Though I’ve always been more of a Step in the Arena (1991) and Daily Operation (1992)-type of dude, I’m still taken aback by how good Gang Starr’s Moment of Truth (1998) is every time I hear it. Which is slightly absurd, given my near-decade of familiarity with it and the ‘classic’ tag it has arguably been given by the general populace over the years. Moment of Truth has essentially become my own brand of noise pollution to the public these days, as I am wont to blare “The Militia” and “Work” out of my car speakers with all windows down on the first 70+ degree day of the year; if my side and rear view mirrors aren’t buzzing with distorted reflections on every kick hit, it’s not loud enough. That’s right. Public nuisance-style.

Yet the other day, as I was forcibly subjecting the citizens of Boston to my favorite cuts from the album, I was suddenly struck by how playable Premier’s beats were – and by “playable” I don’t mean “MPC-programmable,” but more applicable to live instrumentation in a small group setting. Granted, one could argue that most hip hop beats could actually be replicated to a certain extent by real musicians, a somewhat obvious point given its sample-based aesthetic. Still, there is something about Preemo’s musicality and approach to production on Moment of Truth that lends itself to transcription more so than, say, his jazzier leanings on Gang Starr’s earlier records and the stark, often atonal sound collages from his mid-’90s work with Jeru and Group Home. Here are four of the more notable selections.

“You Know My Steez”

Premier’s reconfiguration of the intro to Joe Simon’s “Drowning in the Sea of Love” forms the basis for Moment’s opening cut, which is guided by a drum track constructed from those classic Grandmaster Flash beatbox drums. Other than a brief trombone swell lifted from the Simon sample, that’s about it, but there are two distinct features of note here (disregarding the fact that there is no bass line). First, from a sonic perspective, “You Know My Steez” possesses the unique characteristic of sounding spacious and claustrophobic at once, the chunks of guitar octaves colliding with the slightly distorted, overcompressed kicks of the drum track. Secondly – and this is purely subjective – but to these ears, the guitar ‘melody’ appears to be arranged backwards; the bars should be flipped so that the stuttering F# pattern should follow the rising and swelling motif in the previous bar. Yet not only does Preemo’s ‘reversed’ interpretation work marvelously, it gives the two-bar loop a circularity that a more logical arrangement would lack when repeated for more than 16 bars. Guru seems particularly inspired by the music, showcasing, in this author’s opinion, his finest lyrical moment on wax.

“You Know My Steez” – Gang Starr 3:44 (Moment of Truth, Noo Trybe 1998)

“Above the Clouds”

“Above the Clouds” is proof positive that the the art of creating music from sampled sound extends far beyond a cracked copy of Fruity Loops and snippets of imported audio from a few CDs. The best beatsmiths all have an unidentifiable ability to ‘hear’ arrangements and musical structures from the most unlikely of sources and recycle those sounds into something their own. Premier, unsurprisingly, is one of these individuals. His production for “Above the Clouds” is absolutely brilliant and ranks among the finest of his career; how someone could make something this bangin’ out of the first few seconds of John Dankworth’s “Two-Piece Flower” is beyond mortal comprehension (I’ve offered the original source below for this example).

Incidentally, “Above the Clouds” lends itself surprisingly well to transcription, despite its overall weirdness and the audible repeated triggering of selected samples in the beat. What sounds like a shamisen on the original recording could be played by a palm-muted and slightly flat guitar, and two oboes would be required – a tad unorthodox, yes, but crucial for the counterpoint in the latter half of the second bar (unless a polyphonic oboe can be found as a substitute, of course). Premier wisely chooses to leave the bottom end open, only inserting two emphatic bass hits to signal the loop; he’s cleverly reminding you that it’s there, but he’s not going to clutter the track with it. Note the 32nd-note pinched kicks before the first and third beats, which give the track a sense of propulsion that the more common 16th note pinches would lack, as well as help enforce the impression that the tempo is faster than it actually is (roughly 86 bpm). It’s hardly surprising that Inspectah Deck straight-up destroys this cut with a verse that surpasses any of the other guest spots on the record.

