The Re:Boot

Five years ago I was living in hell. Broken and full of despair, a path forward arose. A life lived fast, with no real care for anything or anyone had caught up to me. I’d spent my twenties chasing dreams of working in the music industry born out of a passion for sounds that I can’t put into words. As my perception voided out anything mattering I closed doors and stopped listening. Failing to heed warnings from friends and family, failing to turn into that which had always been there for me, music ceased to matter.

This isn’t a dirge of self pity.

That path forward was a path back to listening. A path back to that which always inspired and uplifted me. The sounds changed, the styles evolved. I’m a hiphop head. Love the boom bap. The message. The history. I was copping artists' whole discographies via those mail in CD clubs of the 90s. Consuming every issue of the Source and XXL. And when the internet hit?! Free downloads and a trove of information. My earliest memories tell me I loved to dig into a topic and learn more.

Sampling took me a while to fully understand, around the time I got my first turntable and MPC. I didn’t grow up on the usual suspects beat diggers were after. But I was schooled by them both in person and via radio transmissions. CTI. Verve. David Axelrod. Bernard Purdie. Just a few of the names that started my journey. All of a sudden the world of rap wasn’t all that mattered. And as I started to take steps to escape my misery there were new sounds happening. They’d been happening but I was finally awake.

I was strung out and needed something to shake me into submission. I’d pawned what I could and, while going into the nod, selling my records tomorrow sounded like a grand idea to keep me well. Coming out of the nod hours later I was struck with the realization that my collection meant too much and I couldn’t sell them. Simple as that. I surrendered. I asked for help.

I arrived at rehab with a knock off iPod I'd loaded up with random tunes. I don’t remember much of what was on there. In A Silent Way, which I listened to every night of my stay. “All My Friends” for its dreary sentiment that rang through as a warning of what was to come. “Alicia” for its beautiful, picturesque hopefulness. Some songs I really wanted to be able to hear didn’t play - the thing was 20 bucks after all.

While in there I began to accept the reality that music was and always had been a force greater than me. And through it I could walk into a life driven by spirituality that might just save me from myself. I didn’t know any of this at the time. I wasn’t interested in 12 step theology, I was too smart for any of that. And yet I surrendered again.

My journey in sobriety and my journey back to listening were aligned. And like we say you pick up where you left off. So on my drive home on the first day out I listened to Killer Mike and Joe Rogan talk about conspiracy theories and psychedelics. My mom shook her head but didn’t make me turn it off. My phone was off, my records were in storage. My fisher price turntable was a lifeline. I wish I could remember what records I pulled out of storage. If I were to venture some guesses... Deodato Prelude, Kendrick Lamar To Pimp A Butterfly, something from Flying Lotus and Miles were most likely among them. Maybe Alice Coltrane and A Love Supreme.

I got my phone back on and my Apple Music account activated once more and sank my ears into whatever I’d missed. Initially my ears were awash in whatever was hot for the moment, some of it fun and lively, inspiring dances as I slung eggs at a Tacoma diner, punching a clock for the first time in 5 years. Kevin Gates. Big Sean. Post Malone. I wasn’t venturing into the dark corners of youthful rap, I was just treading water. I’d try to listen to whatever PoW was proclaiming as relevant - and it probably was, I’d trusted them for years. But I had changed.

Poking around corners of the internet hoping to find one thing and stumbling upon something else. Ever since those early days of digging for records and learning more about beat making my ears were always drawn to instrumentals, rhythms, hard drums, exquisite chops, intricate sound design. And the same place I’d always visited to discover the newest rap was occasionally blessing me with just that: the sounds of a worldwide movement of “social” music that was inspiring and reminded me of my first time hearing hiphop.

When I say “social” music I am referring to a purported quote from Miles Davis in regards to the term Jazz. Nicolas Payton conveyed the same sentiments over a decade ago. As did Christian Scott on his excellent live date recorded days before lockdown, Axiom. We all know what Jazz is and the term isn’t going anywhere - alas it is a disservice. And this new sound that is happening at all points of the globe embodies why.

It pulls from a vast history of musical expression, not limited by anything, inspired by everything. No idea is wrong, no concept too far out there. Tuba’s to convey the energy of a rave. SP’s played alongside a trumpet. Last Poets inspired spoken word atop cascading freeness. Vocals manipulated, loops culled from live sessions, old breaks made fresh via digital manipulation recreated by a new era of players introduced to the classics by diggers and beat makers of yore. 

I think what drew me to rap was the “fight the power” mentality. Fuck the establishment, we are doing it our way aesthetic. For a kid growing up on a 100 acre ranch in the middle of nowhere Oregon with a couple hippy parents this all seemed amazing. And the music. As removed from rap as I may be today, give me Public Enemy, Big Daddy Kane, Illmatic, Endtroducing, The Roots, DOOM, Madlib, Dilla, et al and I will have a smile on my face. This isn’t meant as an old head vs. young head commentary. I will never disparage the art of hiphop, it’s a youth driven medium conveying tales of growing up disenfranchised in a polarized society.

As my sobriety continued, my mind got clearer and the vestiges of reservations about drinking or smoking weed dissipated. I wasn't as quick to knock the latest rap song all about whatever substance was in vogue at the moment. The words started to matter again and I couldn’t relate. But I still craved the beat.

I don’t remember who the first artist was of this new movement to open me up. I suspect it was Makaya McCraven. Alfa Mist. Shabaka Hutchings. And from there the rabbit hole was dug and I was in. Show me, teach me, let me flow with all these wild sonic ideas. My perception was, and still is, these are cats that were like me, grew up on hiphop and also were schooled in the cannon of “Post Modern New Orleans Music.” And they played.

So what is the point of all of this? I’ve kept this blog around for damn near 20 years. Big gaps provide some kind of insight into how heavy my addiction was. I can laugh today at the thoughts I had that being loaded somehow led to more inspiration. Bullshit. I was not a productive addict. I may have paid my bills and had a roof over my head but I was utterly useless and I almost lost that which always mattered so much to me: my passion for sounds.

In my sobriety I’ve struggled to be honest with myself about the fears I have around this love, I’ve made excuses and told myself that music is a personal journey for me now. And it is. It’s opened me up to a life of spirituality that I’m not ashamed of. But today I know that the energy and 10,000 plus hours I’ve put into listening and learning can’t be held silently within my mind. I want to share it. Whether that is here to whoever stumbles upon it, via my radio show or some other avenue yet to present itself - it doesn’t matter. Today I’m listening.

So welcome. Whether you’ve been here before or are just tuning in. Read. Listen. Explore. Drop me a line and tell me something dope to listen to. Let’s explore together. It’s Social Music after all, right?