An essay about giving thanks to those MCs who saw our struggle and provided us a moment of bliss, which so happened to lend to the voice of rebellious wordsmiths from the Bronx.

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I would not consider myself a melophile, an obscure one-word term to define those who consider themselves enthusiasts or fanatics for the art of music. This can diversify by genre, of course, as few are probably just general aficionados of craft. More probably identify with specific genres, able to rattle off the chords of rock n’ rolls more irreverent characters or the rhythms of pop’s arcane originators. …


Shelby Fielding

Writer, Aspiring Author, & Coffee Enthusiast

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