BRET “EPIC” MAZUR: THE BEAT, THE BAND, THE BREAKTHROUGH & BEYOND
Every era has its records.
Every generation has its moments.
And every once in a while, there's somebody behind the music who was there before the moment, inside the moment and still making noise long after it passed.
Bret “Epic” Mazur is that guy.
Before the world knew his name through Crazy Town, Epic was already immersed in the culture—learning the language of beats, records and production and putting his own fingerprints on the music around him. His career didn't begin with a hit, and it didn't end with one.
That's important.
Because when The Gift of Game arrived and “Butterfly” exploded across the planet, it was easy to see the phenomenon without seeing the years of work underneath it. Epic had already been building, experimenting and creating with artists and collaborators across the musical spectrum. Crazy Town became the chapter everybody remembers—but it was never the entire book.
At the heart of that chapter was Seth “Shifty Shellshock” Binzer, Epic's longtime creative partner dating back to the Brimstone Sluggers days. Together, they helped create a sound that didn't ask whether Hip-Hop and rock belonged together. They simply made the music and let the world catch up.
The world did.
And then life happened.
Crazy Town's story carried its share of triumph, turbulence, reunions and reinvention. Shifty's death in 2024 at just 49 brought an unmistakably human weight to a story that had already traveled through so many chapters. His voice, his presence and his contributions remain part of the musical history they created together.
But give Epic his flowers, too.
Because while people remember the butterfly, Epic kept building the garden.
He continued producing, writing, composing, mixing and shaping sound for records, film, television and immersive audio. He kept moving forward while the music business itself transformed around him—from physical records and MTV to laptops, streaming and spatial sound.
That's longevity.
Not simply surviving an era, but remaining curious enough to keep evolving after the era changes.
So this isn't just a Crazy Town flashback.
It's a conversation with a producer, musician and creative architect whose journey runs from the early Hip-Hop culture that raised him, through one of rock-rap's most unexpected global moments, and into the work he's creating today.
Before Crazy Town. During Crazy Town. After Crazy Town.
The records are part of the story.
The man behind them is the story we're here to hear.
Bret “Epic” Mazur.
Let's get into it.
Before Crazy Town, you were already immersed in music as a DJ and producer, coming up between Brooklyn and Los Angeles. What did those two cities and those two very different cultures teach you about music?
I was born in Brooklyn, but my family moved to Los Angeles when I was very young, so I really grew up in L.A. Brooklyn and New York were still a huge part of my family culturally, and as I got older, I connected to those roots as much as I could. We still had family there, so I would go back and visit.
I started playing drums when I was 11, then started DJing around 15. By the time I was a teenager, I was a complete hip-hop head. Run-DMC, Beastie Boys, Big Daddy Kane, LL Cool J. Movies like Beat Street and Wild Style. I was doing graffiti, breakdancing, DJing—all of it.
And in the ’80s, New York was the mecca of hip-hop. That was where so much of the culture I was obsessed with was coming from, so being born there and having family there gave me a real connection to it, even though I was growing up in Los Angeles.
L.A. was where I developed as a musician and producer. It exposed me to all these other worlds at the same time: rock, punk, funk, alternative music, electronic music. So I think New York gave me a deep connection to hip-hop culture, and Los Angeles gave me the freedom to mix all of those influences together without feeling like I had to stay in one lane.
You and Seth Binzer started out as the Brimstone Sluggers before Crazy Town officially took shape. What was happening creatively in those early days that eventually became the foundation for the band?
At that point, I was already deep into producing. I had platinum success with Bell Biv DeVoe and New Edition, I was working with people like Seal and Prince, and I had brought two groups to Ruthless Records, so I was spending a lot of time around Eazy-E and that whole world.
I was also producing Atban Klann, which became the early Black Eyed Peas, and spending a lot of time in the studio producing and mentoring will.i.am.
The funny part is that Will was really the one who turned the tables on me. I was always showing him flow ideas and different ways of approaching vocals, and one day he basically said, “You should start your own group. I want to introduce you to my boy.”