“Above the Clouds” – Gang Starr feat. Inspectah Deck 3:41 (Moment of Truth, Noo Trybe 1998)

“Two-Piece Flower” – John Dankworth 4:04 (John Dankworth and His Music, Fontana 1967)

Bonus link: Try to play the melody from “Above the Clouds” on this virtual shamisen! Fun!

“Itz a Set Up”

Most of the fodder for the suspenseful “Itz a Set Up” derives from keyboardist Les McCann’s “Beyond Yesterday.” The two-bar loop begins with a sequence of two- and three-note clumps from a parallel guitar and bass lick, followed by a brief stab of electric piano, then concludes with the soft trilling of a trumpet for the final three beats. Premier keeps the drum track relatively straightforward to prevent any clashing with the three distinct colors from the other instruments, though he can’t resist adding some shuffle to the hi-hat track in the second beat of each bar. One gets the slight feeling that he could have constructed something like this in his sleep, but regardless, the music would have fit right at home on M.O.P.’s Firing Squad (1996) or even Jeru’s Wrath of the Math (1996). “Itz a Set Up” is also one of the handful of tracks on Moment that would sound amazing as interpreted by El Michels Affair (on a limited-edition 7″, no less).

“Itz a Set Up” – Gang Starr feat. Hannibal 3:49 (Moment of Truth, Noo Trybe 1998)

“The Rep Grows Bigga”

One of the highlights during the second half of Moment of Truth is “The Rep Grows Bigga,” a choice example of what Preemo could do with a piano, a drum track, and little else. When transcribed, the music reveals a wealth of subtle complexities that a cursory listen would fail to notice. The foundation of the track is a looming, inescapable piano that stomps down on each beat and would grow incredibly tiring in the first minute were it not for Premier’s drum track, which takes advantage of those 32nd-note pinched kicks and a well-placed hit just before the fourth beat of each bar. The harmony is about as basic as it gets, a i - v progression that almost screams “open-close” every two beats; note the mangled dissonance of the second chord with the addition of the B natural.

The tonality changes on every eighth bar with the appearance of an odd Eb diminished chord, which is introduced chromatically and decorated with a brief flurry of notes. It’s a terrific way to bring a sense of closure to the somewhat static seven bars before it, and curious unresolved nature of the chord helps to keep the listener engaged.

“The Rep Grows Bigga” Gang Starr 3:31 (Moment of Truth, Noo Trybe 1998)

Of the many musical components that are analogous to what we recognize as hip hop, which one would qualify most as its ‘essence’? Would it be that meticulously chopped and truncated loop, the creative molding of raw sound into something alien yet strangely familiar? Or how about the breakbeat, which has provided the foundation for countless early classics? Could it even possibly be the tempo, specifically around 94 bpm, a rate perfectly suited for any style of delivery? All valid contenders, sure, but my vote would go to the kick drum, that most critical of rhythmic ingredients in any track; more significant than a crackling snare or hand clap, shuffling hi-hat pattern, or any number of decorative rhythmic devices used to liven up the music. Without the thump of the kick drum, hip hop would be weightless and hollow, each successive bar drifting by uneventfully and repetitiously. That compelling sensation of movement would be lost if not abandoned completely, and what would remain would be something akin to bobbing one’s head to a Mozart sonata. And perhaps most importantly, it would sound horrible in a car.

