THE Verse Alkemist Perspective on Country Drip (City Flex)

To build a sonic legacy that liberates and inspires. I want to create a catalog that people come back to not just for the vibe—but for healing, clarity, and elevation. I’m not just here to be heard. I’m here to leave blueprints for others to rise from.

Yeah—transformation. Every time I create, I’m turning something internal into something eternal. If I can turn pain into poetry, silence into sound, isolation into resonance… then I’m doing more than music. I’m alchemizing the human experience.

The process is the product. The moments when no one’s watching—those shape the magic people eventually see. And trying to be perfect kills creativity. Authenticity always outlives perfection.

Pharrell – for his genre-defying innovation and sonic optimism.
Andre 3000 – for his fearlessness and poetic brilliance.
Travis Scott – for his world-building and immersive production style.
I respect those names because they created new lanes instead of staying in old ones.

Music, first and always—but I move with the spirit of film and architecture. Music gives the emotion, film gives the timing, and architecture gives the structure. I also feel tied to spoken word—where language and cadence become percussion.

Basquiat’s “Untitled (1981).” It’s raw, electric, and unapologetically layered. Every stroke feels urgent, like a freestyle painted in code. That’s how I approach music: leave some chaos in it, let the imperfections speak truth.

It means seeing beyond the surface—recognizing rhythm in chaos, beauty in brokenness, and possibility in limitation. An artistic outlook isn’t just a lens—it’s a lifestyle. You don’t just look at the world, you listen to it. You decode patterns, catch moods, and then reshape them into something that speaks louder than words.

At times, yeah. Being this dedicated to a vision can isolate you. But I counteract it by collaborating deeply, building community with like-minded creatives, and making sure I create from connection—not ego. The solitude fuels the art, but the people keep me grounded.

I’m big on film and architecture. That cinematic mindset taught me how to score emotion, and architecture showed me how to structure sound—build with space, contrast, and intentionality. I treat beats like buildings: every layer has a purpose.

DJ, carpet Layer, shipping and recieving, IT specialist for the U.S. Army. Every gig taught me something—whether it was attention to detail, discipline, or how to read energy in a room. It all poured back into my music.

I’d restructure royalties and backend splits to be more creator-first—especially for producers and writers who are often the silent architects behind a record. The industry thrives on innovation, but it’s built on outdated systems. It’s time to match the business to the brilliance.

I once loaded the wrong session file at a live beat showcase—played a half-finished loop with no drums in front of 200 people. Had to freestyle the moment and turn it into a live flip just to save face. It was awkward—but it taught me to always be ready to pivot and perform under pressure.

Investing everything into a project—time, money, vulnerability—and dropping it into the world not knowing if it would be received or overlooked. That free-fall feeling before the release goes live? It’s thrilling and terrifying. But that’s the edge I live on.

We’re mirrors and translators. We make sense of chaos. Artists catch the frequency of a moment and turn it into something you can feel, process, and heal from. We’re not just entertainers—we’re emotional architects and cultural historians.

“Ultralight Beam” by Kanye West. It’s genreless, spiritual, bold, and emotionally massive. It felt like a prayer and a revolution all in one. That’s the kind of risk and reward I equate with artistic success.

By refusing the genre box entirely. I blend disciplines—beat-making, sound design, lyricism, and visual storytelling—into one cohesive experience. I want to set a new standard for multi-hyphenate artistry. Not just creating sound, but engineering emotion and intention.

Success is resonance. It’s when a record you made in solitude finds a home in someone else’s life. I measure it in connection—how many people felt it, shared it, or shifted because of it. Streams are nice. Syncs are great. But soul impact? That’s eternal.

A fan DM’d me saying one of my songs helped them grieve someone they couldn’t say goodbye to. Said the beat carried their pain and the lyrics gave it a name. That hit different. That’s when I knew I was doing more than just making tracks—I was building bridges for people’s emotions.

In a dream. No lie—I woke up humming a melody I’d never heard before. Had to record a voice note half-asleep. Later I turned it into a hook. Sometimes your subconscious is the best record store.

Visionary. Soulful. Uncompromising.

