I was in Fort Lauderdale from about age 7 to 14. And that's where

The words of Diplo—“I was in Fort Lauderdale from about age 7 to 14. And that's where I learned the most about music. My favorite DJ was this guy named DJ Laz and the Miami bass guys. I was super into, like, Arthur Baker, that kind of stuff.”—are more than a recollection of youth; they are a testimony to the birth of artistic identity, a reflection on the sacred moment when influence becomes inspiration. In his voice, we hear the rhythm of discovery—the dawning realization that art is not born in isolation but forged in the fires of culture, sound, and community. Diplo’s words remind us that every master was once a listener, that every creator begins by being shaped by the echoes of others, until one day those echoes merge into something entirely one’s own.

He speaks of his childhood in Fort Lauderdale, that vibrant coastal city bathed in heat, sound, and sunlight—a place where music was not merely heard but lived. From ages 7 to 14, he was immersed in the electric pulse of Florida’s unique soundscape, where the deep bass of car stereos rolled like thunder down the streets, and the rhythm of Miami’s nightlife bled into every neighborhood. There, he encountered the artistry of DJ Laz, the pioneer of Miami bass, and the innovative beats of Arthur Baker, whose productions helped define the early fusion of hip-hop and electronic music. To the ancient ear, these names might seem modern, but their meaning is timeless: they were the mentors unseen, the voices that called a young soul toward its destiny.

From this small corner of the world, Diplo learned a truth known by every seeker of craft—that greatness begins with fascination. Before one can create, one must first be moved. Just as the ancient sculptor Pygmalion fell in love with the statue he carved, the young artist falls in love with the sounds that shape his imagination. The ancients spoke of muses, divine spirits who inspired creation; for Diplo, his muses were the DJs who turned rhythm into revelation. Their beats spoke not just to his ears but to his blood, awakening within him a desire to make music that could move others as deeply as it moved him. Thus began the transformation from listener to maker, from student to innovator.

In this, his story mirrors the eternal pattern of apprenticeship and mastery. Consider the young Leonardo da Vinci, apprenticed to Verrocchio in Florence. Before the master of the Mona Lisa ever touched brush to canvas, he mixed pigments, sketched forms, and observed the techniques of others. Yet in the act of imitation, he found innovation; in studying his teacher, he learned to surpass him. So it was with Diplo: by absorbing the rhythms of Miami bass, the textures of electronic funk, and the boldness of Arthur Baker’s production, he built the foundation upon which he would later erect his own sound—a sound that would reshape global music. His journey teaches that imitation is not weakness but the soil from which originality grows.

There is also humility in his recollection. By naming his early influences, Diplo acknowledges the lineage of creation—the truth that no artist stands alone. Every melody carries the memory of others; every rhythm echoes from the past. The ancients would call this filia technē, the brotherhood of craft, where each generation inherits the tools and transforms them. This humility is not a lessening of the self but a recognition of one’s place in the great continuum of art. For those who create—whether in music, writing, or life itself—this awareness keeps pride from corrupting purpose. To honor those who shaped us is to remain connected to the sacred source of inspiration.

Yet within this memory lies something more profound: the power of place. Fort Lauderdale, for Diplo, was not just geography—it was a crucible of experience, the landscape that gave birth to his artistic sensibility. The ancients knew that the soul is shaped by the soil in which it grows; the philosopher Heraclitus said, “Character is destiny,” but we might add—environment is character. Where we are raised, what we hear, see, and feel—all these become the architecture of our imagination. Thus, the young boy who listened to DJs in Florida would one day carry the rhythms of that coastline into global festivals, weaving the pulse of his youth into the music of the world.

Let this then be the teaching, O listener: honor your influences. Do not despise the humble beginnings of your craft, nor the voices that first stirred your curiosity. Seek out your own “Fort Lauderdale,” that place or moment where inspiration takes root, and guard it as sacred. For the passions of youth are not fleeting—they are the compass of destiny. Learn deeply from those who came before you, but do not remain their shadow; instead, let their music become the ground from which your own voice rises.

For in the end, as Diplo reminds us, greatness begins not in grand halls but in small rooms filled with sound; not in fame, but in fascination. His words are a testament to the timeless journey of all creators—the journey from listening to becoming. So listen deeply, study earnestly, and let your influences guide you toward originality. For the truest artists are those who take what they have received and transform it into something the world has never heard before.