Many of us can (and will) bicker over what might be gained and/or lost by Nas’s upcoming controversially-titled album (so much for December, ay, Def Jam?), but few can argue with the statement he made on “Where Are They Now?”, possibly the stand-out track from his ’06 publicity stunt album Hip Hop Is Dead. There is no pension plan in hip-hop. If you’re lucky enough to get some fame, invest in it wisely. Those early ’90s accolades aren’t worth much more than a spot at Dan Majerle’s Super Bowl party. (Who’d have thought Thunder Dan to be the “block party” type?)

Large Professor’s name was nowhere to be found on “Where Are They Now?”. In a sense, it may not have been out of place on the song — outside of the occasional instrumental LP, production credit and DJ gig, Large Pro doesn’t pop up too often nowadays. And, his claims to fame stem from that same late ’80s/early ’90s golden era of hip-hop that the majority of artists mentioned in “Where Are They Now?” got their names from. If you were to ask Soulja Boy about Large Pro, he’d probably take a break from applying white-out to a pair of black sunglasses to suggest that he drop “Crank Dat Large Pro”.

But, Extra P’s contributions to hip-hop are simply too timeless to warrant him being remembered by future generations based on a name-drop. (“Played out like Kwame and them fucking polka-dots”? Never that!) Large Pro was, and always will be, an integral part of Queens’ never-ending legacy. He was the Main Source back when the Main Source was the Main Source. He let an unknown teenage MC get on record and talk about snuffing Jesus (and, to think, a T-shirt with one word on it had folks up in arms!). Many hip-hop producers (not that I’ve talked to any of ‘em) will tell you that they’ve learned something from DJ Premier, but how many could tell you that they taught him something? Actually, scratch that… how many could truthfully tell you that they taught him something?

Well, there’s at least one in Large Professor. Granted, Wikipedia isn’t always the most trustworthy of sources, but there’s a direct quote from Extra P saying so — and, like they say, you can always trust a man with glasses.

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People didn’t wear t-shirts that read J Dilla Changed My Life back when James Yancey was alive. It wasn’t because he hadn’t changed people’s lives back when he was alive — it was because it took his death for most of us to realize it.

Some may take the opposite approach and chastise those who spent more time paying homage to Dilla on the day of his passing than they had in the 10+ years that Dilla spent building one of the most thorough hip-hop-producer discographies ever. I was listening to Phat Kat’s last album Carte Blanche the other day (mind the shameless plug, but DJ01 interviewed Kat last year), and on the track “True Story, Pt. 2″, a phone call interlude features someone talking about how it took Dilla to die for radio stations to finally play his music, and how the program directors didn’t even know what tracks he produced. Jadakiss once said “Dead rappers get better promotion”, and the adage seems to apply to rapper/producers as well.

I’m proud to say that I didn’t need to hear about Dilla’s death to know about and appreciate his catalog. I was a fan of his work since back when he was simply “Jay Dee”, before he switched his alias to “J Dilla” to avoid confusion with Jermaine Dupri. (Even though it likely wasn’t Dupri’s fault that this confusion existed, I’ve disliked Dupri ever since — although, I’m sure, like most of y’all, I can’t isolate a single moment that made me dislike Jermaine Dupri, it’s kind of just a culmination of a lot of things.) Despite this, if you asked me at any time prior to February 10, 2006 if Dilla was the best producer of all time, I probably would’ve responded, “Maybe top 5.” And, if you asked me whether Dilla changed my life, I probably would’ve asked you if you were high… and then I probably would’ve asked you who your supplier was. I was a bit of a different person 2 years ago.

I believe that people don’t truly change your life until your life has gone on for some time without them — only then do you realize the difference that they made on you. That’s probably why the usual names that come up in the hip-hop-nerd-universe’s “greatest producer of all-time” debate are guys like Primo and Pete Rock and RZA. We, as listeners, got to know Primo as one-half of Gang Starr — the fact that Gang Starr doesn’t record anymore certainly adds to Primo’s legacy. We got to know Pete Rock for his work with C.L. Smooth, and we all know how their reunion plans went (see: “nowhere”). We got to know RZA through his work with the Wu, who have all branched out to an extent with their respective solo careers (though willing to put aside some time to reunite every few years and make an album that most of ‘em will then talk shit about in the press). We praise these producers not only because they make great fucking music, but because the music that we praise them for most likely won’t get made again.

