Mason’s live show will tear you apart with visceral, honest, rock and roll, and then he’ll gently put you back together, before breaking your heart all over again. And you’ll want to thank him for it.
The songs have a deep hope of redemption that coincides with a deep vein of sadness, even if it’s not a redemption for himself, even if it’s only for the person he is singing it to.
It’s not only in the writing, it’s in the delivery, the way he conveys the songs in such an immediate way makes them greater than the sum of the separate parts. He blends the concrete with the abstract in a way that is reminiscent of David Gray or Bob Dylan. It’s an effective conjunction of lyricism with language that is candid, and direct. The result is something very much his own, and distinguishable; as if he is the perfect vessel to convey this deep universal truth about sadness and the hope of redemption. It’s a truth that almost everyone feels, but so few can ever truly convey.
The arrangements on the record support Mason’s voice, and allow him to deliver the song unhindered by anything that isn’t truly necessary. Which is how the songs themselves exist.
There is a selflessness in the songs, there is always someone in the song with Mason, whether it’s a ghost from his past, or someone he is with to escape the past. He is never alone in the song, but there is a pervasive loneliness cast over everything. There is a shadow that floats around the room that he is trying to address. It’s a shadow that we all acknowledge to varying degrees but somehow Mason is able to look at it straight on and and give it a name.