Breaking the Noise: Inside JonoJono’s World of Sound and Survival

Growing up between Florida and Houston, JonoJono’s introduction to music was less about ambition and more about atmosphere. Music filled the air during family road trips, with his parents singing R&B and gospel while his siblings played rock and alternative pop. “My parents were always jamming out R&B and Christian music all the time,” he remembers. “My siblings jammed things like rock and alternative pop, and I'd always be invited to learn the words though I didn’t have much of a known voice in my elemental days.” Back then, he didn’t sing out loud. He was content to listen, too shy to test what his own voice could do. That changed one afternoon in the backseat when his brother and sister began singing O Happy Day and encouraged him to join. “They pressured me to try to sing with them but ‘for real,’” he laughs. “I thought I sounded like a billy goat, but surprisingly, they were blown away by how much I sounded identical to the kid on the original track.” His sister ran to tell their mom, and soon he was joining the church choir and taking piano lessons. What started as a quiet discovery became the beginning of a lifelong pursuit of sound.

Years later, those memories still shape the artist he’s become. “I was born with an R&B voice but an undying love for punk and metal,” he says. “I had a one-bedroom apartment in Greenspoint, Texas, a red Ibanez electric guitar, and an iPhone. I wasn’t given much to cultivate the sound—just GarageBand and a playlist full of Metallica, Nirvana, Soundgarden, Bad Brains, Erykah Badu, Frank Ocean, The Internet, and Ariana Grande.” It’s this mixture of grit and soul that has come to define JonoJono’s sound. “My catalog sounds like your weird friend’s chaotic Spotify playlist,” he jokes. “Every song is a story of my life or a perspective of some sort, and I never believed that each one should have the same genre format. Regardless of where I sway, it’s true to me.”

That truth also extends to identity and belonging. As a Black Rock artist, he’s learned to exist without asking permission. “I am an existence—I have to tell myself that,” he says. “People just haven’t seen it yet. I refuse to be a nameless artist that paid their dues toward the cultivation and continuation of Black art. Rock and Blues is me. It’s in my bloodline, and that has invented rock.” For him, representation isn’t about fitting in but reclaiming what’s always been there. “Our generation is seeing a healthy transition to diverse artists because we care about the rules less. To be honest, why were there rules in the first place? Still, there’s a lot of work to do to highlight true art against what sells. It’s important to start diving deeper in deciphering the two and bringing pure indie artists a platform to show how they separate themselves from the normal.”

In conversation, JonoJono is reflective but grounded, aware of how deeply art and emotion intertwine. He speaks openly about using music as a means of survival. “I treat my music as a liberating tool to keep me from being succumbed to depression,” he says. “It’s as if I’m using my music as a journal or a talking piece just to help myself navigate through things.” Over time, this personal form of expression has become a bridge between him and his listeners. “They’d come to me about how the messages impacted their day or how it made a shift in their way of thinking—whether in their interactions with others or themselves. Conversations like that give me courage to continue being brave in my music so people can feel a real sense of empathy rather than sympathy.”

That honesty comes to life in his song Consciousness, a track born from one of his darkest seasons. “I didn’t even want to release that song,” he admits. “It was because of what I was saying, and I didn’t want people to know that’s what I was feeling in 2020. I hadn’t built that courage yet.” When the world shut down during the pandemic, the weight of isolation added a rawness that carried into the music. “COVID was an overall depressing year for 70% of the population. Making that song made a lot of sense. Fun fact—I was binge-watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer before starting the track, and it’s as if the vibe of the song was birthed subconsciously once I played with the instruments and melody choices.” He still remembers feeling hesitant. “It honestly didn’t help me like it helped others,” he says. “It was a raw emotion at the time, and I truly felt a sense of stuckness in that stage of my life. As catchy and amazing as the track is, it still triggers me.” But trusting his team to release it at the right time proved to be the right decision. The song went on to become his most streamed release and landed on New Music Fridays, connecting with fans who found themselves in similar states of uncertainty and grief.

Though his sound continues to evolve, his foundation remains rooted in structure and study. “People don’t realize how much of a rule book classical music has to offer,” he says. “I apply that to cultivate memorable melodies and solid arrangements. Today’s music uses these old tricks to create your favorite hits.” His approach balances discipline with emotion, turning technique into therapy. “I tend to write to myself more than anything,” he says. “Reigniting myself, reencouraging myself, speaking life against the anguish in my lyrics—and even if the lyrics are melancholy, the melody or instrumental approach gives people a happy and uplifting feeling.”

When the creative process becomes overwhelming, he finds stillness in movement. “I go outside and take long walks listening to long-winded metal playlists,” he says. “Or I pick up my guitar and begin to solo or riff away subconsciously, making new riffs. I’ve learned to pour my thoughts—negative or positive—into poems so I can read back and see what my mind is processing. If I find myself too overwhelmed, I spend time with family or friends to recharge just to get back in the studio and feel that inspiration.”

Among all his projects, I’m Cool… I Guess stands out as a defining piece. “That’s my gem,” he says. “It fully explains me as an artist, giving you tastes of every

genre I touch and a clear picture of my life stories that molded me into who I am today.” His more recent releases, As We Wither and Juke Joint, carry that same honesty but from different emotional spaces. As We Wither came from a past relationship and the reflections that followed. “The lyrics were mirrored thoughts I was bouncing around in my head as I experienced the uneasy moments during that time,” he explains. “These songs were like an olive branch to my R&B fanbase because in the beginning, I was creating sounds that leaned into that genre. I wanted to feed my past and current listeners something they could connect with.” He describes it as “a soft release,” a way of saying thank you to those who have been with him since the beginning.

Then there’s Juke Joint, a track that channels the frustration of being overlooked. “The song talks about being slept on by your loved ones,” he says. “I’ve had multiple moments where I’d play my music, or music that connects to me, and shortly after it’d be turned off or disregarded. It made me feel like I was in high school again—a Black sheep, misplaced or misunderstood.” Those experiences continue to fuel his growth, reminding him why community and self-belief are essential. “Having the right people around matters the most. You need a tribe of wise counsel,” he says. “There have been moments where I felt unmotivated like many indie artists out there, and if it wasn’t for my close friends and teammates giving me a wake-up call, I don’t know where I’d be. As long as you’re not stopping and continuing on regardless of speed, that’s the best motivation to be creative with ease.”

Now, with his next chapter on the horizon, JonoJono is eager to return to the stage. “Live performances are my real home,” he says. “That’s where I shine the brightest and showcase my rawest form.” He’s also ready to stretch creatively in new directions. “I’m trying more pop music and incorporating my known subgenres within it to make it palatable for the masses.” His goals are clear but grounded in purpose. “Seeing myself collaborate with major platforms like Pandora and BMI shows me I’m going in the right direction,” he reflects. “I’d like to be on a major stage that helps create more awareness in my fight for mental health and my journey as a creative.”

Through it all, his message stays the same—a reminder of why he started singing in the first place. “I want you as a listener to feel lighter than before and understood,” he says. And in that, JonoJono’s art becomes more than music. It becomes a mirror, a refuge, and a reminder that even in the chaos of creation, there’s always room to heal.

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