Chosen Family

There aren’t a ton of amazing memories I have about my time in high school. My grades could’ve been better, I could’ve been more open to exploring some of my current interests, and I could’ve been less focused on image preservation. Through the countless classes I skipped and stupid arguments, I started with teachers or classmates out of struggles to properly express myself, I was blessed to learn so much about the importance of finding yourself through friendships. Being blessed to attend a high school where some of my best friends from my K-8 (Nataki Talibah Schoolhouse of mahfuckin Detroit) already were attending was one thing, but to start new friendships in ways that felt natural and could last a lifetime was something else.

The first week of my freshman year included the bombardment of meeting hundreds of new people from all sorts of backgrounds I’d never experienced. While those faces would continually change until graduation, I’ll never forget participating in “Celebrity Day” of Spirit Week. With a watch too big for my wrist and my collar flipped on a striped polo tight enough to see my ribs through, there wasn’t a soul in that school who could tell me I wasn’t my favorite artist at the time, Kanye West. I learned the hard way this day that not only were there a lot of people who didn’t get the reference, but they’d never even heard of Roc-A-Fella Records. As I continued the day feeling slightly out of place, I ran into a kid wearing a white and purple t-shirt screen printed with “Purple Haze” and a DIY fitted with The Diplomats logo. After catching each other’s attention and releasing what felt like the longest “YOOOOOOOOO” of all time, I knew I’d met someone I’d consider to be a best friend for life.

I didn’t know many people who shared a love and passion for music the way I did with Donald Roland, someone many of us now know as one of the greatest musicians ever birthed from the city of Detroit. Before appearing on Theo Parrish’s DJ Kicks and adding his touches to works like Video 7 and Cousin Mouth, I spent countless days and nights with this kid talking about music. Sometimes agreeing, sometimes arguing, and always introducing each other to all sorts of artists and genres, there wasn’t one thing I found cool musically that stopped me from contacting him about it first. After years of trying or own hands at making music and geeking out over everything from Neptune's production to The Pat Metheny Group, I moved to Midtown and Don (who started going by multiple forms of LEXI) moved to West Village. Around this time, I’d also gotten deeper into record collecting, and Don had begun perfecting a sound that was second to none.

One day, after stopping by to hear some new music he’d been making, he asked me to check out this new record store around the corner from his place. As soon as I walk in and start digging, I lose it. I’m seeing everything from Flylo to Coltrane and having conversations with people about everything from Lil B and Flocka to our favorite foods and favorite Kubrick movies. Outside of all of our common interests like Andrey and I with Jay Z or Zach and I’s streetwear obsession, there was a vulnerability I hadn’t experienced so naturally with people I barely knew, a foundation I learned the importance of as these people grew to be some of my best friends.

What would start as a quick trip to pick up an Aphex Twin record would turn into an all-day hangout drinking Two Hearted, watching an Arsenal match on the projector and silly J. Cole vs. Kendrick arguments. We all had stories of how we were first introduced to something and were able to make those connections a part of our daily lives and even some of the best times at the shop. Don and I’s limitless love for production would explode into friendships I’d grow with people like Alex and Diego, especially thanks to events like The Beat Profile. Conversations about our favorite videos and inside jokes would make it into so many projections and cause such infectious laughter that we’d have no choice but to share it with others. Something as simple as a home dinner where we watched Dipset’s Rap City freestyle eventually turned into what felt like a hymn every time it was played between sets. Real-time confirmations of how music moved us were always obvious, whether you were proudly watching one of your friends play their beats for the first time or you were Earl Sweatshirt and Knxwledge geeking out a set from Dez Andres. The connections were effortless because no matter what, we were there for the music.

A decade later, whether you’re now drinking orange wine on Broadway or sat on the Van Dyke porch drinking lukewarm high life, you’re still there for the music. We all are. The creation of other events like the weekly open decks have created a completely new community of people expressing their love of music not only as a listener but as a conduit. And what’s more vulnerable than that? According to Jenny Allen’s Find Your People: Building Deep Community in a Lonely World, “we have to become people who stay. We have to become friends who show up to chop things for a few hours and stay even later to do the dishes, not just to eat. And we need to do this consistently, time and time again.” Thank you to Paramita Sound for 10 years of being a second home to people like me. Thank you for always putting the music first. Never stop holding space for people to chop it up, especially if it means another decade of staying longer to do the dishes. Love y'all!

John x