DJ Skribble is more than just a DJ—he’s a pioneer, a visionary, and a living testament to the power of perseverance in music. From his early days scratching on makeshift turntables in Queens to becoming the face of DJ culture on MTV, Skribble has carved out a legacy that spans decades, genres, and global audiences. His journey is one of raw talent, relentless hustle, and an undeniable love for music, bridging the worlds of hip-hop and electronic dance music like few have ever done. Whether it was touring with Public Enemy, spinning at legendary New York clubs, or bringing DJing into millions of living rooms through television, Skribble has always been at the forefront, pushing boundaries and redefining what it means to be a DJ.
But beyond the accolades, the sold-out shows, and the high-profile collaborations, Skribble’s story is one of heart. His passion for the craft has never waned, and his impact extends far beyond the booth. From rocking massive crowds to mentoring up-and-coming talent, he continues to influence and shape the next generation of DJs. In this exclusive interview, Skribble opens up about his roots, his rise to fame, and the evolution of DJing—from the analog era to the digital age. Strap in, because this conversation is a ride through music history with one of its most electrifying figures
This interview has been transcribed and edited for clarity
I’ve been a fan of yours for a long time and have known you through mutual friends and really appreciate you sitting down with us. There's a lot I want to ask, but let’s start from the beginning, what inspired you to start DJing, and how did your journey in the music industry begin?
I started DJing at 11 when I got my first set of turntables. By 12, I was already hitting park jams. I grew up in Queens but later moved to Long Island, where DJing was just as alive in the parks. In 1980, I met a kid named DJ Squidgy, and right away, I got a paper route to save money for my own equipment. After school, Squidgy and I would go to his house every day to practice.
My first turntables were Technics SL-B100s—straight-arm decks with a rubber band drive. If you pressed the platter too hard, it would stop. I learned to scratch on those until I could afford 1200s—well, 1210s first, then 1200s. I practiced relentlessly. Beyond DJing, I was deep into graffiti, which is how I got the name Skribble. I was bombing trains, tagging the 2s, 5s, Js, and Ms—fully immersed in hip-hop culture.
At 14, I told my parents I was going to see my friends, but instead, I took the train alone to the Bronx River projects. Walking in, this little white kid, people were like, “Yo, what are you doing here?” I said, “I want to meet Afrika Bambaataa.” They were blown away. That moment led me to meet legends like Grand Wizzard Theodore, Bambaataa, and T.C. Izlam. They took me in, and soon after, I became part of the Zulu Nation. That led to DJing for the Rock Steady Crew and eventually joining Young Black Teenagers, produced by Public Enemy. We performed in ‘88, dropped our first album in ‘89, and toured with PE for five years.
After leaving the group in ‘93, I got my break in radio. By ‘94, I was doing the morning show with Dr. Dre and Ed Lover, which led to appearances on Yo! MTV Raps. Then, I landed my own show. At first, I wasn’t into house music—I was a hip-hop junkie. My first night DJing at Palladium live on HOT 97, I had DJ Razor hand me records because I barely knew house music. That changed when I saw Junior Vasquez play at The Tunnel after Sound Factory closed. Walking in at 4:30 AM, I was blown away by an energy I never knew existed.
I had played some house—old Todd Terry records, The Bangles, more urban-style house—but that night, I fell in love with it. I decided I wanted to be the first DJ to truly live in both worlds. That became my mission, and I made it happen. Then MTV hit, and they gave me free rein to do whatever I wanted. The rest is history.
That's an incredible story. And just really speaks to like your grit and determination and your initiative.
I was homeless for a while, crashing on Craig Coleman's couch, sleeping in my truck, or staying at Dr. Dre’s place when I could. At one point, I got a job at Big Beat Records doing radio promo, running artifacts around for hip-hop artists. It was a grind, but I kept pushing.
My big break came after I left Young Black Teenagers. There was a major industry party during the New Music Seminar, and Stretch Armstrong was supposed to DJ—but he got sick. I was standing outside when someone asked, “Yo, Skribbs, you got your records with you?” Luckily, they were in my car. I jumped in, did the set, and suddenly, the whole industry was asking, “Who’s that guy?” I never imagined I’d still be doing this today—traveling to over 60 countries, all 50 states, working with incredible people on amazing projects. Even now, I have to pinch myself. It’s been an unbelievable ride.
