Written by Nathan Evans

Artwork Designed by Nathan Evans

I recall my first listen to Frank Ocean’s Blonde. Tucked into a bed that wasn’t my own, it seemed like the perfect setting in retrospect. The starkness of those songs impoverished me of a clear head, especially with the disorientating energy radiating off the first two cuts. But as track three opened its doors, my ears perked up immediately. That stumbling, jazzy piano riff, that silicone bassline that warmed the face like hot chocolate. I remember, very vividly, saying aloud: “This has to be Pharrell”.

Four years on, and ‘Pink + White’ remains one of Pharrell Williams’ most lavish and evocative pieces of production, but the man has been making hits for almost 30 years now. It’s uncertain if it’s a byproduct of having one single hip-hop-focused project under his own name (a symptom of Three Stacks syndrome), or that the other solo project was a saccharine pop record built to capitalise off of his success in the charts, but it seems as though he has not, truly, gotten all of his flowers yet. Praise has been given here and there, such as a great section from Netflix’s ‘Hip-Hop Evolution’ docuseries, but there is no definitive guide to the magic of a Pharrell production, which he highly deserves with his extensive catalogue and path-paving. Just days ago, Kanye interviewed Pharrell for i-D, and celebrated how the man they call Skateboard P wrote Virginia into the hip-hop census.

However, there is an astronomical elephant in the room; Pharrell came up in tandem with Chad Hugo, known unitedly as the Neptunes. The two were inseparable and unmatchable in the late 90s and early 00s, getting their start under the wing of Teddy Riley, super-producer of the previous generation who had come to stay in their native Virginia.

Something In the Water

Beginning with a hit for Wreckx-n-Effect (‘Rump Shaker’, which sounds incredibly outmoded now) and slow jams for girl groups SWV and Total, it was clear that they hadn’t yet formed their trademark qualities straight out the gate. That would not come until two hits that gained them mass attention: Mase & Diddy’s ‘Lookin at Me’ and Noreaga’s ‘Superthug’ - the latter featuring a massive beat for the time that would form the sonic basis for their N.E.R.D. project (which won’t be featured in this article, as it’s easily salvageable for another piece). Yet it was their partnerships with Clipse and Kelis that would launch them as a game-changing production team, hand-crafting multiple albums for them that broke them into both stardom and acclaim. Once the Neptunes hit the charts, it was a lockdown - at one point they were responsible for 43% of all songs played on US radio. Regularly drafted for JAY-Z singles all through his dynasty period, the duo also reinvented Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake and Gwen Stefani one-by-one - not only giving them prolonged time in the charts, but giving their artistic merit some gravity as well.

Ultimately though, their magnum opus has to be Clipse’s Hell Hath No Fury, a masterwork of rock-solid coke-rap with a tangy twist from Chad and P. ‘We Got It For Cheap’, ‘Mr. Me Too’ and ‘Ride Around Shining’ rank as some of their most lethal beats, and would not have come together if not for Hugo’s input. Often seen as the Luigi of the brothers, one should keep in mind that the Neptunes Sound was as much Chad’s as it was Pharrell’s, but it was the latter that has managed to take it to dizzying heights and tiring distances. (During this piece, Pharrell and the Neptunes are one and the same, for sake of clarity.)

It was Pharrell’s solo debut, In My Mind, that unofficially signalled the end of the Neptunes dominance, but the album came with a sketchbook of his weirdest and wildest beats. It’s also where the timeline of his career splits in two, as his work for Despicable Me ushered him in as a pop artist in his own right. However, this chronicle will stick to his production side, but particularly the first soundtrack for the series featured some terrific pop-soul.

How Does It Feel?

The sound of a Pharrell production is unmistakable. A deceptively simple blend of hip-hop, funk and pop, he is primarily influenced by A Tribe Called Quest, Stevie Wonder, and his mixed Virginia background. His firm grasp of all of those genres means he can easily mix the three in a multitude of different combinations like a culinary chef, sometimes directing focus onto one component without compromising his speciality.

