by the ad’s tagline: Buying Plonts “won’t save the planet,” it reads. “But it probably won’t hurt.”

In the plant-based protein space, Plonts is zigging where other brands are zagging. Many plant-based brands — whether it’s oat milk or fake-beef burgers that really bleed — introduced themselves to consumers by hyping up the environmental benefits of a plant-based diet. But as they’ve learned that sustainability isn’t a deciding factor for most customers, alternative protein brands have pivoted in recent years, putting more emphasis on things like taste and nutritional benefits. 

Using humor in climate messaging

Rather than relying too heavily on any of these messages, Plonts’ new ad makes a show of playfully shrugging off its climate advantages — and calling into question whether consumerism can really get us out of the climate crisis.

If nothing else, this tactic makes the company stand out. “The category of plant-based foods, I would say, has had a pretty uniform ethics or party line,” says Jason Moran, creative director on the marketing team at Red Antler, a branding agency.

That line has traditionally been hyper-focused on the environmental benefits of eating more plants and less meat. A vegan diet results in 75 percent fewer greenhouse gas emissions than a diet high in meat. Because animal agriculture tends to require both land for grazing and cropland to grow inputs for animal feed, livestock also uses a disproportionate amount of the Earth’s agricultural land — about 80 percent.

These statistics once seemed like the key to swaying consumers to eat less meat. A decade ago, plant-based protein companies made an earnest case for the environmental benefits of fake meat. When Beyond Meat launched its “beef-free crumbles” in 2014, CEO Ethan Brown told reporters that addressing “all this doom and gloom about climate change” is “as simple as changing what’s at the center of your plate.” At times, plant-based companies doubled down on that rhetoric, practically pleading with audiences to see the writing on the wall. In a 2016 TED Talk introducing the world to Impossible Foods’ hyper-realistic veggie burgers, company founder Pat Brown (no relation) said that the global appetite for meat “is the main reason behind an ongoing wildlife holocaust.” Eliminating animal agriculture might sound like a tall order, Brown said, but it “has to be done.” The oat milk brand Oatly once took out a full-page newspaper ad on “how the pursuit of profit without consideration for the planet should be considered a crime,” according to the company’s creative director.

Now, the same companies are trying different approaches. Market research has shown that consumers are motivated by factors like taste, familiarity, price, and nutrition more than plant-based foods’ “altruistic attributes,” like sustainability. Earlier this year, Impossible Foods announced “a new brand identity inspired by the craveability of meat.” This kind of brand positioning alludes to meat’s climate impact without saying the word “climate” directly — and instead by repeating the word “meat.” (“[W]hy not solve the meat problem with MORE meat?” reads one page on the Impossible Foods website.) Oatly, meanwhile, has continued to highlight the environmental benefits of a plant-based diet, but in surprising, off-the-wall ways. The brand’s cheeky “Help Dad” campaign is aimed at convincing reluctant fathers to make the switch to oat milk, while its recent mock-exposé attacks “the dairy industry’s lack of transparency about the climate impact of its products.”

Rarely, though, has a plant-based protein brand knowingly leaned into the ambiguity around consumerism as a meaningful lever for climate action, as Plonts is doing. In the ad, Berlant suggests that the woman on the mountain needn’t huff and puff on that ragged path upwards — an act meant to symbolize eating a plant-based diet to save the planet. Instead, the woman can buy Plonts. “Fighting climate change is too hard,” the company declares on its website. “Just eat some plant-based cheese instead.”

Here, Plonts takes an honest stab at having it both ways: The company acknowledges the environmental impact of eschewing dairy without overstating the power of individual choice. “It’s really frustrating to be up against this massive problem where, you know, realistically, our individual sacrifices aren’t going to move the needle on climate change,” said Sophie Moscovici-Troyka, brand manager at Plonts, who previously worked at Impossible Foods. “At the same time, you see a lot of mission-driven companies putting the pressure on consumerism as the answer to climate change, which has all sorts of paradoxes within it. We wanted to poke fun at that tension.”

