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As birth centers shutter across California, midwives say the state’s inflexible licensing requirements are to blame
Colorful collages line the hallways of Best Start Birth Center in San Diego, the squishy faces of hundreds of newborns carefully cut out and framed. A picture of Executive Director Karen Roslie’s son, born in 2003, hangs among the smiling, crying, and squinting babies.
Thirty years ago, Roslie’s mother, Roberta Frank, opened Best Start after training to become a certified nurse midwife. Since that time, state agencies and national organizations have recognized the birth center as a model for alternative birth practices. The Canadian health ministry even visited in the 1990s as it developed plans to fund midwifery services, Roslie says.
But in March, Best Start closed its doors, unable to keep up with escalating costs. TRICARE, a major military insurer and Best Start’s biggest contractor, wouldn’t pay for licensed midwives—only nurses, who can make much more money in a hospital. In a community where the Navy is a prominent employer, it was a debilitating blow to the birth center. The photos Roslie meticulously framed over the years will most likely have to be destroyed to avoid any medical privacy violations—evidence of more than 5,600 births shredded.
“It feels like I’m mourning a death,” Roslie says, gazing at the pictures. Best Start was the first licensed and accredited birth center in California, and even those credentials couldn’t save it. In fact, they may have hindered the birth center’s survival, requiring expensive renovations that many midwives say aren’t relevant to the care they provide or the safety of their practice. Its closure was one of at least 19 recent birth center shutdowns and reductions in service in the past four years, according to the California chapter of the American Association of Birth Centers (AABC).
Those closures deepen a crisis of declining women’s health services across California. More than 50 labor and delivery wards have closed in California hospitals in the past decade, creating maternity care deserts in rural communities and overburdening the remaining labor wards in cities and suburbs.
Consumer health and policy experts have pointed to birth centers as a way to expand capacity in communities where hospitals are no longer delivering babies. The midwife-run clinics deliver low-risk births and direct higher-risk pregnancies to hospitals.
But California has some of the toughest licensing requirements in the country, AABC says, and facilities like Best Start have long argued that California’s onerous regulations and an uncooperative Public Health Department prevent them from succeeding.
Only six operating birth centers are licensed in California. Another 26 are unlicensed. Licensure isn’t required, but it enables practices to work with insurance plans and helps them serve lower-income families who can’t cover birthing costs out of pocket.
Increasingly, only wealthy families who pay cash can afford to have a midwife or give birth outside of a hospital.
“The system is just a mess. It’s flawed. It’s set up to prevent providers that can provide really good care from even getting started,” says Best Start founder Frank.
While most births in California take place in hospitals, birth centers serve a small but growing number of families. The number of planned out-of-hospital births attended by midwives has doubled over the past decade, even as birth rates overall declined, according to data from the Medical Board of California. And a statewide survey conducted in 2018 by the California Health Care Foundation indicated that more than one-third of pregnant people would be interested in having a midwife for a future birth.
Frequently, those who seek the services of midwives and birth centers cite the desire for more personalized care or poor experiences with previous hospital births. Studies show that for low-risk pregnancies, midwife-led deliveries at birth centers are safe and lead to fewer interventions such as cesarean sections.
“Women deserve this,” Frank says. “Every human deserves to find their own strength, find their place, [and] exercise their initiative.”
But even as demand for out-of-hospital births increases, birth centers across the state are shutting their doors, unable to withstand the joint battering ram of financial and regulatory challenges.
Last year, the Santa Rosa Birth Center stopped delivering babies, adding to a regional maternity care desert. Then, a Sacramento midwife closed her birth center in February and left the country, saying
California’s health system was too unfriendly to make ends meet. Another Sacramento birth center is also on the verge of closure because it cannot get a state license. In September, Monterey Birth and Wellness Center will close, citing high costs and poor insurance reimbursement.
The California Department of Public Health refused multiple requests for an interview about the licensure process, responding only to emailed questions. The licensing process sets “minimum standards” for patient care, which include regulations around proper equipment and staff competency, the department said in an unsigned statement.
“We cannot speculate or comment on any reason why providers chose to close these facilities [or] aren’t seeking licensure for new [birth centers], or what could be done to improve the process,” the department statement added.
Nancy Myrick, a co-founder of the San Francisco Birth Center, says it took four-and-a-half years of back-and-forth with the state health department to obtain a license. At one point, Myrick asked for a list of items that an inspector would check and was referred to regulations that had not yet been written.
“In the process of opening, the state bureaucracy was like the Great Wall of China. It was such a horrible barrier,” Myrick says.
It wasn’t until Myrick called her local assemblymember’s office to complain about the inability to get licensed and see Medi-Cal patients that the application was approved, she adds. The birth center was licensed in 2020.
“It literally took calling in the political dogs to get it done,” Myrick says.
Many providers noticed that getting a license became much more difficult after the state centralized the process with the public health department in 2018. Since then, nearly all birth center applications have been rejected, according to data provided by the department.
The department said in a statement the change was necessary to improve “standardization and consistency” in the licensure process for multiple kinds of facilities. Previously, the department’s 14 regional offices processed applications and approved most of them.
