Throwback

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Eric looked around the cozy 7-feet by 7-feet booth. The white gypsum board walls behind and around him were covered by black squares of sound deadening foam. The overhead lighting was dimmed just enough to set a “chill” mood. In that moment—the calm before the storm—he was glad they’d decided to install the LED lighting bank recessed into the low ceiling. The air inside the new booth was still rich with the intermingled smells of newly-laid carpet and spray paint. Three feet in front of him, the neon green graffiti-tag painted along the bottom half-wall underneath the see-through Plexiglas window read, “Cut It ‘Till It Bleeds the Music”. Eric glanced out beyond the window and flashed a quick thumbs up, before settling his hand on top of the left deck’s 7-inch diameter steel platter of his Pioneer DJ controller. His right hand instinctively gravitated to the mixer’s crossfader and slid the smooth knob right. Eric clicked the crossfader—between thumb and middle finger—and simultaneously flicked his left wrist back and forth; two quick jabs. Underneath his hand, the platter skipped in time, filling his ears with the beautiful sound of chirp-scratch. He grinned and leaned toward the microphone setup left of the controller.

“I’m good here boys.”

“Alright E. We’re rolling.” Jerry’s voice resonated inside Eric’s oversized studio-headphones. “Take me back, bro. I need to feel it, not just hear it.”

“Word. Like ’89 summertime backyard Bar-B-Ques and Faygo red.”

Eric tapped the “Play” key, below the deck-2 platter. A 4/4 House Music beat instantly blared through the headphones, at 120 beats per minute. The bump was infectious.

My body may be middle-aged and slightly pudgy, he thought, but I still know how to two-step.

Eric glanced up at his Macbook Pro laptop perched on its stand above his DJ controller. He smiled at the camera image reflected back. Purple Adidas track suit; purple vintage Kangol hat flipped backwards; Gazelle-sunglasses—all bobbing to the beat. He looked down at the left white shell-toe of his classic Adidas, tapping in sync with the music. His kids hated his apparel, but his wife loved it. She said his style reminded her of their high-school days. To some, he might have stepped right out of a 1980s time-warp. But to brother-E, a nickname his brothers had dubbed him two decades ago, tonight he was simply the DJ.

On the opposite side of the Plexiglas window, the new Engineer studio was on full jam as the two soundboard operators and six spectators swayed with the beat. The music pumped crystal clear through dual 15-inch diameter Mackie-brand studio loudspeakers setup on the carpeted floor; each on either side of a brand new 32-channel Behringer studio-mixer, permanently fastened to a smooth cherrywood table pushed against the opposite side of the DJ-booth’s Plexiglas half-wall. Sound deadening foam attached to the white-walls and ceiling of the 7-feet by 12-feet Engineer studio left no echo; just crisp music thumping in the currently cramped space.

The side door next to Jerry—Eric’s twin brother and lead sound engineer—suddenly flung open. Marcus stepped over the threshold of the packed Engineer room, bobbing and dancing. Despite his thinning hairline and salt-n-pepper goatee, he moved with youthful fluidity.

“Shut the door lil brother,” Jerry yelled over the loud music.

“Dang!” Marcus squealed. “That’s ‘Blow Your House Down—A Guy Named Gerald.’ Ain’t heard this one in a minute, bro. Eric really opened up with a classic banger. He’s not messin’ around tonight. Goin’ straight for the jugular!”

Zeek, a young protégé engineer-in-training seated to Jerry’s right, looked up from the studio-mixer’s volume-knobs and pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, through his unkempt dreadlocks. He glanced left and slapped his dad—Marcus—a high-five behind uncle Jerry’s nodding head.

“Pop’s,” Zeek yelled, “what’s the name of this old-school joint, again?”

Jerry and Marcus exchanged agitated looks, before the brothers set their stone gazes on Zeek.

“Boy,” Jerry yelled, “get your scrawny lil’ butt out of my new seat—”

“In fact,” Marcus shifted a thumb toward the door, “get out of this studio. How you gonna become a sound engineer when you don’t even know the music? Beat it, and take all six of your young Thundercat friends with you!”

“But pops—”

“Out.” Marcus yelled. “Tell your momma I’m gonna be home late. Me and your uncles got work to do.”

“Nephew,” Jerry said, “you’ve got to be a student of the music first, before you sit down and start pushing buttons.” He smacked the teenaged boy across the butt, as Zeek walked out behind his entourage.

“Yes sir, uncle Jerry.”

