i'm a writer. my work has been published in The New York Times, GQ, Billboard, Pitchfork, Playboy, SPIN, The Fader, VICE, Complex and Instagram, among others. i've done shots with lil jon in las vegas, chased justin bieber through calabasas and ridden dirty through mexico. *************************************************************************** i also work as a copywriter and an editorial consultant. most recently, i created a blog, developed original content and established a strong, youthful voice for one of l.a.'s most visible and artistically adventurous theaters. i'm available for writing assignments, speaking engagements and off- and on-camera interviews. will travel! rebeccahaithcoat (at) gmail (dot) com
Billie Eilish’s shoes are “No Trespassing” signs. Slumped in a booth at Canter’s Deli on Los Angeles’ Fairfax Avenue, the underage set’s 2018 version of the mall, she has pulled her hat so low, all you can see are her granny grey-lilac tresses. Her inked DIY Nikes are all you need to heed, anyway. If you can’t read the cornered-animal glint in her crystalline blue eyes or don’t understand that her lips are parted because she might spit if you inch too close -- the Nikes spell it out in black Bic, over and over, like mantras: “LOL U AIN’T SHIT,” “HA HA BITCH,” “FUCK U.”
She needs a little space -- ever since posting the gauzy dream-pop song “Ocean Eyes” to her Soundcloud in early 2016, a lot of people have been up in her face. She later apologized to me for being “salty,” but she wasn’t at all. She was just being 16, and in an era where 16-year-old girls want to be anything but, I found that really refreshing.
(And WHEW, thank goodness there was no social media when I was riding the emo roller coaster of teendom.)
You can read my profile of Billie before she blows here.
one recent sunbaked february day, i found myself in jane seymour’s home, fluffing her hair and watching her pad around barefoot in a cherry-red cocktail dress as she got ready for “some academy thing” in her sun-drenched boudoir.
jane seymour has had a remarkably wide-ranging career -- she’s played everything from a bond girl to a cougar named “kitty kat” -- but it almost derailed before it even really began. when she was just landing roles in hollywood, a producer sexually harassed her, then threatened to blackball her if she told anybody. so she returned to england, “baked bread, did needlepoint and got fat.”
all’s well, etcetera, etcetera, and two weeks before her 67th birthday, she posed for playboy and hung out with me in her boudoir. if you can get past the ~flame emoji~ photos, you can read the story here.
KOM_1 started her set at camp flog gnaw on her belly, balancing on a step ladder in the middle of the crowd, and ended it crowdsurfing in a giant human hamster wheel.
she claims she is shy.
my unofficial GQ series of bad bitches wraps up with my profile of KOM_1, the lead singer of japanese outfit wednesday campanella who’s breathing new life into the “manic pixie dream girl” cliché (ugh, sorry).
Brockhampton Wants to B the Boyband of Ur Dreamz <3
The story of Kevin Abstract's move to Los Angeles is like something out of a movie, but like, literally: Watching The Social Network with his sister—"Because I didn't have friends at the time"—he marveled at the scene in which Mark Zuckerberg moves to Palo Alto and lives in a think tank, doing nothing but building Facebook.
"Young people being creative… that stuck with me for a long time," says the 21-year-old rapper, singer-songwriter, and director born Ian Simpson. "I told friends online who I currently live with, 'I wanna live that out and recreate that.'"
For the past two years, he's done exactly so with Brockhampton, a self-described boyband made up of over a dozen rappers and producers, engineers, photographers, and graphic designers. They both live in and also operate out of a quasi frat house on the edges of the University of Southern California, a tony private school nestled against L.A.'s historically notorious South Central. Their home, a nondescript, bigger-than-it-looks place with a small, junky yard, is always buzzing, but not with ragers and keg stands. Instead, it thrums with the kind of energy the Facebook house must've had. Look past the empty microwave popcorn bags and half-eaten takeout Styrofoam containers—fourteen boys barely out of their teens are not the neatest creatures—and at any given time, someone's recording a song in one bedroom, another is mixing in a second bedroom, and a clump of dudes are huddled on a shabby secondhand couch in the living room, deciding on logo and video treatment.
next in my inadvertent GQ series of bad bitches is syd. i’ve wanted to interview her ever since she played SGP’s “SAND 2011″ at one of those early, unhinged odd future shows (gahd this shit was legendary, #blessed to have witnessed).
