The Importance of Soul - Why We Opened Our Recording Studio (from the perspective of the founder)

The Beginning

I remember getting into Run DMC & other older school rappers at a super young age. “It’s Tricky” was as cool as it got to me, and YouTube was still a new thing. My best friend at the time (Mazin) & I would sit watching hip hop music videos on YouTube, entirely consumed by their larger-than-life presentation for hours to pass the time.

MTV was cool because we could watch music videos on a bigger screen. Soulja Boy dropping Crank Dat was a spiritual moment for us (although we weren’t technically allowed to watch its video, lol), and marked a real departure from older school hip hop for us, although we still respected and occasionally returned to it. I remember in grade 4 I wrote my first rap to impress a girl. I owed a lot to hip hop, starting young, even just to boosting my confidence via teaching me to speak with conviction. Watch the Throne on CD was what we played when we drove to kickboxing as kids, picking up wherever it was left off on the last trip. No Church in the Wild was like caffeine before I was old enough to drink it.  

I faced some real challenging times growing up. I never forgot those formative years of musical discovery, and I took what I found through those rough times & allowed their teachings to help me cope with whatever unexpectedly came my way. One particularly hard night at home had me running at 2 am in the snow ‘til I found myself behind a school, lit by a few weak LED’s. There was a little platform out back, so I stood on it, closed my eyes, and pretended I was performing in a stadium. I was into Captial Steez at this time (RIP), so I imagine I was performing something in that vein. It gave me my chest back and helped me pass through tumultuous periods.

Things got harder. I spent some of the worst nights of my life outside. I remember one night, the sun came up on a morning that I felt blessed to be seeing, and older Cudi singles guided me through the whole thing. Pure afterglow. Early Cudi and Chance were another big shift for me, the Dat Piff era was important and solidly remained a guiding, life-saving light for me.

Where It Went

I made my way through life, lucky to be making my way through it. Surprised I hadn’t died in one of the many ways I could’ve, surprised I still had drive in me after what was effectively my dropping out of school in grade seven, and all the shame that came with that. I was about 17, and a few of my childhood friends ended up on the streets. A couple of my friends and I brought them into our homes (they bounced around) to live with us, clean up, and find their footing. I bought a little microphone and downloaded Audacity, and started teaching myself a bit about the recording process here, hoping to give my friends a stimulating and healthy outlet that I personally found solace in.

I was heavy into J Dilla at the time. Digging deeper into recording led me to piece together a little home studio, and, by 18, I had an SP303 and started cutting samples off vinyl. I remember making a huge drum kit and processing the samples through the 303 vinyl sim because I saw Mad Lib had one with MF DOOM in a hotel room and was really inspired by the rumour that Dilla chopped donuts through it on his deathbed. I still use that kit to this day, and toss it to people who are stuck surfing on Splice, as well as to whoever takes my audio engineering course.

I kept working, and opened my small place up to friends and some new locals. The same guy I watched MTV hours on end with came by and had started a small rap group. By then, I was diving into Griselda, Nicholas Craven, The Dump Gods, MAVI & Earl heavily at this time, and, although I was getting better at chopping beats and finger drumming (I had got a Maschine because I saw 9th Wonder on Rhythm Roulette), it wasn’t really the style of the guys. So, I kind of just became their recording engineer. Learned more. Practiced more. Got plenty of books on the matter. Kept growing. Taught myself music theory. I remember I worked a job at a local pizza shop exactly long enough to afford Omnisphere. It was amazing. I was poor, uneducated, lucky to be alive, and working on improving my skill set in something that I’ve always found passion and peace in.

What Hip Hop Means To Me

Almost all music we listen to nowadays has been stolen in some way, regardless of intention. Getting into crate digging at a younger age really opened my eyes to the flow of modern music's development. I respected said flow so much that I’d ended or threatened to end relationships over it, both romantically and professionally.

Modern music is an amalgamation of pain, born of colonial headspaces first outlawing and then parasitically adopting the result of fresh wounds, and pretending as though they aren’t perpetuating the cause of said wounds. Music that came from slavery, that came from overseas, that came from the middle east (then Spain, brought by colonizers to Mexico), that came from intentional starvation of education, and thus, ear training & soul over theory (think blues), all balled up into one corporate monster is what we hear on today’s radio. With all due respect to the genre's roots, there would be no modern country music if not for what was stolen to make country music, intentionally or otherwise, and recognizing this is part of creating a safer music scene in Calgary.

