Chapter 006
Chapter 006
“…How many things do you want me to say?”
The air in the control room froze.
Lil D’s eyes flew open.
There were that many problems with it?
The composers watching from the back began whispering among themselves.
“Shit. Did you hear that?”
“He definitely said it in the plural, right?”
“It sounded fire to me, so what the hell could possibly be wrong with it…?”
“Guess Shotgun can hear things the rest of us can’t. And not just one thing either.”
“But hold up a second…”
That was true.
The composers whispering right now were all professionals with careers in this scene and released work with their names on it.
But that expressionless Asian guy over there…
“…Isn’t he still just an amateur with no credits?”
Hearing the whispering, Lil D ground his teeth so hard the muscle in his jaw bulged.
His pride was stinging like hell, but at the same time, an unbearable curiosity rose up in him.
No producer had ever treated him like that before.
And for it to be some amateur bastard at that.
“…Say all of it.”
Lil D forced his voice to stay calm as he spoke.
“……”
Park Geon was still frozen stiff.
What do you mean, say all of it?!
Lil D had been the one snapping at him aggressively, telling him to hurry up and talk.
So all Park Geon had done was confirm how many things there even were to say.
Because for a straight-A kid like Park Geon, checking the number of problems first was second nature.
But now, all of a sudden, he was telling him to say everything there was to say.
It had suddenly turned into an unlimited open-response exam!
Every composer in the room was looking at him.
Lil D’s gold grills glinted under the fluorescent lights.
Park Geon swallowed hard.
I-I have to say something right now.
It felt like he was facing the hardest possible question, with no idea where the scope even began or ended.
But what was he supposed to say?
He was not a producer.
He had absolutely no right to evaluate Lil D’s rap.
Detailed feedback?
What did he know?
…Just say anything. Anything at all. Keep it as vague as possible.
At that moment, his mouth opened on its own.
“…In the middle, you know… there was that part where you kind of held back for a second.”
Lil D’s eyebrow twitched upward.
“That part was a little… disappointing.”
He should have stopped there, but Lil D’s silence was terrifying, so the words kept spilling out.
“It felt like… maybe you should’ve drawn it out just a little more.”
What kind of bullshit am I even saying right now?
That part where he had “held back” was just a section that had stuck in his ears as it passed by.
He did not even know which bar it had been.
It was just that somewhere, somehow, something had felt like that.
“And… the latter half felt a little cramped.”
This one was even worse.
He himself had no idea what exactly felt cramped about it.
Just… a packed-in feeling?
A feeling he could not explain.
“Like there wasn’t enough room to breathe.”
“……”
“And at the end, the sound felt a little muddy.”
Only after saying that much did his mouth finally shut.
His heart was pounding like crazy.
…What did I just say?
He could not even tell whether what he had just blurted out was right or wrong.
His survival instinct had simply switched on like a lightbulb in his brain and made him spew whatever came to mind.
Even then, he had tried to keep it as vague as possible.
“……”
“……”
The control room fell silent.
The composers were all standing there with their mouths hanging open.
A few of them clearly had expressions that said, What kind of nonsense is he talking about?
Because, honestly, all of his so-called feedback had been abstract.
Who couldn’t say things like that?
“……”
But the person who actually mattered, Lil D—
If he means the part where I held back… that would be the third bar of the verse. The part where I pushed the rhythm back by half a beat.
—looked like he understood.
With a frown on his face, he mulled over every word Park Geon had said.
Then, without another word, he opened the booth door and stepped back inside.
Once he put on the headphones and stood in front of the mic, he could see the control room through the glass.
Shotgun was still staring at the monitor with the same blank expression.
The beat filled his headphones.
The kick came in.
The hi-hat hit.
And the moment the 808 started crawling—
“Yo—”
This time, it was different.
At the third bar of the verse, he delayed the rhythm, delayed it again, and dragged it out for one more full measure.
His body leaned forward on its own.
That instant when the delayed beat hung suspended in midair and made even the listener’s breath stop with it.
Then the hook.
It dropped straight onto the downbeat.
“!”
A current ran down his spine.
Even as he spit it out himself, goosebumps rose on his skin.
When he pulled the breath one beat earlier, it created a gap right before the drop.
