Imagine a world where the beats that shaped a generation of hip-hop are now being taught in a college classroom. That’s the reality Kerwin Young has created. Once the mastermind behind Public Enemy’s iconic sound, Young has traded the recording studio for the lecture hall, bringing decades of industry wisdom to students at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. But here’s where it gets fascinating: this isn’t just a story about a producer-turned-professor. It’s a testament to the enduring power of music, the evolution of hip-hop, and the unexpected paths a career in the arts can take.
Young’s journey began in the late 1980s, when hip-hop was still finding its voice. A saxophonist-turned-DJ from Queens, New York, he quickly found himself in the orbit of Public Enemy, one of the genre’s most influential groups. By 1989, he was producing tracks for the Bomb Squad, their in-house production team, and his beats became the backbone of albums like Apocalypse 91 … The Enemy Strikes Back. His résumé reads like a who’s who of hip-hop royalty: Ice Cube, Busta Rhymes, Eric B. & Rakim, Mobb Deep—he’s worked with them all. Even Hollywood came calling, with his beats featured in films like Sister Act 2 and Spike Lee’s He Got Game.
But here’s where it gets controversial: Young grew disillusioned with the commercialization of rap in the 1990s. ‘I didn’t get into it for the money,’ he admits. ‘I just love making music.’ This led him to pivot to music composition, earning bachelor’s and master’s degrees from the University of Missouri-Kansas City. In 2024, he made history by composing The Five Elements, the world’s first hip-hop concerto. Is this the future of hip-hop, or a return to its roots?
Now, as a full-time faculty member at UNC, Young is shaping the next generation of producers in courses like MUSC 156: Beat Making Lab. His teaching style is as dynamic as his career. He doesn’t just lecture—he challenges students to deconstruct songs, identify their components, and experiment with software like Ableton. ‘Isolate what’s going on,’ he tells them. ‘Figure out what sounds are being used.’ And this is the part most people miss: Young’s classes aren’t just about making beats; they’re about understanding the history and culture of hip-hop.
Students like Web Allen, a junior business administration major, rave about the ‘hands-on’ approach. ‘It was fun having him,’ Allen said after Young attended a performance by his a cappella group. But Young is quick to admit that teaching, like beat making, is a process of trial and error. ‘You have to see what sticks and what works,’ he says.
Beyond the classroom, Young serves as a hip-hop ambassador for Next Level, a U.S. Department of State program that has taken him to Egypt and will soon send him to Italy. His mission? To bridge cultures through music. But is hip-hop truly a universal language, or does it lose something in translation?
As Young continues to inspire students and push the boundaries of his craft, one thing is clear: his story isn’t just about staying on beat—it’s about redefining what it means to be an artist in an ever-changing world. What do you think? Is hip-hop better served in the studio or the classroom? Let’s debate it in the comments!