I usually permit myself one and only one look back, because we all know what happens to people women who look back*. I know this cellularly now, because due to what happened on New Year’s Eve last year and The Thing I Am Too Scared to Write About Yet, for the first time in my life I spent this whole year looking back. I barely escaped the fate and I’m going to tell you about that when I stop being too scared to write about The Thing I Am Too Scared to Write About Yet.
Suffice it to say, mostly because of what happened on New Year’s Eve last year, I did not post my Year in Music 2016 and I know I was pretty torn up about it. So, I’m going to post that, plus what I remember about this year -- which isn’t much due to what happened on New Year’s Eve last year plus The Thing I Am Too Scared to Write About Yet -- in the hopes that I’ll come back and fill in the gaps ... soon.
What I will say is that music saved me at least twice this year (both times, I was taken by surprise, but I don't know why. Music is the shape of water**, it has always swum to me and seeped into the cracks of my heart until it was swollen again). Once was when I stumbled upon Derrick May’s “Strings of the Strings of Life” while reading Adam Haslett’s Imagine Me Gone*** in an apartment off the Las Vegas Strip, and the second time was a couple weeks ago when I went to see Syd downtown. Near the end of her show, she got choked up and said, “It’s been a hard year, but I’m learning to love myself.” Me too.
Songs I Heard in 2017 and Loved Enough to Add to a List
“YUNGXAHOE” —playboi carti (dylvinciGTC edit)
“pull up wit ah stick” — sahbabii
“that’s out” — 2eleven ft. earl swavey and mitch slick
“in my studio,” starfoxlaflare
“we ain’t homies,” arin ray
“can’t hang” — preme ft. partynextdoor
that mike will ransom song with pharrell on it
“come down” — mike will, rae sremmurd, chief keef
“bambi,” jidenna
“t-shirt,” migos
“each and every day,” kingdom
“big fish,” vince
“feels,” calvin harris
“frustrated,” r.lum.r
“what you like,” 24hrs
"anti,” sobxrbe
“crew,” goldlink ft. shy glizzy and brent faiyaz
“east coast,” asap ferg
“oh na na,” gizzle
“why you lying,” show me the body
“butterfly effect,” travis scott
“bring dem things,” french montana ft. pharrell
“keep the faith,” moon boots ft. nic hansen
“unravel me,” sabrina claudio
“sky walker” — miguel
“rules” — bbymutha
“875 dollars” — de lux
“we don’t luv em” — hoodrich pablo
“dawsins breek” — ty dolla $ign
“stare” — ty ft. pharrell
“neon guts,” uzi vert ft. pharrell
“no way” — tokimonsta
“don’t call me” — tokimonsta
“drip” — luke james
“tap in” — bobby brackins
“say a” — boogie wit a hoodie
“pick it up” — famous dex
2017 Albums I Listened to All the Way Through Many Times
HNDRXX, future
tears in the club, kingdom
4:44, jay z
culture, migos
ocean and montana, buddy and kaytranada
self-titled, playboi carti
nu religion: hyena, THEY
self-titled, mura masa
2017 Best New Lingo
“massagin,” bay bay
2017 Best Video + Song Combos
“sticky situation,” quin ft. syd
“P.O.W.A.,” m.i.a.
