If you’ve ever heard the name “Mach-Hommy” before, you’re probably familiar with the lore—or at least the parts he wants you to know. Mach-Hommy has been one of the most critically acclaimed and prolific rap artists of the last decade. A true lyrical stylist with a fragmented rap style, he densely blends his biographical influences—Newark, Creole heritage, and Supreme Mathematics terminology—with incredible finesse and an instinct for melody. (Just imagine if GZA had the charisma and cadence ability of Method Man.)
For listeners who don’t pay close attention, Mach-Hommy’s music can seem impenetrable. It carries a distinct "if you know, you know" energy that mirrors Mach-Hommy’s overall brand. In the streaming era we’re in, where artists often build their relevance through singles, social media hits, and providing a level of transparency or intimacy, Mach has chosen a path that’s the exact opposite. So far, he's focused on releasing a stellar catalog of albums—over 30 projects—while keeping details around his personal life close to the chest. His relationship with streaming has also been unorthodox; in the past, he's dropped albums on DSPs at his own whim, directing fans toward physical copies, which can cost hundreds of dollars. In this way, he has become one of the more innovative distributors of the modern era, which, at times, has cause frustration from fans, who are used to a more conventual relationship with their favorite artists.
“I take all the risk. I get very little of the reward,” Mach-Hommy told Complex. “I open up the lane to where I moved the goalpost so far, and I create a price model to where all my so-called peers can double their prices without batting an eyelash and it still is good… I took the hit already for everybody, so I don't really give a fuck what anybody got to say. I made shit better.”
Mach is committed to maintaining a certain aura—he still has no social media presence and rarely performs live—but it seems like he’s slowly opening up. He's becoming more accessible. In May he released #RICHAXXHAITIAN, his first album in three years (and one that came with some controversy after it was removed from Spotify briefly.) Since the release, he has done more press than ever before and shows no signs of stopping, with a Conductor Williams-produced album on the horizon.
When he visited the Complex offices earlier this summer, he arrived with multiple outfits ready. (He also did an interview with Black Thought for Pigeons & Planes that day.) He never took off the mask but his magnetism was still contagious; he often spoke with a blunt and familiar casualness that had the room rapt. At times, in the middle of a story, he would interrupt himself and speak as if there was an invisible skeptic in the room, like when he blurted out “Yeah, it’s Mach-Hommy, my nigga” while telling a story about Jay-Z.
We spoke to Mach-Hommy about his reputation, the various talks around his vinyl, taking notes from Beyoncé, and more.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
What's the response to #RICHAXXHAITIAN been like?
I'm not sure exactly why, but I haven't really gotten a lot of feedback. My homegirl's grandfather [told her and then she shared with me] don't ever do a great job. He was like a company man that had worked for the company for 30 years and he always kind of went out of his way and did more than his fair share of work. When he retired, they hired three or four people to replace him, but he never got a raise once or anything like that. So I guess if you do great work, people just expect you to do great work and then that's it.
So just the idea that you've been so consistently great that people take you for granted, almost like your Tim Duncan.
Damn shit. When you put it like that, I don't want to put myself in those shoes, but you might be right. It might just be like, “Oh, another ring, another championship. Oh, good for you.”
So is that disappointing to you?
I guess. But then this is the other thing—I'm hearing other people talk about how excited people are about the album. But it's not reaching me directly. It's just like I'm hearing other people's experiences, like my engineer. And maybe some of the people that contributed to the production. And they're like, “Yo— it's up.” And I'm like, “damn where?” Because you got to understand, I lost all my YouTube subscribers the day that I uploaded my video, lost all my Spotify streams the Monday after the album dropped. Everything gone. So I don't know, I'm having a different experience, but I know what I did. Also, I got a Conductor [Williams] album coming, so I don't really care.
The Conductor album coming this year? What percentage of that is done?
Just waiting for features and then if I don't get the features by next week, I'll feature myself. I can do it.
I don't know if you like this term, but you're famously mysterious…
OK, that's cool. Just don't call me a recluse. You know what I'm saying? Look, I got my nails. I'm not in a bed.
Do you follow discussions about you online?
No, definitely not. Every once in a while someone will send me a text or something. Obviously, maybe if someone says something slick or even something complimentary—and if it's impressive enough—somebody in my inner circle might share it with me, but I don't go seeking that out. I've never been the one that seeks out praise or disapproval either way. I don't really care. I'm kind of in my own bubble when it comes to being creative and doing the work. I worked from a silo for so long, before anyone even heard of me. So it's like I had to always trust my own intuition. I never had a fucking control group to tell me if this should be the first thing. I don't give a fuck.
You said you worked in a silo. What year did that break for you?
I mean I’m still working in the silo. I don't have a comment box. I'm not really taking a lot of advice. The people I collaborate with are so natural. It's hard to believe, but I don't really have a lot of creative hiccups when I'm collaborating.
Even the features are done remotely. We're not in the same studio. You know what I'm saying? So literally you got to really have self-confidence.
