Mason Parker

Charlotte Mecklenburg Library presents the Turn It Up: Teen Radio Program. This program incorporates literacy and public speaking into a curriculum that exposes teens to the industry of Journalism and Radio Broadcast. Teens are mentored by industry professionals and challenged every month to create and produce their very own radio show. The June Show for Turn It Up: Teen Radio focused on the theme of "Teen Substance Abuse." Teens created their own segments, music and conducted interviews with Marcella Young, Anuvia Substance Prevention Specialist and Mason "Quill" Parker, actor from the play, Liars, presented by Children's Theatre of Charlotte. - Charlotte Mecklenburg Library

Charlotte Mecklenburg Library presents the Turn It Up: Teen Radio Program. This program incorporates literacy and public speaking into a curriculum that exposes teens to the industry of Journalism and Radio Broadcast. Teens are mentored by industry professionals and challenged every month to create and produce their very own radio show. The June Show for Turn It Up: Teen Radio focused on the theme of "Teen Substance Abuse." Teens created their own segments, music and conducted interviews with Marcella Young, Anuvia Substance Prevention Specialist and Mason "Quill" Parker, actor from the play, Liars, presented by Children's Theatre of Charlotte. - Charlotte Mecklenburg Library

Local actor, spoken word artist and Hip-Hop emcee Mason Quill Parker will lead a workshop which demonstrates and discusses the five elements of hop-hop and their societal and educational relevance.
Following the workshop, participants are invited to attend a performance of The Red Badge of Courage at 3pm, a modernized hip-hop version of the Stephen Crane novel featuring Quill’s talents. - Charlotte Center City

Mason "Quill" Parker isn't merely rapping up a storm in Children's Theatre of Charlotte's The Red Badge of Courage - or Henry Fleming's inner voice, to be more precise - he's also featured as Julian, alias Vic Vicious, in the current Carolina Actors Studio Theatre production of How We Got On. So last Saturday, I saw Parker rapping twice, at ImaginOn in the afternoon and at 2424 N. Davidson Street after the sun went down.

The role of Julian is more contemporary and substantial, allowing Parker to develop a character and display his acting chops. But even at the height of CIAA tourney week, the show wasn't drawing much of a crowd. Parker and co-star Devin Clark as Hank poured a lot of heart into it regardless. Together, they make a complementary pair as teen rappers who are too far from Chicago to be relevant - and too much like Chicago rappers to be cool in their own hometown.

Clark plays the more angsty teen. Hank writes lyrics and can rap spontaneously, but he loses his confidence as a performer during a hip-hop showdown with Julian. Thing is, Julian can't rap spontaneously or write his own lyrics, so he was performing another dude's lyrics when he thrashed Hank in head-to-head combat. After licking his wounds and getting hip to Julian's subterfuge, Hank realizes that he and Julian can team up - because his rival could perform Hank's lyrics better than he can himself.

Dee Abdullah directs the Idris Goodwin script with a mixture of spirit and audacity. Goodwin seems to have added a female character, rich wannabe Latina rapper Luann, as an afterthought. But Abdullah chooses sassy newcomer Genesis Soto for the role, dresses her in eye-popping gold slacks, and has her hanging around at times when the playwright has sent her off into the wings. Bolder still, Abdullah casts the ebullient Eryn Victoria as the Selector, despite the fact that this deejay narrator also doubles as Hank and Julian's dads.

Notwithstanding Parker's rapping excellence, he cannot defy the laws of physics. On Friday nights, when Red Badge and How We Got On are both playing, Parker can't perform the two shows simultaneously any more than you can attend them both. So Gerard Hazelton, Abdullah's assistant director, steps in as Parker's understudy. He's still there on Saturday nights, ably serving as a backup dancer.

