Welcome to this new lecture.
This time we have a legend,
a pioneer.
Someone who's been around
since the beginning.
Born in the Bronx, a creator,
a co-founder
of one of the most important labels.
And many of us unknowingly grew up
listening to records, dancing,
and in the DJs' case, mixing records,
that were sampled
from the compilations
edited by my brother
and his colleague.
Let's please give it up
for Breakbeat Lou.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Well, welcome, Lou.
First of all I'd like you to tell us,
maybe the question I'm about to ask
is too cliché for you,
however, there have been
very few opportunities
for someone who's lived
hip-hop's genesis firsthand
to tell us about it, and in Spanish.
So I'd like you to tell us
what growing up in New York
in the 70's was like?
Thank you, thank you.
Well, for me it started at home
with my mom. She played records,
and she called them
"Cleaning Saturdays."
And usually at 7:30 in the morning,
the first thing you heard
was music from the record-player.
And then she started to clean.
And so I began to develop an ear
and a taste for music.
We'll move forwards to '72.
In '72 started what are now called
graffiti writers
but back then
we just called writers.
I started doing
what they call tagging in '72.
It was a marvelous experience for me,
because back then
New York City schools
didn't have the funds to support art.
So we started to put our names
on what was called panel vans
or on trains, or on any white wall
really, to express ourselves.
We'll fast forward to '73.
In '73 many Black Parties started,
that back then we called jams,
and there were always
dance competitions there.
And as I remember it,
I can't talk
for the whole state of New York,
but I remember
that we were mostly Latinos there.
In '73 we started
the dance competitions
and instead of fighting, we danced.
August 11 was the date
Herc started to play records
in a different way.
But what I'll say is,
if it wasn't for Latin blood,
hip-hop wouldn't exist.
The reason I'm saying this
is because what inspired Herc
to play records like that
were the dancers back then,
who mostly danced
to the record’s break,
those back then were "Apache,"
"Give It Up or Turn It Loose,"
and "The Mexican."
Those are the records
I remember with that rhythm.
And we waited for that break
to start dancing.
I think that if it wasn't
for Latin dancers back then
we wouldn't be able to call
our culture hip-hop culture.
Interesting. These parties
you mention with Kool Herc,
that existed before,
the block parties,
what were they like? Do you remember
the first party you saw?
Back then it was mostly
a tightly knit community,
if someone had a hard time
paying rent, or getting food,
we would organize a party
to get the money or something.
We'd ask the police department
for permission to close the streets
and we'd just play music,
not with the type of DJ
that had a turntable and a mixer,
just music.
And we had fun,
we danced from noon
until they asked us to turn it off.
Back then the community was tight,
we helped each other.
And what Herc also did then
was founding a community center,
where he played that music
so the young people
wouldn't get in gangs
or anything like that,
and they'd have fun instead
with something that wouldn't
be dangerous for them.
Interesting, interesting.
You say you started doing graffiti,
then as a b-boy,
and when did you start as a DJ?
Let's see...
When the boom of Herc
playing that kind of music
with that rhythm happened,
there were two other people too,
who started to make
a boom of their own,
and those were Afrika Bambaataa
and Grandmaster Flash.
Everybody says that hip-hop
started in the South Bronx.
It actually didn't.
Kool Herc lived
in the Northwest Bronx,
that's a completely different place.
Flash did live in the South Bronx
and Afrika Bambaataa
was in the Northeast Bronx.
Back then there were three points
that were really lively
and everybody wanted to go there
and have fun,
because it was
something wonderful for us.
There wasn't any other kind of party
that played that type of music,
there wasn't anyone
who'd take the mic
and communicate
with people like that.
It was something special
for everyone.
I couldn't wait
until the next week to go
to those kinds of parties.
It was amazing.
A friend of mine
bought a turntable in '74,
with a group
called The Paradise Crew
and that's when I started playing
as a disc jockey for the first time.
Because back then,
I don't know if it's the same now,
but back then there was
something called “paying your dues.”
I would practice in a room,
but I couldn't play outside
until '78.
But back then they'd call me,
and I used to carry the crates.
- It was true!
- Yes.
My job was to make sure
records got to where they had to be.
I was a little kid,
carrying a crate with records.
But I didn't care what I did,
because of my love for music
and for culture,
I wanted to be there.
To be on the other side of the ropes
was a thing of pride.
And I was there.
With my hands
all dirty and full of scratches,
but it was amazing. I felt proud
of being in that kind of place,
on the crew side,
not on the other side.
- So you paid your dues.
- I paid my dues.
Well, so...
We usually see you play
with two Technics
and your 45s, but,
how did you start?
Because I doubt you started
with a couple of Technics.
How was it?
The way I started practicing
as a DJ,
and my mom wanted to kill me
every time she saw me,
was by having
a record player on one side
and an 8-track tape recorder
on the other side.
I'd use a switch to go
from the phono receiver
to the tape 8-track.
Without knowing
at what point of the song I was,
but I had the idea of playing
the two records at the same time
and switching from one song
to another.
It really touched my heart
and I said,
"This is what I want to do
from now on."
And my first...
My brother-in-law
bought me my first turntable,
because he saw me
going to my friends' houses to play,
and I'd come back with that fever,
I couldn't stop talking about music,
and he said,
"I'm tired of seeing you like this,
I'll buy you your own player."
And I still have it,
the Technics BS-101,
belt-drive turntable.
And I have the mixer too,
a Numark DM-500 mixer,
that was the first mixer
with cue point and crossfaders.
