The Healing Power of Hip-Hop

Mateo Mendoza, photographed by Peter Logue. June 2025

It’s true for many that music can tie us to our roots, regionally, culturally and ethnically. It’s an art form, a way to process, even to tell stories. Music modalities are rising in popularity as a type of therapy as music is becoming increasingly recognized in neuroscience as having healing properties. We can experience its positive effects with sound baths, a cat’s purring or hearing a song that transports us to a happy memory. 

For Mateo Mendoza, a 26-year-old Rockland rapper, music is everything.

Mendoza has been living in Rockland for the last eight years, having moved around New England a lot during his school years. He was born to a Puerto Rican mother and a Black father who was born in Birmingham, AL but who grew up in Harlem, NY and lived in Chicago for a time. Mendoza said of his father’s struggles, “If there was dangerous hood, he probably lived in it at some point. He only knew the streets. You could say that my hip-hop is really because of him.” 

When his parents split, Mendoza was given a choice of who to live with. Because he felt that his relationship with his mother was solid, he chose his semi-absent father so he could get to know him better. He quickly learned that his mother had been protecting him from certain aspects of his father’s life.

“She didn’t want to destroy the image I had of my dad,” he said of his youth, “even though my dad was kind of a monster. He still is. My mom is built Ford tough. She didn’t really express emotions other than anger. And honestly, I kind of had the same problem.” An anger problem that, instead of following in his father's footsteps, found an outlet and healing in writing and performing rap music. 

“My rap name is Toxmak [like 'talk smack'],” he said. “I try to express my qualms with how things are done, or who’s doing what — things that make me furious and disappointed. Police brutality, systemic issues. But also, deeply personal things.” Mendoza’s rap style is a blend of socially conscious hip-hop and other influences, often driven by the beats of gangster rap, the internal rhythm apparent in even his gait. Certainly, he cuts a striking figure walking along the streets of Rockland, where he can be found when he’s not at his car mechanic job. But his gentle and friendly manner and encyclopedic knowledge of the names and faces of his Midcoast community members make him somewhat of a local celebrity. And the juxtaposition of some of the anger expressed in his music and his seemingly happy-go-lucky nature further prove that artistic outlets are a useful channel for psychic complexities. 

According to him, there was one song in particular that awakened his need to rap. 

Nas’ "One Mic", on living in a dystopia and yearning for a simple life, was transformative to Mendoza when he first heard it.

“He starts with a simple list of things he needs; it’s calm,” he said. “Then the beat gets heavier, and his emotions get heavier — he emphasizes that all he needs is one mic. He just needs to talk about these things [gang violence, politics, etc.] and if he gets that one microphone maybe he can possibly do something to change the state of the people he cares about. I used to listen to it every day. I lived in that beat; I lived in that song.” 

Beats are part of Mendoza's craft, but wordsmithing is just as important to him. “I have a fun time playing with language, considering it,” he said. “I remember vocabulary being so fun in school; everybody hated English class, but I was like, ‘Y’all need to lighten up.’”

After school, his friends and family would ask him, “What new words you got?” And he would run down his list of new vocabulary words. “When I learned the word 'ambiguous' in grade school, I thought, now this is a word I can use a lot more often than not,” he laughed. And when his father introduced him to rap music, he kept soaking up those words and messages.

Despite the profound impact that certain songwriters have played in his life, Mendoza was quick to point out that his musical influences, even those who’ve helped him overcome moments of hopelessness, aren’t necessarily his icons. He said that if you look too closely at your heroes, they often come up short.

“I don’t want to idolize anything that’s false,” he said. “But there are people that I respect, and I look to them for how they may have conquered something. Nas made it out of his situation, Kendrick made it out of his situation; how did they do that? What did they hold on to, and what did they let go of? What did they learn? It’s not always about who’s teaching you; it’s about if you’re paying attention.”

And Mendoza is always paying attention. 

Prior to his work at the mechanic shop, he tried working retail at various places but found the corporate erasure of himself to be unbearable. “I’ve grown up around pimps and people like that,” he said. “I’m not interested.” He said he felt objectified and used for tokenism in certain workplace settings; the feeling was degrading.

To combat his traumas, Mendoza maintains a disciplined schedule. He goes to therapy every week, then he writes. “Hip-hop is what gets me through,” he said. “I have PTSD; I’m very anxious. Writing and performing — it’s the most honest I could be. Hip-hop is the only time I can be uncensored. Writing is really fulfilling. It's the act of sitting down and trying to make sense of my mind.”

These days, he performs wherever he can. He can often be found at the open mic night at Hot Hill Tavern in Thomaston on Tuesday evenings. His music is a profound shift from other performances in that setting, and he is met with an almost shocked enthusiasm at his talent by listeners.

“I find joy in affecting someone well,” he said. “I have this philosophy: If I can affect one person positively through my lyrics, then it’s worth it. That’s all that really matters to me.”