Yet midwives and advocates say multiple issues continue to plague the process. It’s slow, often taking years; it’s expensive, costing tens of thousands to retrofit buildings and maintain a license; and the standards are frequently at odds with midwives’ scope of practice. What results is a “de facto ban” on birth center licensure in California, says Sandra Poole, a lobbyist with the Western Center on Law and Poverty.
Without licensing reform, more birth centers will close, warns Bethany Sasaki, president of the state chapter of the American Association of Birth Centers.
A key problem, Sasaki continues, is that birth centers are expected to comply with building standards designed for hospitals. Requirements include negative pressure rooms for infection control and cast-iron plumbing for water supply and drainage.
Many midwives argue the standards don’t make sense because their patients are legally required to be healthy, with low-risk pregnancies. Any condition that would require the additional medical intervention the standards are meant to accommodate, such as surgery, would force the patient to be transferred to a doctor or hospital, Sasaki says.
“There’s no reason to hold a birth center to the same standards as a hospital, because it’s not a hospital, and that’s the whole point,” Sasaki adds.
According to the Department of Health Care Access and Information, which sets building codes for health facilities, it would take legislative changes to make exceptions for birth centers. Poole and a number of groups representing midwives and Black maternal health advocates tried to introduce a bill earlier this year that would ease licensing requirements, but they were unable to find a legislator willing to carry it.
Sasaki’s licensure application for Midtown Nurse Midwives in Sacramento was denied in 2020. The holdup is the ventilation system in her building, which doesn’t meet hospital building code.
In March, Sasaki requested an appeal and emergency license after TRICARE, the same insurer that Best Start relied on, stopped contracting with unlicensed facilities. As of mid-July, she has not received a response from the state, though the department told CalMatters it was past the deadline for her to file an appeal.
Sasaki says that, without the TRICARE contract, which made up about 30 percent of her clients, the birth center will close by November.
“We’ve had to turn away so many people that we stopped answering our phone, because I don’t want to listen to another person cry,” Sasaki says.
Why is licensure such a stumbling block for birth centers? Medi-Cal, the state’s public insurance program for low- income families, pays for half of all births in the state, and it requires birth centers to be licensed.
“The single biggest thing that will help with sustainability is if birth centers can take Medi-Cal and if Medi-Cal can actually reimburse appropriately,” Sasaki says.
The majority of Medi-Cal births—more than 80 percent—are babies of color. A statewide survey also indicates that people of color, particularly Black women, want alternative birth support such as midwives and doulas the most. White women and those with private insurance were the highest users of midwives, the survey shows, while those who wanted a midwife but didn’t use one most commonly cited lack of insurance coverage as a barrier.
Caroline Cusenza, a midwife and the owner of the Monterey Birth and Wellness Center, says accepting insurance allowed her to serve a more diverse population in the working-class Latino enclave where the birth center is located. She wanted to take Medi-Cal patients but couldn’t. Though Cusenza applied for licensure twice, she was also rejected because the building didn’t meet ventilation standards.
The birth center will close in September after seven years.
“It was a hard decision to walk away, but we really just could see no path forward,” Cusenza says.
The Western Center for Law and Poverty has pointed to accreditation as a possible alternative to licensure. The Commission for the Accreditation of Birth Centers is the national organization that sets standards for birth center quality and safety. California regulators have used accreditation to help license other kinds of health facilities, but health department officials see no need to provide birth centers with alternate options. They argue that very few have tried to get a license in the first place. Only 23 birth centers have applied in the past decade.
Holly Smith, a certified nurse midwife and co-lead of Midwifery Access California, contends that the low number of applicants reflects the difficulty of the process. Midwives know licensure is nearly impossible, so they don’t bother applying, Smith argues.
“If [the Department of Public Health] can be much more involved in figuring out solutions to help birth centers exist and be licensed, should they want to be, then we would see a greater proliferation of applications,” Smith says.
Midwifery Access California is working with another state agency to improve access for low-income patients, Smith adds. They hope to convince the Department of Health Care Services to increase Medi-Cal payments to midwives. Right now, a licensed birth center gets about $1,300 per birth, while the midwife gets $400.
Some birth centers say that, at those rates, even Medi-Cal wouldn’t be enough to save them.
“If our birth center were to accept Medi-Cal, we would go bankrupt,” says Trisha Wimbs, owner of the California Birth Center in Rocklin.
Licensed in 2023, Wimbs’ facility was one of only three birth centers to achieve licensure since the public health department took over and tightened building codes. Wimbs says it cost $1 million to build the “hospital-grade facility” to code, including $80,000 to move a fire hydrant two feet closer to the building. The birth center does not take Medi-Cal because it pays too little to recoup expenses. Instead, the birth center caters to cash-pay and commercially insured clients in the affluent Sacramento suburb.
To sustain birth centers, Medi-Cal needs to pay around $8,000 per birth, Smith says. At that price point, delivering at a birth center would still cost less than half as much as a hospital delivery.
Eighteen years ago, Ellary Alonso was born at Best Start Birth Center when her mom, a former labor and delivery nurse, sought a more personalized birth experience. Alonso, who was 21 weeks along in March, wanted to deliver her son in the same place, surrounded by midwives she knew, maybe even in a bath. She wanted the emotional support of the team, she says, because her husband is a Marine, and there’s no guarantee he’ll be able to make it to the birth.
But a week before her first prenatal appointment at Best Start, Alonso got a call that the center was closing permanently. There are no other birth centers in Southern California that take her insurance, TRICARE.
