Cuts from the Barber chair

Chapter 1 - My Genesis

One thing a stranger may not know about me is that the same year I started writing song lyrics was the same year I picked up the clippers.

Growing up in my small city, the urban barbershop scene was virtually nonexistent. In the words of my buddy Ronnie, we had to get the “Oakdale Mall Special,” followed by a sad laugh and a haircut that took two weeks to look good. That said, having a pretty girl cut your hair as a young teen wasn’t so bad—though my principles on polarity weren’t as well understood then as they are now.

Being ethnically Greek comes with having facial and body hair at a young age… for most of us, anyway. The absence of my father left a gap that my mother couldn’t fill—not for lack of love, but simply because she didn’t have the knowledge of what it meant to be a man. She didn’t know to tell me not to shave with a razor blade when you have curly hair. If you look at pictures of me from those years, my complexion appears darker due to acne—a side effect of shaving too close to the skin.

Fast forward, and my little town that had been stuck in the past started to catch up. I remember it like it was yesterday.

I was part of a gospel choir called New Heights in high school. My love for singing drew me there, along with a deep curiosity for God and the many ways people expressed themselves to Him. Shoutout to Bishop Simpson for being a guide to me at the time. Though others may say he was not a good person and not fit to lead others to the light, in those times, he was a positive figure—and Lord knows I needed it.

During my senior year of high school, he took me to get my first real haircut—a taper. I had curly hair and pork chop sideburns. The pictures still make me laugh.

The barber, to this day, remains a legend in Binghamton, NY—Rico.

The owner of New York Styles had a little hole-in-the-wall shop in Johnson City. He sat me down, gave me a light taper, knocked down my sideburns, and lined me up with a sharp, skinny chin strap. Wow! was my only response. I had never looked that good in my life.

I had seen him in the past working in a barbershop near my high school. He was always well-dressed and put together. Back then, adults—just like today—would always ask, What do you want to be? I didn’t know that at all, much less how I even wanted to look. So, flowers to Rico for giving me a style to run with.

I was a relatively poor kid in those days. I always tell a story about my boy Will saying to me, Yo, Dev… you got like four shirts now. He said it with envy, as he definitely had less.

It was only natural that I realized I couldn’t pay for a cut every week, so the next logical step was to learn on myself.

I started out with the dollar store clippers, trying to follow Rico’s work. The better the batteries, the better they worked—I’m sure someone, somewhere, can relate to that little detail. I got pretty nice with my clips quickly, and my boys started to notice. Will, Jonny, Butch, and my cousin Mike were among the first to let me practice on them. For that, I’ll be forever grateful.

My First Job

Year one of community college, 2000. I was studying communications and mass media. Still passionate about music, I ran into one of my now best friends and music label mates, Matt Ealy—aka Matt da Godfather (but we’ll save that story for another post).

Some time had passed since my cuts from New York Styles. The shop was a little far from my house, so I decided to try a barbershop on the Southside. This spot had changed ownership a few times. A barber nicknamed Ice was super skilled and took a liking to me. A short-lived friendship—I never saw him again after he went to prison for stabbing someone pretty bad.

All of that led up to me walking into Southside Barbershop when it became Blazin Cuts,owned and operated by Charlie Williams—aka Musa. I had met him before through a friend named Andrew. I can’t exactly remember why I went there that day, but Charlie noticed I had a nice shape-up. Like most barbers, when they see good work, they ask, Who did it?

My reply: Myself.

He said I wasn’t too shabby and, if I wanted, I could come up under his wing and learn. Bright-eyed, I said yes!

My first real job.

I just had to bring in a cut and show him what I could do. Naturally, I grabbed one of my best friends, Donald (dj 220)—who, to this day, is 40+ with a perfect hairline. Thanks to me and genetics, of course.

Musa showed me the ropes. He taught me about fading and the structure of a good haircut. He taught me how to zero-gap my clippers and make beards really stand out. Most importantly, he taught me responsibility and accountability.

Musa passed a few years ago, but I can still hear his voice and his silly whistle.

Whenever he didn’t like something—See ya!—accompanied by a thumbs-up gesture.

I know anyone who knew him would appreciate that.

Musa taught me to hustle for myself and gave me a respectable job as a young man. In many ways, he and Rico woke up something inside me that most people never find—a kind of self-worth that is metaphysical.

Barbering has always been an art, and I had always been an artist.

I am forever thankful to them for showing me how to draw with clippers and, more importantly, leading me—whether they knew it or not—onto the path of self-improvement.