Two West Coast rap legends are opening cannabis dispensaries in California within weeks of each other. Xzibit goes first. Snoop comes home.

West Coast hip-hop has always had a complicated, generative relationship with cannabis. Two of its most enduring figures are now making that relationship literal — and building businesses around it.

Xzibit opens the third location of his Xzibit’s West Coast Cannabis brand this Saturday, April 18, in Marina del Rey. Three weeks later, on May 9, Snoop Dogg opens S.W.E.D. Long Beach — his second California dispensary and his first business in his hometown.

Xzibit: XWCC Marina

XWCC Marina, located at 3452 W Washington Blvd in Marina del Rey, is Xzibit’s most ambitious retail location yet. The brand launched its first store in Bel Air in 2024, followed by a second in Chatsworth. The Marina del Rey flagship is designed around Xzibit’s creative vision — a lounge-style space blending cannabis, art and culture in what the brand describes as a one-stop destination.

“At all XWCC locations, we’re pushing cannabis culture forward,” Xzibit said. “Each store is uniquely built as a reflection of my life, creativity, and west coast culture.”

The grand opening takes place Saturday morning at 9 AM with a ribbon-cutting ceremony, brand activations and local vendor participation.

Snoop Dogg: S.W.E.D. Long Beach

S.W.E.D. — Smoke Weed Every Day — already has locations in Los Angeles and Amsterdam. The Long Beach store, at 2115 E. 10th Street, is a different kind of opening. Long Beach is where Snoop grew up, and the store’s design reflects that explicitly: street-inspired visuals, references to the Hood Rich Lowrider, retro arcade games, two live DJ booths, a personal lounge and a hologram of Snoop himself.

“Long Beach made me who I am,” Snoop said. “Opening S.W.E.D. in Long Beach is my way of showing love to the community that showed love to me. We’re creating jobs, opportunities, and a space that celebrates the culture.”

The grand opening on May 9 is a 21+ event, or 18+ with a valid medical recommendation. Snoop will be present for a ceremonial ribbon cutting.

Two artists, one industry

What both openings share is a deliberate rootedness — stores built to reflect the artists’ actual lives and communities rather than generic dispensary aesthetics. Xzibit has described XWCC as an extension of his creative DNA. Snoop is framing S.W.E.D. Long Beach explicitly around job creation and community investment, tying the opening to the city’s Grow Long Beach Economic Blueprint.

Neither is a first store. Xzibit is on his third location. Snoop’s Long Beach opening is his second California store. These are scaling businesses, not celebrity experiments — and both are landing in the same state, in the same month, as California’s legal cannabis market continues to find its footing against persistent pressure from the illicit market.

S.W.E.D. Long Beach opens May 9 at 2115 E. 10th Street, Long Beach. XWCC Marina opens April 18 at 3452 W Washington Blvd, Marina del Rey.

<p>The post Two Legends, Two Dispensaries: Snoop Dogg and Xzibit Expand Their Cannabis Brands in California first appeared on High Times.</p>

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By Sasha Nutgent, VP of Cannabis Retail at Housing Works Cannabis Co

Five years after New York created the Office of Cannabis Management (OCM), the state’s legal cannabis industry is still finding its footing.

When New York created the OCM, it felt like the state had a chance to rewrite the cannabis playbook and address many of the harms created by the War on Drugs. With lessons learned from markets like Colorado and California, the hope was that New York could build an adult-use system that worked differently.

From where we sit today, the reality proved more complicated. The last five years were defined by urgency, growing pains, and real setbacks—but also resilience, learning, and a cannabis community that refuses to give up on the vision that brought us here.

Opening Under Pressure

At Housing Works Cannabis Co.—the first licensed adult-use dispensary in the state—we’ve had a front-row seat to both the chaos and the progress. We opened at the end of 2022 under circumstances no retailer would ever plan for. To meet the state’s goal of launching legal adult-use cannabis sales before 2023, the retail team had roughly one month to hire and train staff, learn brand-new regulations, finalize a lease, and build a fully compliant operation.

It was chaotic. There’s no other way to put it.

At the same time, it was historic. Customers were excited. Brands were eager. There was a real sense that we were part of something bigger than ourselves. But behind the scenes, systems were still being built. Regulations were vague, and getting help to understand them was challenging. Many operators, particularly those from social equity pathways, had to navigate dense regulations on their own, without consultants or legal teams to guide them.

The whole state was building the car, publicly, as it was being driven. 

The Struggles No One Likes to Admit

Let’s be honest: The car isn’t a luxury ride, and the road is rough. Despite generating over 2.5 billion in sales, profit margins are razor-thin as there are currently over 582 adult-use dispensaries in the state, and competition is steep.  

Staffing’s a constant challenge. Unlicensed businesses proliferated in the early days, undercutting the legal operators. Compliance often feels like trying to hit a moving target. Major changes, like the sudden rollout of the mandatory track-and-trace system METRC last year, were introduced with little warning and aggressive deadlines. Everyone, from retailers to brands, struggled to adopt an entirely new system over the holidays when most “mainstream” retailers were winding down. 

For many license holders, especially smaller businesses, this created serious financial strain. Some never recovered.

The original equity vision behind New York’s rollout hasn’t fully materialized. At nearly every Cannabis Control Board meeting, operators voiced frustration about delays that kept licensed businesses from opening. As soon as large multistate operators began entering the state, support for small and social-equity businesses declined. Many license holders found themselves carrying debt, sometimes in the millions, for stores they weren’t allowed to open on time, and that reality has been heartbreaking to watch—and impossible to ignore.

What’s Actually Improved

Despite all of that, things have gotten better.

One of the most meaningful changes has been communication. The OCM isn’t perfect, but it’s easier to get support than it was at the start. Questions that once took months to answer now often get responses within a week. Guidance is clearer for brands and retailers alike. 

That may sound small, but in a heavily regulated industry, clarity is everything.

Brand relationships have also matured. Early on, there were fewer brands and little capacity for education or in-store activations. The focus was simply getting products on the shelf. Today, brands like Back Home Cannabis, Florist Farms, Ayrloom, and Foy are more sophisticated and commit resources to retail partnerships and consumers alike. They have teams, marketing strategies, and a real interest in customer engagement. It means retailers can be more intentional about who they partner with, resulting in collaborations where both parties are vested in sell-through. 

A Smarter Cannabis Consumer

That partnership is needed, as New York cannabis consumers have changed dramatically since the first sale in December of 2022.