“In this time when everything is about choice, you can choose not to have a baby, but you can’t choose how to have your baby,” Alonso says. “Hospitals are the only option.”
Compared to a hospital room, Best Start offered a homey atmosphere and the promise that the midwife attending each birth was familiar to the laboring client. The birthing rooms came with queen-sized beds, floral duvets, and white porcelain tubs for water births. A marble-topped “crash cart” sat in each room. With the doors closed, the cart looked like an end table, matching the décor. Inside, it was filled with medical supplies for conducting emergency resuscitations or stitching up lacerations.
Though cozy, the rooms bore the hallmarks of a by-the-book clinic: boxes of nitrile gloves in each room, hazardous waste bins mounted discreetly to the wall. Best Start was the only birth center in the state to have a licensed clinical laboratory to confirm water breakage.
They never lost a mother or baby, Roslie says. Their transfer rate for cesarean sections was 20 percent less than the state average in 2022. In the past five years, they performed no episiotomies, perineum incisions intended to enlarge the vaginal opening during birth. And 96 percent of newborns were exclusively breastfed before leaving Best Start, compared to the statewide hospital rate of 69 percent.
Despite the center’s recognized success, keeping it running was always a labor of love, Roslie says.
“It’s never been a thriving business,” she adds. “Roberta’s gone without pay. I’ve gone with reduced pay. That’s what it takes to run a birth center.”
When Roberta Frank, Roslie’s mother, graduated from UC San Diego with her nursing midwifery degree in 1981, she was told, “San Diego will never accept midwives.”
Sometimes—in the face of Best Start’s closure—it still feels that way.
This story is produced by CalMatters, published jointly with San Diego Magazine.
Kristen Hwang is a reporter for CalMatters covering health care. Prior to joining CalMatters, Kristen earned a master’s degree in journalism from UC Berkeley’s Graduate School of Journalism and a master of public health degree from Berkeley’s School of Public Health.
The Ely Callaway Performance Center is where tour-level fittings, cutting-edge technology, and golf equipment you can’t buy yet all come together
“Come test something.”
Those are quite possibly my three favorite words in the English language—all due respect to “I love you” or the highly underrated “you were right.”
I’ve been a PGA Golf Professional since 1994, and yes, full bias disclosure, a Callaway Golf Ambassador for 18 years. One of the bonuses that comes with that combo is access to the Ely Callaway Performance Center—a place so exclusive it gives “velvet rope” vibes.
Originally opened in 2006 as a highly functional (yet not exactly breathtaking) test facility, the ECPC got a serious glow-up in 2018 when Gil Hanse (along with partner Geoff Shackelford) turned it into what can only be described as a fully engineered golf playground. Hanse is no stranger to golf course renovations. In 2024, he completed an extensive redesign of the Omni La Costa North Course in Carlsbad, so it could host the NCAA Division 1 Golf Championships. He also worked on acclaimed courses like Winged Foot, Merion Golf Club, and Oakmont Country Club.
In just two months, it went from a standard test center and R&D lab to a fully dialed-in golf playground.
What was once purely practical is now intentionally designed to be both precise and inspiring. The targets are staggered with purpose—forcing creative shot-making while also calling you out on your actual distances (no more “that’s my 150-yard club … ish”).
Add a massive hitting area, bunkers and greens that mimic real on-course conditions, a “Himalayas” putting green (named for its roller-coaster undulations), an upgraded indoor putting lab, and a 120-decibel sound system blasting a very golf-appropriate playlist, and suddenly it’s a rare blend of high-performance testing facility and “don’t mind if I stay here all day” energy. Since this isn’t exactly open to the public, SDM asked me to take you behind the curtain.
As the iron gates part, it feels less like arriving at a practice facility and more like being granted backstage access at a rock concert—if the bandmembers were made entirely of launch monitors and perfectly manicured turf.
There are no mats. No guessing. No “I think that one felt good?” Just conditions that mirror exactly what tour players see in competition. Because when you’re testing equipment at this level, accuracy isn’t a bonus—it’s the whole point.
Even the sand matters. Different textures. Different densities. Because bunkers have personalities, too, and they are often unfriendly. And the golf balls? Brand. New. Not the usual “these have seen some things” range balls. New balls mean consistent spin, truer trajectory, and no surprises. The older a golf ball gets—and the more it’s been baked in the sun, scuffed, or generally lived a full and complicated life—the less reliable it becomes. Think of it like this: fresh ball, predictable performance; old range ball, slight chaos with a side of mystery.
I’m escorted to my personal hitting bay—basically a pop-up shaded oasis stocked with enough equipment to make a gear junkie weak in the knees. Shafts in every weight and profile imaginable. Heads lined up like they’re waiting to be drafted by their favorite team.
Toptracer technology was patiently waiting to track every one of my swings, each shot instantly delivering ball speed, launch, spin, carry distance, and dispersion (a polite way of saying consistency, or lack thereof), so there’s no guessing—just data telling the truth, whether I like it or not.
We start with irons. Different heads, different feels, different results. When I miss a shot, the ball tends to leak right, so we check lie angle. A quick adjustment—2 degrees upright—and suddenly the clubface is consistently square at impact like it remembered its job. Effort level: down. Ball flight: improved. Confidence: creeping back.
