9
People could always tell what kind of mood I was in by the way I worked in the studio.
The second I walked in, and the soundproof door shut behind my back, I felt my shoulders drop as if I’d been holding my breath all day. Grind mode was activated, which meant I had a lot of shit to get off my chest.
The LED lights on the wall glowed with waveforms. Cables ran across the floor like veins. The booth lights were low, but the console lit up the room like the sun. The air inside smelled like cold A/C, cologne, and a lot of money that one shouldn’t have before they got a little attention.
Malik was at the studio again, but this time, we met at the label. I wanted to show him what a professional set looked like. That time, he came alone. I could tell he was smart in how he moved, but he was still from the East Side of Detroit. I knew what he was about. He had to hustle the only way he knew how, the same way I had to fund the studio time and the gas to make it to gigs when I was on the rise. I didn’t judge him for being a dope boy. I understood that life all too well. I was proud of him for taking his talent seriously and how he stayed dedicated to the work we put in. I admired his progress.
Kam stood near the doorway with his arms folded and watched like he always did.
“Everything good?” I asked him without turning around as my fingers moved across the board. “Did Princess and Yana need a car today?”
Kam glanced at his phone. “Nah, Yana at the neighbor’s again.”
I huffed. “And Princess?”
“She at the house,” Kam replied.
I still hadn’t looked up, but I nodded my head. I never liked to lose my flow when I was focused. I pressed the microphone button down and spoke.
“Run it,” I told Malik.
The beat blasted through the speakers, full of heavy bass, with clean and crisp hi-hats. Malik placed one hand over his headphones and leaned into the mic like he had something to prove. He got halfway through his first verse, spilling like he was afraid the moment would disappear if he didn’t grab it fast enough. I needed him tobelievethat shit. It didn’t sound hungry enough, so I cut the track.
“Again,” I said into the mic.
He scoffed. “Damn. Already?”
“Yeah, already,” I said. “You rushin’. I can’t tell if you tryna outrun the beat or your own thoughts.”
Malik rubbed the back of his neck and laughed nervously. “Sometimes, I feel like I gotta . . . you know . . . get it out before I lose it.”
“You ain’t gonna lose it,” I stated calmly. “You got time. You good.”
He stared through the glass at me as if he had heard the truth for the first time.
Kam silently continued to watch from the corner.
I hit the talkback button again. “Say it like you mean it. Don’t perform like you scared.”
Malik nodded, swallowed, and signaled to me that he was ready to go again.
He stood taller and put both his hands over his headphones. I hit play, and that time, he let the beat hold him instead of fighting it.
When he finished the first verse, I smiled proudly. I felt something in my chest loosen.
That was the part people never saw, the part that made me feel like I was worth something outside the charts and numbers. To help somebody catch themselves before the industry ate them alive, as it had almost done me, was the best part about this job.
We worked through three more takes. I moved him line by line, bar by bar. When he got it right, I nodded. When he didn’t, I made him do it again. For a while, everything else stopped existing, as it always had. Creating music was truly my solitude.
By the time we wrapped up, the room felt warmer. The energy shifted from work to relief. Malik leaned back in the chair with a grin on his face, like he couldn’t believe he made it through.
“Bro.” He shook his head. “I ain’t never been coached like that.”
“You ain’t never had nobody willing to tell you the truth,” I corrected. “A nigga like me gon’ make sure you get it right the first time, so all the extras is just extras. You feel me?”
He laughed. “Nah, for real. I ’preciate it. This . . . this different.”
