Biography:

Diego Heat

There’s just no stopping the determination of a young man destined for greatness. Any obstacle placed in his path will only serve as minor setbacks to overcome on his way to the top. Such is the case for Orlando, Fla. transplant Diego Heat.

Within 25 short years on this Earth, he has survived the pitfalls of ruthless city streets, lost loved ones to the graveyard and penitentiary and recently turned his whole life around on his quest to pursue his first love of music.

And he effortlessly pours his fears, frustrations, accomplishments and pains into his heartfelt debut album I Got a Story To Tell set to be released sooner than later. Offering the public just a taste of what is yet to come, he has already been bubbling across southern states with the futuristic funk of his lead single “Slow” featuring former Konvict Muzik artist Church Boi, who croons on the hook and co-produced the track.

“My music is raw. It’s not sugar coated,” Diego explains. “It’s not 100 percent street. My music represents life, not just the streets. It’s for people going to school, raising their kids, going to work and got problems. I can relate to all of that. That’s the reason why the public can relate to me.”

Born Lorenzo Roberson and raised in Joliet, Ill., Diego earned his stripes on the city’s wicked West Side. Like so many other youngsters coming up, Diego took to slanging drugs and gang banging as extracurricular activities at an early age. His older brother hustled so naturally, up next was Diego to carry on tradition. But even though he did his share of dirt, young Diego was different. He wanted more out of life.

“I was in it but I wasn’t on the block all night and day,” he recalls. “I hustled but I still got up and went to school every morning.”

By his mid-teen years, Diego had stacked up enough chips to buy his own school clothes, cars and almost everything he had ever wanted. But his mother wasn’t having the foolishness in her house and kicked him out at out at 16.

Although he was knee deep in the streets, Diego had been in love with rapping since he was only 11 years old. He and his older brother Darius Roberson along with other neighborhood kids made quite a name for themselves performing around town in talent shows. After the group dissolved, Diego stopped making music altogether.

He didn’t pick the microphone up again until years later when he recorded his solo single “I Got Heat” and got limited love from the fans. But after he dropped his follow-up single “Troubled Soul,” his name began ringing in clubs and on area mixtapes. Being the block businessmen that they were, Diego and Darius started their own label Kinfolks Entertainment and dropped the well-received independent debut compilation Kin Family Tree in 2002. But after so many knuckleheads on the label did not want to cooperate with the check writers, the company folded. And Diego put rapping aside again.

It wasn’t until 2006 that the two brothers decided to jump back into to the music industry with a brand new label Beautiful Mind. The difference this go-around is that they are investing solely in Diego Heat. With a new lease on life, he relocated from the cold Mid-West down to Orlando the same year to attend school at Barry University. Ironically, the major he chose was law.

“I’ve seen it all and done it all. I’ve done some bad things. And now I am trying to make it right,” he says. “I don’t glorify the negative things I’ve done. I want to uplift my listeners and give them real entertainment. I want them to feel my struggle.”

And that struggle resonates on the heart-touching track “Buried Alive.” The song will inspire any hustler on any level- from a street grinder to a legit hustler working a 9-5. Diego Heat’s music touches on issues in life that he has faced or is facing now and may still be dealing with. On the pop-inspired “Slow,” his lyrics make you walk a mile in his shoes while making you dance out the soles in your own.

Without a doubt, I Got a Story To Tell, is soon set to be released this Fall is a testament to wrongdoings and redemption. “Calling me a rapper is like calling a dancer a stripper,” he contends. “I’m not a rapper. I’m an entertainer. Anybody can be a rapper now. It’s that easy. I have a realist approach. The problem I see with most of the music now is that it’s all systematic. It’s like robots. They can watch a video and become a rapper. I reach, teach and entertain.”