When you look at J Dilla’s discography, though, you don’t see that one artist or group that defined his body of work. You don’t see that big name that just sort of stopped working with Dilla over time — I wouldn’t count A Tribe Called Quest and The Pharcyde under this classification, as they each broke up on their own. And though Dilla bounced from Slum Village after Fantastic, Vol. 2, he still contributed to their most of their future albums, though to a much lesser extent. Dilla worked with Busta Rhymes. Common. De La Soul. There was Champion Sound with Madlib. His other work with Stones Throw. Work with local Detroit artists like Frank-N-Dank, Phat Kat and Guilty Simpson. Welcome 2 Detroit. Ruff Draft. Donuts, The Shining, and all of his posthumous production credits, of which he sadly can’t see the final results.

There was never really a period of time where Dilla wasn’t contributing something meaningful to hip-hop. Maybe that’s why his limitless contributions to hip-hop may have been “overlooked” during his lifetime, or “taken for granted,” if you may. And maybe that’s why the fact that his health was slowly deteriorating as a result of lupus caught everyone by surprise, when those pictures of a sickly-looking, wheelchair-bound Dilla on stage in Europe popped up on the internet months before his eventual death.

Dilla was putting the finishing touches on Donuts from his hospital bed — his dedication to his work was why there was never that period of time where he wasn’t contributing to hip-hop, and why, even 2 years after his passing, that period of time still hasn’t arrived just yet. If we could all have half of the drive and inspiration that J Dilla possessed, we might just be OK after all.

If you were to ask me today whether J Dilla changed my life… well, I think I’m still too stubborn to say something like that (let alone announce it to the world via a t-shirt). But, I know that one day, probably in the very near future, an album is going to come out which includes a J Dilla beat (perhaps the elusive Cuban Linx II?)… and that J Dilla beat will be the last J Dilla beat ever. When that fact hits me square in the face, and I realize it, then I’ll be able tell you that, yes, J Dilla did change my life. Might even cop me that t-shirt, too.

R.I.P. James Dewitt Yancey (2/7/94 – 2/10/06). To echo the sentiments of everyone that contributed to this touching tribute over at Prefix Magazine back in ’06, we miss you, J, and we’ll never forget you.

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There’s “classic” rock. There’s “old school” hip hop. Cheesy pop music from the ’80s has pretty much classified itself as its own sub-genre. Basically, most every genre of popular music somehow reflects upon music from past generations, either by paying homage to the older music by borrowing notes, lyrics, sounds and the like, or — in hip hop’s case — by simply not being as good as the older music. Let me put it like this… think of any hip hop album from the ’90s that you consider to be a “classic”… is that album “classic” because of how it sounds when you hear it? Or is it “classic” because the majority of albums that have come out since just aren’t as good? In the least, it would have to be a combination of both.

When it comes to soul music, however, there’s no such hand-me-down props. In fact, calling soul music a “popular” genre is a bit of a stretch in itself. Simply put, people like (to name a few) Curtis Mayfield, Sam Cooke, Marvin Gaye, and Isaac Hayes — the topic of discussion here — are not being remembered by today’s generation because there’s no real artists in the present who are making the type of music that they made.

Hayes may be an exception, however, based on his work as Chef on South Park (before he bounced after his religion-of-choice, scientology, was put on blast), his brief hawking of Lay’s potato chips, and his buttery-smooth vocals blessing the theme from Shaft, the finest display of badassery known to man… not to mention the fact that Rick Ross is a dead ringer for him. But Hayes’ catalog extends far beyond blaxploitation and “Chocolate Salty Balls”, and, like many of the legends of soul music that we’ll be covering in the future, hip hop has kept Hayes’ music alive through the sampling of his records.

