The Memphis, Tenn.-based rapper’s Key Glock took an unexpected turn after his two crew members were arrested at the gates of the Queens music festival after being discovered with two loaded guns and a switchblade. Joshua Crutcher, 31, had a Glock 23 stuffed into his waistband, an ironic tribute to the artist’s namesake, and 22-year-old Dion Michaels, who was riding with him, told police he had a loaded Glock 43x in his car’s center console.
The group was stopped by security at Flushing Meadows Corona Park during a regular VIP check. It didn’t take long for the extra ammunition and switchblade to transform what should have been a celebration into a legal headache. The two men are now facing various felony charges for possession of illegal weapons.
Key Glock, whose real name is Markeyvius Cathey, was neither arrested nor charged, and there’s no evidence suggesting he was aware of the presence of the weapons. But his crew’s arrest has sparked a conversation about the sustained security risks that have shadowed the rapper and seemed to close in around him risks cast a long time ago by moments of tragedy.
Glock’s been playing the game with a heavy heart ever since the murder of his cousin and mentor, Young Dolph, in 2021. Dolph, a towering figure in Memphis hip-hop and the head of Paper Route Empire, his label, was fatally shot in the middle of the day in what the police said was a $100,000 murder-for-hire scheme. Since that tragic death, Glock has shouldered the responsibility of Dolph’s legacy artistically and emotionally.
The streets haven’t been forgotten, and, it would appear, neither has Glock’s inner circle. Some thought the weapons were tools for self-defense as well as a provocation, a reaction to harsh attendant realities in the lives of artists living large and wearing heavy pasts. But New York is not the place to see how much you can get away with when it comes to gun laws, and the consequences are proving steep.
Crutcher and Michaels will return to court on June 18 and Aug. 13, 2025. In the meantime, Glock has been surprisingly hushed up about the situation in public, at least. It’s a silence that means many things: concentration, frustration, or just another moment in a life in which nothing is as clear as it used to be: the lines between fame, fear, and the will to live.
What is obvious is this: Key Glock might have eluded trouble at Governors Ball, but the shadow of street-born vigilance still descends. Whether out of loyalty, caution, or faulty instincts, this chapter adds another dimension to a tale already characterized by loss, legacy, and the brutal cost of surviving in the spotlight.
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