He bought those for me in '81.
But before that
my first turntable was a Pioneer,
which was
a wooden piece of furniture,
and then I started with the BS-101,
which they also bought for me.
But I think God had this
in store for me,
because I remember
the first record I bought in 1973.
It was a Willie Colon record
called "Che Che Cole,"
a 45 I have to this day.
And that made me proud,
to have a vinyl record in my hand
and say, "This is mine,"
because back then,
I don't know if it was the same
in the rest of the world,
but in New York
the pride of having a record
meant that everybody
would put their name on it.
"This record is mine."
To have my own a record and say,
"Don't touch this record, it's mine,"
made me feel really proud.
That was the first record I bought.
The concept of being
a crate digger started in 1978.
It was a record called
"Space Funk", by Manzel.
And the reason for that was
because it came out that same year.
It was a good record for DJs
and b-boys,
and as I was still a b-boy,
I chose it.
But after that I didn't stop buying
until '95, '96.
How many records do you own?
Last I checked, after the purge...
The most I ever had
was a little over 100,000.
And now I have 75,000.
Those are just the LPs.
Now, the 12-inch, the singles,
I have 12,000,
and around 7,000 45s.
- So few!
- Just a small amount.
You told us about how it started,
how you experienced it,
how you started collecting,
how you became a DJ.
And in the ’80s it was another story,
right? Everything started to change.
I know you were very close
to everything,
I know you have many stories,
I know you were close
to Scott La Rock
and Boogie Down Productions.
Could you tell us something about those days,
some stories?
The first time I saw Scott La Rock,
I don't know if you remember
In the ’80s, the ’90s,
I don't know if they still exist,
record pools.
I met him back then,
Columbia Records held meetings
every Monday called The Best Club.
And as he was
one of the most popular DJs,
like me, we met right there.
He asked me, "Where do you live?"
and I said, "In the Bronx."
And he said, "I'm going to hold
a record pool in the Bronx."
And I said, "I go to one already,
that's why I know of them,"
"OK, but please come to mine."
And we began our friendship after that,
that's how it started.
And Scott La Rock was someone
who really lived culture
from the heart, truly.
If you don't know,
he was the one who made
the cassette recording
of Slick Rick’s "La Di Da Di"
and "Treat Her Like a Prostitute."
At a club called Broadway 96.
And back then, I remember that
as I was already producing things,
he called me one day and told me,
"Can you come to my place?
I know you're doing quite a bit
and I want help with something."
And I said, "OK, I'm on my way."
He'd bought an E-mu Drumulator,
and he didn't know how to use it.
And as I was doing recordings already
I taught him
how to program that machine.
And two weeks later he says,
"I just signed a contract
because I met a guy who's a rapper
and we’re going to do some recordings."
And I asked him,
"Tell me how you met him?"
And there was a drawing on his cassette,
he said that the guy had made
the drawing,
and the guy was called KRS-One.
And he says, "He has a gift
for making recordings,
I met him at work,"
because back then
he was a social worker
and KRS-One's family
lived in a shelter,
so that's where he met him.
And he tells me, "I have a contract
that I'm going to sign,
and the recording is mostly finished,
but I know this isn't the end,
soon he'll make a second LP
and I'll call you."
Let's move forward a bit.
The record came out,
"South Bronx", "The Bridge is Over."
They got those contracts
with Jive Records.
He called me a week before
getting killed and he said,
"I need help with this,
let's meet in two weeks,
when I come back
from signing the contract."
And I never saw him again.
What I can say is that
he was one of the legends,
and he could never
see the end of his career.
- Sad story, right?
- Yeah.
Back then you were
more involved in production,
and doing projects.
In the studio, recording, etc.
Hip-hop was already there,
but there was a time,
I don't know
in which part of the ’80s,
when something existed
they called freestyle,
but not the kind you do,
don't get excited.
It was Latin freestyle, right?
What was Latin freestyle,
what did they call Latin freestyle?
It started, if we're going to talk
about the beginning,
with the fact that Latinos
were always around hip-hop.
Since the beginning.
In the beginning of hip-hop records,
tempo was around 101 to 110, tops.
And a record came out,
called "Planet Rock"
that reaches 120,
it was faster music.
And when that record came out,
as Latinos liked to dance salsa,
bomba, cha cha cha,
I mean, things with more rhythm,
that record was really popular
in New York
with the original hip-hop crowd
and the Latin hip-hop crowd.
On that same release John Robie
and Arthur Baker
also included a song
called "Play at Your Own Risk,"
by a group called Planet Patrol,
and if you see the 2-inch tape,
both songs are on the same tape.
Both songs came out 6 weeks apart.
The "Play at Your Own Risk" record
was usually played at the Funhouse,
at The Roxy, or at Danceteria,
the same Latin youth that usually
danced to the hip-hop records
lost their minds
when they played this music,
they started dancing.
As if it was the same kind of music
they danced at Copacabana,
or the Palladium.
So they started to call us
"Latin Hip-Hoppers."
Because we usually dressed the same
as the regular hip-hop crowd,
but when it was time to dance to
fast-paced music,
mostly the Latinos
were the ones who danced,
not Americans or those kind of people.
Back then the first name
for that kind of music was freestyle,
like the records we sang, Lisa Lisa,
Trinere, Debbie Deb, or that crowd,
the first name for it
was "Latin hip-hop".
Because back then,
the records with that kind of music,
that were incredible in my opinion,
were C-Bank’s "One More Shot"
and "Let the Music Play" by Shannon.
