Making Beats. Joseph G. Schloss

of deejaying techniques led to an increasingly sophisticated aesthetic for hip-hop music. In particular, producers made use of samplers’ ability to play numerous samples at the same time (a technique which would have required multiple deejays and turntables), to take very short samples (which would have required very fast deejays) and to assemble these samples in any order, with or without repetition as desired (which could not be done by deejays at all).⁷ The creative exploitation of these new techniques, along with parallel advances in emceeing, has led to the late 1980s being called the “golden era” of hip-hop.

      One of the most significant forces in this development was the Bomb Squad, a production collective that became known for its work with Public Enemy. Their style—a blend of samples from diverse sources that emphasized chaos and noise—revolutionized hip-hop music. Keith Shock lee, one of the Bomb Squad’s masterminds, specifically characterizes their sound as being in contrast to the typical African American fare of the time, supporting my earlier argument that hip-hop was not an organic development:

      Public Enemy was never an R&B-based, runnin’-up-the-charts, gettin’-played-all-day-on-the-radio group. It was a street group. It was basically a thrash group, a group that was very much rock ’n’ roll oriented. We very seldom used bass lines because the parallel that we wanted to draw was Public Enemy and Led Zeppelin. Public Enemy and the Grateful Dead. We were not polished and clean like any of the R&B groups or even any of our rap counterparts that were doing a lotta love rap. That just wasn’t our zone—even though when we were DJs we played all those records. We decided that we wanted to communicate something that was gonna be three dimensional—something that you could look at from many different sides and get information from as well as entertainment. (Chairman Mao 1998: 113–114)

      But for most producers, the contribution of Public Enemy and the Bomb Squad lay not so much in their particular approach but in the fact that they had a definable approach in the first place. They were self-consciously breaking new ground in their production style, and that was an inspiration to other producers.

      Modern producers cite other historical figures from the late 1980s, such as Ced G of the Ultramagnetic MCs, Kurtis Mantronik, Prince Paul of De La Soul, and the Large Professor as artists whose individualistic styles contributed greatly to contemporary approaches. In fact, this collectively held historical consciousness is clearly one of the things that holds the producers’ community together. The veneration of certain lesser-known hip-hop artists, for example, creates a common bond among contemporary producers.⁸ One example of this tendency is the respect given to Paul C, a New York–based producer of the late 1980s who passed away before his work became widely known but whose style is heard in the music of those he influenced: “He kinda put it down for Ced G and Extra P [also known as the Large Professor] … I think he was one of hip-hop’s biggest losses of all time. I think he was destined to be dope. He was gon’ be the man. He was the best producer that never happened” (DJ Mixx Messiah 1999). Although his name is largely unknown in the broader hip-hop community, Paul C was cited as an influence by virtually every producer I interviewed for this study.

      The move by hip-hop deejays into the studio was part of a larger trend throughout the spectrum of popular music toward the increased use of technology in the creation of music. It is no accident that the individuals who create hip-hop music call themselves “producers” rather than composers or musicians. The term “producer” came into vogue in popular music in the 1960s with such individuals as Phil Spector, Brian Wilson, and George Martin. While a recording engineer uses recording equipment to capture a sound on tape, a producer, although performing a materially similar task, is considered to have a larger aesthetic responsibility. 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