After covering the career of Bishop Brigante for over 20 years, I never imagined I’d be writing about his passing—especially under such heartbreaking and frustrating circumstances. At just 46, he should have been thriving—expanding his business ventures, raising his children with his partner, and continuing to build the legacy he worked so hard for. Instead, he found himself in the fight of his life, facing cancer head-on with the same unwavering determination that defined him.
Bishop was one of the most strong-willed and self-assured people I’ve ever met. His confidence wasn’t just about believing in himself—it was about making others believe in him, too. He had an energy that could take over a room, a charisma that made people gravitate toward him. Even when the odds weren’t in his favour, he never doubted that he could beat cancer, and I believed it right along with him. That’s what makes this even harder to accept.
I believe I’ve seen firsthand how powerful optimism can be. My father fought cancer in the early 2000s, and I always credited his positive spirit as one of the reasons he overcame it. I don’t claim to understand how it works, but I do believe in the power of positive energy. And if there was anyone who had enough of it to take on something this big, it was Bishop.
Bishop Brigante and Richie Sosa (Photo: Supplied by The Ends)
But cancer is ruthless. As much as Bishop fought, and as much as those around him believed in his strength, the disease spread too fast. Some questionable decisions by medical professionals may have made his battle even harder, but in the end, it was an impossible fight to win. Bishop understood that long before any of us were willing to accept it. Over our many phone calls in his final year, he was honest about the reality he was facing. But even then, he never let go of the warrior mentality that defined him. He fought until the very end.
Coming to terms with losing a friend of more than two decades is something I’m still processing. As Bishop faced the toughest battle of his life, I found myself reflecting on the years we shared, the memories, and the moments that shaped both of our journeys. Bishop and I had the kind of friendship where we could go weeks or months without speaking, but when we reconnected, it was like no time had passed. No awkwardness, no need for small talk, just right back to it, whether it was music, life, or whatever ambitious idea he or I had brewing. That’s the kind of bond he built with people. He made you feel like you were always in the loop, even when you weren’t.
I was 16 when I started HipHopCanada, and Bishop was one of the first artists I connected with in a real way. My business partner, MoJointz, introduced me to him—at the time, they were working on a demo with a production team in New York. That demo ended up producing some incredible tracks that, for one reason or another, never saw an official release. Hearing those songs made me see Bishop’s talent in a whole new way. I had already known he was dope, but this was different. It elevated my view of him as a rapper. From that moment on, I considered him one of the top Canadian rappers of all time, and that opinion hasn’t changed, even in his passing.
At around 19 or 20, Bishop was already making serious noise in the Toronto scene—he was a title-holding battle rap champion, he had videos on MuchMusic and was set to appear on Choclair’s Memoirs of Blake Savage album—but he never acted like he was above anyone. He had a way of making people feel like they belonged, like we were all part of something bigger. Our working relationship turned into a friendship, and over the years, I saw how much he cared, not just about music but about the people around him.
Bishop always looked out for his people. If he believed in you, he made sure you knew it, and he never hesitated to support those around him, often without looking for anything in return. When a mutual friend, Bizz, and I were working on a clothing line, Bishop was one of the first to show love, constantly repping and supporting us however he could. That was just who he was. So, when he launched The Ends, there was no question—I wanted to show up for him the same way he had for us.
He also had a side not everyone got to see, but if you paid attention, it was always there. His interviews, his YouTube videos, his battles—he had this way of making things fun, keeping the energy light even when he was taking something seriously. Back in the early 2000s, when I was living alone, he’d prank call me relentlessly. He recorded them just so we could laugh about it later. I even ended up using one of those calls on a mixtape, alongside a verse from him that, in hindsight, was probably way too good to be wasted on my project. But to Bishop, it wasn’t about that. He just wanted to support his people.
As his career grew, Bish broke down barriers for Canadian hip-hop in ways that hadn’t been done before. His feud with battle rap phenom Jin proved that Canadian rappers had what it took to go toe-to-toe internationally, and his appearances on 106 & Park’s popular Freestyle Fridays segment cemented the view that Bishop was doing things at another level for Canadian hip-hop. The Canadian hip-hop landscape was much different at the time and getting on 106 & Park would have been considered damn near impossible. But Bishop did it, and after crushing the competition for three weeks in a row, he was disqualified in a controversial ruling that claimed he had used profanity (he said he didn’t). Perhaps, they just weren’t ready for a Canadian to hold the title and stopped him in his tracks before he reached the Freestyle Friday Hall of Fame (seven consecutive wins). In any event, one of the guest judges, Lil Wayne, agreed that Bishop was robbed, but the experience still gave him a global boost.
