Most 8-year-olds say they want to be an athlete or a firefighter or a doctor. Not Lizzy “Ultrasonic” Newell. On career day at elementary school, Newell declared they wanted to be a professional beatboxer.
Drawn to the vocal percussionists they heard in their mother’s music collection, Newell began mimicking drum sounds at age 7. Three years later, in 2017, they became the youngest person to compete against about 100 others in the American Beatbox Championships. Throughout childhood, Newell would regularly enter competitions and perform with choirs as a beatboxer, continuing to hone their craft, in which the performer mimics the sounds of drums, turntables, and any number of instruments using nothing but their mouth, lips, tongue, and throat.
Last fall, Newell became a member of a trailblazing program as a first-year student in Peabody’s Bachelor of Music in Hip Hop, the first such conservatory program in the world offering degrees in beatboxing, rap, turntablism, and production. The five members of the freshman class are refining their craft under the guidance of Peabody Associate Professor Wendel Patrick, a multihyphenate globetrotting producer, turntablist, beatboxer, music historian, and classically trained pianist who designed and leads the program alongside three hip-hop phenoms he tapped to join the faculty.
“I’m going to have both the opportunities of a performer with my main instrument, beatboxing, but also have several opportunities as a producer,” Newell says. “I’m also surrounded by the best of the best. This is a dream come true.”
Wendel Patrick and Kamaria Hall discuss an album in the studio classroom.
Patrick designed the program as a performance degree with four specialties: rap, beatboxing, turntables, and production. Students audition in their specialty and take the full suite of Peabody classes required in music performance bachelor’s programs, from music theory to ear training to keyboard studies and ensembles. A Hip Hop Ensemble, which attracts students from a mix of majors, predates the bachelor’s program.
But what makes the program unique is the opportunity for students to dive deep into the facets that make hip-hop a world unto itself. “There are things that happen sonically in hip-hop that don’t typically or traditionally happen in other places,” Patrick says. “And I think it’s important to have classes that are dedicated specifically to those things.”
Wendel Patrick and Kamaria Hall discuss an album in the studio classroom.
Patrick designed the program as a performance degree with four specialties: rap, beatboxing, turntables, and production. Students audition in their specialty and take the full suite of Peabody classes required in music performance bachelor’s programs, from music theory to ear training to keyboard studies and ensembles. A Hip Hop Ensemble, which attracts students from a mix of majors, predates the bachelor’s program.
But what makes the program unique is the opportunity for students to dive deep into the facets that make hip-hop a world unto itself. “There are things that happen sonically in hip-hop that don’t typically or traditionally happen in other places,” Patrick says. “And I think it’s important to have classes that are dedicated specifically to those things.”
Outside of their music theory, ear training, keyboard, and other general music classes, hip-hop majors take hip-hop ear training and hip-hop theory, just as a jazz student would take jazz theory. There’s also a class in the art of sampling, which is a foundation of hip-hop that involves incorporating snippets of other recordings—from a single horn blast to a drum beat to full measures of a song—often recontextualized through sound manipulation.
What happens in a class like hip-hop ear training? Patrick points to MC Lyte’s 1988 track “Paper Thin,” where the kick drum, a sample from Al Green’s “I’m Glad You’re Mine,” contains the ringing overtone of a tom drum struck before the beginning of the sample. The average listener wouldn’t hear that, but ear training can teach students to pick out the production behind a sample—whether something is pitched up or down from the original recording, for example—and then learn to replicate it.
“If you’re trying to produce something now using virtual instruments, but you want it to sound like a sampled soul record from 1971, well, those records were recorded, often in a studio, often to analog tape through an analog mixer,” Patrick explains. “There’s a certain sonic profile you hear, and to be able to replicate that within a digital audio workstation, you have to be able to recognize the quality and then figure out a way to reproduce it.”
Learning From Each Other
Peabody’s first cohort of Hip Hop students includes three producers: Fabian Waters, Walter Lu, and Keira Motley; beatboxer Newell; and rapper Kamaria Hall, a.k.a. Miss Kam, a 29-year-old Baltimore native who had already made a name in the local hip-hop scene and beyond prior to coming to Peabody.
Each student brings their own artistic aesthetic, approaching hip-hop from a diversity of musical backgrounds. “The classes are great for giving us the space to work off each other,” Waters says. “Everybody’s very different in their styles, especially with the three producers. We all make pretty different stuff, and we not only learn from Wendel, but we learn from each other.”
A New Jersey native, Waters found his love of hip-hop while skateboarding around town during the covid-19pandemic, drawn in by its emotional, melodic elements and sampling. He creates R&B-influenced music that has led to some dorm-room collaborations—if he needs an original recording of a horn, he just goes down the hall and gets a fellow student.
Fellow production student Lu grew up in Shanghai, China, playing classical piano and French horn. Riding the bus to middle school, he first heard hip-hop listening to his mother’s music on his iPod Nano and on the radio. He released his first album in ninth grade. He is part owner of a record store in Hangzhou, a city southwest of Shanghai, and a record label that represents a number of artists who tour around Asia. Earlier this year, Lu and a lyricist released an album, I Thought They Might Kill Me, with Lu under his producer name Eggman. His music falls more into the alternative/experimental arm of hip-hop.
