Local hip-hop producer, rapper, and beat-making professor at MassArt Lewis M. talks about the art of the album, the future of hip-hop, and his latest record, Don’t Be Nice.
“Hip-hop is different from any other genre because of its regional sound of influence…nothing has changed as much as hip-hop has,” said Boston-based rapper-producer, Lewis M. For over a decade, the local hip-hop producer has made beats influenced by 90’s era producers such as DJ Premier, RZA, and J Dilla. His music is deep, dark, and intensely personal, but he balances difficult themes with refreshing honesty and emotional transparency. Lewis and I talked for hours about his production process, the future of hip-hop, and the enchanting stories behind his latest full-length album, Don’t Be Nice.
In a time when the vibrancy of life and creativity of so many has been painfully frozen in the pandemic, I asked Lewis how he’s been able to stay so productive during quarantine, creating and releasing what might be his best album to date. He said in a half-upbeat, half-worried voice: “Well…I’ve sort of developed insomnia. It’s not a great thing, but also, I feel like I get most of my best work done when I should be sleeping. I’ll come to bed and say to my girlfriend, ‘I did this amazing thing, I’m so proud of it.’ She’ll say, ‘Great, but it’s 5 in the morning.’ […] When I get tired, I get mad because I have to stop working.”
Lewis M.’s catalogue runs deep; he’s put out dozens of beat tapes and five full-length albums although he describes himself as a “spoken-word poet first and foremost.” Lewis said the title for his new album, Don’t be Nice, was “inspired by my time in the poetry slam community. It’s a phrase that sometimes gets shouted from the audience at a poet onstage. To me, it’s the audience telling the poet, ‘Be the realest you, don’t censor any of it.’” To that end, Lewis said, “There’s a lot of people on the album, people I’ve been friends with before, people that are new acquaintances, but all in all, I tried to create an atmosphere of my album as an open mic, almost where I’m the host, and everyone else are performers.”
The first single off the album is also its most well-rounded track. “Get a Job” is a cheeky, soul-sampling cut that, while poking fun at itself lyrically, also brings a gritty, hard-hitting beat that feels cold enough for winter, but also warms you up with a smooth soul sample. It’s fun—but serious. The lyrics provide truth in jest about the financial struggles that musicians can experience. In the song’s outro, Lewis humorously remarks, “I had to always choose between rent and groceries […] I just did this show and they literally paid me $10 for a whole hour set.”
Lewis is typically more introspective and self-analytical, but he was able to try something new when he teamed up with Brandie Blaze to make “Ribeye.” “It was fun to make up a beef track,” he says with a laugh. “I don’t think I’ll ever indulge in beef, but if I were to write a diss track and imagine an amalgamation of rappers that I don’t like, [I would target] people that show up late to shows, hog up the stage, hog up the mic […].” He thought it would be fun to collaborate with an emcee who has a big personality, and Brandi Blaze was the first person that came to mind. “I was so surprised and so happy, and the verse she wrote was amazing and it’s one of my favorite tracks on the album.”
Lewis laments the lost art of the album and feels that the interconnected themes and ideas fall to the wayside in music’s current state: “A lot of times, it’s just a compilation of songs.” He felt that the pandemic made the perfect conditions to consume his new album. “I make a lot of my projects, this one specifically, designed to be consumed in one sitting. My ideal way for people to consume it is to have it on [in] the background while you’re doing other shit, or maybe they’re tired after a long day and they put on their headphones and lay back and just listen to the whole thing in one go.”
“Album sequencing is so important, it’s the unsung hero of albums. It’s about what songs are used and in what order, and how that’s going to give the right resonance for your book.” Lewis demonstrates this “song arc,” as he describes it, through a trio of songs on Don’t Be Nice. He explains how “Trust Fall”, which is about self-doubt, leads directly into the next track, “Love the Ugly,” which is about loving “whatever ugly you have within yourself, because it’s in you, you can’t just pick and choose which parts of yourself to love.” Finally, Lewis finishes the three-track arc with “Hands Up,” which implores listeners to hold themselves accountable.
Lewis is one of the few people I know who’s perhaps an even bigger hip-hop nerd than me, so we talked about the future of production and whether he thought the industry would evolve beyond trap beats. “I don’t know if we’re going to see that sound die out because I think there’s elements of that sound that should continue to be a thing, [such as] the atmospheric production, the attention to acoustics. I think already we’re seeing the evolution of that sound, like the psychedelic trap that’s been brought into mainstream consciousness by Travis Scott, for example, in Astroworld. Like, man, you can’t listen to that album not in an IMAX theater— that’s how atmospheric it is.”
We also talked about cultural appropriation within rap, and how white EDM and pop artists sometimes co-opt rap’s style by using trap beats, singing their own hooks and often cutting out the rappers entirely (see Post Malone)—all the while, siphoning listeners from the style that rap helped establish. Lewis said, “Hip-hop is an open border country now. People come in, they stay, or they come in and get a couple souvenirs, leave, and do some things with those souvenirs […] It’s a multigenerational, multi-nationality subculture that is also an extension of American culture. And once you look at it like that, it’s hard to tell people you can’t do this or you can’t do that.” Lewis continues, “White people like it, white people use it; black people no longer want to use it because white people are using it, black people make something new. It’s the cycle.”
Lewis has been figuring out a way to make a living creating music, which is rare for musicians who aren’t at stadium-filling levels. He has not only focused on making money as a musician and producer, but also as a professor, teaching a course at Mass Art in beat-making. When I asked him his advice for young people on how they can continue making music while building their career and fulfilling their other life responsibilities, he said, “For me, my mission from 2018 to now is to bring my artistic and professional pursuits closer together so they are more one in the same, so I don’t have to separate them.” He expressed his appreciation for Mass Art’s support for his art, which he professes can be difficult to find from institutions.
Lewis understands the classic elements of hip-hop on a fundamental level and provides those building blocks to his community, from his listeners to fellow artists to students and aspiring producers. He has synthesized the art form into the core of his being and created from it something to give to others, and something to give to himself. He literally lives, breathes, eats, and sleeps hip-hop… if it would only let him sleep.