Hey, we're now approaching
the late ’80s.
Back then there was a lot of music
that was barely being labeled,
and someone names it, right?
Be it for the dances or for the raps.
You were involved in [the group] 2 in a Room,
right?
Can you tell us a bit about that too?
2 in a Room was a project
launched by Cutting Records.
They wanted to put two producers
in a room to make songs.
The first room was for me
and Chep Nuñez,
the second room was for Todd Terry
and Little Louie Vega,
the third room was for George Morel
and another guy called Tony Maserati.
And the last room was Roger Pauletta
and Dose Material,
who were the only ones with vocals.
Those were real songs,
not instrumentals.
The record made by George Morel,
called "As It Grooves" was the first
to be played,
mainly in New York stations
and mostly in England.
What Cutting Records president,
Aldo, wanted to do
was to, first, put a girl on it to sing,
but they never got the singer.
So he said, “Let's put Dose,”
who already has a record,
with George Morel in a room
and see what happens.
The record
was going to be "As It Grooves,"
but what Dose wrote
was called "Wiggle It."
And that song was a hit.
It went gold in the US,
gold in England, gold in Germany
and gold in Switzerland.
Many stories.
So, that was your journey in hip-hop.
And getting to Street Beat [Records],
how did you found it?
How did you decide, "OK,
let's make a compilation of breaks?"
How did you conceive of it?
That was in two stages,
the first was in 1980 and was
a record called "Fusion Beats,"
and the company was called Bozo Meko.
And the reason for that
were the two recordings
that Bambaataa gave Lenny and me.
They were both recorded in the Bronx.
One was Grandmaster Flash
and the Furious Five,
and the other was
what they called a "post tape"
by a DJ called Afrika Islam,
who no one knows is brown,
American and Puerto Rican.
And there's Latin blood
tied into all this again.
That record was really popular
in those times.
There was another compilation
called "Super Disco Breaks."
But the recordings weren't good.
So we came out with a record
called Octopus Breakbeats,
that were pirate records
from 1980 to '84.
In '84 music was changing so much,
what happened was that instead of DJs
cutting up breakbeats,
they were cutting up
what they called "rap records."
Like "Love Rap", "Feel the Heartbeat," "Sucka MCs"
and things like that.
If the foundation of something
doesn't stay true
to what it's supposed to be,
I don't think it's going to last.
So we both decided we'd give them
the materials for the records
that played in the jams,
that ended up being the first 9 volumes [of Ultimate Breaks and Beats],
so they'd at least have the songs
that really started the culture.
So that was from '80 to '84.
In '84 everybody thought
that hip-hop wasn't going to last.
That's when Crazy Legs came
and decided to make a movie,
so he worked on Flashdance.
And that's when we could say
the world saw hip-hop with new eyes.
And it wasn't a puppet show,
or something to do with gangs,
or something illegal.
They saw this was a real art.
When they saw the music
touched the dancers' souls,
that's when they could see
it was amazing.
And then Beat Street happened.
And I think that was the beginning
of what we now know as hip-hop.
Speaking about those compilations,
I know they've used
many iconic breaks.
Breaks used by people like Marley Marl and a lot more.
It's an amazing thing,
I never thought those records
were going to be what they're now.
At first,
I thought it was going to be
a tool for DJs, nothing else.
It started in 1986,
when Marley Marl discovered
you could sample
and pick out the drums individually,
and put them in [productions], and an amazing thing
began right then.
At that time when we came out
with Street Beat Records,
which was also in '86,
What everyone thought hip-hop
was going to be had changed.
And it changed so much that in 1995,
in the Billboard top 100
singles chart,
of the 52 weeks in the year,
for 37 weeks
there were records that sampled
something from Street Beat Records.
Mariah Carey sampled "Blind Alley,"
Janet Jackson
sampled "Impeach The President,"
and the last group, which always
annoys me, Hanson's "MMMBop,"
which samples
"Synthetic Substitution,"
if you watch the beginning of Hanson[‘s video]
they play "Synthetic Substitution"
and then the younger one plays
on that same rhythm.
37 weeks in 1995,
in those weeks if it wasn't
for those recordings we made,
those songs wouldn't have been made.
Take that, Hanson!
So,
OK. You already told us a bit
about the songs
that were used for your compilations.
There's one specially
that we all know,
and I say it again,
we may know it without realizing it,
and that's the Amen Break,
or the Amen,
that many of us may not know
by name but have surely heard it,
be it in rap, in drum & bass,
and you could say it made waves,
right?
- Yes.
- Jungle...
I mean, it was appropriated for many songs.
Chicago house, Detroit house...
Do you remember when you found that break?
I didn't find it,
Afrika Bambaataa did.
I credit Afrika Bambaataa,
it was in 1980.
The first time I knew
what that record really was.
And we put it in Volume One.
If you know and see Volume One
of Ultimate Breaks and Beats,
that's the second song
we put in that compilation.
And to me the really amazing thing
about that record
was that it was really fast.
But because of how we played it,
it was a 45 rpm,
we played it at 33 rpm
and it was what you call
"a real bop your head hip-hop beat."
So, that recording,
this record itself
they say is
the most sampled record in history.
There is no record
that was more sampled than that one.
If it wasn't for us that record
wouldn't be in the world
like it is right now.
And when you listened to it,
when you had it,
did you think it was going
to be anything special?
Or did you see it
like any other good break?
It was the "soup of the day" break,
the music of the moment.
We didn't think
that 30 or 40 years later
it would have the history it has now.
Remember that it was a B-side
of a record that won a Grammy.
