Sacha Jenkins: One of One

It’s strange to deliver excellence relentlessly in the world of journalism and film and never really become all that famous, but that is the story of publisher/writer/producer/director Sacha Jenkins. The term “DIY” gets thrown around too easily in modern times, but Jenkins was the true exemplifier of the “Do It Yourself” ethos. While in his teens, the Philly native published his own magazine, “Graphic Scenes & X-plicit Language” in 1992. The ‘zine focused solely on graffiti art and is one of the only mags of its kind. Jenkins soon transitioned into music journalism with “Beat-Down,” a hip-hop newspaper, and “Ego Trip,” a wild magazine that covered a wide range of topics, including skateboarding, punk rock, race, and culture.

In 1997, at just 26 years old, Jenkins became the music editor of “Vibe Magazine,” a position he held until 2000. Ever-searching, ever-restless, Jenkins soon moved into the world of TV and film. In 2015, Jenkins directed the highly entertaining documentary Fresh Dressed, which explores the significance of hip-hop on fashion. Next came the powerful Burn Motherfucker, Burn!, which chronicled the long history of unrest between the LAPD and the citizens of color within the city that the police are paid to “protect and serve.” Burn was my introduction to Jenkins, the filmmaker, and while the title of the film is figuratively incendiary, the film was equally thoughtful and pulled no punches. 

In May of 2019, I met with Sacha for Awards Daily to discuss his four-episode documentary series Wu-Tang Clan: Of Mics & Men. I was running a record store in Michigan while putting myself through college when the Staten Island hip-hop collective released their first album, “Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers).” It was the kind of record that knocked you flat. Hip-hop had been growing increasingly commercial in the early ‘90s, particularly with Sean Combs’ Bad Boy Records. “Enter the Wu-Tang” was everything Bad Boy Productions was not. Raw, grimy, chaotic (with up to ten MCs taking a mic on the album), yet also carefully controlled by bandleader and producer, The RZA. The Wu-Tang Clan practically broke the record industry. While RCA signed the band as a whole, each member was free to make solo record deals with any label of their choice. Such a thing is beyond unheard of. As a group and as individuals, the members of the Wu-Tang have released more than 80 albums of original material, selling millions of records, becoming cultural icons, and having one of the most distinctive emblems in the history of popular music.

With his history as a hip-hop chronicler, cultural acumen, and natural cinematic talent, Jenkins was the perfect person to direct the series. The Wu-Tang Clan was— and is —more than a group; it’s a movement. Still, for Jenkins to deliver a quality series, herding the Clan was going to be among his stiffest challenges. Over their three decades on the hip-hop scene, the band members often had beef with each other. The RZA (and his brother Divine) were artistic and business visionaries behind the Clan, and reaped the lion’s share of the financial benefits. Hard feelings (whether unfairly felt or not) were created, and the ten personalities in the group were exceptionally strong. Jenkins’ industriousness was going to have to be off the charts to hold the series together. But then, industriousness may have been Jenkins’ greatest asset.

Years before he made Of Mics & Men,  Jenkins tracked down the band’s most mercurial member, ‘Ol Dirty Bastard, at a rehab center for a piece he was working on. Jenkins had to be one slick sleuth to locate ODB’s location, get on the grounds, and get his subject to talk. ODB was no easy piece. Depending on the day, hell, the minute, you could get many a version of the man born as Russell Jones. Jenkins was not greeted kindly by ODB and had to go to plan b, which involved, once again, getting back into the rehab center, a quick apology, and an Al Green box set. Jenkins knew ODB loved Al Green, so he showed up armed with the Reverend’s classic cuts. The ploy worked, and Jenkins got 25 minutes with ODB before being “asked to leave.” 

For Of Mics & Men, Jenkins had to get the other nine members into the same room, while also having the tragic disadvantage of ODB’s death, more than a decade before the series was filmed, to work around. Getting the nine living members in a room together was a mighty feat in and of itself, but having to make the series without the group’s most colorful member meant finding other ways to bring ODB into the story. Jenkins, through brillantly chosen stock footage and assembly, brought ODB back to life for the four episodes, and more than that, he delivered the definitive document on an undefinable band. Of Mics & Men is thrilling, moving, and involving throughout its four hours. It’s not only one of the best hip-hop documentaries, it’s also one of the best music documentaries I have ever viewed. Jenkins directed three more films after Of Mics & Men: Bitchin’: The Sound and Fury of Rick James, Louis Armstrong’s Black & Blues, and All Up in the Biz (covering the life of the great MC and character, Biz Markie). All of them are excellent and highly recommended viewing. 

Everything Jenkins did was excellent and often in ways you couldn’t expect. As a filmmaker, he possessed the strength of narrative, a firm grip on his subject, and the ability to be both tasteful and rollicking simultaneously. There aren’t that many singular talents in any walk of life, and Jenkins was one of one. I can also tell you that he was one of the most gracious subjects I’ve ever sat with. We were about 30 minutes into the interview, and while I felt like there was still so much more I wanted to get to about Of Mics & Men, I also wanted to be mindful of his time. When I asked how much more time he could give me, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “We can go as long as you want. I’m here for you.” We ended up speaking for another hour. I can hardly begin to tell you how rare it is to get that kind of time with an artist. Over the course of the interview, we somehow ended up talking about Peter Cetera, Chicago, and their song “Saturday in the Park.” He was engaged and engaging the whole time. The width and breadth of his knowledge on any number of subjects seemed endless. 

Jenkins was very well respected as a writer, filmmaker, and true iconoclast. But I have to say, I don’t think he’s nearly as appreciated as he should be. And at just 53, there was so much more work to do, and an endless number of directions he might have gone. Jenkins suffered from multiple system atrophy–a fact I did not know until learning of his passing. To call the condition “cruel” would be to practice in the dark craft of wild understatements.

I met the man only once, but I had always hoped we would reconnect. His youth, talent, and productivity seemed to promise many future opportunities. Sadly, that will not be the case, and that hurts. Time will be very kind to Sacha’s work. I wish it had been kinder to him.

Sacha Jenkins died on May 23, 2025. He was 53 years old.