Before the days of sampling, when the music consisted of simple drum machines and keyboards, the kick drum occupied a prominent role in the beat, yet it couldn’t be disguised that it was still a flavorless factory sample. Short of a little EQ’ing and tuning, there wasn’t much more a producer could do with samples like ‘808Kick’ or ‘HardStab’. During the late ’80s, as the breakbeat craze swept over hip hop, the kick drum was at its lowest in popularity, as producers could simply isolate a drum break from a record, loop it, and not have to be concerned with programming or drum placement; it was already self-contained within the break itself. Around the turn of the ’90s, however, more and more beatsmiths began to exercise creativity in the studio, not just in sampling a drum loop, but sampling the individual elements of the loop into tiny microseconds of sound: a snare drag, the bell of the ride cymbal, an open hi-hat. Soon producers were accumulating entire disks of drum samples for their MPC3000 or SP-1200, guarded with the same amount of caution as their crates of vinyl. For this drop I’d like to examine a handful of producers from the mid-’90s who creatively utilized the kick drum in a unique manner, subtly shifting the direction of hip hop production through their application of this one singular element.

Before we get started, it’s important to understand the basics of drum kit notation.

Figure 1: Kick Drum Pattern 1 0:10

This is a simple one-bar drum pattern repeated over four bars. Each hi-hat is represented by an “x” and is placed between the top two lines of the staff, while the snare is positioned beneath. (Note that for our purposes, the snare pattern will not include rests, which clutter the notation and present possible confusion with the kick drum rests.) Each kick drum note is placed between the bottom two lines of the staff, with rests accordingly.

Here’s the same snare/hi-hat template with more elaborate kick drum placements:

Figure 2: Kick Drum Pattern 2 0:10

The circled kick drum notes are known as “pinched kicks,” a technique of coupling bass drum hits, usually with a bar line between, that creates forward momentum. They are just about as vital to hip hop as the guitar is to rock music. With that out of the way, let’s move on.

For all of the mystery surrounding his early productions – sampling from obscure kung fu flicks, ominous piano motifs, the haphazard addition and subtraction of sounds in the mix – Wu-Tang’s abbot RZA surprisingly adopted a less-is-more approach to his drum tracks. Rhythmically speaking, RZA’s chief focus was the snare, which he would often double with another sound then alternate between the two for effect (see “Bring da Ruckus,” “Wu-Tang Clan Ain’t Nuthing ta F’ Wit”); the kick drum was almost always secondary in importance. Strictly speaking in regard to his drum tracks, RZA introduced a refreshing simplicity to the hip hop production landscape. The sound of the kicks themselves was unlike anything heard before in hip hop, oftentimes captured from a punch to a character’s stomach in some color-saturated martial-arts film. RZA displayed a remarkable economy with his kicks, only placing them where they were needed to devastating effect (see “Guillotine [Swords]” or “Triumph”).

Raekwon’s “Incarcerated Scarfaces,” from Only Built 4 Cuban Linx… (1995), is a fine example of RZA’s minimalist kick drum ethic. The drum track is dusty and spacious, with a tight snare and loud, open hi-hat just before the third beat. RZA places pinched kicks around the downbeat to propel the track forward, then places a kick underneath the open hi-hat accent for greater emphasis. Like all of his productions from this era, RZA likely dismissed quantization and played each note live on the drum pads, as there is a faint yet detectable inconsistency in the timing during certain sections, but this only enhances the individuality of his sound.

“Incarcerated Scarfaces” – Raekwon 4:42 (Only Built 4 Cuban Linx…, RCA 1995)

Following their now-classic third release Midnight Marauders (1993), A Tribe Called Quest figurehead Q-Tip recruited a young studio wizard from Detroit calling himself Jay Dee to assist in the production. Along with group member Ali Shaheed Muhammad, the trio dubbed themselves The Ummah and went on to create one of the most recognizable and unique sounds in hip hop. Tip’s infatuation with dry, cracking drums (see the entirety of The Low End Theory [1991], Nas‘ “One Love,” or his work on Mobb Deep’s The Infamous [1995] for reference), combined with Jay Dee’s lush, jazz-inflected Fender Rhodes found a wide audience, from the backpackers to the street hustlers. Unlike RZA, whose drum tracks were metronomic and rigid in adherence to the beat, The Ummah’s productions were characterized by a sort of swing, a peppy bounce that wasn’t so much about note placement as the actual feel. Their kick drum patterns were far from revolutionary but they sufficed in being exactly what the listener wanted to hear, and almost every track they helmed was dominated by pinched kicks.