In the beginning, most people walked in asking for the highest THC percentage, full stop. That kind of shopping makes quality inconsistent and makes it harder to build brand loyalty.

The mindset shifted. Consumers aren’t just buying THC anymore; they’re buying smarter.

Today’s customers shop for effect, terpene profiles, and value—not just potency. Larger formats like 14-gram and ounce bags of flower, called smalls, have become popular as people look for better bang for their buck. Price compression has reshaped expectations for profit margins. What once cost $65 or $70 could now cost half of that, which has no doubt put pressure on brands and retailers to get smarter with their marketing. 

Recent regulatory changes have helped. Loyalty programs—once prohibited—are now allowed. We can market more openly through email and social platforms. These tools are basic in most industries, but in cannabis, they make a real difference, especially as larger players with bigger budgets enter the market.

Cleaning Up the Illicit Market

Another real improvement has been enforcement. When we first opened, unlicensed cannabis was everywhere. Bodegas, pop-ups, and temporary storefronts seemingly appeared overnight. The market for hemp-derived, intoxicating THC products has also been a huge competition, but today, enforcement is more visible, and unsafe products are being taken off the streets.

Building trust in the legal market is something the state desperately needed to do, and it’s heartening to see progress. However, inversion is still a common problem, and despite the state’s best efforts to crack down on unregulated sales, unlicensed products end up in stores. 

Five Years In, Looking Forward

Five years after the OCM was created, I can say this with confidence: It is easier to operate a licensed cannabis business in New York now than when we opened.

Not because the industry is easy—it isn’t—but because there’s more understanding, more experience, and more shared knowledge. We’ve built stronger relationships with each other. We’ve learned how to navigate the system. We’ve developed resilience and a community.

Retailers, brands, their employees, and consumers are engaged, vocal, and invested in getting this right. If the next five years are shaped by listening, adapting, and continuing to prioritize local business ownership over profit and corporate MSOs, New York still has a chance to become the market it set out to be.

<p>The post Five Years In: What New York Cannabis Got Wrong—and What’s Finally Going Right first appeared on High Times.</p>

The post Five Years In: What New York Cannabis Got Wrong—and What’s Finally Going Right appeared first on Paradise Found.

Out in Southampton, where Range Rovers and summer rentals usually dominate the conversation, there’s a different kind of destination taking shape.

Little Beach Harvest isn’t just another New York dispensary trying to survive a messy recreational rollout. It’s a tribally owned operation on Shinnecock territory, built with a clear purpose: create economic independence, build community, and give cannabis a space to actually live.

When I caught up with Jay Randolph Wright, the store manager and a Shinnecock citizen, he made it clear from the jump that his role is to honor the Shinnecock Nation and help create an enduring cannabis legacy.

From Skepticism to Sovereignty

When I asked how cannabis first entered the conversation for the Shinnecock Nation, Wright didn’t sugarcoat it.

“The tribe itself, when it was first introduced, was very skeptical about introducing cannabis onto the territory,” he said.

That hesitation wasn’t just cultural—it was strategic. Early discussions were rooted in medical use, not retail hype. Wright explained that the shift toward adult-use came later, once New York legalized and the opportunity widened.

“It went all through a voting system throughout the nation,” he said. “Everyone from the tribe had to be a part of it, and in agreement with it.”

That process matters. In an industry where outside capital often dictates direction, Little Beach Harvest was built internally, through consensus, education, and a long runway of planning. Wright traces the project back nearly a decade, with multiple false starts, shifting partners, and moments where outside backing disappeared.

“We ended up running it ourselves… through the tribe and through the nation,” he said.

That pivot—from outside reliance to internal control—is the backbone of Little Beach Harvest. Opening their doors to the public was sovereignty in action.

Building Without a Safety Net

If the origin story is about control, the day-to-day reality is about navigating a system that wasn’t built with tribal operators in mind.

“It was pretty interesting, going directly into the cannabis space,” Wright said. “It was a little bit jarring.”

The friction showed up immediately in product access. Unlike dispensaries operating strictly under New York’s Office of Cannabis Management (OCM), Little Beach Harvest couldn’t just stock whatever it wanted.

“We weren’t able to purchase the same kind of products that, say, an OCM-brand would,” he said.

At one point, Wright said, brands carried by the store were forced to pull their products.

“We did have some NY brands in there that were asked to be removed… by the OCM.”

That kind of pressure could stall a business. Instead, it forced a pivot.

“We had to become self-efficient and self-reliant on our products,” Wright said.

That meant building inward—supporting tribal entrepreneurs—and outward, through relationships with other Indigenous operators. Wright described a network of inter-tribal trade that now helps keep shelves stocked and quality consistent.

“It’s a lot of relying on our brothers and sisters… our nations that already have a finger on the pulse,” he said.

That ecosystem is quietly becoming one of Little Beach Harvest’s biggest advantages. While the broader New York market struggles with supply chain gaps, tribal collaboration is filling in the blanks.

A Dispensary That Doesn’t Feel Like One

The Hamptons aren’t exactly hurting for retail. But Wright isn’t interested in being just another stop.

“We are also a retail destination area,” he said. “People like to travel out to [the Hamptons]… our population grows by at least 80% … when the spring-summertime comes.”

That seasonal influx brings a different kind of customer—tourists from across the country, many of them coming from states with limited or no legal access. “They come from Canada… California… Texas… Florida,” Wright said. “Some of these places… they don’t have recreational cannabis.”

But what really sets Little Beach Harvest apart isn’t just location—it’s what happens after the purchase.

“We allow the open space for these people… to be free of their usual worries,” Wright said. “Not have to hide somewhere in their car.”

For all the talk about legalization, a lot of cannabis consumption still happens in the shadows. Wright is trying to flip that.

“We’re giving them a space where… they can come together,” he said. “It’s important to kind of be in the same safe space, regardless of who you are or what you look like.”

Jay Wright’s Plan: Make It a Cultural Hub

If you think Little Beach Harvest stops at retail, Wright will correct you quickly.

“I want you to have fun,” he said. “I want you to be interactive… do something.”

His vision for the space reads more like a community center than a dispensary. Game nights. Art shows. Health education events. Outdoor lounges. Heated patios. Movie nights that run into the colder months.

“We’re gonna have Magic being played, D&D being played,” he said. “Tekken, Street Fighter, Mortal Kombat… all those kinds of things.”

