Growing up surrounded by the Bay Areaâs rich mix of hip-hop, pop punk, funk, and soul, a door opened for producer Ricky Reed when one of his productions found its way to Jason Derulo and became the mega-hit âTalk Dirty.â What followed were hits by Twenty One Pilots, Halsey, The Weeknd, and the inimitable Lizzo. He recently released The Room, an album recorded remotely in quarantine with a great collection of friends and artists.
We caught up with Ricky to chat about that first hit, his process, and the value of the hang.
Youâve been involved with all these huge records over the past few years, but thatâs not how you started out. What got you interested in recording?
I started playing in bands in high school and was seeing bands play live, but I was raised on music videos and albums. [Iâve always loved] the experience of listening to big, blown-out rock productions from the â90s, plus hip-hop productions. I think that when I started making music in a band, it was making recordings that was all a one-to-one link. It wasnât like I started writing songs in my room and then performing them at coffee shops. It was like, âNo, Iâm going to write a song and then Iâm going to record it immediately, because thatâs what my heroes do.â I would go into these local studios in the Bay Area. One was in Marin with a guy named Scott. I would watch him work in Pro Tools; watch him do his thing. I always knew what I wanted it to sound like, but I had to learn. Eventually he would have me come in on the weekends, to make $100 or $200 here and there, recording local punk bands and editing drums. This was before grid mode in Pro Tools, so editing drums to a click was one of the skills that I learned from doing that as my first job. It ended up being the basis for me to start to co-produce, and then eventually produce, my own bandsâ records.
What style were you doing back then?
Oh, boy; we were all over the place. Largely pop punk, but with a real eclectic set of influences. I grew up in the Bay Area, in East Bay, and I was one of the only kids in my high school who listened to rock music. Our high school predominantly listened to hip-hop, so I was hugely influenced by hip-hop and by what my mom raised me on, which was a lot of Bay Area funk groups, like Tower of Power and Sly Stone. Even though my band at the time was largely rooted in a punk thing, there was hip-hop, funk, and soul around me. I was eager to incorporate as much as I could with my limited skill set.
Youâre also working on a whole variety of styles of records now. Youâre doing a Twenty One Pilots record, Halsey, The Weeknd, and Lizzo; all these different genres, although they have a common core.
Right. The fact that I am from the Bay Area is the bedrock foundation of what I do in the studio as a songwriter and a record producer to this day. If you look at the great San Francisco, Oakland, etcetera artists from as far back as Jefferson Airplane, Sly Stone, Digital Underground, and hip-hop, itâs all there. But a big influence, to me, was E-40 [founding member of The Click] and Too $hort. There is a thread that runs through all that music. I think those of us from the Bay Area, we have always felt, âWeâre not L.A.; weâre not New York. Weâre going to do things our own way.â Weâre happy to lead with our different perspectives, and I think the Bay Area music scene, as far back as the mid-â60s, has led the national conversation because weâre different. Weâre eclectic in all the ways, and Iâm proud to be from where Iâm from.
What do you think the record was where the switch flipped and you felt, âIâm a full-time record producerâ?
Wow, I know exactly when it was. Iâd be lying if I didnât say that it was âTalk Dirtyâ by Jason Derulo. It was my first hit. I had been pursuing a career as an artist and starting to dabble in producing for others, because I needed to have more irons in the fire. I was by no means financially set up, and I was starting get concerned about where it was all heading. All the records I had produced, up until that point â a lot of songs for pitch â I was trying to do what I thought people wanted. I was that person who looks at the pop music industry from the outside and thinks, âOh, I could do this in my sleep.â The truth was I wasnât putting my real taste and my real spin on what I was doing. I was trying to create a cookie cutter thing, because I thought that thatâs what this industry runs on. I didnât get it. âTalk Dirtyâ was a sample that an A&R [person] had played for me from this group called Balkan Beat Box. He said, âWeâre working on this for Missy Elliott.â I thought âWow, I love Missy Elliott.â I wasnât thinking about what anyone else wanted. I thought, âIâm going to do my thing.â I didnât overthink it. I flipped the sample, probably worked on it for three or four hours, sent it off, and about six weeks later I heard that Jason Derulo had cut it. About six months after that it came out in Australia and it starting taking off! Then, a few months after that, it took off in Germany, and then we released it in the States in January. Watching that song come all the way up, there was a moment where my manager pulled me aside, âYou think maybe we ought to try this for a minute, this producing? Letâs chase this down for a year and see what happens.â I was still in the middle of fully pursuing my artist project, touring relentlessly, doing promo, and all that. My manager said, âThereâs a door opening. Letâs walk through it for a minute and see where it goes.â That is a pretty clear turning point for when I started pursuing this.
