I love Latina women
Veteran
Venice, California, is a haven for creative types. The beachside city is permeated by a beatnik postmodernism vibe, influenced by the lingering residue of ’60s psychedelia (Jim Morrison reportedly channeled his muse here). Enclaves of galleries, artist lofts, and the sporadic weed dispensaries dot Venice’s labyrinthian streets. Jewelry makers peddle their trinkets on the sidewalk, skaters zoom by pedestrians. Even LAPD is kinda chill.
Lodged among this hub of activity is a nondescript two-story Victorian house turned recording studio. Inside is a beehive of productivity: an engineer is recording vocals in one of the downstairs’ Pro Tools suites, a TV promo sound design session happens across the hall. In a cramped control room upstairs, composer Colin Wolfe listens to a rough mix of Pills, the new EP from a duo called Dose. Wolfe–a laid-back dude who exudes L.A. cool–smiles and nods his head to a bubbling indietronica beat, pausing only to warmly greet the steady stream of the studio personnel. In the midst of this neo-hippie collective, you’d never guess that Wolfe revolutionized the sound of hardcore hip-hop with Dr. Dre.
Dr. Dre changed the game at least three times: NWA, Death Row Records, and Eminem. Detox may (or may not) prove to be the super producer’s superfecta. Nonetheless, The Chronic is arguably his magnum opus. Picking up where NWA’s machine-gun funk left off, the album not only refined the dense layers of his beats; it gave the hip-hop industry a potent contact high. Everybody and they mama had to have the squealing Minimoogs on songs, everybody had to revisit the Mothership, and everybody had to start hiring proficient session musicians.
But if Death Row was the Motown of the ’90s, Colin Wolfe was G-Funk Brother number one. His bass and synth-laden grooves infused The Chronic with a level of sophistication never before heard in gangsta rap, while providing a sonic blueprint for Dr. Dre’s subsequent production aesthetic. Two thousand twelve marks the twentieth anniversary of the good doctor’s solo album debut. In commemoration of the release, Wolfe steps out of the shadows and provides rare insight on how he put more bounce to Dr. Dre’s ounce.
When did you start making music?
I grew up in Baldwin Hills [in Los Angeles] and started playing a little bit of drums and trumpet in elementary school. Then went to Palisades [Charter] High School, as far as the whole L.A. bussing situation. For some reason, my new high school friends wanted me to play bass. I bought one from a pawnshop and learned “Day Tripper” [by the Beatles] note for note. Being in a band with a bunch of White dudes out in the Palisades, I was introduced to a lot of rock shyt—Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, the Who. On my own, I was into stuff like Stanley Clarke, Jaco Pastorius, Level 42, and Mark King, who was this bad-ass White boy. But Zeppelin was definitely one of my all-time favorites. John Paul Jones was killing that bass. His influences were James Jamerson, all of that Motown stuff. You can hear it in his hand. He’s just real funky with it. Anyway, after high school, I went to UCLA as a biochemistry major, studying to become a scientist and gigging in my spare time.
How did you hook up with Dr. Dre?
It was around ’88 or ’89. Someone called me to play at the China Club in Hollywood one night. I was doing a bass solo and that’s when the whole Ruthless Records camp walked in. The double doors opened up and in comes Eazy-E, Jerry Heller, Dr. Dre, and [Ruthless session keyboardist] L.A. Dre. They were in the house to see Jimmy Z., who just got signed to the label and was playing after my set. I got off stage and they asked if I wanted to go on tour with Michel’le. They were putting her band together to go on the road. I said, “Hell yeah!” The next day, they asked if I knew any other musicians. So I got my friends on board, the keyboard player Justin Reinhardt and Chris Claremont on guitar. Those dudes did some work with us on The Chronic. But from that point on, I was with Dre every single day. We were always working.
Lodged among this hub of activity is a nondescript two-story Victorian house turned recording studio. Inside is a beehive of productivity: an engineer is recording vocals in one of the downstairs’ Pro Tools suites, a TV promo sound design session happens across the hall. In a cramped control room upstairs, composer Colin Wolfe listens to a rough mix of Pills, the new EP from a duo called Dose. Wolfe–a laid-back dude who exudes L.A. cool–smiles and nods his head to a bubbling indietronica beat, pausing only to warmly greet the steady stream of the studio personnel. In the midst of this neo-hippie collective, you’d never guess that Wolfe revolutionized the sound of hardcore hip-hop with Dr. Dre.
Dr. Dre changed the game at least three times: NWA, Death Row Records, and Eminem. Detox may (or may not) prove to be the super producer’s superfecta. Nonetheless, The Chronic is arguably his magnum opus. Picking up where NWA’s machine-gun funk left off, the album not only refined the dense layers of his beats; it gave the hip-hop industry a potent contact high. Everybody and they mama had to have the squealing Minimoogs on songs, everybody had to revisit the Mothership, and everybody had to start hiring proficient session musicians.
But if Death Row was the Motown of the ’90s, Colin Wolfe was G-Funk Brother number one. His bass and synth-laden grooves infused The Chronic with a level of sophistication never before heard in gangsta rap, while providing a sonic blueprint for Dr. Dre’s subsequent production aesthetic. Two thousand twelve marks the twentieth anniversary of the good doctor’s solo album debut. In commemoration of the release, Wolfe steps out of the shadows and provides rare insight on how he put more bounce to Dr. Dre’s ounce.
When did you start making music?
I grew up in Baldwin Hills [in Los Angeles] and started playing a little bit of drums and trumpet in elementary school. Then went to Palisades [Charter] High School, as far as the whole L.A. bussing situation. For some reason, my new high school friends wanted me to play bass. I bought one from a pawnshop and learned “Day Tripper” [by the Beatles] note for note. Being in a band with a bunch of White dudes out in the Palisades, I was introduced to a lot of rock shyt—Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, the Who. On my own, I was into stuff like Stanley Clarke, Jaco Pastorius, Level 42, and Mark King, who was this bad-ass White boy. But Zeppelin was definitely one of my all-time favorites. John Paul Jones was killing that bass. His influences were James Jamerson, all of that Motown stuff. You can hear it in his hand. He’s just real funky with it. Anyway, after high school, I went to UCLA as a biochemistry major, studying to become a scientist and gigging in my spare time.
How did you hook up with Dr. Dre?
It was around ’88 or ’89. Someone called me to play at the China Club in Hollywood one night. I was doing a bass solo and that’s when the whole Ruthless Records camp walked in. The double doors opened up and in comes Eazy-E, Jerry Heller, Dr. Dre, and [Ruthless session keyboardist] L.A. Dre. They were in the house to see Jimmy Z., who just got signed to the label and was playing after my set. I got off stage and they asked if I wanted to go on tour with Michel’le. They were putting her band together to go on the road. I said, “Hell yeah!” The next day, they asked if I knew any other musicians. So I got my friends on board, the keyboard player Justin Reinhardt and Chris Claremont on guitar. Those dudes did some work with us on The Chronic. But from that point on, I was with Dre every single day. We were always working.
