All the Rage with New Wave Rapper OsamaSon in Dallas

Love it or hate it, rage rap isn’t just here to stay; it’s mutating in real time. From its chaotic early days, with Florida rappers XXXTentacion and Ski Mask the Slump God screaming over Slipknot samples and blown-out 808s, to instrumentals flooded with hyper-speed hi-hats and synths so distorted they felt hostile, the genre has never been about comfort. It’s about release. And now, rage rap has officially entered its next phase.

That much was obvious Friday (Nov. 28) at South Side Ballroom, where OsamaSon led a full-scale takeover. He’s the next name in a growing line of artists shaped by rage rap’s pioneers, none more influential than Playboi Carti.

If we are talking about rage rap, then we have to talk about its current king, Carti, really quickly. Not just because of the moshpit-ready anthems or the internet meltdown tracks, but because of the whole universe he built around the music, the gothic streetwear, the shape-shifting vocal fever dreams and the mystery surrounding his presence online. Carti didn’t just inspire music; he inspired identity within the genre.

OsamaSon has taken that blueprint and pushed it further for a younger generation, turning rage rap from an internet sound into the punk rock of the phone-glued era. You could see it in the crowd instantly with their leather jackets, bootleg Rick Owens, sharp, weird haircuts and kids debating between spending their money on a shirt from the Psykotic Tour merch table or saving it for a fix of nicotine at the nearby 7-Eleven afterward.

The room leaned heavily toward Gen Z and Gen Alpha, kids deep into their first real artist obsession. You could tell by the way they bounced like it was their first concert and moshed like the floor would never break. It was genuinely kind of adorable, especially when you’d spot the random parent in the corner, confused but loyal, clearly there to hold merch and mentally process what kind of music their kid is emotionally attached to now.

If there’s anything you can count on with this wave of rap, it’s that the kids will always be unhinged in the best way. Someone came dressed as a hot dog. A few kids were riding on shoulders, as if it were Coachella. Someone managed to climb onto “rafters” that do not actually exist at the South Side Ballroom. That’s rage rap culture for you.

OsamaSon Brings Psykotic Tour to South Side Ballroom

OsamaSon finally hit the stage at 9:25 p.m., about thirty minutes later than scheduled, which only added fuel to the chaos. The crowd answered the delay with chants, flying popcorn, water bottles and the kind of hype that feels borderline illegal.

The stage was wrapped in a massive cage, flanked by LED screens projecting demon baby heads, lasers and smoke as OsamaSon emerged from the darkness in full leather during “Habits.” It felt cinematic in the most aggressive way possible.

If you were alive for the Sex Pistols, the Misfits, or Bad Brains in their prime, we’d imagine this came pretty damn close. There was no breathing room. The pit barely rested. Sweat was currency. Whether kids were trying to crowd surf or filming from the edges, everyone was participating in some way.

What separated OsamaSon from Carti and the rest of the Opium camp was presence. Carti thrives on mystique; OsamaSon thrives on confrontation. Where Carti floats, OsamaSon lunges. Watching him felt like watching a modern-day Sid Vicious, if Sid had Auto-Tune on blast and an 808 instead of a live band. Brash. Loud. No subtlety. All force.

People online often dismiss rage rap as a fad, a fleeting underground phase that’ll fade eventually. But after Friday night, you can’t call something small when a room full of kids is willing to bruise for it. The next era of hip-hop might not prioritize lyricism the way it used to, but it does prioritize emotion, rage, desire, insecurity, chaos, all screamed through Auto-Tuned lines about money, girls, drugs and status. It’s not poetry. It’s emotional warfare.

So when people say the next generation is “cooked,” we say they’re fine. They’re just loud. They’re sweating through their shirts, bruising their knees, screaming lyrics they barely understand and finding community in noise, exactly like we did when Carti, Ski and Trippie Redd were first on the come up.

Standing in that crowd for over an hour, we couldn’t help but get nostalgic. We used to be that kid with the blasphemous “satanic” merch getting swallowed by a pit. Same chaos, different soundtrack.

Rage rap has entered its next era, and OsamaSon is one of the faces of it. You could feel his gratitude when he shouted out Dallas for giving him early opportunities, one of the few moments where the show slowed down enough to breathe.

So if it’s too loud, too messy, too intense?

Congratulations. You’re getting old, unc.

OsamaSon isn’t just part of the next generation. He is the next generation, a rockstar for kids who didn’t grow up on MTV but on TikTok, SoundCloud and YouTube rabbit holes at 3 a.m.

Rage rap is alive. And it doesn’t look like it’s going to slow down any time soon.