A producer chooses the methodology of recording and often the musicians and studio in order to evoke a specific sensibility within the music (Theberge 1997: 192–193). This was a role that could not have be born until the technology existed to support it. When recordings were being made monaurally with two or three microphones, there was little room for individuals to put a personal stamp on the recording process. Although there were certainly creative individuals who developed innovative recording strategies during this era, their work was rarely appreciated beyond a small circle of aficionados, and even then it was noted primarily for its fidelity, rather than for its creativity. As a rule, the intent of recorded music until the 1960s was to reproduce the sound of live performance as accurately as possible (see Beadle 1993, Buskin 1999).
As studio technology developed to the point where musicians could create sounds in the studio that they could not possibly create live (such as playing a guitar solo backwards), the roles were reversed, and the studio recording became the ideal to which live music aspired. Albums such as the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds (produced by Brian Wilson) and the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (produced by George Martin) began to experiment with the artistic possibilities of studio recording. It was at this time that the role of the producer became both feasible and significant (Beadle 1993). In the 1970s, developments in electronic music (particularly the advent of synthesizers and drum machines) made the producer even more important because live musicians were no longer an essential part of the recording process. The roles of composer and musician became integrated into that of the producer. Disco producers such as Giorgio Moroder found they needed only drum machines, synthesizers, and a live vocalist to make hits (Buskin 1999:, 201–205). The development of digital sampling technology in the 1980s continued this trend, bringing past recordings of live musicians back into the electronic mix.
For hip-hop producers the process of creating recorded music has become almost completely estranged from the process of capturing the sound of live performance. Live performance (deejaying aside) does not serve as a significant model for the producers’ aesthetic. Conversely, live performances of hip-hop are rarely concerned with reproducing any specific processes from the studio (aside from emceeing); the studio recording is simply played (and sometimes manipulated by a deejay). In fact, one of the major challenges of performing hip-hop on instruments, in the rare cases where this is done, is that many of hip-hop’s most typical musical gestures (such as sixteenth notes played on a bass drum) are virtually impossible to reproduce without electronic editing. Sample-based hip-hop is a studio-oriented music.
One effect of this approach is hip-hop’s celebration, almost unique in African American music, of the solitary genius. Hip-hop producers hold an image of themselves that recalls nothing so much as European art composers: the isolated artist working to develop his or her music. As producer Mr. Supreme says on his Web site, “It’s the shit to be at home at 4:00 in the morning, in your boxers, in front of your sampler, making some shit, you know?” (Mr. Supreme, interviewed on www.conceptionrecords.com, accessed 9 July 1999). In a describing his ideal work setting, Mr. Supreme cites three factors, each of which specifically diminishes the possibility of other individuals being present (“at home,” “at 4:00 in the morning,” and “in your boxers”). This, he suggests, is the best environment in which to create hip-hop music. Hip-hop music confounds many of the generalizations that have historically been made about the communal nature of African American music, especially those that interpret specific musical interactions as reflecting deeper truths about social interactions.
The history of hip-hop sampling, like the history of most musical forms, is a story of dialectical influence. Innovations are accepted only if they conform to a preexisting aesthetic, but once accepted, they subtly change it. Sampling was initially embraced because it allowed deejays to realize their turntable ideas with less work. But the sampler quickly brought hip-hop to places that a turntable could not enter. Nevertheless, a certain consciousness about the significance of the turntable informs sample-based hip-hop even to this day. Moreover, as with any historical narrative, the shape of this story is largely informed by contemporary needs. The narrative that I have recapitulated above is in some sense the origin myth of sample-based hip-hop and serves the needs that such a title implies: it provides a sense of rootedness, group cohesion, and direction for the future. Specifically, this version of hip-hop history foregrounds an evolutionary paradigm that naturally presents current practice as the pinnacle of history. It also notably excludes the influence of disco music on early hip-hop practice (see Fikentscher 2000, Brewster and Broughton 2000).
Individual Histories
The development of individual producers’ technical ability often mirrors the development of the form as a whole. This is due primarily to three factors, the first of which is a socioeconomic concern that runs across the spectrum of human activity: one does not invest a substantial amount of money in a pursuit until one is certain that one is serious about it. For instance, Stradivarius violins are beyond the price range of most violinists; even if one could afford it, one would not buy a Stradivarius for a beginning violin student. Similarly, even if they can afford it, few producers purchase state-of-the-art equipment until they are in a position to exploit it to the fullest. As a result, many producers develop their talents on outdated equipment, which is less expensive to purchase and in many cases simpler to operate.
The second factor is a sense that, on a pedagogical level, the most practical educational approach is to recapitulate the form’s musical evolution to ensure that each important technique is mastered before moving on to the next one. This approach has a compelling internal logic, if only due to the fact that more complex technologies and techniques tend to develop out of simpler ones, rather than vice versa. Finally, there is a broader belief that an individual working through hip-hop history can develop a deeper understanding of the more abstract philosophical and aesthetic foundations of the form.9
For many producers, the educational process began with a single tape deck and the creation of so-called pause tapes: “Basically, it’s an early form of sampling, in the most ghetto form possible. What you do is you play a record, and then you pause [the tape], and you play the break, pause it, bring it back, play the break, pause it … ’til you have like a continuous loop. And then I’d take another tape and rap over that, put like scratchin’ and shit on it. So I started doing it that way” (Samson S. 1999). At some point, many—though not all—acquire a second turn table and a mixer and begin to learn about deejaying. Most producers see learning to deejay and learning to produce as being part of the same process; none of my consultants made a distinction unless I specifically asked them to. Most began by experimenting on their own, and it was only later, after they had achieved some proficiency, that they met other like-minded individuals and began to share information. This pattern has led to certain idiosyncrasies becoming formalized in hip-hop practice:
Mr. Supreme: Just learned on my own, really…. And another funny thing is that nobody taught me and when I brought that $24 mixer and I came home, I plugged up the turntables. I didn’t know, but I plugged ’em in backwards. And to me that was right, ’cause I didn’t know. I just naturally thought number one would be on the right side, two would be on the left side … That’s how I plugged ’em in and that’s how I taught myself. And now a lot of deejays say, “Yeah, you’re weird. You go backwards.”
Joe: Oh, so you still have to do it that way.
Mr. Supreme: Yeah, to this day! That’s how I learned. I can’t go the real way. And that’s called a “hamster.” A lot of deejays are called “hamsters,” that go backwards … I don’t know who came up with that name or why. (Mr. Supreme 1998a).
In fact, many mixers are now outfitted with a “hamster switch” that automatically reverses the controls so that a backwards deejay can use another deejay’s setup without unplugging the turntables to reverse them. So many individual deejays made the same mistake when figuring out how to deejay that their approach, backwards deejaying, is now an accepted practice in the community.
