Cardo Got Wings’ voice cuts through the noise at Ralph’s Coffee as he rattles off the albums that once filled his CD deck in the late ’90s and early aughts. “That was a time period! Seventh and eighth grade. Best music ever. That shit molded me as a man,” he proclaims. “No Limit Records, Cash Money Records.” It feels like he could go on forever; his eyes can’t stop lighting up as he gushes about his love for foundational issues of Murder Dog Magazine and the days when regional rappers felt just as important as whoever was on the top of the Billboard charts. “Murder Dog Magazine would tell you about every region in the U.S. that you don’t know about,” he recalls. “That was your guide to every artist—from Kansas City to Des Moines, Iowa.” Between sips of coffee, he reminisces about digging for new music like it was oxygen.
Growing up in St. Paul, Minnesota, where you’re in “the center of everything,” according to Cardo, exposed him to a myriad of influences. His father and uncles put him onto the groovy G-funk coming out of the West Coast, where projecting flyness was a focal point. That early exposure sparked a deep reverence for DJ Quik, who “could make you feel like a million bucks without having a dollar to your name.” Later, catching an early Three 6 Mafia show at a local college kickstarted an obsession with DJ Paul and Juicy J’s raw, sinister production and opened his ears to a darker, more experimental side of hip-hop that “pushed the envelope” for what it could sound like. By the time Cardo finally tried his hand at production, he already had a significant mental vault of sounds and styles from which he could pull.
After toying around with PlayStation’s MTV Music Generator and getting in constant trouble as a teenager, a move to Dallas, in 2004, pushed Cardo to focus on becoming a full-fledged music producer. He cut his teeth in the blog era, reflecting on it as both a “fun time and a miserable time because you didn’t know how the fuck you were gonna get paid.” Through online networking, Cardo eventually landed his big break by producing a couple of glossy beats for Wiz Khalifa’s 2010 mixtape Kush & Orange Juice, which led to a spot on the in-house Taylor Gang production team. By the end of 2012, with a second child on the way, Cardo was ready to bet on himself and carve out his own path like the hip-hop auteurs he’d always admired. Since the career shift, he’s cemented his reputation as a Swiss Army knife producer capable of crafting beats for rappers at every rung of the industry ladder. His range has led him to making regional bangers with Washington, D.C., stalwart Shy Glizzy, assisting grime pioneer Dizzee Rascal on evolving his sound, helping break a new artist in Baby Keem, and crafting horror-inspired anthems with ATLien Playboi Carti.
Cardo Got Wings spoke with us about the music that defined his upbringing and shaped his worldview. The below interview has been lightly edited for clarity.
Loose Ends: Zagora
My dad, he a white man. So, white men, they listen to all kind of crazy shit [laughs]. I thank him for that because it allowed me to do the same thing. He was listening to Loose Ends; I think he had the Zagora album. I remember the cover looking funky because it was, like, the three of them in the desert in Egypt or some shit. That was the first time I ever heard “You Can’t Stop the Rain.” “Slow Down” was on this album, too. I was introduced to a whole new sound that I didn’t even think was going to be part of my lifestyle. Your brain be trying to signal things in a way. How you hear things, another person’s brain might not hear those same things.
Bone Thugs-n-Harmony: Creepin on ah Come Up EP
My uncles were on the hip side of what was going on sonically. I followed them and my cousins’ footsteps. They used to take me to the Mall of America to buy records. The first rap album I bought was Bone Thugs, and that had the “Thuggish Ruggish Bone” single. Came out on a cassette tape, went to Sam Goody for my birthday, bought the tape with my birthday money. Then Creepin on ah Come Up came out, and I bought the whole tape and everything. Matter of fact, I actually stole the tape. We were supposed to do Secret Santa with my brothers and sisters, and when I saw the tape I had to steal it. I’m sorry, Bone Thugs and Sam Goody. I listened to that tape faithfully and one day it got ruined in my mom’s car and that was the end of it.
Project Pat: Ghetty Green
That was a time period where I was becoming of age, a young man. My man Tyson, he was at the bus stop playing this shit. I’m like, What the fuck you listening to? He like, Project Pat, this tape called Ghetty Green. I didn’t know [Pat] was part of Hypnotize Camp Posse at the time. I was just familiar with Three 6 Mafia at the time. I didn’t get familiar with Project Pat until the following years. Indo G dropped an album, too, and that was a time where I was listening to anything that was coming from DJ Paul and Juicy J. I remember when they flipped the 007 theme song, that was the toughest shit I ever seen somebody flip a sample from.