To sidestep the guilt that can come with eating meat or dairy on a warming planet, “We definitely took inspiration from different comedians and brands,” said Moscovici-Troyka. On the comedy side, that includes comic and actor Julio Torres, who has joked that the hardest part of being vegan is all of the apologizing. (“People ask me if I miss meat or dairy,” the joke goes. “I mean, I miss being liked.”) On the brand side, Moscovici-Troyka cites Oatly and the canned water company Liquid Death for their arch, irreverent approaches to marketing.

Making food choices

Plonts also seems to be part of a new wave of plant-based cheese companies promising to compete with dairy milk on taste. Its cheese is made by adding cultures, enzymes, and salt to plant-based milk, in a process similar to making dairy cheese; the resulting product is then aged to enhance its flavor, and additives are introduced to give it the ability to melt. Currently, the vegan cheese is only available to order at restaurants in New York and San Francisco, but the company hopes to break into retail in the future. It may be too soon to tell whether the brand’s messaging is resonating with consumers; just a few weeks out from its launch, the company declined to share sales numbers. Right now, the Plonts ad is appearing on social media and video sharing platforms.

A view of the exterior as Carl's Jr. & Beyond Meat Partner For First-Ever Plant-Based Meat Menu Takeover in Glendale

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Jesse Grant

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One of the best things any brand can do when establishing itself, says Moran, is picking an audience: knowing both who you’re trying to sell to, and who you’re OK not reaching. He suggests that even if Plonts’ approach doesn’t resonate with everyone, it’s on the right track.

If Plonts is speaking “directly” to the people who are “unsure or who are not actively making food choices to save the environment,” said Moran, that may be good business. While only about 4 percent of Americans identify as vegetarian (and even fewer as vegan), a 2020 report found that more than half of Americans would be willing to eat more vegetables and less red meat. A slightly smaller percentage, 46 percent, said they’d be willing to try nondairy alternatives to products like milk and cheese. For many, making environmentally-friendly dietary choices just isn’t top of mind: Two-thirds of survey respondents said no one has ever asked them to eat more plant-based foods. Courting those eaters, said Moran, “I think is powerful.”

Jackie Parra sits at a card table outside the entrance to the South Los Angeles city animal shelter five days a week, hoping to intercept people who feel they must surrender their beloved pets in order to get housed or keep the housing they have.

“Any person coming to the shelter, this is their last resort,” said Parra, a licensed social worker for the nonprofit Downtown Dog Rescue. “They’ve exhausted all resources, asked family members and friends for help, and they don’t know what to do.”

As Los Angeles struggles to address homelessness, housing access and mental health care, Parra occupies a rare role: helping unhoused people with mental illness keep the pets they rely on for stability and companionship — and, in many cases, secure housing — by navigating the rules around emotional support animals. These animals provide comfort and therapeutic benefits to people diagnosed with mental health conditions, such as anxiety, post traumatic stress disorder and depression. They don’t have the same recognition as trained service animals, but under the Federal Fair Housing Act must be allowed to live with their owners.

Up to 25% of people experiencing homelessness have a pet, according to the Animal Welfare Institute, a Washington, D.C.-based organization focused on improving the treatment of animals. And nearly half of unhoused people with pets report having been turned away from a shelter because of pet policies, according to the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA).

Parra’s position grew out of what the team at Downtown Dog Rescue kept seeing in the street and at shelters: People in crisis were giving up animals they loved because housing instability and poverty left them no other choice. And animals were being left to face euthanasia in overcrowded shelters not because they weren’t loved or needed, but because of tragic circumstances. Her job is to interrupt that forced decision — and to help people navigate systems built as if pets don’t matter.

For many, animals are not just companions but the most stable and, possibly, the only relationship a person has, said Lori Kogan, a licensed psychologist in the College of Veterinary Medicine and Biomedical Sciences at Colorado State University who studies human-animal interactions.

“If you have all of these things ripped out from underneath you and you have to relinquish your pet on top of it all, that would be absolutely devastating,” Kogan said.

