Parkbench Studies: The Myth Of The Executive Producer

Executive producer. In the music industry, it’s difficult to balance the difference between those two terms in this day and age. Just as devout sports fans memorize the coaches, the playbooks and the management styles, 2009’s Hip Hop consumer is likely to know the names of at least a few high profile A&R names, countless executives and a manager or two. To me, the single act that opened up that space were those big bold letters underneath the tracklisting on the back cover of CD – the executive producer.

Although names like Tom Silverman, Tyrone “Fly Ty” Williams and Juggy Gayles may have meant something to the avid liner note reader in the ‘80s, it’s presumable that two – if not three of these gentlemen (Tommy Boy, Cold Chillin' and Sleeping Bag Records founders) had no interest in getting exposure. Many times, their names came lines below God, Allah, mothers, girlfriends, weed carriers and block-boys found in rapper “thank you’s.” They were extra, behind the scenes and silent partners and catalysts in making the sales and impact that made the stars.

Russell Simmons, the premier executive for the first 15 years (and arguably last 15) of commercial Hip Hop was a little bit different. Just look at casting Blair Underwood in Krush Groove to play himself as an essential part of the Def Jam story, Russell seemed to largely fall back, even when the super-evasive Rick Rubin opted to act. Though he almost never goes quiet, Simmons, to this day, dodges a lot of credit he’s due, and while he’ll talk till the cows come home, seems as though he could care less about being seen – minus those new Phat Farm campaigns, which actually sold me on the brand more than ever before. How many classic Def Jam – and a few Profile back inserts could have – but didn’t sport Simmons’ name (alright, maybe RUSH Management logos did appear)? Think now to how even a pizza-cutter mixtape seems to have no less than three executive producers, many of which couldn’t decipher mechanical royalties from mechanical pencils. Russell Simmons was the first executive that became a Rap household name, and before the Def Comedy stuff, Life & Def and all his grand-standing ventures, he seems to have never wanted the fame, only the fortune.

With the new generation of boutique labels in the early ‘90s, whereby majors supplied strong musical ears and urban-savvy businessmen with imprints, that all changed. The industry was too cutthroat and image was too important. Whether they were subversive or overt, everybody seemed to lust Simmons' fortune, and many craved fame more.

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