Live sessions and cinematic visual drops. There's something magical about pairing sonics with story—letting the music unfold with an atmosphere, a moment, a vibe. IG carousels and TikTok’s cool, but when I can control the world-building? That’s when it hits right.

Seen. Shifted. Elevated.
Whether it’s pain or joy, I want them to walk away feeling like the music met them exactly where they were—and moved them somewhere deeper.

James Blake. His use of space and emotion is otherworldly, and I’d love to blend that with my rhythmic instincts and lyricism. We’d make something futuristic and spiritual—like a prayer over 808s.

Absolutely. Early on, I was obsessed with quantity—making 3 beats a day, writing verses just to flex. Now I focus on depth—mixing with intention, designing every element of the song. I spend more time listening, studying silence, and pushing each sound until it feels inevitable. Less “grind,” more refinement.

In a dream. No lie—I woke up humming a melody I’d never heard before. Had to record a voice note half-asleep. Later I turned it into a hook. Sometimes your subconscious is the best record store.

D’Angelo – for the soul, the nuance, the pocket.
JAY-Z – for the timeless game and surgical pen.
Flying Lotus – for the textures, the experimentation, the freedom.
That trio alone is enough to study music for a lifetime.

Probably “Ashes to Aura.” It started as a late-night freestyle and turned into a full-blown sonic metamorphosis. It’s got haunting chords, hypnotic drums, and lyrics that feel like a rebirth ritual. It’s my most honest piece—and the one where I feel like I fully disappeared into the music.

Prince. No debate. He was a vortex of raw musicality, presence, and precision. Seeing him live would be like stepping into another dimension—one where every note, move, and silence means something. That’s the kind of command I aim to channel in my own performances.

Imagine if a poet had an MPC and synesthesia. It’s music that moves the mind, body, and soul. Lush soundscapes layered with emotion. From boom-bap to futuristic soul, everything is designed to elevate the listener’s frequency. If you’re into sound that hits hard and thinks deeper, welcome home.

Take J Dilla—his music feels like a dream memory. Off-grid, soulful, human. Like time bending through drum patterns. It’s not just beats, it’s emotion in loop form. That’s the kind of depth I resonate with.

I’d tour with André 3000 or Tyler, The Creator. Both are fearless, theatrical, and spiritually dialed-in while still pushing the sonic envelope. I could match their energy on stage but also bring a contrasting vibe that enhances the show’s dynamic.

Alchemy, transformation, resilience, and the tension between chaos and control. I build songs that deal with internal conflict, spiritual evolution, and the pursuit of greatness. Even when I’m just vibin’, there’s always an undercurrent of purpose. Every snare, synth, or lyric is chosen with intention.

I’ve gone from making fire beats to designing sonic worlds. My transitions are smoother, my mixes are deeper, and my vocal arrangements hit harder emotionally. I stopped trying to follow what’s hot and started building what’s timeless. Less trends, more truth.

It moves through alt-hip-hop, progressive R&B, and electronic soul, but it refuses to stay in one lane. There’s a cinematic touch, a heavy groove pocket, and even moments that feel almost orchestral. It’s genre-fluid but rooted in emotion, rhythm, and elevation.

The moment I saw people react emotionally to a beat I made on a $200 setup, I knew I had something real. When someone told me my instrumental gave them chills—that’s when I shifted from just “making beats” to crafting records with purpose.

It was a Saturday morning—sun beaming through the blinds—and my pops was blasting Earth, Wind & Fire. I remember the bassline hitting my chest and the horns lighting up the whole room. That moment wasn’t just sound, it was ceremony. It made me realize music wasn’t background—it was the centerpiece.

My background is a blend of technical mastery and creative chaos. I came up under crate-diggers, drum machine heads, and MIDI magicians, but I also studied arrangement like a composer. This song reflects that duality—there’s both grit and elegance in it. It’s the sound of someone who knows both analog warmth and digital edge—and isn't afraid to fuse them.

I’m Verse Alkemist—The Beat Architect. I translate emotions into sonic architecture. Producer, songwriter, audio engineer, and creative director all in one. I don’t just make music—I build experiences. Whether I’m crafting a beat from scratch or sculpting vocals into gold, I turn raw ideas into genre-blurring, soul-shifting records.