Do you ever collaborate in the studio with guest features?
Shit, I mean the closest thing to that was I recorded [Black] Thought’s verse for the album. Pray for Haiti, I recorded that in the studio, but that was a different experience. I was in [Westside Gunn’s] space. That's the only other person probably ever seen me record a rhyme. West, [Tha God Fahim, Your Old Droog] and Thought. But Thought still hasn't seen me record because my verse [on “COPY COLD”] was already there. That song was sitting there waiting for him to get on it for like eight years or some shit.
What’s the story behind that record?
I made that record, I don't know, eight years ago or some shit. And it was just sitting there and I always left that second verse open for him. But I just put it away like, “Yeah, you're going to get Black Thought on this song.” I put it in a vault and then one day I found myself in this predicament where he's pressing me for a record to get on like, “Yo, I've been asking you for months. When you going to send me something?” I'm like, “Oh shit, I do have a Black Thought record.” Then I had to go on that journey. I had to pull out the big fucking LaCie, big heavy ass fucking external hard drive and cross my fingers. LaCie, y'all owe me because that’s a little unofficial commercial. But that shit booted up just like normal. I probably hadn't went in that drive for six years.
So, just to clarify, you hadn't met Black Thought at that time?
No. And nor did I think I would because why would I? That's the mind state I was in back then, just being honest. I remember niggas used to send me beats. I listened to the beat, I'll make a song and then it'd be like, “oh nah, this for Hov.” I've experienced shit like that. And I'm like, “Bro, you never going to meet Jay-Z.” And I measure myself by the same stick that I measure others with. So in the same breath, when I was like, “ the only person that would do this justice is Thought.” But then I also said to myself, “Nah, that ain't never going to happen.” So I just put it away.
I'm curious how many songs you have like that, where it’s for other people you haven’t worked with before?
Shit, you for real? Dog, I got records for Missy Elliott. I got records for Snoop [Dogg]. This shit embarrassing. It's like I can go on and on. This is some bullshit. I got records for Lady Gaga. I'm creative. So I got a bunch of records. I got records for Bob Marley.
What's the most out of the box one you have?
Thom Yorke. But it's not surprising to me. I got a bunch of house records with KAYTRANADA. I got like 30, 40 house records. I lost half of them.
What happened?
Yo man, I had a fucking incident, bro. I don't know what you call it—cyber terrorism or whatever the fuck like that. But yeah, my shit got wiped out and it was very malicious because only specific shit got deleted. I ain't going to go through that whole ordeal, but I went as far as you could go to try to retrieve it. I went very far.
I wonder when you're linking with a Roc Marciano or a Black Thought or an 03 Greedo, how much of it is because you’re interested and how much of it is just kind of thinking what your fans would want to hear from you?
Shit, I don't know. Again, the silo is real and nothing gets in. I'm just happy that I'm fortunate enough for people to really like what I like for myself, but that's it. I just do what I like for myself. I don't really know what people like.
Do you follow the conversation closely about your vinyl? There's always these debates about how you price your work.
I don't know. Some people are very ungrateful by nature. So it's like I take all the risk. I get very little of the reward. I open up the lane to where I moved the goalpost so far, and I create a price model to where all my so-called peers can double their prices without batting an eyelash and it still is good. “Oh, what the fuck is this? This is outrageous.” And I took the hit already for everybody, so I don't really give a fuck what anybody got to say. I made shit better.
How do you decide the pricing? You'll have something priced $444.44. What's the intentionality there?
I mean numbers carry intentions. Numbers carry energy, frequency. And without getting too into that shit—because I'm not about to Miss Cleo y'all niggas right now—If you know Supreme Mathematics you know that's just half the battle.
This album you put out independently, the previous one you put on Griselda. Why did you want to do it on your own this time?
Out of 30 fucking bodies of work, how many albums did I release [independently]? That was a moment in time and then there's a constant and then there's a fucking variable. That's all it is.
We put one of your verses on “SONJE” as one of our best verses of the year so far. Was there a better verse we could have picked?
What you mean, shit? I dunno. That's on y'all.
I'm not as pretentious as a proper head chef at a French restaurant or something. At the end of the day it is going in your mouth. I know I did the best that I could do before I sent that plate out, and that's really as far as I can go. Do I have opinions on how shit should be eaten? Yes. But I think those are best kept internally with the quiet voice. Because it's like you shouldn't get in anyone's way of consuming. I mean, I let people do what they want. People tell me the wrong lyrics all the fucking time, bro. You think I fucking care? Do whatever you like.
Do you think of rap in competitive terms? Like if you’re getting on a song with Black Thought do you want to body him?