That reality plays out daily at the shelter as Parra listens to people explain why they may have to give up their dogs, cats, rabbits, birds or other animals they rely on for mental stability. They can’t afford pet food or veterinary care or they are homeless or facing eviction because of their animal.

This is how Orianna Romero remembers her first meeting with Parra. Someone who listened to her heartbreak.

“It has been a miracle to know Jackie,” said Romero, who suffers from depression.

The pair met at the shelter when Romero, 36, thought she would have to surrender her dog, Taro, a Belgian Malinois with a soft brown and black coat. At the time, Romero and her family had become homeless and were living in a motel. When a shelter finally offered the family a room, Taro wasn’t allowed.

In Parra’s arsenal, she has medical vouchers, dog and cat food and, most critically, her training as a licensed social worker to help people crushed by having to choose between housing and their cherished pets.

Her true superpower is her calm, knowing vibe. Parra is from the neighborhood and understands the lives of her clients. She’s experienced depression, and it’s clear she loves animals. She often wears her brown hair pulled back and large sunglasses and switches easily between English and Spanish with clients. She listens deeply, anticipating their questions. Parra is no-nonsense but compassionate. She doesn’t judge, she says. That makes her approachable. So do the dog paws tattooed on her left forearm.

Parra helps eligible pet owners understand their rights when housing is denied or in jeopardy because of an animal. For those who have a mental health diagnosis, she can issue an emotional support animal letter as outlined under federal housing rules to help smooth the way with a landlord, shelter or motel where short-term housing is available.

It’s the kind of support Romero and many others need.

“Their dog is their everything — that’s all they have,” Parra said. “People fail them and dogs don’t.”

While homelessness in Los Angeles has declined slightly in recent years, it remains at crisis levels, with more than 72,000 unhoused people across L.A. County as of the most recent count last year.

And for those struggling with housing insecurity, pets are a priority. For people living in cars, tents or temporary shelters, animals provide routine, protection, emotional stability and unconditional companionship.

Public health researchers and psychologists have documented how companion animals can reduce anxiety, depression and social isolation — benefits that can be especially significant for people with few other supports. Among pet owners, 84% said their pets have a mostly positive impact on their mental health and 62% said their pets help decrease stress and anxiety, according to a February 2024 survey released by the American Psychiatric Association.

Animals help alleviate loneliness, and caring for a pet often gives people structure and meaning, said Kogan of Colorado State University.

“When we spend time with animals we trust and feel comfortable around, this can activate the body’s relaxation system, which slows our heart rate, lowers blood pressure and helps us physically relax,” she said. “At the same time, our brains release oxytocin, called the bonding hormone.”

Jackie Parra talks with her client Robert Valenzuela and his dog, Mamas, at the South Los Angeles animal shelter.

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Zaydee Sanchez

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Under federal Fair Housing Act guidance, emotional support animals are not deemed service animals under the Americans with Disabilities Act. However, in housing, the Department of Housing and Urban Development mandates that landlords must make reasonable accommodations for tenants with disabilities who need an emotional support animal.

Critics sometimes frame such accommodations as special treatment. That framing misses the point. Housing policies already privilege people with money, credit and flexibility. Those with the greatest need are often the least able to navigate the process alone.

Parra’s social worker credentials make her a unicorn in the world of mental health and animal services. Downtown Dog Rescue says it is the only rescue or animal welfare organization in Los Angeles to have a social worker on staff focused on keeping owners and pets together for mental health reasons.

In L.A. County, about one in five pets surrendered in 2024 — roughly 7,290 dogs and cats — were given up because of housing restrictions or costs, according to a report by County Supervisor Hilda Solis.

Parra works out of the South Los Angeles shelter because it takes in the highest number of animals of the city’s six animal shelters. In Los Angeles, when animal shelters are full, the city euthanizes animals to make space, according to LA Animal Services. The city has tried to be a no-kill shelter system, which means achieving a 90% survival rate through adoption or rescue organizations, but has fallen short most years. So far this year, the South L.A. shelter shows one of the lowest survival rates among the city’s shelters, dropping to 73.8% in August, according to city data.