Like there wasn’t enough room to breathe.
That gap worked like an air hole, making the beat inhale once before the release, and when it hit, the pressure doubled.
Done.
He took off the headphones.
Then he looked toward the control room through the glass.
One composer had slid right out of his chair and ended up sitting on the floor.
“Nah… this is impossible.”
Another had both hands clasped over his head and was pacing in a circle around the studio in a hip-hop strut.
“BRUH! BRUH! WHAT THE FUCK!”
Yet another composer shot to his feet and ran outside.
Five seconds later, he ran back in again.
He had gone out because he could not contain what he was feeling, and then come right back.
“Yo, Shotgun, my boy!”
“I’m not gonna lie, a second ago I was thinking, What kind of bullshit is he even talking about? Ha, but I think I get it now.”
“On my mama, that’s what a fucking genius is. So it was true!”
Lil D kicked the booth door open and came out.
Everyone else was losing their minds, but Shotgun alone sat there expressionless.
“……”
Lil D walked over slowly.
Then he held out his fist.
“…Thank you, bro.”
Crips hideout.
Sound flowed from the speakers.
It was the first recording file Lil D had brought in himself.
Big Joe did not say a single word for three minutes and forty-seven seconds.
The kick dropped, and the verse rode in.
Lil D’s voice tore through the spaces in the beat.
The rhythm got pushed, got dragged, then the gap right before the hook exploded and the drop came crashing down.
Big Joe stared up at the ceiling.
He did not light his cigar.
Anyone who had known Big Joe long enough would have recognized that as a sign.
Normally, no matter what he was doing, the man always had a cigar in his mouth, so if he had not even touched it while listening, that meant—
…So the bastard’s producing was fucking insane too.
A hollow laugh escaped him instead of smoke.
He had seen guys who were good at making beats.
He had seen guys who were good at directing rappers.
But guys who could do both? In this game, you could count them on one hand.
Dr. Dre, Kanye West—guys fit to put their names in that lineage.
(Dr. Dre (born 1965) - American rapper and producer, one of the defining figures of West Coast hip-hop and gangsta rap production.)
(Kanye West (born 1977) - American rapper and producer often cited as a major example of an artist who combines production and performer-level creative control.)
Of course, not yet.
Big Joe was a realist.
To start talking legend status based on the first piece of work from an unknown producer would be foolish.
But he could smell it.
His instincts were telling him this guy had it.
No question.
Lil D sat on the sofa opposite him, drinking.
Normally, after playing one of his takes, Lil D would always be the first to ask, What do you think, OG?
Today, he did not.
He had been solemn the whole time.
“Lil D.”
“……”
“In your judgment, what do you think of Shotgun?”
Lil D set his bottle down and answered.
“…He’s a monster.”
That was all.
There were no embellishments and no exaggeration.
“Good.”
Big Joe rose to his feet.
“Then let’s play this track at The Vault.”
Lil D flinched and looked up at him.
The Vault.
A club at the far end of Crenshaw Boulevard.
It was one of Big Joe’s legal businesses, and every last Friday night of the month, it hosted Showcase Night.
Not just Crips, but hood guys from other territories too, mixed in with regular people who came just to have a good time.
It was the hottest club in South LA.
And for Lil D, it was an uncomfortable place.
Up until a year ago, Friday nights at The Vault had belonged to Lil D.
The king of The Vault.
When Lil D grabbed the mic, the whole floor went insane, and when Lil D stepped off the stage, the next rapper came up already deflated.
That was how much presence he had.
But when he decided he was going to move into the major scene, he left The Vault behind.
If he kept standing on underground showcase stages, labels would classify him as “some guy still messing around underground.”
It had been a strategic decision, and one Big Joe had agreed with.
The problem was the guy who took over the empty spot.
Rap name: J-Rackz.
J-Rackz.
A rapper rising fast in the South LA underground.
The moment Lil D left The Vault, J-Rackz took the throne, and now people were calling him the new king.
That part alone would have been fine.
If he had risen on skill, Lil D could have accepted it.
But the rumors were what he could not accept.
—They say Lil D ran because he was scared of J-Rackz.
—For real?
—He must’ve sensed the Vault crown was about to get taken from him.
