Like many of us who knew Sacha in real life, I obliged the wishes of his family and held off on writing about his passing on social media. As my fellow Southern folks say, Sacha is now at peace, no longer suffering. For that I am glad, but on the real, I already miss my Ninja. “My Ninja” - a phrase I pilfered from Sacha after his appearance on The Marcus Farrar Show. That was the night I realized I wanted to be his friend.
We connected to discuss working on music together. I booked a room at The Sweatshop studio in Brooklyn. With my boombox in tow to document the moment, I played some guitar riffs and Sacha played bass. We recorded about 10 or 11 ideas. Then the world took us both in different directions around the planet - me afro-gazing on guitar with Apollo Heights. And Sacha making his foray into film and television.
Yet we continued to cross paths, on the middle platform at 14th Street, Sacha heading uptown and me to Brooklyn. I crossed that platform a week after Sacha ascended on my way to DJ and out of habit, glanced across to the Uptown A platform. He’s still here.
“Nobody asked for this!”
Over a decade later, every few weeks or so Sacha would drop that line in a text message or a phone call. Because the art we were creating in our project The 1865 seemed to strike a timely nerve with the political unbalance all around us. It made the hair on our arms stand up - what started out as an artistic response to the 45th President of the United States took on a deeper meaning. When we began writing together Sacha responded with:
“Damn...! NOBODY IS EXPECTING THIS! NOBODY EVEN KNOWS HOW TO ORDER THIS OFFA THE MENU - this is FANTASTIC “...Music can be prophetic that way.
“When You’re Black, You’re Punk Rock All The Time”
I woke up at 4:30am the morning after Sacha passed and decided to listen to a podcast. Turned Out A Punk popped up in my feed with a tribute to Sacha Jenkins. Damian Abraham began this episode with a wistful intro including shout outs and talked about our band,
The 1865. And then he shared Sacha’s 2020 interview. It was so right on time to hear Sacha’s voice so full of energy, it made me smile. It was also hilarious - Sacha was cursing up a storm and being his usual passionate, witty and direct self. It felt comforting and uplifting to listen to my friend. He’s still with us.
In a manic moment I spent 24 hours looking through decades of cassette tapes for the recording of our 1st jam session. I was hoping the cassette would instantly appear in my studio when I got back home today, the way the Death Comet Crew white label vinyl just happened to be jutting out from my record shelf the day that Rammellzee passed.
A message from Sacha on the other side of the spirit world. But alas, nope just me and my boxes of dusty cassettes. And so many laughs and memories and so much music.
It was Sacha who gave me the title of “The Diana Ross of Shoegaze” - a quote I still use when people asked “what does your music sound like?”. A mutual lover of fashion as a vehicle for cultural expression (see his documentary FRESH DRESSED), and a world traveler himself,
Sacha loved all of the things I did. Visual art, punk, film, hip-hop, skateboarding, graffiti and Black history. A true Negroidian Renaissance Brother. I miss him already. But he’s still with us.
I’ll never achieve as much as he did, yet he always told me he was impressed by how prolific I am. Sacha was the kind of friend who made me feel seen. I will always hold that in my heart, a fiery reminder to stay on track.
I flashed back to the night of Henry Chalfant’s Art VS Transit, 1977-1987 opening - catching a glimpse of him and his wife Raquel Cepeda as they entered The Bronx Museum. Hand in hand, rocking gilded grillz, true hip-hop royalty yet nerdy in a really sweet way - like they floated inside a bubble of absolute love and admiration for each other. It felt like a baton passing when Sacha blessed my union with Crito with “Congratulations, welcome to the club.”
While Sacha was navigating his new normal, he creatively kept it moving and began experimenting on an MPC sampler with dear friend Prince Paul. Sacha’s enthusiasm was infectious and the thought of bringing some electronic elements to our next album sounded like a positive and exciting solution. Brother kept working and creating through all his pain and challenges.
My optimism came to a grinding halt on Friday May 23, 2025 when news of his passing hit me. I thought we had more time. He told me on the phone one day “I just want to make art and spend time with my family.” And he did. Even visualizing a new theme for our next album. I am both in awe and full of gratitude.
It’s pretty incredible how many peoples lives that Sacha touched. He was such a unique force of nature - the universe is emptier without him. As a friend and collaborator, Sacha was very frank with me. I remember when Flora Lucini (MAAFA) joined the band and she was growling on the intro to “John Brown’s Gat”. I tried to growl vocally on another song and Sacha kindly told me that’s not my lane. I had to face that reality and not blow out my voice. So we cranked up our guitars and kept going like Harriet Tubman (crank up RIGHT NOW).
Art is a love letter because you can love your chosen siblings, right? And he deserved all of that love because he gave it to all of us. And I feel some kind of way about not letting the love Sacha created through his work get put away in some attic, it’s our job as the elders to make Sacha’s children and grandchildren and all the alienated kids know how much Sacha built, wanted for them, and strived to leave behind solid tools for navigating life.
They may not find it the way we did in the mosh pit, onstage or in graffiti or hip hop but whatever they do, they will be reminded of and surrounded in love. It’s a true privilege to be entrusted with such a task and I really feel honored that Sacha did trust me to tell this story.
Because he knew he didn’t have much time left.
Love you, brother. See you on the other side.
Honeychild Coleman
Tagged: the 1865
