Welcome back to the Deep Dive. Today we are putting
on our musical archaeologist hats. We're going
digging. Digging is definitely the right word.
Yeah. Because usually when we talk about music
history, we look at the skyscrapers. Yeah. The
massive, undeniable pillars. We talk about the
explosion of Saturday Night Fever and disco in
the late 70s. Then we, you know, fast forward
and talk about Run DMC and the golden age of
hip hop. It's like we just skip a whole chapter.
We assume one just died and the other was born
from the ashes, like instantly. Exactly. history
doesn't work like a light switch. There's a dusk
and a dawn. There's this fascinating, murky,
incredibly creative gray area in the middle.
The hidden bridge. The hidden bridge. And to
walk across that bridge, we aren't going to do
some dry lecture on, you know, the socioeconomics
of 1980s New York. We're going to look at one
guy, one song, and one very specific moment in
1981. We're talking about the track Catch the
Beat by Teesky Valley. I love this track. But
I have to admit, Until we started pulling these
sources, the chart data from Cashbox, the archives
from Record Mirror, I didn't realize just how
pivotal this song was. Well, it's essentially
the DNA of what historians call the post -Disco
Bronx era of rap. It's the Rosetta Stone for
that specific time. It is. It connects two worlds
that really weren't supposed to fit together.
And the craziest part. The guy who built this
bridge wasn't some mogul or a big celebrity.
He was a stock boy. Just a guy moving boxes.
So our mission today is to figure out how a stock
boy named Tyrone went from the back of a store
to the top of the charts and why this one track
is the perfect time capsule of 1981. Let's get
into it. All right, so set the scene for us.
It's 1981, the Bronx. Who is Tyrone before he
becomes Teesky Valley? Well, at this point, he's
literally just Tyrone. He's working at a record
store run by a guy named Brad Osborne. And this
isn't, you know, some generic retail gig at the
mall. This is a neighborhood hub. And Osborne
gives him a very specific job, right? He's not
just dusting shelves. No. And this is where you
see the first real spark of genius. Osborne tasks
Tyrone with setting up a, quote, breakbeat section
at the back of the shop. Wait, pause right there.
A breakbeat section in 1981. Yeah. Was that even
a common thing? Yeah. Because I feel like breakbeats.
as a genre you could buy, didn't really exist
on retail shelves yet. That's a great catch.
It was incredibly forward -thinking. You have
to remember, hip -hop was still very much a live
thing. DJs in parks, block parties. Right. But
Osbourne realized these DJs were coming in and
hunting for very specific records. Old funk,
rock, soul. just to get that five -second drum
break. So instead of making the DJs dig through
the whole rock section for one Billy Squire record,
Tyrone was basically curating the ingredients.
Precisely. Tyrone was doing market research without
even knowing it. He's organizing the raw materials
of hip hop. He's handling the vinyl, talking
to the DJs, seeing what makes the floor move.
He's soaking it all in just by supplying it.
Exactly. So he's surrounded by the music. He's
got the ear. And eventually, looking at all these
records, he decides, hey, I can do this. He wants
to go from the guy selling the bricks to the
guy building the house. Yes. And that leads to
the pivotal moment, the ask. I always wonder
about the confidence it takes for that, to walk
up to your boss, Brad Osborne, and say, what?
He basically just asks, can I record some hip
-hop songs? Okay, be cynical for a second. Brad
Osborne is a businessman. He's running a store.
Why didn't he just say, kid, get back to work?
Why take that risk? That's the million -dollar
question. I think Osborne saw two things. One,
he saw the hunger in Tyrone. But two, Osborne
was already releasing music on his own labels.
He was an entrepreneur. He probably saw that
this breakbeat section was the busiest part of
his entire store. So he knew there was a market
there. He knew the demand was real. But he didn't
just give Tyrone a pat on the back and a cassette
recorder. This is where the story takes a sharp
left turn from your typical garage rapper origin
story. He booked professional studio time. And
we're not talking about some budget studio in
a basement. He sent him to Blank Tape Studios.
Okay, for all the gearheads and audiophiles listening,
why does Blank Tape Studios matter? The name
sounds so unassuming. It sounds generic I know
but the place was legendary. It was run by Bob
Blank. This was the studio of choice for the
absolute disco elite. We're talking heavy hitters.
Like who? Groups like Music recorded there. The
Sol Sol Orchestra recorded there. The Sol Sol
Orchestra. Seriously. I mean, that's the absolute
pinnacle of like lush, expensive, high production
disco, full string sections, horns, polished
engineering. Exactly. So just imagine the atmosphere.