Not all of the animals at the shelter are from unhoused families, but if Parra can help she hopes to keep as many animals with their people as possible.

This approach is common sense and L.A. would benefit from more support for pets and their owners who live outside. Pets are often the last thing left to help those without homes feel safe, supported and connected.

For those on the street, there are some efforts to help, such as the county’s Pathway Home, which offers some assistance to those who are moved from encampments into temporary shelter with pets, although it’s not enough with the number of people living outside here. Other cities, such as Denver, have piloted pet-friendly shelter programs and foster partnerships aimed at unhoused pet owners.

Before the rescue, Parra worked as an outreach worker for a homeless services organization. She became familiar with Downtown Dog Rescue because she encountered lots of animals in the homeless encampments downtown that needed help. She began volunteering on her own time for the rescue, transporting needy animals.

“I wanted to do something for my community and myself,” said Parra, who began volunteering after going through a breakup that brought on a deep depression. Parra’s 15-year-old Chihuahua, Chispita, was a comfort to her throughout her depression, her “ride or die,” she said. The job came later.

The stakes of Parra’s work become clearest in the lives of the people and animals she helps, like Romero and Taro.

Romero said that before she met Parra, she, her husband and their two children, ages 7 and 14, had lived in an RV for a year because they could not afford rent in the city. They had arrived in the U.S. just three years before from Venezuela and living in the RV helped them make ends meet. It was there that Taro the large puppy came to live with the family.

After the vehicle broke down while parked near 55th Street and San Pedro Street, it was cited and towed away with all the family’s belongings inside, Romero said. They did not have the money to pay the fees to retrieve the RV, she said.

When the shelter refused Taro, Romero was distraught. Someone referred her to the city shelter and Downtown Dog Rescue.

“Taro sleeps with me. He accompanies me everywhere,” she said. “I would never let him go. It would be the same as if someone said, ‘Give me your son.’ That is not possible for us.”

Through tears, Romero explained her situation to Parra — her diagnosis, her reliance on Taro and her fear of losing him. Parra wrote a letter qualifying Taro as an emotional support animal that kept the family intact.

“We feel the house is happier with him. For our children, it was super important to keep Taro,” Romero said.

The rescue helps individuals escaping domestic violence, seniors on fixed incomes, families torn apart by deportations and homeless families trying to get into a shelter.

“There are so many people out there that love their animals,” said Lori Weise, founder and executive director of Downtown Dog Rescue. “They go unnoticed and really don’t know that resources are available.”

Weise started the rescue in 1996 to help one unhoused man with his dog. Over the years, the small organization has received funding for a counselor to be at the shelter. Weise said it helped, but she saw the need for someone with more training, a social worker. Several years ago she started asking funders and applying for grants to support her idea. Two special grants gave life to the idea and funded Parra’s position, which began in April of 2024.

But Parra’s position is coming to an end in April when the current grant ends. The first year was funded by a grant from California for All Animals, a $50 million state initiative to support California animal shelters. The ASPCA funded the second year, Weise said.

Weise and Parra hope for additional funding or that the city or county will absorb the position. It’s a worthy aspiration for a program that works to save both people and animals who, as the adage goes, save one another.

State regulators quietly cut funding late last year for a program that supports people with disabilities during disasters in Southern California.

The cuts came about a year after the most devastating fires in L.A. County history leveled thousands of homes and killed at least 31 people, most of whom were older and had access and functional needs.

Independent living centers are sounding the alarm, with experts saying such programs should be expanded, not cut, and that the loss of the program leaves people with disabilities even more vulnerable to increasingly severe disasters fueled by climate change.

The background

The Disability Disaster Access and Resources program, or DDAR, provided backup power batteries as well as personal emergency planning for people who rely on electric medical equipment, refrigerated medications, or otherwise are particularly vulnerable during power outages and disasters.

It was established after the 2018 Camp Fire, which razed the Northern California town of Paradise and killed at least 85 people. It was primarily geared towards providing support to people with disabilities in the event of public safety power shutoffs, which are when electric utilities proactively shut off power during high winds and risky fire conditions.

