No. 150 - The Roots’ “The Seed (2.0)” changed my life

Cormac Ryan loves this song for the simplest reason

Jul 17, 2026

This Song Changed My Life is an independent music publication featuring weekly essays from people all around the world about the songs that mean the most to them. Created (and illustrated) by Grace Lilly.

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• 6 min read •

“The Seed (2.0),” from the album Phrenology, probably wasn’t the first (or even the tenth) song that I discovered and loved completely on my own. It wasn’t the first song that I evangelized to my friends, forcing them to be quiet in the car so they could appreciate it. Still, it feels important to me because it wasn’t given to me, yet I loved it as much or more as any of the “classics” that had been handed down to me.

I didn’t hear it on the radio or see the video on MTV. I had seen the video for “Break You Off,” the first single on Phrenology, and I think it must have inspired me to buy the CD. Many songs that I love, maybe even most songs that I love, don’t immediately appeal to me. Maybe I will think that they are okay, or kind of catchy, but it normally takes some time for me to really think a song is great. “The Seed (2.0)” was one of the exceptions. The first time I heard it, I was immediately all-in. This song was clearly better than the (still-good) “Break You Off.” In fact, was this the best song I had ever heard in my life?

I think for most of us, a good chorus is enough to make us like a song. There are tons of songs where the verse is nothing special, but the chorus is memorable enough to save the song. “The Seed (2.0)” is not that type of song. The verse, Black Thought rapping over a hypnotic guitar riff, is awesome. The chorus, sung by Cody Chesnutt, is even better, although the lyrics are admittedly a bit perplexing (more on that in a second).

The song instantly became a favorite. It felt a little bit like a discovery, although the Roots were relatively known already in 2002. There are tons of songs I loved from that time, but most of them have fallen out of my rotation. Some of them I’ve completely forgotten about. “The Seed (2.0)” has stuck around for 20 years, and it has been my reflexive answer when someone asks me my favorite song. Part of what draws me to this song is the nostalgia I feel when I hear it, for how it reminds me of high school and music from that time generally. Re-listening to it now reminds me that I like this song apart from nostalgia, too. It is, in my opinion, a perfect song (whatever that means).

Cormac’s brother, wearing a brown leather jacket, stands smiling next to Cormac in a black 'Berlin' jacket in 2005. — Cormac (right) and his brother in 2005

The song itself feels mystical to me. I almost always feel that the music is more important than the lyrics of a song, at least at first. I often don’t even know the lyrics until I’ve listened to the song a bunch, and this song was no exception. When I did learn the lyrics, I was confused. Is this song about cheating on your girlfriend and purposely getting someone pregnant? It’s a testament to how good this song is that the weirdness (amorality?) of the lyrics didn’t ruin it for me.

While I was writing this, I read about the song, and I found out the whole thing is (allegedly) symbolic: Cody Chesnutt is cheating on rap music, and his baby will literally be a rock and roll song. I’m not totally sure I buy this explanation, and I’m not totally sure it makes sense as a metaphor, but I don’t think it matters.

I have been thinking a lot about music taste recently. Eight months ago, my wife and I had our first child. I immediately planned how to expose him to all the pop culture I love. I know it is a fool’s errand to try and force your kid to like what you like. Basically the entire history of American popular music in the 20th century suggests that everything I like will be corny to him, and I’ll think everything he likes is dangerous garbage that is rotting his brain.

Still, I had the instinct to teach him about “cool” music, even though it was probably a quixotic endeavor. I began to reflect on how and why I liked what music I did, and how I acquired my likes.

Cormac smiles alongside his wife and their infant son, posing together outdoors in a yard covered with autumn leaves. — Cormac with his wife Hannah and their son

I had two major influences on my life when it comes to music: my dad and my older brother.

My dad, who in many ways is a kind and empathetic person, had very strong, surprisingly hardline opinions about music. His likes and dislikes are typical of a man born in 1959: country rock is great, rap is obnoxious, and most importantly, disco sucks. (He referred to basically all pop/dance music as “disco” for like twenty years longer than was accurate. Boyz II Men was not disco, dad.)

He was not afraid to share his opinion on any song or style of music. The fact that he had already shared that opinion 24 times prior was not, to him, an obstacle. (My wife tells me that in this, I am my father’s son.) If the song was important to him, he usually talked about it biographically, not sonically. He might tell us how his older brother Terry had the album in 1974, but he wouldn’t talk about the drums or the guitar tone or anything. He might, if he was feeling particularly strongly, call something a “classic.”

My older brother, though at first blush radically different from our dad in his approach to music, was ultimately kind of similar. My brother was happy to define himself as diametrically opposed to my dad’s music: he loved rap, and grunge, and industrial metal. However, he was just as quick to categorize everything, and he could be vicious in his approach.

Since he was closer in age, I was more likely to adopt my brother’s opinions without too much pushback. Plus, he had good taste! He subscribed to Rolling Stone and The Source magazine, and had the music snob’s reflexive rejection of most music you might hear on the radio.

A young Cormac rides in a framed backpack carrier on his dad's back while his brother leans affectionately against their dad's leg during a coastal outing. — Cormac (right) with his dad and older brother

He was even more strident in his opinions than my dad, and I often parroted them as if they were my own, even though I generally had no idea what I was talking about. I remember confidently telling a friend that Green Day were sellouts, even though 1) I liked Green Day, 2) I had no idea what they might have done to be sellouts, and 3) I didn’t even know what a sellout was.

Between the two of them, and my general awareness of what music was supposed to be cool or critically acclaimed, I sometimes felt like it was impossible to have an opinion of my own that wasn’t influenced externally. If I liked something that I knew I “shouldn’t,” I would formulate arguments about why it was underrated; I couldn’t engage and enjoy things on their own merits without over-contextualizing them.

Since I found “The Seed (2.0)” on my own, it felt free from any baggage. I had finally gotten old enough to be able to enjoy something without worrying about how it was perceived. The song was cool, but I didn’t like it because it was cool, or it got good reviews, or my brother had told me about it.

I loved it because it felt like something of my own, something no one told me about. Mostly, I think I love this song because of how it sounds, which, entire preceding essay notwithstanding, is really all that matters. ◆