STBB#785

stbb #785

thanks everybody.MUCH RESPECT AND LOYALTY TOO ALL YOU TALENTED MAKERS.Life is short so make as many beats as you can and hug your close one peace yall.

no theme ,everything OK EXCEPT OUTSIDE THE PROVIDED SAMPLES.I WOULD LIKE TOO HEAR SOME PHONK OR SOMTHING CREATIVE THIS WEEK.BUT DO WHAT YA DO AND STAY TRUE .

SAMPLES HERE https://we.tl/t-SdBvViCDS1



Giampiero Boneschi

Upload your beat to Soundcloud, include "STBB 785“ in the title, and POST TO THIS FORUM by Wednesday 21:00 CET = noon Pacific time.
however the voting post will realistically be up at 00:00 cet or even around the regular time midnight pacific.
vote by: friday 21:00 CET. noon Pacific ..
posting new week deadline: by saturday 09:00 CET. friday midnight pacific.
Try to leave as much feedback as you can and you will receive it back.
For easy browsing's sake, you can also go to the STBB page: https://soundcloud.com/stbbcollection
Label entries that are posted after the deadline as 'late entry' and entries that don't comply with the rules as: 'non-entry' in your track title.
EVERYONE VOTES - by Friday at Midnight, Pacific time
Winner: post new sample, rules, etc by Saturday at Noon, Pacific time and upload the sample here: https://wetransfer.com/
 
Yo.
Congratulations on the win GoodWilL :salute:
two weeks in a row!

and another week of banging samples! 🔥 🔥 🔥

Just a quick afternoon flip.
Just out side drums added.



:salute: 🖖 ☮️
Peace Mox.
 
Yo!

Cooked up another little thing this evening.
Just added some drums.
Super slow tempo at 48 Bpm.
Pitched the sample down -2.



:salute: 🖖 ☮️
Peace Mox
 
Hey All,
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.



Peace, Hugh
 
Back
Top