There’s intention behind that programming. Wright is actively pushing back against outdated stereotypes about cannabis users. “We gotta break that stigma of all potheads just sit down and just smoke weed and don’t do anything,” he said. “That’s not the case.”

Instead, he’s building an environment where cannabis is part of a broader social experience—one that blends creativity, education, and connection.

“Giving them an experience,” he said. “Not just come in here and smoke a joint and leave.”

The Bigger Picture

Underneath the events, the retail strategy, and the steady expansion is something bigger.

“We’re trying to take our people out of poverty, and we’re trying to build businesses for ourselves,” Wright said. That’s the throughline. Real infrastructure.

For Wright, cannabis isn’t the end goal but a vehicle.

“It’s not just a cash grab for us,” he said. “It’s about building… It’s about a community.”

Little Beach Harvest isn’t trying to fit neatly into New York’s cannabis playbook. It’s writing its own.

Through tribal regulation, inter-tribal trade, and a clear focus on community, the Shinnecock Nation is carving out a space that feels both grounded and forward-looking. Wright’s approach—equal parts operator and cultural architect—pushes the idea of what a dispensary can be.

And if he pulls it off, Little Beach Harvest won’t just be a stop out east. It’ll be a model.

All photos courtesy of Little Beach Harvest.

Sponsored Content Disclosure: This article was produced in partnership with Little Beach Harvest. While High Times maintains editorial standards, this content reflects a paid collaboration.

<p>The post How Little Beach Harvest Is Building Tribal Cannabis Power on Long Island first appeared on High Times.</p>

The post How Little Beach Harvest Is Building Tribal Cannabis Power on Long Island appeared first on Paradise Found.

From the Bronx to Brown Budda.

“I grew up in the Bronx. My mother’s a type two diabetic.” 

Marquis Hayes’s entry into cannabis was personal. He recalls waking up to medical emergencies at home–moments that forced responsibility early.

“I would usually wake up to a mom that had a sugar coma, and I would have to pry her mouth open with a spoon and put orange juice in it, so she wouldn’t have a stroke or die.” 

The experience pushed him to study what food and plant-based chemistry could actually do inside the body. Cannabis came later, but the foundation–respect for the plant and for precision–was built in those early mornings.

Before founding Brown Budda–the first fully licensed dispensary in the Hamptons and the only Black-owned dispensary on Long Island–Hayes built his career in elite kitchens, where he cooked for heads of state and global figures.

The discipline of fine dining never left him. In cannabis, he talks about sourcing with the same seriousness.

“I’m going to the farm. I’m meeting the farmer, and I want to learn about this carrot before I bring it back to the store and put it on a plate and introduce it to the customers.” 

Replace carrot with cannabis, and the philosophy holds.

Brown Budda was never meant to be just another retail counter.

The Cost of Being Early

Hayes scored near the top of New York’s Conditional Adult-Use Retail Dispensary (CAURD) program, positioning him as one of the early faces of the state’s social equity rollout. But early, in a new regulatory system, often means absorbing friction first.

For nearly 17 months, Brown Budda sat in permitting limbo. Hayes said he was burning roughly $60,000 a month during the freeze, continuing to meet lease and operational obligations while waiting for approvals to move forward.

The tension between state approval and local resistance created a surreal reality in which Hayes was constantly scrambling for funds.

“Imagine being given permission to sell and then not being able to sell because someone in town says you’re illegal.”

At times, Hayes felt reduced to symbolism.

“I gotta prove to them that I’m not a fucking welfare recipient looking for handouts? That I am kind of the mascot of this equity program? You need to take me seriously.” 

The line captures the strain of representing a program still proving itself.

A System Still Defining Itself

Brown Budda opened against the backdrop of a larger dispute over how the state cannabis authority interacts with municipal zoning power. Advisory opinions from the Cannabis Control Board have challenged certain local restrictions, and Southampton has joined other towns in suing the state over regulatory boundaries.

Hayes avoids framing the situation as a personal feud. From his perspective, it reflects a broader question about how municipalities interpret their authority within a state-regulated program. He believes the rules governing cannabis retail are ultimately set at the state level, and that local actions cannot override that framework.

The stakes are not abstract. They show up in payroll cycles, delivery pauses, and long commutes to keep operations steady.

Building Anyway

If there is defiance in Hayes’s posture, it is quiet and operational.

Brown Budda reflects his culinary background–deliberate, curated, intentional. Customers are greeted not with chaos but hospitality. Hayes co-founded the business with Kim Stetz, a psychotherapist and longtime yoga practitioner, whose focus on grounding and environment shapes the store’s atmosphere.

“After experiencing everything else, they come in, I give them a cup of hot cocoa or a nice cup of coffee and I let them sit down in the brown room… they look at the kiosk… and they’re like, I found my home, this is my Cheers.” 

The ambition extends beyond retail. Hayes has outlined plans to integrate art, culture, and cannabis into a hospitality-driven platform.

“I really wanna have the very first cannabis… art gallery aspect where people can come in and envision or glance at art while they sip a mocktail infused beverage.” 

Despite the pressure, the direction is forward.

“But I just got to keep going.” 

In the Hamptons, where reputation and refinement matter, Brown Budda stands as both a test case and a statement: that social equity can produce operators with discipline, ambition, and staying power.

Courts may continue debating authority. Regulators may refine boundaries. Municipalities may press their case.

For Hayes, the tension isn’t only about one storefront. It’s about who gets real opportunity in an industry born out of prohibition, and whether equity programs produce symbolic operators or sustainable ones.

Inside Brown Budda, the work continues.

This article is from an external, unpaid contributor. It does not represent High Times’ reporting and has not been edited for content or accuracy.

<p>The post How a Bronx Chef Built the First Licensed Dispensary in the Hamptons first appeared on High Times.</p>

The post How a Bronx Chef Built the First Licensed Dispensary in the Hamptons appeared first on Paradise Found.

Woodstock is one of those words that still carries heat. It’s the 1969 festival mythos, the long shadow it cast over American counterculture, and the way cannabis quietly threaded through that era’s music, politics, and refusal to play along. It’s also a real place—Woodstock, New York—where the vibe isn’t a slogan so much as a lived-in current that runs through every record shop, gallery, and mountain road.

