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The Ebony Beach Club‘s priority is to create a space for Black beachside communities in Los Angeles. So, every year on Juneteenth, they transform a local beach into a full-blown festival, consisting of nonstop DJs, a vivacious dance floor and neighborly vendors. This year, the beach club partnered with Black Lives Matter and took over the Santa Monica Pier. Here’s everything that went down.
12:39 p.m. I arrive early. Ebony Beach Club founder, Brick, runs from vendor to vendor, ensuring everyone is ready for the day ahead. He boasts that there’s “not a cloud in sight” — and that everything is aligning for today’s “historic moment.”
1:58 p.m. I never thought I would be able to say I’ve found a sense of inner peace in the middle of the Santa Monica Pier. The typically chaotic environment is transformed by rhythmic breathing exercises and sound bath frequencies. For a moment, it does feel like I am cooking under the hot summer sun, but still, I couldn’t be more at ease.
3:09 p.m. So far, the music selection transcends generations. Anything from Aaliyah to YG and Frankie Beverly fills the beachy air. But after hearing more than one early 2000s Ne-Yo classic, I can’t help but wonder what he’s up to. Why the lack of 2025 Ne-Yo bangers?
3:40 p.m. The crowd is slowly growing. Most partygoers sport a mix of brightly colored swimwear with denim shorts or matching mini skirts. Others wear graphic tees that commemorate the holiday and show L.A. pride. The most standout looks so far have included bejeweled thongs, color-coordinated snapbacks and sneakers and pleated, baggy jorts.
3:58 p.m. In the flash of a moment, a familiar face glides through the crowded pier. Her grill catches the light and a pair of Labubus hangs from a designer bag. It’s none other than R&B royalty Kehlani. A growing swarm of fans start to catch on. I get my chance to say something as she passes. I compliment her latest single and let her continue on her mission to the bar. Cool, casual and of course, no mention of the fact that I was listening to the Kehlani Spotify radio on the whole drive over.
4:45 p.m. Brick halts the music and offers a quick history lesson from the DJ decks. He speaks of the first Ebony Beach Club, started by a man named Silas White in 1957. That year, 2,000 Black people, including Brick’s own grandfather, signed up to be members. But the City of Santa Monica had barred it from ever opening.
Today’s Ebony Beach Club celebration roughly creates space for around 2,000 people to be at the exact same beach and enjoy the party.
“This is the most Black people the Santa Monica pier has seen in a while,” said Brick, who was met with an echoing applause. “Today, we are Black people who are occupying this space for the first time in a long time.”
5:30 p.m. The emcee says, “If you’re outside the barricade, I’m sorry. If you couldn’t get a ticket, I’m sorry.” He addresses the consistent crowd of onlookers who have lingered by the barricades. Some appear to be tourists, but most spectators seem like they were too late to grab a ticket. Nonetheless, they are able to indulge in the sights and sounds, even if it’s for only a few minutes.
6:17 p.m. What’s an L.A. party without Los Tucanes de Tijuana’s “La Chona?” The norte?o anthem gets mixed into T.I. ‘s “What You Know.” Unexpected, but somehow serendipitous.
7:25 p.m. I’m starting to seriously question the weight limit on the truck. Though its height is that of a monster truck, it has the feel of a clown car. The truck bed, filled with DJ equipment, is overflowing with people singing along and jumping to the beat. People are perched atop the car, as well as those hanging off its side, in an impressive, partially aerial twerk. I can’t even imagine the kind of core strength that it takes.
7:51 p.m. As the party wraps up, Sexyy Red’s distinctive vocals overtake the crowd. It feels like one final hurrah. If there’s been one consistent feeling that’s marked the entire party, it’s been an infectious sense of joy.
8:05 p.m. On the way back to the car, people yell “Happy Juneteenth” out their car windows. My feet are a bit achy and the tops of my shoulders a little sore to the touch, but spirits are still high. Now for the biggest test of patience — braving the traffic of leaving a Santa Monica parking structure.