That boy was Seth.
Seth and I came from different places musically, so at first we had to figure out where all of our influences fit. We were hip-hop heads who started a band, so to speak. The Brimstone Sluggers was us in a much purer hip-hop space: beats, rhymes, samples, all of that.
After the Brimstone Sluggers, we started a band. That was when we began bringing punk and rock influences into the hip-hop foundation we already had. I was playing live drums, guitars, and keys, so the music started taking on a much more organic, live feel.
As we added more instrumentation and allowed the sound to get broader, it became something else. That evolution is really what led to Crazy Town.
Crazy Town arrived at a time when hip-hop and rock were colliding in a very real way. What made you believe that a group could bring those worlds together without losing the authenticity of either one?
For us, it never felt like we were trying to combine two genres. Those influences were already part of who we were.
Hip-hop was the foundation. That was the culture Seth and I came out of together. But I had also been playing drums since I was a kid, and my taste was really broad. I loved punk, funk, electronic music, and a lot of ’80s post-punk and new wave. The Cure, The Clash—all of that was part of what I listened to. Seth had his own influences, too.
Once we started a band and brought live instruments into what we were doing, those sounds naturally started finding their place.
The key was that we never wanted it to feel like hip-hop with some guitars thrown on top. The live instruments had to become part of the production, and the production still had to have the rhythm, sampling mentality, and attitude of hip-hop.
There were other bands starting to explore some of the same territory, so there was definitely something happening culturally at the time. But we weren’t looking around trying to figure out where we fit. We were making the music that made sense to us.
That’s why I think it felt authentic. We weren’t crossing into somebody else’s world. Those worlds were already ours.
The Gift of Game dropped in 1999, and then “Butterfly” exploded into a No. 1 Billboard Hot 100 hit. What do you remember about the moment you realized Crazy Town had gone from a Los Angeles crew with a sound to a worldwide phenomenon?
The funny thing is, by the time “Butterfly” came out, we had already been working and touring for at least a year.
We had done really well at alternative radio with “Toxic” and “Darkside.” Both videos were getting a lot of MTV play, and we were already out in the world building a real audience. We did Ozzfest, opened for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, toured internationally, and played festivals throughout Europe and South America.
So when “Butterfly” hit, it looked to a lot of people like we had come out of nowhere because the crossover was so massive. But that really wasn’t the case.
There was already a foundation underneath it. We had spent a long time on the road, and there was this legion of fans all over the world who felt like Crazy Town was theirs. They had found us before the rest of the world did.
By the time “Butterfly” arrived, we were ready for it, and I think the audience was ready for it, too. That song took everything to another level, but the groundwork had already been laid.
“Butterfly” became one of those records that seemed impossible to escape. It crossed radio formats, generations, and genres. Looking back, what do you think was the magic ingredient that made that song connect so deeply?
“Butterfly” was really a dip back into our Brimstone Sluggers and hip-hop roots.
I had found this completely obscure piece on a Red Hot Chili Peppers record called “Pretty Little Ditty,” and Seth and I built the demo around it. When we finished it, we played it for Anthony Kiedis, and he flipped.
We could have replayed the part, but I really wanted to use the actual sample because there was something about the feel of that recording that I didn’t want to lose.
Then I flipped this kind of ridiculous hip-hop beat underneath it. I remember being influenced by “Sally Got a One Track Mind” by Diamond D and the Psychotic Neurotics. So even though people think of “Butterfly” as this melodic crossover record, the way I approached producing it was very rooted in hip-hop.
The crazy part was that the Chili Peppers historically weren’t known for clearing samples, but they cleared it for us.
At its core, it’s also kind of a twisted love song. It’s sweet, but it’s still coming from Crazy Town. There’s romance in it, but there’s also lust, attitude, and a little bit of danger.
Then everything else lined up: the warmth of the sample, the beat, the melody, the lyrics, Seth’s personality, the timing.