In 2023, the program launched in Southern California Edison territory. It was funded by a small charge on Edison ratepayers’ bills.

Edison provided portable backup power batteries for free, while the state’s network of participating independent living centers helped install the batteries. They also provided education and direct outreach to clients, as well as connected them to free temporary housing in the case of extended power shutoffs.

Since 2023, the program has supported Southern Californians during nearly 600 public safety power shutoff events, providing more than 1,000 hotel stays and delivering hundreds of backup batteries, according to the California Foundation for Independent Living Centers.

Disabled community sounds alarm

The state’s public utilities commission cut the program in Southern California Edison territory during the utility’s latest general rate case. Before it was cut, DDAR was allocated nearly $2 million in funding per year through 2027, but state regulators said ratepayers shouldn’t be on the hook for a program that they argued duplicated similar programs, such as the company’s existing portable backup power program and its partnership with 211 LA, which screens and refers callers to needed resources.

But 211’s own director, Maribel Marin, disagrees.

“It’s a program that needs to be expanded, not reduced,” Marin said. “We feel it was complementary.”

Marin said 211 does screen callers for backup power needs — they enrolled more than 2,000 callers in DDAR last year — but doesn’t have the staff to conduct in-person education and individualized emergency planning. Before the cut, she had been pushing for the program to expand eligibility beyond high fire risk zones.

“ We mobilize for the disaster, but we're not investing in capacity building,” Marin said.

She pointed out that 211 on its own has not seen an increase in funding since the early 2000s. DDAR had helped fill some of the gaps, she said.

Meanwhile, Marin added, the population with access and functional needs is only growing: by 2030, about 30% of the population of L.A. County is expected to be over the age of 60.

“ What was lost over that time was all our disaster preparedness capacity,” Marin said. “Now, we’re having people do double duty.”

Personal planning builds resilience

The Service Center for Independent Life in Claremont serves communities across the Inland Empire, southeast L.A. County and San Gabriel Valley. They delivered more than 240 backup batteries through DDAR.

“When we drop off a battery, we don't drop off a battery,” said executive director Larry Grable. “We go into the house, we help set it up, we teach the people how to use it, how to make sure it's charged, how to recharge. And then we spend time to set up an emergency plan.”

That type of one-on-one connection and education year round — especially with people with lived experience with disabilities thanks to the partnership with the state’s independent living centers — is what made DDAR unique, he said. While the center still has some batteries left, they don’t know what they’ll do once they run out. Since the program was cut, Grable has had to lay off staff and work overtime to fill the gap. He's seeking grant funding as well.

Keith Miller, executive director of L.A.-based Communities Actively Living Independent & Free, said the center previously had two DDAR staff members — now they’re down to one.

“It's a huge impact in regards to what we want to do,” he said.

That includes things like building free “go bags” for clients, making accessible flyers and educational materials about preparing for emergencies, and doing direct outreach with clients.

Dozens of disability organizations across the state called the elimination of the program “contradictory and dangerous” in a letter to the public utilities commission in November. The letter calls for funding to be restored through at least 2027.

“We fear greatly when the next public safety power shut off, the next earthquake, the next fire happens in Southern California because we don't have the staffing to support it,” said Lisa Hayes, director of the California Foundations for Independent Living, who wrote the letter. “What it's going to take is for people with disabilities to die in order for somebody to listen.”

The program may be reconsidered during Edison’s next general rate case, but that’s not likely to be revisited until 2029.

“We recognize that DDAR’s deep expertise and personal engagement were valuable, and we are actively working to preserve critical knowledge and strengthen partnerships with community-based organizations to address any gaps,” said Edison spokesperson Gabriela Ornelas.

With tensions already high in Minnesota after an Immigration and Customs Enforcement officer killed Renee Macklin Good, the Trump administration is ramping up the pressure on cities and states to cooperate with its immigration crackdown.

The administration had already surged federal agents — sometimes accompanied by military troops — to Los Angeles, Portland, Chicago, Charlotte, Memphis, Washington D.C. and New Orleans.

