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matt thompson
musician, artist, writer, philly local, ac visitor. he's hoping to move here - who's hiring?
where in atlantic city do you feel most like yourself?
by the water -- ocean, bay, or even the sweet marshlands that greet you as you enter the city via train. that, or smoking a cig in the light of the neon sign at tony's baltimore grill.
high vs sober -- what actually changes for you?
getting high is an inward experience for me, which is interesting because i'm otherwise pretty outgoing. i spend too much time in my head as it is, but getting high intensifies it. this can be good or bad, depending on the day. when it's good, i write. i draw. i play music. i tap into a kind of personal fluency. i really zoom.
when it's bad, it's just a mess of aimless worry and paranoid self-talk. my best remedy for that is stretching. i reach a point where my brain feels so hot and harsh that i must retreat to the cool cellar of my body, which almost always needs the attention. simple movements and poses are best -- a little cat-cow, a little upward dog, a little happy baby. brings me back to center.
you've seen weed go from "don't get caught" to dispensaries on main roads -- how does that shift feel honestly?
it's bittersweet. the people who started this industry -- on street corners, in cars with tinted windows, through loaded handshakes -- they are in jail, cut off from the fruits of their labor. meanwhile, without their hustle and persistence, there would be no demand, no consumers, no culture. the legal marijuana industry is propped up on the illegal one. to me, weed culture will be tinged by the criminalization of its progenitors until we do right by them.
we need to free everyone with a charge related to possessing or selling weed, expunge the charges, and federally fund pathways into the industry for those who are interested. i think that's the very least we can do.
do you think legalization made it better, worse, or just different?
different. the increasing accessibility and destigmatization of weed are great, obviously. i also love that so many strains exist for so many, often medicinal, purposes. discovering a strain that helps you sleep, or calms your anxiety, or soothes chronic pain? transformative.
however, i do kinda miss when weed was mid. don't roast me, but this legal weed really takes my head off. industrialization has naturally resulted in more potent products, which is great if you've got the tolerance for it. i do not. all i got is work in the morning.
what have you been listening to lately, like really listening, not just throwing on?
i'm always grateful to return to the rubaiyat of dorothy ashby. it's exactly what i want -- accessible and warm and groovy, but with a clear bend toward the arcane. i love it so much, i can't just "throw it on." a couple times a year, like now, i am drawn back to it. it feels like coming home.
she's known as the first great jazz harpist, and she should be. she's incredible. but she also is credited with introducing the japanese koto to american jazz, which you'll hear on the record. last but not least, she has incredible command as a vocalist, and when she sings, you can almost feel her apparition rise and fill the room. it's a perfect listen for me.
a song that feels like atlantic city to you?
street life by the crusaders. that's my final answer. what a transcendent piece of music. cinematic, glimmering, generous. there's a short version, but the 11-minute original is well worth your time. part celebration, part cautionary tale, randy crawford guides you through the highs and lows of lush life.
my interpretation: to live for the moment means to welcome the extremities of the human experience. ecstasy and anguish. abundance and dissipation. it maps beautifully onto ac, a working class city built on an economy of hedonistic pleasure and loss. in the movie of my life, this song soundtracks my bleary-eyed nights in atlantic city, when it feels like anything can happen and, oftentimes, it does.
a song that feels like the bay? "what you call it" by elyse weinberg. just read this:
the fires burn just like i knew they would / yes baby you know that we're good / i'd like to linger but i must be gone / just like a whisper in the hush of dawn / what beautiful waves you were making / the bountiful shorelines were shaking
if "street life" is an urban odyssey, "what you call it" is a moment of tranquility, reflection, or even devotion to nature.
something you've had on repeat that you almost don't want to admit?
i have been obsessed with "black hearted love" by pj harvey and john parish. perfect song -- moody, poetic, urgent, and horny as hell. play it loud. let it get up under you. makes you prowl around the house like a leopard.
the music video features pj harvey in the woods at night, in a storm, in an inflatable bounce house, jumping up and down as it fills with rain. just major.
you're a musician -- does being high ever change how you hear or make music?
