Meet Glasshouse, our favorite local entry to NPR's Tiny Desk Contest

Thousands of musicians from across the country entered NPR Music’s Tiny Desk Contest this year, which was won by California's The Philharmonik. But what about the nearly 250 artists from Massachusetts who tried out for the big prize?

Those entries were chock full of talent, too — something WBUR’s own panel of judges (Alisa Amador, Noble, Scarlet Keys, Victoria Wasylak and myself) discovered when we scoured the entries in search of one Local Favorite. Today, we present the panel’s selection: "Slum Village" by Glasshouse, a hip-hop trio from Lawrence.

Glasshouse’s Tiny Desk Contest entry begins with banter. “We’re gonna call this s--- Big Table,” jokes rapper Gerald Liriano, gesturing with both hands at the large classroom table enlisted to fulfill the contest requirement that a desk appear in the video. He turns contemplative as the song begins. “I wrote a song when I was 23 and I didn’t know what I was doing,” he intones over a lush string sample and a spare drumbeat, before launching into the first verse.

About a minute into the performance, something shifts. Glasshouse ratchets up the energy, pushing the song toward a crescendo. Liriano unleashes a showy verse, words tumbling out at a frenetic clip as the drums crash along emphatically. For a moment, the music seems to hang suspended, a frozen tableau behind his whir of motion.

After watching hundreds of Tiny Desk videos from Massachusetts, this one stood out. Charisma, dynamics, precision — it was all there. Even on a small phone screen, Glasshouse managed to put on an exciting show.

On a sunny day in September, I took a freight elevator to the fifth floor of a converted mill in Lawrence where Glasshouse has its studio. The place was large and airy, though the recording setup was as simple as it gets: just a mic, a computer, and some speakers. On one wall hung a display of vinyl album covers. “These are my ten-out-of-tens,” Liriano said. Each, he explained, was an example of the level of perfection the band aspires to: “Bad” by Michael Jackson, “Igor” by Tyler, the Creator, “All My Heroes Are Cornballs” by JPEGMAFIA.

The guys sat down on a couch and introduced themselves. On one side was Luis Luna, aka Luna, a 24-year-old producer with a septum ring and a nerdy enthusiasm for discussing the intricacies of his craft. On the other end sat the band’s singer, Jahmo Elijah Chavez, stage name Elijae, a 22-year-old Boston Conservatory musical theater student who projected an air of careful reserve.

Holding court between them was Liriano, 25, who performs as Liri. He is the group’s charismatic ringleader, and it was his idea to form the band. That was about seven years ago, when all three were teenagers coming of age in Lawrence, a former mill town in the Merrimack Valley. Liriano met Luna at a beatmaking competition (which Luna won), and got to know Chavez on the Lawrence open mic circuit.

Chavez recalled seeing Liriano perform at open mics back then. “There was your section of boom-bap rappers, and singers who were doing covers, a couple of pianists, a lot of poets,” he said. “But nothing like Liri.”

All three bandmates were prone to such admiring remarks. “We’re all fans of each other,” Liriano explained. “[Chavez] will do like a hook, and in my brain I'm like, ‘How did you even come up with that? Like where did that come from?’ … Those are the moments I always look for.”

The guys spend a lot of time in their studio, sometimes working long into the night. The results vary in style, from a throwback to hip-hop’s Golden Era to a breezy pop tune. The bandmates appear on each other’s solo projects, make their own music videos, and even collaborated on a short film by a local director. (Liriano and Chavez appeared as actors, and Glasshouse wrote the score.)

Looking out the window, Liriano pointed to a building across the street where the group filmed its Tiny Desk Contest entry, backed by members of a local metal band. They chose "Slum Village" for the video because it “means something,” Liriano told me. He had started writing the song over a beat by the legendary hip-hop trio Slum Village (hence the song’s title), riffing on his feelings about often being the only Hispanic person in the room.

“You are born in a position. You don't die in that position, right?” Liriano said. “Do not allow where you are, who you are, how you look like, or what is placed upon you to determine your next steps forward.”

A studio version of "Slum Village" has not yet been released. Glasshouse plans to include it on a collection of songs — they’re calling it a mixtape — with the working title “Plexi.” Until now, Glasshouse has only released a handful of singles. "Plexi" will be the group's first proper studio project.

On the day of my visit, Glasshouse played me a single from the mixtape they were getting ready to release, called “No Mind (oh my).” With its wobbly, hyperactive beat, the track is a prime example of Luna’s kinetic, slightly off-kilter producing style. “No Mind (oh my)” opens with a swaggering verse from Chavez, boasting about his skills on the mic in classic hip-hop fashion. When writing the song, he explained, he wanted to express his feeling that Glasshouse was hitting its stride.

“We have found our footing. We have found our sound,” Chavez said. “I believe that nobody sounds like us and what we do. And I say that humbly because I want music to evolve.”

This last remark touched off a passionate discussion of what it means for music to evolve. “It's like these inspirations back here,” said Liriano, referring to the albums on the wall behind him. “They consistently went in and broke the mold. They broke what you traditionally would expect from not only the artists, but also the genre. And it's backed by this level of quality that I feel like is really missing [from popular music].”

For Glasshouse, pushing music to evolve means pushing each other. Luna remembered showing Chavez an early version of the beat he made for “No Mind (oh my).”

“And he was just like, ‘Oh, that's cool. Could you just develop it a bit more?’” Luna said.

Everyone agreed the growly synth line the producer came up with put the song on another level — which in turn motivated Liriano, who spent weeks perfecting his verse. This, they explained, was the collaborative space where Glasshouse thrives: always competing, motivated by a combination of one-upmanship and a fascination with each other’s divergent musical ideas.

“We love to work with each other, specifically because we want to hear, like, ‘Oh, what would you sound like if I put you in this context?’” Luna said. “How would you solve that musical problem?”

Glasshouse plans to include “No Mind (oh my)” on the mixtape, which they hope to release in the winter or spring.

In the meantime, there was work to do. The guys took their places in the studio to record some vocals for another new song, called “Alien.” Chavez leaned by the window with a cup of tea while Luna settled himself at the computer. Liriano stood in front of the mic, lyrics open on his phone.

They hadn’t yet decided if the song would make it onto the mixtape. But that was beside the point. What mattered was being in that room together, inventing musical problems for each other to solve.