How the Knicks and hip-hop united New York

IT’S 2 A.M. IN New York City, eight hours before the Knicks‘ championship parade is to begin, and the Wu-Tang bus sits outside of a subway stop near City Hall. It’s the first sign of many today that hip-hop is intertwined with this Knicks team and the hustle culture it represents.

In 1973, the last time the Knicks won the NBA championship, hip-hop was created in the Bronx. There was no ticker-tape parade back then; rap was still in its infancy, created by DJs spinning records by hooking their wires up to lampposts. Now, hip-hop is mainstream, and its legends and the legends it has lost will be a key part of today’s celebration of the Knicks, a team that will be honored in the city’s rough concrete, studio apartments and imperial buildings for the rest of their lives.

It begins at 10 a.m., when Fat Joe, or “Joey Crack,” a diehard Knicks fan, rolls up Broadway on a float, rapping “Lean Back” with bluster; beside him are Yonkers rap group The LOX, Fabolous, Mary J. Blige, Ja Rule and Havoc of Mobb Deep. Havoc’s rap partner, Prodigy, died in 2017, so Joe helps him perform the classic “Shook Ones, Part II.” A few minutes later, backup point guard Jose Alvarado, another Puerto Rican from New York, raps “Many Men (Wish Death)” by 50 Cent, a song about paranoia when your superstardom is within reach and adversaries will do anything to prevent you from reaching your goals. At the same time, fans cheer reserve guard and practical folk hero Tyler Kolek as he performs a karaoke-like rendition of 50 Cent’s “P.I.M.P.”

Rap music in New York City is both reverential and irreverent, a fusion of grit, swagger and vulnerability. For music to be the soundtrack of the Knicks’ long-awaited championship, though, it has to be because the artists who recorded these anthems are also part of the fandom themselves.

Take Wu-Tang performing “C.R.E.A.M” on the float. Before the Knicks turned the tide in Game 4 of the NBA Finals, The Wu entertained fans at halftime, reminding New Yorkers of their regional yet universal swagger, unorthodox lyricism, and worldly pleasures. After more than 30 years, Wu was again on top, performing at the parade; Raekwon singing words with precision as if he had the same hunger as he did in “Shaolin,” with fans completing lyrics of songs they heard on the streets of their neighborhoods.

It’s a moment, like the Knicks’ championship, indicating triumph after struggles, signaling that grit is as involuntary as it is a conscious action.

TWO HOURS AFTER the parade, Mamdani walks into an old City Hall room that looks built for a legislative photo-op. Paintings of men in history such as George Washington, John Jay, and Daniel D. Tompkins hang on the wall, white men who were members of the ruling class. The Mayor of New York is an Indian-Ugandan man whose middle name is Kwame. He was raised in Morningside Heights. Now, he is the leader of the city where the NBA champions play. A longtime Knicks fan, he is wearing a Josh Hart jersey over a dress shirt, with dress pants, flashing that wide, unflappable smile that helped him win the election.

A beautiful part about this Knicks team is how cosmopolitan it is, men of different backgrounds coming together in a city that, at its best, promotes an idea and action of diversity that is just as cool as it is important. Hip-hop is similar. Fat Joe is a Puerto Rican rapper, and Ghostface Killah is a Black artist from Staten Island. Styles P is Afro-Caribbean. OG Anunoby was born in London to Nigerian parents. Karl-Anthony Towns is Afro-Latino, the son of a Dominican woman named Jacqueline. “It just feels so New York,” Mamdani says. “I’m on that float, and an officer was running by and was waving the Nigerian flag at OG. Whenever KAT is around, there is a Dominican flag in close proximity. When GTA pulls his spin move, you can see New York ball.”

His fondest memories of the Knicks are of attending Toney Douglas’ record-setting three-point barrage in 2011. He’s forever a kid from New York, which means he loves the rap that has defined this city. Dancing to “Lean Back” with Towns brought him back to his middle school days in the city. He walked out at the ceremony to “New York” by Ja Rule, Fat Joe and Jadakiss. “As soon as you hear the beginning of that song, you feel like you are home,” Mamdani says. “I have walked out to that song for election night and now this.”

The mayor wants to celebrate this team with everybody in New York and declines to go further on his tension with Jim Dolan, who refused to look into the cameras as he received his key to the city. Instead, Mamdani gushes about watching Fat Joe bring his longtime peers out on a float with him, a group that included Harlem’s Teyana Taylor, Queens’ Ja Rule, Yonkers’ Mary J. Blige and The Lox, and Queens’ Havoc of Mobb Deep. “It feels like a homecoming. It’s a chance for us to appreciate people who have written the soundtrack to the city,” Mamdani explains. “I’m just so happy to see many of them getting their due; you cannot disentangle those songs from our own stories and memories as New Yorkers.”

