Matthew Ryan: Embattered Idealism

To be clear, I’m trying to save the world. — Matthew Ryan, 2011

Years ago, hell, a lifetime ago I recall standing 20-ought yards away from a spectacle that would forever alter my musical landscape and, therefore, my life. There was this young Irish singer waving a white flag, his soul veritably breeching his skin as he was staring, singing deeply into the hearts and minds of a Detroit crowd gathered together for a U2 concert, not a spiritual transformation.

This was the War tour, the old Grand Circus Theater on Woodward Ave., and I was a high school senior. As The Edge, so long before he and the others became household names, bled “Sunday Bloody Sunday” to the resounding, affronting military beat so precisely laid bare, proverbial goose bumps overcame my senses. Flag still waving, giant Boy tapestry behind band, Bono … I mean, the young Bono! I, already prone to grandiose proclamations, recall shouting to the friend beside me: “These guys are going to change the world because they believe they are going to change the world!” “No shit!”

And so, so many years after one band inevitably and obviously aged trying to throw their arms around the world in hoping to perhaps reform it, I too have obviously aged. Along the way, I, perhaps like many of you, have grown increasingly cynical. Less idealistic, more jaded … all that cliché shit. Along with such jaded “realism” have gone a good deal of my beliefs that anyone, least of all a rock band or musician can ever really “change the world.” I mean, what would that even look like? But thinking about it more recently in the wake of this interview it occurred to me: As a teacher, I try and focus not on changing the world entire in one fell swoop, but rather to try and impact one individual at a time in hopes that by moving one pebble at a time, well, the world is somehow different. I can and do leave a mark, right? Yes, of course. Just as music has so touched and forever impacted me, I pay homage to my influences with every waking moment and breath by flying the flag, heavy as it is … pushing the Sisyphusian stone up the hill and throw my arms around my own world toward relative awareness. Even if heightened awareness so often does yield heavier souls, at least these thoughts and love come from deeper places, right? Authentic? A brotherhood forged from a chorus of souls?

Philadelphia’s Matthew Ryan’s very voice is that of this bruised, bent but unbroken human mould. Donning not U2’s white flag of surrender to something unnamed, Ryan wears the American flag in the guise of the songs he writes, the words he bleeds. For Ryan, bq. “I love what we’re capable of as Americans, but I’m frustrated by our ability to get lost in the wilderness of what are ultimately meaningless, shiny objects that obscure, overwhelm and pollute our intentions, our experience, our happiness. To be an American is to be an idealist, and that is absolutely beautiful. We’re a nation of embattled idealists, whether we know it or not. “

I Recall Standing As Though Nothing Could Fall is Ryan’s 13th album. Like 2010’s incredibly moving, pervasively sad yet empowering Dear Lover, the new record bears a thematic cohesiveness that, again despite a number of songs that stand alone boldly, resounds more deeply when heard together. Indeed, one doesn’t “save the world” in one fell swoop. Rather, Ryan continues to communicate his “take on what it feels like to be human right now.” By telling these stories, by bearing witness to the times and the characters that personify them, we surely become more aware. Eyes wide open, the road is laid bare to share, to love, to cherish friendships and “the moment” before they’re gone….

Here, then, is a transcript of our truly enlightening conversation. My thanks to Matthew Ryan and his publicist, Monica Hopman.

“Americana” is one of the labels often attached to your music and it’s true, you’ve written a great many songs contemplating what it is to be an American; American living. (a) What is it about America and/or Americans that draw you to it/them so often?

MATTHEW RYAN: I remember the first time I went to Canada. I was about 12 years old. We went to Toronto for an 8th grade graduation trip. I’m from a small city just south of Philly. And like it is for most people, that home city was all I knew; the world was flat and ended just a few miles east, south, north and west of what I’d seen. I remember how once we crossed the border everything immediately felt different. The road signs looked different. The cars looked different. The cadence of life and language felt and sounded different. It always stuck with me that just a few hours north there was another world. For years after that I didn’t travel much. But it imbued a sense of curiosity in me. Fortunately since then I’ve traveled a lot, I have friends all over the world. The cliche is true, we are more alike than we are different. America is young. We’ve set into motion amazing changes, challenges, technologies, demands and pre-occupations. As Americans we have some unique conflicts/characteristics. Democracy is a beautiful notion and one worth believing in, fighting for. However, it seems through media and the demands of capitalism there’s a speed and assault perpetrated on citizens. America is in a constant state of change, friction, potential, undercurrent, beauty and despair. In my view, in American life, darkness and light coexist constantly.

