Matt Pond PA

Over the years, Matt's creative process has shifted and evolved, but at its core, it has always been about capturing fleeting moments—how time moves, how people come and go, and how creativity itself is a constant process of discovery. With The Ballad of the Natural Lines, he finds himself once again reflecting on what it means to move forward while making peace with the past.

As Matt returns to the Matt Pond PA moniker on his latest album, he spoke with us about the idea of letting go in so many spheres—of expectations, of rigid structures, and of the things that no longer fit.

Analogue: So much time has passed here since the start of Matt Pond PA.

Matt Pond PA: It doesn't feel like it, because I don't measure time in time. At this point, I measure time in album cycles. Your whole life is defined by these album cycles. They’re like two or three years, unless you're feeling excitable. There are periods earlier on where you put out a few albums every week. But it doesn't seem like it's been that long a time. I don't know.

We're getting closer and closer to death. I feel like those are the things that make people arbitrarily change out of making something artistic and decide that it's time to kind of make something financially viable. And you have to live, so I guess that makes sense, and I’m barely doing that. I’m not a millionaire.

Analogue: But at least you have to be cognizant of the fact that the contemporaries who were there when you started, the way the industry worked at that point, the artists you toured with… so many of those things are no longer there.

Matt: I guess so. Maybe not. I kind of live in a bubble. I have my friends, and I’ve been working for someone else for a few years—part-time, mostly—but I’ve still been making a lot of music. People come and go, and I guess I don’t dwell on it too much. I stay focused on my world—my friends, my music, my bandmates. Everything else just drifts in and out.

Time is weird. When we were younger, everything felt more stable, more consistent. But as we get older, and as time itself moves on, things start to feel different. We’re seeing more and more famous people die, but that’s just because the modern era of fame is only a few generations old. It’s like we haven’t fully adjusted to how time works now. Our sense of it feels off.

I know I’m going off on a tangent, but if someone moves on or disappears, there’s not always much to say—unless they say it through music. I don’t know. I can never quite grasp how time moves. I try to put it into words, to say, “It’s been a long time,” but what does that even mean? I’m working on new songs right now, so yeah, I guess so. I sound like I’m stoned, but I’m not.

I just want to be alive until I’m not. I don’t think anything will change until that happens. I just hope I keep getting closer to the truth—or better at what I’m doing. I’m a better musician than I used to be. A better performer. And maybe I’m better with people too.

Analogue: Some quotes around the new album from you say, “I’ve never wanted to reveal too much of myself. I think some of that reluctance has prevented me from being specific or really getting to the heart of things.” That feels like a big turning point—one I might have expected much earlier in the catalog and not the 14th album.

Matt: Like you said, it depends on the song and the part of the album. And honestly, I don’t know—specificity can turn me off a little. It’s a big thing right now, especially in emo music and among some of the ultra-famous songwriters. There’s this hyper-specific way of writing that doesn’t necessarily bring me any closer to the truth they’re trying to express. Sometimes it feels like everyone is just trying to be Bob Dylan.

I want to balance that—getting to the truth of an idea without getting lost in unnecessary details. Ideas are hard to capture. You can say, ‘The yellow sweater with a stain on the lapel that I gave you on your 20th birthday,’ and sure, you can picture it. But does that actually convey the deeper meaning? I feel like, sometimes, we’re so focused on being ultra-specific that we lose the power of a good metaphor.

Take my song “New Hampshire”. It’s incredibly specific, yet completely vague at the same time. That’s the balance I love. If I could do that with every song, every thought—if I could talk like that all the time—everything would be golden. But it’s not that easy. It’s not exactly a fight, but it is a kind of wrestling match—with ideas, melodies, and everything in between. It’s more like a puzzle, and I love that process.

Analogue: When you’re writing, how much of it is conscious—thinking about these ideas in advance—and how much is just instinct? Do you ever step back and realize, ‘Yeah, I just wrote these songs, and I guess I’m not into being ultra-specific’? Or is it more of a deliberate choice to avoid specificity?

Matt: I would never create something just as a reaction to the world. Something can inspire me, but I’m not going to be anti-inspired. I play around with tunings and chords—clumsily, sometimes—and those tunings and chords bring out a melody. That melody starts to resonate with a feeling, a memory, or an idea I’ve been trying to articulate.

It’s not always predictable; it’s a kind of personal alchemy, and I love that. There’s this moment of, ‘What’s happening? How did this happen?’ It’s almost like free association, but in a way that articulates a truth. That’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it always will be.

I can say all sorts of things in a bio or an interview, but at the end of the day, I’m just writing what I write. Sometimes I try to fit an idea into a larger concept—most of my albums have a loose theme—but if I force it, if I try to mold a song into a specific shape with a set number of ideas, it all just falls apart.

Analogue: What’s the loose theme here on The Ballad of the Natural Lines?

Matt: With Ballad of the Natural Lines, we put out an album with Bella Union that came together during the pandemic—we had so much time, and we just made something we loved. I sent it to Simon Raymonde, he loved it, and we put it out. It felt like a new beginning in some ways, but at the same time, without a machine behind it, it just existed. Which is fine, but… what’s the point I’m trying to make?

It was a fully invested idea, and then you realize—it’s going to take years of building, of writing music. It’s not easy to get people behind a project when they already know you for something else. In a way, I had to ask myself, Who is this band? And do I want to take on this persona? I love being in a band, but I also love being able to say, ‘Okay, I’ll do this, without being locked into a rigid identity.’ I like being the president, not a dictator—a benevolent president.

I’m going off on a tangent, but I’ll get there. We made this thing, and it meant a lot to us, but dealing with labels is tricky. I had sworn off labels, but I figured I’d give it another shot. The role of a label these days is so ambiguous—what do they really do besides physical distribution? What is their responsibility? It felt like I had to coordinate with someone, but I wasn’t even sure what I was supposed to be doing. So in the end, I just thought, ‘Hey, this was a great experience, it was amazing to connect with Simon, but let’s move on.’

I’ve taken so many left turns, but I always end up back at the same person. I can keep evolving, but at my core, I know who I am. We’ve done some angular, experimental things, but that doesn’t quite fit the music I want to make now.

The Ballad of the Natural Lines is about letting go. I do a lot of thinking while driving—it’s like having an argument with yourself. You get in the car, turn things over in your mind, and then decide that by the time you step out, that argument is done. It’s exhilarating, like freeing yourself from a thought. Then you get back in and do it all over again.

I guess I’m driving away from this idea, from the past. You can’t stop something from dying, and you can’t keep something alive that doesn’t want to be. We made The Natural Lines, and Ballad of the Natural Lines is the farewell to that. It’s about learning to let go. I don’t know if I’ve mastered that yet—but I can at least sing about it.

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