I have always loved music but I know my limitations in so far as making phat beats. I think it takes more than four months of training and the love of shiny clothing to be a phat beats producer extraordinaire. I wanted to test my theory by getting info on a program that offered four months of training for a nominal fee of nearly six thousand dollars. I started by submitting my name in the "name here" spot of the online questionnaire.
I made sure to explain my love of the phat beat online and once I did that, I patiently waited for a call. I decided to engage the person on the other line in a conversation where I spoke highly of acts like Boney M. I recall that the man I spoke to referred to himself as one of the top producers in town and a real strong hand in the business. I got the address to the studio and decided to go on and take the tour.
I began to wonder if this guy was as good as he told me or just someone who carried bags for guys like Ozzy and polished cars for The Thompson Twins and Kajagoogoo, back before Limahl had his breakout one hit wonder rebirth with
Neverending Story. I somehow felt that this meeting was going to be a landmark event in my life. When I drove up I saw two solid doors and walked in, knowing that I would be shaken to the core of my very being.
I stepped into a studio that I am sure had been run by Phil Specter sometime in 1964. I saw a few gold records of some boy bands that were made primarily by a scheming fat man. The studio reeked of mothballs and it looked like it hadn't seen a broom or orgy in well over 25 years. I sensed that the equipment was not in tip top condition because the studio had lost its will to live sometime during the drug, sex, and rock n' roll fueled bicentennial of 76.' I realized the studio was like a time machine type place so my visit there made me one of the few individuals to engage in time travel.
I was no longer someone looking to make a phat beat, I was someone making grooves. The great producer showed up and he was a Gary Spivey look alike, except his hair was like a vomit color. The man wore a paisley shirt and had what appeared to be a sort of pencil drawn mustache. This man was not a phat beats maker, this man was a legend. I knew that he could teach me the ways of the Louisiana music Jedi, more commonly known as the Ledi. The meeting was brief but I knew that if I capture this man's mighty genius I would be set.
I would leave my spot in the past far too soon and would find myself disappointedly wondering why my trip had to end. Eventually, after about one minute, I realized that some people are full of shit, but they are intelligent enough to see a jackass a mile away. Music is a form of art that you don't just master in a matter of months or minutes, it takes years. I was told that you just need to know what sounds good in order to produce, bullshit. In order to make something great you have to know more than just one thing. We live in a world full of idiots but there are some that are smart enough to take advantage of others, which is why I can be a producer of phat beats in three easy steps.