One thing I wanted to ask about was your big break with MTV. In addition to DJing at the seminar, it really felt like MTV was the moment when you became the face of DJ culture. Before that, DJs were mostly behind the scenes—you heard them on the radio, but you didn’t necessarily see them. But with MTV, for the first time, there was a recognizable face associated with DJing. You became that face. Did you feel that shift in real-time? And how do you think that visibility impacted the DJ scene, especially for younger kids coming up?
People say I was the first celebrity DJ—the one who put a face to DJing for Middle America. I wasn’t just someone playing records; I was showing the world that a DJ is an artist, a performer, and a brand. Naturally, that led me to producing, which is when we started doing the MDMA albums, Traffic Jams, and Essential Mixes. I didn’t just want to play the music—I wanted to be part of the show.
My first real introduction to MTV came in ’98. I had just finished high school in ’97 when they brought me down to Spring Break in Negril, Jamaica. Before that, I had done spot dates with Dr. Dre and Ed Lover on Yo! MTV Raps, but this was different—my own thing. That Spring Break lineup was crazy—Brandy, Jay-Z, and DJ S&S were all there. I went in, did all my tricks, ran the Good Times routine, and suddenly, everyone was asking, “Can Skribble do this? Can Skribble do that?”
Then came the Jerry Springer Show down there, and when we got back, MTV called my manager, Charlie Stettler, and said, “We have a show for him.” That led to The Beach House at the Jersey Shore—but first, they had me DJ an exercise show called Daily Burn. I was like, “Wait, what? I’m DJing a workout show?” But it turned out to be ahead of its time—I was tailoring the music to the workouts before that was even a thing.
From there, it snowballed—I got MTV Jams with Tyrese, then I was everywhere: Spring Break, TRL, Daily Burn, Global Groove, Sisqo’s Shakedown—even shows I forgot I did. The biggest moment came in ’99 with Fly2K, when I toured with Jessica Simpson and 98 Degrees, picking up contestants before the massive New Year’s Eve party in Times Square. That night, I had six minutes of live airtime, spinning on six turntables alongside DJ Slinky and JS-1, right before midnight.
I’ll never forget when MTV asked us to rehearse, and I said, “No.” Dave Sirulnick looked at me like, “So you expect me to trust you with the biggest night of MTV’s history, live, with all eyes on us?” And I was just like, “Yeah, pretty much.” And he let me do it. That six-minute set, leading right into the new millennium, was history. I’ll always be grateful for MTV, but even more so for Dr. Dre, Charlie Stettler, Public Enemy, and Young Black Teenagers—without them, there would be no DJ Skribble.
From that point on it feels like everything took off like a rocket ship.
Yeah, it became a rocket ship from that point on. And then, I was doing the first MTV Music Generator for PlayStation. And then I had my toy deal with my own toys come out And, I was doing stuff for the NFL, for the MLB, and it was just this rocket ship, and hold on for dear life. And we were doing upwards of 280 to 300 shows a year at one point. I was never home,
Well, of all those shows in all the countries and everything around the world, is there anything that stands out to you as one of the craziest shows?
One of the most surreal moments of my career was performing for the troops during the USO tour in Iraq. Playing in a war zone, surrounded by soldiers who were out there fighting every day, really put things into perspective. Here I was, standing behind turntables, spinning 12-inch pieces of plastic, while these young men and women were risking their lives. I’ll never forget how close the danger was—I was sleeping just 100 yards from where a mortar hit. That experience changed me, and it’s why I’ve always been committed to supporting the military.
The connection runs deep—my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all served, and I was one signature away from joining myself before music took over. Giving back through these shows has been my way of honoring that legacy. For the past 20 years, I’ve had the privilege of performing for troops worldwide, and those shows mean more to me than anything. Bringing them a little piece of home, even for a night, is something I take seriously. I just got back from Okinawa, playing for the Marines, and I’m scheduled to head to Korea and back to Japan in June. I was supposed to go last year, but after October 7th, they had to cancel all 12 shows—for good reason. But as long as they’ll have me, I’ll keep showing up.