Next we look at the different shaft options—because nothing says “fun afternoon” like realizing a higher kick point can change your entire golf identity. Shaft flex (how much the shaft bends during your swing) helps determine whether you get more height and distance or more control, while kick point (where the shaft bends the most) influences your ball flight—lower kick point for higher launch, higher kick point for a flatter, more penetrating shot. In other words, one small tweak and suddenly you’re hitting shots you’d normally only describe later, slightly exaggerated, over a glass of wine.
Then we move through the bag: hybrids, fairway woods, drivers, wedges. It’s a full rotation of “try this,” “now try this,” and “okay wait … THAT one.”
And yes—the new Quantum driver and fairway woods made an appearance. Without getting too deep in the weeds, they’re faster, more forgiving, and smarter (thanks to AI face mapping) than previous models. Translation: Even your mishits are now slightly less embarrassing. And they were not the only things getting tested. My patience was under attack because the driver and woods would not be available to the public for a good three months.
Watching the fitting team work is like watching a Formula 1 pit crew. Clubs are swapped in seconds. Shafts tightened, adjusted, replaced. One minute you’re swinging something that seems “fine,” and the next, you’re holding a club that feels like it is a part of your DNA.
Then there’s the putter fitting. Drivers are physics. Putters are therapy. Inside the putting lab, sensors track everything—tempo, face angle, path—things you didn’t even know could be measured. Within minutes, my data politely informs me that my putter face is slightly closed at impact. Not shocking, but also not ideal.
A few quick adjustments—different head (with a bit more weight at the toe to discourage the face swinging closed at impact), shorter shaft (so I feel more over the ball, which helps my eyeline)—and suddenly the ball starts rolling exactly where I’m aimed.
Same stroke. Same golfer. Completely different outcome. If only the rest of life worked like that.
And then there’s the part that feels slightly classified. The ECPC isn’t “just” a performance center—it’s also where future equipment lives before the public even knows it exists. I’ve been there when certain clubs were basically under surveillance. Not “don’t touch,” but more “please keep phones in your pocket.”
It’s golf’s version of Area 51. Except instead of aliens, it’s drivers that won’t hit shelves for another year—and like I mentioned, waiting is not my strong suit.
Getting to test the newest equipment isn’t just a perk—it’s part of the job. It’s what allows me to stand in front of students and say, “I’ve tried it. I know what works and what doesn’t. And more importantly, I know why.” And if I happen to sprint to my car every time the phone rings and someone says, “Come test something” … well, that’s just professional courtesy.
Callaway isn’t the only place to get your swing analyzed and clubs fitted. You can stroll into big retail spots like The Golf Mart or Golf Galaxy, book a next-level session at a dedicated studio like Club Champion or True Spec Golf, test brand-specific gear at various manufacturing companies (many located in Carlsbad), or even combine a lesson and a fitting at GOLFTEC. And let’s not forget your local golf course, where fittings happen on actual turf, on a driving range you have some history with—many times with the golf professional who is familiar with your swing so they can give you valuable input. With this many options, there’s really no excuse, other than pride, to keep blaming your clubs.
For a city that lives outdoors, these hometown makers understand exactly what your complexion is up against
San Diego has always worshipped at the altar of good skin. Equal parts surf town, biotech hub, and wellness capital, it’s a city where lunch breaks become beach walks and sunscreen sits beside car keys by the front door. The products that get used here earn their place. With 266 sunny days a year and one of the highest rates of skin cancer in the country, we take skincare seriously. Dr. Bronner’s has been making soap in North County since the 1960s. Sun Bum was born in Encinitas and is now on shelves in over 70 countries. The tradition runs deep.
“Living in San Diego means your skin is exposed to sun almost every day of the year,” says Sue Zhang, M.D., a San Diego physician specializing in aesthetic medicine. “The products that tend to succeed here are the ones that can keep up with daily life, UV exposure, sweat, and movement, while still supporting long-term skin health.”
From a mineral powder that solves the sunscreen-over-makeup problem to an acorn oil serum rooted in Indigenous plant medicine, the local San Diego shelf is more diverse, and comprehensive, than most of us realize.
A hydrating gel-oil hybrid that applies like a body treatment and leaves skin with a sheen that reads as healthy rather than oily. La Jolla–founded Kopari built its reputation on cold-pressed coconut oil sourced from family farms in the Philippines, and the Sun Shield Body Glow SPF is exactly that in summer form: coverage that doubles as skincare.
The name is intentional. The founder got a basal cell carcinoma diagnosis that his dermatologist caught—she’s now his business partner. The question he couldn’t shake was why the skincare industry hadn’t yet figured out how to talk to men, and 4-Skin is the answer: a premium sunscreen and skincare line built around the kind of blunt, self-aware humor that gets guys to pay attention. Men’s skincare has needed this for a long time, and the formulas are serious enough to deliver.
Carlsbad-based Coola was formulating organic SPF before “clean sunscreen” was a marketing category, and the Classic Face Sunscreen is the brand’s thesis: protection that disappears into skin and layers cleanly under makeup. Sheer and lightly hydrating, it makes sunscreen easy to reapply before an afternoon walk at Torrey Pines.
