A Detroit Dream.
For the last four years I’ve been freestyling/singing in my basement so often I’ve accumulated over 800 videos and it’s a ride I don’t think I’ll ever get off. There’s something so pleasant about letting your voice out. Not just to be heard but in sync with an invisible wave that has overwhelming power. Music can be so graceful, uplifting, sad, angry, and chill. When a friend tells you to ‘listen to that song, that’s me,’ they make their emotions more tangible to you. Except when it’s me sending you shitty freestyles 2 years ago. ‘Nope. Don’t want that feeling.’ Ha! But to think music is always with us whenever we call on it. Whether we need to pump in the gym or set the mood. “Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent” (Victor Hugo).
I didn’t start rhyming to be a rock star or make a million it was just for kicks. Sure as teenagers we would periodically throw down some flows but nothing consistent. *Side Note – (If you only get one thing out of this article let be known you never get worse at something you keep showing up for, it’s a long road to 10,000hrs.) I started because I wanted to write a stand-up comedy routine into a song and the Gay Ginger Detective, GGD (double GD) was born with the help of a Logic instrumental. And yes, it’s not good. The first 2yrs I couldn’t catch a beat and refused to count because I don’t time my cooking, I feel it.
But something happened about 24 months ago that I’ll never forget. I was spitting in the basement per use and mid song I’m looking down on this guy furiously fast with fury; wow he’s good I said to myself. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks, “that’s you!” “Well I better get back in there,” I thought. And this lesson taught me to get the fuck out the way.
Now I realize if you’ve never experienced this, it’s not going to make sense but that’s ok. Maybe there’s a flow I can send you with the orbs. What orbs, huh? This dude is talking out of body, orbs, and hip-hop; I’m out. It does scare most people. They don’t like to be left alone in the basement for to long because they’ve determined logically, it’s real and they can’t explain it. And if they can’t control it or understand it, fear starts tapping what if’s? Basically evil spirits.
Let me set the record straight, I’m not summoning demons but I have started welcoming all those I’ve known to join the party who have passed. I refer to them as the Collective. Embracing spirit is something I fought against for a long while because it wasn’t tangible and others weren’t having the same experiences as me, now at 44 I’m comfortable with who I am. I accept the purpose and mission. Besides, it comes with killer perks. Anyway, back to the freestyle.
Last year, I was finding success easier and easier. 100 views was becoming a regular occurrence. People started commenting positively telling me to keep at it. A producer of instrumental tracks I sometimes use was impressed. Then an artist on Spotify asked if I would be on next album. It was time for me to get called up from the minors and see if I could add value in the studio but it was something I was terrified of. What if I was awful and it made me want to quit? So I kept avoiding it.
Against my Uncle Brother’s advice (he’s a successful songwriter) I paid $350 to do a one-shot song for the A&R of Priority Records at Atlanta HD studios. In addition I booked an hour afterwards for $75. I did take his advice and go with the slow Mac Miller jam from producer Lowtyde, which I purchased for $25. I remember Jake was here with Jermey and I was playing a Mac one out of the JBL, afterwards they said “that was a good song. Who does that?” I was stunned, thought they were joking; “that’s me! Really?” I figured a slow jam would be welcomed after a lot of gangster rap so I put it together.
I actually went back and wrote down the freestyle I did 2 months ago 10x’s, then I started practicing it at least 3x’s a day. It got to the point, I started to see myself perform it in dreams. Then I had a mediation and saw myself rapping in my mind’s eye; another universal sign. I felt confident but what really helped was my goal, party and just show up. That’s going to take courage Mr. Stu, balls.
The 5hr drive from W-S sucked. I will avoid I-85 in future if possible but pulling up on downtown Atlanta was spectacular! The buildings felt chiseled in and sculpted to perfection. It had me in awe! No, not the first time I’ve been there but the metropolis was booming, alive. A giant melting pot of human potential welcoming all to the South. Thunderstruck!
I arrived at 1:30 for the 2pm start time with the sweet smell of Sativa in the Atlanta air and a NC plate parked next to me. A jolly younger man from SC named Columbia greeted me first. He took the Greyhound last night and was excited. Oliver, 20yrs old also from SC and winner of a local contest explained melody’s to me. More and more people started to show and I figured I’ll just change by my car. It was told to me by 3 people that your look was important. So I put on Grampy Clair’s Hawaiian white tablecloth esq shirt which had won me best dressed twice, stuck Papa Jack’s Eaton employee pin on, and let the hair down. Oh, you know I had a white headband. Ha! Where’s Mike Dawg cracker, cracker, cracker.