Now the White House is threatening to cut funding for sanctuary cities. Here's a brief explanation of how local governments interact with federal immigration enforcement, and what the White House can and can't require from them.

A fight over federal money 

President Trump threatened this week to cut "significant" federal funding to sanctuary cities. He hasn't said exactly what money his administration wants to cut, though he gave a deadline of Feb. 1.

Nor has Trump said exactly which cities or states will be targeted, though the Department of Justice did publish a list of more than 30 cities, states and counties in August. (That list includes the state of Minnesota, though not Minneapolis or St. Paul or their respective counties).

In remarks on Tuesday at the Detroit Economic Club, Trump seemed to be focused on places that limit their cooperation with ICE.

"They do everything possible to protect criminals at the expense of American citizens. And it breeds fraud and crime and all of the other problems that come," Trump said. "So we're not making any payment to anybody that supports sanctuary cities."

This is not the first time President Trump has made a threat like this. During his first term, the president tried to withhold some federal funding from sanctuary cities. More recently, Trump signed an executive order nearly a year ago directing the Departments of Justice and Homeland Security to make a list of sanctuary cities and withhold money from them.

But courts have sided against the administration in nearly every case, saying that the federal government cannot use funding to coerce state and local governments into changing their policies on immigration.

"Here we are again," U.S. District Judge William Orrick in San Francisco wrote in April. Orrick granted (and later extended) a preliminary injunction blocking the Trump administration from withholding federal funds from 16 jurisdictions, including San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, Minneapolis, St. Paul and New Haven.

"The threat to withhold funding causes them irreparable injury in the form of budgetary uncertainty, deprivation of constitutional rights, and undermining trust between the Cities and Counties and the communities they serve," Orrick said.

No precise legal definition of 'sanctuary'

There's no exact legal definition of "sanctuary city." But broadly speaking, the term refers to any city, state or county that limits its cooperation with federal immigration authorities.

The legal questions here are nuanced. Local law enforcement cannot block federal agents from doing their work but courts have said that state and city officers can withhold some cooperation.

The legal arguments are rooted in the U.S. Constitution and the division of powers between the federal government, which is in charge of immigration enforcement, and state and local governments, which run their own police and sheriffs' departments.

Courts have backed states that don't want to share data on residents in their records, including information about driver's licenses. And in many places, state and local law enforcement will not honor what's known as a "detainer request" from ICE, which essentially asks police to hold someone in detention until immigration authorities can take custody.

Local officials push back 

Virtually all the cities and states the administration has focused on so far are led by Democrats, who don't seem to be backing down after Trump's threat to cut federal money.

"This is just a threat to intimidate states like New York into bowing into submission. And that is something we'll never do," New York Governor Kathy Hochul said earlier this week. "You touch any more money from the state of New York, we'll see you in court."

State and city leaders argue there is a fundamental public safety rationale for their sanctuary policies. They say that working with ICE would undermine trust and cooperation between local law enforcement and immigrant communities as they seek to prevent crime.

There's clearly a political aspect to this as well. In many sanctuary cities, voters are asking Democratic leaders not to give in to the White House and its immigration agenda, so local leaders may have a strong incentive to dig in their heels.

Why local cooperation matters 

In the past, ICE has found that it's faster and safer to arrest people who are already being held in local jails. And that's one reason ICE was able to make so many arrests during the administration of President Obama, for example, before sanctuary policies were as widespread as they are now.

The White House says a lack of local cooperation is hindering its efforts to build "the largest deportation operation in the history of our country," a pledge Trump made frequently during his reelection campaign.

"Minnesota's 'leaders' have chosen defiance over partnership," the White House said in a statement on Friday.

But Democrats say the administration is deliberately creating confrontations in cities and states that are led by political opponents, provoking chaotic scenes on purpose for reasons that go beyond simply enforcing immigration law.

Copyright 2026 NPR

On a recent Saturday, a group of teenage musicians took to a stage inside an unlikely place: an unassuming unit in a business park at the bottom of Lincoln Avenue in Pasadena.

