On redefining spirituality

In scheduling this conversation, you mentioned that you had a really busy work week. Why was it so busy?

I’m always working. I think that’s the interesting thing about being a creative now: there is a push to create products, versus a push to create something that is authentic and isn’t packaged for consumption. Finding the balance within that, especially when I’m getting more visibility, has been a game of strategy and balance. So this week, I spoke to Streetlight Gallery and we did a sound test for the Cornbread Home System V1, [a sound system] I just built, as one of the artists part of their inaugural group exhibition, A Call Home. They’re asking me to specifically do an LP release for *Negro Night Prayers. *So I went and checked it out and sound tested it this week. Then I designed a different horn to add to the piece. So just coming up with a design plan with that.

I’m in meetings constantly with people—partners, now that Black American Sound System (B.A.S.S.) is growing as a company. And at night, I am inundated with writing and recording. It seems like I get the best ideas in the bathtub at 11 at night, and then I gotta get out, and I’m recording it and writing it. And then I still have to watch Buffy. Now it’s 2 or 3 am and I’m trying to eat my couscous and watch my show. So it’s been a lot. [laughs] Then I’m up in the morning and I take that time to get my energy right for the day. I’m meditating, I’m boxing, I’m going running and getting that energy up.

Are creative projects how you make your living?

Part of it. I am also a paralegal. One thing that has been taking my energy is redefining what work is. I was raised around the premise that having a job is the most valuable thing you can do. That’s something that’s the basis of Black Christianity as well. Now I’m realizing, especially how political times are and [how] the economy is, I want to make really good work rather than try to “hard work” the fuck out of something. Let’s just get real here: we’re in the Bay Area, so there’s a hustle and I’m appreciative of that—but there’s also a balance.

I’m trying to lift B.A.S.S. off the ground and answering and scaling to the visibility that it has. Same thing with my music career. I’m also an immigration paralegal and this week has been hell, quite honestly. Especially because ICE was just deployed in the Bay Area right near my home, Alameda. It’s right outside my door, so there’s that type of interaction. We’re trying to get resources out to people and checking in with our clients… And that’s what ends up paying the rent. But also I’m very grateful that the contracts and the performances that I’m getting now as an artist are starting to financially supersede that job. I’m in a place of transition, of like, okay, I can put this down and do a little less of that now. I could just focus on this music thing.

I’ve been following you and your work for the past several years and I’ve come to see you as a multifaceted artist: a musician, a composer, a performer, a craftsman who makes speakers. Why is sound so important?

That’s a beautiful question. The reason why sound is so important is because I find it to be an expression of freedom in a world where human ingenuity is declining. A.I. is rising up and doing whatever it’s doing. I find that the voice is the rawest expression. It’s the essence of self. It’s a direct hole to your soul and your heart. When it’s expressed, it can create worlds. Even the way that politics is centered around voice and what that says. Historically, Black people have been silenced. During slavery [devices were created] to restrict screaming. All of those things tie in to [how voice] is an expression of freedom. My quest here and my time here is to explore that, to flex and grow as much as possible within myself and with the technology I’m using to create music.

Considering all the different mediums you work in, how do you start a project? And how do you decide what it will be?

I do not decide what it will be; I am not in control! Let the people know! People ask me, “Where is the music?” And I’m like, “Girl! I don’t have it! I don’t know!” [*laughs*] Let me back up. My creative projects always come from my ancestors, and my dreams, and what I see, and what I think is just cool shit. And then I’m like, can I do this? Is this possible?

With [crafting] speakers, it’s something that I can do that’s tangible. Once I’m in the process, I learn more about it and I can do it better next time—like a pancake. With music, I will literally be in the shower or driving and get a whole song in my head. I have to pull over and record a voice memo. That’s how it starts, and then I build a world around it. I think about the world that I’m building. How is this gonna make people feel? What does this look like? What colors do I see? How can I perform this on stage? [Performance] is a huge aspect of what I do. I love performing and so I think about the performance aspect of it too.

When do you get to the point where you know it’s done?

It’s never done! I have at least five albums worth of music completed and all types of voice memos and things that have been released or need to be released. I’m getting better at knowing when it’s done. I’ll make a song and listen to it for months and be like, “Yo, this is my favorite song,” and then release it. But then I’ll be bored of it. I’m not even there anymore. You know? My life doesn’t really resonate with [that song] anymore. So I guess it’s done? I guess y’all can have it—that’s an old Deon! I know when it’s done when it just doesn’t really apply to me anymore, when I’ve grown past it. I make [a song] specifically for me in a [specific] time and now I can move past it.

