Mach-Hommy Finally Drops the Mask at His First-Ever Solo Show
A deep dive into the elusive rapper’s debut performance at Manhattan's Lincoln Center.
Mach-Hommy notoriously covers his face with a Haitian flag bandana in public—a way for him to put on for his motherland while maintaining anonymity and control over his life, as he recently explained during an interview with Idea Generation. But last Wednesday night, he stood in front of a sold-out crowd at New York’s Lincoln Center, bandana in hand. This night was special.
Fans, press, and fellow artists leaped to their feet and roared as Mach slowly took the stage, the curtains in the center’s Appel Room rising behind him to reveal a view of all of Columbus Circle and the Manhattan skyline. He surveyed the room, nodding in approval, before ripping the bandana off his face with the dramatic flair of a rap gladiator. One of the most enigmatic rappers of his generation was finally taking us beyond the looking glass. The cheers turned to gasps and echoes of “Yooooo!” as he gripped the mic, maskless, and performed the raspy Kreyol of “(...),” the opening track to this year’s #RichAxxHaitian. All of a sudden, it made sense why security locked our phones in Yondr pouches at the door. As the song faded out and he tied his bandana to the mic stand, his toothy smile gleamed brighter than the LEDs and park lights dotted behind him.
Billed as Mach-Hommy Presents Mach-Hommy, this intimate, one-night-only performance was the reclusive Newark rapper’s first-ever solo show. It was hosted by Jazz at Lincoln Center, which normally puts on big band events and tributes to jazz icons like Wynton Marsalis. Making your live debut at one of the most hallowed concert halls in the world is a great start, but the venue initially projected a burden of prestige onto the idea of what a Mach-Hommy concert should be. As I walked up to the door, no idea what to expect, a thought cycled through my head: “Am I gonna be seeing some classy renditions of gritty rap songs with a 10-piece orchestra?” Thankfully, there were few gestures toward gaudy interpolation.
Backed by Brooklyn DJ Cutbird, Mach performed the digital version of #RichAxxHaitian—the one available on DSPs, as opposed to the vinyl version, which has different sequencing and several new beats—in its entirety, as clear and commanding as he sounds on record. As a performer, Mach commanded the stage, rapping double-time, jumping between English, French, and Kreyol, all while pacing with the leisurely stroll of a morning walk to the fridge. His jagged baritone hit harder in a live setting but was still butterfly-knife graceful. The closest thing to instrumental accompaniment came from Buffalo singer, pianist, and activist Drea D’Nur, who played piano on “Politickle,” but otherwise, it was Mach and a handful of guests rapping and singing over live beats, just the way the rap gods intended. He and soulful singer-producer Georgia Anne Muldrow’s back and forth chants during “Sonje” grounded the song’s astral jazziness in something guttural. After playing hot potato with a noticeably giddy Black Thought on “Copy Cold” and sprinting through the marathon verses of the title track, Mach-Hommy let the figurative mask slip a little more. “This shit hard, y’all,” he said at one point, after a quick exhale. Could’ve fooled us!
Tradition, and the subversion of it, was the theme of the night. Plenty of guests dressed how you’d expect for a night out at an institution that hosts the opera and tributes to jazz legends, but many others showed out decked in their hip-hop finest: Avirex leather jackets and Snow Beach Polo; plain black hoodies and matching beanies; backpacks loosely strapped over sweaters and North Face bubble coats; Clark Wallabees and 59Fifty New Era fitted hats as far as the eye could see. And it was no quiet night out at the Pops during the show, either. Every song during Mach’s set became a call-and-response, with the crowd treating the Appel Room like it was the legendary nightclub Tunnel during its peak in the ’90s. “Is Brooklyn in the house?” Mach asked in between songs, to an immediate response. “I already know Jersey’s in the house,” the Newark rapper said, sporting a crooked smile while playing with his short, spindly braids, to even more thunderous applause.