“the story of OJ,” jay-z
2017 Favorite Dancer
delaney glazer:
1) ”pills and automobiles,” chris brown
2) “i miss the old u,” blackbear (2scratch remix)
3) “butterfly effect,” travis scott
2016 Songs I Loved and Still Do TBH
“Timed Out,” Kyle Dion
“No Masturbation,” and "Saydaat,” Nef the Pharaoh
“Rich Friends,” Kanye
“Eastside Jace,” Jace
“Glo Girl,” Ballout
“Energy,” Tinashe
“Felt Like Cappin” 2 Chainz
“Green light,” Ro James
"Kung Fu," Baauer ft Future and Pusha T
“With Them, “Young Thug
“Party on Me,” Father
"Oh Shit," Buddy
“NADA” Kari Faux
“Ran Off on the Plug Twice,” Plies
“Bankroll,” Skooly
“Ain’t a Damn Thing Changed,” Tate Kobang ft. aaron lacrate
“Sorry,” StunnaJune
“I Do This,” Nipsey Hussle (THUG’S FEATURE!)
“Gangsta Shit,” Young Thug
“Girl” Joey Purp
“German Leather,” Wes Period (production)
“Go Off,” M.I.A.
“1990x,” Maxwell
“Be Nice,” Dash Machete
“1 Up Top,” Mozzy
“It,” Christine and the Queens (2015??)
“Time Moves Slow,” BBNG
“Slappin,” Nef and E-40
“You Could Be My Lover,” Diddy and Ty$
“Day Ones,” Ezale
“Learn From Each Other,” Majid Jordan
“Money,” Leikeli47
“xxx angel dust xxx,” lsdxoxo
“Pnuemonia,” Danny Brown
“Cross Me,” WNC carlos ft. jmm larry and sog sherwood flame
Favorite Music Memories of 2016
Dancing with YG to Still Brazy in a studio in the Valley tied with going to Ace of Diamonds for YG’s birthday party
Morphing from a quiet gallery (well, as quiet as a gallery night where Shia Labeouf is waiting in line can be) and wine night to hopping behind the booth at Bar Marmont (RIP) with Liz and a 24-year-old asking me very formally, “Would you like a vial of coke?” It’s always the nights you least expect.
My full-blown impersonation of Axel singing “Patience” while driving along the mountains in Mexico. It’s special, trust me.
92.3 B-Day Bash with Drew — Nicki being the bad bitch she is by opening with “Down in the DM” and then bringing out YG.
RIP the GOAT, Prince. I have never cried so hard over the death of someone I didn’t know personally. Then I danced so hard sweat matted my hair to my head at Adam 12′s secret loft Prince party.
I was totally over Coachella by Saturday. But then, the flower crown goddesses saw fit to plop a dude from Venice holding a vial of pure MDMA in my path while I was “reporting” on drugs for Cosmo. The high lasted through Vince and even GNR (!), who I still can’t believe I saw. Nate picked off a ton of hipsters like a fullback and got me in square in front of the sound booth. Take me down to the paradise city indeed lol.
Bribing the bouncer to get in the Layover in Oakland on a tip from a Berkeley bartender after he played an Andre Nickatina song I’d never heard. I went to the bar after dancing to one song, and the bartender shouted, “You have [gestures to my face].” I snapped open my compact to see mascara streaming down my cheeks.
Gay Night at Chico’s in Montebello. Friend: “I see you standing outside talking and next thing I know, I come out of the bathroom to you literally flying around the room salsa dancing with some gay Mexican dude.”
The stripper grinding on me at Snoop Dogg’s listening party at SAM’s
Walking home under a star-smeared sky after seeing Ryan Adams play the Greek
Watching the sun turn into melty orange sherbet with my little brother from the Ninja Tune rooftop
Slim Jimmy shouting me out from the Whiskey stage
Chills pricking my entire body during the opening riff to “Gimme Shelter” while watching the Rolling Stones as close as you can get with some old dude named Jack, who pulled out his phone exactly once.
*Genesis 19
**Pretty good movie!
***Affecting book. Reading is the great escape and I post little reviews with the hashtag #bookswithbex on Twitter, if you wanna check it out.
lil wayne’s tour rider stipulates you have to build him a skate park. ty dolla $ign’s stipulates you have to buy him cottonelle wet wipes.
i learned a lot about the greatest hook writer of his generation in my profile for SSENSE. you can read it by clicking the photo above, or by clicking this lank right here.
