I’ve lost my best friend. Twice. This time for good. Sacha Jenkins is gone. He tragically passed away on the morning of May 23, 2025, after a private battle with atrophy. I had previously heard through some mutual associates that there was some sort of health issue Sacha was struggling with, and I wish I would have had the courage to call him. I should’ve reached out to his wife, Raquel, and checked in to see if it was cool for me to fly back to New York to sit and talk with him at least one more time. Our personal history got complicated and complex, but I never lost my love and appreciation for Sacha and all that he’d done to help me become the journalist and man I am today.
Sacha Jenkins was my best friend from 1992-2008. In the late ’80s, we had both gone to the same high school, William Cullen Bryant, but we didn’t meet until ’92 at a KRS-One show in Manhattan. I attended the show by myself. That night, I met Sacha and his business partner, Haji Akihbade. They had just published hip-hop’s first newspaper, Beat Down, and they were distributing their debut issue with Cypress Hill on the cover at the venue. I was intrigued. My dream job was to work for The Source magazine, but I had no clue that you could create your own publication. Independence. Entrepreneurship. They gave me a business card with a P.O. Box as the address and a phone number to leave a voicemail on. I quickly did. They called me back the next day and asked me some light, silly questions about hip-hop history. I passed the quiz and they put me down.
I initially viewed Haji as the business guy and Sacha as the creative force. Sacha had what the kids today call “aura.” He was a gentle giant who would wear denim overalls and rock a braided rat tail. Everything about him felt unique. He never tried to fit in, yet he always stood out. He viewed himself as anti-social, but everyone wanted to socialize with him. His personal network was extensive. We’d sip 40 ozs of malt liquor and walk through the streets of New York together, and it felt like he knew everyone who was cool and in the scene. Sacha was the best talker and the best listener, and I just wanted to soak up all the game and knowledge he had.
With the encouragement of each other, we both became college dropouts (Sacha left Brooklyn College, I left Queens College) and we would meet pretty much every afternoon at his mom’s crib in Astoria. That was our university. We scoped out ideas for Beat Down. Via Sacha’s 5-disc CD changer, we listened to rap albums all day long: Main Source’s Breaking Atoms, Gang Starr’s Step In The Arena and Daily Operation, Showbiz and AG’s self-titled EP and Runaway Slave, Fat Joe’s Represent, Pete Rock & CL Smooth, etc.
Sacha was a charismatic creative and a dynamic personality. Even before Beat Down, Sach had started his own graffiti magazine, Graphic Scenes X-Plicit Language. Sacha’s DNA was DIY, and he was about his business. I was super stoked when Sacha invited me to help distribute the free Beat Downs throughout New York City. We left copies at various subway stations, West Fourth Street Courts, Tower Records, and the vintage clothing spot, Patricia Fields. We left our product at any cool spot in the East Village, West Village, and SoHo. Sometimes we’d leave a stack, and then stalk the scene, waiting to witness someone pick up and thumb through the issue. But to see someone literally fold Beat Down in half and tuck in their back pocket? That was the win! It was an addictive feeling. There are few things more humbling than seeing something you slaved on discarded and tossed on the street. We weren’t even charging yet. It’s FREE. How could you?
By 1994, hip-hop had a lot of independent magazines, coast to coast. There was Seattle’s The Flavor. The Bay Area had 4080 and The Bomb. Los Angeles had Urb, and Straight From The Lip. Straight outta Connecticut was One Nut Network. Chicago had Caught In The Middle and Flypaper. Philly had On The Go.
But I knew with Sacha as our visionary, our leader, our North Star, ego trip would be different and we would prevail. Our business strategy reflected Sacha’s actual lifestyle. We covered hip-hop music and beyond. Sacha was a graffiti scholar who loved rock, and was influenced by Bad Brains as much as Mobb Deep. We both recognized in the early ’90s that hip-hop was coming up from the underground. Kids of all races that were kicking it were listening to Green Day as well as Dr. Dre. Hip-hop was destined to define pop culture. The coolest rock scenes respected hip-hop. And no one was weaving that all together.
Our caveat was humor. Sacha and I were funny, knowledgeable smart-ass dudes and so was our growing crew. Jeff “Chairman” Mao was our Iron Man. An outstanding writer with a passion for DJing, Mao had an amazing vinyl collection. Jeff’s critical analysis set the bar for what we wanted ego trip to be.
We launched our ‘zine in the summer of 1994, and we put the hottest MC in rap on the cover: our Queens brethren, Nas. The cover image was an outtake from Danny Clinch’s shoot for Nas’ classic debut, Illmatic. We had more ill images inside.
People loved it. And acclaim gave us a taste for more. We soon recruited former Rap Pages-experienced, Los Angeles-based masterminds, Gabriel Alvarez and Brent Rollins to form the ultimate starting five. The baddest band in the media landscape. Although we only produced 13 issues, each one felt like a collector’s item that helped shake up and shift culture. We simply changed the face, tone and voice of hip-hop journalism.
Then Sacha met a woman named Dana Albarella, and thanks to her, we became authors and created two critically-acclaimed books. 1999’s ego trip’s Book of Rap Lists, which is the true hip-hop bible, and 2002’s ego trip’s Big Book of Racism! which led to us diving head first into the early days of reality television with VH1.
2007’s ego trip’s The (White) Rapper Show was Sacha’s idea. It was controversial. It was captivating. It was a hit. Our follow-up, 2008’s ego trip’s Miss Rap Supreme, not so much. During the finale taping in Los Angeles, I abruptly left the shoot and flew back to New York. I felt crippled by my creative differences with the group, underappreciated, and I only expressed my hurt feelings to Sacha. As our leader, I demanded Sacha single-handedly make things right but looking back, that was an unfair ask. Building ego trip together was a helluva achievement, but I believe Sacha and I always knew it wouldn’t be the end-all be-all of our careers.
Sacha, I marveled as you transitioned to dynamic documentarian and formidable filmmaker. Word to your father Horace, you carried on tradition. Your work with Wu-Tang on 2019’s Of Mics and Men was masterful. I just rewatched it yesterday. And your extensive interview with our proud protégé, Noah Callahan-Bever for his Blueprint series. Yeah, in between crying my eyes out, I’m on a YouTube rabbit hole seeking all things Sacha Jenkins related. I still wanna learn. I think I just wanna hear your voice again. I love you, SHR. Thank you for everything, brother.
