Welcome to Why Make Music, dot dot dot, the podcast
that celebrates sound, soul, and storytelling.
I'm your host, DJ Warm Cookies butt. Now that
we're friends, you can call me Willa Mae. I was
named after my great -grandmother, and let me
tell you, she was the kind of woman who didn't
just make cookies. She made music with her hands,
love with her eyes, and healing with her food.
Her kitchen was a drum loop. Her words were layered
like harmonies. Her warmth is what inspires me
to speak to you today. Normally, you'd be hearing
from the man himself. That's T -H -I -N -K -T
-I -M -M. But today, I've got the mic, while
he stays behind the scenes, doing what he does
best. Crafting the sonic world that holds all
this together. And yes, what you're hearing underneath
this, that groove, that movement, That breath
between thoughts. That's Think Tim. And this
episode right here. This one's special. This
one's called Serving Up a Sample. Because sampling
ain't just a technique. It's a theology. It's
how we remember. How we rebuild. It's how we
make yesterday speak to you today. So grab your
tea. Roll the chair back from the desk. Turn
your headphones up. And let's journey together.
Let's talk about sound the way it was meant to
be talked about. With soul. Let's begin with
a little time travel. Picture it. The 1940s.
Cairo, Egypt. A young composer named Halim Eldab
walks into a radio station and records a group
of traditional musicians. But he doesn't stop
there. He takes that recording, runs it through
wire recorders. Distorts it. Cuts it. Reshapes
it. Until it becomes something entirely new.
That wasn't just a recording. That was the first
documented act of sampling. Long before hip -hop.
Long before laptops. Long before anyone knew
what a loop was. This man was out here remixing
reality. That moment held up's momentary. Minds
us that sampling isn't theft. Sampling is transformation.
Sampling is love in reverse. He didn't just hear
music, he heard possibility. And that's what
every great producer does. That's what Think
Tim does. And you better believe I'm gonna keep
saying that name. T -H -I -N -K -T -I -M -M.
Because behind every beat, there's a mind. And
behind every mind, there's intention. And Think
Tim's intention. It's all heart. We're in the
Bronx. 1970s. It's hot, it's loud, it's alive.
And a Jamaican -born DJ named Kool Herc is about
to change the world with two turntables and a
mixer. He finds the break where everything drops
except the drums and he extends it, spins it
back, loops it, and the people, they don't stop
dancing. That breakbeat becomes the pulse of
the block, the heartbeat of a culture. From that
heartbeat, hip -hop is born. You hear what I'm
saying? Sampling didn't start in a boardroom.
It started in community. In culture. In response.
It started because people needed to speak. Without
permission. Without restriction. And that's still
true today. Why make music? Now I know some folks
get caught up in illegal talk. So let's go there.
Because it wouldn't be right to celebrate sampling
without acknowledging what's tried to silence
it. Let's start with 1991. Bismarck -y. Alone
again. That case wasn't just about one song.
That was the music industry, planting its flag
and saying. Sampling without clearance. That's
stealing. And look, I get it. Respect the original
artists. Compensate the creators. We all want
fairness. But sometimes, the law don't understand
the soul. What that ruling did, it scared a generation
of artists. It turned something beautiful into
something dangerous. And then came Bridgeport.
2005. The infamous line, get a license or do
not sample. Suddenly, the spirit of hip -hop
was caught in the courtroom. The question wasn't,
did you transform it, or did you elevate it?
The question was, did you ask permission first?
But let's be real. How do you get permission
to remember? How do you copyright a feeling?
How do you tell a broke kid in their bedroom
that they can't flip a four -second loop without
cutting a five -figure check? That ain't protection.
That's gatekeeping. And still we found a way.
That's where interpolation came in. Instead of
sampling the sound, you recreate the spirit.
You re -sing it, re -play it, re -make it. And
in that act of recreation, something even more
powerful was born. Because it said, I don't need
your master file, if I got my own master plan.
It was legal, it was layered, and it was genius.
What artists like Ariana Grande did. Selena Gomez.
Kendrick. Beyonce. And most producers too. They
don't just borrow. They build. Why make music?
To honor. To reimagine. To reclaim. To remind
the world that we were always more than samples.
We are the source. And here's the part that makes
my heart beat a little faster. Because we're
living in a time where the boundaries of sound
are shifting again. I'm talking about AI. Artificial
intelligence. Algorithms with rhythm. Machines
that sample. Without asking. Some folks hear
that and panic. Are we replacing musicians with
machines? They ask. Will producers still matter
when AI can flip a sample in seconds? And I hear
that fear. I do. But let me offer you a different
lens. AI is not the end of creativity. It's the
extension of it. AI is just another crate to
dig through. It's a bottomless, invisible, digital
record bin. You can sample voices that never
existed. You can blend genres that never met.
