From chemistry teacher to DJ sensation

In the span of 2 years, Earl Barron(DJ BandCamp) went from playing music for a few hundred at his fraternity house parties to a crowd of thousands.

 “It actually started as a hobby on a program called virtual DJ. I would mess around with it at Alpha house parties and then I got asked to do a club. At that time I didn’t even have a name yet,” he said.

The Youngstown-native and Ursuline High School graduate has traveled on an international music tour as the official DJ of rap artist Stalley of Maybach Music Group (MMG), performed in front of packed audiences as the officially DJ for the Indiana Pacers NBA basketball team and is the DJ on BET's hit TV show 106 & Park.

When recounting his achievements Barron stumbles in search of the correct words to adequately explain the emotions he felt playing for the NBA team, the Indiana Pacers for the first time.

“I remember when I first was in arena. It’s Indescribable. You got to pinch yourself to see if it’s really a dream,” he said.

Though nowadays Barron appears to be headed in the right direction professionally, initially, his career path didn't appear so promising. According to Barron, making the decision to leave his career teaching chemistry at Value Learning and Teaching Academy in Cincinnati, Ohio to pursue his music career full time was a bit of a challenged, but ultimately was the best decision he could’ve made.

“(Pursuing my career as a DJ full-time) was like one of the biggest decisions I had to make. I was in prayer a lot. Once you become a DJ your on your own. Budgeting was different and it was definitely a change.  I had a great support system. I had my parents who really supported me 100 percent and I feel like everything happened for a reason,” he said.

At the age of 24, Barron has reached professional heights that many of his peers can only dream of, yet he remains on a constant pursuit to challenge himself and hone in on his talent.

“It’s always room for growth. I am proud of the progress that I’ve made in such a short amount of time, but I’m not content. I just know that there’s a lot of room for growth to be bigger in the industry,” he said.

Although Barron may be modest when it comes to his accomplishments, there are others, who are amazed at how far he’s come in such a short amount of time. He laughs as he describes getting use to having fans who are avid listeners of his work.

“I don’t feel like I’m doing a lot and it’s surreal to be honest. I’m the same old Earl. It’s crazy because a lot of the time they (people) don’t expect me to be how I am. I’m a real down to earth dude and I’m very humble and grateful for it. It makes me want to work harder.

When Barron isn’t on the turntables mixing new beats, he’s busy breaking through glass ceilings and redefining what it means to not only be be an African-American DJ, but a role model. With a Bachelor’s degree in Biology, a certificate of study in chemistry and a minor in business from the University of Cincinnati, he hopes to paint a better picture for his former students and other young African-American boys, who look up to him.

“A lot of people don’t know that I’m educated because as a DJ and an entertainer people automatically assume you dropped out of school and are from the hood. I’m educated and I was a chemistry high school teacher up until 2012. When I was doing all of that (pursuing a career as a DJ) my high school kids were very involved in it and as high school students they want to be in the entertainment business, but never had it tangible in front of them. For them to see me as a black male doing something other than selling drugs and earning my way to the top, it really inspires them to be better,” he said.

For others who want to follow in his footsteps, he encourages his predecessors to invest in themselves, find their individuality and motivate themselves.

“A lot of it is self investment and as a DJ that means practicing and investing in your craft. You have to have a non-stop passion (because) you never know whose around. You have to be able to put those blinders on and know what you want to do in life and go for it by any means necessary,” he said.

For more information or to listen to DJ BandCamp’s music visit DJBandCamp.com.

Who am I ?

I chase my true self-everyday trying to locate this inner spiritual being that holds all the answers that everyone says it does because I have a million of them and nothing seems to be providing any kind of solace. I battle with my sanity, questioning whether or not I’m making the right decisions or if I’m just a dreamer in denial of the inevitable.

I watch peers move forward in their careers and relocate to cities full of the bright lights and opportunities while I try and convince myself that my time is coming. 

“Ain’t no writers like Demetria Lucas (My writing fairy god mother and career inspiration)” coming out of Youngstown, Ohio,” my thoughts tell me as I fight back the knot in my throat. I want to cry and give up . I curse God for giving me a vision that seems damn near impossible to achieve with limited resources.