Squalane, argan, jojoba, and CoQ10: a short ingredient list that does a lot. The Glow Finishing Oil from Mission Hills wellness sanctuary Saffron and Sage is plant-based, scientifically grounded, and formulated to absorb rather than sit on the skin. The brand started as an integrative health practice where acupuncture, naturopathic care, and functional medicine share a roof, and the skincare line runs on the same philosophy.
The Restorative Skin Complex is powered by TriHex+, a patented peptide blend developed by Carlsbad-based Alastin’s team of SkinMedica veterans. It promises to clear out damaged collagen and elastin while supporting new production, the kind of gradual improvement that makes a product hard to quit.
Beldi is a multi-functional cleansing tradition rooted in Moroccan hammam culture, dating back over 12 centuries. Alia Jouj is the brand’s flagship product, and San Diego–based founder Dr. Mia Chae Reddy built a brand around it. Alia Jouj uses 100 percent organic, cold-pressed argan oil and the same ancient saponification method to produce a honey-thick liquid cleanser that softens skin without stripping it.
Acorn oil has been used by California’s Indigenous communities as plant medicine for generations. Ruth-Ann Thorn, an enrolled member of the Rincon Band of Luiseño Indians, built N8iV around it as the first Native American–owned skincare brand to reach the national mainstream. The Móyla Moon Polish, named for the Luiseño word for moon, is an exfoliant centered on acorn oil Thorn gathers herself each year from the La Jolla reservation. Find it at the Gaslamp Quarter store Thorn owns at the historic Yuma Building.
This product solved the reapplication problem. As a brush applicator, this mineral SPF goes over makeup without disturbing it, which is why it has been on derm-office retail shelves in Carlsbad and beyond for over two decades. The tinted version doubles as foundation.
This steroid-free, petroleum-free eczema treatment was built specifically for babies and toddlers (although grown-ups can use it, too). It’s centered on FDA-approved 1 percent colloidal oatmeal with a base of sunflower seed oil, beeswax, and jojoba. The “linoleic-acid-rich sunflower oil is helpful for atopic, eczema-prone skin that is often deficient in that fatty acid,” says Dr. Zhang. Gentle enough for newborns, safe for daily use, and tested by both pediatricians and dermatologists.
The Mandelic Night Serum pairs mandelic acid, an AHA derived from almonds and gentler than glycolic acid on sensitive skin, with lactic acid, niacinamide, and urea to brighten, smooth texture, and reduce breakouts overnight. Fragrance-free, vegan, cruelty-free. The brand name is the initials of the founder’s five daughters, pronounced like courage. Dr. Zhang also says she “really value[s] [the founder’s] mission to create pregnancy-safe skincare products that are both effective and wallet-friendly.”
Ingrid Yang, M.D., J.D. is a hospital-based physician in San Diego, CA, certified yoga therapist, and longevity specialist. She loves *double hearts* San Diego and spends her days helping people fully engage in long, healthy lives through evidence-based lifestyle medicine. Her books include Adaptive Yoga, Zen Mindfulness, and Hatha Yoga Asanas. When she’s not leading international wellness retreats, she is chasing sunsets, handstanding in nature, or geeking out over mitochondria.
The San Diego designer has created more than 3,000 concert posters over nearly 40 years for artists including the Rolling Stones and the Red Hot Chili Peppers
Let’s start with his name.
No, not his birth name, Craig McKenzie Haskett.
Scrojo.
When he was in high school, he and his friends were trying to come up with the perfect name for their punk band that would encapsulate all their personas. Nicaragua. The Freds.
One of his friends said he was going to go by Jimmy Stacks and called it “the perfect rock and roll name.” Their names changed so much that Haskett erupted: “Fine, I’m f—ing Scrotum Joe, the true defender of the Open West.”
Their response: Wow, that’s a great name.
As a teenager, he drew chalkboards for Del Mar’s Pannikin coffee shop and would design T-shirts for surf/skate brand Life’s a Beach. He signed the shirts with his moniker, but even in punk rebellion, who wants a shirt with the words Scrotum Joe on it? “They just cut out the ‘t-u-m,’ and the next thing you know, a client referred to me as that, and it stuck,” he says.
Scrojo could have been part of a band as iconic as The Misfits—had he been able to learn the famously cumbersome bassline to The Kingsmen’s “Louie Louie.” Becoming one of the most renowned concert poster designers—someone who quite literally designed the cover of Art of Modern Rock: The Poster Explosion—is a pretty good Plan B.
“To my knowledge, he’s done more rock posters than anybody else alive,” says Dennis King, whose D. King Gallery in Berkeley, California, serves as one of the largest private rock poster collections in the world. “He’s the hardest-working guy in the poster business.”
King not only co-authored the sequel to music historian Paul Grushkin’s The Art of Rock, but he also handles distribution and sales for all of Scrojo’s work. That’s more than 3,000 different posters over nearly 40 years. (That’s over one poster each week. For four decades straight.)
For anything from boxing matches to rodeos, posters have long been used as promotional items. Toulouse-Lautrec’s famous lithographs advertised Moulin Rouge in the late 1800s. Around the same time, Hatch Show Print in Nashville was making handbills for the Grand Ole Opry.
“I propose this: Cave paintings are the first poster art,” Scrojo says.
