I was in the pit at Ski Mask the Slump God’s “Lost Files” tour, and I didn’t break my glasses. For people who know me or Ski Mask as an artist, that’s a detail worth noting.
The Catalyst in Santa Cruz was packed Thursday to watch Ski on the second stop of his tour, which the artist described on his Instagram as more “personal and intimate.” Santa Cruz was chosen as a location because the area had a high number of Ski Mask listeners on Spotify, rather than its popular appeal as a venue.
The crowd supported that choice of venue, a rowdy mix of locals and college students that all knew his music by heart, cheering loudly for tracks before they were even played.
The songs the crowd cheered the loudest at were also his loudest songs, “Take A Step Back” and “Nuketown.” Both blaring rap songs that elevate the already high energy of a live concert to thundering levels. The hype never died down across an hour and half set.
The font of that endless energy is of course Ski Mask himself, an artist who has mellowed in his late twenties only in the sense that he only crowdsurfed once this show, a special treat he brought back specifically for this tour. At one point a water bottle was thrown on stage, which he addressed by saying “you’re lucky I’m a changed man, there would have been a fight up here.”
Despite the often violent nature of Ski’s music, in both sound and content, Ski Mask himself is surprisingly wholesome. During the show he often talked about the history of each song or the memories attached to a lyric. He took multiple moments to eulogize his fellow rapper and self-described brother XXX Tentation, who died tragically young in the middle of his career. Ski described making his first verse with XXX, hiding in a closet with a snowball mic to avoid making noise.
For those familiar with his songs though, the contrast is not as sharp as you may think. A large part of Ski’s appeal for me has always been his clever wordplay. He isn’t necessarily the kind of artist you would describe as a poet, but his bars have this innate ability to not make sense while carrying a surprising amount of poetic force.
“Faucet Failure,” one of his most popular songs, and the one I looked forward to all night. The chorus “I’m flyer than a f—ing ostrich,” is kind of nonsense, but not it makes a perfect kind of sense when attached to a bass-rending trap beat.
