Legendary DJ David Morales gets his start in House Music (my favorite)

**C. Dub:**  

Hey everyone, welcome back to *House Foundations*—the podcast where we celebrate the legends, the anthems, and the stories that shaped house music. I’m your host, C. Dub.

Today, we’re getting into the life and legacy of someone whose name is etched deep into the foundation of this culture. A Grammy-winning remixer, global DJ, and true craftsman of the dancefloor: **David Morales**.

He took house music from the basement to the Billboard charts, from Brooklyn block parties to Ibiza sunrises. But before all of that, he was just a kid in Flatbush chasing sound—and that’s where we start.

David Morales was born in 1962 and raised in Flatbush, Brooklyn—a neighborhood bursting with music, movement, and survival. His mom raised him as a single parent, working long hours to keep the home together. Life wasn’t easy, but it was alive.

Flatbush back then was a cultural crossroads—a swirl of Caribbean rhythms, Black American soul, Puerto Rican pride, and working-class grit. The soundtrack of his childhood came from every corner: soul out the window, funk blasting from cars, reggae pulsing from open shops, and the occasional salsa drifting from kitchen radios. It was chaotic, vibrant, and full of rhythm.

Morales was drawn to music from the start. He tells this story about being three or four years old, finding a record at a friend's house—"Spinning Wheel" on RCA Victor—and just knowing it mattered. Not because he understood it, but because it made him feel something. That curiosity never left.

He grew up above a local social club, and the real education came early in the mornings, when the party was over and the grown-ups were gone. The door would be cracked open, the air still thick with perfume and smoke, the music equipment still buzzing low. Little David would wander in, fascinated by what had just happened in that room. The vibe was still there, even without the people. And somehow, **he understood the energy music left behind.**

What set Morales apart was that, even in a Puerto Rican home, he gravitated toward Black American music. He wasn’t spinning salsa or Latin jazz in his room—he was locked into funk, disco, soul. It wasn’t about turning away from his culture—it was about chasing the groove that spoke to his spirit.

His first real brush with DJing came at 13—at his prom. He remembers standing outside, hearing First Choice's "Ten Percent" playing, and seeing a DJ for the first time with **two turntables.** That blew his mind. The idea that someone could mix from one record into another? It was like magic.

By 15, Morales was trying it for himself. But here’s the thing—he didn’t have pro gear. He was using a mic mixer with **no cueing** capability. He wasn’t even supposed to be running turntables through it, but he made it work. He figured out how to phase tracks in and out by ear. It was messy, but he was doing it.

He was learning with scraps, not state-of-the-art tech. And that’s part of the legend: Morales wasn’t handed the tools—he **willed** them into existence.

In 1980, Morales discovered **The Loft**. Saturday nights. Twelve, fifteen hours of dancing. David Mancuso’s sound system. That room. That experience.

That place taught him that DJing wasn’t about being flashy—it was about curating an emotional journey. It was about taste, pacing, dynamics. And that changed everything for him.

Soon after, Morales found himself behind the decks regularly—clubs like the Ozone Layer, Red Zone, The World. Places that defined New York’s nightlife.

He developed a rep for long sets, deep transitions, soulful builds. He didn’t just play records—he **sculpted** nights.

But he wasn’t just DJing—he was starting to **reshape** m

House Foundations podcast about Music, hosted by C Dub

Transcript

**C. Dub:**  

Hey everyone, welcome back to *House Foundations*—the podcast where we celebrate the legends, the anthems, and the stories that shaped house music. I’m your host, C. Dub.

Today, we’re getting into the life and legacy of someone whose name is etched deep into the foundation of this culture. A Grammy-winning remixer, global DJ, and true craftsman of the dancefloor: **David Morales**.

He took house music from the basement to the Billboard charts, from Brooklyn block parties to Ibiza sunrises. But before all of that, he was just a kid in Flatbush chasing sound—and that’s where we start.

David Morales was born in 1962 and raised in Flatbush, Brooklyn—a neighborhood bursting with music, movement, and survival. His mom raised him as a single parent, working long hours to keep the home together. Life wasn’t easy, but it was alive.

Flatbush back then was a cultural crossroads—a swirl of Caribbean rhythms, Black American soul, Puerto Rican pride, and working-class grit. The soundtrack of his childhood came from every corner: soul out the window, funk blasting from cars, reggae pulsing from open shops, and the occasional salsa drifting from kitchen radios. It was chaotic, vibrant, and full of rhythm.

Morales was drawn to music from the start. He tells this story about being three or four years old, finding a record at a friend's house—"Spinning Wheel" on RCA Victor—and just knowing it mattered. Not because he understood it, but because it made him feel something. That curiosity never left.