As Bishop recalled in a 2008 interview with AllHipHop, “My 106 & Park appearance got me exposure worldwide and I was only aired for 2 weeks—plus I got disqualified and still came home a hero! People in NY would stop me everywhere: on the train, at the Rucker in Harlem. All kinds of people to this day remember me tearing it up on 106.”
Several years later, he became a longtime co-host of Toronto-based KOTD (King of the Dot), one of the most respected and globally recognized battle rap leagues. He earned a dedicated fanbase, and the outpouring of love from the battle rap community right now is proof of the impact he made.
During the mid-2000s, Bishop made another unprecedented move for Canadian hip-hop when he signed a notable record deal with Bodog Music. The online poker giant was experimenting with a foray into the music industry, and Bishop was one of the artists they backed. That partnership led to one of the biggest collaborations of his career: a track with the legendary Nate Dogg (“It’s Fo Twenty”). As far as I know, Bishop remains the only Canadian rapper to have collaborated with Nate before his passing in 2011. Bish also collaborated with artists like Snoop Dogg, MC Lyte, Onyx and Drake. In the early days of his career, he and Drake were part of a rap group called The Wise Guys.
Away from the mic, Bishop was also making strides in acting. He landed a role in the Joe Carnahan-directed cult classic NARC, alongside Ray Liotta, Jason Patric, Busta Rhymes, and others. He also had roles in shows like Platinum, Ultimate MC, and Hemlock Grove, proving his versatility and expanding his presence beyond music—something else very few Canadian rappers were doing.
When Bishop was diagnosed with cancer in 2023, it hit all of us hard. For someone who had been so resilient and strong throughout his entire life, this felt like an unfair turn of events. In the same call where he broke the news, he was already laying out a plan to fight it. He was methodical, determined, and refusing to let it define him. But what shook him most wasn’t his own diagnosis; it was realizing how many young adults were facing the same battle. His mind went into overdrive, not just on how to beat it for himself, but on how he could make a difference for others. It was classic Bishop—turning adversity into purpose. I had hoped that this newfound mission would fuel his drive to beat the disease, no matter the odds.
True to form, he faced cancer head-on. No hesitation. No self-pity. Just a plan, a fight, and the same unwavering spirit that had defined him from day one. And we all rallied behind him, believing just as fiercely as he did. People from all over the world came out to support, with popular podcaster Joe Budden even making a significant donation to help with growing medical expenses.
Bishop Brigante & his son Bigg Lito at Back Outside (Photo: Lee Solo / @shotbysolo)
In early 2024, Bishop held a fundraiser called Back Outside to raise awareness and funds for his treatment. It would turn out to be his final performance, alongside some of the biggest names from the Toronto scene, all of whom supported Bishop wholeheartedly as his friend. Even with everything he was going through, he gave it his all that night, delivering an unforgettable show that was raw, emotional, and full of the energy that had always defined him. His son, Lito, stood by his side as his hype man, carrying on the same presence and confidence his father had always brought to the stage. Watching them together, it was impossible not to see how deep Bishop’s impact ran—on his family, on his friends, on the culture he helped build.
“The support means everything to me,” Bishop declared to the crowd during his performance.
“It’s not just about the money or the fundraiser; it’s about the love, the unity, and the shared spirit that we have as a community. Each one of you, by being here tonight and supporting me in this fight, has shown me that I am not alone.”
As Bishop’s new ideas and revelations started to take shape, he extended his fight against cancer beyond his own battle. He began to understand more about the cancer he was fighting and decided to focus his energy on trying to help others as well. He started a petition on Change.org with his partner Melly titled Lowering the Age Criteria for Colonoscopy Testing to Save Lives, pushing for screenings to begin at 30 instead of 50.
Colorectal cancer is the second leading cause of cancer-related deaths for both men and women, and early detection is crucial for survival. Bishop knew this firsthand. He saw how many young adults were being diagnosed too late and wanted to do something about it. Even in his final months, he was still trying to create change. He was still fighting, not just for himself, but for everyone who might face the same battle in the future.
The petition has been signed over 38,000 times and was even tabled in Queen’s Park, with policymakers and health officials taking notice. Lowering screening times wouldn’t help Bishop—it was too late for that—but knowing how many people he might be able to save from the reality he was dealing with was all the motivation he needed.
Bishop Brigante was a giant in Canadian hip-hop, but more importantly, he was a real one. He fought relentlessly: for his career, his family, his people, and, in the end, his life. Though his story ended far too soon, the impact he left behind is eternal. I’m honoured to have called him a friend, and I’ll do my part to keep his legacy alive.
So… put three fingers on each hand, take that fucking mirror down, and roll the dice with The Gambling Man in a back alley of Section 6. IYKYK.
Let’s take a moment to salute one of the greatest Canadian rappers to ever do it.
Rest in peace, my friend.