The brief “Crew,” from 1996’s Beats, Rhymes & Life, features a curious application of kick placements that stands in contrast to the trio’s usual consistency. Accompanying a foreboding progression on electric piano, the four-bar drum track thickens with kick drum hits at the beginning, evens out during the middle, then increases again before repeating itself. Note the fairly standard pinched kicks in bars two and three and the more active kick patterns that bracket them.

“Crew” – A Tribe Called Quest 1:58 (Beats, Rhymes & Life, Jive 1996)

For Gang Starr’s DJ Premier, no other element in the mix takes greater precedent than the almighty kick. More often than not it’s the loudest sound in his tracks, hitting the speakers with the force of a steel toe to the gut. For Premo, the kick drum is the breath of hip hop, the fuel for converting a drum track from stasis to a kinetic being. Similar to The Ummah and RZA in his no-frills approach, his positioning of kicks is based around efficiency: that which will make the track as direct and in-your-face as possible. Rarely are there unnecessary kicks in a Premier production, with nary a ghost note to be found. His beat for “The Militia” from Moment of Truth (1998) is a virtual tutorial for constructing a guaranteed banger. Over a head-nodding tempo of 92 bpm, Premier’s drum track is comprised of two bars, each with slightly different kick placements. Notice his use of space between the snare hits in every even bar, as well as the pinched kicks that conclude each one.

“The Militia” – Gang Starr feat. Big Shug & Freddie Foxxx 4:48 (Moment of Truth, Virgin 1998)

Alternately, like many musicians of his caliber, Premier had an ‘experimental phase’ which occurred roughly from ‘94-’95. His work on Hard to Earn (1994), Jeru the Damaja’s The Sun Rises in the East (1994), and parts of Group Home’s Livin’ Proof (1995) possesses a dissonant, almost avant-garde approach that eschewed melody for gritty texture (it’s safe to say that there will never be a hip hop single as bizarre as “Come Clean” ever again). Naturally, Premier’s kick drum patterns followed suit, and one needs to look no further than one of Gang Starr’s own singles from this period, the hypnotic “Mass Appeal.” The hits are a succession of pinched kicks, but what’s most notable is the fact that there is no kick on the downbeat – practically unheard of in hip hop – but because of the way the organ loop is positioned, the ears are none the wiser.

“Mass Appeal” – Gang Starr 3:41 (Hard to Earn, Chrysalis 1994)

When it came to kick drum patterns of elevated complexity, few producers could hold a candle to Pete Rock. At times it seemed as if he was deliberately attempting to trick the listener into following a pattern, only to alternate it entirely as soon as it was grasped. Instead of building his drum tracks with the usual two- or four-bar chunks, Pete often expanded his to twelve or sixteen, with each four-bar segment containing variations on one pattern (see album opener “In the House” from The Main Ingredient [1994]). InI’s “To Each His Own,” from the long-shelved Center of Attention (1995) is a chief example of his tendency to insert kicks almost arbitrarily into the drum track, much as if (like RZA, above) he was hitting the pads live instead of programming them. Notice the subtle variations in bars four and eight, as well as the extra pinched kicks in bar seven.

Just when the listener has latched onto this pattern, Pete introduces yet another variation at 1:19, but this time with a kick directly under a snare in the third bar, a defiant middle finger to the more conservative beatsmiths who frown on such techniques. One would be forgiven for thinking that the producer had accidentally clammed up the drum programming, until the realization occurs that 1) it’s Pete Rock, for Christ’s sake, and 2) the kick/snare overlap happens half a dozen more times during the remainder of the track.