Mamdani became emotional when Alicia Keys sang “Empire State of Mind,” watching players sing and dance along to the song’s excessively booming hook that’s nevertheless become a song for all dreamers who move to New York. Men of different backgrounds coming together and winning a championship, so this city can be proud. The mayor thinks that people can live in isolation and alienation because of modern life’s crippling individualism.

“That there’s a team where everything feels stitched together,” Mamdani says. “It’s a beautiful reminder of what life can be like as a city.”

AS THE PARADE ends, fans disperse back to their neighborhoods or stay outside, strutting around the city, both hungry and focused on prolonging the celebration of their newfound status as fans of the NBA champions. Dozens of fans in Knicks gear — knockoff T-shirts, Nate Robinson and Brunson jerseys, and so forth — swarm bars and restaurants around 3 p.m. across the closed streets of the Lower East Side.

I watch fans as I call Cash Cobain, who couldn’t make it to the parade, but celebrated from his home in New Jersey. Cobain is a part of a thriving New York scene, having a renaissance after years of mainstream dormancy. Cobain watched Game 4 from an upscale cocktail lounge in Manhattan, with A Boogie Wit da Hoodie, a veteran melodic rapper from the Bronx, who danced to Drake’s “Burning Bridges” on Jordan Clarkson‘s float. Cobain and Boogie are similar — cheeky, unheralded songwriters who are the epicenter of the city’s changing, more youthful sound. Boogie and Cash watched the comeback without any nerves, knowing that this Knicks team was going to pull it off at the end. “I’m not a Knicks fan; I am a Knick,” Cobain says, echoing his friend and fellow rapper A$AP Rocky.

Roc Marciano, one of the greatest Mafioso rappers in New York history, calls me on the phone after leaving a jewelry house. It’s 5 p.m. now, and he’s still raving about the Knicks’ curse being lifted and how he is no longer haunted by Tyrese Haliburton‘s shot that helped send the Knicks home in 2025. “My earliest memory of Knicks fandom is when Louis Orr banked in a shot for the win on MLK Day, and we beat Boston,” he says. “He went crazy; for us to get that win, it was big.” Marciano was born in Hempstead, Long Island, and raised in an affordable housing complex, just like Jose Alvarado. When Marciano discusses the Knicks, he thinks about being home with his father, who died in 2005, unable to see his squad regain its glory.

Marciano says the Knicks represent New York rappers well because it is impossible to be on the Knicks and not play hard. Hip-hop comes from being an outcast, and the Knicks might be in the greatest city in the world, but they still possess an underground spirit. Fans come from neighborhoods, where they have to scratch and grind, so they can come home in time to watch the very players they look up to. So, it’s a responsibility to work and play as hard as OG Anunoby did in Game 4. “They embody what it is about. The Knicks put together a team that fits the identity,” he says. “Guys like Anthony Mason, Stephon Marbury, take those kinds of players to thrive in New York.”

On his latest album, “656,” Marciano has a song titled “Tracy Morgan Vomit,” an ode to when the beloved actor threw up on the court during a regular-season game in 2025. Marciano’s flow is, as usual, seductively patient, as if he is a mafia don whispering orders in your ear. “656 welfare cheese with the grits, that’s how we started/The Knicks blew out Charlotte,” Marciano spits. He doesn’t know exactly which Knicks win he is referring to, but says it is more about the idea of it. The Knicks coincide with the tribulations of inner-city life in New York, and the hope after a day of stress.

When the Knicks came back in Game 4, Marciano was at his home in Southern California. He could no longer watch as Victor Wembanyama looked as if he were inside the head of the Knicks. He couldn’t stand to see Julian Champagnie drain 3s or Dylan Harper make successful drives to the paint. The Knicks were down 29, and he went to the other room. His friend, fellow New York rapper Q-Tip, maybe the greatest producer rapper in New York rap history who is part of the group A Tribe Called Quest, texted him and told him to get back to the living room and keep watching, that the Knicks were making another comeback. “You see what’s going on?” Q-Tip asked, and Marciano immediately turned the game back on to see the Knicks win.

“It’s hard to make it in New York; there are so many doubters, and to come out on top and have any success is hard,” Marciano says.

The win has him thinking about the late artist Ka, who was a fixture in the underground rap scene. Ka was an intricate, nimble, arrestingly calm rapper and Knicks superfan who also worked as a firefighter. They collaborated frequently, building a deep friendship since working together on the track “We Do It” in 2010. Marciano describes him as the “most New York guy ever.” He died in 2024, and the Knicks’ championship made Marciano miss his friend, whom he called his “guardian angel.”