Rock and roll posters took off in the 1960s, when the hippie counterculture era replaced conformity and suburbia. Artists like Jimi Hendrix and the Grateful Dead used their vibrant, psychedelic prints as a form of rebellion from the mainstream. Posters were promotional, commemorative, collectible, and especially expressive.
If the name Scrojo is any indication, he doesn’t shy away from imagery that toes the line of being too provocative. He focused more on what inspired him instead of trying to be offensive for the sake of getting attention.
“Didn’t want to show it to my grandmother, but my parents were fine with it,” Scrojo says with a laugh.
“We’ve had to ask him to put a Band-Aid over a nipple every now and then,” says Chris Goldsmith, president of Belly Up Tavern in Solana Beach, where Scrojo started out and hundreds of his posters currently line the walls.
Scrojo spent six weeks at Otis College of Art and Design for a summer semester before drugs, alcohol, and a self-described lack of discipline prevented him from enrolling full time. Still, he taught himself concepts like text hierarchy and later found his niche at the Belly Up and in the surfing and skating world, working with brands like Quiksilver, Rip Curl, Scorpion Bay, and DGK.
His first concert poster was for North County band Borracho y Loco, of which Goldsmith was bass guitarist. Scrojo drew an abstract version of the Belly Up’s iconic shark with colorful calypso and tiki themes.
Early on, he would craft using a pencil, pen, non-reproduction blue pencil, X-Acto knife, rubber knife, and proportion scale to create each poster, and the finished product could take a week or even longer.
“I recommend every artist coming up to do that for like six weeks,” Scrojo says. “It forces you to think about every design decision as you’re going along.”
He has since mastered vector imagery through Adobe Illustrator to the point where, depending on the level of detail needed, he could finish two projects in a day. Still, he fills sketchbook after sketchbook to blueprint.
“I liked his line in particular, and he knows how to draw, which a lot of people don’t really know how to do these days,” King says.
Scrojo would research what each musician’s merchandise looks like to get a feel for each artist’s tone and voice. Once he has his central image in mind, he focuses on what and where to place the text.
He doesn’t have one specific style, ranging his talents from art deco to psychedelic and everything in between (and outside the lines). Want a pop surrealist comic book cartoon devil with splattered paint textures, halftone dot patterns, and pure chaos? Red Hot Chili Peppers, February 1986. Want a minimalist graphic portrait with bold strokes and graffiti text? P!nk, October 2023. Want a carnival sideshow style piece with a tasteful caricature of Jeff Bridges? The Big Lebowski, August 2011.
Scrojo calls himself a jack of all trades because he can create posters for all music genres. King calls him a chameleon for his ability to adapt his voice to new eras.
“The variety of his skillset makes it possible for us to put 50 of his posters on a wall next to each other and have it look compelling, not just a bunch of the same thing over and over,” Goldsmith says.
Some of Scrojo’s favorite posters are when he feels a personal connection to the artist or the album. He has a vivid memory as a child of being trapped in a closet filled with marijuana leaves while playing hide and seek and staring at Jimmy Cliff’s “The Harder They Come” LP. “For whatever reason, as a kid, that sparked a desire to do graphic design,” Scrojo says.
Fast forward to February 2012, Cliff is performing at Belly Up. Scrojo decided to modify Cliff’s original album cover from rainbow gradient fills to classic reggae psychedelia while preserving Cliff’s striped pants and bold hat. Cliff’s manager called him and said they wanted to use it for the rest of their tour.
“We always get artists requesting that he does their posters,” Goldsmith says. “A lot of artists don’t want venues to go all rogue because they want to control how they’re being presented. With him, they’re like, ‘Let him go nuts.’”
Matt Eisenberg is an award-winning writer and photographer based in San Diego. A former ESPN editor, his work has also been published by CNN, Bleacher Report and the New York Daily News.
KQ Aesthetic Society goes beyond cosmetic to provide comprehensive care and transformative results
Kelly H. Harfouche, founder of KQ Aesthetic Society, knows firsthand that cosmetic treatments like fillers, neurotoxins, and microneedling, can not only enhance a person’s appearance and restore confidence, they have the power to truly change a person’s life. An expert injector has the ability to tailor treatments to each individual patient’s anatomy and goals for personalized results. Harfouche, a board-certified nurse practitioner, has spent nearly a decade perfecting her craft as an aesthetic injector and integrating her multifaceted artistic skills with precision patient care. Her commitment to continual education and training, plus a passion for helping people look—and feel—their best, set KQ Aesthetic Society apart in a sea of local medspas.
For many people considering nonsurgical treatments, the intent is to look refreshed and refined. KQ Aesthetic Society’s philosophy eschews a cookie cutter approach that bases treatments around units, instead working to understand each person’s unique goals, then curating a treatment plan to fit that vision. Harfouche focuses on “inclusive luxury,” the belief that everyone deserves access to aesthetic treatments, respective of budget restrictions. She develops long-standing trusted relationships with her patients, and works with each one to achieve their aesthetic objectives and address the underlying causes of their concerns.
“For me, forming an honest and open relationship with every patient who walks through the door is essential. This means understanding them on a deeper level and meeting them where they are to define and achieve their individual goals,” she says.
