Check Out Our Cover Interview with Post Malone
At 11 a.m., on a gray and drizzling morning in December, a line has already begun to form around the block outside Pier 36 in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Doors won’t open at the NYC venue for at least seven hours, however, that hasn’t stopped fans from holding out for their favorite artist. I make my way toward the entrance, keeping an eye out for someone whose guise might disclose distinguished status. On the contrary, I find Bobby Greenleaf, Post Malone’s assistant manager, smoking a joint next to a solitary hot dog cart. We head to a white van, which takes us to Post’s penthouse suite at Central Park’s Viceroy Hotel.
Upon entering the hotel room, we are greeted by two six-foot-something bodyguards that could likely pulverize grown men with the force of silverback gorillas. I glance over at the sleeping figure onfawn-colored suede couch, a chaotic clump of hair protruding from the top of a gray blanket. The suite is decorated with empty Coke bottles and ransacked pizza boxes, inklings of the 22-year-old rockstar napping just 10 feet away. I assume my position at the table, careful not to disturb his slumber.
Roughly an hour after settling in, I am startled by a door opening behind me and suddenly I am face to face with a sleepy, shirtless Post. The platinum recording artist extends his hand to me and I stare down at it, momentarily paralyzed. After an exceptionally awkward pause, I take his hand and introduce myself. Post then goes around to every person in the room, reacquainting himself with each member of his entourage and meeting El-e Mags, his tattoo artist for the day. Lastly, he rouses the person sleeping on the couch, who turns out to be his younger brother and tour manager.
Photos by Jason Goodrich
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Check Out His Cover Spread with INKED
Photos by Jason Goodrich
While the tattooer sets up a make-do station, the Stoney singer takes a seat with the group. His long hair, which is usually tied back in cornrows or a top knot, hangs loose around his shoulders and he’s put on a Grateful Dead t-shirt over a pair of striped yellow Ralph Lauren boxers. “Do you want any pizza?” Post asks me, gesturing to the half-empty boxes on the table. I politely decline, explaining briefly that I don’t eat cheese. A look of bewilderment washes over his tattooed face, the cogs turning behind a furrowed brow. “Are you a witch?” For two seconds, I consider staying in character, playing it safe. But, at the same time, how many opportunities will I have to read Post Malone’s natal chart?
“When’s your birthday?” I ask, summoning Cafe Astrology from my recent browser history. “July 4th.” he says, taking a puff of a Camel Crush cigarette. “Your sun is in Cancer, which means that you’re on the sensitive side.” Post scrunches up his face and with a dramatic lift in pitch answers, “No, I’m not.” The room laughs and an unabashed grin creeps onto his face. “But you also care a lot about your friends and family.” He nods in agreement and makes his way toward the suede couch.
Mags presents a tablet, the words “Stay Away” copied over in slight variations of a graceful cursive font. For someone who has referred to himself as a porcupine in interviews, I’m surprised by the elegance of the typeface that Post has chosen to decorate his brow bone. However, the script’s likeness to Lil Peep’s own design fills in the blanks. Post selects the second largest design and Mags quickly whips up a stencil. I hold my camera at the ready, waiting for the cue to share this tattoo with the world. Once the stencil is affixed to his skull, Post lies down on the suede couch and Mags prepares his machines. The quiet whir of his rotary pen blends into the groove of Nirvana and I position my phone above Post’s face. His fans have already locked into the live, with over a million and counting waiting patiently for the needle to touch skin. Post holds his breath as Mags drags his first line, starting at the temple and working his way in.
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Videography by @shootmepeter
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