The Grammy-winning artist and new professor breaks down lyricism, legacy and why hip-hop needs more substance
Mickey Factz never expected a text message would change his career trajectory. The Grammy Award-winning songwriter and acclaimed hip-hop artist thought the notification was spam when NYU’s Clive Davis Institute reached out about teaching. Now, as an adjunct professor at one of the nation’s most prestigious music programs, he’s stepping into shoes left by Black Thought to teach the art of the MC—a course exploring lyricism, culture and authenticity in hip-hop. His dedication runs deep: he flies weekly from his Atlanta home to New York City just to teach. Beyond the classroom, Factz founded Pendulum Ink, an online school for lyricism with classes every night and over 100 students. His mission extends beyond technique into preserving hip-hop’s cultural significance for the next generation.
How did the NYU opportunity happen?
I was at a lunch meeting with my business partner Ray Daniels, and I got a text. I thought it was spam because I’ve been getting a lot of spam texts lately. It was from Dan Charnas saying there might be an opportunity for me to teach at NYU. I thought it was spam, but thank the Lord for LinkedIn. I looked up this brother and said, oh, this is the real deal, let me call him back. I was basically headhunted for the position. Shout out to Black Thought—he was the professor there for three years but couldn’t do it this particular year. I’m just a substitute teacher for one of the greatest MCs of all time.
How does Black Thought’s legacy influence your approach?
Black Thought’s approach to the art of the MC was fantastic, and I’m here to amplify it just a little bit more. The beautiful thing about a predecessor is you can look at what they’ve done and tweak it just a tad bit to fit your style while making sure it covers all the bases. I wanted to ensure it was something that would make him proud, make the faculty at NYU proud and primarily make the students engaged with what I’m trying to convey. I try not to think too deep into it because it is Black Thought—I’m stepping into legendary shoes. I admire him, I look up to him, so I wanted to make sure I made him proud with what I was able to amplify.
What’s the difference between a rapper and an MC?
Yes, there is a difference. A rapper is someone who rhymes words and potentially thought of this as a hobby where they could make some capital, a get-rich-quick scheme to get out of their scenario. But an MC is someone who treats it as a career. They take pride in the content they’re putting out, the technique they’re possessing and the representation of what hip-hop is about. A rapper is a derivative of rap, whereas an MC is a derivative of hip-hop. It’s important to understand these two dynamics so we can have that separation, and it’s okay. I love rappers—some of my favorite rappers like Trick Daddy are incredible, elite rappers. But you can’t compare a Black Thought to a Trick Daddy. Black Thought is an MC, whereas Trick Daddy’s a rapper, a great rapper, but he’s not an elite MC. It’s two different things.
What core principles do you want students to learn?
We definitely talk technique—we want to make sure the technique is high and the content is high. We want to dive into an emotional standpoint where people understand what a person felt when they were creating specific records. We’ve covered Keep Your Head Up by Tupac, which is MC work. People try to front on Pac, but that is high-level technique work. The blending of these two things creates classic material. I want to make sure the emotional standpoint is there, the technique is there and now also performing. These three things are the crux of what I put together, on top of video observations. It’s very important for us to watch the previous MCs that came before us, and we also delve into the newer MCs that are out now. I do not want to negate what present MCs are putting together. It’s only a seven-week course, so I’m doing the best that I can in that time frame.
What does it mean to see hip-hop embraced academically?
I’m not the first, and I won’t be the last. I want to give a big shout out to Q-Tip, Black Thought, Questlove, 9th Wonder, Lupe Fiasco—these are household names with hit records. I had aspirations of teaching once I was done putting out albums in the traditional format. I saw a couple roadblocks—people didn’t want to give me that position because I didn’t have a master’s degree. A lot of the framework that comes along with teaching was disregarded due to my lack of educational foundation. But once I created Pendulum Ink, which is an online school for lyricism with over 100 students and a class happening every single night, plus the discourse and dialogue I have online about hip-hop culture, it was pretty much a no-brainer for them to headhunt me. They called me, I didn’t have to do an interview. They saw that I was actually extremely intelligent. Right now I’m in Atlanta, and I fly in once a week to teach. That’s how dedicated I am to this.
How would you describe the state of lyricism today?
There are a bunch of lyricists and MCs upholding the standard of what the culture means from a technique and storytelling perspective. It’s just not on a high mainstream level. There’s a myriad of artists doing incredible things in this space—from Ransom to Joyner Lucas, to Jadakiss, to Nas who’s still creating great work, Raekwon and Ghostface, JID, The Clipse, Kendrick Lamar. There’s a bevy of artists doing their due diligence. It just so happens that the mainstream pushes a lot of debauchery, which I don’t think there’s anything wrong with in doses. If there are 24 hours in a day, you go to the club for four hours. What about the other 20 hours? Nobody is partying. This time of day should be reserved for the intellectuals, for music that makes people think and ponder about what this experience of life is like. Then at night, let’s have a blast. Everybody likes a glass of red wine after a long day at work.
What’s the responsibility of rap music in this generation?
Imagine if someone like NBA Youngboy, who sold out shows to 25,000 Black youth in every city—imagine that being weaponized from a financial literacy standpoint, from a real estate standpoint, from economic growth or the political landscape, from family and the importance of having a unit. I think things would shift a little bit. I’m an ’82 baby, and in that era we had Nice and Smooth, we had Kriss Kross, but we also had Public Enemy. We had Ice Cube, N.W.A., Snoop Dogg, Dre, but we also had A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul. I’m speaking primarily from a mainstream and radio perspective—people danced to Fight the Power. We don’t have that now. In this particular landscape where we have dangerous leadership trying to happen, our people would be the voice of this situational scenario, and it is eerily quiet. That speaks volumes to where we are as a culture.
How do you keep your creative spark alive while teaching?
Life. Meeting new people and hearing new stories. I’m from New York, and people say that’s the city of eight million stories in reference to the population. Everyone has their own story. Think about America—probably about 300 million deep. The people you meet create stories for you, and I try my best to permeate that within my lyricism and song crafting. I just put out an album called One Above All—I was feeling spicy. But I got some great material on the horizon reflecting about being a 43-year-old Black man in society, talking from the emotional standpoint of that, recognizing that loss is on the way, losing friends, more funerals will start happening, grief. I talk about accountability. I think it’s imperative and necessary to have conversations creating soundtracks for our lives that also feel good, that we can also vibe to.
What do you hope your legacy will be?
That he was for the culture. That he could walk into any room and be accepted. I could walk into a museum and have a full-blown discourse about not only graffiti but fine art. I can walk into a battle rap arena and have discourse about top MCs. I can walk into NYU and Columbia University and have discourse on pedagogy. I can walk into a fashion space and have a conversation about brands on the horizon. I want people to walk away saying Mickey covered all grounds and all bases when it came to actual culture of what hip-hop represents. Legacy means a lot. If I was to pass away tomorrow, there would be a lot of people that would come out the woodwork and say he helped me, he helped change my life, he took the time. Social media can be a very wicked place, so I do my very best, even when I’m trying to be controversial, to be poignant in what I say because I know when I do pass away, my son is going to see what people have to say about me. I want to ensure they have great things to say about Mickey Factz.