I knew I was going to face adversity being older, male, and white in a black dominated environment but I guess after the Alkaline Festival it didn’t bother me. (https://infonewsstu.com/the-alkaline-festival-iv-a-yankee-in-the-south/)
Sure, I could feel the animosity in my direction but I massaged the shit out of it. I simply just kept asking everyone questions about themselves to let the walls down so to speak. Funny thing every artist I questioned with “are they’re songs you love but everyone likes something else you did that you thought was ok?” It was unanimous, they all felt that way and sly grin would appear. It was really beautiful. I’ve looked through that window as well it said, you too huh.
After we all checked in and paid are balance, artists roamed in the warehouse socializing with a picture of Bob Marely and I recall a photo of Kurt Cobain above the entrance into the studio. I broke out the Crown Royal to let me, be me, and offered it around but no takers; bud smokers only. I joked I was trying to sabotage your performance with the booze and that broke some tension. A person would be called in as the door shut then a vibration as we waited to hear our name called, “Steven” a man said. “Yup. Ok,” as I strapped my orange Browns bookbag, a 4×3 painting, 2 book posters 2×3, and 3 easels.
“You got your flash drive,” Kim the engineer said while I tried to squeeze in a giant painting and 2 posters. I was able to get the painting up and 1 poster, White Blazing sat against the wall but nobody cared. Three people sat across from me on a couch. Knowledge the rep, a famous DJ, (I think Screw), and anonymous sat 10ft from the mic in the room outside of the booth rolling a blunt. No response when I asked if I could partake before practice. Instead I broke out the singing bowl and did what I do as the music thumped.
With my eyes closed reaching, bending, and locating the energy I started in. One thing that definitely was unexpected was the reverberation in the room when I hit the note clean into the mic. Just had a thought about how weird that was. No worries. I rocked the song until I missed a line 5 from the finish. But I picked it right back up and finished fine. I give high fives out after a touching track to the Collective in the basement and it was not received as well there as I got one reluctant soft tap.
Of course I was not delusional about the song being a mega hit or getting signed but I wasn’t able to take out the notebook, go through my questions, and pitch myself. I was told to bring the paintings and the books but was not asked about any of them. Now, in their defense it’s Saturday afternoon and they’re spent from the week listening to a bunch of dreamers that doesn’t pay worth the time. I think there was 15 people and at least 2 were invited so let’s say $4,500 split between 3 parties to disburse. When I think about that way it’s very inviting, there’s some sacrifice there.
“So that was a freestyle,” the rep asked. “Yes. From 2 months ago. I’m looking for a personal trainer of sorts. I just want to improve at telling a story.” He reiterated the importance of a song’s due diligence. Which I agreed with. I’ve written one song and it’s difficult. It takes 100’s of practices to iron out fresh but I don’t do that, although I’m willing to learn and meet halfway.
The older gentleman with the glasses and ball cap was animated about hitting the low-fi community and selling them the flows, books, and paintings. “Can you elaborate on that,” I asked as we locked eyes across the room. I could see he really believed in that as a revenue stream, much more than I but I know the effort that goes into that kind of campaign and I was seeking to leverage a professional for busy work. I am creating here, hell, and Haiti’s, on an island Smokey.
I gathered my belongings hastily as the next artist came in but before that with a final bullshit session trying to bring comradery I said, “I’m a character and life needs a soundtrack.” This blew them away as tag line. “Promote that!” I read it in the book, Journey the Impossible, “have at it” I said. With 70,000 thoughts going through each of us every day what really blips our radar?
The meeting was what I thought originally, 10 minutes but I had come in as the underdog. I was definitely confident in the song, solid B from what was my best practice. I just had more massaging to do. Walking out with a handful of props I didn’t feel relieved, sad, or like a failure, I suppose I felt like ‘I’m different’ to quote 2Chainz but the help I was seeking was not accessible currently; busy signal. So I continued to socialize with the group and the Universe showed up and slapped me.
Oliver and Asia were getting along breezy, both young, talented as the CSX train rolled in behind the parking lot on Saturday afternoon where dreams were fulfilled and destroyed. The synchronicity hit when Asia told Oliver to call her AP, which is what I call Angela. Then I remembered Oliver saying, “March 3rd I’m 21.” AP’s birthday. I haven’t figured out that message yet but still one more.