Drawing on her artistic background, which inspired her transition into medical aesthetics, Harfouche sees each client as a “unique canvas.” Rather than relying on standardized procedures, the practitioner’s distinctive approach combines her profound understanding of the physiological and anatomical changes associated with aging with an unwavering commitment to ongoing education about the newest products and their mechanisms of action. Her goal is to make each patient feel beautiful in their own skin and to embrace their individuality.
She has also pioneered a way to combine her talent for aesthetic artistry with her philanthropic nature. Harfouche is one of only a handful of providers using dermal fillers to treat patients with lip asymmetry and scarring resulting from cleft lip surgery. Patients travel from around the country for this transformative treatment, noting increased confidence and a restored identity. She hopes to eventually launch a training program to help fill the void in this space.
“My passion has always been connecting with people and giving back in any capacity that I can,” she says. In the rapidly advancing landscape of aesthetic medicine, you can place your confidence in Harfouche and KQ Aesthetic Society to deliver exceptional care. To learn more or book a consultation, please visit kqaestheticsociety.com.
Dance to the American Rhythm, shop after-hours at the Summer Sera, and catch the Big Bay Boom fireworks show
Before, during, and after the Fourth of July, San Diegans can commemorate America’s 250th anniversary with an abundance of stars, stripes and local celebrations. America The Beautiful: 250 at The Rady Shell and Lamb’s Players Theatre’s revival of American Rhythm will look back at the many songs which define our country. Liberty Station’s Anchored in Freedom celebration and the Independence Day Carnival offer community-centered fun and loads of family-friendly activities. And who can possibly forget the Big Bay Boom, which will resume its reign over San Diego Bay as the state’s biggest fireworks show. Outside of the holiday festivities, this week brings the yearly return of Little Italy’s Summer Sera and the Athenaeum Summer Festival, as well as a slate of championship matches for All Elite Wrestling.
Food & Drink | Concerts & Festivals | Theater & Art Exhibits | More Fun Things to Do
Sip on refreshing beverages and savor a panoramic rooftop view this Friday from 6-8 p.m. during the 21-plus Sunset & Spritz at Margaritaville Hotel San Diego Gaslamp Quarter’s 5 O’Clock Somewhere Bar. There will be a live DJ (until 9 p.m.), appetizers, pool and cabana access, a photo booth, and a cash bar (until 11 p.m.). To accentuate the summer theme, guests are invited to dress in white, pink, and orange attire. Tickets are $29 and come with a welcome aperol spritz.
616 J Street, Gaslamp
Bring a patriotic palette to the Fairmont Grand Del Mar for The 250 Grand Tasting Menu at Amaya this Friday and Saturday from 5-8:30 p.m. Patrons will be treated to a five-course tasting menu, curated to exhibit a selection of standout regional flavors and culinary concepts that have shaped our country’s distinct food heritage. The meal will also include beverage pairings with each course, such as wine, cocktails, and artisanal drinks. Reservations are $330 per person (with tax and 20% gratuity) on OpenTable.
5300 Grand Del Mar Court, Del Mar
Don Toliver thrives at being the life of the party (and the “After Party”). His fifth album Octane, released in February, is indicative of his thrill-seeking nature. As with his earlier releases, Octane sees Toliver operating in the space between hip-hop and R&B, with warbling vocals and blaring beats that are best heard at a high volume. This Tuesday at 7:30 p.m., Toliver will play at Pechanga Arena, with rappers SoFaygo, Chase B and SahBabii—who had a guest verse on Octane standout “K9”—as special guests. Tickets start at $156 for this concert.
3500 Sports Arena Boulevard, Midway
What makes musicals like Wicked, Cats, Chicago, and Jersey Boys so timeless is the legion of excellent songs that makes fans out of those who’ve never even watched the show. This Friday at 7:30 p.m. during Blockbuster Broadway! at The Rady Shell, conductor Evan Roider, the San Diego Symphony Orchestra, and veteran vocalists Alex Getlin, Jessica Hendy, Scott Coulter, and John Boswell (also on piano) will perform an all-star theater soundtrack. In addition to the shows named above, audiences can expect songs from A Chorus Line, The Phantom of the Opera, Annie, and more. Tickets range from $57 to $129 for this concert.
222 Marina Park Way, Embarcadero
One night after recognizing the brilliance of Broadway, The Rady Shell will ring in the United States’ landmark anniversary with America The Beautiful: 250 this Saturday at 7:30 p.m. Conductor Byron Stripling, joined by a five-performer ensemble and the San Diego Symphony Orchestra, will lead a night of ballads that best resemble the red, white, and blue, including songs sourced from the Great American Songbook. After the show, concertgoers are invited to watch the nearby Big Bay Boom from their seats. Tickets range from $71 to $139 for this concert.
222 Marina Park Way, Embarcadero
Ryan Hardison is a freelance arts and entertainment writer and recent graduate of San Diego State. When he's not staring at his laptop, he's likely eating an adobada burrito or getting sunburnt at the beach.
Eighteen seconds, one unforgettable mistake, and a Fourth of July story that somehow gets better with age
There’s a famous video.
“This is insane!” the guy filming it seems to proclaim. “It’s the best fireworks show ever!” a companion confirms, inspiring a debate lasting over a decade.
All told, 7,000 fireworks exploded in the span of 25 seconds over San Diego Bay on July 4, 2012. A Michael Bay amount of unison. $125,000 worth of shells, cakes, Roman candles, and skyrockets had been placed on a barge—enough for 17 minutes of decorative sky flares—and…
Boom.
