Beaming in from his cozy home studio in Virginia Beach, Chad Hugo is surrounded by enough instruments to supply a music school. There’s a full drum set in the back corner, synthesizers along the wall, and so many running wires that they would probably take an eternity to untangle. An expensive-looking microphone hovers in front of his face, making his murmurs clearer over Zoom. When asked a question, he takes long, reflective pauses before answering, and his descriptions of some of his favorite all-time songs are often so technical that he can’t help but apologize for them. To drive home a specific musical point, he seems most comfortable tapping out a rhythm or grabbing a guitar to strum a quick riff.
This week, Hugo and his Neptunes partner Pharrell Williams will be inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame, an illustrious club that already includes legends like Bob Dylan, Marvin Gaye, and Joni Mitchell. The honor is well-deserved: The Neptunes played an integral role in defining—and expanding—the contours of rap and pop music around the turn of the century. Their beats have the power to bring a new flavor out of an artist while maintaining that artist’s core appeal. Just ask Jay-Z. Or Britney Spears. Or Gwen Stefani. And to this day, there is no mistaking a Neptunes beat for anyone else’s. Heavy on lush chords, futuristic bleeps, and minimalist percussion, their work is elemental enough to bang along to on a lunch table and visionary enough to soundtrack a party on the dark side of Mars.
As kids, Hugo and Williams met in band camp—Williams was on drums, while Hugo played the sax—before they were eventually discovered by New Jack Swing forefather Teddy Riley in the early ’90s. Their breakout moments included production for the hits “Lookin’ at Me” by Mase and Diddy, and Noreaga’s “Superthug,” which established their signature funky, spaced-out sound. Meanwhile, they produced entire records for Kelis and fellow Virginia Beach innovators Clipse, helping them develop their own signature styles. In the 2000s the Neptunes went on a mythical run, producing a bevy of ubiquitous smashes: Usher’s “U Don’t Have to Call,” Nelly’s “Hot In Herre,” Kelis’ “Milkshake,” and Snoop Dogg’s “Drop It Like It’s Hot,” to name a few. Even as Hugo and Williams evolved as producers and with their genre-jumping band N.E.R.D., their sound remained both unpredictable and immediately recognizable.
Today, Hugo isn’t as prolific as he once was, but he’s still out there, working with old standbys as well as some of today’s most progressive acts. Most recently the Neptunes made contributions to Rosalía’s genre-warping opus Motomami, and Hugo had a hand in crafting some of the austere instrumentals on Pusha-T’s It’s Almost Dry alongside Williams.
A recurring theme of the songs he selected is that they’re often technologically savvy. “I’ve always been fascinated by communication, sounds, electricity, and technology,” he reminds me again and again as he talks about the songs that have soundtracked his life. For someone who played a big part in spearheading the sonic character of an entire era of popular music, he’s humble and extremely excited to chat about songs that have stuck with him for years. He’s still curious, too: At one point he reaches for a notepad and asks me to give him a few artists to check out after the call. “Music is just another form of communication,” he says. “This conversation itself is music.”
The Electric Moog Orchestra: Music From Star Wars
Chad Hugo: As a kid there was a grocery store where we lived in Virginia Beach called A&P. They had record stands there, and I bought this for no other reason than it had the words “Star Wars” on the cover. At first I was disappointed because it didn’t sound like the orchestral and triumphant music in the movie. This was a different take. The Moog’s rendition of Star Wars’ music was heavy on synthesized sounds—it was the sound of electricity. Synthesizers were controversial at the time, and there were news programs that were like, “This machine will replace orchestra musicians.” But that use of technology was always pretty dope to me—it’s good to hear different people interpret songs in different ways.
Falco: “Der Kommissar”
My parents were from the Philippines, and from there they moved to New Jersey and then settled in Virginia Beach. They were basically like, “OK kids, this is America, here’s a piano.” So my real introduction to American pop culture had to come from the radio and television. In the ’80s, I would watch American Bandstand and Friday Night Videos on MTV, and when I got home from school I would listen to the radio. This Falco song used to come on pop radio. It was the English version. He had this other song called “Rock Me Amadeus,” too. He was rapping in this limerick type of old-school flow. It has a real musicality to it, the kind of rhyme scheme you don’t hear anymore.
