I came across them one night, sitting in the grass at Kanawha Plaza. Two men, buckets stacked like makeshift toms, a lone snare resting in one lap, framed by the warm glow skyline of downtown Richmond. Beside them, a sign made the economics clear: VENMO DRUMKEEM. PAYPAL DRUMMERVA. CASHAPP DRUMKING7.
They weren’t playing yet. Just waiting. Watching. Listening for the music to end at the new Allianz Amphitheater, where a few thousand people were about to spill out.
I took their photo. Asked a few questions; something I’d never managed before, because usually when I see them, they’re already in it. Focused. Working. I turned to bring someone over for an intro, but when I looked back, they were gone.
Already ghosts again. Back in motion. Off to catch the let-out crowd. Because that’s the real show, the part where people are loose, wallets open, and still vibing with whatever they just felt inside.
That’s how it goes with The Bukit Hedz.
You’ve heard them. Everyone has. You just didn’t know their name. Their beat floats outside venues, festivals, and block parties. No permits. No stage. Just sound, sweat, and hustle. They’ve been part of Richmond’s street-level soundtrack for over two decades.
Rakeem Bruce and his friend Owen are two of the remaining crew still out here, still playing. “We started back in 2003,” Rakeem tells me. “There were six of us then. Most still play, but now we split into twos. Different spots, different cities.”
That’s how you make it work, spread out to cover more ground. You don’t wait for opportunities. You move toward them.
Rakeem didn’t plan on this life. Like most real stories, it just kind of happened. “I picked it up in church, around family,” he says. “I was on the Southside. Didn’t even know how to drum. They needed one, pointed at a drum, so I went for it.”
But the real turning point for Rakeem came late one night.
“There was this guy named Mark Mills,” Rakeem tells me. “Lived in Jackson Ward. I was a kid. Came outside one night and saw him just out there, drumming in front of my crib. Three in the morning—in the middle of the projects. No crowd. Just him and a bucket. It was odd, man. But that stuck with me.”
A man making noise in the dark might look crazy. Or he might be carving a way out.
Richmond’s bucket drumming tradition goes back decades. Rakeem says the ’90s for sure, maybe earlier. “Mark and his brother were some of the first. Then you had Ram Bhagat and Drums No Guns out in the West End. They’re still doing it. Back then, there were like three groups. We all knew each other.”
This isn’t just noise for tips. It’s a form of folk art. Street-level economy.
Nowadays, The Bukit Hedz move with intent. “We check all the schedules,” Owen says. “Not just Richmond. New York, Atlanta, North Carolina, Texas. Wherever there’s a crowd, that’s where we go.”
I ask, with all the music happening this summer, is this your money time?
“This is our money time,” Rakeem says. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t brag. Just says it like he’s checking the forecast.
Because when the music ends inside and the crowd stumbles out full of beer and basslines, that’s when the real work starts. Buckets. Sticks. Pavement. A few hard-earned dollars if the mood’s right.
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