LOUD — A Ghetto A** Rap Musical at Synchronicity Theatre. 11.11.2025

shadyradical
Nov 12
4 min read

Updated: Nov 14

Documented by Dr. shady Radical, founder of The Radical Archive Project

November 11, 2025 | Atlanta, GA

Windy and I attended the 7:30 p.m. production of LOUD: A Ghetto A** Rap Musical at Synchronicity Theatre Tuesday, November 11, 2025 . I already knew this would be an interesting show to see with my seven-year-old—given the “explicit” warning in the description—but I remain committed to exposing her to the full spectrum of performance work happening in Atlanta. These are the moments that stretch how we both listen, think, and respond to art.

We sat front-row, center stage—close enough to feel the bass, see the sweat, and catch the knowing glances between cast members who could definitely see us too. Before the show began, co-director Nadera Herbert-Bey greeted the audience and reminded us that LOUD is, in fact, “explicit.” I appreciated the honesty—it set the tone for a performance that refused to sanitize Black urban life for anyone’s comfort.

The opening sequence was electric. The performers emerged one by one, moving as if each carried their own rhythm yet shared a common heartbeat. Crop tops, baggy shorts, pink on pink, and soft bellies framed by bright lights—costumes that celebrated body autonomy and self-definition. When Valentina Johnson (as Judah) and Trinity Ross (as Imani) took the stage, we immediately knew we were in the presence of a powerful duo.

Judah, in a neon yellow fishnet top layered over a hot pink bra-like piece, paired with cutoff denim shorts over fishnet tights and tall furry boots, commanded the stage with a confidence that radiated. Her look felt both futuristic and familiar—like a remix of hip-hop femininity, club culture, and self-possession. Imani’s outfit—a neon yellow bra beneath an open red Braves jersey with “Jones” emblazoned on the back, blue short shorts, and black combat boots—balanced Judah’s energy with her own grounded swagger. Together, they embodied a kind of Atlanta street glam: vibrant, unapologetic, and full of personality.

Their chemistry was magnetic, their banter alive with humor, conflict, and care. It was as if their energy had been building long before the lights came up—an inheritance of hip-hop theater traditions shaped by Black women’s voices.

I loved the vignettes of Diary Entries. Judah stands before the audience under a spotlight, flanked by two friends—one on each side—and reads from her diary. These recollections are vivid, intimate, and courageous. She paints pictures of moments of vulnerability in her transgender experience, moments that reveal the emotional labor of love and acceptance. Reflecting on her relationships with men, Judah confides in us about the waiting—the patience it takes for them to be “comfortable” dating her because she is, as she says, “a different kind of girl.”

“I got to vibe until they decide it’s right,” she says.

In Diary Entry #2, Judah recounts the secrets she’s had to hold, including being with a white man. She speaks of fetishization—the ways men want to see, touch, and be pleasured by her body without offering her the same experience of intimacy or safety. She calls it what it is: Power. Dominance. Fetish. But she also declares this as the moment she learned to never let a man take control again.

This diary entry grounds what unfolds next: her current relationship with Dream, played by Michael Bahsil. What begins as attraction evolves into something far more complicated—a reflection of denial, play, and secrecy, shaped by moments of tenderness, toxicity, and even violence. Through Judah’s story, the performance confronts the politics of desire, gender, and survival with raw honesty and rhythm.

The musical—written and directed by Johnson, with music by Michael Bahsil and choreography by Asha Rosaline—follows a cast of characters negotiating identity, love, and belonging through the pulse of rap culture. The language is raw, the movement unapologetic, and the story alive with Atlanta’s creative undercurrent. There were moments when Windy and I laughed together and others where I found myself watching her watch the stage—curious about how she was taking it all in.

I was prepared for all of the questions Windy had following the show. She said there were a lot of words she didn’t understand—and a lot of new curse words. But she really liked the dance, particularly the ones that involved the hips and the butt. I reminded her that those moves are reserved for special spaces. We talked about expression, rhythm, and respect—how art can hold all of those things at once.

That’s the beauty of these field notes: being both audience and archivist, mother and witness. My goal is to experience, document, and preserve the full spectrum of Atlanta’s Black performance culture—not as an outsider looking in, but as a participant in the living story of this city. This is the storytelling heart of Radical Archivy: to witness the work, be in community with those who make it, and hold the traces of what might otherwise disappear.

The Stripped Bare Arts Incubator Project, produced by Jennifer Kimball, offers an extraordinary opportunity for Atlanta artists to receive the full support of Synchronicity’s 100-seat theatre in Midtown. From a grant to space, to marketing and genuine care, this program nurtures working artists and makes it possible to experiment boldly with new ideas. LOUD is a testament to what happens when artists are trusted with room to grow, fail, and fly.