Matt Barwick: Out of the wilderness

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In his last year at the conservatorium, Matt had a revelation that classical singing was not his bag, that perhaps the mainstream might suit his talents and goals a little better. He set off for Germany, armed with an acoustic guitar and some original tunes. There he got the opportunity to do the rounds of London, playing pubs and recording with various friends.

Frustrated with his own songwriting abilities, Matt came home. He regressed to his old cover-band comfort zone, doing gigs in a string of line-ups, playing dodgy venues and not getting paid. It was during this time in the musical wilderness that he began writing again. That was 2001; he has been concentrating on originals ever since.

Barwick’s ideas come from far and wide. “I draw inspiration from many avenues, even from TV! The older you get the more you understand about how you tick and how life works. That’s why I was frustrated with my early song writing – I wasn't there yet!”

Matt’s friends sometimes find themselves featuring in his tunes; Matt writes about personal experiences, but also the experiences of those around him. He describes his style is as stripped-back folk rock; he has been compared to the likes of Pete Murray, Jack Johnson and even the Beautiful Girls.

Matt cites artists like Hendrix, Neil Young and Nick Drake as strong influences among many. He says of the transition to his original sound, “I went from playing a 66 mustang and a Marshall to what I call Byron Bay guitar, just a cruisey sound with bass, drums and an acoustic.”

“Music is an expression and an observation,” says Barwick. “I connect with slightly older people because they've been around the block and they get it. It is more about a creative outlet for myself.”
Hence his inspired song about “the booty call” called Love on the Shelf. “A friend told me once about this guy who she was dating. He never had anytime for her, but called at 3 am in the morning drunk in a taxi for sex.”

Matt understands that it takes time to grow as an artist. “You always want to play music; it’s such a hard industry, but the older you get, the better you become. Someone one that really stands out for me is Neil Young – the guy just keeps turning out great records.”

He likes his gigs to be interactive, encouraging audience involvement. His favourite gigs are intimate, lights-low, acoustic affairs where he concentrates on putting across the emotion of the song, without playing the “mysterious artist” role. He describes it as a “relaxed laid-back style”, loaded with energy and emotion.

But, of course it doesn’t always go to plan. Like many of his peers, Matt has experienced his share of PA break downs and scary times where “the band is playing in D while the bass player is playing in C. Or once I was finishing up a nice intimate evening gig when a bikie chick with no teeth and cigarette and bourbon breath requested Brown Eyed Girl.”

Matt’s musical haunts have included the Espy, the Public Bar , and other classic venues in Collingwood, Brunswick and Richmond.
Matt finds Melbourne’s current music scene “thriving, but cliquey”. He adds, “Once you get to know a few people and get your foot in a few doors, it's easier than being an outsider.”

Whilst convinced that damage has been done through Melbourne’s headlong take-up of poker machines, he still believes that there are great venues that put on original music. “You don't see the rewards that you get in a cover band, but if you were in it for the money you would have been gone long ago; we're in it for the passion I think.”

Matt’s new EP is Burning Fire, a follow-up to his first EP, released several years ago. With a bold raw approach, Burning Fire’s five tracks, recorded in just a few months, feature just guitar and vocals.

Listen to a sample from Matt Barwick's new EP.

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The bitter side

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Nice move. Then he offers the personal anecdote of his disappointment at a concert during which the audience was required not to applaud and not to talk between songs. He writes:

“I blame myself, really. Despite reading that US singer-songwriter Cody ChesnuTT would be performing no tracks from a favourite album, The Headphone Masterpiece, I was still eager to catch his show at the Espy’s Gershwin Room. Plenty of other punters must have harboured my secret hope that The Headphone Masterpiece ban was all idle threat, because it was a sell-out.”

And:

“The music, performed solo, sounded like a work in progress. Some pieces lasted about 40 seconds, others briefly fired the crowd into a spontaneous sing-along but all of them ended in a cold, empty silence.”

There is a happy engagement of the reader, who is drawn to sympathise with the writer/fan but whom the writer/fan nonetheless flatters by taking him to be (at least in theory) supportive of the idea of unrestricted artistic freedom. It is an abstract argument illustrated by anecdotes and provocative of questions: none of which, in the true, skeptical, postmodern Western way, are given answers:

“Should an artist be wholly indulged when the audience have forked over their hard-earned? Does the performer ‘owe’ anything to the audience? What price is artistic freedom?”

The writer makes a lovely touch when alluding to his leaving the concert before its conclusion:

“What ChesnuTT had done was tip two of the formalities of live music on their heads. I never found out if he dispensed with the third, that being the encore.”

Unfortunately, the piece ends with a whimper rather than a bang, not unlike the burnt-out universe in H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine ending in a silent, deserted void (or a ChenuTT song ending in cold empty silence). It comes as something of a plea to a bully, with some cautionary advice appended:

“When seeing an artist I hold in high regard, I respect their right to exercise their freedom, yet feel a little cheated if they omit the music that holds a place in my heart. And, ultimately, an artist needs to balance keeping their creative juices flowing with an audience’s requirements.”

A plea to artists to respect their audiences and to balance their creativity against an audience’s “requirements” (a funny word to use there, presumably an appeal to universal listener’s rights, a most solemn subject). Hmm. Well, thanks for the good bits.

Read Andrew Drever's original review.

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