It wasn’t a near-death experience, but it was enough to compel Matt Pond to hit the reset button. The newly emancipated, New Hampshire-bred frontguy for the ever-morphing outfit Matt Pond PA broke his leg on tour in 2011. Shaken by the freak occurrence and the ensuing surgery, Pond finished out the tour sitting down, then headed to St. Augustine, Fla., to convalesce with friends. Once there, he quickly took to the funky, historic northeast Florida town’s laid-back lifestyle and Southern lilt. A rejuvenated sheen permeates The Lives Inside The Lines Of Your Hands (BMG)—especially the new album’s ebullient first half. It isn’t so much that Pond has abandoned the autumnal, inward-delving perspective that pervaded 2010’s The Dark Leaves, or his long-established penchant for overt melancholy. But he has given both a thorough airing out with a blast of smog-free, temperate air. Pond will be guest editing magnetmagazine.com all week. Read our brand new feature on him.
Pond: When I was struggling with my last album, Simone coaxed me into getting it together. Still, it was tough, opening myself up to her prowess. Beyond her power with words, she’s got serious soul. At Art Basel in Miami, our posses drank and danced all night underneath a two-story, plexiglas Christmas tree. I asked Simone to send me her favorite lines of another poet. I didn’t tell her what it was for. I apologize, but I think it’s easier to get to the truth by saying less. The words below have become my latest mantra.
As all the heavens were a bell,
And Being but an ear,
And I and silence some strange race,
Wrecked, solitary, here.
—Emily Dickinson
Video after the jump.
