For almost three weeks, two men have been on trial in New York for the alleged murder of a hip-hop icon; a tragic death that’s gone unsolved for more than two decades. And in the strangest twist of all, it seems like no one is talking about it.
Jam Master Jay’s death on Oct. 30, 2002, gutted his family, shocked his community, and effectively ended the traditional lineup of his legendary group, Run-D.M.C. For years, in what felt frustratingly similar to the murders of Tupac Shakur and The Notorious B.I.G., little headway was made in bringing his killers to justice. Jason “Jam Master Jay” Mizell became another legend gone too soon, martyred by senseless violence at just 37 years old.
But ever since the 2020 arrests of Ronald Washington and Karl Jordan Jr., Mizell’s death has inched closer to reaching a rarity in hip-hop cases: closure. And as more details have emerged about what happened that night in 2002 and why, it calls into question why media coverage of the case has been so scant. This is one of the most high-profile murders in rap history; one that has even been the subject of a feature-length Netflix documentary.
And yet, rap-centric podcasts and outlets are barely talking about the trial, and the mainstream media seems to only offer the most superficial glance at the ongoing legal proceedings. The Joe Budden Podcast, Rap Radar—these are major hip-hop platforms that know the culture, but they aren’t following this case. Whereas so many rap media brands stayed locked in on cases like the Tory Lanez and Megan Thee Stallion shooting trial, or Young Thug’s ongoing RICO case, they’re strangely silent about a major cold case involving one of rap’s fallen idols. That’s disappointing, considering how many rappers’ murders have previously gone unsolved. After more than 20 years of heartache and unanswered questions, this trial could bring justice to Mizell’s family and to his legions of fans. That shouldn’t be overlooked, especially considering the late DJ’s legacy and reputation.
Mizell had been the heart and soul of Run-D.M.C., famously informing his bandmates’ soon-to-be iconic fashion sense and providing a musical foundation for Run and Dee’s boastful rhymes. Away from the group, he’d launched JMJ Records, signed rap group Onyx, and discovered future superstar 50 Cent. In Queens, he was seen as the ultimate success story: a homeboy from around-the-way who’d made good while staying connected to his home turf. His “Hollis Crew” inner circle was composed of childhood friends who’d seen his journey to the top—and he was determined to do right by his people.
The details of the night of his death had always been murky, but what was fairly indisputable was that Mizell was shot while at his recording studio in Jamaica, Queens. Prosecutors allege that Washington, who was the Run-D.M.C. star’s childhood friend, and Jordan, who was Mizell’s godson, entered the studio at about 7:30 p.m. on that October night, each brandishing weapons. Washington allegedly pointed his gun and ordered Lydia High, the business manager for JMJ Records, to get on the floor, while Jordan allegedly fired two shots at close range, with one hitting Mizell in the head.
High was at the studio that night to have Mizell sign some paperwork before he left for a Run-D.M.C. tour the following day. Speaking in court earlier this month, she told the jury that when the assailants entered the studio, he greeted one as a friend.
“Jason smiled,” High said in court. “[Mizell] lifted up and gave the person a pound. And then he said, ‘Oh, shit.’”
As the trial unveils details about drug trafficking and shady dealings with gangsters, certain aspects of Mizell’s life are now coming to light that his fans and peers perhaps never knew. By all accounts, he was involved in drugs to try and sustain the success he’d built around him. And the prosecution alleges that he was shot because he’d cut Washington out of a cocaine deal. If that contradicts with the image Mizell had cultivated throughout his life and career, it aligns with the idea that the man was doing all he could to hold his network together. Ralph Mullgrav was a Mizell associate who’d been part of the musician’s alleged drug dealing, and he testified that Mizell was not a kingpin. “Jason wasn’t a drug dealer. He just used it to make ends meet,” Mullgrav said in court.
Uriel “Tony” Rincon, another witness, also took the stand in the first week of the trial to share his account of the night of the shooting. Naming Washington and Jordan, Rincon recalled being shot in his left leg and recognizing the shooter to be Mizell’s godson. Rincon stated that years of fearing for his safety led him to not name Jordan until 2017. “I felt that [Mizell’s] wife and children needed closure and they should know what took place,” he reportedly told jurors.
“Closure” is the key word there. The trial, which began on Jan. 29, has already seen its share of drama; last week, for instance, lawyers for the defense sought a mistrial, arguing that prosecutors improperly guided a witness to testify that one of the defendants confessed to killing Mizell decades ago. Their request was denied. Meanwhile, there is a third defendant awaiting trial, Jay Bryant, who was indicted in the murder but who will not be tried until 2026.
Clearly, there are nuances to this legal saga, as well as complicated revelations about what Jam Master Jay may have been involved in outside of music. But just as rap media heavily covered Mos Def criticizing Drake, or the latest Kanye West meltdown, this case should be treated as a significant and newsworthy moment. Mizell’s death was unbelievably tragic and undeniably shocking to anyone who remembers when it happened in 2002. Two decades later, we shouldn’t diminish that. Rap beefs and the more salacious news might get clicks, but they shouldn’t make the media forget what stories are historically and culturally important.
It’s too early to say if there will be any justice for Mizell; and even if there is, any consequence meted out in 2024 does little to erase the pain of his loss. But no matter how long it takes, the muted coverage of this trial from the hip-hop media has been glaring and disappointing. Jam Master Jay—and the community he left behind—deserve better.
