by Justin Davis (@AnkhDeLillo)
During a private listening party for his newest record, #RICHAXXHAITIAN, Haitian-American rapper Mach-Hommy posed a question to the crowd: “What’s the difference between legend and a legend?” Maybe you’ve heard Mach’s legend before. More than thirty projects deep, he’s got co-signs from a broad cross-section of hip-hop royalty — plus a ravenous fanbase that’s turned his rap-release-as-high-art approach into a viable career path. He’s also moved much of his catalog onto traditional streaming platforms in the past five years, and even done the occasional interview. Although his trademark reclusiveness has helped him get here, it feels like he’s been toying with the idea of becoming more open with his artistic approach and motivations.
A recent press release describes #RICHAXXHAITIAN as the last of a “tetralogy” of Haiti-focused albums, starting with 2016’s HBO (Haitian Body Odor): the lush, bleak opus that first introduced him to a wider audience. Then there was his détente with Griselda, 2021’s Pray for Haiti, which took on the elegant, vinyl-skipping jazz-rap that’s become one of the label’s defining sounds. Later that year came Balens Cho (Hot Candles), more intimate and melancholy, highlighting the scars of a “post”-colonial world between scraps of archival clips and vibrant instrumentation. Haiti’s struggle for self-determination has always been central to Mach’s mythos, but these four records explicitly use it as a framing device — and compared to its predecessors, #RICHAXXHAITIAN feels especially clear and distilled.
In a rare interview with the FADER last year, Mach spoke to a “collective jadedness” in the Haitian diaspora about how they’re viewed on the world stage: “We have all witnessed a certain kind of collective yawn from the global community, and more specifically the American government, about the political affairs of the Haitian people.” So let’s talk about Haiti for a moment. It’s been three years since unpopular President Jovenel Moïse was assassinated and a magnitude 7.2 earthquake rocked the island. As armed gang conflicts have further eroded Haiti’s infrastructure — fueled by a vast black market of American-made guns — its remaining government is struggling to regain stability. Western powers continue to intervene in Haiti’s politics with their own agendas, as they have throughout its history: a multinational security force will soon enter the country on a “peacekeeping” mission that’s funded and supported by the U.S. military.
This climate permeates the album in lyrics, conversational asides, and samples of news clips. On “POLITickle,” for example, with Buffalo singer and activist Drea D’Nur, Mach’s chorus hones in on Haiti’s economy: “International Monetary Fund / I got a monkey on my back and it’s a rather heavy one.” When the Haitian government accepts aid from global financiers like the IMF, they often require harmful reforms that weaken Haiti’s economy and governing power at the same time — destabilizing the country by “modernizing” it. “XEROX CLAT” features a conversation with controversial music executive and promoter Haitian Jack, debating how the island might move forward. “We got a highly ignorant population that’s taking measures into they own hands,” says Mach, “and being manipulated by a handful of businessmen in a room somewhere, with avaricious, hyper-capitalistic aims — bloodsuckers of the poor.” That being said, this isn’t a protest album, nor is it anti-capitalist by any means. Instead, Mach’s approach feels like an extension of Balens Cho, using political concerns as the backdrop for Mach’s trademarks: heady, eccentric, brash verses that curl around themselves like sailor’s knots.
His combination of dense, dynamic flows and singsongy passages has stayed remarkably consistent across his massive catalog. For example, the playfully acidic tone he uses on “GUGGENHEIM JEUNE” feels honed by all this experience: “Ain’t no peace accord, Lord, I got the piece in the Accord / squeezing in your door, now you even vegan in your thoughts.” His music often feels like it’s turning its back to the listener, but this album feels more aware of its relationship to its audience, more ready to explain itself. When the Haitian diaspora has seen its wealth, natural resources and culture repeatedly extracted, his murkiness acts as a protective balm. “SONJE” gravely packages that impulse into a mission statement: “Fuck a Forbes list / I’ll get my mother out the gutter, on sis.” In a way, #RICHAXXHAITIAN feels less like an evolution of his style than a manifesto on why it looks like this.
His diversified portfolios (in and outside the criminal underground) are always on display, of course: “SAME 24” is a lavish ode to the entrepreneurial spirit, calling out his peers for failed business plans and idle moments while he stays “fishing at the ripples.” There are philosophical musings, too, cheeky liaisons with women, and encyclopedic reference points that recall DOOM or Yasiin Bey. How many rappers would name-drop professional skateboarder Tyshawn Jones, Black theologian Howard Thurman, ibexes and Irish moss on a single album — in between deep croons in Haitian Creole and Star Wars puns? Sorting through it all can feel like an information overload that rewards you across multiple listens.
Every guest enhances the mood, too, with honeyed vocals and lyrical gymnastics from some of the underground’s most prolific MCs and singers. On “ANTONOMASIA,” Roc Marciano weaves together references to ghost guns, Culture Club, and sacred geometry with his typical slick charisma: “pure with no cut / yay so raw, you could throw it on an open cut.” “COPY COLD” is an all star matchup ten years in the making, featuring somber, urgent production from Quelle Chris and a dizzying verse from Black Thought. The Roots frontman is a rare foil who can match Mach’s density pound-for-pound, lines spilling into each other with tongue-tying precision.
The sound is largely comfortable territory for Mach — warbly, soulful, vaguely skeletal — provided by in-demand producers from across the underground, especially Philadelphia native Sadhugold. Some tracks have the lonely glimmer of a movie set in the Old West, like the melancholy piano and whining harmonica on “THE SERPENT AND THE RAINBOW.” “PADON”’s sandpapery texture feels tailor-made for Tha God Fahim, who’s become a standard on Mach projects as a more plain-spoken straight man. Conductor Williams, who had some of the most memorable beats on Pray for Haiti, also adds some standout production — more sparse and pensive than his normal style. The lead single and title track is maybe the most surprising detour: its driving bounce, courtesy of Haitian-Canadian producer KAYTRANADA, is a perfect complement for Mach and 03 Greedo to look back at their comeups.
On the closer, “HOLY ___,” Mach concisely reflects on how Haiti fits into his lyrical outlook: “This the kinda place where open cases keep your mom away / just an observation from the Haitian teaching all the Yanks / got the livest nation on the face, increasing all the faith.” #RICHAXXHAITIAN wrestles with the role of cultural ownership and rap capital in building a truly post-colonial world. It’s no coincidence that the album dropped just before Haitian Flag Day, which commemorates the moment when the largest slave revolt in modern history adopted a symbol for its fight. Starting with the red, white, and blue blocks of the French flag, Haitian revolutionaries removed the white center, sewed together the remaining pieces, and added the phrase “liberté ou la mort” (liberty or death). Over the next 200 years, that first Haitian flag evolved into the one that now covers Mach’s face in press photos, music videos, and album covers. In a very real way, our view of him has been tangled in the ghosts of Haiti’s past and present occupiers — but as No Bells’ Mano Sundaresan recently wrote, it feels like Mach’s “piercing his own veil” more than ever.