I think many people donât understand what you said, in terms of you producing a record, and it sounds like you were never even in the room with Jason.
Yes; oh, boy. Happy to. When youâre starting out, itâs common to create a beat that goes into an A&Râs computer with a whole big list of beats. Maybe that A&R is sending the beats to songwriters, maybe theyâre sending the beats to artists themselves (if theyâre songwriters). I had finished the demo of that beat and about six weeks later, a friend of mine, Evan Bogart, was privy to the situation. He said, âHey, I heard that track you worked on, and I heard Jason Derulo singing on it.â I was like, âOh, crazy. Wow. I canât wait to hear it.â But I was not a part of writing the vocal, or writing the song. They got the song to a point where they liked it, then they sent me all his vocal stems and I integrated it into the track. I obviously made adjustments to the track to make the vocal fit. Then I believe we worked on one session for some additional ad-libs, or harmony, or something where I would have finally met him to bring it home. I was hundreds of miles away when they were sitting there thinking, ââTalk Dirty to Meâ is a cool hook.â I didnât even know he was working on it. In this industry, thatâs something that you do have to become comfortable with in this process. Making great work, trying to stay around people you trust, and then letting some slack out on the leash and trusting that by maintaining good relationships with good people, youâll find yourself coming out ahead and not getting burned or cheated.
Whatâs the balance of work for you, in terms of that versus being in the room and being more hands-on?
Pre-COVID I was in the room with the artist about 90 percent of the time. That situation was the result of hard work and perseverance, but also a decent amount of right place, right time, as well as my skill set being developed enough to make that opportunity work. Iâve learned, in the time since, that I can bring more value to a song and more value to the artist if Iâm in the room. I can help push the ideas further, challenge the ideas, and not just make beats and fire them off. If Iâm being honest, I like meeting people, hearing their stories, and helping them turn those into songs. I think thatâs the way the best songs are made.
Whatâs a typical process like for you when you are in the room with somebody? How are you working together?
The most common thing is having artists come to my studio in Echo Park. Iâll get in and probably be there an hour before them pulling together a couple of instrumental ideas. Maybe there are a couple of little keyboard progressions or drum tracks. I also have a publishing company. I have a bunch of amazing producers and songwriters signed to me, so maybe Iâll go through some of their folders and think, âThis preproduction might be interesting for this artist.â Iâll try to get anywhere between two and four pieces ready and on-hand that I think would be cool. When they come in, the goal is to talk for an hour or two. Whether itâs someone Iâve just met, or someone Iâve known for years, my philosophy is that you can only write the song of the day. The song of the day is the feeling that the artist has in their heart that day. If the artist is going through a terrible time, weâre not going to try to force a party song or something up tempo. If the artist is feeling light and bubbly, and they want to pound a cold brew and get silly, maybe a pop tune will come out. But the truth is, I donât think Iâve ever been a part of anything good that wasnât made in complete honesty and transparency, so it always starts with a couple hours of hanging. I like to listen to artists talk; listen to their language and word choices. A lot of times Iâll remember â or discretely write down â three or four sentences that an artist says while weâre hanging out. Then later Iâll say, âThat thing you said about that person weâve been talking about, thatâs interesting to me, and you said it in this way that was so poetic.â Most artists speak in lyric and donât realize it. Weâll try to get the DNA for a concept or a track from hanging out. Then making it tends to be the easier part. But itâs those first few hours where we learn what weâre going to do for the rest of the day.
