Mach-Hommy doesn’t want to be known as a legend. That’s one of the main points he wanted us to take away from this listening party. It was a random Thursday night in a dark vinyl bar in SoHo and he brought together journalists from all over the city to debut his forthcoming album, #RICHAXXHAITIAN. I’m sat at a table full of men who probably think I’m here as Andre Gee’s plus one, or maybe I was just experiencing impostor syndrome because I still don’t understand why I was invited.
“What’s the difference between legend and a legend?” he asked the crowd. Legend is lore—a story that’s not verifiable, but largely regarded as the truth. A legend is a notable person whose celebrity stems from being one of the best, if not the best, in their field. Mach-Hommy doesn’t want us journalists to use the word to describe him or his work yet. “It’s not legendary. Not even close.”
But the auteur is indisputably full of legend, as told by the former definition. He stopped every few songs to tell us how the record came about, and he even opened the night with an anecdote about getting jumped over a DJ SNS mixtape that he skipped school to get. It helps set the stage for the second thing he wants us to know about him: “My taste is immaculate.”
It was hard to focus on being present when there was the overwhelming burden of feeling like I didn’t belong in the room, but even then, it felt like Mach-Hommy was speaking directly to me and not the other 50 people in attendance. The fervor in his voice every time he told a story or rapped atop the vinyl spinning the unreleased album. It exuded a passion that transformed him from an untouchable hip-hop enigma into something more human.
Maybe it was insane to put myself in the shoes of one of the most esteemed rappers alive, but it had me thinking that maybe the deep reverence I have for my craft is also what got me into the room. Maybe Mach didn’t exactly have the impostor syndrome I was fighting throughout the night, but he did have humility, self-awareness, and—like his opening story—the desire to share.
One of the songs he played boasted a hook that said, “We’ve got the same 24 hours in a day,” and it brought me back to realizing that yes, Mach-Hommy might be one of the most sought-after artists around right now, but he’s also human. And when we strip everyone down to its “analog” form, we’re all just human.
There’s a famous quote from Ira Glass that goes: “All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years, you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know it’s normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work.”
I later learned I was invited because the organizer went to a show I put together last year with Nicholas Craven and Tha God Fahim. While I might not be prominently a rap writer anymore, it validated the work I had done during a time when I felt unworthy and unacknowledged. It reminded me of a rare evening I put together and was able to share with people who wanted to experience it. A night like tonight. A moment like when Mach showed the SNS tape to a group of older boys who just wanted to take it from him.
Earlier this week, I tweeted about my frustrations with the boys’ club mentality of music journalism. Tonight didn’t absolve me of that. After all, I was one of three women in the room, not including people working the event. But I was there for a reason and it was probably because my taste is immaculate.