And then we changed
how it originally sounded,
it wasn't that way.
It originally wasn't fast,
then slow and then fast again.
The sound is something
that I can't explain
how it had such a big influence.
If one looks now
so many records that exploded,
by N.W.A., Mantronix,
Ultramagnetic MCs,
EPMD, Public Enemy,
all those people played that record
in some way or another.
What would
your most precious record be?
A record you’d say, "This is my jewel,"
be it because of its history
or the value it has for you?
The record is "Beggin'"
by Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons,
and the reason is because
it belonged to my mom.
And my mom...
In 2008.
I got out of the industry in '95,
because of my family
and it's like that,
not because of something else.
My mom tells me in 2008,
"It will come a time
when the world will recognize you
for what you did."
And I replied, "Mom,
I'm working in a bank now,
what's all that about?"
That was in February 2008.
In October 2008, God took her.
In April 2009,
I don't know what happened
but Kenny Dope wanted to know
who was the person
called Louis Flores
who appeared on the records [credits].
And then began what we have now,
me being here,
in all these places, in Cuba,
which was a dream of mine,
coming to this precious island,
like we call it, the twin island.
And being around
Latin hip-hop culture,
as we are never given enough credit
for being involved in this.
And having the opportunity
of telling the story.
And reaching I don't know
how many people
who are going
to watch this recording.
All because of...
The love my mom had for music,
the love my mom had for me.
And as for that record
called "Beggin',"
it's a 45 that I still have to this date,
and that you can buy in any store
in the second hand section
for 6 or 7 dollars, or whatever.
To me, that record is priceless.
Hey, talking about producing,
about crates and about digging,
you're very close
with Diamond D, Buckwild,
people from Diggin' in the Crates [crew],
aren't you?
You were there, I imagine,
since before the group was formed.
Can you tell us a bit about that?
Yes, of course.
As I'm a good friend of Jazzy Jay,
Of the Zulu Nation,
or Jazzy Five,
or Strong City Records,
the first recording Diamond D did
was for a group called Ultimate Force.
I met him when I worked
at a record store in the Bronx,
he came around all the time.
And he told me,
"I know you make these records,
listen," he gave me a cassette,
"I want to know
what you think about this."
And to me it was something incredible
because he used a record called...
If remember correctly...
How time passes.
But it was a breakbeat too,
it was amazing, he said,
"Jazzy Jay helped me, and I have
many more that I'm going to make.
I've two more friends
helping me with the recording."
The two friends
were Showbiz and Lord Finesse.
And those days with Lord Finesse
we talked, usually, almost every day.
Because we were colleagues,
besides music partners,
and we played several times
a year together in different places.
He's like a brother to me,
because we're of one mind
in how we see music,
as men, as third world people,
in our opinions
of what things should be like,
or in seeing what we can do
to improve our culture,
called hip-hop.
They always tell me
about Buckwild, Showbiz,
A.G....
That if it wasn't for us
inspiring them to be diggers,
because they mostly
didn't have that knowledge
until they bought the Ultimate
Breaks and Beats compilation.
It was then that they had
that idea and said,
"Oh, if these records are like this,
let's see what other records
this artist has
that have this kind of music.
Or let's see, if this person
recorded with these artists,
we'll see what they did
with these other artists."
That was before we could listen to
records on a record player,
like we can now.
You had to do it like I did,
I went to those places,
picked up a record, smelled it,
I looked at it like this,
put it down and walked away,
went back to look at it again.
I looked at the little paper again
and I checked out the clothes
they had on at the time,
and the credits,
and in what city it was recorded in,
if their afro was a bit crooked,
it's an incredible thing how one
looks for something that can tell you,
"Yes, this is funky." That's how
we bought them back then.
And still, when I'm buying now,
I never listen to the records,
I look at them, I smell them,
and if they look right I buy them.
What would be your craziest
story of finding a record?
Lenny and I went to a place,
I remember it well,
it was in Tennessee, or something.
We usually had a trick,
in those days.
I don't know if you know
what a wooden pallet is,
where they put the products,
boxes, like this.
So when we went shopping,
we laid a pallet, and put the records
we were going to buy on it.
Back then many people didn't know
the record called
"A Little Less Conversation,"
by Elvis Presley.
Normally, at that time the cheapest
you could buy it was 15 dollars.
But the boxes were wet
and very dirty.
What I did was pick up the box
and move it closer to where we were,
and mostly when we went shopping,
the place we went to,
they didn't look
at the records that were on it.
They said,
"If this is what you're taking,
this is what we're charging."
At that time there was minimum
150 of those Elvis Presley records.
Normally, if we bought it then
it was going to cost us 2, 3 dollars.
We paid 55 cents for those records,
that afterwards we sold them
for 25 to 55 dollars each.
What is the most
you've paid for a record?
Nobody is going to believe this,
let's say the three best.
I went to the Salvation Army,
do you know the record "Vitamin C,"
by Can?
It's a b-boy record.
I don't know if I remember...
Let's say the record cost
at least 150 dollars,
I paid three dollars for that record.
Three dollars.
Now, the most I've paid
for a record was 75 dollars
and it was an Italian promo only copy
of "Take Me to the Mardi Gras."
- Rare!
- Rare, very rare.
Right now it's at least 150 dollars,
and that's not mint,
and I bought it mint.
Following up, and picking up
what you were telling me
a little while ago.
You were saying that
if they take away the foundation,
it would get lost
and it wouldn't be maintained.
Do you think that now,
with copyright issues and all that,
creativity is being limited?
