You
know how rappers feature guest artists on their tracks?
And
you know how those artists are usually women, tasked with the role of turning a
meandering jumble of verse into a song by belting out a meaningful hook that
brings it all together?
Once
upon a time, I was one such artist.
I
should probably stop there and let you imagine all sorts of horrible or awesome
things, depending on how you view the genre, but the story is just so bizarre
that if my sister weren’t there to witness the actual recording process, I
probably would have convinced myself that I imagined the whole thing.
I’ve
been a rap fan for awhile…well…I should clarify. I’ve been a fan of white rap
for awhile. Which makes me sound racist, except it has nothing to do with race
and everything to do with sound. White rap is just different from black
rap…which is different from what I would currently categorize as dance rap.
But
anyway…
The
story picks up in Peoria, Illinois. I’m sixteen or seventeen, and in the midst
of a major crush on a local rap artist, when I’m introduced to a local rap duo.
Now I can’t for the life of me remember their names. Something like Doughboy
and Rocket (yeah, real winners). But they were local CHRISTIAN rappers.
Yeah,
I’m pretty sure that’s the best part of the story.
So
anyway, I head them perform at my dad’s outreach event a few times and in turn
they heard me sing to my accompaniment tracks. (Classy!). And the next thing I
knew they approached me, told me how great I sounded, that they were looking to
re-record one of their songs (because the original vocalist on the record was
Doughboy’s wife and they had since divorced and I guess there’s something
uncool about a rapper still performing with his ex-wife’s vocal track…because
we all know rappers must must must be bitterly divorced…), and that they
thought I would be perfect for it.
Now,
I don’t think I’ve done a very good job of communicating their excitement here,
but they were PUMPED UP. I mean it was as if they won the lottery. Or as if the
biggest problem the world had ever thrown at them had been solved! And now
everything was going to be great and they were gonna be rich and famous,
rapping about Jesus. (Which hey, Toby Mac did it, so it’s possible…)
Now
before you laugh at me and wonder what the heck I was thinking, remember:
This
was a time in my life when I was convinced that I had a shot at making it in
the music industry.
This
was also a time in my life when I had a major crush on a local rap artist and I
thought in some crazy way that doing this would make him notice me.
So,
I said yes.
A
bit later my sister and I drove to their recording studio which was in some
guy’s basement, and almost as soon as we got there, they shoved me into the
booth with a pair of the biggest headphones I’d ever seen, and they started
playing the track.
Mind
you, I WAS SIXTEEN. I had no idea what I was doing. So for some dumb reason
instead of making the song my own I tried to recreate what Doughboy’s ex-wife
had done.
Note
for note.
And
I’m REALLY good at recreating vocal stuff.
I
imagine Doughboy had some kind of panic attack as the ghost of his ex fluttered
through his thoughts. He asked me to re-do it. Then he asked me to switch it up
a bit. And after only about three tries, all of which I was very proud of myself
for NAILING the original sound, they brought me out of the booth, told me what
a great job I did, and then …
Some
random guy… maybe it was Rocket. I can’t remember. I guess he’d been singing
along while I’d been recording. Someone suggested he try laying down a track or
two. And then someone else said that they could layer us.
And
I can only imagine that Doughboy saw this opportunity to forever erase his
wife’s stamp on the song, because he took the idea and ran with it.
Random
guy was thrown in the booth and started singing.
AND.
HE. WAS. HORRIBLE. Flat. Weak. No breath support whatsoever.
And
the end result? A chorus in which the two of us are singing the exact same
melody. One of us sounding like the ex-wife. The other sounding like a dying mouse.
I’ve
often wondered if maybe I was biased. If maybe it really wasn’t as bad as I’d
remembered, and if I was simply reacting out of jealousy and anger and hurt.
So, I asked my sister about it a few weeks ago.
And
she was like “Yeah, that guy sounded horrible. It totally ruined the song.”
Every
time I think back on that experience, I cringe. And not just because I never
got my promised CDs and t-shirts. Or because I blew it.
But
because the end product was SO BAD. And they probably re-re-recorded it soon
after.
AND
because I realize now that featured artists are usually introduced somewhere in
the song. You know, where they’re like…
“Doughboy!”
“Wassup?!”
“ROCKET!”
“aw
yeah!”
“And
introducing…AMAAAAAAAANDA PAAAAAAAANDA…”
*cue
hook*
Bummer.
Now,
even if the recording survived, no one will ever know it was me.
Though
maybe that’s not such a bad thing…
Amaaaanda-Paaaandaaa! Gosh I could almost hear that lol. Well, even if you didn't get t-shirts and a CD, you still have an awesome story to tell. Can't say I know any other white girl who got to record with rappers!
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