The saints we make from the artists we lose.
A reverent examination of hip-hop, devotion, and the strange theology of fans who turn musicians into icons after they're gone. Written from the photo pit and the funeral procession both.
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Clear As Day
I was on the SkyTrain on my way to meet someone for the first time. The song came on random shuffle. I read the lyrics on the screen and the verse said the thing I have been carrying around in my mouth and not saying out loud, because I don't want to preach, because preaching doesn't work, because people resent it. André 3000 said it for me. From 1996.
The First Saint
He was twenty-one years old when I photographed him at the Commodore Ballroom. He had five more years to live and didn't know it. None of us did. That's not what made it sacred — but it's part of why I keep coming back to those frames.