Now, I don’t intend to turn this into a dark tirade, because I love America and Americans. Nor do I intend to overwhelm a simple interview about Rock N Roll with a long dissertation on my views of American Life. Brevity these days is not only fashionable but seemingly an absolute necessity to communicate nearly anything. Sadly, that might just be my point really. Hell, half the people who clicked to read this have probably already zoned out and are now searching for something that just hijacked their attention. I’m a huge Leonard Cohen fan, and his words, “It’s coming to America first, the cradle of the best and worst… It’s here they’ve got the range and the machinery for change… The homicidal bitching that goes on in every kitchen that determines who we serve and who we eat…” I mean honestly it hasn’t been said any better. Those words, that song (“Democracy”), haunt me as an absolute truth about what where we are. It defines where we fail and where our hopeful creativity blooms. It’s not to say that we won’t ultimately achieve beauty and usefulness. But never have men and women been so confronted with themselves and their ambitions as in the world we know now. It’s a stunning blizzard. It makes moments of vigilance or loyalty or silence or true beauty feel like heroic events. In the car chase we’ve created we’re losing something, and I can’t quite figure out what it is yet. But I know in my own life at times there’s a tension, something just below the surface. It’s like I’m reading the story but missing the plot. And I see that in friends and strangers and in people that vote against their own interests. Its messaging has become truth, and the truth has got no voice. It makes for an amazing muse to draw from. And I don’t say that with some cannibalistic glee. I’d prefer peace. I read somewhere that peace is the end of art (I believe Seamus Heaney said it). But if it’s true and I was given the choice between art and peace, I would chose peace.

I guess in short, I love what we’re capable of as Americans, but I’m frustrated by our ability to get lost in the wilderness of what are ultimately meaningless shiny objects that obscure, overwhelm and pollute our intentions, our experience, our happiness. To be an American is to be an idealist, and that is absolutely beautiful. We’re a nation of embattled idealists whether we know it or not.

How has your perception of Americans/American living evolved from May Day to now?

MATTHEW RYAN: On my first few albums I was writing more about myself. Around Regret Over The Wires, maybe as early as East Autumn Grin, I started writing composites. It seemed more honest to me to let others in so that maybe I could tell a larger story.

Listening to your music, there is a prevailing sadness and heft, yet somehow ever buttressed by hope. What is it that Matthew Ryan hopes for, and is your hope premised upon personal or social concerns; individual or as a fellow American?

MATTHEW RYAN: Life is hard, Paul. I don’t say that sarcastically or to be snarky. I don’t suspect you’re asking it with a tone of criticism. It’s just something I hear all the time. And often it’s said by someone as if it’s a stunner that a song or piece of art would be sad. As if the rest of the world is all unicorns and rainbows and no one ever starves to death, gets took or watches a dream die. Some people flourish while others are rails for trains. I mean, we’re all born with a big question mark. At its center, not much makes sense other than what we’ve created. Some of us have faith to ease that question mark, others turn to money, some turn to drugs, some live lives with lots of laughter, some work, some collect, some can’t sleep, some love, and some even turn into monsters.

There’s a long list of ways that we deal with what it means to be alive and what we do with our time here. I prefer to believe there’s a reason, there’s something to it. Beauty ignites, hope emerges, perseverance persists. There is always joy to be found. But there’s also challenges and conflicts, accidents and crimes. All of these things come from in and outside of us. As a young person the world can seem infinite and small at the same time, somehow simple. As you start to move through life question marks gather or blinders emerge. I believe there’s strength to be found in the ability to remove all illusions and still love what you see. I can’t explain why I’m drawn to write. I’m compelled to keep doing it, so I do. The work offers me hope, pushes me forward, so I assume it does the same for others that welcome it. It’s the closest I get to peace. And I guess that’s the same thing I’d want for anyone: peace. There’s plenty of entertainment out there, and I respect and welcome entertainment in my own life at times. Entertainment is beautiful, but so is art. The two are often not the same thing. And as arrogant as it may sound, I feel I’m offering honest art mined and shaped by hand from the fiery molten guts in the cauldron of my wizard soul. Ha!

Glass half empty or half full?

MATTHEW RYAN: The glass is always half full, because most of the time we’re projecting outcomes. And even if we aren’t projecting and all is doomed, it’s better to believe that what you’re hoping for is possible. Because there’s no energy to be found in defeat. There might be drama, even beauty, but there’s no energy there. There’s no source of possibility.

In “Summer in the South” it seems two lost souls believe that their respective salvations from solitude/darkness, if only for a while, will come from being with each other. In the glorious “Hey Kid,” your tonic in the face of the world is the heart; “something we can feel.” In writer Jon Krakauer’s book of the tragic life and death of Chris McCandless, Into the Wild, a highly educated young man who sought to leave civilization and go Into the Wild, McCandless noted in his journal, “Happiness (is) only real when shared.” Is this indeed likewise your belief, how long have you known it, and how hard is it to cling to such a belief in the face of “the darkness” about which you have so often written, the loss, heartache, inauthenticity….?