This space has a stage sitting on its concrete floor with the words "Backyard Party" playfully scrawled across the bottom.

The members of a band called The Wendolls sound checked with Matt Chait at the mixing board.

Backyard Party, one of the area’s newest all-ages venues, is the brainchild of Chait and fellow organizer Sandra Denver.

“The fires crushed garages where kids would have been playing. It burnt backyards where they would have been playing. It burnt down the schools where they would have been playing. So this is the communal backyard party. That’s specifically what we built and why we built it,” Chait said just outside the makeshift venue. The only thing that sets it apart from the nondescript units around it is a handwritten sign that says ‘No Ins and Outs.’

Chait, who was evacuated from his residence during the Eaton Fire, teamed up with Denver to manage the volunteer-run Backyard Party a few months ago. Her daughter sung lead vocals in a band called Sly, one of four bands on the lineup.

“We wanted to provide a space for all of the teen bands all around to come and play and help them create a kind of scene,” Denver said.

It’s the type of spot Denver said she wishes she had growing up in Phoenix, Arizona.

The tip box at Backyard Party

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And she’s just one of several supportive parents here who are helping load in amps and guitars and bass drums.

Sixteen-year-old Jett Bizon is the drummer for Saints of Sinners, one of the bands on the bill. He said there’s another reason there are so many parents in the crowd.

“Well, nobody drives. Everybody needs a ride,” Bizon said with a chuckle.

With his long dark hair, Bizon explained that he’s already played some legendary local venues like The Whiskey a Go Go. But he said it feels like Backyard Party is becoming a much needed space for younger musicians in the area.

“We need to let out some type of energy and everybody’s putting it into music,” Bizon said. “I think it’s a great thing. Finally a scene again, it’s fun.”

As Bizon and his bandmates played their set of hard rock songs, the only people on their phones in the crowd were parents filming.

Some of the young folks taking the stage were affected by the Eaton Fire in one way or another. Some of them were evacuated. Others lost homes or saw their friends displaced.

Payton Owen was part of the crew running the door, taking tickets and dolling out snacks. She too is a musician and writes reviews of some of the concerts here.

“I think it’s amazing. I think it’s really like a point of community,” she said from behind a glass case filled with bags of popcorn and candy. “It’s a really nice opportunity for kids to really have somewhere where they can go.”

Teenager Elise Lamond agreed. She’d been following Chait around all night, learning how to set levels for the musicians, run the house lights and more.

“Most people at this age don’t have those kinds of opportunities,” she said, adding that, as a musician herself, she appreciated having free access to the venue’s music equipment, too.

Chait, who had a hand in running the now closed AAA Electra 99 venue in Anaheim and has been a musician since he was 12, said Pasadena and Altadena have a noteworthy music pedigree.

“I mean, Van Halen started in quite literal ‘backyard parties’ over on Allen. I think it lives here,” he said.

And Chait said he’s blown away by the new talent that’s come to this stage. For his part, he thinks it’s the start of a new scene that will balloon beyond Altadena and Pasadena.

Matt Chait going over the sound setup with Elise Lamond at Backyard Party.

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Robert Garrova / LAist

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“The fact that these kids who are now, let's say, 15-20 all lived through COVID and were very separated from each other. And now, in this particular neighborhood, are also separated again because of the fires. And they have supportive parents and now they have the physical place to be... All of the pieces of the puzzle are here,” Chait said.

For now, Chait said this is a labor of love. The space here is provided by Altadena Musicians, a non-profit that’s working to get instruments back in the hands of people who lost their gear in the fires. And as for ticket sales?

“It is the best part of running the venue: the end of the night, when we hand cash to these kids for playing,” Chait said.

Tonight’s bounty from a full-house? $320.

“There’s a couple of these kids, if they play one or two more times, we’re going to have to give them 1099s,” he said.

How to catch a BYP show

Backyard Party
1260 Lincoln Ave. #1300
Pasadena

For a calendar of upcoming shows, check out BYP’s website and Instagram.