On a drizzly Sunday evening in March, Dupont Circle was mostly quiet—except for the thumping bass that reverberated from Eighteenth Street Lounge, where DEAR MAMA, a fundraiser for local DJ Vanniety Kills, was in full swing.

Friends, fans, and music lovers packed the townhouse, moving through each room dedicated to major events the DJ had hosted. It’s part of a months-long fundraising effort for Vanniety Kills—the creator of D.C. dance events Cadence and the OverEasy Tea Dance—who suffered a traumatic brain injury in October that put her deejaying career on hold.

Fifty-four donors at the event offered thousands of dollars worth of prizes, including customized artwork, gift certificates, and salon services. More than 250 guests came out to show their support, raising $10,000 from the event alone.

Although she couldn’t be there in person, her positive spirit was alive in every room as guests embraced and danced to the music.

“It feels like family,” says Chelsea Severson, a close friend of the DJ. “It’s just an incredible community where people look out for each other.”

Before she became Vanniety Kills, the “Mama” of several District dance events was simply Annie Nguyen. She earned her nickname from friends several years ago after giving “motherly advice” whenever they got together. A listener and nurturer, Nguyen had always been an ardent supporter of her friends in the local music scene.

Born in Massachusetts and raised in Virginia, Nguyen was drawn to the District ever since she was young, often driving into the city with her brother to check out music venues when they were teens. She graduated from Virginia Commonwealth University with a bachelor’s degree in biology before earning her doctorate in pharmacy at Hampton University School of Pharmacy. Nguyen became a clinical pharmacist serving veterans, active-duty military, and their dependents at Walter Reed military hospital in Bethesda for 13 years.

Even while she specialized in medication therapy management, music was always a major part of her life.

“I was always mesmerized by how the DJ could take you on a journey, and those journeys saved me many times as I tried to figure out my place in this world,” Nguyen tells DCist via email. Her injury makes it hard to verbally communicate. “So after many years of being on the dancefloor experiencing and watching, I finally decided to give it a try.”

During her decade-long deejaying career, Nguyen created three major recurring events in the D.C. dance scene: The House That U Built, which features house music; Cadence, which features drum and bass at Flash and other venues; and OverEasy Tea Dance on Sunday afternoons at Dodge City, which features dance pop music (a genre she calls her guilty pleasure).

For Nguyen, it was about more than the music: It was about building community. She always introduced herself to guests and thanked them for coming. Severson went to many of Nguyen’s events and was impressed by how she relates to people of different backgrounds.

“People are smiling at each other and have their arms around each other,” Severson says. “It makes you want to carry that feeling for the rest of your life.”

As a queer woman in the dance scene, Nguyen’s friends say that she would often have discussions with club owners and bouncers to ensure that everyone felt comfortable at her events.

“It’s about creating those safe spaces for these communities,” says Rebecca Graham, one of Nguyen’s long-time friends. “[Nguyen] focuses on safety, diversity, and inclusion on top of having a good time and being able to let go.”

“Believe it or not, I used to be very, very shy (and still am at times), so ensuring a warm, open, positive environment is important to me,” Nguyen says. “Sometimes just smiling and listening makes a difference in getting to know someone.”

Jeff Hancock, a local DJ who goes by DJ Freefall, met Nguyen after he heard her deejaying aggressive drum and bass at Flash. He says he was surprised to see her, a small Asian woman, “rocking the house.” They became fast friends after that.

“A lot of deejays always want to play music, but they’re not always the best organizers,” Hancock says. “[Nguyen] comes with a good level of organization and is kinda helping the existing dance community scene become even tighter.”

That all came to a halt when Nguyen was injured by a falling object while deejaying an event in October 2018. Nguyen says she doesn’t feel comfortable sharing additional details due to privacy concerns. The injury occurred just a few years after she experienced another traumatic brain injury in July 2015.

“She can’t enjoy life like you and I do at all,” Severson says. “She can’t listen to music, she can’t watch a movie. That’s really painful for her.”

Since her injury, Nguyen has been unable to work. Even walking down the hall has become a challenging experience, and she doesn’t really go out anymore unless it’s to her medical and therapy appointments, Severson says.

Lisa Marie Thalhammer, the artist behind D.C.’s LOVE mural in Blagden Alley, is friends with Nguyen and knows firsthand how a concussion can affect day-to-day life—she’s suffered a similar injury.

“It drains your energy,” Thalhammer says. “Being a music lover like Annie, not being able to listen to music can be so soul-crushing and difficult.”

Severson and other friends of Nguyen arranged a GoFundMe for the DJ to help pay for her medical and living expenses while she’s out of work. They’re also behind the fundraiser at Eighteenth Street Lounge.

Nguyen’s younger brother Louis, a member of the electronic dance music group Autograf, was one of the performers at the event. He and Nguyen had always been connected by music, and Louis performed a tribute to her at the fundraiser, spinning tracks like The Human League’s “Don’t You Want Me Baby,” Sneaker Pimps’ “Spin Spin Sugar,” and “Jolene” by Dolly Parton. Nguyen hand-picked the songs, and Louis says she cried because she hadn’t listened to them in so long.

Having played to audiences at major music festivals like Coachella and Lollapalooza, Louis doesn’t usually get nervous before playing events. This time was different: He practiced before going onstage, something he normally would never do. He wanted to make sure he could deliver the spirit of what she wanted into the community, even though Nguyen, his role model, couldn’t be there.

“It was bigger than just another party,” Louis says. “It had meaning, which was powerful.”

Nguyen says knowing that she brought the dance community closer is “a beautiful thing,” and she hopes to perform again someday.

“I’ve been inspired by so many people, and knowing that my community keeps going while I’m away is reassuring, because I know it will be there for me when I’m ready to go back,” Nguyen says.

Even though Nguyen still struggles from day to day, Severson says that she’s noticed a boost of positive energy from Nguyen after seeing the vast support from friends and family. She’s laughing a lot more and making more jokes, Severson says. Her friends are still raising funds for her recovery on GoFundMe—so far, fans and friends have donated more than $12,000.

For Nguyen’s part, she doesn’t think she has ‘fans’ (but if she did, she says she’d call them a ‘fANNIE pack’). Rather, she says, she’s part of an “incredible, caring community.”

“Let’s keep loving and supporting each other the best we can and always keep dancing and prancing,” she says.