Who Owns DMX’s Legacy?

Eunice Yu’nique Gantt was 17 years old and residing in Harlem when she first heard DMX. It was May 1998 and she was visiting a friend, who was blasting the rapper’s debut album, It’s Dark and Hell Is Hot, from their home stereo system. The album was raw and already projected to be a major summer jam, charting at Number One on the Billboard 200 and going platinum by that June. “The first song I remember was ‘Get at Me Dog,’” Gantt, who now lives in Yonkers, tells Rolling Stone. “I was like, ‘Who is this guy?’ He sounds like he’s yelling at you when he’s rapping, but he’s giving full energy and vibes.” Later that year, Gantt began battling depression, and found that DMX’s second album, Flesh of My Flesh, Blood of My Blood, released that fall, solidified her fandom. “DMX’s music kept me inspired and forced me not to give up,” she says.

Nearly 30 years later, that music still sustains her. “I know how it is to struggle with mental health challenges, still be a Christian and still like rap music,” Gantt tells a congregation on Jan. 10. It’s a rainy Saturday in Tarrytown, New York, a quaint village nestled along the Hudson River, most famous for its ghostly lore from Washington Irving’s “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.” Gantt is gathered along with about 25 others at the Christ Episcopal Church, where Earl Simmons, a.k.a. DMX, is being posthumously ordained as a minister by Bishop Osiris Imhotep from the Gospel Cultural Center. 

As congregants take their seats, the praying voice of the late rapper fills the sanctuary. Gantt, who celebrated her 45th birthday the day before, is among those offering reflections. “One of my favorite songs is ‘Slippin,’” she says, and quotes the song that she says saved her life: “I’m slipping, I’m falling, I can’t get up, I got to get up.” She’s dressed in a festive birthday shirt with black-and-white sequins and a sparkly birthday tiara to match. “He prayed on every album, and that’s amazing. He inspired me and I’m glad to be here.” 

Despite recent pushback from DMX’s estate, which distanced itself from the event, Imhotep says that the ordination had already been in the works for six years — long before his death in April 2021. Imhotep was concluding seminary school, and had been inspired by an international trip where he witnessed hip-hop’s influence through the streets of Barcelona and Italy. Upon his return to America, he wrote his thesis on the impact of hip-hop within Christianity, drawing on Tupac and DMX as inspiration. “They profoundly impacted my writing because of their ability to speak to the masses,” he says. “I really was moved by Earl’s ministry. I used to cry when I heard him pray. Most pastors I know can’t pray like he can, and God used him to go places that most pastors are scared to go. Saturday was about redefining the identity of Earl ‘DMX’ Simmons.”

DMX’s spirituality was no secret to those who knew him and his work, but neither was his past. Born in Mount Vernon, New York, DMX grew up in Yonkers in some of the harshest housing projects. His mother was a Jehovah’s Witness and his paternal grandmother raised him in the Baptist tradition. It seemed that since childhood, DMX could neither catch a break or his breath. Physically, he suffered from bronchial asthma, which resulted in countless trips to the hospital and calls to the local fire department, who once climbed 11 flights of stairs to save his life. He was hit by a car as a child and during his school years, he was in and out of juvenile detention and group homes, which according to his confession in “Slippin’” set him on the path for jail. “As a little kid, he was always beyond his age and a bright, inquisitive young man, even when he got in trouble,” says Ray Copeland, DMX’s uncle and former manager. “In school, they didn’t realize how bright he was, they just thought that he was a problem kid and that’s what caused a lot of the friction and him going to the group homes. They couldn’t challenge him and he was bored.” 

