Friends thought my inspiration for Basement Made came from past productions we did in Dope’s Basement. Sorta. College kids presumed it was inspired at my fraternity. Hipsters jumped on when I was out in Hollywood. Nah. The basement was the place I used to both have fun and escape to as a child. More specifically, it was the blue and white basement on the rural Northside of Madison. When I say “The Basement” in this way though, I’m often thinking in a multiplicity. I might be going to a scary place in a cellar or hanging out in recrooms at friends’ houses.

I had a strong rush of flashbacks and visions running wild in my head starting in the spring of ’17. This was immediately following my shaming for writing the Wisconsin Hip Hop piece, a stupid post about my ex-girlfriend, and my release of Why Wisconsin Voted for Donald Trump: The Coastie Privilege. I get one recurring memory where I’m locked in the basement of (what appears to be) a family farm in Deerfield. This is a mix of reality and psychosis. It’s my life. Basement Made was born of a loving and tragic history, with a side of crazy.

Nagra Beats.

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