First Major Recording

The lobby of Platinum Sound Studios gleamed with gold records and polished marble, a far cry from Rico's basement setup. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but inside, my heart was racing. This wasn't just any studio – in my previous timeline, this place had launched some of hip-hop's biggest names. Now, in 1989, it was already establishing itself as a powerhouse.

Rico adjusted his tie – the first time I'd ever seen him wear one. "Remember," he whispered, "act like you belong here. No wide eyes, no fanboy stuff. You're a professional."

The receptionist led us down a hallway lined with photos of legendary artists. Some were already famous, others hadn't yet reached their peak in this timeline. It was surreal seeing their younger faces, knowing what they would become.

Marcus, Rico's cousin from WBLS, had come through bigger than we'd expected. One late-night play of my demo had caught the ear of Jerry Thompson, a junior A&R at Epic Records who happened to be pulling an all-nighter at the station. Three days later, here we were, with four hours of studio time to prove ourselves.

Jerry met us in Studio B, his casual demeanor barely masking his analytical gaze. "Alright, kid. Show me what you got."

The studio's equipment was state-of-the-art for 1989 – the SSL console, the two-inch tape machine, racks of outboard gear. In my previous life, I'd worked with technology far beyond this, but there was something pure about these analog tools. I set up my beat, already stored on Rico's drum machine, and began laying down the basic track.

Jerry's eyebrows raised slightly as the beat took shape. It was a delicate balance – incorporating enough future elements to stand out, while staying grounded in current production styles. The kick drum hit harder than most contemporary tracks, the sample chops were more complex, but the soul of golden-era hip-hop remained intact.

"Let me hear you spit," Jerry said, leaning forward in his chair.

I stepped into the booth, adjusting the headphones. The verse I'd prepared would showcase my skills while proving I understood the market. As the beat dropped, I began:

"Time is like a circle that keeps spinning back

Each moment precious like diamonds in a stack

They say history repeats, but they don't know the half

Every step I take rewrites the aftermath

Future vision, but I'm living in the present

Each bar I spit becomes a precious present

Walking through these streets with double memories

Building new legacies, no need for enemies..."

I caught Jerry nodding along, his fingers tapping the console. The metaphors about time and change might seem obvious to someone who knew my story, but to others, they'd just sound like clever wordplay. I finished the verse, letting the beat ride out.

"Again," Jerry said. "But this time, less thinking, more feeling."

We ran through three more takes before he was satisfied. Then came the hook, where I'd deliberately kept things simpler, more accessible. The studio engineer, a veteran named Tony, started adding subtle effects – a touch of reverb here, a delay there. The track was coming alive.

"You produce this yourself?" Jerry asked during playback.

I nodded, trying not to seem too eager. "Built it from the ground up."

"It's different," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "Not like anything else out there right now. Could be good, could be risky."

Rico stepped in smoothly. "Different is what people are looking for. The streets are ready for something new."

The next two hours flew by as we refined the track. Jerry made a few suggestions – extending the intro, adding a bridge, tweaking the mix. Each change made the song more radio-friendly without compromising its essence. I had to admire his ear; some of his ideas were things that had worked well in my previous timeline.

As Tony worked his magic on the final mix, Jerry pulled out a contract. "This is a standard development deal," he explained. "Three months, two more songs, then we evaluate for a full contract."

Rico picked up the paperwork before I could reach for it. "We'll have our lawyer review it."

Jerry smiled. "Smart man. But don't take too long. I'm not the only one looking for new talent."

After Jerry left, Rico and I listened to the final playback. The track sounded massive through the studio monitors – professional, polished, but still maintaining its underground edge. It was better than my first major recording in the previous timeline, benefiting from both my future knowledge and the hungry energy of youth.

"This is just the beginning," Rico said, his eyes fixed on the speakers. "But we play this smart. No rushing, no desperate moves. Let them come to us with better offers."

I understood his caution. In my previous life, I'd seen too many artists sign away their futures in moments of excitement. This time would be different. We had the luxury of my future knowledge and Rico's street wisdom. The game was the same, but we were playing it on a whole new level.

As we left Platinum Sound that evening, contract copies tucked safely in Rico's briefcase, I felt the weight of possibility. One song could open doors, but what mattered was what we did once those doors were open. The studio session had proven I could adapt my future-influenced sound to current technology and expectations. Now came the real challenge: building a career that could survive in any timeline.