GREATEST: Pink Sweat$
The West Philadelphia R&B singer leaps beyond
just songwriting for others and into creating
his own musical space.
The typical origin story of a music artist details their journey from dreaming about being on stage and in the limelight to that very reality. For Philadelphia-born R&B crooner Pink Sweat$, it was quite the opposite. Raised in the church with musically-inclined parents, Pink never saw himself as being an artist despite being surrounded by them growing up. Rather, he shared his innate musical gift to others as a successful hired songwriter. It wasn’t until his own epiphany on the landscape of R&B (and music in general), and how songs were being made with the audience in mind first—not the artist’s narrative and integrity first—that Pink decided to take it upon himself to produce and perform songs that showcased more meaning behind the words being sung.
Hence Pink’s body of work, comprised of EPs and singles that offer a more stripped-back approach to R&B and pop; songs without the clutter of production that allows the lyrics to take center stage. "I want to make people feel something outside of the club," he tells GREATEST. It’s an approach that has placed Pink aside from the rest; a standout quality in Pink’s music that resonates more clearly than so much in the landscape of 2020. With his debut album Pink Planet releasing soon, we had the opportunity to hang out with Pink in his adopted home-base of Los Angeles where the artist opened up to interviewer Emily Berkey about his musical process, how he discovered himself as a musician and how he deals with ego.
Okay, we’re recording now.
I won’t say anything I wouldn’t say to my mom.
Aw man, really?
My mom’s a weird person though. I can talk to my mom about anything. She’s just cool.
Has it always been that way or is that something you’ve grown into? What allowed for that growth to happen?
My mom was a young mom. She was 18 when she had me. I think as a young parent, you feel like, “Dang. I’m young. I gotta be tough on them so they can be something and not have kids young too.” But then she grew out of that phase and realized she could teach us a lot of good things. She decided, “I’m still going to be who I am. I'm still going to make mistakes.” And she began expressing her faults to me in life.
It’s easy to forget that our parents are also humans having experiences. I read that growing up you went to church every Sunday.
There was a lot of church. Looking back, it was good because it kept me out of trouble.
You’ve credited your time in church every Sunday as what gave you the confidence in your ability to drum, sing and perform.
I liked the music aspect of church. I feel like I was always naturally musically inclined and church was a place where nobody really said anything. If you have a drumset at home, your parents are going to be freaking mad, like, “You’re playing too loud, please stop!” But I remember when I was like four or five, I hopped on the drums—I could barely touch the pedals—but I was playing to a service and everybody was like, “Oh my god!”
You really took that leap and just did it...
I guess at church that was normal. Some kids were shy, but it was really common to see anybody playing. When I was five, my dad was preaching, I would play the drums and my mom would play the organ. She didn’t know how to play, but she just figured it out, because that’s what needed to be done at the time.
It sounds like church was a safe space for you to just be creative. Where is that safe space for you now?
I feel like it’s everywhere. I always feel comfortable. In church, it was building repetition for me. I was coming in every Sunday not knowing the songs. We’d show up and somebody would be like, “Alright. This is the song we’re gonna do today.” And we’d just have fun with it. Then after church, the studio became my comfort place. Now, it’s wherever I feel comfortable.
To be a great leader,
you have to know how to follow.
I’ve signed artists; I’ve been
catered to and I’ve catered to.
At the end of the day, the more things you can do, the better.
So church was an oasis?
Yeah, when I was a kid I was super excited to go to church on Sunday because it was the only time I played drums. I never had time to practice. You get your five or 10 minutes to shine at church, so I’d try to maximize that time and get as good as I could until the next Sunday. The pressure was always on.
So the music itch started with drumming. How did you transition from drumming to being in the studio writing and recording your own songs?
Church. [It] ties into everything. I was 14 or 15 and a family friend who was older had a pseudo-studio setup. I had never really seen anything like that. He always made music and I think he randomly [asked me to join]. My mom’s a singer, but I never really grew up singing. At church I’d do choir, but nobody knew that I could sing.
Did you know you could sing? And how did this man with the studio lead to you writing?
He had a set-up and because my mom was such a great singer, everybody was like, “Yo, she’s dope!” They would say to me, “You gotta be able to sing.” I was just like, “I don’t know, maybe!” He made this beat and wanted my brother and I to sing over it. We were nervous. I would sing over it a little and he would put a ton of autotune on there and then my brother would do something. We thought it was fun and cool. I guess that was my first moment in the studio. Later, when I graduated high school, I connected back with him.
Does having the ability to empathize help you with writing music? What is your writing process like?
When I was a kid, I always enjoyed the thought of being someone else somewhere else. I’d wonder what it would be like to be homeless. I know that sounds weird, but I’d walk myself mentally through being that person. With writing, I don’t really have much of a process. I’m more like a “go head-on” kind of person. Whenever I think about something, I start singing and words come out.
Did your writing process change as you went from writing for others to writing for yourself?