Blackbear Wants His Head Frozen, and Other Rich People Shit
blackbear is the most famous person you have never heard of. he could have retired at 21, after he co-wrote justin bieber’s “boyfriend,” but he really really really wants you, and not just TMZ, to know his name.
i spent a bizarre day in the life of a rich person (a personal chef whipping up grown-up kid food, a tattoo artist setting up in your living room, a vet making a house call ... when you’re rich, everyone comes to you) for noisey. you can read my profile here.
blessed be the real ones, for they are endangered. three questions into my interview with bay area legend-in-the-making kamaiyah, she’d already told me, “fuck my label!”
it only got realer from there. you can read one of the best interviews of my life on GQ.com.
print bylines will soon be a lost thrill and that's a shame because finding this stack of papers with my name on the cover made me feel SO "and you may find yourself.”
i wrote about tokimonsta, her rare brain disease and the meaning of life when what gave your life meaning is taken away. you can read it here.
what are the chances of another iconic musical couple named kurt and courtney?? i witnessed it when i drank modelos and basked in courtney barnett and kurt vile’s really sweet BFF glow ahead of their first collaboration, lotta sea lice.
my dad couldn’t wait to tell his golf buddies that his daughter was on the cover of playboy.
in my interview with articulate badass halsey, she opens up about her miscarriage, why she won’t get plastic surgery and being bi-racial. you can read it here.
My Day in the Life of a Real G Started at the Beauty Shop
G Perico thinks he's been under the hair dryer too long. Below the chemical-saturated cotton strip circling his head, his face and neck are a map of pink splotches and angry red trails. He leans forward, and the rotten-egg funk of ammonia pierces the air. He's about halfway through the three-hour process for a Jheri curl, right around the time anyone who's ever gotten a perm is thinking, "just wash this shit out, it's fine." Gingerly, he turns his head looking for Dana Dane of Dana Dane's Hair Connection in Inglewood.
"Hey!" he hollers toward the gaggle of stylists gossiping in the back of the salon on this dreary, soggy day. He's the only customer. "This been on long enough?"
Dana Dane sashays over in her Uggs. "Yeah baby. You burnin'?" she asks, poking at the patch of plastic rollers sprouting from his head before turning down the heat a little and pressing him back in the chair. Beauty is pain.
"The OG homies used to always be on me—'pretty ass nigga.' I had something to prove just based on that," snorts the 28-year-old Los Angeles rapper. Wearing salt-and-pepper sweats and a "Fuck the Police" T-shirt, he stretches out his lean frame and taps a BC powder onto his tongue. "I grew up on 111th between Main and San Pedro, big hood. My cousin jumped off the porch before me. He dark skin, I'm lightskin, handsome. They look at my cousin like he the one. Like he gonna be the golden child of the area. But it turned out to be me."
bitch, do not kill gallant’s vibe on dollar bowl night. drinking $2 pitchers of bud light and dipping his hot dog in that goopy stuff they call cheese, he just generally is the most down-to-earth, all-american, red-blooded grammy nominee you ever did see. he’s so ... normal that you get the feeling he’s hiding something.
which, in a way, he is.
please click the photo or here to read my profile.
the sky is falling. but D.R.A.M. is bursting into choruses like a broadway baby and i’m singing harmony (literally. i literally sang harmony with D.R.A.M. during this interview) because we’d take to the bed otherwise.
you can read my profile of this day-off santa who’s doing the impossible -- making everybody smile -- here.
Like most kids, I wished I’d been born anywhere but where I was. Bored on hushed Sunday afternoons and pushing myself on the tire swing in our backyard, I constructed elaborate daydreams about my life when I could leave my two-stoplight Deep Southern town behind. I scrubbed my voice clean of its syrupy accent. Dressing in preppy khaki skirts and polos or “artsy” chokers and all black everything, I internally rolled my eyes at dumb hicks who wore cowboy boots and listened to country music. I kept my boyfriends’ hands from traveling south of my Fossil leather belt and applied to colleges up north. I took the good life I had in my sweet town for granted. Like most kids, I was an asshole.
Continue reading my piece about running away from home and the boy -- and song -- that brought me back here.
