Within the span of a few hours, I had settled into my Hell's Kitchen hotel room and prepared for not one but two interviews that night. Admittedly, I was flustered upon my arrival at the Cafeteria. For almost 30 years, Cafeteria has and remains an iconic New York institution in the heart of Chlesea, welcoming everyone from out-of-towners to notable New Yorkers to enjoy drinks, delights, and a damn good time. Like the establishment, DJ Lina Bradford is another one of New York's institutions, an iconic tastemaker of sound and an enduring presence of the citys nightlife.Calm conversations and cocktail lounge music wafted in the air in the main dining lounge. A staffer escorted me to the PDR, a dedicated private dining area used every Friday for Linas weekly residency. The air was electrified with laughter and the clinks of martini glasses. And in the center of it all was a tall, glowing woman with an incandescent smile framed by brown-blonde tousled hair. I had officially entered the space where Lina held her court. And like any good hostess, she welcomed me and anyone who entered with utmost courtesy. Love and light is what I'm all about, Bradford says at the start of the interview. That's been the first check in the gig. And what a gigor, rather, several gigsshes had over the years. Bradfords mythos reads like a bedtime story penned by Grace Jones and Michelle Visage over martinis: born and raised across the street from Carnegie Hall, raised by a grandmother who marched in the S&M contingent of New York City Pride when Pride still felt like a protest, and coached by nightlife legends who believed a good record could cure heartbreak on the dance floor. A Carnegie Hall ChildhoodGrowing up with windows that opened onto one of the worlds most venerated stages might turn any kid into a diva, but for Bradford, it was like graduate school. I was an only child always around older people, so I paid attention, she recalls. You dont know where youre going if you dont know where you came fromhave engagement with your predecessors, the people who got you here, stuff that you cant Google. Between afternoon people-watching the rush outside Carnegie to tagging along with her grandmother to legendary spots like Paradise Garage, the young Lina learned two rules: A dance floor should be a blend of humanity, and the beat better have soul. From Pointe Shoes to Pitch ControlBradfords first love was dance. She moved as if her life depended on it, which, spiritually speaking, it did. Then in 1997, fateor rather a darepushed her behind the turntables. I never thought about being a DJ; it was never on my radar. So I took the Pepsi Challenge and said, Why not? she laughs. In many ways, her dance lessons are still applied to the turntables, proudly proclaiming that she is a DJ who dances with the music and mentally crafts an arc from one song to another a kinetic approach that makes it even more worthwhile to enjoy it in person. If Im not gonna get off [on the dance floor], youre not gonna get off, she retorts. That philosophy is audible in every set with plush, vocal-heavy house rather than the pots and pans of soulless EDM. Bradford cites mentors like the late Frankie Knuckles and other saints of the sacred 4/4 as guiding spirits. Music was amazing back thensoulful house music, she says. Im gonna hit you on that level before anything. Limelight Lessons & Sunday Sermons on Fire Island American dance band Deee-Lite: (from left) Lady Miss Kier, Supa DJ Dmitry, and Towa Tei arrive at The Limelight nightclub, New York City, 1991Vinnie Zuffante/Getty ImagesAsk any nightlife historian about New Yorks Club Kid era, and youll hear tales of bold fashion and late-night parties that bled into breakfast unannounced. For Lina, those electric nights were a master class in plurality. You never knew who you were gonna meet, she reminisces, It was about what you were bringing. Whether that was going to the Roxy and randomly seeing Linda Evangelista on a swing, or bumping into the likes of Christy Turlington at another club, New York was fun and fabulous.The early 90s was a really fun, fabulous time. That energy still guides her 2025 sets, dropping tracks full of Black queer lineage from the heart of Chelsea to the Pines. For more than a decade, Bradford has hosted a weekend tea dance in Fire Island Pines that has become akin to queer church. Its within these sacred spaces that she blesses the crowd with music they wont typically hear on the airwaves. That party was special because it was