DJs serve as messengers, dialing into a frequency and opening a channel between heaven and earth for those on the dance floor. Underground dance music culture provides a space for dancers to congregate and seek fellowship. So it’s no wonder you can trace Baltimore producer and DJ Karizma’s roots back to the church. He thought he would grow up to be a preacher — and, in a sense, he has.
“I’ve been in church pretty much up until I was 17 years old. I was a junior Deacon…the president of our choir. And I did the whole spiel. But music was the draw for me. Not so much the religious part. The music was the draw.”
“I’ve been in church pretty much up until I was 17 years old. I was a junior deacon, president of our choir, and I did the whole spiel. But music was the draw for me. Not so much the religious part, The music was the draw.”
Karizma
He spent a lot of time listening to records that his grandmother would bring home, and to the radio.
“A place you could always find me was in front of the radio. That was just something I always did. It wasn’t sports, it wasn’t anything else, it was being in front of the radio,” he said.
Karizma’s first releases were through Unruly Records, a Baltimore club music label started in 1992, and with the Basement Boys, the legendary house music label started in 1986 by Jay Steinhour, Teddy Douglas, and Thommy Davis. He’s played around the world at international festivals, and last year had several gigs, including the inaugural Zapateo Festival in West Virginia, as well as the launch of his new residency at Darkroom, It’s Something Else. His intention with the residency is to bring rising DJ stars from outside of Baltimore into the city to introduce and integrate them into our underground dance music scene. This month, he brought in Juliet Mendoza from Los Angeles and Baronhawk Poiter from D.C. to join him on the decks.
Have you ever heard someone say they left a dance floor or a party feeling better, or maybe more like themselves? And if you’ve ever been to church, can you recall the spiritual renewal and ease you felt after listening to the sermon? Both contain relief and release. There is a commonality in the DJ and the pastor’s calling; they both seek to help their audience heal. Same message, different pulpit. They help us work it out and carry on.
I first experienced one of Karizma’s sonic sermons at Darkroom, an underground dance music club in downtown Baltimore. His set had people dancing, clapping, shouting, and reveling in house music for hours.
Another parallel between the church and the club is the element of repetition — the chants of a choir, mirroring the chorus of your favorite Baltimore club song or house music track. The ecstasy in dancing unlocks dopamine, releases endorphins and inhibitions, and can flood you with joy.
If you have the ability to witness Karizma DJ, and you really listen, close your eyes, let your head fall, and listen, hear the subwoofer, you will inevitably dance. When you exit the dance floor, you are not the same.
Karizma is a veteran of the Baltimore dance music scene. He got his start DJing fashion shows at 13, dancing at clubs like Fantasies to sets by Teddy Douglas, and, eventually, producing his own tracks.
“Fantasies is where I got my knowledge, you know, listening to Teddy Douglas, Michael Joyner, Mark Henry, Sean Cesar, all those guys.”
He said that Fantasies was also where you can trace the origin of Baltimore Club music.
“That was kind of where the birth of Baltimore club was, because that’s where we heard all of the records that we would eventually sample and put together to make some of the classics. That was the birthplace,” he said.
Karizma’s production and DJing have been world-renowned for decades. If you were fortunate enough to attend the Renaissance Tour you might have heard a song that sampled his work (Beyonce’s team may or may not have asked for permission to utilize it in her set).
In 2018, his song “Work It Out” was featured in a Google Chromebook commercial. “Work It Out” sounds exactly like it could be echoing from the churches I grew up in in Texas. It brings me back to the tattered red carpet and tan pews and to my mom holding my hand as she shook a tambourine with her other, keeping the rhythm and maintaining the pace.
Karizma says that music is a way for him to translate the ineffable.
“I think what I do is just try to communicate what I’m feeling at the point when I’m feeling it — and hope that somebody gets something out of it.”
This translation, for him, results in records that resonate and DJ sets that bring us to rapture.
“That’s the bigger purpose. I really do hope whatever I put out helps somebody. That’s always been a big thing to me because that’s what made me want to be a DJ.”