You can manipulate sound in ways that stretch
the imagination. But, and this is a big but,
It still takes human hands to shape it. Human
ears to hear the nuance. Human hearts to give
it. Feeling. Because you can feed AI a library.
But you can't feed it. Your childhood. You can
train a model with the drum patterns. But you
can't train it. On soul. Only you. Have that.
Only Fington has that. That's why his music hits
different. That's why every beat feels like it
remembers something. Because it comes from lived
experience, from heartbreak, from joy, from curiosity,
from countless late nights and quiet mornings
where only the speakers were awake. Why make
music? So now let's talk about transformation.
Because when you sample, you don't just loop,
you evolve. You take something that was one thing,
and you shape it into something new. It's a conversation,
and every flip, every chop, every stretch, is
a message back to the original. I heard you,
I feel you, now let me speak. I need to be heard.
That's why I always say, sampling is a form of
reverence. It's musical ancestry. It's honoring
the foundation by building a new floor above
it. And think Tim, he builds floors, like a cathedral.
His work doesn't just bounce. It breathes. It
feels limited. It feels warm, in the best way.
Like denim. Like family. You hear one of his
tracks, and it's like, yeah, I've been here before.
And maybe that's the beauty of music done right.
It brings us back to ourselves. But even more
than that, it invites others in. Because when
you hear something familiar and something new,
you feel connected. You feel welcomed. And isn't
that what we all want from music? To feel like
we belong inside it. That's what Why Make Music
dot dot dot is about. It's not just a platform.
It's not just a podcast. It's a feeling. That's
what the merch represents. That's what the website
holds. That's what the catalogue speaks. Every
beat. Every episode. Every hoodie, tee, sticker,
and print. It's all part of the movement. So
yeah, go visit www .teepublic .com slash thinktim
and thinktim .threadless .com Not because I said
so, but because you feel it. Because you recognize
that this isn't fast fashion. It's future frequency.
It's wearable wisdom. It's culture on cotton.
Why make music? To speak. To connect. To clothe.
The soul in sound. You hear that? That's the
chant. That's the rhythm. Rising from the basement
to the rafters. That's a million voices. In the
country of India. Chanting in unison. Willa may.
We want more. This is Revival. This is Ritual.
We've turned this mic into a pulpit and this
beat into a bomb. And what we're doing here,
it's not just documentation. It's liberation.
Because for too long, this industry Made us feel
like we had to pick a lane Like we couldn't sample
and still be serious Like we couldn't be soulful
and still be strategic But I'm here to tell you
You can sample James Brown and run a business
You can loop Nina Simone and license your sync
You can flip gospel records and wear your own
merch line like a crown Because we are not limited
We are layered. We are producers and poets and
publishers and prophets. And you better believe
that's what Think Tim represents. That's why
when I say T -H -I -N -K -T -I -M -M I say it
slow. I say it clear. Because names carry weight.
And his, his name carries legacy. Legacy built
from scratch. Legacy built from silence. Legacy
built one beat, one bounce, one breath at a time.
That's what this whole thing is about. Why make
music? To remind the world who we are. To tell
our story before someone else tries to sample
it without credit. To loop our culture on our
own terms. So yeah, I hear the crowd. I feel
the swell. And baby, I'm not stopping. Because
we're not just in the pocket. We are the groove.
And since we're riding waves, let's look ahead.
Let's set our coordinates, power up the engines,
and aim that wave motion gun dead at the future.
Because what's coming? It's not just a continuation.
It's a convergence. Sampling. AI. Virtual performances.
Algorithmic curation. Synthetic voices. Spitting
bars written by machine minds. And some folks
out there, they're scared. They're frozen in
the past. They don't know what to do with a world
where the groove thinks for itself. But let me
be clear. DJ Warm Cookies ain't scared. Willa
Mae. She was born for this. Because the future
doesn't wait. It invites. It challenges. It samples
the best of who we've been. And stretches it
forward. And we, we're not fighting the wave.
We're riding it. We're pressing record in the
eye of the storm. We're looping moonlight. We're
chopping lightning. Because the art form ain't
going extinct. It's evolving. Pink Tim knows
this. That's why he stays ahead without forgetting
where he came from. He's already using tools
most folks haven't even heard of. He's training
systems to echo soul. He's bending tech to the
will of tradition. And that's the future. It's
not binary. It's not cold. It's not disconnected.