if i could become a sound somehow, i would become the solo at the end of "ashes to ashes" by david bowie. i love it so much. you don't even hear it until the last 30 seconds, and before you know it, the song is fading away. but i could live in those 30 seconds forever. it sounds the way lightning looks, like it's shredding the entire sky.
i was high as hell the first time i really heard it, despite "ashes to ashes" being a longtime fave. but that's what is cool about getting stoned -- it invites me to experience the familiar through an altered perspective, drawing out little surprises.
with my own music: getting stoned helps me open up to possibilities. admittedly, i can be somewhat precious about my ideas. getting high can serve as a shortcut to being a little less self-serious and a little more curious. it makes music feel like play, and i need all of that i can get.
have you ever written something you couldn't have written sober? sure. as i'm getting older, i'm losing my tolerance for poetry in my sober writing -- i prefer grounded, plainspoken language. sometimes, though, the meaning of a word stands in the way of its beauty. when i'm stoned, i am more open to the idea that language is a medium, like paint or clay. i like getting stoned and free-writing for ten or fifteen minutes. it's hard at first, but i'm always pleasantly surprised how readily my mind relaxes into gibberish.
what is it about shell hunting that feels so weirdly satisfying? the sea has always been my friend. i collect shells for the same reason astronauts carry rocks home from the moon: it is legible proof of the ineffable. it is cool as fuck.
beyond that, hear me out: shell hunting scratches the same itch as scrolling. social media trains your brain to crave small, frequent hits of satisfaction. now imagine that instead of staring at your phone, you're staring at the beach on a morning walk. look, there's a scallop shell -- perfectly intact after its long, treacherous journey to land. pocket it. before you know it, you've been out walking for an hour, your brain is humming with satisfaction, and your pockets are full of little gifts from the sea.
how do you please the bay god? the god of the bay loves songs. sing to the god of the bay in twilight hours, when the day and the night rule in equal measure. any song will do.
the god of the bay is also pleased by acts of whimsy. abandon your morning obligations, have an edible (optional), and take a friend to go arrange pebbles on the bay. make a satisfying display, then contemplate it in shared silence. conclude your meditation with a toast of beer and salt and lime.
skipping smooth stones over the waters of the bay is permissible. however, as the bay god relishes secret knowledge, it behooves you to whisper a closely-held truth or fear into the stone before casting it. each rebound of the stone signifies a blessing from the bay god and a promise of safekeeping.
gulls and herons are the sacred officers of the bay. do not bother them. do not feed them. they are busy.
if you leave trash on the bay, you'll find sand in your mouth.
do you believe in luck?
chaos more than luck, perhaps. i like to imagine that somewhere above the world, or maybe along the deepest darkest stretch of ocean floor, there's a primordial slot machine all lit up. it reels and chirps and pays infinite chaos into the world. sometimes that chaos works in your favor. sometimes it doesn't.
luckiest moment you've had around here? i'm lucky any time i'm in a casino with my friends. i don't gamble much, but i love a casino. on a good night, casinos are places of intense magic, optimism, and presence. i get this incredible contact high from watching folks gamble. gimme that plus a tequila soda and i'm mario in star mode, baby.
do you think there's any morality tied to getting high? all bullshit. especially now that everything is so weird, you know? to be alive in this moment is to be perpetually weirded out by endless war and corporate greed. by artificial intelligence and celebrity hi-jinx. by fanaticism, and extreme weather, and the fucking price of eggs. and ads. ads all over.
so, to hell with it. in this time of violence and alienation, do what keeps you in touch with your humanity.
what does the ocean feel like to you vs the bay?
the bay is the mouth and throat. the ocean is the gut. the bay is the sunroom. the ocean is the den. the bay is boba. the ocean is kiki. the bay is a cat. the ocean is a cat that follows you boldly into the shower. the bay is a beer and a shot. the ocean is a dirty gin martini -- stirred.
what have you been chasing lately?
in life and in music, i am always chasing connection. a deeper connection to myself, a deeper connection to the cultural moment, and a deeper connection with the all-caps mystery. that may be the great romance of my life -- learning to find harmony and connection with the things i'll never understand.
Contact
I'm always looking for new and exciting opportunities. Let's connect.
123-456-7890