Contents

Preface

Chapter 1:

Starting from Scratch

Chapter 2:

Lockdown

Chapter 3:

Free at Last

Chapter 4:

Motherland

Chapter 5:

We’re Not in Kansas Anymore

Chapter 6:

The Surreal World

Chapter 7:

Much Ado About Nothing

Chapter 8:

The Business

Chapter 9:

Residency

Chapter 10:

KIIS This!

About The Author

Preface

Who’s the life of the party these days? The female DJ. Not only do we get to hang out with stars like Jersey Shore’s Pauly D, the Kardashians, and Lady Gaga, we get paid tens of thousands of dollars to spin at the hottest nightclubs around the world.

DJ Shy with MTV’s Jersey Shore Pauly D – Photography by Carell Augustus

Without a DJ, there’s no music; and without music, there’s no party. The right music can make or break a party, and promoters, club owners, and stars alike know this. A DJ can get the crowd jumping up and down on the dance floor with an old school tune, or they can set a sultry mood for the party with some relaxing R&B songs.

DJs hold a highly coveted and influential position in the music world. Music producers and DJs are paramount to the success of hip-hop and pop music. They decide what songs will become hits by putting them on heavy rotation in the clubs and on the radio. DJs are also largely responsible for innovations in the last 40 years of dance music. House, techno, hip-hop, trance, electronica—these music genres would be nowhere without the DJ. DJs create and define what popular music is today, which drives sales in other retail industries such as clothing, footwear, energy drinks, and video games.

DJ Sophia Lin with Khloe & Kourtney Kardashian

DJ Mia from MTV’s America’s Best Dance Crew with Lady Gaga

My name is DJ SHY and I was the first female on-air mixer (or turntablist DJ) for the number-one Top 40 radio station in America, 102.7 KIIS FM in Los Angeles. This Clear Channel station has over 2.6 million listeners each week and features Ryan Seacrest as its morning host. I currently spin Top 40, pop, rock, 80s, R&B, and hip-hop at the hottest events throughout Hollywood and around the world.

It wasn’t easy to get to where I am today. Getting screwed on payments. Drugs. Stalkers. Lies and many empty promises. This is just the beginning of what female DJs deal with when they enter the male-dominated music industry. If the audience doesn’t boo you, club promoters cheat you on your pay, or worse, try to sleep with you.

Surviving the industry is rough as a woman, but it’s even worse if you’re naïve and soft-spoken like me. I got my name DJ SHY because I’m a little bashful around new people. Yet despite my quiet demeanor, I eventually climbed up the ladder by spinning for the toughest crowds – black hip-hop clubs in Hollywood.

DJ Shy photographed by Lisa Villasenor

A small-town girl from Pennsylvania, I was pretty innocent when I first got into deejaying. I had stars in my eyes when I moved to Tinseltown, and people took advantage of me time and time again. I barely noticed the drugs and prostitution at certain parties when I first started spinning. After surviving a drive-by in Compton and midnight stalkers, I grew to be a little wiser.

Though I was naïve in my early days, I have never backed down from what I want. I may speak softly, but I have an aggressive streak that doesn’t let up when I’ve got my eyes set on something. My fearlessness, belief in myself, and passion for music have catapulted me to the top of the industry.

Many young people are told by their parents they shouldn’t dream of being a pop star, rapper, actor, or dancer. Instead, they need to hit the books and pursue a stable career, like being a doctor, an accountant, or a lawyer. I decided to go against the grain. I definitely did not have the support from my family—my mother discouraged me from spinning, and I initially worked a corporate job after college to please her, even though I was spinning at night.

I hope to motivate and inspire others who want to live their dream too. Even if you long to be president of the United States, a star athlete, or the next Bill Gates, I want everyone who reads this book to realize their passion and potential despite the obstacles that lie before them. For me, deejaying is a passion and getting paid is a privilege. I want to share my secrets of success in hopes that others can achieve happiness and success in their lives too.

Chapter 1:

Starting from Scratch

My dad’s silver Cadillac pulled up in the driveway and rolled to a stop. It was a warm summer day in 1988, and I was only nine years old. I ran to the window in hopes that my dad was going to get out of his car and come inside. But before I could see anything, my mom yelled at me.

Get away from the window, Karen! she said in a stern voice. Don’t look. He’s got another woman with him.

I don’t think I saw another woman, but before my mom pulled me away from the window, I did get a quick glimpse my dad. He was just sitting in the driveway, looking up at the house. It was like he was trying to see us. It had been a few months since he’d left our family.