“To Each His Own (Instrumental)” – Pete Rock 4:15 (Center of Attention, Rapster 2003)

I’m not naïve enough to assume that these producer showcases will be some sort of revelation to the hip hop cognoscenti, but if anything, perhaps they’ll offer a different musical perspective to already-familiar material.

At the time of its release in late ‘94, Redman’s sophomore full-length Dare Iz a Darkside (1994) didn’t so much slip under my radar as I willfully ignored its blip on the screen. Despite being enamoured with Red’s debut Whut? Thee Album (1992), I ill-advisedly listened to a friend who claimed Darkside as an artistic disaster, and I returned to whatever happened to be occupying my musical attentions back then. I didn’t actually hear the record until a few years ago, and after spending a few months scouring for it on double-LP vinyl, finally caved and purchased the CD (generally the last option for my format tastes, snobbery unintended). What I was treated to was a seamless glob of greasy funk filtered through a choking blunt haze, a semi-concept record that bore little traces of Redman’s debut, both lyrically and sonically. The strongest impression I initially received was how nocturnal the record was, conducive to dim streetlamps and shadows cast under moonlight, which, combined with Red’s introverted eccentricities, made me regret my abstaining from it ten years ago – I would have been sucking this record up through a straw had I heard it back then.

The Funk Doctor’s weirdest album to date yielded two mid-tempo singles: the dirty, rehashed Funkadelic groove of “Rockafella,” and “Can’t Wait,” placed in the center of the record as a refreshing breather from the sticky and occasionally claustrophobic productions that surround it. Co-produced with mentor Erick Sermon, the latter perhaps best embodies the nighttime vibe of the album, and provides a sharp contrast between Redman’s clowning and boasting and the mellow, mysterious nature of the track itself. Behind the boards, Sermon’s early (and best) work was all about simplicity: give him a melodic loop, a trunk-rattling bassline, and some diced Mountain drums, and dude couldn’t be happier. What distinguished him from scores of other up-and-comers with an SP and a crate of James Brown LPs was his ear for EQ filtering, adding and subtracting frequencies in the mix to isolate and accentuate to certain sounds, basslines, and individual drum samples. This ethos was applied not only to EPMD’s entire catalogue, but to Sermon’s first two solo efforts to hypnotic effect (No Pressure [1993] and Double or Nothing [1995], both sorely overlooked and long out-of-print); it was only natural that this style would rub off on Redman’s own studio concoctions.

The core of “Can’t Wait” is merely a two-bar loop culled from the intro to Bob James‘ “Caribbean Nights,” from the otherwise insipid Touchdown (1979). This lovely ascending loop (heard at 0:17 on the original) of James’ subdued Fender Rhodes, Ron Carter’s chunky acoustic bass, and Hubert Laws‘ delayed flute punctuations is EQ’ed in such a way that the midrangey torso is de-emphasized to bring out the lower bass frequencies as well as the upper regions of the spectrum, adding a much-desired clarity to the flute. Sermon and Red’s copy of the LP must have been especially chalky, as evidenced by the insistent crackle in the mix, and the duo raise the pitch of the sample a half-step or so to increase the tempo. There is no chopping or restructuring of the source material here, just a sonically molded loop that happens to be mesmerizing when repeated indefinitely. If I had the inclination I’d probably notate it here, but it’s really more about the tonal color rather than the actual notes.

“Caribbean Nights” – Bob James 9:21 (Touchdown, Warner Bros. 1979)

During the intro, Sermon and Red insert a vocal snippet of one of the most sampled two seconds in hip hop, the phrase “Check it out, ya’ll” as spoken by Big Daddy Kane at 1:44 on “Just Rhymin’ with Biz,” from his classic debut Long Live the Kane (1988). The pair also include the party idioms “Ya don’t stop” and “Keep on” from the same source at the eight-bar mark.

