My mom blasted Lipps Inc's "Funkytown" and Babe Ruth's "The Mexican" on our big brown stereo system when I was a kid. By grade 4, I had rigged my own mini stereo in my bedroom with begged and borrowed parts. Using money from my paper route, I made trips to the department store for the latest 45 singles and cassette tapes. My babysitter - and his beautiful wood panel mixer, made me eclectic mixtapes. I was fascinated by his ability to blend one song into the other with that funky-looking box and mom convinced him to DJ my backyard birthday party when I was 10. I'd get my first crack at DJ'ing the following year in England when our family found ourselves overseas due to my dad's work. In between trying to understand mandatory school uniforms and being harassed for my 'funny accent', I continued to obsessively collect music. However, the sounds were different as house music was exploding in the UK. I was introduced to the likes of Rebel MC, A Guy Called Gerald, S'Express, and 808 State. It was music from the future, but with the familiar disco rhythms that reminded me of the records my mom played when I was a kid. It was a dream to dance to, and dancing became my refuge. I spent every night I could at the local youth club, moving my body. The windowless concrete building full of speakers and flashing lights was painted entirely black on the inside. It was there, on an army base off the M40 in the English Midlands, that I got my first taste of mixing two records together.