Hall, who has a sizeable social media following and discography, found her love of rapping while a student at Baltimore’s Western High School, where she would get into cyphers—informal, improvised collaborative gatherings in which rappers, beatboxers, and breakdancers switch off showcasing their skills in a circle. She would put on instrumental tracks in friends’ cars and at parties and freestyle over them—eventually her friends told her she should try it out in a studio. That was 2017, and she began performing in 2018.
Once in the studio, she says, “I was like ‘OK, I think I can do this, not just as a hobby, but as something I can really take seriously.’ I always loved music. It feels comfortable. I don’t feel like I have to hold back.”
Keira Motley performing during a class session.
Lizzy Newell, left, and Fabian Waters perform in December.
Keira Motley performing during a class session.
Each student brings their own artistic aesthetic, approaching hip-hop from a diversity of musical backgrounds. “The classes are great for giving us the space to work off each other,” Waters says. “Everybody’s very different in their styles, especially with the three producers. We all make pretty different stuff, and we not only learn from Wendel, but we learn from each other.”
A New Jersey native, Waters found his love of hip-hop while skateboarding around town during the covid-19pandemic, drawn in by its emotional, melodic elements and sampling. He creates R&B-influenced music that has led to some dorm-room collaborations—if he needs an original recording of a horn, he just goes down the hall and gets a fellow student.
Fellow production student Lu grew up in Shanghai, China, playing classical piano and French horn. Riding the bus to middle school, he first heard hip-hop listening to his mother’s music on his iPod Nano and on the radio. He released his first album in ninth grade. He is part owner of a record store in Hangzhou, a city southwest of Shanghai, and a record label that represents a number of artists who tour around Asia. Earlier this year, Lu and a lyricist released an album, I Thought They Might Kill Me, with Lu under his producer name Eggman. His music falls more into the alternative/experimental arm of hip-hop.
Hall, who has a sizeable social media following and discography, found her love of rapping while a student at Baltimore’s Western High School, where she would get into cyphers—informal, improvised collaborative gatherings in which rappers, beatboxers, and breakdancers switch off showcasing their skills in a circle. She would put on instrumental tracks in friends’ cars and at parties and freestyle over them—eventually her friends told her she should try it out in a studio. That was 2017, and she began performing in 2018.
Once in the studio, she says, “I was like ‘OK, I think I can do this, not just as a hobby, but as something I can really take seriously.’ I always loved music. It feels comfortable. I don’t feel like I have to hold back.”
Lizzy Newell, left, and Fabian Waters perform in December.
Hall proudly wears her Peabody hoodie that says HIP HOP in large letters across the front, and it serves as a conversation-starter with excited students in other programs. Like Waters, she has called on a Peabody instrumental student to contribute to her recordings.
The students’ diversity of styles and pathways underscores that hip-hop can be accessed through any number of entry points. “There has never been a mass linear path,” Patrick says. “And I think that is absolutely true in the students that we have as freshmen. They’ve all developed and honed their skills in different ways, and that leads to amazing conversations between all of them and us on the faculty.”
Patrick handpicked three faculty artists he knows and admires. They include pioneering turntablist DJ Babu; Grammy Award–winning rapper, songwriter, and producer Lupe Fiasco; and beatboxer Max Bent, all of whom have been involved in hip-hop education prior to joining the Peabody faculty.
“I think all the right people are involved,” says Aahan Jain, a senior Computer Music major who has worked closely with Patrick and serves as a mentor to the Hip Hop freshman class. “These are all people who are doing the thing that they do at the highest level.”
Refining Their Craft
Now just two semesters into the program, students say their creative process has already been fine-tuned. Newell has a new, rigid practice routine. Working with Bent and Patrick, they are really digging into the subtleties that can elevate beatboxing—new warm-ups, trying new techniques in slow tempos before speeding them up, and finding ways to notate sounds (beatboxing, unlike Western instruments, has no standard notation).
Wendel Patrick, center, working with Walter Lu and Lizzy Newell.
“One of the true meanings of hip-hop is to be able to spread the word that you have inside of you and tell your story."
“I’m constantly thinking about tempo, key, intonation. I’m constantly thinking, ‘What is my body doing? What is my breath doing? Am I doing an inward or outward [sound]? Can I recognize when a sound doesn’t sound quite right?’” Newell says. “It’s all about control and just being in tune with what your body and what the music demands that day.”
Hall is similarly refining her skills. She says Fiasco really pushes her with assignments, and encouraged her to buy her own microphone to do home recordings. Now, when she has an idea for a verse, she can get it down immediately, rather than wait to go to the studio.
“In the class with Lupe, he was talking about how air moves through your body,” she says, “and how you can rap fast, how you can rap slow, and how jazz elements pop out in hip-hop, how disco elements pop out in hip-hop.”
Waters says his theory and keyboard studies have enhanced his melodies, and Patrick and his peers have helped him with overall song structure and mixing, with tactics that help make the drums pop out more, for example.