Sometimes we’d take trips to the department store Roses, and they’d have 45 records that you would get to put on the turntable to play. Soon enough my parents got me, my brother, and my sister—I was the youngest—a jukebox where you stacked the records on top and when you pressed the button, one would drop down and play automatically. I was fascinated by technology.
N.W.A.: “Panic Zone”
For high school I moved out of private school and into public school, and ended up becoming buddies with these two Filipino guys I met in the hallway. They had headphones and backpacks on, and looked like DJs. I was like, “What are you listening to?” They let me hear, and I was like “Oh shit!” I had never heard anything like it before. It reminded me of the TV shows I used to watch to try to escape from school, like Transformers; they were chanting “panic zone! panic zone!” and it was like being commanded by a robot. It’s wild that it’s an N.W.A. song. The bass, the rhythms, the funky syncopation! It’s just different. Synthesizer music is so futuristic, and I generally love things with robots and wires.
Acen: “Trip II to the Moon (Part 2)”
I remember playing jungle music for Pharrell in the early ’90s, and he thought it was crazy. It was like 150 BPM, and he was like, “How are people supposed to dance to this?” But we ended up getting more into electronic music through our shared interest in house music. We would go to underground clubs and we really liked Deee-Lite, who made psychedelic club stuff like “Groove Is in the Heart,” which has a sample of a Herbie Hancock bass.
I ended up coming across “Trip II the Moon (Part 2)” on a compilation. The way the song was put together was so crazy to me—the vocals are kind of out of pitch, almost out of tune. Then I heard it real loud at this club in D.C., and the drum beats were just madness to me. It was like video game music before that was really a term.
Daft Punk: “Rollin’ & Scratchin’”
You know how people go to the gym to stay healthy? My version of that is playing piano and saxophone—that’s why nowadays I still play in groups and concert bands where you just need to read sheet music. But I also love turning knobs. I became so fascinated with working with machines that I came to appreciate this song. It’s a tweaky tune that demonstrates how music can also be just a lot of frequencies and grooves. I really just appreciate the machinery of this song. My first keyboard was a Sequential—I have it right here actually. [rolls chair over to the keyboard] It’s synth-based, really low sine wave stuff, and it was part of my love for machines.
Jay-Z: “La-La-La (Excuse Me Miss Again)”
When our career was taking off, I spent all this time making the music that it also became what was influencing me. There were just good vibes around “La-La-La.” Back in the day it was like a celebration every time we finished a song: The engineer would play it back, and it was like a party before the party. I made the synth sound on this song by messing around with the sound design in some programs. There were two synth sounds, they call it a Hoover synth, and it has two layers to it, and one is de-tuned, so the song has this harsh, distorted feel. It’s a track that gets the crowd hyped. That’s a good motive to have for a song.
Interpol: “Obstacle 1”
The arrangement of the drums is so intriguing on this song—they keep changing, and the bassline is chaotic. When I first heard it, it reminded me of what someone could do with a drum machine, but it wasn’t a drum machine. [starts slapping the rhythm on his lap with his hands] It’s just a dope indie rock jam.
Arcade Fire: “The Suburbs”
I remember hearing this song at a sandwich shop near Old Dominion University and I just started humming along to it. I related to its vibe. I feel like it’s about trying to be a big star—maybe you will be or maybe you won’t be. I like how they talk about music. Now I treat music more like a job: I’ll wake up in the morning, punch the clock then punch out, just trying to be a good role model for my big-ass kids about having a good work ethic but not working too much.
La Femme: “Où Va Le Monde”
Growing up I used to watch a lot of The Twilight Zone and Tales From the Darkside and listen to John Carpenter scores, so I really like eerie things. Around this time I was living in California, near Marina Del Rey, and there were a lot of bike rides and beaches—good times, but also weird. This song captured that with a sort of eerie, surf rock vibe. [grabs a guitar and plays a surf rock tune] I always liked music that can be sad in connotation, but when it’s done, people are cheering. That would happen in blues and jazz all the time. It’s like going to watch one of those Greek tragedies: You just watched a bunch of people die, but people are happy afterward.