For over half a century, “Woodstock” has meant something: a moment when peace, love, and music collided with a generation’s refusal to accept the official story about war, freedom, or the plant that became a symbol of rebellion. Now, Woodstock is also a cannabis brand trying to do something harder than printing their iconic dove and guitar on packaging: deliver products that feel worthy of the name.

In a legal market full of loud promises and short attention spans, Woodstock Cannabis is staking its claim on whole-plant quality, culture-forward storytelling, and a consumer experience that’s more than the THC count. The mission isn’t nostalgia. It’s delivering on the values that made Woodstock matter in the first place—authenticity, community, and questioning authority. 

Questioning Authority Since 1969

If there’s a through-line connecting Woodstock the festival to Woodstock the cannabis brand, it’s the same instinct that built High Times: questioning authority.

Martin Mills, who helps manage the Woodstock Cannabis brand in New York and New Jersey, put it plainly: “High Times was questioning what the norm was on cannabis for as long as the Woodstock generation.” Both brands were born from the same cultural movement that insisted cannabis wasn’t what the government claimed it was.

That shared DNA matters because it’s not just branding—it’s mission. For more than a century, cannabis has been wrapped in prohibition lies. High Times carried the counter-narrative through the media. Woodstock carried it through music and culture. Now, in the legal era, Woodstock Cannabis carries it through meticulous product quality and, of course, music and the arts. 

The 1969 Woodstock Festival, where cannabis, music, and counterculture converged into a movement that would define a generation.

Honoring the Whole Plant

The Woodstock generation didn’t just show up for three days of music in 1969. They showed up to reject what was happening around them: war, injustice, racism, and a system that told them what to think. Cannabis was part of that rejection—a plant that represented freedom, community, and a refusal to play by rules designed to control.

Woodstock Cannabis isn’t trying to recreate 1969. It’s trying to honor what that moment represented: authenticity over hype, community over profit, and a belief that culture—music, art, conversation—can change the world.

That philosophy shows up in how the brand thinks about its products. “We focus on whole plant products,” Mills explained. That means full-spectrum thinking: terpenes, minor cannabinoids, not just THC potency. It means pre-rolls made with “whole flower”—never shake, never trim. It means vapes made with live resin or whole-cured resin, not distillate shortcuts with added flavoring.

“We don’t add potent THC or terpenes from other plants,” Mills said. “We add the extract that’s coming from the material that we’re using to make it.” 

That whole-plant philosophy shows up across Woodstock’s product line: pre-rolls filled with whole flower (never shake or trim), full-spectrum vapes using live resin and whole cured resin, and a hemp beverage line that layers minor cannabinoids with functional mushrooms like Lion’s mane, reishi, and cordyceps. It’s cannabis designed for the effect, not just the number.

It’s a standard people can understand immediately, and it’s a way to bring the conversation back to the plant itself rather than letting the experience get hijacked by potency culture.

The pitch isn’t “ours is better.” It’s “know what you’re buying.” In a market where shelves are crowded, and consumers get rushed, that distinction matters.

Never shake, never trim: Woodstock’s pre-rolls use whole flower, and their vapes prioritize live resin and whole cured resin over distillate shortcuts.

When Music Does the Marketing 

Woodstock can’t separate itself from music without losing the plot. Mills doesn’t treat music like a marketing theme. He treats it like the most natural environment for cannabis to make sense.

“Nothing is better than smoking a joint at a concert and listening to music,” he said, describing music as a way to “break down the barriers” and help people seek something beyond their daily routine. “Seeking is the backbone to revolution. Seeking is the backbone to discovering music, and seeking is the backbone to discovering cannabis.”

That matters because, as Mills pointed out, dispensaries remain confusing for many shoppers. “When a customer comes into a dispensary, it’s confusing,” he said. “There’s not a lot of brand recognition. There’s not a lot of knowledge around all the products available… People don’t know the difference between a distillate vape and a full-spectrum resin or rosin vape.”

So Woodstock’s job—beyond showing up on dispensary shelves—is to educate in the places people actually feel open: live music, cultural events, moments where someone might ask the right question and get a real answer. Education without a lecture. The old-school way: in the crowd, in the culture, with the music loud enough to make you feel open.

Woodstock Goods hemp beverage line now features six flavors ranging from 2.5mg to 10mg, enhanced with functional mushrooms and minor cannabinoids.

How the Outlaws Became the Stewards

Mills’ personal path to Woodstock is very on-theme for the era he fell in love with. He discovered the 1969 Woodstock documentary as a kid—”maybe 13, maybe 12″—and that first glimpse of cannabis on screen landed hard. “After seeing that movie, I was obsessed with 60s culture. I was obsessed with the music of that culture,” he said.

He lived on tour with Phish in the late ’90s and early 2000s, worked in cannabis in California during the prohibition era, and eventually landed in Woodstock, New York, with his wife, designer Erin Katigan. They started a “psychedelic rock and roll hotel” and lived what Mills called “the Woodstock lifestyle in real time.”

When New York legalization arrived, Mills connected with Radio Woodstock and helped create Cannastock—a series of cannabis events that introduced the Hudson Valley to what adult-use culture could look like. That led to a role managing the Woodstock Cannabis brand in New York and New Jersey, acting as both cultural steward and quality control voice.

His story matters not because it’s exceptional, but because it’s representative. Prohibition punished people like Mills for decades. Legalization gave them a chance to do it right—to build something that honors the plant, the culture, and the people who carried both through the dark years.

New Cherry Pomelo (Drift) and Salted Melon (Bliss) have 10mg of hemp derived THC for consumers seeking a stronger dose.

Woodstock in 2026: Same Values, New Formats

Woodstock is bigger than one person, one product line, or one moment in 1969. The name has survived because it represents a feeling people still want: community, music, rebellion, and the kind of freedom you can’t legislate into existence.

The question for the legal era is whether “Woodstock” can stand for quality, too—whether it can become a signal on shelves that means something beyond nostalgia. Woodstock Cannabis is trying to answer that with whole-flower standards, full-spectrum extraction choices, and hemp beverages designed for the next wave of social cannabis use.

The dispensary shelves carry those whole-plant pre-rolls and vapes. The hemp beverages reach beyond dispensaries entirely—available in select states for people looking to replace alcohol or unwind with something cleaner. This month, the Woodstock Goods’ beverage line is expanding with two new delicious 10mg flavors, Cherry Pomelo and Salted Melon. 

The brand isn’t trying to recreate the past. It’s trying to prove that the values from that era—authenticity, community, questioning authority—still matter when you’re making product decisions in 2025.