A little bit. Before, I had a buffer, where it’s like as a writer you love music and write songs but your underlying point is to sell the song so you can eat that day. So I’d think, “Is this what people wanna hear?” or, “Is this what this artist would say?” But now, I don’t really buffer as much. I just like to write and I tell them they can change whatever they want. Now I’m just in a different mental space. I want to paint beautiful pictures—I don’t want to buffer that.
How do you deal with ego?
I have great friends and I’ve had enough issues in my life where I feel like I could never have that big of an ego. I always maintain my humility to a degree. I feel like at a certain level, ego is acceptable, especially being an artist because I want to feel like I’m the best at what I do, but I don’t want to make someone feel like they suck.
You were done playing it safe.
Yeah, I want to make people feel something outside of the club. That’s no diss. When I became an artist, I saw the climate as a writer. There’s tons of writers who are bored and they’re not internally satisfied. It’s like, I can continue to complain about the state of music and how I feel it’s oversaturated in this particular area–or I could put my pride aside and [keep those songs for myself] and show that people want to hear the real stuff. People don’t mind being emotional when they hear music. Most people these days have an extremely diverse palette—nobody only listens to rap.
It seems like that diversity of sound and content is deeply important to you.
Especially for culture, and being African-American and growing up where I grew up, which is not dope; it’s not a place where I would want people to go. But, I wanted to show people diversity. You got rap; you got the street stuff; you got the thoughtful shit where the rappers are trying to be deep; you got neo-soul and jazz, but I feel like in this era it’s not represented at the highest level. At the top you only see the most trendy things because they’re exciting.
Do you view that as a responsibility of yours to be that representation?
For sure. If you have a vision for something and you don’t do it, somebody else will. I had this song that I really thought was fire called “Honesty.” It’s my biggest song right now. I used to think about how crazy it would be if this song went big, or if people listened to this with no beat. As a producer and songwriter, that’s the dilemma. All of the songs are beat-driven. And, that’s dope. But imagine if everyone had to listen to what I was saying.
What is your recording process like? You tweeted about
Volume 1 saying, “I’m glad you guys liked those songs. I recorded them in bed.”
I really did.
Can you talk about that?
That was fun. I don’t think I’ve ever told this story: My manager finally convinced me to come to LA and I ended up working for this group. I would come home [after working all day] and still had ideas, so I would just write more songs. I wrote them in bed because I was tired from working on three projects at the same time. The actual recordings are from my USB mic and my 2012 laptop with mad viruses. It’s insane. People would hit me up like, “Bro, I really want to do this, but I just don’t have money for studio time.” And, I’m like, “Bro, you’re just making excuses. I made [Volume 1] in my bed.”
What was the process of creating Volume 2? Was it really created in two days?
I did that project in two days and we filmed it. I wanted to show that you have to use what you have. At the end of the day, there’s no excuse that’s going to be good enough in 10 years when you go to sleep and you’re regretting things. For me, I always think of everything as an extreme. Like, “Yo, I want these sneakers but if that means I can’t record, I won’t get them right now.
[The name] 'Pink Sweat$' came from me wearing pink sweats multiple days in the studio. [...] I was in grind mode though. I just didn’t care because at the end of the day, I knew that if you go 100% at something, there’s just no way that you can really truly fail.
PINK SWEAT$
What was that like, since that sounds like a new process for you?
It was interesting yet frustrating sometimes. Overall, I feel like I was pushed to be better. I feel like I know what people want to hear, but sometimes it’s dope to have someone say, “Push a little harder.” It was a ride. I can’t wait to share it.
Where are you at in the process of making your debut album, Pink Planet?
I just wrapped Pink Planet officially because now I’m signed to Atlantic Records. So, this was a different process. You have to turn in approvals; you have to play the songs for everybody.
Your last two projects had no features. Will there be features on Pink Planet?
Still no features, mainly because I feel like a lot of R&B artists right now feel like they need a feature to go on in their career. I’m willing to bet that I don’t. All boats rise with the tide. If it goes right, it’s not even just about me. Maybe then labels will open up budgets for people who want to do something different. Somebody has to pave the way; somebody has to take those bumps and bruises. In 20 years, I think people will be listening to Pink Sweat$.
You’re out here with your words, your voice, your face. What did it feel like when you finally said, “Even if attention is my downfall, I still want to be in the public eye”?
I can’t really explain it. It’s like waking up one day being ready for a race. The universe was preparing me this whole time. My mom’s a singer; I grew up going to the studio with her and watching her sing. I wasn’t paying attention intentionally, I was just being a kid. I played drums for my mom at her first concert when I was 10. I was performing in front of thousands of people when I was like six or seven—it was just like breathing. I was a kid. I was excited.
To be a great leader, you have to know how to follow. I’ve signed artists; I’ve been catered to and I’ve catered to. At the end of the day, the more things you can do, the better. If it’s something you want to do, why not try? Music had been such an outlet for me and then I hit a point where I felt like I was caged because of the content. I was just making songs that had no substance and it wasn’t feeding me. I was like, “What am I doing this for? I’m making these songs that I’m not going to care about in a year or two.”
PHOTOGRAPHY BY TYLER ADAMS
INTERVIEW BY EMILY BERKEY