Read on for a brief glimpse into Black Moses’ career, as well as some of the finest hip hop records that have been built utilizing Hayes’ music as a foundation. And be sure to check out some of the great blogs out there that help to bridge the gap between soul music and hip hop music, like Souled On (a site I’ve happily contributed to in the past) and Oliver Wang’s Soul-Sides.

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[Before we get started, is it just me or does Just look a LOT like Dame Dash? With that out of the way, let's move on...]

The Dynasty: Roc La Familia is probably the least recognized of Jay-Z’s solo albums, in large part because it’s the least solo of Jay-Z’s solo albums (2 songs didn’t even feature Jay). If that album taught us anything, it was that Rick Rock production, while dope in its own right, just isn’t meant for a (at the time) potential King-of-New-York.

However, nestled within the multitude of guest verses on that album were some of Jay’s finest performances to date. On “Soon You’ll Understand”, he put forth some of his most personal rhymes ever over a beautifully-somber piano melody, introduced by sounds of rain and thunder. On “Streets Is Talking”, he spit hard toward all the haters and gossipers over an intense, rumbling beat of horns and drums. Even the album’s intro was self-proclaimed “food for thought, you do the dishes”, over one of the tightest vocal samples this side of Shaolin.

Listening to the diverse styles of these 3 tracks, you would think that they were put together by 3 different producers… or, perhaps, by 1 soon-to-be-legendary producer. The Dynasty served as the springboard for one Justin Smith, a relative-unknown at the time whose resume didn’t extend too far past a couple production credits for Beanie Sigel, Busta Rhymes, and Amil (back before she permanently became a punchline in Fade To Black).

While Kanye West’s rapping ability got him the public recognition for helping make Jay’s follow-up, The Blueprint (and the trendy soulful sound that came out of it), as classic as it was, Just was raking up the behind-the-scenes recognition. The liner-note-readers among us don’t have to be reminded of the role Just played in creating Roc-A-Fella Records’ discography, back when Dame was still there and they were signing up free agents like the Yankees. The Reason, Come Home With Me, Philadelphia Freeway, M.A.D.E. (solid album, don’t front) — Just was like a one-man, modern-day Bomb Squad. And it only gets better — Just’s magnum opus, and the first release on his Fort Knocks Entertainment imprint, Saigon’s The Greatest Story Never Told, will hit shelves on December 4th in early 2008. (If you haven’t already, peep the “Come On Baby” remix with Jay-Z here.)

If only Just chose to pick up a mic in addition to producing, maybe he could be where Kanye is now, snapping flicks with Tom Cruise and throwing tantrums after awards show… the good life, indeed. Just, if you’re reading this*, remember that it’s never too late. I mean, Swizz Beatz can’t rap, and he made an album!

[* - Hey, it's possible. Crazier shit's happened. What up, Alchemist!]

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If any square-heads out there who think that sampling isn’t an art are reading this, then you should get punched in the face by Pete Rock. Or, at least, get punched in the face by someone on Pete’s behalf — Pete never seemed like much of the violent type. Or, listen to Mecca & The Soul Brother, The Main Ingredient and Soul Survivor (I and II) — that’s a much less aggressive means of educating yourself on the talents of “Money Earnin’” Mt. Vernon’s finest.

I like to think that I know enough about hip hop, and have a good enough taste in hip hop production, to be able to talk at length about what goes into making a beat sound dope — listening to Pete Rock’s work reminds me of just how little I actually know. At the time of this 2004-ish interview with Wax Poetics, Pete said that he goes beat digging every other day, if not every day. [He also mentions getting jacked by Q-Tip and Puffy (who'd have thought?) for "Jazz (We've Got)" and "Juicy", respectively.] I can imagine Pete’s vinyl collection containing records so obscure that the original artists themselves probably forgot about their existence (which I’m sure would be awesome when it comes time to clear a sample).

Pete Rock’s ability to flawlessly blend and layer different sounds and samples together into a single beat has kept him relevant in hip hop for so many years — in fact, an ’08 release for NY’s Finest will mark 2 decades in the game for PR. Not only that, but it’s likely brought Pete Rock the respect and high praise of your favorite producer, whoever that may be. And if your favorite producer is Pete Rock, then you have good taste, and you should enjoy what awaits after the jump.