—Hah. No wonder he suddenly started making a big fuss about betraying us and going major at exactly that time.
When those rumors first started spreading through the hood, Lil D had clenched his teeth and endured it.
Because getting to the major scene came first.
Because if he got tangled up in underground beef, his image would suffer in label meetings.
But after keeping silent for so long, the rumors had spread across the whole hood.
Lil D
got scared of J-Rackz
and ran.
Like a bitch.
“Let’s test the crowd reaction to the track before release at The Vault.”
Only then did Big Joe light his cigar as he spoke.
Lil D kept his mouth shut.
“And.”
Big Joe knew those rumors too.
That was why—
“Go there and prove it.”
[Lil D: Yo, Shotgun. When you free? I’ll come to Gohyangmi.]
Park Geon’s eyes nearly rolled back.
Again?! Again at the restaurant?!
The Crips gang clearly thought of the place like their playground.
Don’t tell me they’re planning to turn it into a base?
The moment that thought crossed his mind, he jumped to his feet.
If he outright refused to meet, retaliation was guaranteed, so he had to phrase it as gently as possible…
Thinking that, he typed with trembling hands.
[Park Geon: Let’s meet somewhere else. How about In-N-Out?]
[Lil D: Aight]
“Whew…”
And on the day of the meeting—
In-N-Out Burger.
It was just past lunchtime, so there were still seats available.
Lil D was already there.
He had two Double-Doubles and fries in front of him, and the exact same order was sitting on the opposite side of the table.
He had ordered it in advance for Park Geon.
“Yo.”
“…Yo.”
Lil D stood up and offered him some hood-style greeting gesture.
Of course, Park Geon had absolutely no idea how hood greetings worked, so Lil D kindly showed him first, and only after that did they sit down.
“Sorry about before.”
“…About what?”
“For yelling in the studio.”
“…It’s fine.”
It was not fine, but he lived in a world where saying it was fine was how you stayed alive.
“It didn’t bother me.”
“…!”
Lil D stopped just before putting a fry into his mouth.
It didn’t bother him?
Now that he thought about it, that was true.
Looking back, Shotgun had been expressionless then too.
Even when Lil D threw open the booth door and started yelling, he had remained seated, looking only at the monitor.
Like getting yelled at by Lil D had amounted to nothing more than a child’s tantrum.
Where the hell did a monster like this suddenly come from?
Only then did Lil D pick up a fry, pop it into his mouth, and speak.
“You know The Vault club Big Joe runs, right?”
He did not.
“Every last Friday of the month, they do a Showcase Night there, and this time I decided I’m gonna put the track we did together on stage.”
Angry excitement began mixing into Lil D’s voice.
“I used to be the king of The Vault. Up until a year ago, I was.”
He set his burger down to one side.
“But then I turned my back on the club because I was aiming for the majors, and in the meantime some nigga named J-Rackz crawled up and took my place.”
He told him about the rumors too.
Halfway through, Lil D slammed his hand down on the table.
“Shit! Who the fuck is scared of who?”
The blood vessels in Lil D’s eyes were standing out.
Park Geon was one step away from fainting.
“So this Friday, I’m getting back on that stage. Right in front of those niggas.”
“……”
“I’m gonna show them exactly who their king is.”
“……”
“But there’s one problem.”
“……”
“I used to have a DJ who handled my stuff, but after I cut ties with the club, I haven’t been in contact with him.”
“……”
“So I need to find a new one…”
Lil D’s rage-stained eyes locked onto Park Geon.
“You know any DJs?”
It was the same situation.
But to terrified Park Geon, this was what it looked like.
Huh?! You know how to DJ, right?!
Lil D slammed the table and thrust his face forward menacingly.
His face came rushing over the table.
You said it yourself—you’re a fucking genius! Then that means you can obviously handle some damn DJing too, right?!
Eeeeek!
Lil D’s right hand brushed his waist.
There was no gun.
But in Park Geon’s eyes, there was.
Can you do it or not?! Speak the fuck up!
And then he started unloading all kinds of curses with the gun barrel pointed right at Park Geon’s forehead.
Park Geon’s mouth opened on its own.
“…I know how to DJ.”
“……”
“I’ll do it.”