Grandiose and sweeping lyrics aside, Kristian Matsson seems like a simple man. His ideas are like most singer-songwriters. They are simple themes on nature, love, life and the liberty of mind we all seek to express– whether it’s twittering about some article we wrote or the simple questions we get from roommates upon returning home from work. The difference in The Tallest Man on Earth– Matsson’s alter-ego– is that his answers are veiled, referential and more gorgeous than anything most people can muster.
The emotive and pressing nature of writing has always come second nature for me. Understanding other artist’s works took a great deal of time to comprehend. I knew, for instance, that I liked music and certain lyrical styles, but only recently did try to figure out why. Thing is, I’m still not sure why The Wild Hunt appeals to my direct core. Or any album for that matter. I just know they do.
TMOE is at his best when he is wildly meandering; guitar notes and metaphors refracting and bouncing off of one another. “Burden of Tomorrow” shows off his gravelly vocal range the best, “King of Spain” showcases his imaginative and linguistic abilities and “You’re Going Back” best earmarks his ability to mix emotional discomposure with a detached knowledge. Like a preacher, he can force you to listen with his boisterousness, but he can’t make you believe.
And you can hear, especially in “You’re Going Back,” his presence of mind to distance himself from the pain of that knowledge. Often, in fact, it seems The Wild Hunt is testifying to an unheralded audience. Mattison is playing these songs to no one in particular with the kind of passion a songwiter usually reserves for an intended target. “I could roll you to hell/ I could swim from your heaven/ I could drive you so safe/ I could walk you to here,” contradicts later with him, in a loud, declarative voice: “You said driver please/ don’t go that fucking way./ You said just let it go away…” before repeating his first aforementioned verse.
Is he the driver? Is he the speaker? To whom is he speaking? Does it matter? In “King of Spain” he runs through a list of fake accomplishments, a cavalcade of his possibilities and dispassionately heroic (and somewhat misogynistic) possibilities: “If you could redirect my name/ I want to be the King of Spain.” He works through everything from his clothes to his way with the Bulls of Pamplona. He talks of senoritas throwing themselves at him and ability to flamenco dance. He boasts of unimaginable talents. All of this to avoid love. Normally, these are the tactics of a man smitten, needing, wanting, lusting. Matsson is embracing an archaic and all-too-often ignored avoidance of love. He is rejecting the normal audince and creating his own.
We may never know to exactly whom TMOE is speaking, but we will forever know that he means what the hell he says. In the second song on the album, “Burden of Tomorrow” he sets his path out for us: “Oh, I was sent to find the lonesome place/ where I was lost but left a trace/ by carving riddles on the lonesome mind.” His path is not set with the normal ideas in mind, anyway. He is here for us to marvel and revere rather than understand, perhaps.
All of this close reading may seem pointless, but that’s what I do. My struggle to understand often leaves jumbled messes meant for non-specific ears. Matsson actually organizes them and provides them for us to reconcile. He amasses a series of vague metaphorical ideas and leaves to us what stories are true or false, which ones we admire for their dexterity and which ones mystify us.
Me? I love every one of these songs. And for different reasons than I thought I would. I’m not any closer to understanding what I love about music or why. The Wild Hunt may not lead me there. It will, however, continue to impress me no matter what I learn. “I walk upon the river like it’s easier than land./ Evil’s in my pocket and your strength is in my hand.” I’m not entirely sure about all that, but I know I love it. Some albums you love without full knowledge. This is one of them.