I had this conversation with Thought before and it was more so like, “Man, I'm not there anymore.” I'm not striving for that anymore. I'm in a different state of mind now. I'm striving for excellence as a producer. I care about the song. There's a lot of people that would jeopardize the fucking art for some fucking ego trip. That shit's weird. I understand it as a stage of development, but I feel like at some point you should be developed and then you should move the fuck on to something else. I feel like that's a fucking trivial pursuit at this point. ‘Cause if I was really concerned with burning niggas up, nobody would want to fucking talk to me, dog. I waste niggas. But it ain't even like that. I'm past that stage. This is the stage where you get to hang out with me and you get to know what it's like to be embraced by Mach-Hommy and we can get in the studio. And my biggest concern is the feature being shown in the best light.
You don't do a lot of live shows?
No, I haven't.
How come?
I mean, same way I haven't done a lot of interviews. I just feel like it just wasn't time. I think everything has its time in place. And now people might be like, “Damn, that's a lot of interviews.” Well, that's the same shit y'all weird niggas said when I was dropping albums. “That's a lot of albums.” You know what I'm saying? It's like, all right. A lot of albums, a lot of interviews. And guess what? A lot of fucking live shows. And it'll happen in its own time. I'm getting ready to do some shows in September, so we'll see. You're invited.
There's memes going around about how crazy your 2017 releases were. (Edit note: Mach-Hommy released nine projects in 2017.]
Yeah, that shit's wild. I heard that before.
Do you feel like it's a special run?
Hell yeah. It's special.
What was in the water that year?
Man, I don't know. Fatherhood, a bunch of shit. It was a strange time for me because I was getting calls from people, “You can't do this. I was talking to so-and-so yesterday, and it doesn't work like this, you're not supposed to release this many [albums].” And I'm like, “Damn, I'm doing it independently. Why is it bothering you?” These are people on labels, people who've been in the game for 20 years and shit. You know what I mean? Just up in arms. But it was interesting that sequence of [albums] is heralded and it is lauded, nigga. I knew what I was doing, pussy.
I once read a story that you rapped a verse so hard that Jay-Z lost his hat.
Yeah, that happened.
What was this verse? Did you ever put it out?
No, man. I mean it wasn't mine to put out. So I recorded a verse for [A Written Testimony] the album he did with Jay Electronica and it was that song, it wasn't scheduled or planned or anything. It was something like, “Oh, I want you to meet somebody, pull up.” And when I get there it's like,” Alright, listen to all these songs. Tell me which ones you like and do you have a verse for this song?” So this shit just turned up real fast. And then I don't know what Hov was used to, but he left the room for two seconds and he came back in and was like, “Damn, you ain't feeling it?” And so it was [Young Guru] me, and my man Dread. We laughed because we was like, “Yo son, we done played this shit like a 100 times already.”
Did you feel nervous in that situation?
Shit, nah. I was pleasantly surprised. I was like, “Oh nigga, you want this work?” Because I didn't know. I thought I was just going there to just make small talk. So I was more relieved.
Is there an example of you being surprised about meeting someone who fucked with your music?
I had been hearing about Hov liking it for years, so I wasn't [surprised]. He'll put you on a playlist and it made sense. It made mad sense from the time I heard it. I've been hearing that for years before I met him, It's a cross between Beyoncé and Usher. But after meeting Usher, I was like, “Nah, I'm not surprised at all.” Usher on something different.
Wait, why weren’t you surprised by Usher?
Because Usher a nigga, bro. He’s surprisingly aggressive. Yeah, I fuck with Usher. He hood.
And did Beyoncé say anything about any of your songs?
I had just came from New Orleans and I was recording and doing some stuff with the Preservation Hall. And basically I had done a bunch of music in the spirit of whatever's floating around there. During that visit, one of the band members passed and so we went to his funeral procession. That shit was crazy, yo. It was electric. It's almost like being in Haiti. I kept telling the people that was with me, “I'm used to this.” My man had an open cut on his leg. I was like, Yo, don't go into the cemetery with that.”
So I was playing some of the records that I recorded. I was there for hours and shit. Then B ended up coming towards the end of the night right before we left. And Jay was like, “Yo play that New Orleans shit for her.” So I started playing the New Orleans shit. And there's one record, she like, “Run that back.” And I'm telling her like, “I was going to get a feature on there.” I played the record like five times. She was real cool about it. She was like, “Hey look. I don't really know much about it, but if I was you, I would just leave it like that. You don't need nobody messing that up. I was like, “God damn nigga… don't do that to a nigga.”
You listen to her advice?
What you mean? I ain't put nobody on it.
Is there anything I missed?
Well shit, I got records for Missy Elliott, Snoop Dogg, Buju Banton, fucking Barrington Levy, 10Tik. Yeah, I like that nigga, too. Vybz Kartel, you know what I mean? Thom Yorke, I need some remixes or something, man. I'd rather do something from scratch, but I’d take a remix. I know that shit going to be crazy, shit. Jay need to let one of them shits loose. We got songs.
How many?
Not many, just a handful. But yeah, other than that I think everything's fine. Everything's cool. Oh yeah, [Kodak Black] and shit. Yeah, Kodak—get one of those. I definitely been had some for him.