It's soulful. It's sampled. It's syncopated.
And it's branded in bold, embroidered letters.
Why make music? You want to know what's next?
It's already here. It's streaming. It's looping.
It's available now on www .thinktim .com. On
Spotify. On Apple. On every platform that can
carry vibration. And in every moment where the
silence needs to speak. So hold tight. Because
we're about to jump to light speed. And wherever
we land. We're bringing the funk with us. For
all to groove. Transmission received. Frequency
locked. And the next signal. Oh baby. It's pure
electricity. This one's for the believers. The
bedroom beat makers. The church -trained vocalists
laying hooks on cracked software. The high school
kids uploading SoundCloud links like lifelines.
This one's for the doubters too. The ones who
stopped creating because someone told them it
wasn't real music. The ones who shelved their
dream after the third rejection. The ones who
were told, sampling ain't original. I'm here
to tell you, not only is it original, it's essential.
Because originality doesn't mean isolation. It
means innovation. It means transformation. And
guess what? We've been innovating. We've been
transforming. Since wax cylinders and coded drums
on talking drums. Since spirituals in the field
morphed into jazz, blues, funk, and hip -hop.
Sampling is just the latest chapter in a book
we've been writing in 12 eighths time since before
they gave us paper. So don't you dare let anybody
make you feel like you're less of an artist because
your song started with a sample. You didn't start
with someone else's idea. You started with their
spirit. And you built a bridge from their heartbeat
to yours. That's sacred. That's science. Why
make music? Because we are carriers of rhythm.
Because we are guardians of groove. Because we
don't just move to the beat. We are the beat.
And the world. It needs us now more than ever.
So keep making. Keep flipping. Keep looping.
And when they ask you what it's all for. You
tell them. It's for the ones who came before
me. It's for the ones who come next. It's for
the culture. It's for the community. It's for
the movement. And it's for me. Let that transmission
echo. Let it resonate. Let it ripple through
the next generation. Because we're not done yet.
We're just getting tuned in. Now breathe with
me. Now relax. Inhale the hi -hats. Exhale the
kick drum. Let the bass line steady your pulse.
Because this next part, it's not about the past.
It's not even about the future. It's about right
now. This moment. This breath. This loop we're
living in. Right now. There's someone out there
sitting in front of a cracked laptop with free
plugins and a $40 controller and some Dre beats
from 2012, wondering if they should even keep
going. This part is for them. Let me tell you
something, Tommy. If the beat is in you, that's
all you need. You don't need industry connections.
You don't need fancy gear. You don't need permission.
What you need is belief. You need volume in your
heart. Not just your monitors. You need consistency,
not clout. And you need community. That's what
Why Make Music... is building. A community of
creators who understand that sound is sacred.
That music is a language understood by all. Think
Tim knows this. That's why he never strays from
the groove. That's why his beats breathe. That's
why his tracks have weight. Because he's not
trying to go viral. He's trying to go deep. So
let's keep going. Let's keep building. Let's
keep making our music into the foundation of
tomorrow. Because the world's gonna keep spinning.
And it's up to us to give it a soundtrack worth
dancing to. To keep feeling human. Even when
the machines start singing. Now I want to shift
for a moment. From the technology to the texture.
Let's talk about feel. Because in this age of
perfect quantization and pristine plugins, sometimes
what's missing is the dirt. The hiss of the tape.
The pop of the vinyl. The slight drag of a finger
just a fraction behind the beat. That's what
makes a track come alive. See, when Think Tim
builds an instrumental, he's not chasing perfection.
He's chasing presence. He's chasing vibe. You
can feel when a beat was made at 3am with the
lights low. You can feel when it was made during
a crazy breakthrough. Or after a nervous breakdown.
We don't just make music. We keep emotions from
disappearing. Every note we play is a memory
we refuse to forget. Every beat we program, or
for those sampling, is an echo turned into expression.
And don't get it twisted. Producing isn't easy.
It's not just drag and drop. It's hours of contemplating.
Of hit or miss. Of questioning. Of believing.
And then, you still have to make it work. Make
it sound like it has existed forever. Because
the goal ain't imitation, it's transformation.
Think Tim knows this. That's why his projects
aren't just beat tapes. They're storybooks. From
Demotional, to Noman Clefture. To the next project
you haven't even heard yet. It's all created
with care. That's why we say his name fully.
