The death of a DJ: after local legend's passing, friends rally to send his body home to Tanzania

The death of a DJ: after local legend’s passing, friends rally to send his body home to Tanzania

Known for his larger-than-life presence perceptible well beyond the many DJ booths he occupied for over 20 years in Spokane, beloved local DJ Fred “Freaky Fred” Mhidze died earlier this month. He was 44.

“Spokane lost a legend,” said friend Shaun Rhames.

Mhidze, who emigrated to the Inland Northwest from Tanzania to attend the University of Idaho, was a “pillar” of the nightlife scene through those years, those who knew him said. He paved a way for himself and other young DJs in the club scene before there was much of one in Spokane, eventually becoming a regular at several local haunts. In his final years, Mhidze could be found behind the DJ booth at Borracho Tacos & Taquileria and downtown bar Night Owl or spinning records to accompany the weekly adult skating night at Pattison’s North Skating Center, a recurring series owner Shaun Pattison credited Mhidze for starting and popularizing.

Pattison often jokes Mhidze is like the “unofficial mayor” of Spokane because of his vast connections. A friend, Michaelangelo Kiehn, described him as a “community celebrity” in his club scene circles.

“He loved that he could make people feel something that he was feeling through the music,” said friend and roommate Amanda Linarte.

Mhidze died of diabetic ketoacidosis, according to the funeral home responsible for his remains. Linarte found him in his room in her basement where he evidently died in his sleep, she said.

Mhidze is remembered as a gregarious man who knew the perfect tunes for every vibe, his friends said. He met tons of people over his years in the club scene, his friends said, and thousands would likely call him a friend. Still, there’s sides to Mhidze that you wouldn’t know from an encounter at the DJ booth: a savvy businessman, a surprisingly domestic helper at home and someone with deep ties to his culture in Tanzania.

It’s the latter that has launched his closest friends into a new endeavor in his honor: get Fred home. In Tanzanian culture, Fred’s body can’t be cremated; he’s to be buried in his home country. To fly his remains back home is a costly effort of around $20,000, and his friends are determined to make that happen.

“A lot of us just want his family to suffer less,” Kiehn said.

Mhidze’s effect on Spokane’s nightlife scene is extensive, his friends said. Throughout more than two decades spent in the Inland Northwest, he aimed to “inject fun in Spokane,” Kiehn said.

“He did what he did, and he was happy with it, and he made a lot of people happy,” Kiehn said. “I think that his goal was just to get the party going.”

For this mission, Mhidze linked arms with Kiehn and entrepreneur Shaun Rhames.

None in the trio were originally from the area. When they met in the mid-2000s as transplants in the city, Spokane was “pretty boring,” Kiehn said. There wasn’t much in the way of a weeknight club scene.

For the three who worked odd schedules outside the 9 to 5 weekday shifts, they sought to change it. The three approached local nightclubs in Spokane and North Idaho, many that have since shuttered, like Hogfish, the Mar Quee Lounge and Trick Shot Dixie’s. They offered to host weeknight events that were hits from the jump, Kiehn said.

“It was so cool to be in our young 20s and be the cool kids and be responsible for a lot of fun stuff in Spokane,” Kiehn said. “We were pretty popular, but Fred was just so happy all the time.”

Kiehn recalled a sort of guerilla approach to marketing: spreading homemade fliers around downtown lightposts and parked cars, telling of house parties or events at clubs that Mhidze would DJ. The trio formed a group called “T.A.S.T.Y.” to promote the functions, a brand that became synonymous with late night fun and unique music.

Mhidze spun just about everything under the sun, his friends said. He used actual vinyl in his sets, a sort of lost art among DJs who more often use digital technology in their acts. After enough of these functions, the name “Freaky Fred” was enough to draw a crowd.

“He was a maestro, and anyone that knew him loved him because he would just sit up there and, with his heavy accent, get the party going,” Kiehn said.

It was the same skills behind the booth that made Mhidze adept at building friendships with just about anyone he encountered. Just as he could read a room and know exactly the right songs to spin, he knew how to make anyone feel special and loved with even a brief encounter.

“It’s special to me that they felt that close to him just from those interactions,” Linarte said. “It speaks loudly to the type of person that he was.”

An announcement of Mhidze’s death on Pattison’s Facebook post drew over a thousand interactions. People his closest friends never heard of flooded socials with photos and memories with the man.

Though prolific in the nightlife scene, close friends counted themselves lucky to get to know his other sides. He graduated from the University of Idaho’s business school with a degree in information systems, intending to return to Tanzania with his American education to work in his family’s business there.

Instead, he was fascinated with American culture and nightlife and decided to stick around. Mhidze used his sharp business acumen to promote events, helping to build his brand and in turn promoting up-and-coming DJs in the area. He kept up his schooling with business classes at Eastern Washington University.

Mhidze was also generous, Rhames said. He would often tie his functions to a cause, like breast cancer cure fundraising or advocacy around autism, causes important to his friends.

Rhames, whose mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, built a clothing brand to fund raise with Mhidze’s business consultation. The two were part of a group of a dozen businessmen known as the “Pink Tie Guys,” men dedicated to awareness and fundraising for breast cancer research.

On more than one occasion, he bought groceries for struggling friends, Rhames said.

“He had the biggest heart,” Rhames said, adding he’d regularly buy hundreds of tacos for partiers on nights out or treat the whole bar to shots. “I think he just wanted to help in any way he could.”

In 2024, Linarte let him live in the basement of the home she owns with her three kids. There wasn’t anything romantic between the two, she said; he just needed a place to land.

It brought out a sort of domestic side few got to witness. Among her fondest memories is watching the DJ assemble a trampoline in her backyard – fumbling with the poles and frustrated until he had the thing built, to the delight of her kids. He’d help with homework or take the dog out when asked, Linarte said.

When their schedules allowed, the unit would gather for family dinners – often ordering curry or pho takeout, Mhidze’s favorite.

“We call him ‘Home Fred’ versus ‘Work Fred,’ ” Linarte said.

She’ll miss Mhidze’s presence in her home, still recalling his signature response of “Yo!” from down her basement steps whenever she would call out to him.

As Mhidze aged into his 40s, he continued to DJ as his followers and friends met in the club scene grew younger. He held onto his youth to the end, Kiehn said.

“Fred never ‘used to’ be cool; that guy was always cool, man,” Kiehn said. “He never gave it up. He never boomered out. He never turned into an ‘unc’.”

In the weeks since his passing, his circle is planning fitting tributes to their freaky friend, also a fundraising effort to bring him home. A celebration of life at one of his favorite haunts will draw many who have outgrown their partying ways back to the dance floor. Many of the clubs he spun at now have donation jars for the effort.

“It’s going to be weird,” Kiehn said of one of the celebrations. “This will be my first event that Fred’s not going to be attending.”

On Sunday, Pattison’s will host their weekly adult skate night as a tribute to Mhidze. It’ll be odd without the pioneering entertainer, but a crowd is expected.