Before the name HoodieDon ever touched a microphone, there was Donnie Demar Garrison — born January 12, 1999, in Tacoma, Washington, the youngest of three, raised on a foundation of God, family, and education. His childhood moved through familiar hallways: Franklin Elementary, Helen B. Stafford, Baker Middle School, and Wilson High School, now known as Silas. Sports and music lived side by side in his life, but basketball held his heart early on. Music, though, was always there — woven into the fabric of home life, car rides, weekends, and memories.
Soundtracked by legends, his upbringing echoed with everything from The Spinners, Bill Withers, and Billy Paul to Donnie McClurkin, Mary Mary, Whitney Houston, and Michael Jackson. Music wasn’t something he discovered — it was something that raised him. Growing up in a split household meant learning the world early, seeing its beauty and its fractures at the same time. And at just eight years old, death entered his life for the first time.
The loss of San’Quan S’car Demar Lewis — a beloved family figure and namesake — changed everything. Losing him to kidney cancer at 23 introduced Donnie to grief far too young. What followed was a life marked by recurring loss, sometimes once every few years, sometimes multiple times in a single year. Those experiences carved something deep into him: a hunger not for things, but for feelings — love, peace, harmony, joy. The intangible became everything.
Then came 2016.
For most, it was a year of culture, music, and momentum. For HoodieDon, it became a dividing line between who he was and who he would never again be. On October 7th, during his senior year, a shift at an after-school job turned into a nightmare. Missed calls. Texts. One message that read simply: “Get to TG.” Tacoma General Hospital.
At 17 years old, he drove through every light and stop sign with a single thought looping in his head — my brother is gone. And when he arrived, that fear became reality. His mother collapsing under the weight of the news. His eldest brother, Terry Scott Webb, murdered. In that moment, childhood ended. Something broke, but something else was born.
That’s where HoodieDon came to life.
Ironically, he didn’t emerge as a boy chasing dreams, but as a man carrying purpose. He finished high school in his brother’s honor, dedicating both his diploma and basketball season to his memory. From that point forward, life became a mission: to live in a way that kept his brother’s name alive, loud, and celebrated. No year after 2016 would pass without Terry being remembered.
After graduation, Donnie took a gap year — not out of uncertainty, but necessity. At 18, broken in ways he didn’t yet have language for, he picked the pen back up. One winter night, one hotboxed car with friends, one moment of clarity — and music stitched him back together. That was the rebirth. HoodieDon the athlete evolved into HoodieDon the artist: star-eyed, searching, and unapologetically expressive.
His inspirations run deep and personal. Michael Jackson was the first — not just an influence, but a blueprint. Performing MJ songs at family gatherings, singing on Saturday mornings while his dad worked overtime, Donnie felt power in that music. As a child, he promised himself he’d walk the same streets, live with that same magic. Lil Uzi Vert arrived later, at a time when a younger Donnie needed permission to be different. Uzi’s fearlessness, vulnerability, and refusal to fit a mold gave him something rare: representation. When that voice disappeared, HoodieDon became his own oracle. He built the room he once searched for. He became, as he puts it, the Man in the Arena.
Trying to box HoodieDon’s sound is pointless. He describes it as anomalistic — boundaryless, melodic, emotionally charged, and unpredictable. His music bends genres and expectations, built on heavy melodies and wide-ranging production that refuses to stay in one lane. It’s a world where rules don’t exist because they were never meant to.
Much of that world has been crafted in Los Angeles alongside his sole engineer of the past five years, FreshfromDE. Together, they’ve shaped a sound that feels both cinematic and intimate.
Tacoma, though, never left him. His memories live in the Waterfront at Point Ruston, late-night basketball runs at the YMCA, drives through Point Defiance, Tower Lanes bowling nights, games at Kandle Park, and the quiet beauty of Chambers Bay. Those places didn’t just raise him — they echo through his music.
His most recent release, “Wanted,” offers a glimpse into what’s coming next, serving as a single from his upcoming project HoodieLand. The project promises a deeper look into the world he’s built — one shaped by loss, faith, love, and survival.
At the center of everything is gratitude. HoodieDon credits God first — for purpose, direction, and divine timing. He honors his parents for their sacrifices, his sister for supporting him from day one, and his cousin Sombre for sharpening him through life and music alike. His nephews are his strength. His Hoodies — the ones who stayed through real ups and downs — are family. And even his old friends and past loves get love, because every heartbreak sharpened the vision.