As the side door slammed shut, the music dimmed. Eric’s low voice rumbled through the studio speakers.

“Yo, where’d the kids go? I need them to test out the music. That’s my target audience, right there.”

Jerry punched a blinking button on the mixer. “No. You don’t. You’ve got your brothers.”

“Heh, the three musketeers,” Marcus laughed, “back in the saddles!”

“Three musketeers, back in the saddles,” Eric said, looking at his two brothers behind the window. “Bar-B-Ques and Faygo red?”

“Bar-B-Ques—” Jerry started.

“And Faygo red, big brothers!” Marcus yelled.

“Word. Marc, we’re gonna do it like we used to, back then.” Eric punched the play button on deck-2. The music slowly ground to a halt.

“What’ve you got in mind?” Jerry asked, over the studio PA system.

Inside the DJ booth, Eric’s fingers worked feverishly over the laptop’s touch pad. Scrolling. Sifting. Searching, until he found it. Marcus’ all-time favorite song.

“Let’s get this throwback session going, boys,” Eric said into the booth’s microphone. “We ready to record?”

“No dry run, bro?” Marcus asked; Jerry still holding down the PA button.

“Nah, we’re good. ‘Blow Your House Down’ was the dry run.”

“Alright, E,” Jerry announced. “I’m gonna say it again: Take me back, bro. I need to feel it, not just hear it.” Jerry turned toward Marcus. “Rollin’ lil brother?”

“Sound’s recording’. Once you start the feed, we’re good to go. Drop it when you’re ready, E.”

Jerry released the PA button and spun his black leather swivel chair toward a Microsoft ergo keyboard sitting next to the studio mixer. As he typed, a 24-inch flat-screen monitor mounted to the wall, just left of the Plexiglas window, flashed to life displaying a Windows wallpaper logo—cartooned, purple-themed graffiti—of DJ Brother-E standing beside a vintage boombox. Jerry tapped the “Enter” key. The screen suddenly displayed two live video feeds; one beside the other. The left feed showed a Facebook-Live video of the adjoining DJ booth; its camera lens seemingly trained on the entire little room, from a ceiling corner, over the laptop and DJ table. The right feed was a close-up video of Eric—the laptop camera—wringing his hands together; eager to get started. Jerry typed.

“Going live in 3, 2, 1…” he said. He wheeled the chair over to the mixer, and depressed the blinking PA button again.

“We’re live, E. Bring it.” Jerry released the button, and punched Marcus in the left shoulder.

Inside the DJ booth, Eric nodded at the tiny Go-Pro camera mounted in the right corner of the low ceiling, then tapped a button labeled “Sample 1” on the DJ controller. Instantly, his headphones lit up with a voice over tag he’d used for every DJ set ever recorded over the last 20 years.

“Brother-E is on the Beat!”

Eric leaned into the microphone. “Yeah, yeah, yeah party people! You know what it is, and you know who it is. It’s ya man, brother-E, comin’ to you live and direct from the new headquarters. That’s right, after months of renovating, and bouncing between satellite locations, I’ve finally landed in my new home studio. This maiden voyage episode of ‘Brother-E on the Beat’ is executively produced by Jerry Smith, mixed by Marcus Smith, with yours truly manning the ones-n-twos. You know how we do it. House Music is life; one hour strong to get your dance, jog, or workout on! Tonight, I’m takin’ y’all back on a lil journey through the old school, strictly for my Generation-X family. Nothing but them classics, yo! In fact, we’re gonna kick this thing off with an eternal anthem. This is the ‘Jungle Brothers—I’ll House You.’ Let’s go to work people! Brother-E is on the beat!”

Eric tapped the “Play” key under the deck-2 platter, and glanced up through the window to see Marcus pump two fists in the air. Jerry pointed back at Eric through the window. His toothy grin was all the confirmation Eric needed; signifying tonight’s session would be epic.

Inside the Engineer room, “♪ Girl I’ll house You; girl I’ll house you; girl I’ll house you; you in my hut now… ♪” blared through the loudspeakers. The highs, crisp; the mids, sharp; the lows explosive. Marcus’ teeth seemed to rattle in his skull. He loved every moment of it, allowing the music to awaken memories of family parties in the backyard of Ma and Pop’s old house; his brothers manning the turntables and old mixer, while he handed over vinyl records when needed.

