Miramar, Florida doesn’t always get mentioned in the same breath as America’s most talked-about music cities—but for GGM Chozen, it’s the foundation of everything he creates. Raised in West Miramar’s Vizcaya neighborhood, Chozen’s sound is rooted in contrast: Caribbean tradition and Southern hip-hop, middle-class stability and early exposure to real-life chaos, melody and grit coexisting in the same breath. That duality comes fully into focus on his latest release, Don’t Take This Personal EP.
The six-track project arrives with no features, a deliberate decision that allows Chozen to stand alone and fully articulate his identity.
Chozen’s upbringing played a major role in shaping his musical instincts. On his mother’s side, his roots trace back to the Caribbean, specifically Kingston, Jamaica. Much of his childhood was spent at his grandmother’s home—Lavonia Joseph, who hailed from Tivoli Gardens—where culture wasn’t something you learned later in life, it was lived daily. Jamaican and Trinidadian food filled the kitchen, while old-school reggae and lovers rock filled the air. That environment left a permanent imprint, not just sonically but spiritually.
On the other side of his lineage is New Orleans. Chozen’s father was a serious hip-hop head, the type who seemed to own every classic album from the mid-1980s through the early 2000s. That collection became a blueprint. Through artists like The Notorious B.I.G., Tupac Shakur, Nas, Poor Righteous Teachers, and Wu-Tang Clan, Chozen learned storytelling, cadence, and lyrical discipline. At the same time, Southern legends like the Hot Boyz, Big Tymers, Soulja Slim, and Mac introduced him to a rawer, street-level perspective that resonated just as deeply.
Like many kids growing up in South Florida, Chozen played Optimist football, an experience that came with its own lessons—both good and bad. The discipline didn’t last long. By the time he quit football at 12 years old, he found himself outside, exposed early to smoking, drinking, and situations most kids his age never see. That abrupt transition accelerated his awareness of the world and would later inform the realism in his music. “After that,” as he puts it, “the rest is history.”
Music, however, had already found him. Chozen recorded his first song at just 13 years old, though he had been rapping for as long as he could write. What made the dream feel real were two artists in particular: Vybz Kartel and Nas. From Kartel, he saw fearlessness and cultural confidence. From Nas, he learned how intellect, storytelling, and street wisdom could coexist in one voice. Together, they made him believe not only that he could rap—but that he could be an artist with longevity.
That belief shows in Chozen’s approach to sound. He doesn’t box himself into one lane. His music reflects his environment—a true melting pot. He raps. He sings. He plays instruments. He produces. Each skill feeds the next, allowing him to create records that feel layered and intentional rather than one-dimensional. Don’t Take This Personal moves fluidly between moods, pulling from hip-hop’s grit while weaving in Caribbean rhythm and melodic sensibility.
Looking forward, Chozen isn’t slowing down. The EP is just the beginning of a busy year ahead. He’s planning both collaboration projects and solo releases, expanding his sonic reach into afrobeats, reggae, dancehall, and bar-heavy, grimy hip-hop. Just as important as the music are the visuals—Chozen is focused on building a full world around his sound, not just releasing songs.
At its core, Don’t Take This Personal is exactly what the title suggests: a personal offering. It’s shaped by family, loss, culture, and survival—and it carries the weight of those experiences without being consumed by them. GGM Chozen isn’t trying to be the loudest voice in the room. He’s focused on being the realest.
Before moving forward, he makes sure to honor those who helped shape his path.
First and foremost, rest in peace to his grandmother, Lavonia Joseph.
Big love to his mother, Ms. Rhonda.
Respect to his big brother, Jrkspan.
Salute to his educator, Malik Bomani.
Much love to TWM and the Bomani Klan.
And eternal remembrance—LONG LIVE AZ.