Production is more than just the hands-on craft of actually doing music. Much of it is the human interaction, being a good listener, and being able to take that and channel it into something that becomes music.
Yeah, I totally agree. My philosophy has changed a little bit in the last five years or so, because I do pride myself on trying to challenge the artist, challenge the writers, and make something thatâs better than it would have been. There were some sessions early on where we would talk and then I would push and push because I was like, âWe need to get an A-plus song today. We need it.â Iâve gotten to the point now where I realize that, in a lot of cases, there is no scenario that exists in which youâre going to get an A-plus song that day. There are some artists where that person is going to need three, or four, or five days to open up, feel good, and get to that place we want to get to. Iâve started to realize that itâs more important for the artist to leave a session feeling good about themselves, and feeling good about the energy and the environment, than it is to grind on them to try to make something good on that first day. Itâs so much better for them to leave being like, âMan, we didnât get anything, but I am so pumped to come back here and work with all these people tomorrow, because I had so much fun!â Again, there you are in the position of not just being a people person and a little bit of a therapist, but youâre hosting a small party. Youâre hosting a small gathering. Try to set the energy up so that people feel that!
I guess thatâs a little bit of a luxury if you have some resources to take that kind of time. Iâm imagining people sweating the clock and worrying about the money.
Right.
But youâre not making demos with whomever off the street...
You do have a good point. Itâs admittedly much, much harder to keep your nerves about you as a producer. Man, when I was on the come-up, to realize I had a big opportunity in front of me, it took nerves of steel not to squeeze the situation to the point where it became unproductive, or to decide not to challenge people because I was also afraid of losing a great opportunity. Itâs really hard for the developing producer without a lot of resources and finite amounts of time to create that energy that says, âHey man, itâs all good. If we make something today, or donât make something, itâs all good. I wonât even charge you if we donât make something today. Donât worry about it.â That is so hard to do. I remember how challenging it was when I was coming up in this. That challenge is even reflected today for me. There will still be situations Iâm in with artists who Iâve always wanted to work with, A&R is breathing down my neck, and I still have to go in there with the artist and say, âMan, that A&R doesnât know what heâs talking about. Letâs relax. Itâs fine.â But, deep down, Iâm thinking, âFuck, how do we make this happen today?â Itâs a tightrope. You have to both apply pressure and also let people feel like theyâre at cocktail hour.
You recently did a record in quarantine collaboratively and remotely. Could you talk about that process and on the quality control of having different sources coming to you didnât record.
Yeah. Are you familiar with the Pitch Shift Legacy in Pro Toolsâ Audiosuite? Itâs the most basic pitch shift plug-in. A friend of mine â Zac Carper, from the band Fidlar â for my birthday a couple years ago, he printed out a poster of the Pitch Shift Legacy and put it in a frame for me. The running joke that weâd always have was when something didnât fit or isnât right â or you have a vision for it, but it shouldnât work â his words would always be, âYou just jelly it in there.â You reshape it and mold the clay until you get the thing that you were trying to get out of it. This is something that Iâve done for years, because Iâve been trying to make professional-sounding recordings since I was 16 using early Fruity Loops in 2005 and GarageBand. Iâm going to start with your second question and go back. I would take all these different parts I would get from people and, rather than focus on the need to have some cohesion â like from the mix engineerâs standpoint â Iâd try to look at it as the unique situation of quarantine. These arenât artists going into a local studio with this engineer or that engineer. These are artists who, Iâd say 95 percent of them, are recording in their bedroom with their mic on whatever rig they have. There is a genuine beauty and almost an energy of love around how these are engineered. Youâve got a couple of these artist superstars singing into their laptops using GarageBand. I try to take that as a stylistic imperative to let the sonics glue to the song and fit the productions, even around the way these varying vocal sounds would be and everything. It was a great challenge, but really fun. The way the songs actually came together was honestly me texting my friends. I would have a livestream at night and say, âHey, Iâm going to work on something live tonight. Do you want to throw a vocal on this keyboard loop? Hereâs a folder. If any of these speak to you, send me something back.â Even discovering a few artists on Spotify and DMâing them on Instagram. âHereâre ten pieces. If you like any of these, maybe we could work on it together.â It was one of the most unique ways Iâve ever recorded before. To go full circle on our interview here, this was my first album as an artist in seven years since Iâve pivoted to becoming a producer full time.