By 14, DMX had been exposed to drugs, which would lead to ongoing addiction throughout his adulthood. In a 2020 interview with rapper Talib Kweli, he said, “My life is blessed with the curse,” alleging that an early mentor introduced him to both rap and crack cocaine by way of a laced blunt. (His mentor denied some aspects of this account.) Despite his struggles and an extensive criminal record, DMX was an avid advocate for God. He not only prayed on every album but he prayed before and after every show. Financially, whatever proceeds he made from touring were then tithed to churches throughout Yonkers. “Ten percent went to the church immediately, even when he didn’t have a church home,” says Copeland. “Then he joined a church in Arizona and became a deacon. He always said, even at the beginning, that his hip-hop career was only going to go so far, but that he was going to be a preacher. And we all believed him because he always preached. When he became a deacon, he said, ‘I’m on my way.’”

For Imhotep, DMX’s imperfection but longing for God made him an ideal candidate for ministry. In his eyes, figures within the Bible — like Moses, David, and Abraham — were no different than X. If anything, DMX was a modern testament of what it meant to be a disciple. But when news regarding the ordination broke, Imhotep was met with criticism and scrutiny. On a Facebook post from DJ Env  announcing the details of the service, users critiqued his timing and intentions in the comments. Many felt the ordination was too late, given the fact DMX was already dead.  Others questioned whether DMX’s past transgressions disqualified him for such a position. Not long after the announcement, DMX’s estate made an official statement to AllHipHop: “The upcoming ordination of Earl ‘DMX’ Simmons is not an Estate-sanctioned event. While we appreciate third-party efforts to honor Earl in this way, neither the Foster Memorial A.M.E. Zion Church nor Bishop Imhotep are among the representatives of the church with whom he had close ties.”

Due to the publicity, Foster Memorial A.M.E. Zion Church — a historic Black church in Tarrytown that worked with Harriet Tubman, serving as a stop on the Underground Railroad — backed out, forcing Imhotep to find another venue to host the service. He recalls getting a call from an exec at Artist Legacy, the group that represents X’s estate: “She said, ‘Who gave you permission to do this?’ I said, ‘God gave me permission, this is a religious event.’” He also noted that he was in touch with Copeland, DMX’s uncle. After more back-and-forth, he says, he was sent a cease-and-desist letter that he ignored. (Artist Legacy did not respond to a Rolling Stone request for comment.)

There was no offering collected during the service, and according to both Imhotep and Copeland, there was no money made behind the scenes either. In their view, money has never been the goal. “The estate is about being in control,” says Copeland. “X was a part of my life. He’s my nephew, and I worked in the industry with him for numerous years. When I honor Earl, or anything I get involved in, I don’t try to get involved in monetary things. It’s about keeping his legacy alive.” According to Copeland, this isn’t the first time the estate has sent him a cease-and-desist. “They did it when I did a library event at the Mount Vernon Public Library. My lawyer got on the phone with the library’s lawyer, told them I can talk about X any time I want. I’m not asking for money and I’m not doing anything as far as money’s concerned.” 

At the end of the service, Imhotep gifted Copeland an award and certificate acknowledging the ordination of his nephew. Copeland says that DMX’s mother, his former wife Tashera Simmons, and his children were supposed to be in attendance, but had all caught the flu. “A lot of people were down this weekend, but anytime I go somewhere and someone gives me something pertaining to X, I don’t keep it. I give it to the family.” 

DMX had a heart for ministry, as heard through his albums and observed through his actions. In interviews, it was common for him to call out scripture while explaining his life and current tribulations. For those who knew him personally, they remember him as a giver. Not only did he help churches in need but he also gave to the homeless, often giving them more money than they originally requested, inspiring those like his uncle to continue.  

“People can judge DMX, but if we look at a lot of the people in the scriptures, they’re the same,” says Onleilove Alston, a Black Jewish adjunct professor at Columbia University School of Social Work who also spoke at the ordination service. “Moses was a murderer. Joseph ended up wrongly in prison. Esther was a foster child. David slipped up with women and was a warrior, and yet, we still read Psalms.” 

Similarly to Gantt, Alston was diagnosed with clinical depression when she was in college. She says the song “Slippin’” was on repeat, reminding her she had to get up. “Today I’m no longer depressed,” she says. “When I think about that and what it did for me, it ministered to me and the other woman who spoke. We don’t know how many people may still be alive because his music encouraged them.”