If Woodstock keeps treating the name like a responsibility instead of a shortcut, the future looks less like a throwback and more like a continuation: new formats, new markets, same cultural spine.

To learn more about Woodstock—the town, the culture, and the brand—check out High Times’ video on YouTube.

All photos courtesy of the Woodstock Festival Archive and Woodstock Cannabis Co

<p>The post Peace, Love, and Whole Plant: Woodstock Cannabis Delivers on the Brand’s 55-Year Legacy first appeared on High Times.</p>

The post Peace, Love, and Whole Plant: Woodstock Cannabis Delivers on the Brand’s 55-Year Legacy appeared first on Paradise Found.

Hudson County moves fast. You feel it in the parking lots, the sidewalks, the way people walk like they’ve got somewhere to be. That’s why most dispensaries up here can feel a little out of place. Too many of them lean into the “high-end showroom” thing, bright and sterile, like you’re supposed to whisper and keep your hands at your sides.

Authorized Dealer doesn’t do that.

I visited an Authorized Dealer on behalf of High Times, and within the first minute, I thought, finally, somebody built a dispensary that actually feels like it belongs in North Jersey. It’s clean and professional, but it has personality. It’s welcoming without being corny. It’s got that corner-store comfort where you can walk in, take a breath, look around, and not feel like you’re being rushed through a transaction.

And the best part is, it’s not pretending. The design choices are bold, specific, and weirdly familiar if you grew up bouncing between Jersey and the city.

Authorized Dealer Nails the “Bodega Energy” Without Turning It Into a Gimmick

The easiest way I can describe the vibe is this: it feels like a neighborhood shop first, and a dispensary second.

That might sound small, but it’s a big deal in New Jersey right now. The legal market is still young, and many customers are still figuring out what they actually like. Some people know exactly what they want. Plenty don’t. A good dispensary doesn’t just sell products; it makes people comfortable enough to ask questions.

Authorized Dealer felt approachable. It didn’t have that cold, museum-like vibe where the room is technically “premium” but emotionally dead. It felt like a place you could come back to without making it a whole production.

The Design Is the Whole Point of View

Authorized Dealer has the kind of interior that makes you look up, then look again. You’re not walking into one big generic room. You’re walking into a space that’s been built like a little world.

They went all-in on the fake storefront concept, and it works. One minute, you’re looking at a “LIQUORS” façade with a window full of bottles, signage, and that corner-store visual clutter that makes it feel real. Another minute, you’re staring at a neon-lit “AUTHORIZED DEALER RECORDS” front, complete with a window display of vinyl, old-school imagery, and that record-shop warmth that hits you right in the nostalgia.

It’s not subtle, and it’s not supposed to be. This is the opposite of the clean-white-box dispensary trend. Authorized Dealer feels like someone said, “Let’s make this fun, let’s make it feel like where we’re from.”

And then there’s the poster wall.

One side of the shop is basically a full collage of music posters, layered like a city wall that’s been plastered for decades. It’s loud in the best way. You’re catching Jay-Z, old concert bills, throwback graphics, and all that visual noise that makes a space feel alive. It gives the dispensary an identity without needing to explain itself.

Overhead, the ceiling is dark, industrial, and open, with these big circular ring lights floating above the floor. The rings give the room a clean, modern glow, but because everything else has texture, it doesn’t feel sterile. It feels intentional.

The Layout Makes Shopping Feel Easy

A lot of dispensaries overcomplicate the flow. You walk in, you don’t know where to stand, you don’t know what you’re allowed to look at, and the whole thing turns into an awkward little dance.

Authorized Dealer felt simple. They’ve got a row of kiosks set up along that poster wall, so you can take your time, scroll, browse, and actually figure out what you want before you get to the counter. That matters for two reasons.

First, it respects the customer. Not everybody wants to shout questions across a room, and not everybody wants to feel pressured while a line forms behind them.

Second, it keeps the energy moving. Hudson County is not the place for clunky, slow retail. People want quick, clear decisions, with the option to ask for help if needed.

The counters are sleek and modern, white with warm wood tops, and a soft underglow that makes the whole room feel a little warmer than your typical retail environment. Behind the counter, they’ve got those built-in wall niches with product displays, lit like a gallery, but not in an obnoxious way. You can see what’s what, you can get a feel for the brand mix, and it still feels like a shop.

There’s also a merch wall, with hoodies and tees displayed like a lifestyle brand, not an afterthought. That detail matters because the shops that build community are the ones that give people something to rep besides a receipt.

The Real Flex in NJ Cannabis Retail

New Jersey now has plenty of dispensaries. What we don’t have enough of are dispensaries that feel human.

Some shops look beautiful on Instagram but feel stiff in person. You walk in, you order, you leave, and you never think about the place again.

The Authorized Dealer felt like the opposite. It felt built for repeat visits. It felt like a place where a first-timer could walk in without feeling dumb. It felt like a place where someone picky could take their time and actually browse.

That’s the real win. Not the neon. Not the ring lights. Not the poster wall, even though all of that is dope. The win is that the space makes people comfortable.

Comfort creates loyalty. Loyalty builds real foot traffic. Foot traffic is what keeps a dispensary alive when the novelty wears off, and people start making decisions based on experience, price, and trust.

Know Before You Go

If you’re used to the standard dispensary experience, Authorized Dealer is going to feel different the second you step inside. Give yourself a minute to take the place in. Look at the storefronts. Walk the poster wall. Hit the kiosks and browse without rushing.

This shop is doing something New Jersey needs more of. It’s building a real vibe, and it’s doing it without sacrificing the basics: clean layout, smooth flow, and a customer experience that doesn’t feel awkward.

I’ve walked into a lot of dispensaries that technically “work.” Authorized Dealer is one of the few that actually feels like it belongs on the block.

All photos courtesy of Authorized Dealer.

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A Brooklyn nonprofit founder embodies the intent of New York’s equity law – yet after three years, his dispensary remains closed.

By the time Shanduke McPhatter finished building out his cannabis dispensary in Brooklyn—after following every step the state laid out—New York had already opened hundreds of licensed adult-use stores.

His wasn’t one of them.

The floors were done. The space was compliant. The paperwork had been submitted. And every month, the rent kept burning. Nearly $250,000 so far. Nearly three years into New York’s social equity licensing process, McPhatter was still waiting to open a store the state had already told him he was qualified to run.

