Devil’s Music - Chapter 112: Drop The Beat!

Ice Cube, with a nostalgic glint in his eyes, spoke in a calm tone, “It’s about Curtis. He was the son of the woman my uncle divorced. But you know what’s interesting? She hid the fact that Curtis was my uncle’s son until he turned 15.”

Geon, with surprise in his eyes, asked, “Really? So, Curtis never met his father until he was fifteen?”

Ice Cube nodded, “Exactly. That woman kept it a secret until Curtis was fifteen. So, Curtis never met his dad before that?”

“Yes? So, Curtis never met his father until he was fifteen?”

Ice Cube sighed, “Yeah, it’s absurd, right? And that was revealed when your real father was intoxicated. By the way, your real father is called Dr. Dre.”

“So, what happened then?”

“It seems Curtis also wanted to live as a rapper, even before knowing his father. That woman was harsh too. She never contacted my uncle, even though she was struggling and living poorly after marrying someone else. She even squandered the child support my uncle sent every month on alcohol and gambling.”

“Weren’t there any child support or something?”

“There was, my uncle sent it every month. But she intercepted it and wasted it on alcohol and gambling.”

“So, Curtis met his father when he turned fifteen?”

“No, fortunately not. They met when he was twenty-one. At that time, my uncle was a successful star. Curtis wanted to contact him, but that woman prevented it. She kept Curtis away, only allowing him to secretly watch from a distance. On the day they finally met, they spent over two hours talking about how they had lived.”

Geon, looking at a photo Ice Cube took from between the books, said, “He’s the one on the album cover. They really look alike.”

Ice Cube sat back down, handing the photo to Geon. Geon, looking at the two men in the photo, remarked, “He’s from the album cover. They do look alike.”

Ice Cube continued, “On the day they first met, they silently observed each other for a few minutes. Curtis might not have known, but my uncle had missed him a lot. That woman had kept him away, so my uncle could only watch from a distance. They spent over two hours talking about their lives.”

Geon, looking at the photo, said, “So, they eventually collaborated on an album. Curtis had talent, and with my uncle producing, they created high-quality music that gained recognition.”

“That’s right. Curtis probably wanted to express his own story through his music. But the album released in 2015, though praised by critics, didn’t receive recognition in the hip-hop scene. It wasn’t authentic to my uncle’s voice.”

“Wasn’t it the ‘Compton’ album? I heard it was about the city where Dre grew up.”

“Yes, but because it wasn’t about his own experiences, the impact was lacking. My uncle, who had become a businessman, didn’t want to risk damaging his image by expressing personal stories. After Apple acquired his company, he couldn’t afford any negative publicity.”

Geon, recalling the grief of a mother in Chicago who lost her daughter, asked, “So, was that when his creative spirit was broken?”

“It’s a bit different. It was due to the shock of losing his son. It was a combination of the nature of hip-hop as a genre and my uncle’s personal experiences.”

Geon, confused, asked, “What about hip-hop as a genre?”

“It’s a genre where you tell your life story, share your beliefs and thoughts through rap. No matter how great the beat is, if you don’t express your life in the lyrics, it won’t resonate with the listeners. The album my uncle released in 2015 received critical acclaim, but not in the hip-hop scene. It wasn’t his own story.”

“Wasn’t it the ‘Compton’ album? About the city where Dre grew up?”

“Yes, but since it wasn’t his authentic story, it lacked impact. He probably wanted to tell his son’s story through the album. But being a businessman already, my uncle was reluctant to face criticism from the public. It was right after Apple acquired his company, so he couldn’t afford any damage to his image.”

Geon, thinking about the emotions Dre might have felt, closed his eyes. The image of the grieving mother in Chicago flashed in his mind. Dre might have felt the same. The intensity of emotions might vary, but the pain of losing a child must be similar.

Observing Geon lost in his thoughts, Ice Cube focused on his work with headphones on. For an hour, they immersed themselves in their own worlds. Suddenly, Ice Cube took off his headphones and said, “Hey, Kay. You have a track you arranged, right? There’s a vocal part in it. How about recording a guide for it, in case we decide to bring in a vocalist? I’m not much of a singer. Just capture the emotions you wanted to convey. That should work as a guide.”

Geon stood up, ready to take on the task, “Sure, I can do that. It’s just a guide, after all.”

Ice Cube, with a thoughtful expression, printed a sheet with lyrics. As he waited for the paper to come out, he handed it to Geon as soon as it did.

“Here, the ending of Verse 1 is a bit tight. The vocal needs to come in before the rap part ends. So, you need to catch the beat a bit earlier. The rap part is already recorded, so just listen to it and match the rhythm. I’ll play the recorded track for the rap part. Once you’re ready, give me a signal.”

Geon, looking at the distribution of parts on the paper, entered the recording room with his headphones on. Placing the paper above the microphone, he signaled Ice Cube, who nodded in response.

“I’ll play the recorded track for the rap part. Listen and catch the rhythm.”

The translation aims to maintain clarity and fluency while capturing the essence of the conversation in English.

After Geon nodded, the beat of ‘Dog Poop’ echoed through the headphones. As Ice Cube’s deep and somewhat slow rap filled the air, Geon smiled. It resonated with the emotions he intended to convey. After playing through Verse 1 and the first Bridge, Ice Cube stopped the playback and spoke into the microphone.

“How’s the rhythm? It might be a bit challenging to get into, want to give it another listen?”

Geon raised his hand to signal an ‘X’ as Ice Cube spoke.

“Just tell me; you don’t need to gesture.”

“Ah, got it.”

“Then, as a practice, try recording once. I’ll provide the track.”

Geon nodded, and the track played again. As the rap section neared its end, Geon began the song.

“Humiliation in overeating of comfort,”

“Money is a short pulp exploding in speed,”

“The sweet fruit I ate is not money but my joyful life.”

His voice, filled with the emptiness he intended to convey, along with the wisdom of one who has discovered life’s truths, filled the studio. Ice Cube, astonished and slightly open-mouthed, stared at Geon without moving. When Geon finished singing and removed his headphones, he looked at Ice Cube with a bright smile, gesturing for him to stop the music.

“What are you doing? Not going to record?”

Ice Cube, sitting in his chair, watched Geon with a smile.

“Well… I don’t know what you are, but… This is incredible. Why haven’t you debuted yet? Still studying for something? Isn’t studying to succeed? With your talent, you’d be successful even without it.”

Geon shrugged his shoulders and replied, “I haven’t decided what kind of music to do yet. I need to learn various things and then decide.”

Ice Cube shook his head emphatically, covering his eyes with his hands. “Oh man, genius. I can’t understand the thoughts of geniuses.”

Geon chuckled, and Ice Cube, still surprised, turned off the playback button.

“What are you doing? Not going to record the second one?”

“Oh, sorry. I was a bit surprised.”

Geon laughed and went back into the recording room.

“This time, record it properly, please.”

Geon, after putting his vocals on the track that Ice Cube played, stopped recording after a single take. As he added a doubling track and layered harmonies, Ice Cube, who had been watching from outside, muttered to himself.

“If I let a guide like this be heard, what would some singer say? Ha. Maybe it’s better for K to release an album under his name.”

“Hey, what are you saying? He might get criticized by Korean fans for that. Seriously.”

Ice Cube’s comment was met with Dre’s entrance into the studio, leaning against the entrance with crossed arms.

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