“Just Rhymin’ with Biz” – Big Daddy Kane feat. Biz Markie 4:06 (Long Live the Kane, Cold Chillin’ 1988)

When the drum track enters after the four-bar intro, one is struck by the modest (by hip hop standards) beat, an open kick-snare pattern with a surprising amount of negative space; there are no pinched kicks or snare drags to be found. The snare sample isn’t wildly pitched, just a soft snap that coincides nicely with the earthy bass hits. The hi-hats follow this same line of subtlety, riding an eighth-note pattern until just before each kick, where there is a slight pickup to ease into the next bar. Further into the mix is a strange, abnormally-pitched vocal sample that makes an occurrence now and then, but I can’t identify the source.

Since “Can’t Wait” could arguably be seen as the unofficial sequel to “Tonight’s Da Night,” one of the singles off Whut? The Album, Sermon and Red adhere to the formula of using a vocal phrase from The Mary Jane Girls‘ “All Night Long” as the chorus. Rick James‘ estate has probably made more in clearance fees from this particular track than any other item in his discography; it would be unlikely that one could find a section of “All Night Long” that hasn’t been appropriated in hip hop in some way. The two snatch the exclamation “I can’t wait to get it on” from two separate parts of the original, once at 1:13, and again at 2:34. Each vocal sample is then cleverly alternated for the chorus of “Can’t Wait,” preventing monotony and providing a livelier hook. The Kane samples return again, placed between each of the Mary Jane Girls’ coos.

“All Night Long” – The Mary Jane Girls 5:46 (Mary Jane Girls, Motown 1983)

I would be hesitant to label “Can’t Wait” as a “classic banger,” but it is nonetheless a fascinating study of Sermon and Redman’s working methods during an especially fertile era in hip hop production.

“Can’t Wait (Instrumental)” – Redman 3:37 (Dare Iz a Darkside, Def Jam 1994)

I’ve never quite understood the love/hate dichotomy that’s existed between producer 9th Wonder and the hip hop cognoscenti. Honestly – and this is coming from someone who is attentive to trivial details to a fault – but I never thought I’d see such a mass of people get so upset over one producer’s measly snare sounds, for Christ’s sake. I’ve managed to fall into the “dude’s ai’ight” camp, and truthfully, I couldn’t care less whether or not the guy uses FruityLoops or an MPC-3000 to craft his beats, or samples from newly released CDs or crates of moldy 45s. I wouldn’t consider 9th of the same caliber as, say, Showbiz or Buckwild, but suffice it to say that I probably wouldn’t have given Little Brother a second chance without his participation – MCs Phonte and Big Pooh never really impressed me in the least (and comparisons to anyone in the Native Tongues family is straight-up blasphemy, kids). While 2005’s The Minstrel Show suffered the most from the inflated hype that surrounded its release, I thought it was a decent sophomore effort from the trio, and one could certainly do worse these days. Yet there was a track on the record that many overlooked, a joint titled “Not Enough” that led me to believe that 9th Wonder just might be the finest producer in hip hop working in the past decade.

Of course, that would be a difficult point to argue, but it’d be even tougher to deny how utterly sick this beat is. “Not Enough,” if anything, demonstrates how crucial it is for beatmakers to chop a sample into sub-rhythmic fractions, as opposed to quarter or eighth note blocks; stylistically, anything else would sound primitive. Here 9th dices up an unidentified soul sample and renders it even more unrecognizable, morphing it into a minor-keyed, circular groove of soft cooing and breathy exhalations. This dense melange of sound can be subdivided into two separate sections (verse/chorus), but both are so similar that the track almost feels like one repeated, subtly-shifting loop. For variety, the producer programs variations in the drum pattern, like subtracting a snare or hi-hat or adding a series of bass drum hits at the conclusion of a bar. Snippets of sound can be extracted from the mix fairly easily: a delayed guitar note, an ascending string motif, wordless female backing vocals, the distinct pop of a cowbell. It’s the order in which these elements are arranged that’s a testament to 9th Wonder’s little burst of brilliance here. If the man never steps foot in a studio again, I’ll still defend his name solely on the basis of this track.