“Every single month,” he said, “you’re looking at that list, looking for your license to be on there. For three years, man. For three years.”

McPhatter is a Brooklyn-based community leader, a formerly incarcerated entrepreneur. He’s also the founder of G-MACC—short for Gangstas Making Astronomical Community Changes—a nonprofit focused on gun- and gang-violence interruption, reentry support, and community stabilization in neighborhoods most harmed by the war on drugs.

When New York launched its Conditional Adult-Use Retail Dispensary (CAURD) program, this is the kind of applicant it said it wanted to prioritize.

His doors are still closed.

Not an Abstract Equity Story

McPhatter’s relationship with cannabis predates legalization. It was part of his life long before the law caught up.

“I’m legacy,” he said. “Everybody says legacy, but everybody ain’t legacy.”

He grew up in Brooklyn and cycled through New York’s correctional system from his teens into his early thirties. During his final sentence, he began building what would become G-MACC, drawing on his own experience to help others avoid the same pipeline.

“Never got any opportunities, no programming, no mentors, nothing,” he said. “So when I finally made that shift, I knew it was time to change my life and prevent other children from being caught up in the system.”

The dispensary was meant to extend that work, creating revenue that didn’t depend on unpredictable funding cycles or political gatekeeping.

“I knew cannabis was the way,” he said. “This was how we could actually sustain what we were already doing.”

The Promise—and the Wait

McPhatter applied for a CAURD license. The state provisionally approved him and instructed him to move forward: secure a location, complete compliance steps, prepare for final licensure. He followed those instructions. Regulators later confirmed his Brooklyn location met all distance and proximity requirements.

And then the process stalled.

“Who’s accountable?” McPhatter asked. “Who’s not doing their job?”

As he waited, the financial pressure mounted. So did the frustration of watching the legal market expand without him.

McPhatter said the delay forced him to question how equity decisions were being made—and why applicants who met the original criteria were still waiting while the market expanded around them.

While the Market Moved On

As McPhatter waited, New York’s adult-use market didn’t.

More than 500 licensed dispensaries have opened statewide. Some operators have even moved on to second and third locations. Others have begun laying groundwork for franchises. The legal market expanded fast.

McPhatter watched those announcements roll in month after month, his own application still unresolved.

“You can’t imagine what it’s like seeing that list come out every month and your name never being on it,” he said.

He wasn’t asking to skip steps. He wasn’t asking for special treatment. He had already been provisionally approved. His location had already been cleared. The remaining question—final licensure—simply never arrived.

The Cost of Waiting

The delay wasn’t abstract.

McPhatter was carrying the cost of a fully built-out dispensary with no revenue to offset it. Rent continued. Capital stayed tied up. Planning stalled.

“I’m not rich,” he said. “We’re not wealthy people.”

For a nonprofit founder accustomed to making limited resources stretch, the strain was constant—and personal.

“If you’re supposed to be giving opportunity to the people who never had the opportunity,” he said, “why am I still waiting?”

The question wasn’t rhetorical. It was practical.

A System Under Strain

McPhatter’s experience unfolded during a turbulent period for New York’s Office of Cannabis Management. The agency has faced repeated lawsuits, court injunctions, and sustained criticism over the pace and execution of the state’s adult-use rollout. 

Earlier this year, Governor Kathy Hochul requested the resignations of two top OCM officials amid mounting pressure over regulatory failures and enforcement missteps.

The state has acknowledged challenges. For applicants still waiting, acknowledgment hasn’t always translated into resolution.

What Equity Looks Like in Practice

McPhatter eventually decided to speak publicly—not to escalate conflict, but to force clarity.

“How long do you remain quiet to oppression?” he said. “I’ve always been about fighting against it, and this feels oppressive.”

He is naturally frustrated about his store and yet something much bigger. What happens when a system designed to repair harm leaves its most aligned participants in limbo?

McPhatter continues to do the work he’s always done by supporting reentry, mentoring youth, and stabilizing his community. The dispensary was meant to strengthen that work, not replace it.

New York promised equity would be more than a slogan.
For Shanduke McPhatter, that promise is still waiting to be fulfilled.

This article is from an external, unpaid contributor. It does not represent High Times’ reporting and has not been edited for content or accuracy.

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It is in your food. It’s in your body. It’s in almost everything you live with, and everything you interact with, and well, it’s just not healthy. Plastic. It’s the thing that’s become so ubiquitous that most people don’t even think about it, even though it’s estimated that we are ingesting about 250 grams of it, or roughly the equivalent of an apple every year. 

When you start to think about how much plastic controls our lives, it’s kind of mind-boggling. Can you even think of a business that operates without contributing to the plastic epidemic? How about one that’s mission is to help reduce, reuse, and eliminate the use of plastic as a whole? They would be a first in the cannabis industry.

“I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night handing out plastic bags and then seeing them on the beach.” – Ashley Curtis, founder of Grandma Jazz

A Road Mapped With Intention

Grandma Jazz is not your average dispensary. With a funny name that evokes memories of family and good times, it’s a unique location and vision for what the future of the cannabis industry, and we as humans, can do. Nestled in the rolling mountains of Kamala in Phuket, Thailand, a location as beautiful as it is magical, sits this destination of a dispensary cafe. While the incredible views are something to behold, and the flowing jazz or piano soothes the soul, a lot more is hiding under the surface of this classy and quaint establishment. 

Ashley Curtis, or AC as he is more commonly known, had a vision. Hailing from the UK, AC was someone who came up cutting his teeth in theatre and television. After graduating from drama school, the real journey began, getting into television and commercial work. He went to audition after audition; however, after a time, some of the magic was lost. From there he bounced around a bit, dabbling in education and as a house manager for some high-end international families.

Landing in a high-end cigar shop at the five-star Bulgari Hotel in London wasn’t something AC had expected. It was at this high-end establishment that the seeds of a new beginning began being sown. The marriage of class and service, carried out in every interaction, a key element he would implement in the future. However, this type of interaction wasn’t something he felt should be afforded only to the rich and affluent.

“I never really felt like I belonged growing up. It wasn’t until I met people from everywhere that I felt at home.” – AC

By the time he was 30, the situation in London had run its course and there was room for new beginnings opening up in his life. Moving to Thailand after having visited prior with family was both alluring and exciting, and with his background, he was able to secure a position teaching at the prominent American School of Bangkok. 

