by Daniel The M.C.
Ten years ago, I was a student in Mr. Balaven’s BlendED Hip-Hop class at Urban High School. Back then, I never imagined that the beats, rhymes, and lessons we explored would stay with me for a decade. Yet here I am, still returning to the music I created in that course, and still hearing the echoes of the questions it raised for me.
For most of my childhood, I wasn’t especially interested in history or culture beyond what I needed for school. But in high school, something shifted. When I started making my own music, I began to see how Hip-Hop could be more than entertainment—it could be education, reflection, and even healing. Writing rhymes forced me to wrestle with ideas I had never considered before.
Hip-Hop, as I came to learn, was born in the Bronx but carries global roots. It is a culture that thrives on storytelling, honesty, and creativity. In class, we studied artists like KRS-One, Lauren Hill, and Nas. Their songs weren’t just a part of playlists—they were lessons. Each track carried history, philosophy, and lived experience. I remember being struck by Professor A.L.I.’s album XFactor, which we studied in detail. Hearing that it was even used as a framework for a UC-approved history course showed me how powerful music could be when paired with intentional teaching.
Through songs like Diasporal Histories, I began to understand stories of migration, struggle, and resilience in ways no textbook had ever made me feel. Hip-Hop gave me access not only to knowledge, but also to emotion—an entry point into empathy. It showed me that education doesn’t always happen in the traditional classroom; sometimes it comes with a bassline.
Looking back, I realize that class gave me permission to ask bigger questions: Who am I? What does my voice add to the world? How can I create something that uplifts instead of divides? I didn’t leave with all the answers, but I did leave with the tools to keep searching.
Today, when I revisit the tracks I recorded as “Daniel The M.C.,” I smile (and cringe a little; my voice has changed quite a bit). The rhymes may not be perfect, but they capture a moment when music helped me grow. Hip-Hop taught me about peace, love, unity, and joy—not just as slogans, but as a way of living.
And every time the beat drops, I’m reminded of a classroom where music and education blended together, and of the teacher who believed that learning could move to the rhythm of a drum.