classics, Lina says. She doesnt give you commercialunless she gives it to you as a remixbut always makes room to throw in a Ross track. She now brings that sonic sermon to the airwaves every Sunday for "Sunset On The Porch with DJ Lina, on Sirius XMs Andy Cohens Kiki Lounge channel. Building a Benetton Dance Floor When the White House Correspondents Dinner booked Bradford in 2022, some wondered how a DJ known for soulful house would translate for senators in bow ties. She approached the gig in the same way she once staged elaborate Barbie storylines Lina is an avid Barbie collector with the art of curation paramount in every situation. For her, its not so much a challenge as finding new ways to spread love through music. That might mean slipping a deep-house remix under a radio hit, coaxing the room toward something they didnt know they wanted. That curators touch extends back to her weekly Cafeteria sets, where Gen Z fashion kids share space with Club Kid veterans. Youre gonna get an education if you don't know what this music is, Bradford promises, her grin equal parts fairy godmother and mischievous counselor. Post-pandemic nightlife remains a construction site: some scaffolding, some hope, plenty of caution tape. What does a truly inclusive dance floor look like? It looks like the Colors of Benetton, Lina quips. And that sentiment holds. Many spaces, whether temporarily built for our safety or otherwise, are often filled homogeneously. Inclusion, she argues, demands more than just flacking fans in the air: its showing up for Black and Brown queer folks, not just borrowing aesthetics and culture to fit your clubsor faces. Crowned by the City She Calls HomeThis summer, NYC Pride named Lina one of its grand marshals: a full-circle moment for a Manhattan kid who marched in the earlier parades. Im humbled, she says, pausing to let the weight settle. My first gig in this life was to meet people and bring them together. To now have the community-driven honor bestowed upon her is a heartfelt moment. Im giving you a Sally [Field] moment. You really like me. You're really seeing me. It's moving.Her legacy and mic work may be part of her nomination. In a year when trans rights feel perpetually under siege, she sees promise in the next generations political vigor. These kids? They're not about the nonsense, she asserts, pointing to Gen Zs refusal to tolerate legislative assaults. And the reason why these [politicians] are doing the most is because their dinosaurs, about ready to be extinct, so they got to do the most. Her advice? Stay informed, pick your battles, and dont forget to cackle and kiki along the way. Grab your popcorn, she jokes, we got this. When I tease that her policy riffs sound downright mayoral, she laughsToo busy, sugar. But theres a sincerity beneath the sparkle. Bradford embodies the activist-entertainer lineage of queer nightlife: part preacher, part professor, always ready with a read. Her advice for the up-and-comers in todays nightlife and social scene? Remember where you came from. A lot of these kids think that they've invented the wheel, she says, not unkindly. Talk to your elders. Talk to the people who got you here. The Gospel According to LinaWhen asked what she would tell little Lina, she doesnt miss a beat. Girl, you got this, she says with eyes glistening. Everything that you have dreamt about with your Barbiesyou manifested itI always knew, and I was very nurtured from the jump. Lina Bradford doesnt just spin records; she turns a centrifuge that whips heartache into hope and rage into rhythm. In a season where lawmakers legislate who gets to exist on the floor, she cranks the volume on existence itself, reminding us that jubilation is a birthright, not a luxury. Her booth is a pulpit, and the sermon is simple: keep moving. Move your hips even when the headlines hurt. Move your wallet toward Black trans folks doing the work. Move the rope lines so that people of all shapes, sizes, and colors can participate. Because if Lina has taught New York anything, its that the dance floor is a rehearsal room for the world we deserve; one powered by the throb of a shared humanity. So the next time the city or life feels too heavy, follow the bass to Cafeteria, to Fire Island, to whichever frequency shes blessing that night. And as long as Lina is on the deck, every beat is a joyful promise that our brightest future is already dancing beside us. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Carmine Soprano (@carmine__soprano)