The subdued Clark and the cocky Parker establish a nice chemistry between Hank and Julian as the two rappers go through their individual growing pains. Goodwin does contrive to get the two chums on top of a water tower out there in the wilderness, where they gaze up at the stars and work on their game. For a few moments, it seems a little like the two rappers have been plopped into Midwestern buddy movie. - Creative Loafing

Mason "Quill" Parker isn't merely rapping up a storm in Children's Theatre of Charlotte's The Red Badge of Courage - or Henry Fleming's inner voice, to be more precise - he's also featured as Julian, alias Vic Vicious, in the current Carolina Actors Studio Theatre production of How We Got On. So last Saturday, I saw Parker rapping twice, at ImaginOn in the afternoon and at 2424 N. Davidson Street after the sun went down.

The role of Julian is more contemporary and substantial, allowing Parker to develop a character and display his acting chops. But even at the height of CIAA tourney week, the show wasn't drawing much of a crowd. Parker and co-star Devin Clark as Hank poured a lot of heart into it regardless. Together, they make a complementary pair as teen rappers who are too far from Chicago to be relevant - and too much like Chicago rappers to be cool in their own hometown.

Clark plays the more angsty teen. Hank writes lyrics and can rap spontaneously, but he loses his confidence as a performer during a hip-hop showdown with Julian. Thing is, Julian can't rap spontaneously or write his own lyrics, so he was performing another dude's lyrics when he thrashed Hank in head-to-head combat. After licking his wounds and getting hip to Julian's subterfuge, Hank realizes that he and Julian can team up - because his rival could perform Hank's lyrics better than he can himself.

Dee Abdullah directs the Idris Goodwin script with a mixture of spirit and audacity. Goodwin seems to have added a female character, rich wannabe Latina rapper Luann, as an afterthought. But Abdullah chooses sassy newcomer Genesis Soto for the role, dresses her in eye-popping gold slacks, and has her hanging around at times when the playwright has sent her off into the wings. Bolder still, Abdullah casts the ebullient Eryn Victoria as the Selector, despite the fact that this deejay narrator also doubles as Hank and Julian's dads.

Notwithstanding Parker's rapping excellence, he cannot defy the laws of physics. On Friday nights, when Red Badge and How We Got On are both playing, Parker can't perform the two shows simultaneously any more than you can attend them both. So Gerard Hazelton, Abdullah's assistant director, steps in as Parker's understudy. He's still there on Saturday nights, ably serving as a backup dancer.

The subdued Clark and the cocky Parker establish a nice chemistry between Hank and Julian as the two rappers go through their individual growing pains. Goodwin does contrive to get the two chums on top of a water tower out there in the wilderness, where they gaze up at the stars and work on their game. For a few moments, it seems a little like the two rappers have been plopped into Midwestern buddy movie. - Creative Loafing

A 118-year-old literary masterpiece of Civil War fiction, told as a hip hop story? Really?

Yes. "The Red Badge of Courage" -- presented by Children's Theatre of Charlotte at ImaginOn's Wells Fargo Playhouse through March 16 -- takes an unlikely marriage of art forms and makes them resonate. Eric Schmiedl's adaption for the stage flourishes because he uses hip hop to accentuate the story's timeless themes rather than overshadow them.

Hip hop's not a gimmick here. It tells the story in a powerful way because it's so well performed, and it's a better fit for the subject than some might think. Although the Civil War isn't generally associated with African Americans, many historical accounts say that by the end of the war, African Americans made up roughly 10 percent of the Union army and that 186,097 soldiers served overall.

Stephen Crane's 1895 novel about a soldier's inner struggle bulges with battles of conscience: loyalty vs. self-preservation. The safety of youth vs. maturity and responsibility. Expectations vs. reality. So when Union Pvt. Henry Fleming (competently portrayed by Chaz Pofahl) quickly finds that his zeal for whooping "the Rebs" was dangerously misplaced as the bombs, bullets and carnage begin to explode, his alter ego reminds him of life's and war's complications.

Local rapper Mason (Quill) Parker, the Voice and the only African American in the four-man cast, is the hip hop component. He alternately challenges, haunts, teases, mocks Henry during moments of personal conflict and crisis:

Over 100,000 soldiers and you -- and everybody's just waiting.

You ain't without injury for the pain of knowing your perjury.