The bassline kicked so hard, Eric could feel the vibrations emanating from the Engineer studio rumble through the DJ-booth floor; in perfect time with the music blaring through his headphones. As he bobbed with the beat, knobs on the controller were adjusted, buttons were pushed and level-meters jumped between green and orange hues with each beat-kick. Eric looked into the laptop camera and pointed at the lens, then back to himself before spreading his arms wide, while bouncing to the beat; playing to his live-stream audience. A tally app in the top left corner of the screen displayed 3,021 and climbing already. Thirty seconds into the set, his faithful audience was savoring the music. It was a good start. Three minutes into the first track, his virtual audience had doubled.

In the Engineer studio, Jerry punched the PA button. The music blasting through the loudspeakers momentarily died, as he spoke.

“E, I’m gonna need some of that Steve ‘Silk’ Hurley, bro. The requests are rollin’ in already.”

Jerry released the button and the music roared through the loudspeakers again. He spun toward the flat-screen monitor. The Facebook-Live feed still streamed live video of Eric commanding the DJ controller and dancing. Below the image, a steady stream of viewer comments scrolled upscreen. He saw Eric flash a thumbs up toward the Plexiglas window, before hunkering close to the laptop. On the close-up feed, Jerry watched as Eric’s fingers flew across the touchpad. The live-recording elapsed time stamp read 3:24-minutes. Jerry knew his brother would transition into the next song within 20 seconds. He glanced at Marcus bobbing in the next seat. Their younger brother had always been Eric’s number one fan since the beginning.

“He hasn’t lost a step in 20 years, has he Marc?” Jerry yelled over the music.

Marcus looked at Jerry. “What?!” he yelled.

Jerry leaned closer to Marcus. “I said, he hasn’t lost a step in 20 years!”

“Oh! Naw, he hasn’t! You know in 20 years, all three of us will be deaf, by the time you guys are 65 and I’m 62, right?” Marcus leaned closer and punched Jerry in the right shoulder.

Jerry nodded and fist-bumped his little brother, before turning back to the board. Over the loudspeakers, a beat juggle scratched over the music and then his favorite track blended in seamlessly. Jerry closed his eyes, smiled wide and felt the music transport his heart back to a time when they were simply the three Smith brothers, with no cares in the world; just the music between them.

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Eric was in the zone. The Jungle Brothers track was midway through its pace and he was setting up to transition into “Royal House—Can You Party”. Suddenly, Jerry’s voice interrupted the groove blaring through his headphones.

“E, I’m gonna need some of that Steve ‘Silk’ Hurley, bro. The requests are rollin’ in already.”

Eric glanced through the Plexiglas window to flash a thumbs up at Jerry, who was already staring at the studio’s flat-screen monitor. That impromptu request would alter his set a little, but not much. He knew his twin brother’s favorite track and simply needed to drop it into the set, as his second track for the night. Eric’s fingers navigated the laptop touchpad flawlessly. He methodically scrolled through Serato DJ digital crates until he found the prize: “Jack Your Body” by Steve “Silk” Hurley. He dropped the track into deck-1and thumbed the pitch knob, raising its tempo to 120 beats per minute. As the main track continued to dominate his ears, Eric closed his eyes and pushed the deck-1 “Cue” button then began to manipulate the deck-1 platter using the tips of his middle and ring-fingers. His left ear registered the new track, while his right ear registered the original track now entering the bridge of the song. He played with the two songs until the beats were precisely where he wanted them. Eric opened his eyes and punched the “Cue” button again, then set his right middle-finger and thumb on the cross-fader held wide open, right. The original track blared through both ears. He looked up through the window and saw his brothers immersed in conversation. While holding the deck-1 platter in place, Eric punched the deck-1 “Play” button, then returned his right hand to the cross-fader. He clicked the cross-fader and simultaneously wrist-flicked the left platter. The new track beat-juggled in perfect time with the Jungle Brothers track—two half beats; two quarter beats—and then…

“JACK! Jack; jack; jack, jack, jack…” echoed over the original track.

Eric slid the cross-fader left toward the mixer’s middle position and let the dual beats of both tracks ride together in perfect sync. He slowly spun the deck-2 Bass equalizer knob counter-clockwise, and lowered the deck-2 volume effectively fading out the first song. Onscreen, the tally app suddenly exploded from 6, 567 viewers to 8, 982 with the new track blended. DJ Brother-E’s throwback set was shaping up to be one for the books, and his fans loved every minute of his set. For 56 minutes straight, he took his audience back in time on a musical journey. As he DJed, Eric remembered a time when he and his brothers cared for nothing but the music. It wasn’t even about the crowds, the fans nor the prestige tied to their skills. It was only about their love for the music. For the moment, that time was once again…right now.

