K.C. Perspective on LOVE ME NOT

I’m K.C. Shattwell. I’m a husband, a father, a survivor, and an artist. I make music because it’s the only thing that’s ever let me be fully real. I’ve been through hell, abuse, addiction, abandonment, war, suicide attempts... but here's the caviat to that I turned that pain into power through lyricism. I rap, I write, I create. I speak for the voiceless. Every bar I write comes from lived experience, not a fantasy. I blend horrorcore, Slim Shady-style chaos, and deep introspection to tell the truth most people are afraid to say out loud.

This isn’t a hobby to me—it’s my therapy, my weapon, and my legacy. I don’t just make music—I bleed on the beat and turn trauma into something people can feel. I’m building something bigger than a sound—I’m building a movement around truth, pain, and raw storytelling. That’s who I am. That’s what I do.

Love Me Not is one of the realest songs I’ve ever written because it’s a breakup letter—not to a person, but to my addiction. I was 15 when I started using pills like Xanax, Oxy, Adderall, Valium—you name it. I didn’t care about living. I cared about not feeling. I needed something to fill the hole left by years of abuse, neglect, and trauma. Pills gave me that silence. That numbness. But they also robbed me of love, purpose, and time I’ll never get back.

This song is my way of closing that chapter. It’s me looking addiction in the face like, “You said you loved me, but you tried to kill me.” It’s raw. It's painful. But it’s also honest. I wanted this track to sound like a goodbye letter left on a table next to a bottle... because that’s how close I was to checking out for good.

My background is this song. It’s everything I’ve been through and it's written in ink and pain. And now, it’s not just about me. It’s for anyone who ever thought the only way to feel better was to feel nothing.

My earliest memory of music was sitting in the backseat of my mom’s car, probably 5 or 6 years old, while she drove around trying to hold herself together. The radio was always on—Tupac, Biggie, Eminem, old-school NWA—those voices felt like survival manuals to me. I didn’t understand the lyrics yet, but I felt the emotion from the tone, the truth, the fight in them.

Music wasn’t just background noise—it was the only time I saw emotion break through the silence in my house. My mom would ask me for song request and the one i remember vividly enough was Smack That by akon and eminem I spent so long trying study the cadence, flows, multi syllables, making remixes on my bible when I was 10 and showing my family that shit was corny and cringe worthy but at the time I understood how to write

That’s when I knew music wasn’t just sound. It was a sort of lifeline. And I’ve been holding onto it ever since.

Truth is, I always wanted success. As a kid, I used to picture myself on stage, mic in hand, thinking that was the way out. But back then, it was about proving something to the world. It wasn’t until recently after surviving the worst parts of my life I realized I wasn’t just meant to chase success. I was meant to be a voice.

I’ve been through shit that most people are too scared to talk about I mean abuse, addiction, abandonment, combat, suicide attempts. I kept making music about peace and positivity for a long time because I wanted to be the light. But I was lying to myself by hiding the darkness that shaped me.

That moment of truth hit me when I looked in the mirror and said, “You’re not here to pretend everything’s okay. You’re here to say what others can’t.” That’s when I changed. That’s when my music became real. I’m not just an artist—I’m a vessel for the broken, the ones who feel too weak to speak. Now I rap not to escape my past, but to confront it and if it helps  others do the same then thats great but this is for me move past my trauma.

Love Me Not lives somewhere between horrorcore, alternative hip-hop, and emotional rap. It’s dark, raw, and brutally honest. The horrorcore side comes out in how I frame the addiction like a toxic lover—there’s pain, obsession, betrayal—but it's all rooted in real-life trauma. The alternative vibe gives it space to be more melodic and emotional, not boxed into one sound. And the hip-hop foundation is always there—heavy bars, layered metaphors, and wordplay that cuts deep.

Three years ago, my music was focused on peace, healing, and positive energy. I was trying to outrun my past and paint over the pain with light. I thought if I just stayed positive, I could rewrite who I was. But the truth? That shit caught up to me.

My sound evolved the moment I stopped running and started facing everything I buried. I went from uplifting verses to unfiltered storytelling into digging into trauma, addiction, abuse, war, suicidal thoughts. I embraced horrorcore, darker melodies, eerie production, and a Naughty By Nature level of lyricism, because that’s what my truth sounds like. It’s emotional, it’s gritty, and it’s sharp. I still keep the artistry, the structure and the punchlines but now every bar comes from a real place. I don’t care about being polished. I care about being honest.

Now my music isn’t just about feeling better, it’s about feeling everything.