How is creating your own record different from producing for others?
It was honestly not that different, because when I produce for others, I canât take my own heart out of it. I let my instincts guide [the process]. There is a massive difference when Iâm working with an artist and weâre combining our tastes. I want to make sure that the production is true to the emotion theyâre expressing. But I have never considered myself or what I do as the end-all. Rather I think, âIâm in the service industry. Iâm providing a thing for you, and as long as youâre happy Iâm going to take myself out of it.â People donât come to me because they want me to take myself out of it. They want me to try to lock arms and make something collaboratively. In making this album I let my taste and my instincts guide me. I think that one big thing is that, in finishing these songs, I didnât have to do anything that felt compromising in any way. If youâre finishing an album for a superstar, there are going to be a couple cooks at the end. It was fun to say, âIs this speaking to me? Is this honest?â Yes. âDoes it sound a little raw?â Yes, but itâs achieving the emotion. I want to leave it like that. That was a core difference and it made it so fun.
How do you reconcile working with multiple cooks when you and the artist think that the music is already done?
I believe itâs my job to protect the artist and the record from everyone. I think on paper my job is to work with the label and with the artist to make something that is great. But the artist knows what they want. They know what their fans like. I do find myself having to sometimes be a bit of a wall between the artist and the cooks. But I also donât take on projects anymore that I know have a contentious relationship between the artist and the label. Lifeâs too short, and I try to suss that out in advance as much as I can.
Do you have any examples of times when artists stuck to their guns and ended up having a massive success, despite what the label wanted?
Wow, thatâs a great question. Not exactly that, because I think for most of the songs that Iâve had great success with everybodyâs felt the energy from that first demo bounce and said, âGo, go, go.â But I do think that you have a good example in my artist on Nice Life/Atlantic, Lizzo. When Lizzo made âTruth Hurtsâ in 2016, we were like, âThis is the biggest song weâve made.â The label was supportive. The fans loved it. But it didnât do what we expected it to do. Iâll say it was so heartbreaking in the moment for her and me, because it was like, âWhat else can we do if this isnât clicking?â We were blessed to have the song come back around the way it did and validate the fact that we were right. We knew it was a hit, and we were lucky enough that eventually it clicked and became what we always thought it was.
Do you have any other examples where you felt like it was a great piece of work but people werenât ready?
Oh, dude, thereâre so many. I definitely had songs come out where I didnât think it was going to be big, and it wasnât big, and that was fine. But, oh boy, I have had so many songs where I was like, âThis is gonna change the game!â Three or four weeks later everyoneâs pointing fingers at each other. âWell, radio didnât try hard enough, or Spotify, or Apple Music.â Itâs like, âGuys, the song was never meant to be, and itâs fine.â Iâve probably had that experience 20 times. Itâs something youâve gotta get used to, but itâs a good problem to have.
When youâre in the moment and you love a song, sometimes itâs hard to step back and see it from another perspective of why it wouldnât be as successful as you thought it would be.
Yeah, completely. Itâs something I try to do often; zoom out and get some opinions from other people around me. But if thereâs a song that my friends are latching onto, thatâs the best indicator. When we were finishing up âTruth Hurtsâ in 2016, my hairdresser, who never says anything about any of my songs that he hears, he said, âThis is cool. Whatâs this one?â Iâm like, âThis is Lizzo. You met her the other night at the Mexican restaurant.â He said, âOh, yeah. I like this one.â When I have those kinds of experiences, thatâs the only time I would bet money on one of my songs, when the people around me say that.