Working as a teacher for nearly three years, he developed their first drama program, and working with the kids helped foster cultural and language exchange. It was quite the change of pace going from getting headshots and modeling photos to being the uncle and role model for the students in his classes, and much more rewarding.

When COVID hit, things changed for everyone. During this time, AC and his new girlfriend, Joy, found themselves looking to change things up. They landed in beautiful Phuket, Thailand’s largest island, on the Andaman Sea. Known for its beautiful beaches and laid-back lifestyle, there is a distinct vibe to the island that’s a bit bohemian and Western mixed with historical Thai. It was while they were living here and visiting rasta bars that the full decriminalization in Thailand occurred, and their eyes were opened to a new possibility.

The Birth of Grandma Jazz

Joy had already started a company selling vegan energy snacks, each named after a Bob Marley song. The business was doing well, but it was arduous. Using the 20 years of experience AC had with the plant, along with the connections they had made while visiting all the first shops that had already opened, a decision was made to put it all on the line, and invest in the unknown at the time. But the decision to open a weed shop wasn’t when Grandma Jazz was born; instead, that journey took a bit longer to unfold.

“People don’t just come here to buy something. They come here to feel something.” – AC

Finding the Right Space

Finding flowers to sell was the easy part, but they had a vision in mind for the location. With a virtually nonexistent budget, location scouting was difficult, and the idea of custom builds went out the window. While initially going to look at another location, they came across a beautiful building, completely different from everything around it. The building was unique amongst the other establishments in Kamala, the area of Phuket they would eventually call home. So without hesitation, they dialed the number on the rental sign outside and, without knowing it, the last piece of the Grandma Jazz puzzle had slipped into place.

Community Comes First

Auntie Addy owned the building and many more throughout the area. Dubbed the Queen of Kamala, she and her vast real estate and business enterprises help support a large number of families in the region. When AC and Joy rang about renting the building her daughter had built, an architectural student, there was some hesitation. While she had always wanted this location to become a cafe, her understanding of dispensaries was limited. Adding to that, those that were currently in business operated completely differently from the vision that would become Grandma Jazz.

After some savvy back-and-forth between the two parties, a deal was struck. The opportunities with Addy continued with her offering to let AC and team use some of her extensive collection of furniture to inhabit the space. With a worldly collection, some vintage pieces felt more at home in this atmosphere. This repurposing and reuse of items is inherently part of the DNA of the Grandma Jazz brand as well, and it shows up throughout everything they touch. During this frenzy of getting everything ready, a pivotal decision was made. 

Going Plastic-Free

“Going plastic-free isn’t hard. You just stop using plastic,” AC told me, with such simplicity.

A simple statement with a profound meaning, and it didn’t come out of nowhere. AC and Joy had been doing their market research and visiting all the local shops that had opened up since decriminalization. Finding both good and bad flowers, positive and negative service, and things they knew they could improve upon. 

But it was the amount of plastic bags they had accumulated that really stood out to them. What were they going to do with all this waste, while living on an island? It didn’t make sense, and without wanting to help contribute to the problem, the solution was simple. Don’t use plastic.

While it doesn’t make sense from a conversationist’s standpoint, the decision to use plastic is much easier when you think about the cost. Everything is cheaper if it’s plastic, and if the bottom line is the most important, you can bet the plastic will be omnipresent. Not so for Grandma Jazz, who doesn’t use baggies or plastic bags at all. 

Bulk flower is held tightly in air and humidity-controlled glass jars. Coffees and teas are served in a ceramic mug, with a metal spoon for stirring. The flower comes neatly tucked into a metal tin with a message from Grandma directly to you.

When visiting and speaking with the team, you realize that what they have created and what they are doing is about giving back to the community that has embraced them. Most shops are stocked with all the sodas and snacks you would find in most convenience stores, but instead, here you have a selection of locally crafted sodas bottled on the island, along with in-house-made gelato. When designing the exterior, the sign maker advised AC that since it’s a marijuana dispensary, the sign should be covered in leaves and paraphernalia to make it more obvious. That wasn’t the direction he and Joy wanted to go, however, and simply told him to put three words on the sign. Support. Local. Weed.

“Grandma Jazz doesn’t explain itself. Curiosity does the work.” – AC

Curiosity Over Explanation

I met AC during a conference held in Old Town, Phuket, at The Dispensary by Taratera. He was there as a representative of local dispensary owners, and I was a representative of the foreign tourist market. It was over two years ago to this day when we assembled to discuss the future of cannabis in Thailand and what we thought might happen with regulations. 

We found common ground on the belief that, while almost backwards in Western thinking, the country would move from recreational to medical. Fast forward to the current time, and that is exactly what happened, and with foresight in mind, Grandma Jazz was able to stay open and operational during the transitional process. Now, with new regulations like seed-to-sale tracking in place, the concept of buying local is now more important than ever.

Scaling the Idea

With more than two years of being plastic-free, many questions have been answered about how this type of operation can succeed. Using the tools and practices they built, the team at Grandma Jazz collaborated with the Phuket Cannabis Association to help launch the GreenFlow Movement. This voluntary program offers guidelines and helps to set a standard for reducing single-use plastic waste. 

While currently only offered in Thailand, I believe these types of ideas, including discounts for reusing or recycling waste, could be beneficial worldwide. Especially here in the USA, where in 2020 it was estimated that the cannabis industry generated one billion pieces of single-use plastic waste.

“This place should exist in more places. Everyone should have access to something like this.” When AC says it, it just makes sense. When you think about it….it just makes sense.

One of the most convenient and easy ways to smoke doesn’t even come in a bag. Instead, pre-rolls come almost definitely packaged in a plastic tube. These tubes, which contribute significantly to the overall single-time use of plastics in cannabis, are literally everywhere. A problem without a solution, or is it? AC and Joy took the issue to task, and with the help of Joy’s uncle, they were able to craft something quite remarkable. The bamboo joint tube is nearly indestructible, natural, sustainable, and stylish, and it also provides jobs and opportunities for a small group of craftspeople. 

After releasing these into the world, stories started to flow back to Grandma Jazz about losing their joint on a mountain or during some activity, only to find it again later and everything still be perfect and smokeable.

More Than a Dispensary

That ethos of buy local and reuse when possible carries over to the clothing and merchandise they carry as well, with locally sourced shirts and hats that are understated, featuring only the brand name and a slogan on the back. Going beyond just brand merch for the shop, AC and Joy launched Garments. 

