It’s nearing the end of summer and Houndmouth lead singer and guitarist Matt Myers is walking up Main Street in Burlington, Vermont. Behind him is Waterfront Park where he’ll play later that evening opening for the Head and the Heart. He’s meeting up with family nearby for a quick bite and conversation with familiar faces amid a nationwide tour. With a few beads of sweat rolling down his neck, he stops on the corner of St. Paul Street, and starts to talk about falling in love.
“That changed everything. To finally be accepted, no matter what, by my wife and my friends,” the 38-year-old tells Rolling Stone. “Because I’ve always shown the same thing to people, and to get that reciprocated, that fucking rocks.”
Myers got hitched two years ago. It’s his second marriage, and he has two young daughters from the first. He’s found solace and balance in his life now, and it’s that harmony that provides the lyrical undercurrent of Lordy, Houndmouth’s new album. Released on Dualtone Records, it’s one of the centerpieces of the label’s 25th anniversary year.
For the indie-rocker, the record is about recognizing the face in the mirror and making peace with the eyes looking back at you. Nowadays, Myers is proudly acknowledging the salt and pepper in his hair, the well-earned wrinkles of tours across America and back again. It’s a long way from his baby-faced nature when he formed Houndmouth in 2011. But he’s OK with that, and with the fact that you don’t have to be sad to write great songs.
“I knew that it was a misconception, but you still can’t escape it sometimes,” Myers says. “It’s not that you have to be sad to create, but I’m happy at home. Now when I’m writing, the song doesn’t have to be grandiose. You don’t have to overthink. You can just write, edit, and then let the song be what it is.”
Myers still lives in the town where Houndmouth was conceived — New Albany, Indiana, situated right across the Ohio River from Louisville, Kentucky. That geographical and musical crossroads of the Midwest and the South has been an incubator for numerous rock acts who have emerged from the Louisville scene. Back then, Myers was doing “the standard cover band thing” at spots like Huber’s Winery and local bars.
“You play for four hours and your fingers are just toasted. And then you try and throw an original song in and it never works,” Myers says. “So, eventually, I was just like, ‘I’m going to get my friends together. We’re only playing songs we write and we’re not making any compromises.’”
The band came up with their moniker by way of an internet name generator, and things quickly took off. They performed at South by Southwest and caught the ear of Rough Trade Records. A contract was signed and the band was booked to play Lollapalooza, Bonnaroo, and Newport Folk Festival. Their 2015 album Little Neon Limelight broke them nationally, thanks to catchy jingles like “Sedona” and “Darlin’.”
“It really was just bearing our head and believing,” Myers says. “It’s not the path I thought it would be. At first, you’re like, ‘Oh yes, the rocket ship,’ and it just doesn’t work out like that, and I feel like I wouldn’t be grounded much at all.”
Later offerings like “McKenzie” and “Miracle Mile” from the 2021 release Good for You further emphasized Myers’ musical DNA, a pedigree of shoegaze indie-rock wrapped by a thick thread of the blues and alt-country. “I naturally tell stories and don’t embellish stuff, [where] it’s more personal. I didn’t have the drive to make up elaborate, lavish stories,” Myers says.
Myers is the only remaining founding member of Houndmouth (keyboardist Caleb Hickman has been onboard since 2016) and it’s the blues element that serves as a bridge to the group’s earlier versions. “Well hey little Hollywood/You’re gone but you’re not forgot/You got the cash but your credit’s no good/You flipped the script, you shot the plot,” Myers sings during “Sedona” later that night, a song that intentionally or not depicts exactly where Houndmouth stand today.
“I remember being in that 24-year-old mindset [where] you really just don’t care about anything,” Myers says, stopping in front of Burlington’s City Hall Park before we part ways. “And getting back to that mindset now at 38, but also having way more wherewithal about it, and perspective. It seems more intentional this time.”
