Apr 4, 20232 min read

He is Cricchi

Updated: Apr 6, 2023

There is an unapologetic authenticity to the way rapper I Am Cricchi carries himself. He walks and talks with an endearingly reckless and carefree energy. The energy of a man who has seen the worst of life, and made it out the other side with a new perspective and appreciation for living. He isn’t ashamed, nor does he extol the scars left on him from his fight with heroin addiction. Today, his focus is clearly on the music videos he is here to shoot, but in between his creative streams of consciousness he openly reveals glimpses into his past battles with the demons faced on his journey to recovery.

He goes through a rundown of a video's story with his director DAN2THEL.

Then laments over the cost of getting his teeth fixed.

He says before addiction he had great teeth.

He brain-storms locations in the Manor Ghost Town, thinking the bank might be a cool scene.

Then speaks of selling his mother's antique cash register for $1000 to buy drugs.

He follows up with the fact that he has since paid her back "more than 10 times over."

He plans out the timing of a shot on the railroad tracks that he has been adamant about shooting all day.

Then casually mentions how he destroyed all of his veins with needles, and shows us the damage done to his arms and neck.

His review of his ordeal:

"I give heroin 1 star, do not recommend"

These battles are unambiguously discussed throughout his music. "Running a lot," the first music video he is here to shoot is a visual metaphor for a song about living his life too fast.

In "Momma Ain't," he is particularly proud of a bar in which he speaks of doing so many drugs he was helping the police keep the streets clean.

This hyperbole is not performative. There is no mask being worn. Cricchi is his music as much as his music is him. He is the rare entertainer who professes AND exudes realness.

Here, there are no rented vehicles.

No jewelry on loan from a shady jeweler.

No disinterested dancers who look like they'd be anywhere else if not for the money.

And Cricchi is proud of these facts. There is no need for false bravado to tell his story. On this day he and his director Dan only need a gas can, a 4.6 liter Crown Vic, and Cricchi's wife Desiree as a support driver, to tell their tale.

This is art that represents the struggle. This is art for the people. This is art that is real.