I explore pain, trauma, survival, addiction, war, mental illness, abuse, faith, fatherhood, and the fight to find peace in chaos. I dive into the shit people are scared to say out loud because I’ve lived it. My music isn’t just therapy for me it’s a lifeline for anyone out there who feels invisible, broken, or on the edge.

But I also spit with pride. I carry the weight of what I’ve been through and flip it into lyrical power, rage, resilience, and raw truth. There’s horror in my sound, but there’s also heart. Every track is a journal entry, a confession, or a war cry.

Will it stay the same 10 years from now? No, but the purpose won’t change. I’ll always speak truth. The sound might grow, the pain might soften, maybe I’ll be telling stories of healing instead of just surviving but the honesty? That’s forever. I’ll evolve, because I’m human. But I’ll never water it down for comfort. Whether I’m in the trenches or on stage with a mic in my hand, I’m gonna keep telling the truth mine and theirs.

I’d have to say Mike. Not just because I respect his music but because I respect his journey. He stayed independent, built his fanbase from the ground up, and never compromised who he was. His evolution from frat-rap to melodic, real, honest music mirrors the path I’m on. Growing up, owning my story, and turning pain into something powerful.

Mike doesn’t just make music he makes people feel something. And that’s exactly what I aim to do. Touring with him would be about more than performing. It would be about connecting with real people who want truth, not trends. I know we’d feed off each other’s energy and bring something authentic to every single stage.

Plus, I think the contrast in styles his smooth, melodic flow and my raw, hard-hitting lyricism. I Would make for a fire show that hits every emotion from start to finish.

My favorite artists are all completely different, but they all share one thing: truth without a filter.

Naughty by Nature, Big Daddy Kane, and Public Enemy brought that East Coast grit you know bars with purpose, pride, and punch. Wu-Tang was poetry layered in chaos, turning pain and philosophy into raw anthems. Redman made the outrageous feel genius, while NWA turned the mic into a weapon against oppression. Tupac? He was pain, love, revolution, and poetry all in one breath. He didn’t just rap he spoke life into the broken.

Eminem’s music? That’s therapy with a scalpel. No one dissected their own demons like him and made millions feel seen doing it. Jelly Roll and Post Malone blend vulnerability and melody in a way that hits your soul before you even catch the lyrics.

Then you’ve got the aggression and power of bands like KORN, Metallica, Disturbed, and Black Sabbath etc. all soundtracks for the rage that never got a voice. That’s where I found the courage to scream, to break molds. Rodney Atkins taught me that simple truths from country roots can hit just as hard as a bar-heavy verse. And Mike? Mike showed me that staying real, staying independent, and staying yourself can still take you all the way to the top.

Put all that together and that’s what I chase raw emotion, elite lyricism, and fearless expression. That’s what all my favorite artists gave me. That’s what I put into my music

My music is raw, unfiltered, and brutally honest. It’s hip-hop at its core, but layered with horror, trauma, and redemption. It blends horrorcore, emotional rap, and lyrical storytelling like if Eminem’s Relapse, Jelly Roll’s vulnerability, and Mike’s authenticity had a war cry together.

I rap about real-life pain addiction, abuse, PTSD, suicide, war but not just to vent. I do it to give a voice to the ones too broken or scared to speak. My bars are heavy with double entendres, punchlines, and layered rhyme schemes, but they mean something. Every line has blood on it. Every song is either a confession, a warning, or a wake-up call.

It’s not pretty. It’s not always easy to listen to. But it’s real. And if you’ve ever felt like the world forgot you, like you're screaming and no one hears you. My music was written for me to get through it but now its for you.

I have three that mean the most to me it would be Deep Cuts, Hear Me, and an unreleased one called Ashes & Arrows.

Deep Cuts is exactly what it sounds like. Me pulling back every layer of trauma and bleeding it out through the pen. I talk about the things people hide: rape, war, addiction, abuse. It’s not easy to listen to, and it wasn’t easy to write, but it’s real. That track was for survival, mine and anyone else who’s ever felt destroyed from the inside out.

Hear Me is my heart on the mic. It’s me talking directly to the broken, the ones who feel invisible, who scream into the dark and never get heard. I made that song because I was that person. I needed a voice back then, and now I try to be that for somebody else.