This upcycling clothing brand takes unique retro pieces and gives them new life, new tags, and donates to a charity that helps older folks in the area. It is through this opportunity that Grandma Jazz can give back to the other grandparents in the area. 

“It’s like a grandma writing you a note. Small, but it stays with you.” – AC

What We Can Take Away

When you first enter, it’s a bit magical. With cool jazz playing over the speakers, or possibly a savant on the piano riffing something new and funky, the sound sets your body at ease. Taking from his time at the cigar shop, the level of class and elegance is unmatched, especially for a dispensary. After making your selection from the local flower on offer, it is packaged up nicely in a tin, with a special message direct from Grandma to you. When sitting down to smoke, feel free to grab a hat off the wall and embrace the ambiance. Take a stroll to the back patio with a view that’s as breathtaking as the quality of buds on offer. 

After the joints have been smoked and the mist is settling over the mountains in Kamala, Phuket, there is definitely something to take away. How is it that a dispensary on the other side of the world is breaking all the rules, not using plastic, only supporting local business, giving back to charity, and by all measurable metrics making an actual difference? 

What can we learn and take away from this to implement both here in the United States and also for other shops around the world? It goes back to one of the things AC said to me; It’s not about shouting at people, it’s about speaking to them. And everyone listens to their Grandma.

This article is from an external, unpaid contributor. It does not represent High Times’ reporting and has not been edited for content or accuracy.

All photos courtesy of Joshua Freeman.

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Chances are, one of your first weed purchases was a nickel bag. For just $5, you and your friends could change the course of an afternoon by sharing a joint: painting the town red, watching a movie, cracking jokes. For Manhattan native Nicholas Koury and owner of Nicklz dispensary near Time Square, the nickel bag […]

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“Anyone in jail for anything to do with cannabis should be set free.”

Ice-T does not blink when he says it. He does not reach for qualifiers. He keeps talking.

“It’s legal in enough places,” he adds. “That’s like having somebody in jail for alcohol after Prohibition.”

We are on House of Haze, a High Times podcast I host to talk power, culture and weed in the real world. Ice-T arrives with clarity as a tactic, control as a practice. He has lived around cannabis forever, tried gummies, never took to smoking, and still carries a simple rule for life outside the house: be alert.

“The guys that were the most dangerous were the sober cats,” he says. “Chronic gives what I call chronic delay. That split second could be your life out here in the streets.”

He is not anti-weed. He is anti-sloppiness. The crew rule is blunt.

“If you’re with the crew and you get drunk and you stop listening, one of us gets to knock you out,” he says. “Then we carry you to the car. It’s about control. It’s not worth the party.”

Legalization, without romance

Ice-T does not sugarcoat the business. His Jersey City shop, The Medicine Woman, took years and millions to open. Margins are thin. The myth of easy money is gone.

“What dispensaries are like now is like liquor stores,” he says. “They’re on every other corner. You got taxes, overhead, building costs. People think you’re getting rich. Nah. If I wanted to get rich, I would sell bricks of cocaine.”

Then he drops the line most celebrities avoid.

“I am absolutely in it for the money,” he says. “It’s a business. Don’t get mad at capitalism. But if you can hire kids from the community and kick some money back to charity, that’s righteous.”

Justice with teeth

Ask him about federal legalization and he does not hesitate.

“Do I want it federally? Only to free the prisoners,” he says. “Having the federal government in your legal business? Who needs that?”

On politics, he is colder.

“Politicians are the biggest criminals in the history of the world,” he says. “Both wings are on the same bird.”

Safety and the American reality

The country is flooded with guns. He has a line for that, too.

“I don’t trust anybody with a gun,” he says. “There are more guns than people. I’m not pro-gun. I got one because if somebody breaks in my crib, I don’t want to grab a butcher knife. It’s too late. This is what it is.”

He is not here to debate. He is here to move the conversation forward.

“I don’t like debates. I like progressive conversation,” he says. “My opinion can be changed, but first I have to believe you’re intelligent enough for me to listen.”

Upstream to the seeds

Retail opened another door. Ice-T went upstream with Brothers Grimm Seeds on BodyCount, a cross of Purple Urkle and Rosetta Stone bred by MrSoul and led by CEO Laura “MrsSoul” Campanella. It is a genetics play, not a lifestyle pivot.

“If I’m signing a seed, I want my shit to be the best in the history of the world,” he says. He laughs, then lands on a goal every grower understands. “Personally, I would love my seeds to win the Cannabis Cup.”

Rick and Morty, and being in on the joke

He knows when the culture lets you in. Rick and Morty called. He said yes. They made him a superhero and, mercifully, didn’t roast him.

“You hit different generations at different times,” he says. “You’re lucky when animation does not dog you.”

Techno, E, and why he quit the hard stuff

Ice-T didn’t touch drugs for most of his life. Then came one Miami night at Crowbar, a packed techno club, Coco looking fire, the music hitting. He decided to try ecstasy.

“I walk up to this kid, I’m trying to get some E… they point me to this dude, big pants, glow sticks, the whole shit. He looks at me, ‘Oh shit, Ice-T,’ reaches in his pocket, pulls out a handful of E. ‘They said I’m the man. Now you’re the man.’”

He took one and felt the switch flip. “First thing, I’m rubbing my own legs. Everything outside of Coco is out of focus. And the most amazing thing happened, I understood techno. It was divided, it was moving. I’m like, this shit makes sense.”

The fun didn’t last forever. A different night, someone handed them “Molly” in capsules. It wasn’t. “Two in the morning when I’m ready to do my deed, my teeth are chattering. It was speed. I was up for two days. I showed up to Law & Order like, ‘Yo, I’m high from Saturday night.’ I was acting super fast.”

That was the line. “With fentanyl and all that, I’m scared. I don’t want to die. A lot of my friends have died on the first try.” Gummies and a rare maxi-dose mushroom experiment aside, he keeps it simple and safe. “Whatever you’re doing, make sure you’re in a safe environment.”

The bottom line

This is Ice-T in the cannabis era. No fantasy. No fake purity test. Just a straight read of risk, reward and responsibility.

“You never really know if somebody’s your friend till you tell them no,” he says at one point. It doubles as an ethos for the industry. Tell the truth about the money. Tell the truth about the rules. Tell the truth about who still sits in a cell.

And free them.

Photo courtesy of Ice-T.

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