You hear Kenny Mason’s voice before you see him. On a Sunday evening in mid-June, members of the crowd, filled in tightly at Mahall’s in Cleveland, look toward the door expectantly, but there are just a couple of stragglers drifting through. The room’s been perfumed with the loud, syrupy reek of marijuana, and the imperial beat of “BULLKILLER” — the opening song of his latest album, BULLDAWG — pumps from the speakers, but Mason hasn’t arrived yet, even as the first verse is underway. As soon as the chorus hits, he jumps up onstage, and the audience receives him warmly. He’s a seasoned conductor, encouraging them to lift their hands, move from one side of the room to the other, and most crucially, bounce. “If somebody fall down, what do you do?” he asks. “Pick them back up.”
In case you had any doubts, Mason cares deeply about his fans. A few hours before the show, sitting across from me upstairs in the green room, he mentions that last night’s stop at El Club in Detroit turned into “a literal hot box” because the AC wasn’t working. (The stage area of the all-ages venue is roughly a quarter of its whole — a wall separating the performance from the bar forms a narrow strip — and when it’s sold out, you have about an inch of personal space, knocking elbows with everyone around you.) The nature of Mason’s shows, known for turning the room into a blur of bodies, coupled with the rising temperature, made him concerned about the moshes. “Last night I didn’t want them to because it was so packed and hot, but they still did anyway,” he says. “There’s been a mosh pit in every city. They going crazy.”
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In person, his energy is the opposite of what surfaces onstage. Mason remains a self-described introvert, as calm and familiar as he is thoughtful and open (“Whatever you wanna know,” he tells me). To get into the spirit of the show, he asks everyone to clear the room for 10 minutes so he can collect himself and breathe. “I just say real nice words to myself,” he laughs. “I know it sounds strange, but I’m full on like, ‘You the best. You the greatest. You magical. You wonderful.’ Shit like that. Just to make myself have a good show, hype myself up.” If those sound like words of affirmation, it’s because Mason is newly in therapy, logging hard hours in an attempt to understand himself, the circumstances that shaped him, and the intense feelings that can keep him in a loop. Admittedly, it’s been tough to maintain on the road — people are always floating around — but he continues to put in the work. He tried a Zoom session once, but mostly he’s been texting back and forth with his therapist. “The first time she set a boundary, it hurt my feelings, but then I was like, ‘OK, my feelings not supposed to be hurt by a boundary.’ We already making progress,” he explains. (The boundary was don’t text at 2 a.m., even if you’re spiraling, which, all right, fair.)
Gabrielle Ravet
“Do you ever purge on a page?” I ask him.
“Yeah, that’s what she told me to do — just journal and even making music,” he replies. “Some songs are just for me. You can go on the mic, and you could say this, or you could scream this, and that don’t mean you got to put it out in the world or post it or nothing. And that’s been a big help, too, knowing that some songs are just for me. The fans might not like hearing that, but there are certain things, even if I’m writing lyrics, some of those are just to help me. Then they’ll come out a different way on an actual song.”
Music was always a balm. Growing up in Atlanta’s Zone 3, Mason was pulled toward street violence, but an inclination for weirder, artsy subculture — as well as a quiet and ambitious personality — prevented him from getting in too deep. Instead, he started writing raps at 12 years old, and by 14, he decided to make a career out of it, right in the midst of emo’s mainstream explosion. “Gerard Way’s my hero,” he says unabashedly. “In middle school, I would watch all his interviews and just wanna be him, for real. I was definitely an emo kid in middle school, shameless — and that was not cool back then in Black high schools. It’s probably a little cool now.” His favorite album is 2002’s I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love, their raw and dark debut produced by Thursday’s Geoff Rickly, though he hasn’t seen any of MyChem’s reunion shows yet. He’s always on tour or in the studio.
Informed as much by Chino Moreno as Tha Carter III, one of the things I’m intrigued to hear about is how Mason learned guitar for BULLDAWG, entirely by ear. “Learn-ing,” he gently corrects me. “About three months before the album ended, I started practicing every day. I toyed around with it in the past, but I super locked in like, ‘OK, I’m gonna practice it every day to the point where I can write a song.’ I don’t have no intention of playing live anytime soon, but I knew I wanted to get comfortable enough that I could write riffs that I like. I’m just having a lot of fun.” Part of that drive comes from working with Poison Thorn, aka Title Fight guitarist Shane Moran, who contributed to BULLDAWG in myriad ways (and has been providing tips, like how to rest the guitar). A mutual friend introduced them: Before long, Moran flew out to Atlanta for one weekend in November 2022, and they hit it off, making songs immediately and becoming close friends. (Half of Title Fight played on 2023’s “Back Home,” and his “subtle flex” is that he’s been in the room with three-fourths of the band. He suggests we “hold hands and form a prayer circle,” regarding a reunion.) “He’s the No. 1 person I wanna impress,” Mason says. “I send him every little riff idea I do.”