The second coming of the Crown was welcome as AP did a shot and a woman in all black with furry boots called out for some juice. Her name, Bri Hood, from where, Tampa; my old stomping grounds and my sister, Bri’s current home. Strange things are afoot at the Circle K Bill.
Bri is a manager, just the person I was looking for. “My fee is 100k. I book everything,” she said with confidence when divulging a 6 figure ask. The fee wasn’t upfront and she was getting grilled by 5 other artists but I was able to get a better understanding when I asked, “so you book all my events, sell the merch, etc. and if I pay you 50% of profits, you’re cool with that until you make your 100k and then out?” “Yes.” I’m sure there’s much more involved because Bri did mention that the artist needs to be invested as well but she could float you a couple hundred to get to an event.
I liked her and invited her artist to do something with my studio time, I invited all of them actually. Why not? People had come from Chicago, (cool guy with yella LBJ’s. He was a happy dude.) Virginia, New Orleans, Ohio, SC, FL, NC, and locals, why not hang a little longer? The little kid under 10 came out of the warehouse and said I could do my time; and that I could bring everyone with me.
We filed in one behind the other, maybe 10 of us and I approached Kim. She wore a baseball cap, glasses, and clicking the mouse on a beautiful, curved monitor the size of 3 screens fluid when I said, “I just want to freestyle Goodie Mobb, Day After and they can do whatever they want.” At first, I didn’t think she heard me so I said, “the last song on Soul Food.” “Yes, I know. These are my people.” “Wait they’re your friends, cool.” Then it was a look with little sound like don’t fucking come here and blasphemy Atlanta, home of Goodie Mob, and my Dungeon Family Steve. Same thing I would do to an outsider. Ha!
Mind you I’ve never put headphones on in a booth with a professional. I’m ghetto with a speaker box for my mic stand, (wow. more synchronicity) a prop mic, and a chain that found me. Then I found myself alone in a cage with a large window so the others can look into the zoo after they close the door. It’s feeding time.
The headphones matched my outfit as the lights went trippy blue and the music thundered. I hit the singing bowl and let the body do what it wants to. I reason it’s similar to Will Ferrel blacking out in the movie Old School, like what just happened. What happened was I got the fuck out the way and there was no hesitation. No anxiety. No feeling of I’m fucked if I don’t kill this. Why? I already knew. There was no pressure on me, this was my call. I Call Shots around here (ha. Love Kurupt). Another important lesson that was reinforced by yoga, it’s all just practice. Did you show up and play? I have been practicing and those that stay ready don’t have to get ready. And originally, I wanted to just go in and freestyle because that’s what I do or us I should say, it’s different from the common definition of freestyle. These are uncharted waters.
I remember snapping my fingers high, bringing my arms down as the song ended seeing Kim with her hands outstretched standing up through the glass. Love reciprocated exiting the booth to cheers, holla’s, and high five’s as I went around the room as I had envisioned dapping all hands-on deck. It was sensational and tremendous! To quote the Lion tamer, Chris, Y2J, Jericho, “Break the Walls Down.” My value registered and more was to come. Because when we let our light shine, we give others permission to do the same.
Asia was writing while I was up to the track because Kim took charge of it, she’s a pro. From what I gathered AP had been hanging there for a year honing her skills and she ripped it. The song is older than her and I don’t think she knew it but it felt like it. Then Oliver hits the most beautiful hook in 10 minutes. Kim calls me back for a third time, “I need Steve. You’re going back. Yea. I need more adlib.”
When I came out the 3rd time I was tired from the chemical reactions settling in from the day’s events but when I asked Bri something (can’t remember) her response was, “how can anyone go when you just burnt the stage down?” Kim’s sitting in Commander Kirk’s chair bobbing and weaving when the unexpected shows as she puts the puzzle together click, tab, and save. “You guys got a song here. In an hour you guys got a song!”
Her body language was enough for me to realize that this doesn’t happen often. The excitement in the room with all of us together participating, being strong where I’m weak, and expressing without fear, without boundaries is somewhere I want to keep visiting. It was pure. The joy took over with a spark that started the fire in the rain. Because, the Day After, I’d rather capture a moment in time to talk with you. Day After. Day After. We got over our grievances and differences.
I was definitely holding 3rd place on the track but know your roll GGD. The hook is so delicious Oliver and AP’s truth telling is genuine, it’s heart felt, true. The way Kim then made us a Voltron in an hour was masterful. I gave her a hug and said “I love you” without even thinking about it because I can my smell my own as I left Atlanta HD studios with a story to tell, worth telling.
Music is a moral law. It gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything.
Plato
Day After