“This would have blown him away,” Marciano says.

SIGNED PHOTOS of Jalen Brunson, John Starks, Patrick Ewing and other New York sports legends decorate the wall of an Italian sports bar in East Williamsburg. I sit with Starker, the hottest underground rapper in the city, as he sits at a high table, nursing a Heineken. He’s a Nuyorican like Alvarado and raps with the same Terror Squad-like whimsy that Alvarado plays with. Croatia is playing in the World Cup, so the spot is unusually busy for a Wednesday afternoon. We eat pasta and talk about our favorite Knicks memories. He wears a white John Starks jersey, and as he leaves, he’s stopped by white fans who ask if he’ll be attending the parade. “I hope so; it’s going to be crazy,” he says with excitement. Despite his talent and rising profile, the life of an up-and-coming artist can often be lonely and fluctuating. He had interviews with a music outlet for his new album on Thursday and had no choice but to miss the parade, forced to preserve momentum after dropping one of the best albums of his career.

Starker missed a string of shows in Chicago — and the coinciding paycheck — because of a bad snowstorm and nearly missed Game 4, but managed to see OG Anunoby’s “Hand of God,” which cemented the 29-point comeback miracle at Madison Square Garden. “You couldn’t tell me s—,” Starker says. He grew up loving the Knicks and the reckless abandon of Latrell Sprewell, alongside his father, Lorenzo, who was recently diagnosed with dementia. Those early memories that Starker cherished — Ewing falling onto Lorenzo during a game when he was younger — have dissipated from Lorenzo’s memory.

After Game 5, Starker went to see his dad at his home. He showed his father the box score, Brunson dominating with 45 points, and they were able to share laughs about the Knicks being victorious, a remedy for all of the blowout losses that the father and son experienced together.

“Just when I thought he and I ran out of moments together because of his condition,” Starker says, “this gave me one last one.”

JADAKISS, STYLES P, AND Sheek Louch stand on Fat Joe’s float, rapping “We Gonna Make It,” the popular anthem about pride and hunger. They trade verses about fine dining, large mansions and vacations in places where offshore money is held. Jadakiss starts it with an omen of sorts, “F— the frail s—.” The parade was a long time coming for both Jadakiss and Styles P, both expressing a childlike wonder. Jadakiss experienced the same losses and pain we all went through as Knicks fans. So much so that he can’t recall a favorite early memory rooting for the team. Jada threw T-shirts into the crowd like he was Joe Montana, accurate and precise to fans that were hanging from light posts. “That was awesome,” Jada says. “The parade felt bigger than any parade ever.”

Speaking to them together feels like listening to “We Gonna Make It”; they finish each other’s answers and know each other intimately like brothers. Being from Yonkers and living in Westchester, Jadakiss and Styles see a lot of the players because the Knicks’ practice facility is in Tarrytown, so they feel deeply connected with the team. Jadakiss’ twins go to school with a trainer’s son, and he is good friends with Rick Brunson; Styles used to live next to Chris Child’s old home. “I know they represent New York, but they are really based in Westchester, so for me personally it’s a different thing.” Jada agrees with his longtime partner in rap. “In the city, you got to catch them tied to the games! We see them chilling and shopping, going on dates, you see them in their regular form.”

Seeing Brunson defy the odds and get the last laugh against critics who wondered if he was too small reminds Jadakiss of hip-hop’s perseverance, the struggle it took to make people see that this hungry genre was more than just a fad. Brunson’s Game 5 was a man stepping up and having a showstopping performance, akin to Jada’s strikingly emphatic Verzuz performance at Madison Square Garden in 2021. “Dog wolf,” Jada remarks to me. “Dog wolf!”

Styles came off the float and walked into the ceremony with Melle Mel, the lead vocalist of Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, who told Styles that the parade was the “best thing ever.” The two legends were astonished at the spirit and aura of the event and looked at the world that hip-hop allowed them to be a part of. They were men of status driven to awe at a parade they never thought they would get to see. “I have never witnessed that kind of energy in my 51 years of being alive,” Styles tells me.

Styles joked with his son about the event as they entered City Hall, watching Jadakiss tell the Mayor that the city should continue building upon the energy of the parade, rappers receiving adoration for gravel-voiced anthems and fans in Brunson jerseys rapping “Wild Out” word to word, breathing in the spellbinding chemistry and victorious chants of “We Gonna Make It.” Styles marveled at what it means for him to be there, a rapper from Yonkers and his son, a man who got to hang with the mayor, a congresswoman, champion-winning athletes and actors, all because he spit fly phrases into a microphone.