Ashes & Arrows is the most painful and honest song I’ve ever made. It’s about me being an abusive husband... Look it's something I’m not proud of, something I deeply regret. I used to carry the same toxic behaviors I swore I’d never become. That song is my confession, my apology, and my promise to be better. It’s not about excuses, it’s about accountability. I burned down the man I used to be (Ashes), and now I’m aiming to build something real with truth and growth (Arrows). That song is for my wife. And for every man who needs to face himself.

All three of these songs tell different truths. but together, they show who I am, what I’ve survived, and who I’m becoming.

Thats a really tough question i woul have to say.... uhm Eminem, Mike. and Tupac

Eminem gave me the blueprint for turning rage, trauma, and darkness into lyrical art. He was the first voice I heard that didn’t hold back. He said the shit nobody else would. He taught me that pain could rhyme, that anger could heal if you put it in the right beat. His pen game shaped mine.

Mike represents growth, independence, and staying true to yourself. He started one way, but evolved with life. Open, honest, chill when he needs to be, but still sharp. He reminds me that it’s okay to change, to feel, to own who you are in every season.

Tupac is the soul. He was a poet, a warrior, a prophet. His music wasn’t just rap it was a revolution. He had the rare ability to be vulnerable and fierce in the same verse. He spoke for the people. For the broken. For the fighters. And that’s the lane I’m in.

Together, they cover all sides of me with anger, healing, love, war, and truth. That’s all I need.

My dream performance is more than just a show. It’s an experience. It starts with darkness. Total silence. Then a heartbeat. One light. Just me, standing center stage in a blood-stained straightjacket or a blacked-out hoodie, symbolizing the weight I’ve carried, the pain I’ve worn like armor. And when that first beat drops? It’s not just music it’s a war cry.

The stage would be raw and theatrical. Flashing visuals of hospital rooms, war zones, broken homes everything I rap about flashing behind me. Smoke pouring out. Red strobes like sirens. A giant file folder opens on screen stamped SECTION 88 – CLASSIFIED like the audience just got let into a vault of trauma.

And the crowd? They’re not just fans of mine they're friends they’re survivors. I want people to scream, cry, laugh, heal with me. I want the lights to cut when I spit something deep so it feels like it’s just me and you, one-on-one in that moment. Then hit ‘em with a hard hook and let the whole room erupt like it’s a revival.

By the end of the set, the straightjacket comes off. That’s symbolic. I’m not bound by the past anymore. And I want that message to hit every single person watching. You can be messed up, torn apart, haunted and still stand up, still spit truth, still live.

That’s the dream. A show where music saves somebody's life because I know it already saved mine.

My dream collab would be with Eminem but not because he’s a legend, but because he shaped me. His pen game, his storytelling, the way he turns trauma into art. It’s everything I strive for in my own music. He never sugarcoated shit. He bled on the mic. That’s the kind of energy I live for.

I wouldn’t want to just hop on a track with him for clout. I’d want to go bar for bar, push each other to uncomfortable places, dig deep. I’d want it to be something that leaves listeners shook, not just impressed. Something that feels like a therapy session with razor blades real pain, real skill, no masks.

I know I’ve got a long way to go to even deserve a collab like that but I eventually will. Because I’m not just trying to rap with him I’m trying to meet him in the same arena of truth. That’s the goal. That’s the dream.

Honestly? I don’t want to control what people feel. I want them to feel something real. I want them to hear my story and connect it to their story. Whether it's pain, anger, hope, guilt, power, or peace. It’s not about what I want them to feel. It’s about what they need in that moment.

My music isn’t a map it’s a mirror. Some people might hear a verse and break down in tears. Others might get up and fight harder. That’s the beauty of it. I’m not here to tell people how to feel. I’m here to give them the space to finally feel at all.

If my music helps someone realize they’re not alone?

That’s enough.

If it makes someone scream, cry, heal, rage, or just breathe again then I know I did my job.

Raw. Honest. Unbreakable.

Because I’ve never hidden who I am. I speak the truth, even when it’s ugly.

I’ve been broken, but I never stayed down.

And if my fans see that in me then I know I’m doing this for the right reasons.

My favorite way of sharing my music is through real connection, I love having a relationship with my fanbase. This isn’t just about streams or views for me. I want people to feel like they know me, like they can reach out and be heard. Whether it’s dropping raw verses on social media, going live, replying to DMs, or talking to someone after a show. That’s what matters most to me.

I’ve been the kid with no one to talk to, headphones on, clinging to a song like it was a lifeline. So now, I make music for those people, and I don’t just want them to listen, I want them to feel seen. If you support me, you’re not just a fan you’re family. You’re part of this journey with me.

That connection? That’s my favorite part of all of this.