Where your red badge, Henry?

Henry is the main character, but in this production the Voice is the show. The street-tough Quill is relentless as he hounds the soldier all over the stage -- occasionally venturing into the audience to make his appeals up close and personal.

The music (by Reemycks) is a fitting complement for the Voice's musings. The score is powerful -- particularly during the battle scene -- although the Voice is rendered somewhat inaudible during one "shooting." (DJ Flemingo is billed as the beat master for the play, but at this Saturday matinee the job was ably handled by director Sidney Horton.)

Henry's two war buddies are studies in contrast: the hardened, distrustful Jim (Berry Newkirk) and the effusive, naive Wilson (Mark Sutton), who savors his first combat with bug-eyed glee. Though Henry's enthusiasm is no match for Wilson's, his thirst for action grows -- at least until the realities of war are right before his eyes.

It's not long before he faces an unwinnable choice: fight or flee. Henry's inner agony and resulting dialogue within, the latter smartly created by David McCullough, become the thrust of the one-hour production. The actors double in minor roles, helping a war play come off seamlessly in a small venue.

There's no pat ending for our protagonist, forever destined to be dogged by doubt. What are soldiers fighting for -- "that fence over there?" What is worth dying for? What is worth killing for?

In wartime or peacetime, whether it's a classic book or an unconventional 21st-century play, those are enduring questions for children and adults. - QCityMetro.com

A 118-year-old literary masterpiece of Civil War fiction, told as a hip hop story? Really?

Yes. "The Red Badge of Courage" -- presented by Children's Theatre of Charlotte at ImaginOn's Wells Fargo Playhouse through March 16 -- takes an unlikely marriage of art forms and makes them resonate. Eric Schmiedl's adaption for the stage flourishes because he uses hip hop to accentuate the story's timeless themes rather than overshadow them.

Hip hop's not a gimmick here. It tells the story in a powerful way because it's so well performed, and it's a better fit for the subject than some might think. Although the Civil War isn't generally associated with African Americans, many historical accounts say that by the end of the war, African Americans made up roughly 10 percent of the Union army and that 186,097 soldiers served overall.

Stephen Crane's 1895 novel about a soldier's inner struggle bulges with battles of conscience: loyalty vs. self-preservation. The safety of youth vs. maturity and responsibility. Expectations vs. reality. So when Union Pvt. Henry Fleming (competently portrayed by Chaz Pofahl) quickly finds that his zeal for whooping "the Rebs" was dangerously misplaced as the bombs, bullets and carnage begin to explode, his alter ego reminds him of life's and war's complications.

Local rapper Mason (Quill) Parker, the Voice and the only African American in the four-man cast, is the hip hop component. He alternately challenges, haunts, teases, mocks Henry during moments of personal conflict and crisis:

Over 100,000 soldiers and you -- and everybody's just waiting.

You ain't without injury for the pain of knowing your perjury.

Where your red badge, Henry?

Henry is the main character, but in this production the Voice is the show. The street-tough Quill is relentless as he hounds the soldier all over the stage -- occasionally venturing into the audience to make his appeals up close and personal.

The music (by Reemycks) is a fitting complement for the Voice's musings. The score is powerful -- particularly during the battle scene -- although the Voice is rendered somewhat inaudible during one "shooting." (DJ Flemingo is billed as the beat master for the play, but at this Saturday matinee the job was ably handled by director Sidney Horton.)

Henry's two war buddies are studies in contrast: the hardened, distrustful Jim (Berry Newkirk) and the effusive, naive Wilson (Mark Sutton), who savors his first combat with bug-eyed glee. Though Henry's enthusiasm is no match for Wilson's, his thirst for action grows -- at least until the realities of war are right before his eyes.

It's not long before he faces an unwinnable choice: fight or flee. Henry's inner agony and resulting dialogue within, the latter smartly created by David McCullough, become the thrust of the one-hour production. The actors double in minor roles, helping a war play come off seamlessly in a small venue.

