The Bay Showed Love to Messy Marv in 2025

This week, as we near the end of 2025, the writers and editors of KQED Arts & Culture are reflecting on One Beautiful Thing from the year.

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his year, nothing has been more beautiful than the outpouring of support for famed San Francisco rapper Messy Marv.

After being released last year from a stint behind bars, the lyrical game spitter has been spotted struggling on the streets of the Bay. People have pulled up and given him money, food, a haircut, as well as love and support; that affection has only been amplified online.

Marv’s return was highlighted by an emotional reunion with Mistah F.A.B. in September, which inspired another resounding wave of props to remind people of his rightful spot in the Bay Area’s hip-hop pantheon.

The question of who goes on the Mt. Rushmore of Bay Area rap has always bothered me.

Set aside that it’s referencing images of colonists carved into sacred stones of the Lakota Sioux, who called the land formation Tȟuŋkášila Šákpe, or Six Grandfathers. My main problem is with people believing that four individuals can truly represent the entirety of this unique, obscure, vast flavor of hip-hop we know and love.

Do you know the depth of Bay Area hip-hop?

The list of figureheads for Northern California’s rap scene usually starts with Too Short, the Godfather, and E-40, the king of slang. The Furly Ghost himself, Mac Dre, is often a shoo-in. And then the discussion gets interesting.

MC Hammer broke pop barriers and went diamond. The Jacka’s music reached folks on prison yards and those praying in Mecca. And HBK held it down when the Bay wasn’t really making a sound.

Hieroglyphics created a brand known around the world, and San Quinn is in the Guinness Book of World Records for recording the most features before the age of 21. Kamaiyah is a party music machine, Traxamillion gave us anthems for virtually every Bay Area city and Rick Rock embodies the term “slap.”

The Conscious Daughters gave us “Somethin’ to Ride To,” Larry June is showing us there’s a healthy way to be a player and Keak Da Sneak is still the people’s champ. There’s Digital Underground, Luniz, Rappin’ 4-Tay, Richie Rich, Mistah F.A.B. and more.

And then there’s Messy Marv.

He’s a rapper that’s seen some of the highest highs and the lowest lows. And his story shows why the Mt. Rushmore question is asinine, and leaves no room for the nuances of an artist’s career, or the person’s lived experience.

For some rappers, “making it” isn’t about talent and hit tracks, radio spins, plaques on the wall or songs reaching the charts. It’s about surviving.

Messy Marv has done all of the above.

He’s rocked shows all across the country, dropped multiple tracks that’ve reached the Billboard charts and collaborated with the likes of Keyshia Cole, Dead Prez and George Clinton. He’s navigated true poverty, dealt with addiction and been in and out of one system or another since he was a kid.

“I’m a foster kid baby,” Messy Marv told Dregs One, host of the History of The Bay podcast during a revealing interview last year. Discussing his parents, whom he’s never met, he said, “They left me on the porch when I was two years old, and sold me for $70.”

He slept in trap houses with dogs, and was exposed to the fast life at a young age. “I was tooting powder at 9,” Marv told Dregs One in the same interview. “This is a Fillmore tradition,” he added. “Smoke a lil’ coke and toot a lil’ powder cocaine. This is history.”

Marv found family through Rich Rocka (formerly known as Ya Boy) and the neighboring Fillmore community; serenity came later in the form of hip-hop.

Inspired by the music of pioneering San Francisco rappers Hugh EMC and the late Cougnut, and coupled with a push to perform during a middle school talent show, Messy Marv found his lane.

He dropped his first full album Messy Situationz in 1996. Two years later he partnered with fellow Fillmore rapper San Quinn for Explosive Mode, a project that still stands as a certified hood classic.

Marv then went on a run from the late ’90s through the early 2000s, dropping dozens of albums, recording hundreds of features and founding his own label, Scalen Entertainment.

His music reflected his real-life involvement with the streets, fast cars, women and drug use. With a certain ease, he used his guttural voice and punchy wordplay to paint vivid images of “the other side” of the most picturesque city in the world.

Marv’s career is full of erroneous decisions and unfortunate mishaps. In 2001 he was confined to a wheelchair for six months after surviving a leap from a four-story window that left his legs shattered. In 2005 he was arrested on weapons possession charges while en route to a photoshoot for the magazine XXL. In 2018 he was seen brandishing a firearm while searching for rapper J-Diggs in Vallejo.

And still, Marv holds a special place in Bay Area hip-hop lore.

Two years ago, as O.J. Simpson discussed his love of hip-hop during an appearance on Cam’ron and Ma$e’s popular podcast It Is What It Is, he surprised nearly everyone by mentioning Messy Marv first.

I’ve talked to so many people about Marv’s influence. That includes renowned hip-hop photographer D-Ray, who made some of the earliest images of Marv as a rapper, and Gunna Goes Global, an MC raised in the shadows of Marv’s ascension in the Fillmore. They all say the same thing: Messy Marv is tragically underrated.

A recent call to one of Marv’s close family members revealed to me that the famed rapper is still in need of help. And a text from Mistah F.A.B., who also runs the “T.H.U.G. Therapy” men’s support group, reminded me that “mental health is important.”

Like many all across the Bay, I’m hoping for the best for Marv. I’ll also echo something Mistah F.A.B. told Dregs One earlier this year, while discussing Messy Marv: “They can’t take who we was,” he said, paraphrasing a line from the film Above The Rim.

“A gold medal in 2002 is still a gold medal in 2025,” added F.A.B. “And Mess will always be a gold medalist in my eyes.”

I don’t believe we should have a Mt. Rushmore of Bay Area hip-hop. But if we were to hoist the names of the greatest locally raised hip-hop artists to the top of, say, Twin Peaks? Then there’d better be a spot reserved for Messy Marv.