\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/p><\/div>\n<\/p><\/div> \n\t\u201cEven though I am 43-year-old white dude and the world is created for me, at least there\u2019s something psychological about knowing there\u2019s a safety net here,\u201d Matsson says about living in Sweden. \u201cIt\u2019s not as aggressively capitalist as it is over in America, which for me can really hollow out the daydreaming. I\u2019m not pointing fingers at just America; we\u2019re messed up here too. We\u2019re all responsible for this planet. But there are a lot of things going on, and it\u2019s a little draining for the optimist in you.\u201d<\/p>\n \t\tRelated Content<\/p>\n<\/h2>\n<\/section>\n \n\tMatsson grew up with America, and American music, as the holy grail \u2014 the folk and blues icons like Dylan and James, the punk bands, the counterculture. He still loves it all, but he found himself becoming \u201ccurious about what he had taken for granted\u201d back in Sweden. Curious not about what a life would look like (or what his music would sound like) if he returned to where he came from, but if he crafted a new future where he could embrace latent sides of himself and his own history, and make them a natural part of his creative story.<\/p>\n \n\tWhen Matsson\u2019s father died in 2024, that curiosity only grew. Anyone who has lost a loved one to Alzheimer\u2019s or dementia knows that, even before they\u2019re physically gone, it\u2019s a long, excruciating process of loss. \u201cI had this feeling that I hadn\u2019t said goodbye,\u201d he says. \u201cThat I hadn\u2019t asked him all the questions.\u201d Part of finding those answers meant going back to his father\u2019s roots, and his own. The music that existed just outside his window and peppered his childhood. Picking up the fiddle, an instrument that \u201cbit me every time I picked it up,\u201d diving into field recordings of Swedish folk music. He found not just nostalgia, but joy.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cIt was the same thing, and the same curiosity and awe, as when I was digging into Appalachian music or Delta blues,\u201d Matsson says.<\/p>\n \n\tThe first songs he started to write about his father were understandably sad. He didn\u2019t think that\u2019s what his dad, who was his \u201cbiggest fan,\u201d would have wanted. \u201cMy dad was a very happy, social person,\u201d Matsson says. \u201cHe laughed at his own jokes, but it was charming and he could talk to anyone. He was just a beautiful spirit, and he wouldn\u2019t like for me to be moping this whole album through. So I threw away those lyrics and rewrote a lot. I cut off some branches here and there, and ended up with loving songs.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tJust Beyond Endless Mountain<\/em> feels loving, pastural and raw, with long fiddle solos, flute that dances around the lyrics and scores of other orchestral instruments, most that Matsson plays himself. Sometimes, they feel dreamlike; others, like field recordings of his life as he tries to find the light (\u201ceven in these shit times, I still love you,\u201d he sings on \u201cTimes\u201d). The delightfully tender \u201cOverboda,\u201d was written for a friend\u2019s wedding: he started out on the fiddle, but then set it to guitar so he could play it while crying (\u201cthank God, because I was just bawling,\u201d he remembers of the ceremony). Though born out of disarray and deep grief, the songs carry a contentment that can only come by finding a way to fuse who we were with who we are and making peace with the past.<\/p>\n \nhttps:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=CnFIXO4CoUw<\/a><\/span>\n<\/p>\n<\/figure>\n \n\tHe also thinks about the one cultural frontier he hasn\u2019t crossed yet: making albums in his native language. He\u2019s been writing here and there in Swedish, but it\u2019s \u201csuper scary and extremely naked,\u201d Matsson says. That would probably be a side project, because he likes touring in America too much. The fiddles, however, are here to stay. He opens his show with one now, a traditional polska, even though he doesn\u2019t consider himself anywhere near an expert at the instrument.<\/p>\n \n\tBut being imperfect, and learning, is part of the point. Matsson fights with his phone for attention like anyone else, \u201cwith apps to shut off my apps\u201d to help resist the urge to doom scroll when boredom comes around. Building his concert hall, where he hopes to host all sorts of music, dance, and theater productions, is his own sort of counter-narrative to a world where AI looms. \u00a0He was watching an interview with someone from AI company Suno<\/a> recently, and it pissed him off to no end.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cHe was sitting there talking, saying, \u2018Musicians used to have to do this dreadful work of finishing songs and struggling with them,\u2019\u201d Matsson says. \u201c\u2019And now, we\u2019re taking away that struggle.\u2019 And just, you have no idea, tech bro. You\u2019ve missed the whole point of art and creating.\u201d<\/p>\n \t\tTrending Stories<\/p>\n<\/h2>\n<\/section>\n \n\tMatsson, like Just Beyond Endless Mountain, <\/em>is hopeful without being na\u00efve. He looks to his community, to his culture, to the youth as his radar. He noticed that more bands are popping up lately \u2014 kids playing distorted guitars and turning the amps up loud.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cTo see an emo kid, I get teary-eyed,\u201d Matsson says. \u201cI think nature is just trying to heal itself.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n
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