Or is it pushing artists
to seek new strategies?
What do you think about all that?
I'm different from everyone else,
I think that if music
belongs to someone
you have to pay them,
because as an artist
I would like to be paid.
If you really have the gift
of being creative,
you don't need samples or anything.
If it comes from your heart,
from your soul,
you can make the best music
that can be made.
Because that music
was made back then,
and if it was possible then,
why wouldn't it be possible now?
That's my opinion.
I'm very different,
I'm not saying either
that the ’90s are the best
there is, music wise.
There was a lot of good music, yes,
but there was a lot of bad music too.
Like they say now about trap.
To me, as DJ,
from the beginning to when I die,
if I play music
that makes the floor jump,
it can be anything.
My job is to do that, really.
Like, I say, a record
like "Panda" by Desiigner,
what are these guys saying?
I have no idea what they're saying,
but when you play that record
on an amazing system,
it doesn't give you any choice
but to jump.
Music gets to me more,
before the lyrics.
But there's good music
and bad music now,
and there was always good
and bad music.
- That's what I say.
- I agree.
Speaking about 2019,
I know you're still working,
you're still producing,
and I noticed that currently,
being from the East Coast, New York,
you're collaborating with one
of the most important collectives,
a group that is part of one
of the most important collectives
from the West Coast,
which is Souls of Mischief,
from Hieroglyphics.
How did that come about?
Well, this is how it started.
I'm a good friend
with Peanut Butter Wolf,
who owns Stones Throw Records.
There was a party
called Motown On Mondays
that you see there.
I was at that party,
and Opio was at that party
and I met him.
The next day we went out,
as Opio's girlfriend
worked with Peanut Butter Wolf,
and we went out to lunch,
he asked me if I was still producing
and I told him I was. He said,
"Can we work on something?"
And I told him, "Well, OK."
Imagine, it was the same time of year as
right now, it was around Biggie’s anniversary
and I was going to record
a tribute for Biggie and I was
looking for another MC to help,
so I told him, "We can do this."
We went to the studio, recorded,
and it was amazing.
If people don’t know
they never recorded together,
when you hear the recording it seems
as if they were in the same place.
We did that recording,
and he says,
"I want to do another project.
Would you like to work with me?"
I told him,
"Let's do a few songs, no problem."
Those songs were incredible.
He says,
"We ought to do a five song EP."
We did the five songs,
and it's not because it's me,
but they were amazing.
He's the kind of guy I like,
a type of artist
who doesn't have a problem with...
- Being directed?
- No, you don't produce him.
Mainly all rappers now, MCs,
they think it's all in their mind
and that's how it has to be.
That's not right,
we all have our jobs.
There are beat makers
and there are producers.
I know how to do both things,
God gave me that blessing.
But I like to work with an artist
in person.
I don't really like
to send someone a beat.
So, with my own money
I went to Los Angeles every month
to see what he was doing.
We came out with incredible songs.
Right now we're ready to record
the last two songs,
with Casual, with O.C.,
and god willing,
either Styles P or Jadakiss.
We're on that.
We finished recording just now
with Havoc, Erik Sermon,
Bahamadia, Pharoahe Monch,
and they came out great.
We have ’90s style hip-hop, yes.
There are some trap-like songs
that when people hear them
they'll say, "Louis doing trap?"
Yes, Louis doing trap.
To me it's music. It isn't music
to everyone in this world,
but we're doing things right.
You will soon hear
something that will be,
not the best project
of the whole world,
but a project to be remembered
years and years from now.
What advice would you give us,
to everyone doing rap, hip-hop
in Latin America or over here?
I'm glad you asked that question,
because in our hip-hop culture
everyone makes music about
girls,
money,
or getting high.
To me if you don't put
your heart in it,
you soul, like we say,
if you're not making songs
with your blood, sweat and tears,
don't make them at all.
Stop. Make something else.
Or make that
and don't call it hip-hop,
because hip-hop culture
started from something like this,
from using systems
of different brands,
like, everyone has two Technics
and a mixer now,
I remember when there was
a Technics and a Fisher [Price],
and a mixer with a channel
working on something
and another channel
on something else.
We had speakers of different brands,
different sizes.
We had receivers and amplifiers,
and we had cables all taped up
because they weren't long enough.
There was pride in doing things
we could say
we did them together
and we didn't really
have the resources.
But we did it because it came
from the soul, from the heart,
from love, from culture.
First from music, from culture,
and from ourselves.
Because I can't say
I did something...
I can't play this CD,
and say, "I invented this,"
if I never did.
But if I play it, and say,
"I like how it plays,"
it's more real.
This is how it has to be,
with pride but with respect too,
for being part of a culture,
hip-hop culture, DJ culture,
MC culture,
or musicians' culture, whatever.
It has to be honest pride
and something from the heart, really.
Let's hear it for the legend
Breakbeat Lou, please.
Thank you, thank you.
Thank you.
- Thank you, thank you, thank you.
- Ready?
Let's do a Q&A session.
I don't know if there's anybody
who has a question
or a comment for our guest.
There's one.
What's up with all these cats
putting out records
with all our samples?
What do you think about that?
What does that mean?
It means that DJ Premier
was a bit angry at that time,
after [UBB] came out
there were other labels
publishing albums full of songs
ready to sample.
And DJ Premier, producers like us,
making an effort looking for samples
and these are just
there for the taking.
When he first came out
with that record
I confronted him and asked him,
"What does this mean?"
And he said,
"Louis, this is not for you."