I think that contrast was a huge part of why it connected. It was sweet and rough at the same time. Familiar, but still strange enough to stand out.
Sometimes all the pieces land in exactly the right place. “Butterfly” was one of those records.
Crazy Town’s success sometimes overshadows the producer and studio mind behind the music. How important was your production background to developing the band’s identity and sound?
It was central to everything.
I was a producer before Crazy Town existed, so I always heard the band from that perspective. I wasn’t only thinking about my vocal or my part. I was thinking about the entire record.
How does the beat feel? Where does the sample sit? What does the guitar need to do? How much space should there be? How do Seth and I play off each other? What happens sonically when the chorus hits?
I also never liked sticking to genres. I had already explored a lot of that with Bell Biv DeVoe. I liked taking sounds and influences that weren’t necessarily supposed to live together and figuring out how to make them feel natural on the same record.
Crazy Town was really built in the studio. A lot of the identity came from production choices: hip-hop drums, samples, live guitars, live drums, programming, effects, vocal textures. All of those things had to live together without sounding forced.
I think my background also helped keep us from becoming a rock band with rap vocals on top. The hip-hop production mentality always stayed underneath it.
Even when the band became known for the live energy and the image, the records themselves were very deliberately constructed. The production was part of the songwriting.
Before and beyond Crazy Town, your production résumé stretches across hip-hop, R&B, and pop, with artists ranging from Bell Biv DeVoe and MC Lyte to N.W.A., Prince, Seal, and the Black Eyed Peas. What did working across those worlds teach you about finding the record inside the artist?
It taught me to listen to the artist before I started trying to shape the record.
Every artist has something they do naturally that nobody else does exactly the same way.
Sometimes it’s obvious. Sometimes you have to spend time with them before you hear it. My job was always to find that thing and build around it.
Working with so many different kinds of artists also reinforced how little I cared about genre boundaries. The approach might change depending on who was in the room, but the goal was always the same: find what feels true to that artist and make the record support it.
I never wanted somebody to sound like me. I wanted them to sound more like themselves.
That’s really what producing became for me: knowing when to push, when to get out of the way, when to simplify something, and when to take it somewhere unexpected.
The best records usually happen when the artist feels completely recognizable, but somehow you’re hearing a side of them you haven’t heard before.
You came up during an era when producers, DJs, musicians, and MCs often crossed lanes without worrying about genre boundaries. Do you think today’s music culture gives artists enough room to experiment the way your generation did?
In some ways, I actually think artists have more freedom now.
Genre mattered a lot more when I was coming up. Record stores had specific sections. Radio was incredibly format-driven. Labels often leaned toward particular genres, and there were real gatekeepers deciding where you belonged. The lanes were pretty narrow.
The cost of entry was also high. You had to be really good before anybody was going to give you a shot. If you were an MC, you had to become one of the best rappers in your city, find a dope producer, get some money together, and book studio time. And that producer better own an MPC or an SP-1200.
Today, somebody can spend a hundred bucks on Fruity Loops, or get their hands on a cracked DAW, and start making records in their bedroom that night. That access is incredible. It has opened the door for a lot of people who never would have had a shot before.
The flip side is that the barrier is so low now that there’s also a lot of shit out there. Back then, there were several filters between having an idea and putting a record into the world. Some of those filters were unfair, but some of them forced you to get good before people heard you.
Now your fan base can evolve with you, and I think artists have much more freedom to stretch genre-wise within the scope of one project. You see that with artists like Tyler, The Creator, Mac Miller, Childish Gambino, Post Malone, Miley Cyrus, and Billie Eilish. They can move through hip-hop, pop, rock, country, soul, jazz, electronic music, and other influences without it feeling like they’ve abandoned their identity.
So I think artists have more creative freedom now. There’s also more noise. The challenge isn’t getting access anymore. It’s making something good enough to matter.
Crazy Town went through breakups, reunions, and different creative chapters, including The Brimstone Sluggers in 2015. When you look at that entire journey now, what do you understand about the band and yourself that you couldn’t have understood in the beginning?