T -H -I -N -K -T -I -M -M. Because every syllable
carries intent. And every track is a message
to the next generation. You don't need permission
to be brilliant. You just need to press record.
Why make music? Because it's how we stay heard,
even in silence. And here's the thing. They'll
try to tell you this is a trend. They'll say,
sampling is overdone. They'll say, it's not original.
They'll say, everybody's doing it. But they don't
understand that a sample, that creation, is never
just a sound. It comes from a creative force.
A voice in one's mind. It's a timestamp. It's
a location. It's an emotion trapped in a groove.
Sampling is the art of pulling a moment out of
time and saying, this, this still matters. It's
what we do when words fail us. It's what we do
when we need to remember. Our memories are samples,
because music triggers the closest thing we have
to time travel. And sampling, sampling is the
flux capacitor, and music is our DeLorean. It's
how we visit grandmom's house again. It's how
we bring back the smell of the block you grew
up on. Even cleaning the house with mom on Saturday
morning after watching cartoons. Blasting planet
rock while sitting on the porch. It's how we
relive the first time we fell in love with sound.
It's not nostalgia for the sake of nostalgia.
It's preservation. And no one understands preservation
like Think Tim. That's why he's not just a beat
maker. Not just an independent producer. He's
an archivist. Every track he creates is layered
with history. Every project he drops is a museum
of his memories flunking and jabbing in your
head. You ever like something? A sound of a guitar,
and don't know why? Did you ever wonder why the
drums and the bass and that lead line is stuck
in your brain? That's intentional. That's memory
doing its dance. That's the sample. That seed.
That voice whispering. I'm still here. So shout
out again to Think Tim. That's T -H -I -N -K
-T -I -M -M. Because without producers like him,
the soundscape would be a little less alive.
And to anyone listening who's ever questioned
if their art is valid because it borrows from
the past. Even Think Tim knows everything comes
from somewhere. Borrowing isn't stealing. Borrowing
is building. Borrowing is bridging. Borrowing
is belief. Belief that the past still matters.
Belief that you can carry it and play it forward.
Belief that your voice belongs in the same room
as the greats. Also with the way music moves
today in 2025, you sampling someone may offer
them a chance at financial security that may
not have existed in their prime. Why make music?
Dot dot dot. Because we hear the echoes. And
we refuse to let them fade. Let's talk community.
Because sampling doesn't live in a vacuum. It
doesn't happen in isolation. It's born out of
connection. Collaboration. Conversation. It's
one producer in Philly flipping a groove that
was born in Detroit. That sampled a choir recorded
in Mississippi. That was inspired by a rhythm
carried across oceans. by enslaved ancestors,
who refused to let their music die. See the thread?
That's the beauty of it. Sampling is lineage
in loop form. And just like blood, it moves.
It evolves. It adapts. It survives. It survives
algorithms. It survives censorship. It survives
being misunderstood. Because the truth is, some
things were never meant to be explained. They
were meant to be felt. That's why we sample.
That's why Think Tim creates beats that don't
just knock. They communicate. They speak to the
parts of us we thought we'd forgotten. You hear
a Think Tim instrumental and your head nods before
your brain even catches up. That's ancestral
design. That's rhythm in the DNA. That's what
this whole brand is about. Why make music? Dot
dot dot isn't just a podcast. It's not just a
tagline. It's not just merch, though the merch
is dope. And yes, I'm talking about that gear
you can cop right now at tpublic .com, thinktim,
and thinktim .threadless .com. It's a reminder.
It's a declaration. It's an invitation to tell
your story. Because in the end, that's all sampling
really is. Storytelling. Through frequencies.
Through feeling. Through fragments. And we take
those fragments. And we make them whole again.
And let's be real sometimes. The fragments are
all we have. A dusty record your uncle left behind.
A sample pack you downloaded at 2am. A voice
memo you forgot about, but suddenly hits just
right. It don't take much to spark a flame. Producers
know this better than most. We live for that
flicker. That sound that makes you sit up straight.
That one second of magic in a five minute track.
That's the pulse. That's the inspiration. And
that's what makes the work sacred. Because this
ain't just music. It's ministry. Sampling is
ceremony. Beat making is ritual. Mixing is meditation.
That's what Think Tim does every time he steps
into his creative space. He's not just sequencing
sounds. He's communing with spirit. Every album
he drops. That's altar work. You can hear it
in the swing of the drums. You can feel it in
the chord progressions. You can sense it in the
silence between bars. This isn't production.
This is prayer. And if you've ever been in that
zone. Where the beat makes itself and the melody
pours through you like water. You know what I'm
talking about. That's when you're not just making
music. You're remembering it. You're tuning in
to something older than you. Wiser than you.