The reason was
another record company.
Let's give an example.
Like a food recipe given to you
by your mom, your granny, whatever,
and it's your family's.
I take that recipe and I say,
"I'm telling everyone
your paella is made this way."
That's what happened.
Instead putting,
"This is the recording,
this is the artist,
this is the year it came out,
this is the label."
I think the reason
we made [Ultimate] Breaks and Beats
was so that the second and third
and all the other generations of DJs
after the first one,
had the right tools
to continue building hip-hop.
What these guys did,
as they wanted
to pat themselves on the back
and say,
"If you got it, I can get it, too."
And no. "You don't get it because
you didn't work your ass off,
got your nails and clothes
dirty searching for records, get it?"
I asked Premier,
I asked Diggin' in the Crates,
I asked Pete Rock.
They said, "No, it's not for you.
If it wasn't for you
we wouldn't be here,"
but people
taking the idea out of context
and trying to make it something else
to give themselves credit
is not fair.
I'm from Spain,
and what I'm seeing
in hip-hop circles in general
or urban music in particular,
is that due to the internet
trends change very quickly.
In fact, being a mainstream artist
can last a few months.
And after a few months, bye.
And there's a new trend.
What I'm saying is that
in the United States
when an artist becomes trendy
but doesn't cross
the mainstream line,
I mean, it's not the same between Lil’ Wayne
and Evidence.
For example, Evidence, after a while,
even though he got a good audience,
a good-sized audience,
he didn't get to be
like Eminem.
Is it possible for him to keep
making a living out of music?
Right now, yes. In the ’90s
the most you could make
from a record was 70 cents.
And sell 6,000 copies.
If you did it yourself
you could make 2,50
and sell at least 40,000 copies.
Which one gets you more money?
Which one more control?
Today, really,
you can make music
exactly like you want,
with no one telling you,
"No, no, this is going to go badly,
people won't like it, I want you
to sound more like Drake,
I want you to be more
like Lil’ Wayne."
Right now any kid can go to eBay,
buy an Apple computer,
used, for 700 dollars.
It usually comes
with Garageband, right?
You can record anything,
put it on iTunes,
and if you have an Instagram
or Facebook account
with over 150 followers,
10% of that,
you can publish a song
in less than a day or two,
and 10 people can listen to it
and say it's awesome
and your head gets like this.
In our times, at first
when you published a song,
you had to spend 250 dollars
buying tape, 2-inch tape.
After that you had to work again,
and get at least 600 dollars
to rent a studio,
at least 10 hours, to record.
No, to produce the album.
Back then not everyone had an MPC,
like what you can buy now,
or [Native Instruments] Maschine or FruityLoops.
You had to go to a studio
that had the equipment,
to work and try to get the production
done in less than 10 hours,
then keep at it for another 10 hours
to record the song,
and after that,
like 5 hours to mix it.
That's 500, 500 and 250,
750 plus the 250
and now it's more than 1,000 dollars
just recording and mixing the song.
If you want to publish it
you need to master it.
Mastering costs
at least 700 or 800 dollars.
Finish that and you're almost
up to 2,000 dollars.
Now you have to think,
if it's a 12-inch,
if you'll have a cover
or a generic cover.
Let's go with a generic cover.
You gotta press up
at least a thousand copies,
which is gonna cost you
another 1,000 dollars.
Nobody has heard the record yet.
You're up to almost 3,000 dollars
to make a recording
and put it on wax or vinyl,
and no one has heard it yet.
Then you have to work again,
and if you have a car,
go to every mom and pop store
and say, "Can you pick up
5 copies in consignment?"
To see what happens with the record.
Right now, if you have 700 dollars
you can make a recording
that doesn't sound good at all,
but if a friend says, "This is good,"
it goes to your head.
That's why you think
everything sounds the same now,
because everyone wants to make
whatever that guy did,
or that other guy.
If you can buy FruityLoops
and you have an 808 sample pack
and use the same rhythm,
it feels like,
I’m scratching my head, I’m scratching my head.
See? It has rhythm already.
That's what happens,
because now it's not trendy
to feel pride in making real songs.
That's what's happening with trap,
too, what I call "gun talk records."
No record
is over 76 beats per minute.
Just talking about drugs
and shootings, and stuff like that.
Nothing else.
To me songs have to have knowledge,
but they also have to talk to you.
Records like... I can't say it here
because you will get angry,
but if you rap
and you don't have hooks,
you're just making gun talk lyrics,
and how many keys I have,
and how many jewels I have,
and I'll beat you up.
There's no substance.
I think these aren't songs
with a message,
like "Eric B. Is President,"
or something comical,
like "Pickin' Boogers" by Biz Markie,
or Slick Rick "La Di Da Di,"
things like that,
stories, like Biggie Smalls.
You can actually close your eyes,
listen to "Warning" by Biggie Smalls
and see what's happening
because the lyrics are amazing.
And now, you know,
I scratch my head, I scratch my head.
We have another one here.
Streaming music
lowers quality, right?
- Yes.
- A lot. Well, it lowers it.
What is the best quality format,
CD or vinyl?
- It depends...
- No, no, no, no,
the best sound,
the proper sound is tape sound,
reel-to-reel tape, and then vinyl.
Because digital...
In digital format,
voice is translated into a wave.
Digital is zeros and ones,
so sound plays like this.
In digital it plays like this.
It jumps.
It's not playing the whole sound,
if you play in a wave
it goes like this.
And this is the complete sound,
see this gap? There's sound there.
