PRODUCER PROFILE: DJ TOOMP

DJ Toomp’s moniker actually means “eternal life,” which is appropriate for his career. You may know Toomp as the producer of T.I.’s bangers like “24’s,” “Be Easy,” and underground Atlanta gems like “Dope Boy Fresh” and “Still Kuntry.” After years of costly mistakes, Toomp has finally carved his much-deserved niche in the industry.

How did you get your start in music?
It goes through my bloodline, really. My dad used to be the lead singer of group called the MVP’s back in the early 70’s. When I was seven he taught how me to sing and harmonize. When rap came out and I started learning the lyrics to the rap songs, I stopped singing (laughing). The first studio I ever got into, I started playing around with the beat machine and I figured out that I had a real good ear for music. Nobody really taught me nothing except for which buttons were start, stop and record. Next thing you know I was producing.

What was the first beat you made?
I used a DMX drum machine, the Drumulator, back in 1985 at this studio called Logic Center, and it ended up being the first song I did for Raheem the Dream. We were students at Therrell High School. He was a senior and I was in the 10th grade. Next thing I know it was a local hit, and we started doing shows all over Georgia and Alabama. Then in 1986 I produced “The Eliminator,” for him and that song blew up even more. But after I graduated from high school I wanted to experiment a little bit, so I moved to Miami. Next thing I know I’m meeting Luke Skywalker. I’m making beats, touring and living the life at the age of 19.

What beats do you have floating around that we might not know of?
I did 2 Live Crew’s “Dick In the Dust” on the New Jack City soundtrack. It plays in the part of the movie where Nino and them are riding in the Jeep talking about “This is crack right here.” Of course, I didn’t see no bread from that. I was just a young dude who was glad to be on a soundtrack, man. I was playing around from 1985 to 1990. In 1990 I was about to sign with DJ Magic Mike, and he was teaching me about points, publishing and shit no one else really put me up on. I was just glad to be on the album covers and getting the two thousand dollars fee for the track. By ‘91 I moved back to Atlanta when LaFace and all them had set up. I basically missed that lil’ train because I was in Miami when they was doing all that. But later on after reading and being more strict about my work, I just started going by the book.

Did you forgive yourself for those mistakes?
I been forgave myself, I think it’s about timing. Believe it or not, with all the music I did back then, I would have been a millionaire before Jermaine [Dupri]. But a nigga my age riding around in a Porsche back then, I probably would have killed myself from self-destruction. I was kind of wild too, I was street to a certain degree. It wasn’t time for me to have that kind of bread yet.

So when did you start seeing some bread?
Honestly, I saw my first royalty check when I did the [song “Push ‘Em Up”] on the Dr. Doolittle soundtrack. I only got half a point off the project, but shiiit, my first check was a nice one. That was first check I ever saw with that kind of money at the same time. But believe it or not, I still didn’t respect the music business as much because that check didn’t exceed what I got kicking out in these streets. I could see that something was in it but I was still like, “Naw.” But then next thing you know a month later I saw a different publishing check. I was like damn, with these checks together I got almost $50,000 off one little song. That’s when I started respecting the game more. Even though it didn’t happen until ‘97, I learned. That’s when I started investing most of my time into it and building relationships with different entertainment lawyers and chopping it up with people in the game who gave me real good advice.

Do you enjoy getting the checks or breaking new artists and creating new sounds?
The second one. I done seen bread, I done had it. I been through a lot of shit. I been in a position where I could get almost anything I wanted. But now it really moves me to know that I can grab this dude who was in the trap who didn’t know where his next check was coming from or where his career was going. Just to be responsible for changing a person’s life, that moves me more than just getting a big ass check.

What made you adopt that philosophy?
Really, what made me lock down on getting artists is... Only a few people know this story. I actually witnessed when JD discovered Kris Kross. We was at this club called Frozen Paradise on Old National. He had the group Silk X Leather and some local stuff that did alright. But he said, “Yo, I got these young niggas I’m working with, just come through and check me out.” But at the time I was doing my own thing, trying to get beats everywhere. At that time people weren’t thinking about young kids in rap. We was thinking about that hardcore NWA shit. I never did get over there, and about six months later here these niggas are, the biggest group in the world. I was like, Okay, all he really did was find him some dudes out of the mall with a look, produced these cats and changed their lives. That’s when I started getting on a mission for actual artists.

Does it feel like you are joined at the hip with T.I.? No disrespect to other producers, but it just seems like when he flows on a Toomp track it goes to another level.
Yeah. Because I feel I’m responsible for his whole career. I’m the one who really believed in him. He had a few people who took him to the studio and tried to do things with him, but I saw something in him that a lot of people didn’t see. I was like, This dude is not just another rapper, this lil’ nigga actually got some shit to say. So I took him to the studio and actually created the vibe. He knew each one of my moves and I knew each one of his. That’s why now when producers make their tracks and say, “I wanna send this one to T.I.,” some kind of way it’s gonna remind you of some Toomp shit. Now niggas know how to approach him. They may make a decent beat for him, but can’t nothing touch that chemistry me and dude have.

Do you listen to demos?
I definitely listen to them, but the only thing I hate is when a person be like, “Hey man, this dude will rap for you right now, he can freestyle for two hours straight!” I don’t care if you won freestyle Friday for a year straight. Can you make a song? Niggas need to watch how they approach certain people in this business. You can’t just approach somebody saying, “Toomp, if you think your boy T.I. the shit, wait until you hear this right here.” Don’t step to me comparing that nigga to my dawg! Get outta here with that shit! But I try to be a real gentleman.

As consumers, we get mad when we hear whack shit. Do you get mad at other producers for making meaningless beats?
It’s very rare that I hear a whack beat. Beats are something you really can’t fool people with. The beat be cool ninety percent of the time. Sometimes it’s just the concept, or it might just be some niggas on the beat who aren’t real artists. That’s why I really go out of my way to not be involved with one-hit wonders, because Atlanta has received a few black eyes from that shit. I could go down a long list of them and not give a fuck how they feel because it’s the truth. I could have been put out some records like the ones that are on the countdown and are gone the next month. I could have made a quick million doing that, but I’m in this shit for the longevity. I’ve been in the game for twenty years and I want to be in it for twenty more. That’s why I’m real picky on who I produce for.

So who are you working with right now?
I got Stat Quo’s first single, which is fucking crazy. I’ve got my own artists, Suga Suga and Jack Boner. I did “Two Miles An Hour” on Ludacris’ Red Light District, which is platinum now. I’m working with 112 and Jarvis, that young dude on So So Def. I got three tracks on Jeezy’s album, and I did “Don’t Put Your Hands on Me” on Boyz N Da Hood’s project.