The sky looked like someone had set a giant Rorschach test on fire. Or as if whatever we all see in our Rorschachs—butterflies, clowns, tongue kissing, dads—was being electrocuted and lifted heavenward, amen. It was shocking how bright it was, how much it sizzled the local cosmos. Could’ve been one of those sci-fi films where a hole is ripped open between warring universes. But angstier, more metal—the work of some methy creator in a sleeveless concert tee.
The sound?
Lou Reed once released an entire album that contained 64 minutes of mindflaying guitar screeches and machine noises. No regular songs, just a fascinating amount of ear distress. His record label reps no doubt heard the melodic outro of their careers, but everyone else was in pain and stumped. That album still sounded better than the bay did that night. The bay sounded like a god who struggled with emotional regulation had blown his speakers and was working through the anger stage of AV grief.
In the left frame of the video, a middle-aged woman is attempting to drag her husband off by the hand. In no way does he want to go, possibly because he had missed the time Roseanne Barr sung the national anthem at a Padres game, simultaneously disemboweling and amusing America through the power of song. He would not willingly abandon an equally worthy San Diego trainwreck.
Another woman in the video appears to have just filled her beer, rushing to sit down for the show. She pauses mid-sit and returns to the full and upright position to properly bear witness. What was supposed to be prolonged entertainment has been so radically shortened that she will have to find another reason to drink. Lucky for her, drinking will be the only way to adequately process.
Locals remember the conspiracy theories. People wondered if the fuses had been tripped by a saboteur who was sympathetic to dogs, fish, or the growing suspicion that late-stage capitalism is a gorgeously branded but impossible dream sustained by remarkably efficient top-tier wealth retention and the soft compliance of fireworks-watchers who can no longer afford a house, a beer, or the personal impacts of human reproduction.
Speaking of being terrified of babies, babies were terrified. The children who witnessed it probably still can’t go near a candle store. But those kids will be tougher, perfectly scarred kids. They’ll write better songs.
That night helped us absolutely dominate the national news cycle. For a hot minute, we became America’s water-skiing squirrel. Now, years later, when you Google “fireworks gone wrong,” San Diego is always a top contender, along with that poor Nebraska family who nearly wiped out a couple generations in their front yard, their minivan somehow turning into a howitzer of recreational TNT.
There is still debate as to whether Big Bay Boom 2012 is the worst or greatest fireworks show of all time. But the advanced parts of civilization arrived at the truth as quickly as the women in the video did. It was undeniably amazing.
First of all, the point of Fourth of July fireworks isn’t “the intricate choreography of sky fire over a guaranteed amount of show time.” It’s about creating a vivid memory shared with some people you like, love, or would like to love.
BBB2012 used large-scale chemical fire to create the ultimate memory.
Sure, some people who iron their jeans subjected their family to a sermon about how San Diego managed to botch America’s birthday like a Disney princess-for-hire who smelled of quite a few Sauvignons.
The rest of us saw how perfectly it nailed the actual feeling of being an American. Because only a miniscule percentage of us bake postcard apple pies where every inch of crust is perfectly laminated like the wood in an Irish bar. Very few of us can paint on par with Picasso. The rest of us—despite truly believing in our America-activated abilities to achieve greatness in almost any field of our choosing—burn pies. We try to paint only to realize it looks like our fine motor skills have entered active death.
That’s why BBB2012 was the most perfectly American fireworks show ever: A wildly ambitious idea galvanized thousands upon thousands of people to both work on it and come to hold a beer and gawk at it, only to have it fail in the most glorious TMZ-level spectacle.
America isn’t about immaculate, storyless wins. It’s about how the framework of a country is solid enough that we can accidentally detonate our entire lives—a few times—and still probably be OK.
No one has America’d quite like San Diego did on that day. It was performance art. Lou Reed’s heart slow-clapped. Any brief municipal embarrassment quickly became a pride of our people. I can only hope the same for the Nebraskan yard family whose Dodge Aerostar became a hyperactive Death Star.
P.S. Local writer Maya Kroth compiled a quite great oral history of that night for Thrillist. The bottom lines for me were—it took nine months to prepare, no one was hurt, and even though the pyrotechnics company tried to zero out the bill, Big Bay Boom founder H. P. “Sandy” Purdon refused and paid them in full. This year will mark the 25th Anniversary of the yearly Big Bay Boom.
Troy Johnson is the magazine’s award-winning food writer and humorist, and a long-standing expert on Food Network. His work has been featured on NatGeo, Travel Channel, NPR, and in Food Matters, a textbook of the best American food writing.
A look at San Diego's top designers creating unique environments that combine creativity and function
AVRP Studios’ tradition for Design Excellence and Innovation began in 1976 with Doug Austin, FAIA, in Solana Beach, California. The firm has since grown to complete major projects throughout the United States and Canada. We think of ourselves as a family and we care deeply about people. We want to inspire, help make their lives richer and more complete through our efforts. We believe that architecture is one of the most important art forms because of the impact it can have on the lives of those it touches. We’re delighted to have been recognized with over 150 awards for design excellence.
703 16th Street, Suite 200, San Diego, California 92101 | 619-704-2700 | avrpstudios.com
