Let’s face it. Detroit Michigan is grimy, real grimy. It’s one of those places you don’t want to get lost in. It’s a pit, both ugly and beautiful. Marauders live here, set to test the manhood of the toughest of cats. It’s a “better move dog, we’ll blow your roof off” kind of city. What the media says is true, it’s dangerous and cold. Detroit , every bit vulnerable and fascinating, is a bitch. A pretty one who according to Christian Mathis, “…niggas like to fuck and don’t pay.”
He’s beat not one but two murder wraps. He’s the self proclaimed landlord of the city and bet’ not nan’ nigga touch down in the valley and not see him. Christian, known to most as Trick Trick is a real live goon. Oddly enough though, he’s multifaceted in his goondome. Notorious for bringing noise and ruckus, he’s also one of the savviest banditos to hit the bricks in a long while.
Preconceptions are unfair and largely misguided. That fact could not have made its self more evident than on interview day. We rode out, in a stark white Cintron promo van with midnight windows. Organic and excellent tobaccos hung loosely in the air. There he sat, mild mannered and asking, “you wanna ride?”
Before this point and judging by the publicity photos I scoured through nearly a day before, Trick Trick seemed impenetrably hard, scary even. And then there’s that growl of a voice that booms over dope beats and delivers warning messages to unsuspecting urbanites.
But who is this guy really? Today his voice isn’t so raw and he seems relatively pleasant. But I can tell, he’s a volcano, one whose eruption I do not want to witness. On the surface he’s cool, but you just know that there’s something bubbling underneath. I appreciate his reserve and candor instantly.
What’s the difference between Trick Trick and Christian?
Christian is a family man. It’s the name my mother calls me. The name they’ authorized to call me by. Caring son,
