What Makes Him Spin?
A close-up look at DJ O.G. One, the Pacific Northwest’s Premier Disc Jockey
By: Suzy Vitello Soulé
It’s an hour before showtime in the Rose Garden Arena, and David Jackson, aka DJ O.G. One, is running behind. The Trail Blazers’ official DJ has to pick up his son. Track practice started today, and that means crossing the metro area during rush hour — something this father of six has done before.
Finally coasting to his space in the loading dock section of Drexler Drive, O.G. calmly moves his equipment from the trunk of his baby-blue Impala to a small, collapsible dolly: speakers, headphones, CDJs (CD players), amp. He joins the throngs of support personnel, has his backpack checked at security, and pushes his cart into the freight elevator. Up he rides to his perch, nestled in the money section of the arena, where he has a commanding view of the court, the fans, and the ever-shifting energy of the game.
Tonight’s contest against the Indiana Pacers is another sellout, and as fans begin to take their seats, donning Blazers jerseys, and wielding foam index fingers, an upbeat din grows. After all, Indiana just got smeared at the Staples Center, handing the Lakers one of its division-leading victories. Surely the Pacers will be off pace, with the patina of defeat in their jump.
But the feel at this early-March game at the Rose Garden, according to O.G., is guarded. Why? The Lakers, the Thunder, the Celtics, and the Jazz. Four home court losses in February, a firestorm of injuries, and two months of uneven play from a team that pundits call slow, young, and tentative. Confidence is the name of the game in basketball. It’s O.G.’s job to help create an atmosphere of confidence.
The Blazers’ DJ wraps a second headset around his neck and scans the crowd as it trickles to its seats. “I feed off the vibe of the crowd,” he says. “It’s an important part of what I do.”
To be sure, translating the sentiments of the fans is only one part of O.G.’s job as Portland’s courtside spin doctor. Getting the players hyped up before tip-off and during halftime, knowing what beats to play for possession, for defense, for game-changing baskets — a plethora of decisions need to be made with split-second timing. Then there are the various voices and texts to process. “It’s pretty crazy sometimes,” he says. “The producer is saying one thing, I got my guy watching the court, and then there’s requests being texted to me. I got to vibe off the fans. Know what I know about the music that the players respond to.”
O.G. was signed on as DJ two years ago, thanks to his existing relationship with then-Nike executive Larry Miller. Miller was head of the Brand Jordan division, where O.G. worked events and promotions. When Miller became Team President of the Blazers, O.G. convinced him that the organization could learn from other NBA teams and hire a dedicated disc jockey.
As the official DJ for the Blazers, O.G.’s interface with the community extends beyond the court. He runs his own production company, O.G. Productions, and with help from collaborator and producer Sharon Thomas he hosts an Internet show, Rose City Connection. He also co-hosts The Show with Tone and O.G. on the radio station 95.5 The Game every Sunday morning.
In his ever-expanding role in community activism, Jackson mentors high school students at Jefferson High School through Self Enhancement, Inc., volunteers for an array of arts-related organizations, including the Urban Arts Dance Company, and is on the board of several institutions and organizations.
But his most important role, he says, is as husband to the same woman for 18 years, and father to six children ranging in age from 11 to 26. The secret to his successful marriage, he says, is “being able to see your spouse through the eyes of God.” A big player in an industry aligned with sex and drugs, Jackson keeps faithful and balanced, relying on the very same strengths he does when navigating myriad distractions while working his gigs. Looking at the big picture, and acting in accordance with firmly held values instead of grabbing at the transient sparkle. That, and relying more heavily on gut instinct than external pressures.
“Look, there are many, many gorgeous women,” he says. “Temptation is all around, every day. If you make your choices based on moment-to-moment physical attraction instead of a deeper value, then you’ll be always out there, looking for the next thing.”
Jackson brands himself and his wife as somewhat strict parents. With three adolescents in their household, the Internet is monitored and much value is placed on working hard and earning good grades at school. The main parenting code he lives by, though, has more to do with integrity than anything else. “If you commit to something — dance, music, sports — do it all the way, with your whole self.”
Jackson’s own childhood was much less idyllic that what he is providing for his children. Born David Williams Jackson Jr., he grew up in Los Angeles’s infamous Watts neighborhood, was raised by a single parent, and spent his formative years involved in gang activity. As an adolesccent, Jackson ran away from home and struggled. He fathered children young, got into trouble often, and was sent to a local church school to straighten out.