Karen’s Father Howard Beck

My dad did what few Koreans did. Against tradition, he left my mom, my younger brother John, and me and flew back to South Korea, never to come back. I had just finished the third grade, and we had only lived in Edison, New Jersey, for about a year since we left Charlotte, North Carolina. My dad was an engineer and worked for IBM. His company moved him around a lot, which is how we ended up in Edison, where all the kids in school were stuck in the same classroom all day long, even during lunch, because we didn’t have a cafeteria. I found it weird—I had never been in a school that didn’t have a cafeteria.

Karen with dog Princess

In school, I was introduced to the idea of divorce. My grade school teacher had talked about it once during class. I don’t remember the lesson, but for some reason, what she said stuck in my mind—divorce was the legal way to end a marriage. I thought that sounded so proper and official, like some kind of clean, easy solution to your problems.

I knew my parents fought here and there, but I had no idea what was really going on at that point. They screamed and yelled at each other in Korean. I had no clue why they were angry or what they were saying because I didn’t understand the language. After one particularly bad fight with my dad, I crept into the living room to find my mom standing next to the television, which had been knocked to the floor. She was visibly upset—her whole face was red, and tears streamed down her cheeks. It frightened me to see her in tears. I had never seen her cry, so I tried to be helpful.

Hey ma, do you know what a divorce is? I piped up. I continued and recited what my teacher had said. I was at a complete loss of how to help. Instead of being grateful, my mom got angry. I was trying to be helpful, but I didn’t know that if my parents got divorced, we would never live with my father again.

When Mom was angry, that was it. Once she decided she wanted a divorce, she didn’t waste any time. My dad moved out of the house and they separated for a little while, but once the decision was made, there were no lawyers, desperate pleadings on the phone, or second thoughts. When my dad left the country, Mom said it was because he didn’t want to pay child support.

Out of nowhere one night, Mom ordered my little brother John and me to start packing. We hurried around the house, throwing whatever would fit into suitcases. In our wake, we left behind a ton of furniture, kitchenware, and clothes. We barely had time to understand what was happening or say goodbye to our friends. Then Mom crammed me, John, and our family dog, a Yorkie named Princess, into our little Ford Escort station wagon. We were like sardines in an overstuffed tin can. It all happened so fast, and everything was a blur. We drove for a long time. I had no idea where we were going. I was so tired, so confused. I couldn’t help but cry and whimper for a long time, while my mom drove for what seemed like all night. Eventually I cried myself to sleep. I had no idea my entire life was about to change. When I woke up, it was still dark, but we were at my Uncle Paul’s house in New Castle, Pennsylvania. We were starting all over again from scratch.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

New Castle was much smaller than Edison. There was one main road, a tiny downtown area, one mall with all of maybe ten stores, and farms as far as the eye could see. The township, called Neshannock after the Native American phrase for the land between two rivers, was pure rural Amish country. The parking lot at the grocery store had special spaces reserved for Amish buggies. The Ku Klux Klan met once a month at the courthouse in Wilmington, just a short drive over into the next town. The population was so white and the town so small that virtually every non-white person around was directly related to me. Even to this day, more than 98 percent of Neshannock’s population is white.

Amish Buggies – Photography by Jenni Ripley

Uncle Paul was a doctor and he lived in the nice part of town. He, his wife, and their three children, Sarah, David, and Daniel, lived in a large, respectable house where weeping willows towered over the clean, wide street. All the other houses on the block were just like his—two-story structures with perfectly manicured lawns. Even though it was a really nice neighborhood, I immediately got a gut feeling that I was going to hate living there. In the past, my cousins had always ganged up on John and me because we were the youngest kids in the family. During our annual summer family vacations at Myrtle Beach in South Carolina, they would terrorize me, endlessly dunking my head underwater when I swam, stealing my salt water taffy, destroying my sand castles, and just bullying me all around. I couldn’t believe that I had to live with them and endure their antics every day. My mother never indicated how long we would be staying with them. For a ten-year-old kid like me, this was a disaster!

My mom’s brother was kind. Uncle Paul had his own family practice, providing the sick and elderly with the highest quality of medical care. As if we were his patients, he knew how to treat us well. He assured my mom that everything would be alright. He told us not to worry, that he understood our situation and would help us get back on our feet. My aunt, though, had other ideas. Being the Korean wife of a successful doctor meant she was queen of the household, if not all of New Castle, in her mind. Behind my uncle’s back, she insisted we pay rent. My mom had no choice but to obey her.

Like many Koreans, I was raised in a Christian family. We attended my aunt and uncle’s Korean church in nearby Youngstown, Ohio. Teeming with doctors and successful storeowners, it was a pretty wealthy congregation. Being one of the few Korean churches around, churchgoers from cities far away in East Ohio and West Virginia all congregated there. Everyone was really welcoming at