MATTHEW RYAN: I don’t know if I agree with that completely. Certainly don’t disagree with it either. Happiness is available alone and together. I know I’ve had moments of real happiness in solitude with some event or view. Maybe I executed an idea, saw some perfect angle in autumn or had a perfect couplet arrive. I remember once when driving through the snow in Nashville I was listening to an instrumental that I hadn’t written lyrics to yet (it eventually became “Victory Waltz” on From A Late Night High Rise) and the streets were deserted and the snow was swirling in giant slow flakes as the streetlights were coming on. And it all fell right in step with each other, like harmony or a ballet. It felt like real happiness. Happiness is transient and always welcome. It happens between people as well. Felt that too a hundred times and I’m grateful for it. Always wanting more of it, but only real happiness. In either case I believe happiness has to do with intimacy that opens you up in a moment. Hopefully it hangs around for a while.

When you write, for whom do you write? Does that change record to record, song to song? Relatedly, perhaps, can you describe who you think your fans are – what you consider about them as people; as fans of music; of words?

MATTHEW RYAN: I often feel lately like I’m trying to inject reason into unreasonable times. Seems we’re in the middle of a particularly stormy confluence right now. I generally only keep what comes to me and try not to craft songs; though there’s always some editing and re-arranging. As far as who I’m writing about, it changes from album to album depending what’s on my mind, what’s exciting me, what I’m reading, what the weather is like outside. I don’t think about my audience during the process. At times I’ve felt maybe this was wrong-headed. However, if I do think about them when I am working the judge walks in, which is never a good situation for creativity. I just trust that however I’m digesting the life I’m living or how I view particular situations or events that, if I’m being clear and honest about it and allowing for something true to glow that others will welcome it. I know as a listener myself that that’s what I’m looking for, all I want is something resonant and honest, from the gut. There’s all music for all occasions, my music is for dusk. As far as those that listen to my music, I’m happy to say it’s a diverse group. The men tend to be smarter, handsomer, wealthier and taller than me. And the women, well they’re always triple threats: beautiful, smart and ruthlessly wanting to hug me. I’m kidding of course about some of that. I like the people that come to my shows, no matter where I’ve played I’ve been struck by their warmth. And I’m not talking about just affection for my work. I mean an openness, a smartness, a kindness. Great conversationalists, informed all across the political spectrum. I’m just following my gut while many of them are doing the heavy lifting. And I mean that, it’s humbling.

Despite being so lyrical, you are obviously a great fan of music in and of itself, as evidenced by numerous instrumentals, collaborations, parts in songs that let the music do the talking, and, I’ve read, a recent film score. First, can you tell me more about the film score? Second, what other music/musicians have inspired you to write/create? Were/are you drawn to them for the music, the words?

MATTHEW RYAN: I love music, but words are just as important. If the words aren’t great, if they don’t render me defenseless, then I’d rather listen to instrumental music. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy a good pop song here and there, those songs even too have to resonate some primal string for me to love them. Leonard Cohen moves me like no other. U2 still inspires me. The Clash are a constant source of inspiration. Brian Eno and Ryuichi Sokamoto; The Blue Nile. Frank Sinatra. Bob Dylan. Bruce Springsteen. Bowie and Tom Waits. As far as some more recent music, I’ve been checking out The Rosebuds, Glasvegas. Even have a soft spot for The Killers, which I take some heat for in certain circles. Also really loved the first Frightened Rabbit album, The Gaslight Anthem (one of the best names for a band in recent years). Really liked this band Wu Lyf until I started hearing some fishy stories about their origins being by a marketing firm (I’m gonna have to do some research to figure out if I’m gonna let them in). Oh and there’s some upstarts called The Replacements everyone should check out!

As far as the film, I did the best I could. A friend of mine made a feature called Good Day For It and only had 10 days for me to score the film from start to finish. Some friends helped me out and we performed it right to film. I’m real proud of the main theme I created. Everyone did a great job, but I don’t think I’ll know how we did for a couple years. The guys that played on it saved my ass and my sanity. It was a lot of work in a very short amount of time. Good stuff can come from plowing through though, we’ll see.

Someone meets you and learns that you are a songwriter. You get to talking about life in these times and appreciate the conversation. They are genuinely interested in hearing what you’ve got and ask you to play three songs you’ve written. What three songs do you pick and, for each, why?

MATTHEW RYAN: Honestly I doubt this would happen because I rarely tell people what I do when I meet new folks. But, for the sake of hypotheticals I’ll play along. I would burn them a disc (or ping them a playlist) and say, “hey when you’re driving home or around one day at dusk put this CD in (or play this playlist). The songs would be “The World Is,” “Hey Kid,” and (if it were a woman) “I Only Want To Be The Man You Want.” If it were a man, I’d probably lay “Guilty” on him. I don’t know, music exists to be found on people’s own terms when they’re open to it. My goal is to only persevere, exist as an alternative so to speak, I believe if I do that and remain true to my gut all will be well. People are finding it. Slowly but surely. This is music for the living, those that have taken some scrapes but hold the good fight in high regard. There’s a reason I’m not a car salesman, I’m just not good at it.