Contributions by ML’s usual suspects (myself, DJ01, podcast-extraordinaire Hangover Monkey and newest-member-of-the-family DSuper), as well as Marco Polo (who contributed to the DJ Premier and Hi-Tek Beat Drops) and Alchemist.

Yep, that Alchemist. Keep reading…

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With all due respect to Company Flow and their ’97 debut Funcrusher Plus, it was really Rawkus Records’ 2nd album release, ’98′s Mos Def & Talib Kweli Are Black Star, that propelled the label to global prominence. Its 2 commercially-released videos, “Definition” and “Respiration” featuring Common, got occasional Rap City airplay in the midst of the dominant “shiny suit” videos of that time. But, these videos didn’t need to be viewed much more than once to stay with you. Black Star showed the world that “underground” rap, “conscious” rap, “backpack” rap, or whatever label you want to place on it, wasn’t something to shun and be afraid of — it could actually be pretty dope. And furthermore, it showed that the MCs didn’t need boring production in order to get their points across — the beats could also be dope. Enter Hi-Tek (producer of 6 of Black Star‘s 13 tracks).

The name of the game for Hi-Tek is “versatility”. It’s difficult to pinpoint a production “style” for him, because he employs so many so well. It’s the best explanation for how one Tony Cottrell out of Cincinnati could go from lending beats mainly to Talib Kweli (as one-half of Black Star with Mos Def, or as one-half of the group that Tek co-anchors, Reflection Eternal, which is the closest thing to a “new” Gang Starr hip hop has seen thus far), to working as a staff producer for Aftermath Entertainment, where he has worked on the majority of G-Unit’s releases, as well as participated in the making of Detox (that is, assuming Detox actually exists and/or will exist). It also explains how his Hi-Teknology albums’ guest lists grew from mainly Rawkus-signed artists and local Cincinnati MCs in 2001, to including the likes of Nas, Jadakiss, Ghostface, and Bun B on his 2006 follow-up.

Your friend and ours, Marco Polo, is back in the cut like Neosporin this time around (if you haven’t yet, peep his contributions to the forthcoming Boot Camp Clik album here).

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One of the motivations behind this Beat Drop series we’ve been doing is to try to shine light not only on some of the most highly-touted, but also some of the lesser-known works of hip hop’s most famed beatmakers. For example, most people who know Alchemist for his work with Mobb Deep don’t need to be reminded of how dope “Keep It Thoro” is, but they might not have heard “The Red Light”, the compilation-only track he laced for underground favorites The Smut Peddlers. And everyone knows DJ Premier‘s history with Gang Starr and many of N.Y.’s finest, but some might not have known about the tracks he made with Xzibit (which was rudely thrown on the bonus disc for Man vs. Machine) and Chi Ali (who is better remembered for killing a dude over $20).

In the case of Dr. Dre, however, there aren’t really many “sleeper” picks to choose. Dre’s fame and reputation make it impossible for one of his beats to slip under the radar. If Dre lends his talents to another artist’s album, either you’re going to find out about it through some sort of media outlet, or it’ll end up locked in a vault somewhere between Hittman’s and Rakim’s albums (sorry, had to go there). As for when Dre decides to make an album of his own… how long have we been/will we be waiting for Detox? Unlike Primo, Dre doesn’t really work with artists with less than platinum aspirations (although, in this age of music purchasing, he’ll probably settle for gold). And unlike Alchemist, Dre’s “paying dues” period — whether you consider that to be his World Class Wrecking Cru days, his N.W.A. days, or the early days of Death Row — was fairly publicized. [Granted, Dre was known almost equally known as a rapper back then.]

