Mach-Hommy on Knowing His Own Worth and Paying It Forward

After establishing himself as one of the most influential artists in the hip-hop underground of the last half-decade, the Haitian-American rapper is ready to use his influence for the greater good.

MachHommy
Photo courtesy of Mach-Hommy

The process of speaking with Mach-Hommy is nearly as labyrinthine as his music. After spending days navigating a network of anonymous calls and dead ends, an assistant passed me the number to one of hip-hop’s most elusive artists. Mach wanted to speak en route to a video shoot in L.A., but filming had already begun by the time I called. An hour and a half later, a little after 1 a.m., my phone rang. In a flash, a figure in all white with a Haitian flag tied across his face beamed in via FaceTime.

The New Jersey-based Haitian-American rapper is used to working at a prolific clip from the shadows. Most of the nearly two dozen projects he’s released since his 2016 breakout HBO (Haitian Body Odor)—which he initially promoted and sold himself via Instagram—still aren’t available on streaming services. Their scarcity has built a cult of personality further amplified by Mach’s raps, tightly constructed yet freely floating through hip-hop’s past and present like ghosts in Gore-Tex jackets. The sales of HBO and Mach’s decision to sell subsequent projects for thousands of dollars through services like Bandcamp made every album a collector’s item and set a trend that the new generation has followed to this day.

With two critically-acclaimed albums, Mach finally brought his vicious wordplay to a much larger audience last year. Both Pray For Haiti and its spiritual followup Balens Cho (Kreyol for “hot candles”) received more traditional releases, appearing on streaming services right away. Last year’s big push was, in part, meant to draw support for Mach’s countrymen in Haiti.

Multiple times throughout our conversation, he stressed that his share of equity from Pray For Haiti and his recent “$payforhaiti” single with Montreal producer Kaytranada will go to the Pray for Haiti Trust Fund, which will be dedicated to education and building a technology institute for young Haitian children. “We talking about a place where potable drinking water is a serious problem,” he says. “There’s no work of art that could take the place of a home to live in or public waterworks or electricity. It’s a work in progress, and until we start to cross some serious thresholds with these efforts, it really won’t mean much of anything to anyone on the ground suffering.”

Putting a finer point on it, he says bluntly, “If niggas wanna do me a favor, play Pray For Haiti, man. It’s not about the album cycle being done—this is people’s lives we’re talking about.” At this point in Mach’s career, the music is about more than just bragging rights. 

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Pitchfork: Pray For Haiti introduced your music to more people than ever before. Do you feel like you’ve crossed a threshold, in that regard?

Mach-Hommy: Look man, I hate to be the voice of reason, but I’m still waiting for the turn-up. Don’t get me wrong: My day ones stay with a lead pipe in they backpack and are ready to tear shit down like football hooligans in Manchester. But more people need to start getting in tune. You can show that you like it. Nobody’s gonna cancel you.

You begin “Tunnel Vision” from HBO saying you want your python trench coat, and you’re still looking for it five years later on “The 26th Letter” from Pray For Haiti. Do you feel like you’ve earned it?

I earned 10,000 python trench coats. I don’t want no flowers. I just want my coat. Some people say you gotta do that for yourself, so it’s actually getting made right now. It would’ve been cool to receive it as a gift, but hey.

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