You have this studio that is calibrated for the
cleanest, most vibrant sound money can buy. Top
tier everything. And in walks Tyrone, the stock
boy, to record a rap track. That contrast is
just wild. Usually early hip hop has that grit.
You know, it sounds raw, maybe a little muffled
because it's made on a four track or something.
Right. And that's why Catch the Beat hits you
differently, especially with headphones. It has
that studio sheen. It sounds expensive. Osbourne
brought the whole infrastructure of disco and
just applied it to this new street sound. He
did. So you have Brad Osbourne producing. You
have Tyrone on the mic. But digging into the
credits, there's a third person, right? A kind
of mystery man. Yes, uncredited on the label,
but crucial to the whole vibe. Glenn Adams. Glenn
Adams. And now why do I know that name? If you're
a reggae fan, you definitely know him. He was
a keyboardist for the Upsetters' Lee Scratch
Perry's house band. No way! So you have a Bronx
stock boy, a record store owner, and a legendary
reggae keyboardist all in a high -end disco studio.
It's the ultimate New York melting pot. And Adams
brought that Caribbean feel, that sense of rhythm
and space. But the real anchor of the song, the
thing that makes you move the second it starts,
is the sample. You have to talk about the sample.
Because Catch the Beat is the beat. It's built
on the instrumental of Heartbeat by Tana Gartner.
Which was a monster club track in its own right.
A huge hit. It was. But here's the critical distinction.
Most disco at the time think Born to Be Alive
or something was fast. It was 120 beats per minute
or higher. It was frantic. Heartbeat is slow.
It's around 98 to 100 BPM. It's a strut. It's
not a sprint. Exactly. It's funky. It breathes.
And for a rapper, that tempo is a luxury. How
so? Well, when a beat is 120 BPM, you almost
have to shout to keep up. You have to be percussive
with your words. But at 100 BPM, you can slide
into the pocket. You can be conversational. You
can have swagger. That makes total sense. T -Ski
Valley doesn't sound like he's panicking on the
track. He sounds cool. He sounds like he's just
leaning against a wall talking to you. That's
the post -disco sound. It took the instruments
of disco, the bass lines, the hand claps, but
slowed it all down to a hip -hop pace. It's the
Trojan horse approach. How do you mean? Come
for the familiar disco beat. Stay for the brand
new rap flow. That is perfectly put. So they
wrap up a blank tape. They press the record on
Grand Groove Records. Catalog GG 7701. Does the
world notice? Or does it just sit in the boxes
Tyrone used to pack? It definitely did not sit
in the boxes. It became what we'd call a bona
fide underground phenomenon. Okay, define underground
here. Because sometimes that's just code for
it sold five copies to his friends. Not in this
case. Underground means it wasn't being played
on the pop radio stations next to Rick Springfield.
But in the ecosystem that mattered, the clubs,
the block parties, the urban centers, it was
absolutely inescapable. We have some quotes from
the time. Stuart Baker, writing in Hot Stuff
magazine, called it a groundbreaking rap song.
Groundbreaking, that's a heavy word for a debut
track. And he wasn't alone. Critics started putting
it up against the brakes. Which is basically
the gold standard. If you're getting compared
to Curtis Blow in 1981, you have definitely made
it. For sure. Piccadilly Records even described
it as capturing that specific post -Disco Bronx
era of rap. It's so interesting that even then
people knew this was a specific era. They knew
the sound was shifting in real time. Exactly.
Let's look at the numbers, though. You mentioned
Cashbox earlier. Why look at Cashbox instead
of just, say, the Billboard Hot 100? Well, Cashbox
was often more granular for these specific genres.
They tracked jukebox play and local independent
sales way more aggressively than the majors did.
Okay, so what did they say? In the August 31,
1981 issue, Cashbox listed Catch the Beat. in
the East Coast Dance Music Top Ten. Top Ten.
So by the end of that summer, it's one of the
biggest tracks in New York. And it stayed there.
Record World reported in December, that's four
months later, that it was still selling well
in the New York area. That kind of longevity
is rare for dance music. Usually it's churn and
burn, a new track every week. Why do you think
this one stuck around? I think it goes back to
that production quality we talked about. It wasn't
just a novelty record. It was a great piece of
music. You could play it at 10 p .m. to start
the party or at 2 a .m. to keep the vibe going.
