BILLY WEATHERS — Black Lives of DSM

BWell-8418 (1).jpg — I WANT MY MUSIC TO DO FOR OTHERS WHAT IT DID FOR ME.
BILLY

I always had a complex and carried it for a long time. Always searching for my place. I was too dark for the whites and not Black enough for the Blacks. Our society does it’s best to complicate your individualism. You’re supposed to look like this, or represent that. I was into sports and hip-hop, but I also liked classical music and Harry Potter. I felt like I protected parts of me that I didn’t think would be accepted...A light that I dimmed.

My parents never shied away from questions. Recognizing my family complexity helped me learn more about myself. I watched my mom fight for her space at work; be the breadwinner. The motivation behind our existence. She recognized potential before I saw it in myself. How that strength of women is somehow a threat to our society has never made sense to me. She is always swinging and holding me down. Early on, my dad separated himself from his roots just to survive. That trauma is the PTSD many Black men are going through. To survive is to conform. Those complexes have drastically changed my pops’ narrative. In Iowa, you gotta play this role to be accepted by the whites. Be proper, successful, intelligent...but stay quiet. Through it all, pops taught me the importance of attention to detail and appreciation for self. You may not have a million dollars, but you’re going to make it look Iike you do. If you feel like it, you’ll shine it. Whether you’re in the hood selling dope or you’re the CEO of McDonald’s; nobody can judge how you get through as long as you hold yourself by orders and principles.

I had to face the full spectrum of my duality. Fail, after fail, finding my truth took work. Worst things have happened to better people, so I better figure it out. My parents weren’t going to throw money at problems. I had to learn to bandage it up and fix it. I’m grateful for my experiences even though they came with resentment. I recognize the benefits of my mom’s white privilege. I was afforded opportunities that my friends didn’t. I hid that. But, you don’t have to come from the slums to have a story. You also don’t have to be white and proper. I can just be Billy.

Little boys and girls need to embody their shine early on. Wear your hair natural, speak up — do that shit because you came from power and legacy. Hold that up every single day. Set your tone and tempo and don't ever dim it for anyone. Don’t let America strip you of that.

I’ve always felt forced into these different worlds of who or what I should be. Music helped get me out of my own way. I became too comfortable. Once I took the mask off, that was the revelation that I was truly living for. Who is Billy and what he stands for? Getting intimate with music helped me find authentic honesty that was undeniable. Many times, searching for my core almost broke me. I identified flaws and insecurity and challenged them. It’s easy to be a man and think you’re untouchable. That American male mentality is very dangerous rhetoric. I had strong women holding me accountable. I learned to control what I could and fuck the unrealistic goals of who I was supposed to be to everyone else. I want my music to do for others what it did for me. It’s how I learned who I am. It was the tool.

The perception of perfection will never be obtained. I know I’ll never make the perfect song, but my mom always has me digging for more. Figuring out what’s next. Refusing to settle for the moment. Questioning the purpose. What’s certain is that I'm tired of our world being fucked up. We’re gonna keep fighting. It’s bigger than everything else. Over the summer, my team and I brought together thousands of people; and I know people are finally paying attention. They are trying to figure out our energy. They know we’re on to something good. To my core, I believe you can change the world by being a walking testament of what you stand for — and that's all I want to do. That’s who Billy is.