There's no pat ending for our protagonist, forever destined to be dogged by doubt. What are soldiers fighting for -- "that fence over there?" What is worth dying for? What is worth killing for?

In wartime or peacetime, whether it's a classic book or an unconventional 21st-century play, those are enduring questions for children and adults. - QCityMetro.com

If you love hip-hop, or if you don’t understand why your kids love hip-hop, “How We Got On” is a primer in a play. Idris Goodwin’s one-act drama set in 1988 unravels the phenomena of the wordplay we call rap.

The story is narrated by the “Selector” (Eryn Victoria), a deejay whose dialogue is laced with the nascent vocabulary – as well as the history – of the then-emerging art form.

The first wave came during the Reagan years, the second under the first Bush. A “battle” is two rappers facing off. Rhymes are composed of alliteration, metaphor and simile, and some are “wack” (subpar). “Rap, hip hop and toast – spirit, body and voice,” sums it up. The words are dropped like bread crumbs to lure us back to the ’80s.

The action takes place on The Hill, which is neither the city nor the country. It’s the sprawling suburbia 30 minutes outside a big Midwestern city. If you write hip-hop in The Hill, urban rappers consider it inauthentic. But the snobby black kids in The Hill think hip-hop is “ghetto.”

Hank, aka John Henry (Devin Clark) is a fledgling rapper who is a better lyricist than performer. Hank’s personality is defined by exuberance, rather than poetic angst. His dream is to win an AKAI MPC, a professional sound system with digital sampling capability.

In this no man’s land of suburbia, hip hoppers find each other. Julian, aka Vic Vicious (Mason ‘Quill’ Parker), is the superior rapper, but he doesn’t write his own rhymes. The third main character is Luann (Genesis Soto), a rich girl who can churn out lyrics on command.

Victoria’s narration is warm and smooth. She presents the genre as an old friend, patiently explaining the nuances. Clark is delightful: His up-close-and-personal interaction with the audience dares us not to like him. Parker, a Winston-Salem State University Poet Laureate in real life, is an excellent performer.

This one-act play premiered at the 2012 Humana Festival of New American Plays. It’s engaging at first, but two-thirds of the way through, the pacing goes slack. One issue is that Luann spends too much of the play on the sidelines. Until her character is verbally unleashed, she is a distraction in her jarring gold pants and popping orange shirt. Once she takes stage, her presence is a welcome addition: She can move, and she can rhyme.

Applause for director Dee Abdullah’s inclusion of dancers Gerard Hazelton and Jarvis Garvin. These two pop in at random interludes with riotous ’80s moves, freestyling robotic slides and floppy wrist gyrations delivered with awesome, goofy grins.

They dance as unself-consciously if no one is watching, and they inject the play with energy each time they take stage. “How We Got On” would benefit greatly from an energetic audience that could absorb and bounce back the enthusiasm of this cast.
- Charlotte Observer

If you love hip-hop, or if you don’t understand why your kids love hip-hop, “How We Got On” is a primer in a play. Idris Goodwin’s one-act drama set in 1988 unravels the phenomena of the wordplay we call rap.

The story is narrated by the “Selector” (Eryn Victoria), a deejay whose dialogue is laced with the nascent vocabulary – as well as the history – of the then-emerging art form.

The first wave came during the Reagan years, the second under the first Bush. A “battle” is two rappers facing off. Rhymes are composed of alliteration, metaphor and simile, and some are “wack” (subpar). “Rap, hip hop and toast – spirit, body and voice,” sums it up. The words are dropped like bread crumbs to lure us back to the ’80s.

The action takes place on The Hill, which is neither the city nor the country. It’s the sprawling suburbia 30 minutes outside a big Midwestern city. If you write hip-hop in The Hill, urban rappers consider it inauthentic. But the snobby black kids in The Hill think hip-hop is “ghetto.”

Hank, aka John Henry (Devin Clark) is a fledgling rapper who is a better lyricist than performer. Hank’s personality is defined by exuberance, rather than poetic angst. His dream is to win an AKAI MPC, a professional sound system with digital sampling capability.