The Neptunes first caught ears with the thrift-shop synths and plucky guitars they opted for, unflinchingly challenging the titan rappers and producers of the machismo and material-driven ‘bling era’. ‘Superthug’ was not just a ‘weird’ alternative banger for the clubs, it was a rebellion against the ultra-spotless productions that Dr. Dre had been fighting for. What’s great is that both sides hold up today; the kooky synth of Mystikal’s ‘Shake Ya Ass’ pops just as much as the unblemished guitar of Dre’s ‘The Next Episode’, showing that Pharrell opened up another, more tongue-in-cheek lane for mainstream rap that plays fast and loose with fixed parts. Would that amazing outro on Justin Timberlake’s ‘Señorita’ have happened if not for his exuberant conviction?

Slide in a viscous but ever-darting bass that he’s perfected in recent years (best heard on Lil Uzi Vert’s ‘Neon Guts’ and Ariana Grande’s ‘sweetener’), as well as his signature barbershop vocal harmonies, and the bare bones of the sonic recipe is pretty much there. Compositionally, however, is where the meat of Pharrell’s idiosyncrasies lie.

Likely from mentor Teddy Riley, Pharrell found and borrowed neo-soul’s dissonant harmonies, twisting them to fit neatly into hip-hop for the first time. The best examples of this add a tense sensitivity to more downtrodden cuts such as ‘You Can Do It Too’, or Kendrick Lamar’s ‘Good Kid’, but it can also add a buoyant strut to lighter cuts like Frank Ocean’s ‘Sweet Life’. Pharrell’s use of these ideas in rap bridged the gap between the genre and others that were more ‘legitimised’ by the old guard, and broke barriers for more progressive styles of hip-hop. Moreover, the bedrock of P’s sound is so deeply entrenched in fundamentals, that he can stretch into a continent’s worth of places while remaining attached to his jazz-loving soul, and that also goes for his adoration of dance.

In Search Of... Groove

Every production credit of his carries a huge emphasis on groove, manifesting into each creative decision on the cutting room floor. Other producers focus on elements such as tone (like P’s devotee Tyler, the Creator) or atmosphere (such as DJ Premier), but his focus on the funk brings a near-universal appeal. For one, the stripped lucidity of his beats, from their minimal assembly to their peppy, easy-to-follow basslines, is in aid of the swing (see Kelis’ ‘Caught Out There’ and Beyoncé’s ‘Blow’).

Skateboard P’s percussion work is a stand-out by itself, too, simply because of how it finds pockets in a track just as much as an MC or vocalist does. Usually donned in a metallic, rough-around-the-edges appearance - “crumby” as Chad Hugo describes it - P loves to add a human angle to his music particularly with hand-made noises and clatter that date back to the days of disco, who bolstered snare hits with groups of hand claps to create a central feature of the beat. Even the most basic of drum patterns could be disrupted by hand-claps, like on ODB’s ‘Got Your Money’, or Britney Spears’ ‘Boys’, and the power in organic sounds is why every web page mentioning ‘Grindin’’ loves to say how everyone replicated the beat with their hands bashing the school desk. He was incorporating the body as well as the soul, and so many found it engaging.

P also absorbs the world around him in how he rhythmically samples found sounds, which is most visible in the hissing spray can and click-clocking of his mouth on Snoop Dogg’s ‘Drop It Like It’s Hot’, again turning it into something easily replicable. It’s one thing to sample other songs, but to use basic objects within tracks is a wholly innovative move. Sometimes innovation doesn’t mean new technologies and sounds, it can go the complete opposite way - the way that many turn their backs at.