You've maintained success for an impressively long time, and I believe that kind of sustained growth defines true greatness. Given how much the industry has evolved—from your early days with turntables to today's digital mixing tools—what's your perspective on these changes? With how easily kids can now mix with the click of a button and access music digitally, how do you view these advancements, and what do you think the future holds for DJing?
The evolution of DJing has been wild, especially as technology has grown. At first, when Serato and digital setups came out, I thought, What the hell is this?—but let’s be real, it beats lugging around 13 boxes of records. I see technology as a tool rather than something I necessarily love. I want the newest and best gear not just to have it, but to figure out how to make it work for me and push my sound further. When Pioneer first released the EFX-500, a little effects unit, I discovered that by cranking the value all the way up and looping a two-bar or four-on-four beat indefinitely, I could create something new. I did it for the first time on MTV, and suddenly, Pioneer was selling those units like crazy.
Even today, I use different setups depending on what I’m playing. For house music, I lean on CDJs and USB sticks, but for my Skribble sets, it’s all about turntables, an S11 mixer, and my record box loaded with eight terabytes of music—I never plan my sets, so having that much music at my fingertips is crucial. The upside of technology is massive, but it’s a double-edged sword. It made DJing more accessible, but it also flooded the scene with people who aren’t real DJs, diluting the craft. That said, I’ve always stayed ahead of the curve. I never wanted to be left behind like a dinosaur.
What about kids getting into the game today? What advice would you give to anyone who's starting out?
For kids getting into the game today, it’s a whole different world. You have to be your own manager, agent, publicist, art designer, and marketing director. Social media plays such a huge role now, and while it’s made things more accessible, it’s also led to oversaturation. Back in the day, when I was selling records, people knew who I was. I’d land in Japan and be treated like a rock star—even in airports. If I wanted to get my music out there, I had to have physical copies or mixtapes for people to hear. Now, kids have it easier in terms of getting their music out globally with just a click, but it’s harder to stand out because of how much content is out there.
That said, if you’re in it for the fame or money, you’re in it for the wrong reasons. If you’re doing it for the music and because you’re truly talented, you’ll find your way. The road to success isn’t a straight path—it’s a roller coaster with ups and downs. It tests your stamina and willpower to see how badly you really want it.
We talked a little bit about Street Slang. What new projects are you working on? Where can people find you if they want to come see you?
Street Slang is a project I started with my younger partner, Dom Tufaro, who always jokes that he keeps me young. We clicked right away when I heard some of his early music, and before COVID hit, we got into the studio and created Street Slang. I’ve done everything I could in hip hop and mainstream music, but my heart has always belonged to real house music. Once I got into it in the early 90s, I was hooked, and I earned respect from legends like Dubfire, Danny Tenaglia, Carl Cox, and P-Ton. They recognize me as a DJ because I do both genres.
I feel like I plateaued in hip hop, and while there are some great new artists, I’m not really into trap or mumble rap—the energy just isn’t there for me. The crowd nowadays, with their phones up or acting too cool to dance, doesn’t connect with me. But in tech house, people still dance, get down, and bring that raw energy. That’s where I draw my inspiration. Street Slang still carries that gritty, raw energy from the streets, blended with soul and a hint of hip hop. We just signed a record with The Martinez Brothers on Cutting Headz, featuring Busta Rhymes, called “Everybody, Come On.” We also dropped “Touch Me” on Transit Records, and “U Don’t Know Me” on White Label Amsterdam. We’ve got more collaborations coming, including a record with Harry Romero.
We’re focused on building our catalog and gearing up for touring. I prefer the long road to success—it’s where you build longevity, learn from mistakes, and take risks. It’s no different than what I did with Skribble: we kept our heads down, stayed in the studio, and kept making music. Now, the record with Busta Rhymes, which we made a year ago, is finally getting attention from major DJs, and we’re just waiting for it to drop in mid-April. The process has taken time, but it’s worth it.