Whirlwind

23

[Lamarr]

October 11th - 60 days until release

"Hollywood Cole!"

The speakers surrounding the studio were vibrating against almost everything settled in the room. Eyes were closed, heads were nodding and shaking in sync to the bassline while satisfaction was growing throughout us all. It wasn't even noon yet and somehow I managed to create this assembly of kicks, distorted ass 808 snares, and hi-hats running along a warped mix of 'Berta Berta' by none other than jazz composer Branford Marsalis.

Who knew that the combination paired with some of Ron's skills on the keyboard and a few mellow strings would even it all out and create one of my best productions thus far. I wasn't any Dr. Dre or Timbaland on the board, but I had enough confidence in myself to know I could kill a beat if need be. I just didn't think I could kill it this well though. 

Once I put the finishing touches on the piece, the first verse followed without much effort. My mind had been running on an unceasing line of ideas since I locked myself in this studio damn near three this morning, and it didn't seem like they were going to end anytime soon. I wasn't ready for them or myself to stop either. The creativity within me was going way too hard and spilling out from the speakers as proof for me to even think about stopping myself now. I'd be a fool to put a halt to the brilliance thriving in the room, which would be the death to a bunch of other classics I knew this album would retain.

"Damn nigga, how the hell did you come up with this?" Ib's voice managed to drag me out of the hard concentration I placed on my notebook and respond back with a simple shrug.

"I don't even know man, it just happened." I uttered coyly.

"Shit like this doesn't just happen, Cole." Mike started as a stale expression stayed fixed across his face. That was a badge of approval: a purse of the lips joined with a slight upward turn of the nose that almost gave the impression he was disgusted with whatever he had his eyes, or in this case ear on. "No one just sits in front of a beat machine and make some life changing shit like this. You gotta have a clever title for this track and the lyrics gotta be just as hard as the production, man."

I couldn't help but chuckle at the reactions I was beginning to witness and take in throughout the room. These two were the only ones vocal with how impressed they were, while Ced, Mez and Elite sat around damn near breaking their necks with bobbing as the beat continued to play. Sometimes silence said a lot more and in this case it said, 'Cole, this shit is retarded'.

"I got one section down then I have this little kicker for the hook. I just need to figure out what to place in between those two if anything, and what to do with the rest of the track."

"Well let us hear it when you're ready so we can see what you got. I swear if the shit is boo boo then you gotta ball it up and toss it, fam." Ib asserted like I would ever pen some shit that was far from top-tier with this mental space I was currently in.

"Aight but just remember these songs are in a sequence. I'm placing this one after St. Tropez since this is the point where I've crossed over into that arrogant and commercial Cole. After this I want to slowly inch toward the old Cole and the realizations I come to. I want to show some growth, well the mental growth that is. I feel like the conclusion of this all might take a bit longer for me to complete though."

For some reason I felt the need to throw a quick reminder out to everyone who was around to hear what I had compiled so far for this project. I took pride in how things were falling into place so far but I wondered was it resonating with others the same as it was for me. I wasn't trying to sell a dead dream or better yet album. I already did that in Columbia and Roc Nation's eyes but I needed at least one of these niggas to rock with me just as hard as I was for myself. They claimed they did when the label finalized my game plan yet the energy up to this moment, it seemed like it fizzled.