The image is haunting. If you were on Twitter or Facebook in late 2010, you might have seen it. A young man with bright, neon-dyed hair lies face down on the pavement. Crimson pools around him. A crowd gathers, but instead of just helping, someone is holding a cell phone inches from his face.
That was the world's introduction to the end of Anthony Barre. Most people knew him as Messy Mya. He was the king of New Orleans "bounce" comedy, a vitriolic, hilarious, and unapologetic voice that defined a specific era of internet culture before "influencer" was even a common word. But the messy mya death photo became a flashpoint for a much larger conversation about digital ethics, urban violence, and eventually, one of the biggest copyright lawsuits in music history involving Beyoncé.
The Night in the 7th Ward
It happened on November 14, 2010. Anthony had just left a baby shower for his unborn son. He was 22. Just as he was walking toward his car in the 7th Ward, shots rang out.
The speed at which the messy mya death photo hit the internet was staggering. This was before the era of TikTok and instant viral reels, yet within minutes, the image of his body was trending. It was a brutal irony. Mya had built his fame on social media, using YouTube to roast locals and shout his catchphrases like "Now who gonna pop me?" and "Bitch, I’m back by popular demand."
Suddenly, his own prophecy had come true. The very platforms that made him a star were now being used to broadcast his final moments.
Why the Photo Sparked Such Outrage
Honestly, it wasn’t just the fact that he was dead. It was the callousness.
People were horrified by the "digital onlookers." The photo clearly showed bystanders more interested in getting the shot than showing respect. This led to a massive debate in New Orleans and beyond: had we become so desensitized by social media that a murder scene was just another piece of "content"?
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For the people who grew up on Mya’s rants, it felt like a betrayal. He was a local hero who spoke the truth about post-Katrina life, even if he did it with a "caustic barb" and a smile. Seeing him lying there lifeless felt like a punch to the gut for the 7th Ward.
The Wrong Man and a Cold Case
For a while, it looked like justice might happen. A week after the shooting, a man named Jason Hamilton was arrested. He even confessed.
Case closed, right? Not quite.
Hamilton spent three years in prison before the whole thing fell apart. It turns out, he wasn't even at the scene. New evidence proved he was elsewhere, and the "confession" was likely the result of mental health issues or police pressure. He was released, and the search for Mya's killer went back to square one.
To this day, the murder remains technically unsolved. It’s one of those New Orleans stories that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You have a massive celebrity, a public execution, a viral messy mya death photo, and yet, no one is behind bars for it.
Beyoncé, "Formation," and the $20 Million Lawsuit
Years later, Mya’s voice literally came back from the grave. When Beyoncé dropped "Formation" in 2016, the opening lines sent shockwaves through the bounce community.
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"What happened at the New Wil'ins? Bitch, I'm back by popular demand!"
That was Mya. Specifically, it was audio taken from his YouTube videos "Booking The Hoes From New Wildin" and "A 27-Piece Huh?"
The problem? Beyoncé’s team allegedly didn't ask for permission.
The Legal Battle
Angel Barre, Anthony’s sister and the head of his estate, wasn't having it. She sued for $20 million in 2017. The lawsuit claimed that Beyoncé used Mya's "actual voice, performance, and words" to create the "tone, mood, and setting" of the song without paying a dime.
The defense tried to argue "fair use." They claimed the samples were so short and "transformative" that they didn't need a license. But the court wasn't so sure. A judge actually denied Beyoncé’s motion to dismiss, noting that the samples were "qualitatively significant."
Basically, you can't have "Formation" without that New Orleans grit that Mya provided.
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The case was eventually settled out of court in 2018. The terms were confidential, but it’s safe to assume the Barre estate finally got the recognition—and the check—they were looking for. It was a landmark moment for the rights of independent creators whose "viral moments" often get strip-mined by major labels.
Why We Still Talk About Him
Anthony Barre was more than just a victim in a photo. He was a pioneer.
- He Invented the "Diss" Vlog: Long before "tea channels" existed, Mya was walking through the Lakeside Shopping Center filming himself roasting people.
- Cultural Anchor: He represented a New Orleans that was trying to find its voice after the devastation of the mid-2000s.
- A Warning: His death and the subsequent viral photo serve as a permanent case study in how we consume tragedy.
It's easy to get lost in the "true crime" aspect of it all. But if you actually watch his old videos, you see a kid who was incredibly talented, deeply funny, and full of life. He wasn't just a "messy" persona; he was a person.
Moving Forward: Respecting the Legacy
If you’re looking into this story because you saw the messy mya death photo or heard the "Formation" sample, take a second to look at his actual work.
Actionable Insight: The best way to respect a fallen artist is to engage with what they created, not how they died.
- Watch the Archive: His YouTube channel still stands as a digital time capsule of 2010 New Orleans.
- Support Local Bounce: Artists like Big Freedia and Katey Red carry on the tradition Mya was part of.
- Check the Ethics: Next time a tragedy goes viral, think about the person in the frame. Would they want their lowest moment to be their most-viewed "content"?
Messy Mya might have been "back by popular demand" in a pop song, but in New Orleans, he never really left. He’s in the rhythm of the city, the slang of the streets, and the history of the internet itself.