Digital doesn't pick that up,
digital is just this, zeros and ones.
The sound wave
contains the complete sound,
high and low.
So, tape or vinyl.
- Thank you.
- You're welcome.
- Another question over here.
- A question.
In Wikipedia, for example,
the Spanish Wikipedia,
it says that trap is a genre
that is inspired by hip-hop,
but a separate genre.
In the English Wikipedia, however,
it says it's a subgenre of hip-hop.
Which is what I say.
Even if it sounds bad to some,
or they're scared of it.
Trap is generally live music,
but music that talks about drugs.
Because "trap" is where
you pay money to get drugs.
That's where the word trap comes from.
But what happened when trap appeared,
the liveliness of it has to do
with drugs and strip clubs.
Strip club music is very lively,
dirty south music.
So that's where it comes from.
To me, as long as it has musical quality
and it makes you move...
The only problem I have with it,
my problem with the so-called trap,
is the quality of the lyrics.
I scratch my head. You see?
If you give me the instrumental,
I'll dance to it all day.
Because it has a good sound.
There's bad trap
and there's good trap.
I've heard music from T.I.
that sounds incredible.
Young Jeezy did stuff like that.
Even Drake's done pretty decent trap.
J. Cole has done trap
that's pretty decent.
It's not the genre, or the title,
it's just that, mostly...
Everyone generally
picks the easy way out.
If you made a trap song
that sounds one way,
then he comes and makes a trap song
that sounds just like yours.
I have to listen to a song
at least 30 or 40 seconds
to know who the artist is.
Because in the beginning
it all sounds the same.
What artist do you like the most,
if you like any,
of this new wave?
Or do you not like any?
No, no, because the thing is,
there are songs that may rock,
Lil Boosie's done songs
that are right.
It's more about the type of rap song
than the artist.
Now, if you ask me
for an artist from the ’90s,
you can say Rakim,
because his discography
is something amazing.
Public Enemy, EPMD. Now I ask you.
Who do you think
will be in a place in ten years
that you will be able to say,
"Ah, this guy was dope"?
Kendrick.
But he's not really trap.
He does trap music.
From trap?
That's depends, really. Drake?
But he's not all trap.
That's why I say there's no artist
that does only trap.
Drake makes trap songs, Kendrick too,
Jay Rock too, but not everything
they make is trap.
Because they put
a little boom bap in there.
No one does just trap, you know?
Migos... kidding.
Why do you think trap started?
It's dancing music.
When there's something
that gets people into dance clubs,
it's gonna grow.
What do people who resisted hip-hop
said about it when it came about?
What criticisms did you face
back then?
We'll talk about lyrics, too.
Big Daddy Kane
didn't sound like Rakim,
Rakim didn't sound like EPMD.
EPMD didn't sound like Public Enemy.
Public Enemy did not sound
like Salt-N-Pepa.
Now I have to listen to a song
at least 30 seconds
to know who it is. And not even that.
I mix up Future with Drake,
all of them,
I don't know which is which.
Because they all mostly
sound the same,
they all have the same producers.
Imagine, with all the drum machine
sounds you can use,
but they just use the same tone
and the same 808 sound.
I don't know, I don't get it.
What rhythm is coming up next,
after trap?
That is, out of everything you know?
To me, I think that
what should come back
is regular R&B music.
Dance R&B, something
like a new jack swing, but not quite.
I think that pride in creating music
hasn't picked up,
because right now
there's isn't any music
in this generation of hip-hop.
It's hard to say
that there's something unique
or something that opens your eyes
and makes you say, "This is amazing!"
There's nothing original...
But it's not all like that,
there are some amazing albums.
Like in every genre.
But in general,
or in everything that is trap music
there's nothing that makes you say,
"This really is music and it's going
to remain relevant over time
and make history." Not right now.
How would you advise us
to have the patience
to know that everything takes time?
Sometimes you
just want to see numbers.
Sometimes you base yourself on them
because people trust them.
For example, if something
has millions of listens even though it's crap,
on the radio they say,
"Hey, have you listened to that?"
People on videos, "Did you see that?"
Fans themselves say, "I have to see it
because they're seeing it."
It gains some kind of credit.
What advice could you give us
so we have the patience
to create something
that hasn't been heard before?
You know what I'm saying?
No, I don't think
it's about patience.
Keep doing what you're doing,
because your time will come.
Don't stop, because if we'd stopped
in the ’80s, we wouldn't be here now.
If we'd stopped in the ’90s,
we wouldn't be here now.
Think that from '79 to '83
it was mostly musicians
who played music for rappers.
Then the drum machine era started,
which is when the 808,
the DMX and the LinnDrum came out.
Every album had that same sound.
Everything sounded the same,
like trap right now.
Then Marley Marl came out,
sampling came out
and he could pull out sounds
and put them in individually.
And play the same rhythm
with sounds from other records,
and that was the best time
to create things
because ideas weren't constrained
by equipment, but by people's minds.
You can think
like Public Enemy thought.
When they came out
no one could understand
what was that sound
that at first is like something
that's going to give me a headache,
but listening to it you say,
"This is amazing." Why?
While Marley Marl used two or three sounds,
Public Enemy used 10 to 15
or 20 sounds in one song.
And they used a two-second sound
in a position
no one had heard before.
They had that gift,
like a jazz musician's.
In jazz music the drums play a rhythm
and the bass another
and the trumpet another,
but everything sounds great.
That's what happened
when the Bomb Squad
did what I just said
with Public Enemy.
They didn't wait for anybody.
They kept on doing
what they were doing.
