My passion for Hip-Hop started with a crate digging kid who's dad used to be a DJ, but it blossomed when a few stolen moments after school, racing against the clock to download Lupe Fiasco's latest album and transfer it onto my iPod before my ride arrived that changed everything. Those brief minutes set the stage for something much bigger—a lifelong connection to a culture that spoke directly to me.
As an only child, I found solace and identity in the hidden layers of artists like Common, Talib Kweli, Mos Def, and Lupe. While everyone around me lived their lives soundtracked by the radio singles, I was diving down rabbit holes of discographies, searching for pieces of myself in their lyrics. Remnants of Baldwin, Hughes, and Gil Scott-Heron layered over the Jazz-sampled melodies remind me of who I am. It wasn’t just music; it was storytelling, culture, and a mirror reflecting the unspoken parts of my own experiences. Now, don't let that build a false narrative, I still like the hits and big singles, but that's for another day.
That same chase—the need to associate myself with something real, raw, and meaningful—is what drives me as a photographer. Hip-hop didn’t just teach me to listen; it taught me to observe, study the details, and pursue my craft with the same authenticity and dedication I saw in those artists. The other night, I saw that drive reflected in an opening act at a show. The artist, Pat G, was everything Hip Hop taught me to value: charismatic, authentic, and unrelentingly committed to his craft. He hyped the crowd, DJ’d his own set, worked his social media plugs mid-set, and made an unheated old Masonic temple venue feel alive. It was the passion that showed through.
