How Broccoli City built an experience around access, culture and community

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Before Brandon McEachern and partners built Broccoli City into a nationally recognized cultural platform, he searched for a gathering place where music, entrepreneurship, wellness and community could occupy the same space. During the blog era, when discovery moved through sites such as 2DopeBoyz and artists could become movements before radio caught up, he saw an opening.

“At the time, I didn’t see anything that actually was geared toward us,” McEachern told Newsweek, recalling the conversations that shaped Broccoli City around 2009 and 2010. “I was like, man, it would be dope if we just created something that was really for us.”

A clothing line supplied the name, Earth Day supplied the occasion, and Los Angeles supplied the first stage; although some people associated “Broccoli City” with marijuana, McEachern had already begun imagining a broader civic identity, one in which organic living, local commerce and a culturally fluent lineup could reinforce one another.

“People thought it was weed,” he said. “We were like, ‘Nah, this is really about community.’ ”

The inaugural Los Angeles event featured Dom Kennedy, Kendrick Lamar, Casey Veggies and Pac Div, artists whose momentum reflected the restless creativity of the era; when McEachern later moved the concept to Washington, D.C., Big K.R.I.T. headlined its first edition there, while vendors, juices and emerging clothing labels gave the festival a commercial and social life beyond the stage.

“It was health, community, wellness, and it was also good entertainment,” McEachern said.

Programming Across a Cultural Spectrum

As Broccoli City expanded, McEachern learned a lineup could not rely on whichever rap acts occupied the center of the conversation. If the festival intended to reflect its audience, its booking had to account for the range of sounds, styles and experiences in the community, and women needed a more visible place in the mix.

“We need women in the mix,” he said, explaining why the festival began pairing hip-hop with R&B, alternative music and artists who were beginning to break through.

One edition brought H.E.R., Daniel Caesar, Nipsey Hussle, Migos and Cardi B onto the same bill; another paired Jhené Aiko, Anderson .Paak, The Internet and Sango, while earlier bookings introduced audiences to Kaytranada before his wider ascent, and each combination was meant to feel intentional even when the artists occupied different corners of contemporary music.

“Black people are all through the spectrum,” McEachern said. “Some of us like hard rap; some of us like conscious rap.”

Because taste changes quickly, especially as a festival’s founders grow older alongside an audience whose habits keep moving, McEachern said the team remains close to younger listeners, asks what is resonating, and uses those answers to keep the programming grounded.

“We were really trying to touch all those different pockets of our people,” he said.

Making Live Music Affordable

Access became the word McEachern returned to most often, because a festival can build cultural credibility and book coveted talent, yet its purpose narrows when the intended audience cannot afford to enter. Having grown up in Greensboro, North Carolina, he remembers arriving in Los Angeles and confronting prices that felt detached from everyday life.

“I’m from North Carolina,” he said. “I moved to Los Angeles, and I’m like, ‘Hold on, bruh. It costs how much?’ ”

Artist guarantees, production costs and venue expenses helped explain the economics once he entered the booking business, although understanding the math did not erase the problem; Broccoli City therefore leaned on sponsors and public partners, whose support allowed the team to lower ticket prices while preserving the caliber of the experience.

“There’s no reason to do this stuff, especially in our communities, if our people can’t go and attend and have a good time,” McEachern said. “I don’t want you to have to decide, ‘Am I gonna pay my rent or am I gonna go see somebody?’ ”

For Holding Hands, an R&B-led experience within the Broccoli City universe, AT&T’s involvement helped make $25 tickets possible; when McEachern describes the goal, he speaks less about discounting entertainment than about removing the calculation that can drain spontaneity from a night out.

“We’re reading the room,” he said. “People are going through it.”

The team refused to compromise on talent, McEachern said, because affordability would mean little if audiences felt the offering had been diminished; Summer Walker and the rest of the Holding Hands bill needed to deliver value that exceeded the price, even as partners absorbed costs behind the scenes.

A Place to See Yourself

Music draws people through the gates, though McEachern measures the festival’s impact through what happens between performances: attendees meet future collaborators, local vendors reach customers, content creators find material, and people move through a crowd where shared reference points make conversation easier.

“I know people who have started whole businesses because they met their business partner at Broccoli City,” he said.

The atmosphere, he said, combines the reunion energy of an HBCU homecoming with the scale and discovery of a music festival; because the audience can recognize itself across the grounds, the experience carries an ease that is difficult to manufacture through branding alone.

“It feels very historically Black college-ish mixed with a regular music festival,” McEachern said. “You’re looking to your left and you’re looking to your right and you’re seeing yourself.”

Holding Hands carries those cues into an amphitheater, where attendees can sit, wear the shoes they want and spend more of the day focused on the performance; its programming also widened the invitation through artists and partnerships representing parts of the community that live events have not always centered.

“It’s all inclusive of everybody,” McEachern said.

He recalled Anderson. Paak’s 2016 appearance, after which the singer’s manager said he had never performed before so many Black people; for McEachern, the moment clarified why culturally specific spaces can remain welcoming to everyone while still being created with a particular community in mind.

Building Commerce, Careers and Confidence

Broccoli City’s marketplace follows the same philosophy, since a platform large enough to showcase artists can also create commerce for entrepreneurs; when vendors sell clothing, food and other products, the festival begins to function like the city in its name, and money circulates among people who might otherwise struggle to reach a concentrated audience.

“We got platforms for the artists,” McEachern said. “Why wouldn’t we have a platform for young entrepreneurs?”

BroccoliCon extended the idea into professional development, where aspiring organizers could learn the practical language of decks, one-sheets and sponsorships, while young creatives could meet executives whose careers made unfamiliar possibilities visible; later editions moved toward job-fair programming because McEachern wanted attendees to leave with more than inspiration.

“You can’t be what you don’t see,” he said. “Our job is to uplift. It’s not to gatekeep.”

Taking the Model Beyond Washington

McEachern believes the Holding Hands model can travel to cities where major cultural events remain scarce, provided a strong sponsor, an established venue and local partners can align; an amphitheater reduces the infrastructure costs of a traditional festival, while a focused bill of four or five artists can still create an event with scale, identity and room for local performers.

“Absolutely,” he said when asked whether the approach could work elsewhere. “We need some good acts, and we would love to work with the local community.”

Expansion, however, depends on audiences recognizing their role in the ecosystem, because responses shared after an event can influence the next sponsor, the next city and the next affordable ticket; praise, criticism and testimonials all become evidence when organizers argue for continued investment.

“If you had a good time, say that,” McEachern said. “Say that you met somebody outstanding.”

For the North Carolina native, the principle that has guided Broccoli City from an organic T-shirt line toward a network of festivals, conferences and community initiatives is that live entertainment can create pleasure, opportunity and proof of concept at once, although each outcome relies on people choosing to participate and then telling others why the space mattered.

“There needs to be more Broccoli Cities,” McEachern said. “More experiences from our vantage point.”

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