Paul Mason

'The Other Guy' feels like a raw and personal track. What was the emotional starting point for the song, and how did that shape the sound and delivery?

The song came together over about three months, during a pretty vulnerable period of my life. I’d been seeing someone at the time that I had a very deep connection with—But for personal reasons—emotional, psychological—We had to walk away. That decision at the time was painful, but necessary. I ended up flying to New York on one of those classic mid-20’s solo trips to “find yourself,” and the emotional weight of the song started to crystallise there. What it became was a love letter, not just to her, but to myself. A reminder that you can survive heartbreak with dignity. That just because something ends doesn’t mean you failed. Romance is powerful. It can shift the course of your life. And this song is about honouring that power, while also holding space for your own growth. Sonically, I wanted that to come across and feel clean and honest. 

You’ve shared the stage with everyone from Sting to Jessica Mauboy. Now that you’re stepping into the spotlight solo, how does that change your relationship with performance—sonically and visually?

It’s been a real recalibration. I’ve spent most of my career as a sideman—fulfilling an accompanying role, amplifying someone else’s light—with authority and presence. I love that space, and continue to occupy it regularly for people I’m fortunate enough to work with. But when you’re front and centre, it’s different. Those same qualities—aswell as your own charisma and musicality—need to be dialed up, scrutinised and shaped into something that communicates you, not just your instrument fulfilling its role. 
There’s more at stake, but it’s also more rewarding. You have to carry the room. You’re not just the soundtrack—you’re the message, the image, the emotional reference point. But once the show starts, it’s still the same mission: enter a flow state, serve the energy of the song and the room, and try to create a space where people can actually feel something real.

There’s a certain aesthetic and mood that runs through your solo work. How conscious are you of the visual world surrounding your music—whether on stage, in press photos, or in videos?

It’s something I think about constantly. Because the way I see it, every performance—whether it’s visual or sonic—is an extension of what the song is trying to say. My main aim is always emotional transmission. How can I make the feeling of the song land in someone else’s body? I don’t want to be flashy for the sake of it. I want people to leave the show and feel like something cracked open inside them. That doesn’t come from spectacle—it comes from honesty and emotional transmutation through music. That’s the true superpower of a musical artist for me. 

You come from a background that blends jazz, rock, and session work. How does your eclectic musical history inform the storytelling and texture in your solo material?

I think my background gives me the freedom to break rules and trust my ear. When I’m writing or producing, I’m not consciously thinking, “this needs to sound like X genre.” I’m really just trying to distill something that’s deeply human, and part of my experience. 
With The Other Guy, that meant using restraint. Letting the song breathe. But the storytelling lives not just in the lyrics—it’s in the chord voicings, the tone, the phrasing. And all of that comes from years of absorbing different styles and applying them in ways that are subtle but specific. If I’ve done my job right, you’ll be hearing something you would never expect— and something that feels like it could only have come from me.

Your tribute shows to Jeff Beck were a major success—what lessons or influences from Beck’s style carried through into the writing or playing on 'The Other Guy'?

Jeff Beck is the north star for me. He was understated, but emotionally towering. He didn’t need to shred hard to cut deep. There’s a humility and elegance in his playing that I’ve always gravitated toward. He had this uncanny ability to say more with a single note than most can say in a hundred.
That influence is definitely in The Other Guy. The restraint, the poise, the sense of space. He’s such a musical titan for me. Every time I play, I’m trying to tap into the same kind of spirit Jeff had. Something unspoken but undeniable. When that kind of energy gets transmitted through a song, it transcends genre or skill—it becomes something that actually touches people. That’s what I’m chasing.

You’ve always had a reputation for technical mastery, but this song feels more about emotional clarity than flash. Was that a deliberate shift in focus?

Absolutely. Look, I know I can play. But The Other Guy wasn’t about proving anything. It was about delivering a story, and if that meant playing fewer notes or stripping things back, so be it.
The only thing I care about now is whether it sounds like me. Whether someone can listen to a song and say, that could only be Paul Mason. I’m trying to carve out my singular voice not compete in a technical arms race. Having emotional clarity in my work is more important to me than impressing people with my skill as a guitarist. However, if I’m able to do both at any given time then that’s also fine by me! 

You’ve got your single launch at Petersham Bowlo on August 15—what kind of energy or experience are you hoping to bring to the stage for this one?

I want people to have a great time—but more than that, I want them to forget about their lives for a moment. To feel completely present. That’s the spell I’m trying to cast.
When I perform, I’m not thinking about the past, the future, or anything beyond the music and the people in front of me. And my hope is that the audience feels the same—that for that hour or so, the noise of the outside world drops away and something a little more beautiful and human takes its place. If I can give people that, even for a moment, then I’m a success.