He started off playing all genres. “Hip hop, reggae, house — I pretty much played everything. Back then you couldn’t just play one type of genre, you had to flip it because people would cuss you out,” he said. That versatility is evident in both his track selection and his production. I’ve heard him blend in tech-house, flip hip-hop samples, and layer gospel tracks over house music beats.
His ability to keep the crowd moving is, in part, due to the fact that he himself is a dancer.
When he first started DJing, he also danced to the sounds of his favorite DJs.
“I was a really good dancer. I would go to clubs, and that was my thing. I would be the first there and the last to leave. That kind of fueled the whole DJing thing as well. I feel like if you don’t dance or feel something, then why are you doing it?”
Karizma
“I was a really good dancer. I would go to clubs, and that was my thing. I would be the first there and the last to leave. That kind of fueled the whole DJing thing as well. I feel like if you don’t dance or feel something, then why are you doing it?”
He purchased his first keyboard, the Ensoniq ASR-1, and got to work.
“I know if I can dance to it, I can make it. And I want to make the music that people dance to, he said.”
There are certain songs, certain moments, where DJs transmit and tap in directly to the audience. The next time you see someone DJ, take a look at the DJ (if they’re serious) and take a look at those around you who are really really dancing. It becomes almost meditative, this ritual exchange of energy between the selector and the scene on the dance floor.
Watching Karizma play can also be a blueprint for DJs who are interested in playing sets that are more authentic, more about the music, and less about the spectacle.
“I want to have that conversation, because that’s what DJs used to do. It ain’t so much now,” he said. “I hate to be the old guy, but we [DJs] don’t have conversations with the people we’re playing music to.”
Throughout the years he has been intentional about experimenting with his technical DJ and production skills. He describes his Pioneer CDJs (electronic turntable equipment) as a unique instrument, and he spent a year figuring out how to make it his own.
“I studied a lot of the turntablists, I bought the newest CDJ. And I sat at home for like a year, and figured out how I can make that an instrument and how I can make it unique.”
Karizma’s ingenuity and love for music are evident in his DJ sets. For a while he was a resident DJ at Sky Lounge, and every Thursday, he would mix in current hits to surprise the crowd.
“Every Thursday, what I started doing was, I would make new edits and music just for that night.” A pivotal moment in his career came with the creation of “Twist This,” an edit inspired by Donnie’s “Cloud Nine.”
“I made an edit of it… And every time I played it, people would just lose it.”
The turning point arrived when influential DJs like Benji B and Giles Peterson played one of his tracks, and he received crucial support from Carrie at R2 Records. This encouragement led to the creation of an album.
For Karizma, DJing is a conversation between him and the audience, “DJs are playing whatever is hot instead of going with what they feel in their gut.”
But he emphasizes that conversation should be led by a DJ who is as passionate about the music as the audience and who isn’t afraid to take risks.
“Instead of being afraid to lose the floor and playing that one record that you really love, you’ll play everything you think everybody wants instead of what you feel in your heart. And I do believe people feel in that.”
He not only DJs and curates shows — he makes it a point to remain connected to the younger generation of DJs.
“I try to go to parties, and I go wherever my boy Kade [Young] plays, because he knows what’s going on.” He said he’s happy to see the influx of young selectors doing something different. “I’m too old to be doing my 160 groove, but I gotta leave room for the young [folks] to take it somewhere.”
“Like most artists, the majority of my music is therapy, and that’s why I think it resonates with a lot of people.” For Karizma, the creation of “Work It Out” was therapeutic. Interestingly enough, the track wasn’t actually meant for public consumption. It was created to help him process his own emotions. “That was my personal track to make me feel better because that Trump shit just didn’t make sense to me,” he said.
“I got a message. I think you need to hear it, and you guys are who I’m communicating with. And there we are, there’s my church.”
“Same deal, different pulpit, I got a message. I think you need to hear it, and you guys are who I’m communicating with. And there we are, there’s my church.”
karizma