Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Ian Harris at Futureappletree Too
As "Day For Night" starts up here, I'd like to imagine Matthew Sweet -- or the man in this song -- is sitting alone in one of those rooms that you don't want to be sitting in. The carpet's been worn out long ago, or ratty enough to be considered in shambles. There would be a barren wall as a conversationalist across the way, an ashtray loaded down with old remnants and a sleepy dog dead in the corner, balled up with a smelly blanket. This man would be tumbling. The velocity at which his is tumbling would be less than the velocity that he's tumbled at in the past to get to this point. He has hit some many branches -- or moreover, hit by so many of the branches -- that he can feel that he's slowing. He has felt all of the knocks and they've worked their way into his prints as part of him now. There's some sunshine that pops up from the one side of the house nearly every morning, but then again, many days when it does so, there's no mistaking that the intent is wasted. It's no better served than if the dog were to stand up, walk over and barf on your shoes by the door. Sweet's storylines are those filled with the roughed up sentiments of men who have been hurt and hardened so significantly that they've become fine managers, or they've just coped as adequately as possible. It feels as if their happiness is elusive, or just that it's been hijacked many times over.