" The Lives They Lived" from The New York Times
If you knew Andreis; if you caught one of his tags around New York or worked with him on a project in Los Angeles; if you saw him rapping in a hoodie at Elisabeth Irwin or watched him bang around campus at Bard; if you heard him make music, create, rhyme, design, tell a joke, laugh (and you knew when you heard him laugh — it could be heard several rooms over), you can attest: He can’t be summarized in a paragraph.
Here are some collected words about Andreis from those who loved him:
Andreis was such a breath of fresh air, like the smell of really good pizza and Newports. He had that in-your-face interface that was just classic New York, with the well-honed irreverence required of all true writers.
His was a maniacal and contagious smile, the kind of guy who’d laugh at his own misfortune, mocking it. A consummate writer. So much more than a writer.
He was that one friend who’d beat up your grade-school bully without your even asking.
He loved his friends fiercely, as he did his family.
Andreis always reminded me nothing was ever too far to reach.
He was a loving soul and a brilliant artist. His strut, serious. A New Yorker, they don’t make them like this anymore. So f-ing gentle, and also not so gentle. He understood gravity and we were lucky to have his friendship when we did.
Scholar of Mobb Deep and Dante in equal measure. Rawest dude to ever preach the virtues of Hermès soap.
All the capers, madness, Russian nightclub skirmishes, silent cigars on the back porch; the laughter, ferocity and kindess of knowing him and witnessing his talent will be with me for life.