For his percussive masterpiece, however, look to JAY-Z’s ‘BBC’, a Latin outbreak that sees Jay and Nas play the Escobar character. Syncopated rum bottles accent an upfront live drum pattern to contrast and bring the best out of each other, all atop a litany of star-studded vocal ad-libs. Pharrell handles all this to deliver a momentary spectacle that feels like a once-in-a-lifetime festivity, and the fact that he can juggle so many elements without it feeling clogged-up is a testament to his strength behind the boards.

Anti Matter

All throughout, one will begin to notice this overarching sense of minimalism to his work. It’s one of his key aims, a philosophy that weaves through every beat and song he has ever made, adamantly leaving nothing that doesn’t bring purpose to the song. Even one of the most in-your-face hooks of the 2000s was conducted with just a marching-band beat, filthy sub-bass and the uncompromising self-assurance of Gwen Stefani on ‘Hollaback Girl’. Each element is blown out to fill the speakers, giving duffel bags of muscle in lieu of a convention pop backdrop.

Keeping things skeletal is, indeed, the golden rule when it comes to groove, as well. It’s served him well and, to use ‘Grindin’’ as an example again, led to him creating one of the most iconic rhythms in hip-hop history with drums alone. In 2002, sitting square in the middle of the era of bombast, he showed to the world that his best work is a result of the absence of elements rather than their addition. Pharrell has always expressed the importance of understanding raw feeling, and minimalism allows him to keep his ear close to his gut.

In terms of instrumentation, Pharrell’s palette picks from countless different gardens. After all, Station Wagon P is known for being adventurous, especially with his collaborations (the dude wrote with Fall Out Boy on one of their most celebrated releases), and that may seem to occur in spite of his draw to compositional efficiency. Yet, it’s that characteristic that permits him to easily incorporate an unlimited supply of sounds in his world. Plus the double-sided coin is that his beats can be ridden on by any artist - from the assertive barks of Mystikal (‘Shake Ya Ass’) and Ludacris (‘Southern Hospitality’) to the butterfly vocals of Solange (‘Sound of Rain’) and Beyonce (‘Blow’). Pharrell paints settings for any occasion, it can be the sun beating down on the pavement on a walk through the neighbourhood, the spread of lights that set the scene for a dancefloor battle, and so much more.

Human Touch

Then, there are just those classic Pharrell touches. Firstly is the iconic four-count start that has been a regular feature throughout his career, long before producer tags became commonplace in the present. Even to that notion, Skateboard P’s starting tag sets itself apart from the simple vocal callouts of most beatmakers. Adhering to his philosophy, it has a motive to be there, as a fun way to begin a song, instantly raising the vivacity of tracks like Lupe Fiasco’s ‘I Gotcha’. Setting the tempo and groove even before the full beat is played, once again, we see how everything plays into extracting as much from the groove as possible.

Finally, in rare and special moments, P will offer a complete switch-up in the bridge, which is not only the stuff of legend, but also is where he is closest to pure neo-soul, to his roots. Take the biblical chords leading into JAY-Z’s verse on ‘Frontin’’ or the seductive mid-segment on ‘Señorita’. The spark of voltaic energy these ignite only last for a few bars, gracefully making them even more treasurable, and this applies to more recent breakdowns like the acoustic strums and bongos on ‘Pink + White’ and Prince-like guitar escalation on ‘Blow’. Taking a hit of these could be the start of a wonderful addiction.

Pharrell Williams caused an implosion in the popular music arena that will ripple for decades to come. By finding power in the unconventional, he stoically shifted the music landscape towards him, and his unshakable mission to find the core soul of the music is what allows for his versatility, his peculiarity, his timelessness. Today, he has slipped into the comfort of tossing between pop and hip-hop, ranging from ScHoolboy Q and Migos to Paloma Faith and Ariana Grande, and has even produced a persevering anthem for the Black Lives Matter in Kendrick Lamar’s ‘Alright’. Which is felicitous, really. Because he finds that sweet spot between loose and rigid, between the dissonant and the quantised, between order and chaos.

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