There was so much dope shit HCP was doing in the early 2000s. Like, they had all the artists. They had Frayser Boy, Lil Wyte, Chrome. They were rolling deep back then. T-Rock was one of my favorites, too. I hate that they started beefing. Killa Klan Kaze, too. DJ Paul and Juicy J, they changed the standard; they changed the game, sonically, how people hear shit. I always looked at it as like, damn, I could do the same thing as them.
T.I.: Urban Legend
When I’m Serious came out and T.I. had the Neptunes production, I’m like, damn, this shit sound nasty. His album Urban Legend, that’s when I knew nobody could fuck with him. He too cold. You can feel that shit from his energy, how he used to rap. I be having arguments with T.I., I told him to go back to the old T.I.; he ain’t like that shit [laughs]. That’s my big bro. That’s someone I highly respect. He’s cold at what he do. I always looked at him as one of the top 10; you gotta put him up there. He stood his ground in any rap beef, whatever it was. “ASAP” and “My Life,” when that shit come on, beautiful.
Max B: Domain Diego
Max B was just fly; he’s a lil arrogant. But arrogance kinda gives a lil bit more flavor to your aura in a way. How he carried himself. If he was a wrestler, he’d be my favorite wrestler. I’m not calling Max B a wrestler, but how he was entertaining, that nigga was entertaining. He gave the crowd, he gave the people what they wanted from him and that was authenticity. I feel like he was being his true self. How he talk shit, count money. It was almost like a reminder you could do this shit yourself, too. I been listening to Max B since he was on Jim Jones’ Product of My Environment. When he broke off and became popping by himself, he was holding it down. I feel like he an influence to everybody in a way. He made people wanna be cool, be fly, be jiggy. Like, it’s OK to be yourself type shit. Same thing with André [3000]. I know it’s a crazy comparison, but I look at both of them as just being different. Two niggas just being different from different worlds. It’s two different worlds, but they're both outcasts in that world.
Kendrick Lamar: To Pimp a Butterfly
It was like Rhythm-al-ism, DJ Quik’s album. It was funkafied, soulful. It’s one of those albums you could put up there. Enjoy, think to, do your thing to. It’s one of Kendrick’s best pieces of work. That was his first West Coastish album, influenced by the Quik sounds, the Funkadelic. That’s what the album remind me of. Like, damn, if I would’ve heard this shit in ’92, ’93, I would be OK, I would’ve accepted it. The message he telling, I’m just there as a listener. “Wesley’s Theory,” my boy was going in.
The Prodigy: The Fat of the Land
When everything shut down [in 2020], I was listening to a lot of jungle music. I was listening to The Prodigy. Fat of the Land, that’s probably one of my favorite albums I ever listened to. I first heard it on this TV channel called The Box, and it kind of went from there. In that time period of being stuck, I just came back to it. It sounds like you're running from something. I don't know what it is, but it makes you feel like a spy in a way. It gives you that feel. I just love London culture. During the pandemic, I wanted to challenge myself and see if I could make that type of music that I had grown up listening to. I took a liking to challenging myself, more so seeing what I can and what I can’t do. If I can’t do it, at least I could say I tried.
Playboi Carti: Music
Music is like a fusion; you’re going through a fucking portal. Every portal you’re going through is like a different [sound effects]. [Playboi Carti] one of those fusion artists that can get away with that because he is music. I done seen him signed to Awful Records, one of the strangest labels in an amazing way because everybody was different. Carti’s just always been an experimental artist, and I respect him for being that way and not being afraid to be that. He did that with Music; he showed a variety of different things and where he could go with it. That’s one of the things we all enjoy about him. Sometimes music don’t gotta have all the substance in it. A little saying could go a long way. “Free throw, free throw.” You be in the gym, they think you trying to practice your free throw shot while you got your headphones in. I didn’t know what I had on that album when it dropped. When it dropped we were all surprised. I remember getting in the car to take my kids to school and just putting the album on. When “Evil J0rdan” came on, I was like, Oh shit! The beats I had were just sinister, like the dark side. It’s like Michael Myers being at the beach. That’s how I look at it. We demon slaying. It’s demon-slaying music.