“Not Enough (Instrumental)” – Little Brother 4:31 (The Minstrel Show, ABB 2005)

Today marks the inception of a new feature to the site titled (in true autopsy-speak) “Beat Dissections,” in which I’ll break down and discuss the various musical components of a particular hip hop track. In addition to shifting focus from the emcee to the producer, this will also give me a chance to share more glorious instrumentals with the reader, a treat often denied to those without the requisite vinyl and a turntable.

Pete Rock & CL Smooth “In the House” The Main Ingredient Elektra 1994

The duo of Pete Rock and CL Smooth released two remarkably solid LPs during the second Golden Age of hip hop, each helping to define the era in no small measure: the undisputed classic Mecca and the Soul Brother (1992) and its equally magnificent and frequently overlooked follow-up The Main Ingredient (1994). The tired adage of “they don’t make hip hop like this anymore” applies tenfold to these two ’sister’ records, which mirror the other in several distinct aspects. Both nearly reach the 80-minute mark, yet are nearly devoid of pointless skits or filler. Each keeps the guest spots to a minimum, instead making CL Smooth’s philosophical musings the center of attention. The two records share plenty of brief instrumental interludes, a Pete Rock signature touch. And both subsist on lush, mid-tempo head-nodders for their entire durations; there are no hyperkinetic club bangers or dated new jack ballads to be found. In other words, to this writer’s ears, they represent the purest, most distilled substance of hip hop, and will likely never be replicated again.

I suppose if I had to choose between one or the other, however, I’d most likely lean toward The Main Ingredient. While Mecca is much more direct and contains the stronger singles (the timeless “They Reminisce Over You (T.R.O.Y.)”, the trunk-rattling “Straighten It Out”), I prefer Ingredient for its subtlety, the way the tracks slowly nestle their way inside the head after a dozen listens or so. More importantly, though, is that it displays Pete Rock’s talents in arguably their finest hour, which resulted in a high demand for his work shortly afterward. The man’s skill with the SP-1200 is legendary among DJs and producers, influencing countless others who followed him, but here Rock takes the relatively simple concept of looped samples over drum breaks and makes the Sistine Chapel out of it. The basslines are chunky and warm the soul, the snares resonate with a tight crispness, his trademark horns are chilling; there is simply no musical element that is out of place.

For an example, we can look no further than the opening cut, “In the House,” which firmly establishes the lazy, summer-afternoon vibe of the record right off the bat. The musical bulk of the track appropriates the Fender Rhodes piano from Cannonball Adderley’s interpretation of George Duke’s “Capricorn” (from 1972’s Music You All), which, when written out, looks something like this:

The other dominating presence in the track is the drum pattern, a classic boom-bap arrangement with an abundance of bass drum hits that settles into a tempo of around 94 beats per minute. The hi-hats adhere to steady eighth notes while the snare is pitched slightly lower than usual. The vocal hook should be glaringly obvious to anyone familiar with early-’90s hip hop, an extraction from the slew of shout-outs that comprises the coda of “Verses from the Abstract” (off A Tribe Called Quest’s The Low End Theory [1991]) with Q-Tip playfully repeating, “Pete Rock is in the house, CL is in the house.” (The original hook from that track can also be heard in the mix, which features a young and buttery-voiced Vinia Mojica.) A bed of delayed saxophones provides a gorgeous brassy color during the hook, and sound pitch-shifted from an unknown source. For a touch more variety, Rock also uses a vocal snippet from the same cut with Q-Tip saying, “Check it out, and give me my spec,” which he uses to bracket the song. The dusty, thumping drums alone could carry the track, but when blended with these other elements, “In the House” seems tantalizingly brief at four and a half minutes. A fine way to introduce the record, to be sure.

“In the House (Instrumental)” – Pete Rock 4:32 (The Main Ingredient, Elektra 1994)