Who am I? And am I living a life of vanity for trying to tell the world my story hoping my truth sets souls on fires and ignites my readers to wipe the dust and cobb webs off of their own decaying dreams.

If my goal is to inspire and drive freedom, then why do I feel so caged and unfulfilled? I play dress up in my childhood bedroom pretending I’m being interviewed on Oprah about my fictitious best selling book. I use my imagination to live in the dreams that currently seem unrealistic.

My momma says that law school should be my next move but the thought of practicing American law makes my skin crawl.

At 24-years-old with no children and a car I’m told to count my blessings. I try hoping the universe doesn’t strike me down for my ungratefulness.

Unafraid to Fear

            It was an uneventful evening. I’d just finished putting on my favorite Johnson and Johnson Baby Sleepy Time lotion and was prepared to cap off my night with an episode of “The Office” when I heard a loud noise echo through my house. BANG! BANG! Followed by what sounded like shattered glass hitting the floor. I, instinctively, out of fear yelped “OH SHIT”!

I raced into my living room grabbing the first item I could get my hands on, a shoe. I’m assuming adrenaline must’ve momentarily blindsided the portion of my brain that controls rational behavior because I don’t know why instead of dialing 911 or calling the police I believe that somehow I was much better off defeating one or more unknown intruders with my multi-colored platform pump but nevertheless I was prepared.

I scurried to find the source of all the commotion with heart palpitations that I thought were sure signs that I was headed for cardiac arrest.

“Oh God. Oh God please,” I pleaded whispering a silent prayer.

“I looked through my front door window letting my eyes quickly dart left and then right but I saw nothing. I kept my back against the walls imitating “Law and Order: Special Victims (SVU) detective Olivia Benson, hoding my shoe as if it was a gun as I checked every window but again I saw nothing. A sense of calmness drifted through my body and I was hoping that I had mistaken a raccoon rummaging through the trash for a home invasion until I looked through my backdoor. Since the door stopper hadn’t budged I was sure it had been unfazed. My sense of security quickly went down the drain when I opened the back door and was immediately greeted with a dented screen and a puddle of shattered glass.

Hours after the incident and the police left I still felt uneasy. I double, triple and quadruple checked every lock and ever pushed my couch against the front door that evening for added security. I stayed awake every night clenching my grandfather’s switch blade for dear life just in case I would need to defend myself. Unfortunately, it did nothing to keep me from flinching at any and every rattle of the bushes and meows from the neighborhood stray cats. I was terrified, but worse, for the first time in my entire life, I felt like a foreigner in my own community.

I mean, sure I lived on the south side of Youngstown and was far from a stranger to crime. Hell, just watching the news let me know that no home, community or town was immune from danger and crime but now it seemed that the perils of my city and I had come face-to-face and I, admittedly, was unprepared for the meeting.

Was the neighborhood the neighborhood that had been the stage of such happy childhood memories and many adolescent love affairs transformed into a city of terror where I now needed cutlery to feel safe enough to fall asleep in my own bed? I felt like a child who’d just learned Santa Clause and the Tooth Fairy weren’t real( Spoil Alert to those who never knew. Sorry).

Although the feeling of being petrified to close my eyes in my own bed was horrible, the backlash I received from my family and friends for actually being scared was like I had been violated twice. I had repeated the story to several people that I was close to only to be met with laughs, chuckles and ridicule for actually admitting fear.

“Ain’t you from Youngstown? Damn cause I can’t tell,”? Someone told me as I described how I felt unsafe.

For several consecutive nights I didn’t sleep. I knew the situation could have ended terribly different but gratitude wasn’t enough to keep my mind from wandering. “What if someone had gotten in,”? The residue of this incident left me questioning my safety during every stupid decision that I had made during my youth. Like my sophomore year in high school when I walked home alone after sneaking to a house party, or the many drive-bys I experienced at my grandparents house during summer nights. I still remember the itchy tingling on my stomach from my grandparent’s furry green-carpeted steps as I slide down trying to dodge stray bullets (The early 1990s were very unkind). These moments that seemed like harless adventures now I realized cold have ended rather badly.