More alive than you expected. That's the moment
where art meets ancestry. And for a few seconds,
you're not just you. You're everybody that ever
came before. That's what I mean when I say, why
make music, dot dot dot. Because it brings us
home. And I know, home doesn't always feel like
a place. Sometimes it's a frequency. Sometimes
it's a drum pattern. A chord that opens your
chest. A melody that makes you cry and don't
even know why. That's what music does. It bypasses
logic. It speaks in the language of feeling.
And when we sample, we speak in dialect. We sample
because we want to hold onto something we weren't
ready to let go of. We sample because it reminds
us of what's true. We sample because sometimes
the past says it better than we ever could. That's
not copying. That's communion. And if you've
been listening to this podcast or anything from
Think Tim, you already know that's the mission.
He's not chasing clout. He's not following trends.
He's building something timeless. You feel it
in his drums. You see it in his structure. You
hear it in the silence he allows. That's an artist
who trusts the space. And when you trust the
space, you allow the spirit to show up. You don't
force the beat. You follow it. You don't fight
the sample. You finesse it. And that's what separates
a loop from a legacy. Think Tim is building legacy.
That's why it's more than music. That's why the
brand matters. That's why this podcast is different.
Why make music? Isn't asking a question. It's
answering one. It's saying, we're here. We're
creating. We're remembering. We're imagining.
And if you've got something to say, then it's
time to sample your story. Sample your tears.
Sample your triumphs. Sample your dreams. Because
someone out there needs that sound. Needs your
truth. Needs your memory turned into melody.
Why make music? Not to follow rules, but to rewrite
them. Not to replicate, but to reimagine. Now
let's talk about the 1980s, where technology
met culture and changed everything. Enter the
Fairlight CMI, the emulator, the SP -1200. These
weren't just machines. These were magic boxes.
Gateways to sonic alchemy. You fed them vinyl.
You gave them fragments. And what you got back?
Whole new worlds. Producers became composers.
DJs became architects. People who had never touched
a traditional instrument were now scoring the
soundtracks to our lives. And again, this wasn't
theft. This wasn't cheating. This was innovation.
This was survival. Because see, when you come
from a place where they don't give you orchestras,
you turn your record player into a string section.
When they don't give you synths, you flip a snare
and pitch it up till it sings. Sampling is how
we took what we had and made it beautiful. And
look, I'm not here to romanticize the struggle.
But let's not ignore the brilliance that came
out of it either. I think about the first time
I heard Public Enemy. The bomb squad was layering
samples like it was jazz. Horn snaps. Screams.
Sirens. Malcolm X speeches. Funk hits. You didn't
just listen, you got hit in the chest. It was
chaotic. It was radical. It was black. And it
was brilliant. Sampling was language. Protest.
Power. And to this day, that spirit lives in
every track that dares to remix reality. That's
the energy Think Tim channels in every instrumental.
You feel me? This ain't background music. This
is coded communication. Go streamed emotional.
Quote feelings. Go play nomenclature. Verbal
scales. Go experience those instrumentals. Each
one is a diary. A document. A declaration. Because
think to him isn't just making beats. He's building
memory. Why make music? Dot dot dot. And just
like that, we've come to the end of another rhythm.
Another reflection. Another reminder of why we
do what we do. You've been listening to Why Make
Music? Dot dot dot. And I've been your host,
DJ Warm Cookies. But now that we're family. Just
call me Willa Mae. I want to thank you, yes,
you, for riding with us today. Whether you were
walking, working, vibing, or just taking a moment
to breathe, I hope this episode gave you something
to feel. Now don't forget, every groove you heard
playing underneath this monologue, that was crafted
by the man himself, Think Tim. That's T -H -I
-N -K -T -I -M -M. Artist. Architect. Archivist
of sound. The soul behind the silence. Give that
man his flowers, and stream everything he's ever
touched. And if you love what we're building
here, this movement, this mantra, tap in. Follow
the journey website. merch, tpublic .com slash
thinktim, plus thinktim .threadless .com, and
stream the music on Spotify, Apple Music, YouTube,
Tidal, Amazon Music, wherever vibrations live.
As for me, well, let's just say, this might not
be the last time you hear my voice on this podcast.
They might be keeping a mic wall for DJ warm
cookies after all. Until next time, keep your
spirit in tune, your sample packs loaded, and
your heart on beat. Why make music? Because the
groove never lies. Peace, love, and resonance.
Willa Mae out.