It had utility. It's funny. We often judge success
now by, like, did it go platinum? But for an
independent label in 1981, a record selling consistently
for five months in the tri -state area. That's
a massive financial win. Huge. It completely
validated Brad Osborne's gamble. The stock boy
could actually move units. But the story doesn't
end in 1981. And it doesn't stay in the Bronx.
This is the part that really surprised me. The
second life of Teesky Valley. The European vacation,
so to speak. Right. We jump forward to 1984.
Three years later, in music years, that is an
eternity. Why does this song pop up again? Well,
the UK was having its own hip hop awakening,
but on a delayed timeline. By 84, electro and
breakdancing were just exploding in London. So
a new version was released, Catch the Beat, Scratch
the Beat, on the Master Mix and BMC labels. Scratch
the Beat, of course. They had to add that turntable
element to make it sound current for 84. Exactly.
And the British audience devoured it. It spent
10 weeks on the Record Mirror disco chart. 10
weeks. 10 weeks. peaking at number 33. It even
came back later on the Disco Top 85 chart. It
was a zombie record that just would not die.
Every time a new wave of kids discovered hip
-hop, they discovered Kiski Valley. And that
brings us to the modern era. Because the ultimate
sign of respect in hip -hop is getting sampled,
right? You borrow from the best. The DNA test.
How many times has Catch the Beat been sampled?
Documented. At least 82 times. 82. Wow. And that's
across all kinds of genres. But the most high
profile example has to be the Black Eyed Peas
connection. Break that down for us. Will .i .am
sampled Catch the Beat for his song Over, which
is on his solo album Songs About Girls. So you
have a direct sonic line from a record store
backroom in the Bronx to a global pop superstar
in the 2000s. And Will .i .am is a student of
the game. He didn't kick that sample by accident.
He picked it because that groove, that... Heartbeat
bass line with Kiski's flow is timeless. It just
works. There was also a remix in 2002 that I
think is worth mentioning with Dimitri from Paris.
Yes. On the Peppermint Jam label. Now, Dimitri
from Paris is a master of the re -edit. He takes
these old disco tracks and just tightens them
up. He doesn't ruin them. He just polishes the
silver. So what did he do to catch the beat?
He and Moose T gave it what Billboard called
an old school contemporary feel. They cleaned
up the low end, punched up the drums for modern
club systems, but kept the soul of it completely
intact. And Billboard liked it. They loved it.
The beatbox column called it cleverly reworked.
And that's the trick, isn't it? To rework something
without losing the ghost in the machine. It really
just reinforces this idea of the bridge. The
song started as a bridge between disco and rap.
Yeah. Then the remix became a bridge between
the analog 80s and the digital 2000s. It's a
unifier. So let's zoom out. We've looked at the
chart data, the studio specs. We've tracked the
samples. What's the big takeaway? Why does Tisky
Valley matter today? I think Teesky Valley represents
the power of that transitional moment. We always
try to categorize history into these neat little
boxes. This is the disco box. This is the rap
box. But catch the beat. proves that the most
interesting art happens when the boxes spill
over into each other. It was a laboratory. It
was. And it validated the idea that hip -hop
didn't have to sound gritty or lo -fi to be authentic.
It could be polished. It could be melodic. It
could be recorded in the same room as an orchestra.
It broadened the whole palette. Exactly. It gave
permission for rap to be musical in that traditional
sense. I keep going back to Tyrone and that record
store. I'm just thinking about the hidden talent
aspect of all this. The human element. Yeah.
I mean, think about it. about it you have this
guy stocking shelves he has this vision for a
breakbeat section he has the flow but he's just
there part of the scenery until he's not it's
a reminder that talent is distributed equally
but opportunity is not but also that opportunity
can be created he asked can i record that's a
scary question to ask your boss and credit to
brad osborne for saying yes History turns on
those yes moments. If Osborne says, no, get back
to work, we probably aren't talking about this.
That bridge might never have been built. And
that's the thought I want to leave all of you
with today. We walk past people every day, baristas,
bus drivers, stock boys, interns. We see the
function they perform for us. We don't see the
symphony playing in their head. Somewhere right
now, the next genre -defining artist is probably
scanning groceries or answering a customer support
email. Just waiting for the moment to ask the
question. or waiting for someone to give them
the keys to the studio. It makes you look at
the world a little differently. It sure does.
Teesky Valley. Catch the beat. Go listen to it.
Listen to that tempo. Listen to the confidence.
And remember where it all came from. From the
back of the store to the history books. Thanks
for diving in with us. We'll see you on the next
one. Goodbye, everyone.