Organized Noize producer Rico Wade gave Atlanta its voice and amplified it with a capital A

A handful of local architects designed the image that many people have of the city of Atlanta. Aesthetically, much of the city’s skyline is credited to real estate businessman John C. Portman. Politically and economically, it was built by efforts from leaders like Maynard Jackson, Atlanta’s first Black mayor. Culturally, it was shaped by visionary music producer Rico Wade, who died on April 13 at age 52.

As one-third of the pioneering production trio Organized Noize with Patrick “Sleepy” Brown and Ray Murray, Wade orchestrated the groundwork for Atlanta’s ongoing three decades-long run of relevance in hip-hop and Black music. With Murray and Brown serving as the musical heart and soul of the team, Wade was the voice of the operation, acting as the de facto glue, nucleus and leader for Organized Noize. While their predecessors, including Bobby Brown, L.A. Reid, Dallas Austin and Jermaine Dupri, showed that Atlanta was fertile ground for polished hit-making, Wade and Organized Noize were instrumental in revealing what living in the city was actually like in the post-Civil Rights era, giving natives a sense of pride and transplants a reason to come.

Similar to how DJ Kool Herc’s electrical innovation birthed hip-hop in the Bronx, Wade literally molded a sound from Southwest Atlanta, Georgia’s red clay, converting a crawlspace in his mother’s unfinished basement into a studio affectionately known as “The Dungeon” that became the headquarters for the larger Dungeon Family collective that included Parental Advisory, Outkast, Goodie Mob, Big Rube, Witchdoctor, Cool Breeze, Backbone, Joi Gilliam and second generation progeny Killer Mike, Future, Bubba Sparxxx and others. During hip-hop’s growth spurt in the 1990s, as East Coast producers borrowed from jazz influences and West Coast producers relied on funk, Organized Noize blazed new trails (simultaneously with producers like Pimp C of UGK), introducing soulful elements akin to Curtis Mayfield, using live instrumentation instead of sampling, crafting the sonic identity that would become known as Southern hip-hop.

“We always looked at New York as the father and Los Angeles as the mother and we were the child that came from it,” explained Wade in a 2022 interview on the Questlove Supreme podcast. “That neglect was enough to figure it out on your own.”

Like many Atlantans, Wade spoke through body language fostered by the city’s dance and rollerskating cultures. So even when you got lost in what he was saying through his jittery accent, Wade’s flailing limbs, darting hand gestures, dramatic facial expressions, and intense head nods sent whatever message he wanted to convey. Non-verbal messages were also sent with intentional fashion choices like proudly rocking Atlanta Hawks and Falcons gear even when the teams were struggling and frequently flashing his “Dungeon Family” forearm tattoos, a gesture reminiscent of a b-boy stance, but also a bold pledge of allegiance that spoke louder than the trend of wearing a diamond-encrusted logo on a chain.

Even as Wade went up and down the totem pole of demand and popularity in the music industry, he maintained the same grounded nature. When Organized Noize had songs like TLC’s “Waterfalls” and En Vogue’s “Don’t Let Go (Love)” on the charts, you could still catch Wade near his Headland & Delowe stomping grounds. Friends, associates, and clients alike can share stories about Wade’s hospitable nature, offering everything from a smoke to a box of wings to a place to sleep off both. Whether you earned $1 million or worked at Family Dollar, you likely wound up with his number in your phone if you had more than two long conversations with him. If he really rocked with you, he excitedly greeted you every time he saw you, as if it was the first time he had seen you in years. A man about town, you could run into Wade anywhere from a grocery store to a local “Madden” tournament, making him one of the most accessible vessels in a city where people tend to seclude themselves as they become more successful and retreat even more when the mainstream media spotlight moves on from them.

Though he never used his role to rap or sing alongside artists he helped produce, Wade’s unmistakable voice bookends Atlanta hip-hop’s vast musical history. He’s the first person you hear talking on the intro to Outkast’s 1993 debut breakthrough single “Player’s Ball” before Big Boi or Andre 3000 even started rapping their verses. Thirty years later, he provided the opening monologue on Killer Mike’s 2023 Grammy-winning album Michael, setting off the momentous opening track “Down By Law.”

Current Atlanta Mayor Andre Dickens often says that the city is a group project, promoting the idea that everyone must work together for the city to thrive. Rico Wade embodied that in his approach to producing music, building community, instilling pride and creating a sound that put the city on the globe.

“I don’t ever not want to be a part,” said Wade in the 2016 documentary The Art of Organized Noize when speaking on the Dungeon Family’s splintering and remolding over the years. “We are all great but we needed each other at one time, and we always will.”

Rest in Black man’s heaven.