Lorrie Matherson

won't let this living get him down

By Josh Markle

Lorrie Matheson’s studio sits behind a nondescript door in an alley somewhere east of downtown. With forest green walls and a whole schwack of Elvis Costello and Wilco records, it’s a veritable music-making cocoon. “I’m trying to make a snare drum where there wasn’t one before,” says Matheson without looking up, staring intently at the sound waves manifesting themselves on a monitor looming over some of his equipment. It’s characteristic determination from the Calgary music staple, formerly of venerated local bands National Dust and Fire Engine Red.

Those band days are behind Matheson for the most part. With In Vein, his latest release, Matheson continues his journey away from the alt-country sound that garnered him success in National Dust to the dark and poppy sounds that have come to characterize his solo efforts. Only In Vein isn’t simply another collection of Lorrie Matheson songs, but rather his first concept album: a sad and beautiful narrative of self-reproach, penned in Matheson’s own blood.

“This album is about blood. Not necessarily literally, but it is sometimes. It’s about some of the things that can go into your blood and your heart and how they make you feel. It can be heroin or your job or love. They all get into your blood and your heart and fuck you up.

“Sonically, this album is definitely more crafted. So was the last one, I guess, but I didn’t make it right. This one we did right. Thematically, it is far more unified than my previous records. And it is far darker.”

If you think Matheson has been too busy sitting behind a mixing board to make a record until now, you’re only partly right. With the multi-moonlighting Matheson juggling booking and sound at the Marquee Room, his job at Hot Wax, and a flourishing production career, he’s certainly been busy. But between In Vein, which was pressed and ready for release this time last year, and 2004’s A Dime at a Time, Matheson has recorded and shelved four other albums.

“All those records were false starts, I guess,” says Matheson. “Both the sound and words are incredibly important to me. I spend as much time crafting one as I do the other and I end up throwing away lots and lots of stuff because it isn’t there for me lyrically even though it might sound good.” Matheson pauses, takes a long pull on a cigarette, and exhales staring off into the walls of his cocoon. “They just didn’t work out right.”

One of the albums cast aside was an acoustic duet with In Vein producer and player, Jay Crocker. Not long after shelving it, Matheson passed along the demo of In Vein to Crocker, who then went off to Austin to record his own record. Crocker came back with a pad full of notes and the two sat down again – only this time Crocker sat behind the mixing board.

“When I make records with other people, we’ll just talk about the record, and lots of time it’s not explicitly about the record and it is just about stuff,” says Matheson of his chemistry with Crocker. “It’ll take place over a few hours or days or weeks and, eventually, you end up with a good idea of what the other person wants without ever really having to articulate it.

“The night before recording, we set up the drums – that’s what I like to do before an album, set up the drums – and we listened to music: Neil Young’s first album and Neko Case. And the next day, it just happened. That’s what the chemistry is about.”

Matheson continues to stand out as an anomaly in the sometimes-fickle Calgary music scene, not just for his talent, but also for his tireless commitment. He’s a bit of an irony in a city built on the premise of making a buck and getting the buck out. While some of his peers from the Fire Engine Red and Pal Joey days are long gone or on the sidelines, whether from a want of tenacity or talent, Matheson continues not only to make records, but to get better as well. And In Vein is proof. 

“I am always going to do this and it doesn’t matter if I get another dollar for it,” says Matheson. “I mean, sometimes I’ll put on my headphones and listen to a record and I’ll get shivers down my neck and spine. It might be a lyric or some guitar. When that happens, the world is about me and what that record does to me.

“All I want and can hope for,” says Matheson, “is that I can do that for somebody else somewhere.”