In this no man’s land of suburbia, hip hoppers find each other. Julian, aka Vic Vicious (Mason ‘Quill’ Parker), is the superior rapper, but he doesn’t write his own rhymes. The third main character is Luann (Genesis Soto), a rich girl who can churn out lyrics on command.

Victoria’s narration is warm and smooth. She presents the genre as an old friend, patiently explaining the nuances. Clark is delightful: His up-close-and-personal interaction with the audience dares us not to like him. Parker, a Winston-Salem State University Poet Laureate in real life, is an excellent performer.

This one-act play premiered at the 2012 Humana Festival of New American Plays. It’s engaging at first, but two-thirds of the way through, the pacing goes slack. One issue is that Luann spends too much of the play on the sidelines. Until her character is verbally unleashed, she is a distraction in her jarring gold pants and popping orange shirt. Once she takes stage, her presence is a welcome addition: She can move, and she can rhyme.

Applause for director Dee Abdullah’s inclusion of dancers Gerard Hazelton and Jarvis Garvin. These two pop in at random interludes with riotous ’80s moves, freestyling robotic slides and floppy wrist gyrations delivered with awesome, goofy grins.

They dance as unself-consciously if no one is watching, and they inject the play with energy each time they take stage. “How We Got On” would benefit greatly from an energetic audience that could absorb and bounce back the enthusiasm of this cast.
- Charlotte Observer

ctor, Educator, Spoken Word Artist, Hip-Hop MC, Mason "Quill" Parker is a modern day renaissance man. Named Charlotte’s Best Rapper of the Year in 2013 by Creative Loafing Magazine, and most recently Queen City Awards' Male Hip-Hop Artist of the Year Mason's buzz in and around the Queen City continues to grow. A versatile versifier, Mason recently dropped the "Quill" moniker as he gears up to extend his talents into every aspect the arts have to offer.
A former WSSU Poet Laureate and two time featured poet at the National Black Theater Festival recently returned to his theater roots with his professional acting debut as “Herc” in On Q Productions’ “Rhyme Deferred” by Khamila Forbes. Mason has also landed lead roles in productions at the Children's Theater of Charlotte, including "Liars" and the hip-hop adaptation of Stephen Crane's book "The Red Badge of Courage" and also portrayed the role of "The Griot" in the play "Miles & Coltrane: Blue(.)" at the International Fringe Festival in Edinburgh, Scotland.
Creating lyrics laced with consciousness, Mason's prolific flow makes it easy for listeners to comprehend the true meaning behind his thoughtful verses. A tri-state transplant like a large portion of new Charlotteans, Mason Parker emerged onto the Queen City hip-hop scene as a youth committed to lyrics that would ensure his universal message would be brought to the epicenter of the masses. His debut mixtape “Loose Leaf” hosted by 3x Emmy Award winning poet Bluz, proved Mason meant serious business in making his mark in the industry. Mason's appearance at the BET Music Matter showcase at the Legendary SOB's in NYC helped catapult Mason to being one of Charlotte’s most sought after artists. His single, “So Sorry Momma”; one track of many showcasing the true depth of Mason's message was featured on Talib Kweli's Community Mixtape as well as on Kweli’s 2010 "Gutter Rainbows” Tour. In 2015 Mason released the highly anticipated "Loose Leaf vol. 2", and continued to influence Charlotte hip-hop culture durin his year and a half stint as an on-air personality at WPEG Power 98FM, Charlotte’s largest urban contemporary station.
As founder of The INKified Inc. Scholarship Fund, Mason has partnered with ImaginOn (Charlotte Children's Library & Children's Theater of Charlotte) and other community leaders to develop and facilitate hip-hop based educational programming for local teens.
Mason's voracious dedication to his craft is beyond exemplary. A poet, Emcee, Actor, Educator, and even radio personality; Mason's abundant talent is sure to please any palette.
For more information, please contact: INKifiedBooking@gmail.com
Twitter & IG: @iammasonparker - hbcuconnect.com