~ END ~

 

For my man…Bro. E

To You, Lord

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Just…listen  *

It’s a funny thing, living as a creative. It’s like a double-edged sword at times. On the one hand, I’m constantly dreaming. Ideas on top of ideas seem to stack up so fast I can barely get them written down or recorded. On the other hand, I’m constantly dreaming. Sometimes, the realities of ever-day life make it hard to nurture ideas. I have to constantly choose the battle: chase the dream or focus on reality. I spend a lot of late nights at a computer, when I should probably being sleeping in preparation for the next day’s professional demands. But somehow, I manage to cater to both lives.

Just once, I’d like to see what it’s like to devote every ounce of myself toward something I love, and to see that effort benefit my family. Just once.

I took a small break from writing, to put some new music out on Spotify, iTunes and YouTube. Deep House music has always held a special place in my heart since I was a kid. Back then, it was just called HOUSE. Now, the culture’s grown so big, there are different genres and sub-genres of the music. One can hardly keep up. All I know is, I know my genre when I hear it. King David danced all the way back into the city when he returned the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem. That brings me comfort, because I still love to dance…even if it is in private…or in the front row of my church, on Sunday morning. So I figured God would be okay with me praising Him in my own way.

I wrote a song to you, Lord. I hope you like it. I hope it makes you dance up there. I can’t wait to party with you, Jesus.

The Message Is In The Music

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Earlier this evening, I had a bible study with my 9 year-old son, Isaiah, and my 12 year-old daughter, Jordynn. Somewhere in the middle of the study, the subject of music was raised. My son Isaiah said, “Daddy, honestly I’ve listened to your song, ‘Judgment Day (Revelation)’ and it creeps me out. The music is sweet. It’s the story that’s scary.”

~ PAUSE ~

* SHAMELESS PLUG: If you have no idea of what Isaiah was talking about, look to your left; down a bit, just passed my “about.me” link. You see that music player below? Click on track number 5. If you like it, I sure would appreciate you supporting my music ministry by going to the link and purchasing my digital EP, “The Sheep In Wolf’s Clothing“. I’m spreading the gospel through my music. Thank you friends. *

~ UNPAUSE ~

I responded, “I can dig it, Zeek. It is a scary story to a lot of people, because it describes the vision the Apostle John was given of events yet to come. You have to remember buddy, The book of Revelation is not some fantastic fictional story created to scare people. It’s an account of what John actually saw in the Spirit; an account of things to come in the last days.”

Isaiah thought about that for a moment. Such a thing has to be hard for a kid to comprehend. I turned to Jordynn.

“Honey, that’s not exactly something you would be excited to read about, is it?”

“Not really,” she said. “But, I know I need to know about it because I believe what the bible says.”

“So let me ask you guys this: We’ve read through Revelation before. While listening to the words of the song, did you recognize some of the things we actually read about?”

Jordynn said, “Yeah! I actually found it easier to understand it after listening to your song, daddy. I don’t know; it’s weird how I just kinda learned the words from the song, and it made understanding the book easier.”

“It’s not weird at all. That’s actually how the influence of music works. Do you guys want to know why listening to certain music is dangerous for young minds like yours?”

“Yeah,” Jordynn said.

“Why?” Isaiah asked.

“It’s because you’re lured into the content by the rhythm of the beat and the sounds of the melody and harmony. 8 times out of 10, kids will follow the instrumental portion of a song, before they even understand the message behind the vocals.”

They both looked at each other inquisitively.

“The fact is, a lot of music on pop and R&B stations today glamorizes and glorifies some of society’s worse behavior. Kids your age don’t even realize what they’re talking about when they go around shouting, ‘Let me see you twerk it, girl,’ or ‘Bend over and touch your toes,’ and ‘Ride it ’til the sun comes up’. Jordynn honey, those types of songs are actually degrading to women! The sad part is, kids sing the lyrics as if they are proud to spout them.”

Isaiah asked, “Daddy, what exactly is ‘twerkin’? A lot of kids at school say that.”

“That’s a conversation for when you’re older, son. But believe me when I tell you, it makes women look like harlots. When a man is telling a woman to twerk it, he’s looking at her as an object, not as a virtuous woman. Some of these men have daughters. If a young boy yelled at their daughters to ‘twerk it’ there would be a serious problem.”

“Sometimes, I just listen to songs for the music,” Jordynn said.