He grew up above a local social club, and the real education came early in the mornings, when the party was over and the grown-ups were gone. The door would be cracked open, the air still thick with perfume and smoke, the music equipment still buzzing low. Little David would wander in, fascinated by what had just happened in that room. The vibe was still there, even without the people. And somehow, **he understood the energy music left behind.**

What set Morales apart was that, even in a Puerto Rican home, he gravitated toward Black American music. He wasn’t spinning salsa or Latin jazz in his room—he was locked into funk, disco, soul. It wasn’t about turning away from his culture—it was about chasing the groove that spoke to his spirit.

His first real brush with DJing came at 13—at his prom. He remembers standing outside, hearing First Choice's "Ten Percent" playing, and seeing a DJ for the first time with **two turntables.** That blew his mind. The idea that someone could mix from one record into another? It was like magic.

By 15, Morales was trying it for himself. But here’s the thing—he didn’t have pro gear. He was using a mic mixer with **no cueing** capability. He wasn’t even supposed to be running turntables through it, but he made it work. He figured out how to phase tracks in and out by ear. It was messy, but he was doing it.

He was learning with scraps, not state-of-the-art tech. And that’s part of the legend: Morales wasn’t handed the tools—he **willed** them into existence.

In 1980, Morales discovered **The Loft**. Saturday nights. Twelve, fifteen hours of dancing. David Mancuso’s sound system. That room. That experience.

That place taught him that DJing wasn’t about being flashy—it was about curating an emotional journey. It was about taste, pacing, dynamics. And that changed everything for him.

Soon after, Morales found himself behind the decks regularly—clubs like the Ozone Layer, Red Zone, The World. Places that defined New York’s nightlife.

He developed a rep for long sets, deep transitions, soulful builds. He didn’t just play records—he **sculpted** nights.

But he wasn’t just DJing—he was starting to **reshape** music through the art of the remix.

In the late '80s and early '90s, Morales became *the guy* labels called when they needed to take a pop or R&B song to the club. But he wasn’t just laying drums under a vocal—he was completely deconstructing and reimagining these tracks.

Mariah Carey, Madonna, Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston—they all got the Morales treatment.

Have you heard that *Dreamlover* remix? Morales took it from a radio R&B jam to a euphoric dancefloor anthem.

*In The Closet* by MJ? He gave it this hypnotic, low-slung groove that completely redefined the song. And then there's **Needin' U**. That came out in 1998, and it still lives on today. Those piano chords? That vocal loop? It’s instant energy. It’s timeless joy.

But Morales didn’t stay local. He took house music *global*. Ibiza, London, Tokyo, Miami—he wasn’t just touring, he was **setting the tone** for dance culture around the world.

And in 1998, the industry finally gave him his flowers: Morales won the **Grammy for Remixer of the Year**.

That moment said, "This isn’t just underground anymore. This is real music. And it matters." 

Even now, Morales is still out here—still performing, still producing, still evolving. He’s gone through phases. He’s experimented. But the heart of it never changed: music that moves people.

When you hear a Morales set, you know it. You feel it in your chest. There’s soul, tension, groove, and always that moment where the crowd goes from dancing to flying. That’s the Morales signature.

He’s not just a DJ. He’s not just a remixer. He’s a builder. A man who laid bricks in the foundation of house music and keeps adding to it.

 These days, Morales continues to push the sound forward through his label, DIRIDIM Records. It’s a home for soulful, deep, and rhythm-driven house music—with a global edge. Through DIRIDIM, Morales is spotlighting fresh talent and seasoned artists alike, staying true to the underground roots while embracing modern sounds.

From releasing his own new productions to supporting up-and-coming producers, he’s making sure the future of house music has heart. It’s not just about keeping the beats alive—it’s about evolving the culture without losing the soul.

 So the next time you hear a Morales remix or feel that classic house groove hit just right, remember—you’re not just dancing.

You’re stepping into a legacy.

Big love to DJHistory.com for preserving the stories that help us tell these episodes right. That 1999 interview with Morales gave us so much depth.

That’s it for today’s episode of House Foundations.

I’m C. Dub. Until next time, keep the beats alive.

Post: I came back on for a second because this episode’s a little different. It’s a quiet goodbye. Some stories don’t end the way we thought they would. But they still leave behind a rhythm. And when I listen closely, I can still hear it. The beat of what we had. And maybe the beginning of something new with this man. I hope we find our way back to each other one day. But for now, I’m moving forward. And I’ll keep the music playing!