I'm exhausted from the gridlocked traffic and blistering Miami heat by the time I reach Studio-one,
but it doesn't stall my nervous, excitement. Butterflies dance in my stomach and I take a moment
to slow my breathing. Today is huge, my best friend; Noah Shebib pulled hella strings to get me a music production internship working with him. If I screw up we'll both end up looking stupid. I've
been writing songs since I was 12 and it's still my passion at 21.All I've ever wanted to do is
music. I'm finally getting my chance and already the pressure is tremendous. Noah and I haven't
seen each other in four long years, and he still gave me this chance. Our last conversation a
year ago ended in a screaming match, and refused his calls, but we were never like that, we
bonded over our love of music.
It was summer 2009 when we met. He was a new arrival on my boring little street in Toronto. Right away I was intrigued by him. At 17, I was a busybody and unapologetic nosy, I was a lonely only
child being raised by an inattentive single father. His many business ventures kept him constantly working late hours or out of the country, as usual my father was on a business trip and I was left to my own devices.
I'd watched Noah moving in across the street from me all morning. Curiosity forced me to go over and introduce myself, I just had to know this his story. He was sitting in his garage, at a massive keyboard bobbing his head to a sick beat blaring from the speakers. Immediately I started firing questions at him; who he was, his age, where he was from, did he have family, kids, a girlfriend? What made him move to my street?. I wanted to know everything.
Noah was sweet and laid back, it didn't hurt that he was cute too. He answered every one of my questions with an amused smirk on his face and never complained that I was up in
His business. I found out he was 26 years old, born and raised in Toronto and of Persian descent. His parents lived in Calgary, he had no girlfriend, and no kids "by choice" he'd said.
I told him I loved the beat that was just playing, it was catchy and smooth. He said he made that beat just yesterday and was tweaking it. He swore he was gonna be a big time producer like Timbaland, or die trying. He was excited about his music and insisted I had to hear some of it. We listened to his beats for hours, he had everything from slow sexy beats, to club bangers. He kept saying he needed the right rapper to set the beats off, just anybody wouldn't do them justice. He needed someone special.
I felt the same about my songs, My dream is to hear some r&b diva slaying a song I wrote while the whole audience sings along. I wanted to write career making songs, I wanted to be a hit maker, win Grammy, work with superstars, the whole nine.. Me and Noah started hanging out almost everyday after that.. He was the first time person to listen to my dreams and encourage me, and unlike my father, never treated me like a stupid little girl. He wanted to hear some of my writing, but I wouldn't let him. It would be months before I him hear even a piece of a song I'm so guarded with my music. Noah was focused, fearless and confident, I wanted to be just like him I would sit in his garage and watch him work, mixing and sampling, tearing apart an old record and
creating something new, it was like magic. Some nights I'd lie awake listening while his music filled the neighborhood long into the night
My father never agreed with my songwriting. When I told him I wanted to major in music in college, he hit the roof. "I'm not paying over thirty grand a year for a useless degree, you will pick a more practical major or you're on your own" What do you know about the music business? I yelled, there are plenty of successful writers; I'm just asking for a chance to try!" He wouldn't budge, " I know enough about the music business to know it's a gamble with more losers than winners, and you won't be using my money to roll the dice, I don't finance foolish endeavors.