I had always been surrounded by violence and crime. It’s just as embedded in my childhood as bedtime stories and learning to ride a bike, but that didn’t somehow exempt me or anyone from Youngstown from being afraid.

I felt ashamed and started thinking that maybe there was something wrong with me. “ Stop actin like a B@#ch.Toughen up, Eartha,”. I started telling myself. I even joined in on a few jokes about the sitution but no matter how many pep talks I silently gave myself it still didn’t help. I was afraid and fear mixed with the shame of feeling fear was a pill I couldn’t and wouldn’t allow myself to swallow.

Living within my city limits we are trained to follow unspoken rules that, generally, make absolutely no sense. Like UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE should you be a “SNITCH” whether or not you, a family member,or friend is the victim of the crime in question. If one choses to reject this belief they are somehow eliminated from authenticity or some abstract “Hood” pass.  

After I was a victim of a potential home invasion, which is one of the most tramatic ordeals to face, I was expected to somehow “MAN UP” and pretend to be unaffected because somehow being from the “Hood” supreceded the fact that I am a human being.

To this day I still double check my window and I’m catious when I’m home alone. I’m sure the intruders were some random teenaged boys that  I probably pass everyday on my way  to work but never again will I let others dictate what emotions I’m allowed to feel and express. Whether happy, sad, strong, or scared, I’ll always be from Youngstown.

Small Town Swag

Small Town Swag

I wrote and re-wrote for hours trying to come up with a witty introduction and I got nowhere so I decided rather than beat around the bush I’d try a more direct approach and lay all of my cards on the table. I am a self-proclaimed fashionista, in my own right, from a city that couldn’t be further from stylistic innovation or any innovation for that matter.

In Youngstown, Ohio (or the “YO” as we natives like to call it) one is guaranteed to see a few things, which include the remnants of a fallen steel industry, pot holes in just about every crack or crevice, troublesome youth and many more context clues indicating a poverty-stricken community, but if you tilt your head a little and squint your eyes you may be surprised to see something fascinating emerge. That is, a world of endless creativity.

Sometimes finding fashion pioneers with creative minds in Yongstown is as easy a task as trying to locate Waldo on a page full of chaos. However, creative thinkers, though far and in between, do exist and just like Waldo are usually found in the most unlikely places, and are arguably just as detail-oriented when it comes to clothes, shoes and accessories as the editors of any Vogue magazine.

Take for instance, Willie Gregory, born and bred on the city’s southside, who managed to use geometric shapes, bright colors and his imagination to turn two simple words, slap and life (Spread Love And Peace Life Is Free Education) into a city-wide sensation. While utilizing the help of Twitter and Facebook, Gregory had launched a city-wide fashion trend that not only has gotten the attention of his community, but also provides a sense of pride and fashion redemption.

“I try and make it easy to understand and for everyone. It isn’t just  for hood n****s and back-packers, It’s for everyone, and SLAP LIFE isn’t just about fashion. I , oneday, plan on using the profits from it to use to aide impoverished communities like Youngstown and other places that are in need,” Gregory said.

 Gregory and other lovers of everything fashion, like myself, are not always at the forefront of the conversation when it comes to fashion, but are hoping to become relavant. I’ve heard so many argue that fashionable instincts are as likely to occur on a large scale in this town as fish walking upright in the Sahara desert and honestly I can’t say that their doubts are without merit, but what I can say is the lack of access to chic and sophisticated influence from larger cities is what forced me to fend for myself in a jungle of patterns, prints and colors. I found that the same poor socio-economic conditions  that disqualified me from purchasing merchandise from top designers like Christian Louibitan and Vercase  is what catapulted my inner diva. I learned early that the closest I was ever going to get to a SoHo boutique was a visit to my mother and grandmother’s closets or the local Goodwill and I was OK with that. Instead of feeling unequipped to compete with the likes of New York or Paris

I decided that I’d bring my own sense of eccentricity to the table and ,for me, that’s enough. My definition of fashion and style cannot be found in the latest pages of magazines or a Hollywood red carpet. I find inspiration from the cracked crevaces in the streets of my neighborhood, from the attics of my aunts and uncles and the experiences of my hometown.