Lu says he’s been eager to learn more about Patrick and his production process, and in turn, his professor has shown him how to look at his own work with a critical eye. “He tries to deconstruct my production philosophy,” Lu says. “[He helps you] listen to your work and analyze it, see what could be better.”
Wendel Patrick, center, working with Walter Lu and Lizzy Newell.
Refining Their Craft
Now just two semesters into the program, students say their creative process has already been fine-tuned. Newell has a new, rigid practice routine. Working with Bent and Patrick, they are really digging into the subtleties that can elevate beatboxing—new warm-ups, trying new techniques in slow tempos before speeding them up, and finding ways to notate sounds (beatboxing, unlike Western instruments, has no standard notation).
“I’m constantly thinking about tempo, key, intonation. I’m constantly thinking, ‘What is my body doing? What is my breath doing? Am I doing an inward or outward [sound]? Can I recognize when a sound doesn’t sound quite right?’” Newell says. “It’s all about control and just being in tune with what your body and what the music demands that day.”
Hall is similarly refining her skills. She says Fiasco really pushes her with assignments, and encouraged her to buy her own microphone to do home recordings. Now, when she has an idea for a verse, she can get it down immediately, rather than wait to go to the studio.
“In the class with Lupe, he was talking about how air moves through your body,” she says, “and how you can rap fast, how you can rap slow, and how jazz elements pop out in hip-hop, how disco elements pop out in hip-hop.”
Waters says his theory and keyboard studies have enhanced his melodies, and Patrick and his peers have helped him with overall song structure and mixing, with tactics that help make the drums pop out more, for example.
Lu says he’s been eager to learn more about Patrick and his production process, and in turn, his professor has shown him how to look at his own work with a critical eye. “He tries to deconstruct my production philosophy,” Lu says. “[He helps you] listen to your work and analyze it, see what could be better.”
Jordan Gaines, a senior Computer Music student who, like Jain, was taken under Patrick’s wing and mentors the freshman Hip Hop class, credits Patrick with helping her come out of her shell and blossom artistically. A producer, Gaines composes music for live ensembles.
“My whole approach to performance has shifted because the idea that you have to fit within a specific mold was abolished, and [I learned] to convey the thoughts in my head, what I’m feeling in my heart,” she says. “One of the true meanings of hip-hop is to be able to spread the word that you have inside of you and tell your story.”
As Hall sums it up: “I feel the genius brewing, but I can see it in everybody else too.” Since starting in the program, she says, “It’s like our brains are working differently, we’re asking different questions. I can definitely see the difference in myself and my classmates. Everybody’s more focused and more structured.”
‘This Is Real’
About a decade ago, flautist Louna Dekker-Vargas first asked her Peabody music theory professor, Vid Smooke, why Peabody didn’t have any hip-hop classes. That prompted Smooke to reach out to Patrick to see if he would be interested in teaching a hip-hop class, which he was, leading Smooke to apply for a grant. That grant would bring Patrick to the institution in fall 2016 to teach Hip Hop Music Production: History and Practice, a class on the genre’s history taught through the lens of production.
Later, an upper-level class was added, both of which are still offered. Then Patrick started teaching hip-hop production at Johns Hopkins University’s Homewood campus, which grew from two to four sections, always with a long waiting list. Peabody also began offering a Hip Hop Ensemble, which still gets 20 to 25 students per semester and fosters collaborations not only between Hip Hop students, but across the Conservatory as Jazz and classical music students also play in the group.
With all of these offerings, the possibility of adding a hip-hop degree materialized, and who better to design the program than the musician who brought hip-hop to Peabody?
‘This Is Real’
About a decade ago, flautist Louna Dekker-Vargas first asked her Peabody music theory professor, Vid Smooke, why Peabody didn’t have any hip-hop classes. That prompted Smooke to reach out to Patrick to see if he would be interested in teaching a hip-hop class, which he was, leading Smooke to apply for a grant. That grant would bring Patrick to the institution in fall 2016 to teach Hip Hop Music Production: History and Practice, a class on the genre’s history taught through the lens of production.
Later, an upper-level class was added, both of which are still offered. Then Patrick started teaching hip-hop production at Johns Hopkins University’s Homewood campus, which grew from two to four sections, always with a long waiting list. Peabody also began offering a Hip Hop Ensemble, which still gets 20 to 25 students per semester and fosters collaborations not only between Hip Hop students, but across the Conservatory as Jazz and classical music students also play in the group.
With all of these offerings, the possibility of adding a hip-hop degree materialized, and who better to design the program than the musician who brought hip-hop to Peabody?
For Patrick, to be leading this program in Baltimore, a city he has called home for three decades, with the support of Peabody and the community, is a dream come true. “I wake up most days still thinking, ‘Is this real?’ as a question, followed by, ‘This is real.’ It’s one of the things that we all dream about, to work at something that is fulfilling and meaningful and means a lot to other people and to the community of which you’re a part,” he says.
As for the future of the program? Patrick says, “This is very much just the beginning.”