Mach celebrated the moment, but he also took the time to mull over the history that came with it. During a formal land acknowledgment, he spoke about how the area where Lincoln Center stands was stolen from the people of the Lenape tribe, how the island of Manhattan—originally pronounced Manahatouh—was where the lumber used to make bows and arrows was found. Later, a tangent about the Christopher Columbus statue standing just outside the building led to his recounting how Columbus and his cronies landed in Haiti, pillaged the land, and brutalized women and children. Mach weaved through these historical touchstones as nimbly as his raps, blurring the line between being a child of Newark’s streets and a suave college professor. He emphasized the connection he feels with Indigenous Americans as a first-generation Haitian American. “Columbus didn’t land in ‘America.’ He landed in Haiti!” he said, channeling the rebel spirit of one of the only colonized nations in the Western hemisphere to have fought back against their colonizers. “We weren’t the first, but we’ll damn sure be the last!”
In that instant, it became clear why Mach decided to have his first public performance at Columbus Circle, the day before American Thanksgiving. Colonization and the bloodshed it wreaks are frequent topics across #RichAxxHaitian—think about the “white phosphorus [that] fell on civilians in Gaza” mentioned on “Politickle,” or how he and music executive Haitian Jack talk out plans for Haitian prosperity on the interlude “Xerox Clat.” His message was simple—I’m here to take up space in this colonized area, collect and disseminate my money, and give these people a show—and his decision to unmask himself in front of 450 people reaffirmed how serious those commitments are. Mach, Cutbird, and a handful of guests truly brought #RichAxxHaitian to life and dragged colonialism through the mud while doing it.
Mach’s thematic goals may have been noble, but the cost was anything but humble. He’s infamous for charging a premium for his art and true to form, the experience was shrouded in exclusivity by its hefty price tag—tickets started at $350. The merch table touted priceless collectibles like a single vinyl copy of his scarce 2017 project The G.A.T. encased in glass, for display purposes only (it originally retailed for upwards of $3000 on his website). Hand-stamped posters featuring a Haitian coin with Christopher Columbus’s face scratched out went for $187, and CDs, cassettes, and T-shirts—my favorite was an official “bootleg” that said “Mack Homie” on it—were being sold for $77.77. The prices were undeniably high, but Mach’s cult of personality is so strong, he filled every seat and still had patrons lining up to support.
After the show, I couldn’t help but think about the way Mach has reached this point at the intersection of high art, commerce, and hip-hop. He saw a vacuum in independent music that he decided to fill by bringing quality, determination, and tact to everything he does. Nobody would’ve shelled out $300 for physical CDs of Haitian Body Odor in 2016 if the music wasn’t good—or the persona boring. That said, he walks a very thin line between a robber baron telling off the elite to their faces and making off with the loot, and feeding into the “avaricious hyper-capitalistic aims” he claims to stand against on “Xerox Clat.” Where does the altruistic artist donating portions of his album income to Haitian trust funds end, and the coveter of python trench coats, Wall Street speak, and bitcoin fascination begin? Are they the same person? Mach understands his worth and that money is a tool at the end of the day, but can you fight capitalism with capitalism?
He didn’t explain himself that night, and there being no ethical consumption under capitalism makes all of this unavoidable unless we overthrow the whole thing. But by revealing his face, aside from the shock factor, he was emphasizing that there’s indeed just a person behind that mask. As a rapper, he’s certainly an “icon, end quote,” but he’s also just a man with motivations, desires, biases, and contradictions like the rest of us. He revealed himself in a controlled environment with no phones, cameras, or recording equipment allowed—effectively behind a paywall. It felt, more than a little, like something his fellow masked indie rap vet MF Doom might have done—which made it even more delicious that Mach ended the night by covering “Rhinestone Cowboy” from Madvillainy. As he bowed to his clapping crowd—lessons imparted, party rocked, beats crushed—he slinked backstage as quickly as he appeared. Even when breaking down his greatest defense, he’s still the one in control.