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BULLDAWG is a step up on all sides, blending astute bars with enough distortion to satisfy metalheads, especially toward the back half. It’s pummeling and sharply crafted, filled with collaborations but not bogged down by them. There are appearances from Dominic Fike and Paris Texas, JID and SMJ. There’s a sly contribution by Upchuck vocalist and fellow Atlantian KT Thompson on “WHATUWANNASAY?!,” who lends her gritty style to the track. “It was the perfect time and the perfect song because when I made [it], I was like, ‘I need some type of loud, abrasive voice to say this part because I’m not saying it right,’” Mason recalls. “I just told her to pull up, and she got it done in an hour.” They even made another song that day that he hopes can come out. “She’s always cheered me on,” he adds. “Atlanta, we just love each other, and everybody support each other.”
As he asserts on “BOUNCE WIT ME,” “I’m bringing rap back/I’m bringing rock back, this shit ain’t rehab.” Produced by FearDorian, an eternally curious kindred spirit whose emo leanings and eclectic taste show up behind the scenes as well as in his own solo offerings, the track sounds designed for the stage. That’s exactly why their partnership extended to the BULLDAWG tour, with Dorian prepping the crowd with a smattering of songs from his extensive catalog. “He’s just such a fucking bubbly kid,” Mason says of his tourmate, who celebrated his 20th birthday the previous night in Detroit. The team brought out a cake, instigated a crowd singalong, and gifted him Deftones’ White Pony on vinyl. “His musical palette is crazy. For him to be so young, he knows so much music that I never heard, and it’ll be the most coolest, obscure thing you ever heard of… That’s why I wanted him around — he knows so much, and I’m learning from him.”
The admiration runs both ways. “This is the fifth tour I’ve done, and I think when you’re touring with someone that you already have a personal relationship with, it just makes things way cooler,” FearDorian says. “It feels intentional. It’s been super sick. This tour has been legendary because it was my birthday, my anniversary, first time going to places like Charlotte and Berkeley… Also, Kenny is just really fucking good at what he does. I’ve learned so much on each stop that has helped aid my own performance. It’s really inspiring to see Kenny and his whole team, the way they move and the way they operate and how they go about orchestrating each show — and it’s really fun, especially when it’s your homies.”
Gabrielle Ravet
Of all the songs that live within BULLDAWG, the closing track, “7ELEVEN,” is the one that stands out to me. It’s a 2 a.m. Notes app confessional, bleeding with the type of heart-on-sleeve vulnerability that made him so attracted to emo in the late 2000s. He raps about dodging death row, a nod to the life that could’ve destroyed him if he hadn’t made music a priority. He contemplates the irrepressible evil of the comments section. And the stabbing hurt of “being called a flop”? That’s up there with a gunshot wound. He considers who he’s become, if his suicidal thoughts are worth entertaining. Then, with less than a minute left, there’s a click and a shift in attitude. His confidence springs forth: “Nah, I take my power back from lettin’ you decide/A bulldawg, I can’t be euthanized I move the line.” By the song’s end, he’s spiritually full and physically strong, but there are layers upon layers that even Genius can’t reveal.
“That was the hardest song ever to make, to write, but at the same time, it did just pour out,” he begins. “It was very cathartic. It’s the most cathartic song I ever made, probably, one of them. I didn’t wanna put it on the album at first, and I also didn’t wanna finish it. For the longest time, I only had the first two verses, and they were so very intense to me. I was like, ‘This is too candid for fans to hear,’ or I didn’t necessarily feel comfortable speaking about myself like that, just in case they saw me in a different light. I didn’t want to taint that, but as the album kept going, I prioritize truth, I guess. I prioritize valuing the truth and what it would do for me versus trying to hide anything or trying to pretend these aren’t my thoughts.
Gabrielle Ravet
“As time went on, it revealed itself to be incredibly necessary,” he continues. “By the time I had eight songs, I was like, ‘Yeah, this is absolutely going on the album.’ Honestly, showing all my friends, they was like, ‘This is one of the best songs you’ve ever made.’ But for me, I literally couldn’t listen to it. I still can’t. When I’m on tour, I only do the last verse.”
At the end of the night, when he dashes back onstage for the encore at Mahall’s, the set is exactly as he said. He runs through “DRACULA,” a melodic and lyrically savvy favorite off 2023’s 6, and then immediately launches into the tail end of “7ELEVEN.” Slicked with sweat, Mason’s poised and unshakable, gliding back and forth on the stage as he flows through the words — a picture of someone who’s put in “blood, sweat, and years” and come through the other side. When he finishes the verse, there are, rightfully, cheers. He kisses his hand and sends all of that love outward.