In a way, Dre is similar to Kobe Bryant, another popular figure in L.A. (assuming Kobe hasn’t been traded by the time this is posted). Dre’s won multiple championships in his sport, and his high self-expectations make anything less than that a disappointment — granted, there’s no real equivalent to a “championship” in hip hop, but if there were, The Chronic, Doggystyle and 2001 would certainly qualify. He expects the talent around him to give nothing less than 110%, sometimes to the point that he unfairly expects that talent to perform on the same level that he himself performs — although, while Kobe can’t kick his less-than-spectacular teammates off of the Lakers, Dre can certainly drop an artist or two (or 10) from Aftermath. And, while some may be critical of the somewhat-unorthodox approach they each take to their respective professions, just like you wouldn’t change the channel when Kobe’s on the verge of dropping 60, you likely wouldn’t fast-forward through a Dre-produced track.

Provided by Lethal, myself, and occasional ML-contributor Hangover Monkey (they tried to make him go to rehab, and he said, “No, no, no.”), here are some of Dre’s works to definitely not fast-forward through…

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[We're bumping this post up because we've received some input from a person you'd probably trust more than us when it comes to dope production -- and that person is Toronto-born and Brooklyn-based producer Marco Polo, whose debut album Port Authority is in stores now, on Soulspazm/Rawkus. For more on Marco, check out his MySpace, and Lethal's interview with him from March.]

On Common’s “The People”, one of his teaser singles off of Finding Forever, the Chi-town MC mentions that he has found “the new Primo” — no doubt referencing the track’s producer, one Kanye West. Noz of XXL/Cocaine Blunts fame, attacked this statement a while back, and though I agree that Kanye is not “the new Primo”, I’ll avoid jumping into that debate. What grabs my attention is the fact that, apparently, someone feels it necessary to label someone else as “the new Primo.”

Of course, this lyric certainly wasn’t intended as a diss to DJ Premier, what with Preem having worked with Common in the past, not to mention providing the cuts to Finding Forever‘s other teaser single, “The Game”. But, granted, “Works of Mart” just aren’t dropping like they were back in 199_ (fill in the blank). Gang Starr appears to be on permanent vacation, Jeru The Damaja and Group Home have long since severed their ties with Preem (and, not coincidentally, disappeared off the face of the planet), and the “usual suspects” for an occasional DJ Premier collabo (i.e. Jay-Z, Nas, M.O.P.) have all seemingly moved on to “greener pastures” and, sadly, appear to not need him anymore. [Or, perhaps Preem is just living comfortably off that Christina Aguilera paper.]

Whatever the case, if hip hop and/or Common feels the need to anoint a “new” Primo, then we might as well pay homage to the (so-called) “old” Primo, whose productions still sound as fresh today as they did when they first came out. When you elevate yourself as a producer to become the personification of the sound of an entire region of hip hop music (New York), during arguably it’s greatest years (mid ’90s), and you’re not even from that region (Preem’s originally from Houston), you are officially the shit. Take a bow.

The tat on DJ Premier’s arm reads “Reputation is the cornerstone of power” — here are the tracks that myself, Lethal, Marco Polo and friend-of-ML Kold Shadow hold as defining that reputation…

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If the city of Beverly Hills, California has ever been mentioned following the phrase “the mean streets of,” then it’d likely in reference to the attitude of women there. Having worked in and around the area for several years, the only time I’ve ever crossed paths with a rapper is if they’re shopping or visiting their lawyer. Yet Al “Alchemist” Maman emerged from the area, after a failed rap career along side Scott Caan (son of James Caan, who played Sonny Corleone in The Godfather), to become one of hip hop’s most sought-after producers in recent memory, especially amongst the realms of gangsta rap (or whatever’s left of it). A true craftsmen, his discography presents a wide range of MCs — backpackers to gun busters, underground to overground, L.A. to N.Y., flipping beats that are rugged and dusty, or clean and smooth.

What follows is the first in a series of weekly (or, however often we can get around to it) posts here at ML, showcasing 10 of the best beats — 5 picked by the maestro Lethal, 5 by yours truly — from some of the most highly-touted producers in hip hop. Speaking on behalf of myself here, I like to think I listen to a good amount of hip hop, but I haven’t heard everything that’s out there; Alchemist may have sold the greatest beat ever made to MC Get Busy, and I wouldn’t know (in part because MC Get Busy doesn’t actually exist). So enjoy the list and links, and of course, feel free to throw your two cents into the discussion — the “Comments” section is your friend.

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