Why We Built the Backyard Studio at Fitfo Labs

By Edward Clyde Hicks II

There are easier ways to build a studio.

You can rent a white box.
You can hang some panels.
You can buy the gear.
You can call it “creative.”

But that was never the point.

We didn’t build the Backyard Studio at Fitfo Labs because we needed another room with microphones.

We built it because something was missing.

And we could feel it.

The Problem No One Talks About

Most studios are technically impressive.

Acoustically treated.
LED-lit.
Perfectly optimized.

But they feel sterile.

They feel like performance spaces, not human spaces.

And creativity doesn’t thrive under fluorescent pressure.

It thrives where people feel safe.
Where ego drops.
Where time slows down.
Where ideas breathe before they’re judged.

We realized that if we were serious about building a sanctuary for creators — not just a production facility — we had to rethink the environment entirely.

Not just the sound.

The soul.

Why “Backyard”?

Because backyards are where life actually happens.

Think about it.

Backyards are where:

• Kids run barefoot without overthinking it.

• Conversations stretch long past sunset.

• Music plays without the expectation of perfection.

• You’re not “on stage.” You’re just present.

A backyard is informal, but powerful.
Unpolished, but honest.

That energy is rare in professional creative spaces.

So we built it.

Not as a theme.

As a philosophy.

Designed to Inspire — Not Impress

The Backyard Studio was built to feel lived-in.

Wood.
Texture.
Warmth.
Open air energy.

It doesn’t scream “facility.”

It whispers:
“Come in. You’re safe here.”

And that matters.

Because when an artist feels safe, they take risks.

When they take risks, they find their identity.

And when they find their identity, the world gets something real.

A Space Built for Human Connection

Fitfo has always been about human verification.

Not just digital presence.
Not just followers.
Not just streams.

Presence.

Eye contact.
Shared silence.
Unfiltered laughter.
The pause before a lyric lands.

The Backyard Studio was designed to hold that kind of connection.

It’s intimate enough for vulnerability.
Open enough for collaboration.
Grounded enough to remind you that we are still human — even in an age of AI.

And yes — we use AI. We embrace it.

But we believe the future belongs to those who can merge intelligence with soul.

Technology should amplify humanity.

Not replace it.

The Real Reason

If I’m being honest?

We built it because we wanted a place where creators could come and feel bigger than their fear.

A place where:

• An unknown artist could step onto a stage and feel seen.

• A kid could perform for the first time and never forget it.

• A songwriter could rediscover why they started.

We built it because we’re not just producing content.

We’re building landing pads for courage.

Architecture as Philosophy

As someone who lives in both worlds — architecture and art — I’ve learned something:

Buildings are arguments.

They make a statement about what matters.

The Backyard Studio argues that:

• Creativity should feel human.

• Community beats clout.

• Presence beats polish.

• Environment shapes identity.

It’s not just wood and turf and lighting.

It’s an ecosystem decision.

What Happens There

Already, we’ve seen it.

Artists opening up mid-performance.
Collaborations that wouldn’t have happened anywhere else.
Moments that feel… bigger than the room.

Not because the room is massive.

But because it’s intentional.

We didn’t build a studio.

We built a backyard under the stars — inside a warehouse in Atlanta.

And somehow, that paradox works.

This Is Just the Beginning

The Backyard Studio isn’t a finished idea.

It’s a living organism.

It will host:

• Lab Sessions

• Intimate concerts

• Youth showcases

• Podcast moments

• Creative risks that don’t yet have names

Because the goal was never to impress the industry.

The goal was to build a place where creativity feels like coming home.

And if we did that right?

Then every note, every lyric, every laugh that echoes off those wooden walls will carry something more than sound.

It will carry intention.

—

We built the Backyard Studio because we believe space matters.

And because somewhere in Atlanta, someone needed a backyard again.

Welcome to ours.