“You still have to be careful, honey. The message is always in the music. Watch this for example. I’m gonna give you guys a few famous bars, from my time.”

I took a deep breath, and prepared to sensor myself at the right moments.

“F(bleep) the po-lice, comin’ straight from the underground.

A young N(bleep) got it bad, ’cause I’m brown.

And not the other color so police think,

they have the authority to kill a minority.

F(bleep) that s(bleep), ’cause I ain’t the one,

for a punk motherf(bleep) with a badge and a gun to be beatin’ on,

and thrown in jail, we can go toe to toe in the middle of a cell.

F(bleep) with me ’cause I’m a teenager,

with a little bit of gold and a pager,

searchin’ my car, lookin’ for the product,

thinkin’ every n(bleep) is selling narcotics.”

Jordynn’s mouth hung wide open. Isaiah clasped his hands over his ears and scrunched his nose.

“Who in the world would listen to that stuff?” Jordynn asked.

“Daddy did, faithfully,” I answered.

“What?!” Isaiah yelled. “Daddy! Not cool, man. Not cool.”

“Actually, it was very cool back in my day, because it was rapped over a tight beat and dope music. At least, back then, I thought it was cool. Imagine an entire neighborhood of kids your age, going around shouting, ‘Bleep the po-lice’. That was my generation. And you know what? Today, not only are some of the old guys my age still listening to it and emulating the music’s message, but so are their kids. We now have two generations of people behaving disrespectfully toward good cops, out there risking their lives to protect people. Folks like an old friend of mine, named Officer Johnson; and another good friend, named Officer Parks.”

“Wow. I never really thought about that,” Jordynn said.

“Now watch this.”

I took another deep breath, preparing to spit holy fire at the top of my lungs.

“Christian! I’ve got my faith on high.

Small stature in the world, but I keep my eyes to the sky.

I’ve got the heart of a lion, at 5-7, 153;

Protected by the Lord partna’, ain’t nobody touchin’ me.

Reclaiming everything he’s stolen from us,

The victory’s already won because in God I trust.

You can keep your agitations; forget your frustrations;

raise my hands up the heaven and commence the celebration.

Phony riches in the air they flaunt,

but the Lord is my shepherd and I shall not want.

I’ve got no need to roll with a crew to know I prevail,”

Isaiah chimed in, falling right in place alongside me.

“I stand alone,” we shouted, “I…do…not fail!”

“That’s sweet, Daddy,” my son said.

“Even without music?” I asked.

“Yup, even without music.”

“So let me ask you, how does that verse make you feel inside?” I asked.

“Like I can do anything, because God is with me,” Jordynn said.

“Like a superdude,” Isaiah said.

“That’s the power of the message in the music, guys. We can be tricked into receiving terrible messages that cause us to feel a certain way about people, or we can be encouraged to love others, push harder, run faster, or be better than we were before by the message in positive music. Garbage in, garbage out. Goodness in, goodness out.”

“Daddy, does anybody buy your music?” Isaiah asked.

“Nope. But that’s not really the point, Zeek. My music is for spreading God’s truth. If someone pays me for it, then that’s great. But the real purpose is to share the gospel through nice beats and sweet melodies. If I can get someone hooked onto the beat and have them begin to listen…I mean really listen…to the words I speak, then just maybe someone will begin to think about the truth of the Lord’s word. That’s the whole point of daddy’s music, buddy. That’s the message in my music.”

Bro. E on Facebook

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For a long time, I’ve suppressed my musical artistic side. There are so many wonderfully talent young people out there in the world, I figured people would simply view me as an old man trying to recapture some sense of youth by getting involved in music at such an age. But, I had to take a serious look at my motives for pursuing music as a hobby. Why, after years of secretly tapping away at piano keys and drumming out beats, would I actually want to get involved in a culture oversaturated with talent?

I’ve always loved music. I just never had the gall to go after it. On top of my lack of heart, I didn’t have a purpose to drive me toward it. Once the Lord moved into my heart, he gave me purpose. The more I learn about Jesus and follow His lead, the more I want to use ALL of my talents to glorify Him.

Today, I set up a Facebook Artist page dedicated solely to the promotion of my music. If I can get people into the door, maybe they will stick around to hear me share the word of the gospel. If my instrumentals will get them clicking “likes” and listens, then maybe I can expose them to the lyrics I write, preaching the goodness of God and his grace.

Most people know of my writing talent, but few are aware of the music within my soul. It’s time I introduce that side of me to the world.

Come visit me @:

http://www.facebook.com/BrotherEUS