When you’re young and inside something like Crazy Town, you don’t really have perspective.
Everything feels immediate. The music, the friendships, the success, the problems, the pressure. You’re living inside it while it’s happening.
Looking back now, I understand that Crazy Town was always bigger than any one moment or any one version of the band. It was a collision of personalities, influences, ambition, friendship, and chaos. Some of that created incredible music. Some of it made things really difficult.
I also understand myself differently now. For a long time, Crazy Town was such a huge part of my identity that it was hard to separate Bret from Epic or Epic from Crazy Town. With time, I realized the band was something I helped create. It wasn’t the entirety of who I was creatively.
Going back to The Brimstone Sluggers in 2015 was interesting because it connected us back to where Seth and I started. It reminded me that before everything got big, before the records and touring and all the mythology around the band, it was two guys making music because we loved making music.
I’m proud of what we created. I’m also grateful that my creative life didn’t begin or end with Crazy Town.
You’ve continued working behind the scenes as a writer, producer, composer, and audio specialist, including your work in film and television. How has stepping further behind the board changed the way you hear and create music?
It made me think more about context.
When you’re producing a record, the song is the destination. When you’re working to picture—for a film, television, a live event, or something immersive—the music has a job to do inside something bigger.
That changes the way you listen.
Sometimes the best choice is to pull something out. Sometimes a simpler cue hits harder than a more impressive piece of music. Sometimes two seconds of silence does more than another eight bars.
At the same time, all of my record-making instincts are still there. I still care about drums, low end, arrangement, impact, texture, and emotion. I’m still trying to create a moment.
The difference is that now I’m thinking about how the music works with everything around it, not only how it works on its own.
I think that’s made me a better producer, too. It taught me to hear what a piece of music actually needs instead of automatically filling every space.
You’ve witnessed several generations of music evolve from physical records and MTV to streaming, social media, and Atmos. What has changed the most about making music, and what part of the old-school process do you still believe can’t be replaced?
The biggest change is access.
When I started, making a professional record meant getting into a real studio. You needed a console, tape machines, outboard gear, engineers, musicians, time, and money. Today, you can make an incredible record on a laptop.
I’ve been hired by major artists to work in some of the newest formats. I’ve done Atmos mixes for artists like The Marías and Kx5, with deadmau5 and Kaskade. I enjoy that work, and I love playing with new technology, but at the end of the day, Atmos is still just another format to me. None of it matters if the song isn’t great.
Songwriting is still the key.
Technology changes. Formats change. The way people find music changes. But a great melody, a great lyric, a groove that makes you feel something—those things still work exactly the way they always did.
And taste still matters. Knowing what to keep. Knowing what to throw away. Knowing when a vocal has the right emotion, even if it isn’t technically perfect. Knowing when the record is finished.
You can give somebody every piece of technology in the world. It still doesn’t write the song for them.
When you strip away the hits, the platinum records, the production credits, and everything that came with Crazy Town, what do you believe is the real legacy of Bret “Epic” Mazur, and what chapter are you writing now?
I think the real legacy is that I never stopped being curious.
Crazy Town was a huge part of my life, and “Butterfly” changed everything for me. I’m proud of it. But I never wanted one song or one band to become the final definition of who I was.
I’ve spent my whole career moving between things: producing, writing, performing, composing, mixing, working in film and television, developing artists, learning new formats, and finding new ways to make records.
These days, I’m working with emerging artists, established artists, major labels, and on creative projects with companies and organizations like Disney and the Los Angeles Dodgers. I love being able to move between all of those worlds and still keep my identity in the work.
I’m also a voting member of the Recording Academy and involved with the Grammy process, which gives me another way to stay connected to where music is going and to the next generation of artists.
And I’m making music for myself again, which has been really important.
So I don’t really think about legacy as something finished. I think it’s the body of work, the people you helped along the way, and whether you kept growing.
I’m still growing. I’m still making records. I still love what I do.
That’s the chapter I’m in now.
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