You’ve released two musical projects, Home and 22(2). I’ve noticed there are these strong themes of spirituality, God, and faith in your work. Talking with some of your friends and colleagues, I’ve come to understand that there was a moment where you struggled with your traditional Southern Black Christian upbringing, especially being a queer Black man. Especially, too, because it seems like your introduction, foundation and connection to music came from the church and your faith. How has your understanding of spirituality evolved as you’ve reconciled your faith with your identity and your art?

My relationship with God has truly grown in a very beautiful and untraditional way. I grew up in an upbringing where I was taught God was punishing and condemning and we started in a deficit first. I grew up hearing all types of horrible things in relation to my queerness, but I was still trying to find this value in my job at the church and playing this church boy. This God-fearing, literal boy—now man—having to hide my sexuality. But it was just so visible. I make this very clear: I’m not a Christian today. In fact, I hated God. I was like, why would you make me this way, just to go through all this bullshit? Why would I endure this identity just to experience such hatred from people when I don’t feel that way? So that’s the tradition I was raised under.

As time went on and I was on my own, in college and in the Bay Area far from connection with family and hometown and that homophobia, I created the first record, Home. I was [curious about], what was my reconciliation with home? Why did I move away? Why is it this way? Who is Deon outside of church, and home, and God, and all of that? With 22(2), that was my reclamation of what I had learned in 2020 and 2022. Throughout those years of the pandemic, I was dealing with the first huge deaths in my family. We hadn’t really experienced funerals… Maybe about 11 aunties, uncles, cousins were just gone. Funeral after funeral, and me devoid of any type of faith or connection. I think someone told me directly—like, I was expressing my grief, and they told me that you have to speak the language of your ancestors to talk to them and they want to talk to you. They can guide you out of these things, but you have to speak their language. That’s when I had to reconcile with Christianity. How am I going to make this true for me? How can I make this a buffet plate where I get a little bit of this and a little bit of that? They call that an intersectional theological work. Across the board, across religions, it’s loving yourself and loving others, but also having that boundary. Addressing that polarity, addressing the natural laws. That, to me, is the spirituality I abide by. What’s more, is learning that God is in the mundane and in the exciting: in the clubs, in the church, in nature, in buildings, and in people. Understanding that really transformed my relationship with God.

People love to bring up Jesus and all of that stuff. Even in those examples, let’s not forget: Jesus was hanging out with sex workers and the gays and flipping over tables over some bullshit that was happening in the government. It’s that type of answering the call that I’ve really grown accustomed to. I literally get up in the morning and I’m like, “Tell me what to do today.” That’s how I’ve gotten this far. Rewriting and healing and theology—is that what I’m supposed to be doing here? I had an ex who actually broke up with me because they told me my art, and I, was too corny. I was hurt about it, but my therapist told me people love corn and people love cheese. I’m finding that the more I lean into that and the things that make me true, that’s what people love.

In a past interview, you said, “Isn’t learning love and transcending fear what we are here for?” What have you learned about love?

The man that I’m looking for is the one that I need to become. Without a doubt, the love that I’m looking for is the one that I need to become. I used to people please and stay longer than I needed to. I had an anxious attachment style. I wrote about this on “BLACK N MILD.” I used to people please so much to the point where I would blame myself for the ways that they would react. I would beat myself up in ways like smoking a Black & Mild [cigar]. Or believe that they only wanted me to be Black and mild. Instead of the expectation, instead of the attachment, instead of the anxiety around that, why not express the same freedom and the same love? That has really opened my heart to different types of relationships and viewing it as an experience rather than an obligation. It’s been nice. I recalibrated my love life.

What have you learned about fear and transcending it?

Discernment is a device that can be used to transcend it. Knowing what’s real and knowing what’s not. A lot of the time, my fears are centered around worrying about existence. Am I going to be remembered? Is this all the experience that my identity accounts for? Is there another side? I find that a lot of times fear is a space for learning to understand myself more, what I am tied to, and how I can be better. Something that I’ve noticed is that fear is also generational. A lot of my fears around people pleasing and respectability politics ties directly to my family lineage in Georgia, which was the most surveilled slave state. They had to be respectable. They had to people please for survival. Same thing with my family on my mom’s side in Texas. They were sharecroppers and the main backbone of the economy, but they were not paid enough for the work they had done. That translates to me asking for more, now. Understanding those fears [means] now I can pull this root and grow something else. I wrote “CHITLINS/YAMS,” and I get people asking me all the time, “Do you actually eat chitlins?” No, but in the act of getting intestines that were given as rations, Black culture has been able to create a dish out of sustenance and of survival. I should do the same with [my] experiences, with sounds, with politics, with who I am.