The room was billed the moment the door opened. Richmond was ready. You could feel it in the air, like a bass line of songs you truly know. And at the center of it all stood the ghost himself: Style p.
I live there Embar Music Hall.
A master class of existence, precision and passion.
He wasn’t just a performance, he was connected. Every track he touched illuminated something into the room. The crowd moved with him, moved with him for the bar, rapping his lyrics as if they came straight from their stories. This was not just nostalgia, it was respected. A celebration of the host who has dedicated his decades to craft without compromising reality.
And everyone in the room knew that.
This wasn’t a “get your bag and bounce” type set. Stiles knew exactly who he was playing for. He felt the city. He joked with us, built with us and dropped gems between the trucks in a way that only OG could do. Richmond felt he saw it – it doesn’t happen often. You could feel the unity of the room. We weren’t just everyone this show. It was all the discussions about who poems became the most intense due to all the mixtapes we played repeatedly, and all the minor phors that remained with us for years.
And I was there – the camera was in my hand, my ears wide open. Live in the moment trying to capture it.
This is where it becomes personal.
At one point, I snapped a crazy shot and this night is frozen in time. Hip hop has a way to stick to you. I go up on stage and watch the style close out another classic and scan the crowd.
13 years old. In a group home. The youngest of eight.
The early 2000s. 106 & Park and Lap City: Basement It was our daily soundtrack. I still hear the boombox ring while we play ball on grass. Poster from xxl and Slam They were lined up on the wall. The burnt CD passed like a sacred scroll. And style? His bar wasn’t just lyrics. They were motivated. I never touched Gram, but I wanted me to see the way he spoke. Boss Up. Gangsters and gentlemen – someone will say.
At the time I was just a kid with South Paul jeans, oversized white tees and gum bottom flavours. He breathed hip hop like oxygen.
And now? I’m on stage.
With the camera in hand.
Capture the legend.
A part of that.
It’s not just a part of it –contribution And.
Preserving the heritage.
That moment wasn’t about influence. It was about alignment. Recognition: I stand in the middle of the culture that helped me develop.
And to close it off, of course, Mike Street was there. Tell another wild story – this time about saving his birthday party (and of course they did). Mike is a walking time capsule of hip hop history. Putting him in the building gave him even more full circular feel.
That night was a reminder. The culture is still here. It’s still lively. It still saves lives and shapes the future.
Style P is shining.
But so did culture.
And so did I, younger, too.
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Will Keck was a creative director at the trench. Film shows, content, and work with creatives to bring your vision to life. If you need someone who loves culture, respects grinds and moves wisely, then behind the scenes, that solid hand will make sure everything hits right.
