"It's the same shit from whenever I had so much music up front, before everything happened and I wanted to put it out because I wanted people to hear it. "It's the worst feeling ever," Malone says of the repeated delays on his album, Stoney, which presently has no definite release date. Wait to prove that he can do it all again.
Wait to release his debut album, wait to prove his critics wrong, wait to prove that he's more than just one viral song. The problem is that now he must do something that runs counter to that spirit: wait. One thing that comes up in talking to Malone, his family and his friends is that he has always done things his way. He would spend his whole paycheck on foreign clothes and designer clothes." "In high school, this man had $1,000 Versace shoes. "I'm telling you, Austin liked all that stuff before," says Brendan Clevenger, a friend from high school. But those who know him, those who call him by his real name, Austin Post, see things differently. A white guy from the Texas suburbs, Malone - who loves to wear bling, including grills and expensive watches (he's rocking a brand-new, diamond-encrusted silver timepiece tonight) - has been called a lot of things by reporters, musicians and online commenters: a one-hit wonder, an appropriator of culture, even a fraud. This is a far cry from the party boy image that he's often identified with, an image that has helped make him a lightning rod of criticism. "I'm tired, but it's still a lot of fun." "After everything is said and done, I'm going to be on the road nine months this year," Malone says, wearily, flicking the first of many cigarettes into an ashtray. Friends from Grapevine and his father and stepmother will soon join them. Awaiting him there are his DJ and producer, FKi 1st of FKi, local hip-hop legend Big Tuck and friend Bric Mason. The bus, which has snakeskin trim around the windows, is Malone's refuge, and he prefers to stay on it until the moment he hits stage, rather than ever setting foot in the green room. There's no re-entry to the venue, and Malone won't perform for nearly four more hours. When she's done, she walks unsteadily toward the stage in the front of the room, where her fellow fans have gathered to wait for the show. The girl walks away slowly after taking her selfie, pausing to double check the photo, then quickly turns around to take another. "If you take away my material, I can't think of what to say," he says, his facing turning red. "Fuck off," Malone shoots back playfully, but suddenly freezes. Malone gives his typical greeting and his assistant Alec Strasmore, who's taking photos with his iPhone, mocks his emoji-speak. She pauses mid-stride, fanning her hands in front of her face and on the brink of hyperventilating. One girl, visibly flustered, attempts to compose herself as her turn comes up. Today, fans showed up two hours before the meet-and-greet started, a line stretching in front of the venue and wrapping around the corner. Barely 18 months ago, he was an unknown musician uploading his own songs to Soundcloud. It's something I never thought would happen this fast," Malone says of his newfound fame.
But these people knew him before his breakout year in 2015, when he became an internet sensation with his song "White Iverson," signed a record contract, jumped on a track with Kanye West and toured North America with Justin Bieber. (He even addresses one fan's parents directly for a snap.) His old acquaintances are not that old Malone just turned 21, after all.
Some of those fans are old acquaintances, others have siblings or mutual friends who grew up with Malone and went to school with him in Grapevine. "Let's go crazy," he says in a reassuring tone. He repeats the same lines over and over, but delivers those lines to each fan as though they're old friends. "How you doing? Let's turn up," he says, his voice a high, lolling drawl that's raspy from chain-smoking. He flashes a toothy grin to each and sticks out his tongue as he poses for the camera. One after the other, Malone's fans walk up to have their pictures taken or record a Snapchat. Tattoos peak out from beneath his clothes, including one of Kurt Cobain's face on his finger and another of an Uzi on his thigh. His hair is braided in tight, skinny pigtails and pulled into a bun, his face fuzzy with a patchy beard. Malone stands in front of the wall near the back bar of the venue, dressed in a long-sleeve shirt with tight, cut-off jean shorts and a pair of moccasins. They've paid $150 to attend a VIP meet-and-greet with the Grapevine singer and rapper, who's in town one week into his Monster Energy Outbreak Tour.
He's downstairs at the House of Blues in Dallas, where dozens of his fans have gathered one afternoon in late September. Post Malone is doing his best to stay on script.
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