Through crate digging old soul, blues, jazz, early rock & the rest in hopes of sampling the way my idols do/did, I heard modern sounding refrains, licks, songwriting methods, vocal performances and more. It was huge for me to hear Guns n Roses-type vocal runs on soul oldies. They didn’t hit me as all too important until I’d reflected on the fact that those things did not exist before those old records, and I was less “excited” by them because of how frequently they’d been stolen by corporate music, and, frankly, envious, racist people.

I had learned enough about music making, the history of the genres I loved, audio engineering, recording engineering, and the rest to figure it was sensible to open a recording studio. To me, hip hop means resistance to erasure of all that was artistically and socially stolen, it means a safe place for the youth, the young adults, who are told to conform to a system used to “getting away with it”, it means that each MIKE album is as culturally important as the Mona Lisa. I don’t care. Email me at bcormandy@gmail.com. Hip hop saved my life, taught me about the evils of the world in an open-minded and safe way, helped me get my anger out, and motivated me to stay healthy.

At the time, Calgary had no commercial, open 24/7, multigenre branded facilities - clearly marked a safe space to create outside of country music. That had to change.

Where It Is

I’ve lost plenty over opening this facility. I’ve lost friends, relationships, and lived to see loved ones die who I should’ve spent more time with, all while fully consumed by the process of opening a location that stands open to all. If for nothing else than a “for the people” resistance statement and a safe space. It felt like my calling, and it remains to feel that way. We’ve worked our way through two commercial locations, made literally no money for years (credit card cash advances to pay rent) and plummeted into almost insurmountable debt.

I’ve gained, however, an even deeper respect for the art. Having worked over thousands of tracks with locals, learning their stories, learning myself through it all, it’s felt net societally positive.

We kept trying. When we were told our prior landlord had better ideas for our first space, we were forced to tear everything we’d built to the ground, and, agreed to take another bullet for the city and dive back into the hole to rebuild and open a second facility.

It has been almost six years since my home studio was a place for local artists to stop by at. Our current facility is a love letter to all things analog, all that it took to get to modern music, as well as advancements genuinely meaningful to the craft. We’re (Adrian, Jayden, and I) still firm in that, regardless of your identity, LGBTQ+, religion, ethnicity, or genre of choice, our doors are open to respecting any creative vision. We continue to learn what is brought to us to ensure we handle it with utmost respect. I personally continue to pull 16-hour work days at the studio to ensure we stay ahead of artist requests, as well as new tech/methods (never AI though. ever.)

We stand in solidarity with those who have been looted from and forgotten by Big Corporate Music. Those shamed for their art while it was different and new, and later stolen by those who shamed them. We stand against those who get into the arts industry with the intention of seeing those who create as dollar signs. We stand against any political maneuver to legitimize aspirations via championing “one worthy urban creator” and ignoring or silencing all that is underground in the process. We stand open in respect of the land we stand on, with full acknowledgment of the colonial atrocities carried out on said land, and operate under the intention of being better, more thoughtful human beings.

We’re doing much better now. Rent is now made as we Serve Artists' Dreams. Not a ton else, but it’s meaningful, and that’s more than money. I’ve always imagined we’d fail as we’re in a lane that’s almost designed too. I hope we don’t, but if we do - I in part write this to clarify that it may be because we’ve time and time again refused to play political games, blunt our tongue, or mindlessly cater to what the city has historically demanded. We’ve been threatened, privately harassed & more for our mission statement. The creators are wonderful, but the industry can be heinous. It’s in part why we stay loud - you can be you & safely in our walls, and we’ll always vouch for those we work with.

Afterword

A year-ish after our opening, so came others with similar intentions. Now, more stand open 24/7. This, to us, is as big a win as any.

We’ve had some public feuds over unethical AI use, and have continued representing a diverse, very real local scene.

We love country artists, don’t get me wrong here. Educating ourselves on the roots of country has helped us cater to their sound with a more respectful and careful ear. A few bad actors don’t make a bad genre.

We will always strive to be better.

Thanks again, Hip Hop, which opened me up to the world and the origins of other genres.

Thanks again, all genres new and old, be it EDM, House, Rock, Soul, Indie Rock, Country, R&B, Jazz and the rest.

Thanks again, artists.

Thanks again, all that came before.

Thanks again, Calgary.