You listen to their first LP
and then listen
to It Takes a Nation of Millions
to Hold Us Back,
they're very different things.
Because they weren't waiting.
They didn't wait for EPMD
to come out with them,
they didn't wait for Rakim
to come out with them.
They said, "Let's do this
and this is what it'll be."
If you wait you'll never get there.
Like they say in English,
"Don't let the waves
take you where it is,
swim to where you need to go."
Like a salmon
that swims against the current.
- You have to be like a salmon.
- Thank you.
In our circles there are people
who don't listen to rap
and even though they don't listen
to rap they like the battles
because it's a show
that's very easy to watch.
It's remarkable to me that in the US,
a society characterized
by quick consumption
of this kinds of things, where this
appeared for the first time,
tt's remarkable that being
from Spain, Mexico, Venezuela,
we can go to Chile
and get 20,000 people in a place
just with freestyle rap battles,
and people in the audience
don't even have to like rap.
And in the US,
which as a society is more
into consumerism than ours,
that doesn't happen.
Do you know why?
Like I say, community is different.
Because in the US,
rap is the only kind of music
in which the OGs
and new jacks don't get along.
In rock you don't hear anything
about Guns N' Roses not getting along
with Aerosmith,
or saying Aerosmith is wack,
or things like that.
You don't hear in R&B
that Luther Vandross
didn't get along with Bobby Brown
for some reason.
It's only hip-hop culture
that's like this.
The weirdest thing
is that even though
there are grandparents
with grandchildren
who like the same kind of music,
the grandfather
doesn't like the same music
than the grandchild.
But it's all rap.
I think it's about pride,
because I'm different,
I have children your age,
and I came back to hip-hop culture,
as I am here now,
because of my son, because he asked,
"Daddy, if you want me to listen
to the hip-hop you like,
why don't you listen to what I like?
And I said, "It's true."
And like with everything,
there's good and there's bad.
I think, as a DJ,
and I'm not the best,
but I know that
if you get in somewhere
and I'm playing there,
you'll come out with three things,
hurting feet, wet clothes
and the memory of Breakbeat Lou
playing that record.
Because that's my job,
to play records.
Like, I hate the record
"I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor,
but I had to play it,
because I had to.
Like right now,
if I have to play Lil Weezy,
or whatever the guy's name is,
I'm gonna play it.
Because my job is to make sure
that everybody here has a good time.
If I'm playing a record
and I see him right there,
and he's all night like this,
he is my target to make him
change his mind about me.
You know what I'm saying?
Sorry I'm speaking in English,
but it's the only way
I can explain it.
The problem with the United States,
with music, specially hip-hop,
is that we are so spoiled with it,
because it was created by us.
And we are so stuck up with it
that we feel
that only our opinion matters,
no matter who we are.
And it shouldn't be that way.
If I'd been present
since the beginning
it doesn't mean my vision about music
is better than yours, you know?
Or vice versa.
That's the problem.
To me it's not necessary to say
that the music you have
and like is not really music.
What I say to all the OGs.
In the beginning of battle rapping,
which was Kool Moe Dee and Busy Bee,
Kool Moe Dee is considered
a lyrical rapper, Busy Bee not.
But right now both are legendary.
In the ’80s it was KRS-One, Rakim,
Big Daddy Kane. It was Kwamé,
- Super Nat.
- I'm talking about music in general.
You have Big Daddy Kane,
KRS-One and Rakim.
And then you have Kid N Play,
Kwamé and Salt-N-Pepa,
but they're all legends now.
Why do we now have J. Cole,
Kendrick Lamar and Jay Rock,
and we have Drake,
Weezy or Lil Boosie,
and we can't say
that they're all good?
You know?
Being honest, it's not cool,
mostly with OGs.
And in my opinion, as a grown man,
how am I going to tell
another grown man,
"Your music is worthless."
Not at all. What I have to do,
me being an OG,
for example, is to point out to you
more or less how to appreciate it.
Because if I tell you
I want to appreciate your music,
you, as a human being,
are going to say,
"Put your own music,
let's see
if I can appreciate it too."
That's the first problem,
and I don't think it starts
with the young ones
but rather with us old timers.
We have to teach you.
If we want you to understand,
we have to teach you
how to understand.
I wanted to talk about freestyle.
I think by the time of Supernatural,
Craig G and Juice,
freestyle was going strong, right?
I saw a video from when Super Nat
competed with Craig G,
and they said that
they were watching from Japan,
from South America, from Russia.
I mean, everyone wanted to see
that battle, and it was freestyle.
What happened, I imagine,
is that it had its boom
and afterwards it didn't continue.
- It was only those two.
- Just them.
It was a group, there weren't
that many people doing it.
Imagine, there was people
from Canada, people from the US,
I didn't know
there were Latin Americans.
I had no idea until I'm watching this
and I'm like, "Wow!"
To me it's an art,
putting lyrics to something,
some people write it beforehand,
some people improvise,
like Super Nat.
Super Nat is amazing,
because every time he sees me
in the audience
he always adds me to the lyrics,
always, no matter what.
He sees me 10 miles away, or nearby,
he always adds my name in,
and he improvises it,
because he didn't know I'd be there.
I never tell him
I'm going to be there.
I stand at the front on purpose
so people will know
that what he's doing really is art.
I think it's a gift
if you can improvise stuff like that,
because I don't find it easy at all.
Well, let's hear it
for Breakbeat Lou.
Thank you very much, Lou.
I think this talk
has been very enlightening.
See you next time.
