Mickey Factz stands as one of the most intellectually rigorous and technically proficient voices in Hip Hop’s modern era. Emerging from the Bronx with a reputation forged in the fire of the late-2000s blog era, Factz first captured the culture’s attention with his groundbreaking “The Achievement” project and his inclusion in the iconic 2009 XXL Freshman Class.
Unlike many of his peers who pivoted toward mainstream trends, Factz has remained a steadfast guardian of the craft, renowned for his intricate multi-syllabic rhyme schemes, conceptual depth, and an uncanny ability to deconstruct complex narratives through verse. His evolution from a buzzy newcomer to a respected veteran has been defined by a relentless pursuit of lyrical excellence and a commitment to the foundational elements of emceeing.
The Hip Hop Museum caught up with Mickey Factz to talk about teaching the art of the MC, his company Pendulum Ink, the importance of The Hip Hop Museum to him and more!
Adam Aziz: How did you come to be teaching “The Art of the MC” at NYU’s Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music?
Mickey Factz: I gotta give all the credit to my bro, Lupe Fiasco. You know, in 2012, he had a show at Webster Hall in the big room, and he was like, yo, man, I got this idea of a Guild, like a society of spoken art, you know, where we teach them to rap.
I worked with him on that for about 6 to 8 years. It was me, him, Chilla Jones, and Chino XL, rest in peace.
Lupe’s idea was more of an application-based thing where only certain people could join. Like a real secret society. Whereas mine, I wanted to generally open to the public, to, you know, walk people in through the space. So I would have to give him credit, as well as just me thinking about what life looks like. Like, after retirement, and you know, a lot of times musicians go into the teaching field, and Hip Hop hasn’t had that because we’re only 53 years old. So I said to myself, “I want to be part of this space where I can teach moving forward.” And I’m glad that I was able to make that happen.
AA: And then not having attended the class, what does the structure look like for the “Art of the MC”?
MF: I’ve got to give kudos to Black Thought. It was his class first, and I came in to replace him because his schedule was a little too hectic. So essentially, I built on what he already had, and we focused a lot on the writing and the performing.
I would say performing took up about 65% of the class, and making sure that the MCs were presentable, audible, and cool, right? So we had to have that conversation about what that looks like for different types of artists and how personalities shine.
And we also had about 35% just focusing on writing and what that looks like for an artist to be a skilled lyricist and to be an MC, and learning to be proficient in this art form at a high level. And I was able to do that for seven weeks. I had a blast, and I hated that it had to end. And they, the students, I fell in love with those students, and I missed them. Even still to this day.
AA: And jumping over to your company, Pendulum Ink, what do you think the place is today for schools around MCing when the bar is so low today for someone to create music, and with the influx of AI in music creation?
MF: I think AI should be an assistant to what you do. It should not completely take over.
I, as an MC, shouldn’t have AI write my rhymes. I think that’s in poor taste, but if I don’t know how to mix or I can’t afford it, and I’m a young artist, I should be able to send it to some AI component, upload the material, and have it mixed. And I think that’s OK as an assistant to what you’re doing, but not to completely remove the human experience of the song.
AA: You were a key part of Hip Hop’s “blog era” when people scrambled to blogs and sites like Nah Right, YouHeardThatNew, and others. What do you think from the blog era could make sense in today’s music industry, dominated by streaming?
MF: I think we lost the human experience. As someone coming up in that time frame, I didn’t have the capital to pay a DJ to play my music or to put myself on mixtapes.
For 18 months to two years, the blogs controlled music media. The publications of today weren’t using their websites like that. XXL, The Source, and Billboard relied on the magazines. The New Music Cartel was building up. People would do anything to get on Nah Right. Think about a musician willing to do anything to be in Rolling Stone. That was Nah Right back then.
I think that’s what’s missing today. The feeling of, if I get on this site or blog, it could change my life. And that’s what happened to me when I got on Nah Right – no exaggeration.
AA: Other than yourself, what artists come to mind when you think about the blog era?
MF: I would have to say Wale and Curren$y. During that time, Curren$y was releasing an album every month.
AA: How do you think it would have been different for you had some of that earlier, more experimental music you were doing come out during today’s streaming and TikTok era?
MF: It’d have been much different. It’d have been tougher. There are so many artists now. Like, there’s no filter. There’s no filter. There’s nobody who’s saying, ” Hey, this shouldn’t be here.
And that’s not to say that people don’t deserve to get on, but it is tough as nails now to get love. You need to do a whole lot to get some shine. And to me, I think that’s the difference. Back then, we were doing so well.
I don’t feel like it’s curated today. You can put something out today, and you might go viral. But you didn’t want to go viral, you just wanted to put something out. It was curated before. People had teams.
AA: Why do you think it’s important that Hip Hop has its own physical museum space?
MF: We need a proper representation of this art form that we so desperately love. This was born in 1973. When you think about 1973 and what was happening there, there was no such thing as Hip Hop, and the youth were silenced a lot. Disco was reigning supreme.
Poor kids from the Bronx created something out of nothing that has transcended culture, American culture, and world culture. Not every country listens to Hip Hop, but I would say a vast majority does, and it dictates a lot of their lives from the vernacular to the linguistic side of it, to the visual aid side of it. You know it’s massive.
And I feel like if our story is not told properly by the ones who were there from the beginning, it will be bastardized and ruined. And I feel like this is the time to have something beautiful for Hip Hop to call its own to say, OK, this is not run by corporate greed, this is not run by a label. This is not run by an institution. This is run by folks who are from the Bronx, from the community, and from the culture.
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