![]() ![]() Since the recording industry clamped down on free-for-all sampling in the early ‘90s, rising producers, lacking an industry budget, have been driven to compose original music. Released between 20, his Rainforest EP and immensely influential trio of Instrumentals mixtapes quietly staked a claim for consideration as a composer, an artist for whom deference to other musicians was an option instead of an obligation.Ĭlams was not the only producer tending toward declaring independence. For a careful observer, it was clear that not only could Clams Casino be more than a rap producer, symbiotically bonded to rappers in a union where he served as the lesser half - he actively wanted to be more. The end result is an endlessly cresting wave of angelic sound that arches over Lil B’s slapdash declarations of his own divine excellence more than it accompanies or amplifies them. The generally acknowledged showcase for Clams’s technique was the instrumental for Lil B’s 2010 track “I’m God”: Though sampling English singer Imogen Heap’s voice from her 2005 song “Just for Now” intact in its overture, during the verses and hooks Heap’s high, rich lyrics have been shattered into their constituent phonemes and rearranged into original melodies. Unlike most rap instrumentals, the presence of a human voice and human language often seemed to diminish their own. At their frequent best, Clams Casino tracks sounded entirely self-sufficient: They required no words to feel complete. The vocal samples put to work by Clams were rarely simple reproductions, pruned from existing tracks but preserved in a recognizably intact state in their new setting: Clams had stressed, sliced, splintered, and otherwise modified his original samples until they sang in an unprecedented fashion. Normally, producers would clear out the mid-range frequencies of instrumentals to make space for spoken verses to be added later challenging rappers in a domain long conceded to them without issue, Clams crammed those frequencies with vocal samples, demanding, in effect, that the recording artist match or exceed their spirit. With their digitized and wraithlike ambient synths in the higher frequencies, anchored by melancholic and foreboding bass, the beats seemed loaded with the weight of meanings yet to be articulated.Ĭompared to the vast majority of rap production, Clams’s instrumentals were uncommonly full and moving. But there was something in his music as well. He was a digital wraith, and the less one knew, the more one could speculate. No one in music knew the beatmaker personally. Vaguely opulent moniker aside, Clams Casino existed as little more than a Myspace account and email address. Part of this uncanny sense could be ascribed to anonymity. When the name Clams Casino began to circulate widely among music aficionados in the early 2010s, it seemed that the producer represented something more significant than the sum of the tracks he laid down for various underground rappers to plow over.
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