The Journey…
If you told a young(er) me that at 24 years old I would attempt to actualize a career in the music business, I would have dismissed you...loudly. Truthfully, I am pretty much my child-selves worst nightmare, a true millennial. I am catfishing my way through life, attempting to pursue my creative dreams, and somehow be successful in one of the hardest fields to break into. I am not a lot of things I intended to be when I was a child. But mostly, I don't have my childhood dream job of being a doctor. I can see little Denissa (Lil Nissa as I like to call her) rolling her eyes in shame as I type. I am not the sophisticated, pawpin, sexy and cool early 20 sunthin I imagined myself to be as a kid. The opposite in fact. I struggle to pay my rent, I am a broke bih, I have non-white sheets because I still fear I will spill something on my bed, and I am a socially awkward mess. Am I even an adult?
My first memory in the studio was from about 5 years old. I was picked up from school early, which was a huge deal for the perfect attendance holder of first grade. Hype was an understatement. My dad picked me up in his oversized man truck with McDonalds on deck and I knew my Friday was about to be lit as it could be for a toddler. As we pulled up at the fancylicious building, my hands still sticky from ketchup, I skipped into the elevator rushing ahead of my little sister. The studio smelled of "skunk" and bbq. There was a hanging basketball hoop over the door, which immediately caught my interest, and a bald man intensely bobbing his head over some space-ship control panel esque machine. My dad glided around the room smiling and dancing which I, in jest mocked. Suddenly the attention was on me.
Look at lil mamma get it... she one of us foreal Uncle Doug.
A prophecy bih.
Of course my dad smiled with the pride of someone who enjoys their ego being stroked at all times. Because honestly, who doesn't love seeing their offspring be adored in their presence.
I of course ruined the moment by pinching my sister, causing her to cry.
But it was a moment though.
I went home with the ratchet bass heavy beat stuck in my head and secretly taught my sister some of the curse words my trifflin ass heard in the stu. Twas a wonderful day.
Despite my new love for attending studio sessions with dad, these were not monumental moments in my life at the time. I had all the privileges in the studio. Some days I was allowed to record songs to entertain my dad and homies. On other days, I simply learned the basics of the board or mic. At various intervals I would sit quietly like a fly on the wall and overhear the logistics behind business deals, song making, and beats. Sometimes I would watch my dad type up contracts. Although young, I began gaining an ear for what was hot and what wasn't. I would secretly predict which songs would be the most successful. I started putting people onto music. I started gaining a love for this shit. It was cute and all...but mostly I wanted to be a doctor.
I never particularly liked the med field. Although I found it interesting,the draw was...it was a safe choice. I knew if I could make it through med school, I wouldn't have to struggle to find a job. I wouldn't have to go through the moments my parents did when they were in between projects where I could feel their anxiety until they got the next call. It was a clear and concise path with immediate results. But it wasn't a shawties calling.
I would have been a fly OBGYN though.
I wasn't a successful pre-med student because I didn't want to be. My heart wasn't in it. I could barely focus for an hour to study but I could spend hours scanning music blogs and analyzing what made a hit, a hit. I didn't want to give up the stability of a "regular career" though. I left USC with a psych degree at a TOP University (okuurr) but also, a shitty job offer as a substitute teacher and a lot of stress from realizing how much of a battle it was going to be for me to rise in my possible career.
After a mini self- intervention involving lots of meditation (aka naps), wine, and self help books, I decided if I was ever going to be happy I needed to search within myself to discover what I would actually be willing to work hard for. I could be the laziest person alive if I was working on something I had no desire to do. Yet, when inspired I could and would stay up for hours working on a project.
It took a friend who is an aspiring singer joking around with me for me to realize I needed to take my dreams seriously. After an hours long conversation about the trajectory of her career (and me giving amazing ass advice of course) she ended the conversation with "ugh can you just be my manager already".
Bih am i getting paid to be yo manager shhyyttt
Pero like "That's so Raven" getting a vision... it hit me. ZUUUHH BIH you could be getting paid to be doing a lot of things you want to be doing, but currently you are getting paid to hate your life and be saltier than a cup of Lawry's... fix it!
I spoke with my dad who acted like I was the prodigal son returning to the promised land after years living a lie.
I was ready to start THAT day training to be a music biddness woman and all but alas I wasn't graced the luxury so many of my college peers did of immediately jumping into the family business with a check on deck.
Apparently I had to start from the bottom as they say?
So now here I am, preparing myself to attend a music conference and learn as much as i can about le business, getting my life together to get my MBA (so I can possibly run the business one day), following my creative dreams and shit.
I'd say I was excited; but i'm mostly anxious and broke.
In the words of Cardi B
" I was always scared to follow my dreams because if I follow my dreams and I fail, I can't dream about it anymore"
But failure has to happen to gain success right?
Stay tuned.