Though the church he belonged to was eventually implicated in scandal, it was there where Jackson first rerouted his energy and tapped into his inner strength. The church, which morphed into a quasi-Olympic training cult called Ecclesia Athletic Association, gained national attention in 1988, when the 8-year-old minister’s daughter was beaten to death by some of its members. At the time, Jackson, who’d been involved with the group since the age of 14, had followed Ecclesia founder Eldridge Broussard up to Oregon to train for the Cascade Runoff.
As a result of the incident, Jackson’s mother was imprisoned, along with other members of the group. Jackson’s children and his younger brother were put into foster care, and he was left homeless, a survivor of tragedy and adrift from his community. He was forced to fend for himself and try to make sense of his relationship with the church, God, and himself. Over the next four years, he rebuilt his faith and understanding of God and humanity, and that’s when he discovered he had a talent for connecting people with music.
In 1992 Jackson deejayed a middle school dance and had an epiphany. He realized while watching the kids being affected by what he played that his lifelong love for music naturally merged with his appreciation and love for people of all types, and he began to see that this could become his life’s work.
Since then, Portland’s favorite spinmeister has continued to look forward. Unapologetic about his God-based views and his deeply held belief that this country would benefit greatly if we practiced what is printed on our money (“In God We Trust”), O.G. uses his handle as a mantra to hone his focus. He draws from the discipline that he maintains was a positive outcome of his time with the church, and keeps up a fast-break pace.
At the Pacers game, O.G. is limping a little at halftime, but he’s all smiles, because his team has a double-digit lead. His leg is sore. “Torn meniscus,” he ventures, a byproduct of too much weight on the leg press machine. “No worries, I’m still good to do my 1s and 2s,” he tells concerned fans, pointing to his hi-tech setup as they march up to his berth carrying CDs or asking for his autograph.
His relationship to the community knows no color, he says. Racial tension, particularly between the Portland police and African-Americans, has increased lately, and Jackson has been vocal with his thoughts about it. “I’ve experienced incidents, sure,” he says. “I grew up in Watts, California, where I’ve had my share of terrible police interactions, but I’m more interested in us addressing why we won’t take back our communities.”
He feels strongly that neighborhoods need to be more accountable for their citizens, and not depend on law enforcement or teachers to do all the heavy lifting. “We see so many things that are going wrong in our community, from drug houses, gangs, violence, etc., but how many actually rally behind an effort to address it?” he asks.
He believes that if a community is infected by disease, be it drug trafficking, prostitution, or gang warfare, then the community should band together, rally, march, and otherwise take a stand and deliver a collective voice against these things. “It [takes] a collective whole to look into their own backyards and possibly point out their own friends [and] family and hold them accountable.”
For years Jackson has devoted many hours a week working with kids at Jefferson High School. Jefferson, a school once deemed failing, has seen its share of positive development recently, thanks in part to Jackson’s one-on-one interactions with students. “I believe that our communities have neglected our children by allowing media and schools and negative associations like gangs to both raise our children and dictate what community value is,” he says. “When I say take back our communities, I mean get back to the basic practices of knowing our neighbors and holding each other accountable for our contributions to a positive and productive society.”
The experiences he’s had mentoring at-risk youth have fueled his belief that when it comes to affecting change, it takes personal investment, and that ultimately, that investment pays off. “I remember one particular student who had been pretty much written off by various teachers because she had such a negative posture,” he recalls. “I remember seeing her with a frown on her face every day, and she would use profanity towards adults any time they would try to tell her to go to class. I decided to just routinely tell her that she would look much nicer if people saw her smile, and at first she’d look at me like I was crazy, but after several months she would smile every time she saw me . . . even going back to a frown after she passed me. This led into many one-on-one discussions that got into the reasons why she felt like she had no reason to smile, but just because I took the time to get involved in her world and care about her happiness, it motivated her to graduate from high school. From that point on we became even closer and now she considers me her dad. . . . That is priceless!”
Near the end of the game, O.G. is getting another text. This one is from his son, who is in the audience somewhere. “He’s a pretty big fan,” he says, smiling a warm, quiet smile.
With the help of technology, Portland’s premier DJ has his finger on the pulse of an entire city, it would seem. Back at his post with his 1s and 2s, his two turntables, O.G. absorbs the growing positive vibe during the second half of this blowout victory against the Pacers. In the final minutes Portland busts 100 points, and the Blazers’ official DJ ups the tempo to match the Chalupa chant from a Rose Garden full of ecstatic fans.
Suzy Vitello Soulé is a Portland writer. For more info, check out:
www.suzyvitello.com or www.bridgepointcreative.com
