What: Bain Mattox When: Wednesday, Dec. 22, 10 p.m. Where: Barley’s Taproom Cost: Free

“B” is for beer, big words and Bain Mattox

by Leslie Wylie

Bain Mattox never saw the point in math. When it comes to science, “verse, chorus, verse, chorus, chorus” is the only formula he’s ever had a use for. But he sure can get into a dictionary.

“I’m a huge fan of vocabulary,” says Mattox, front man of a band bearing his name. “I love it. I just blurt out words and have to write them down. I love putting words in songs that might inspire people to look them up. I guess it’s my weird way of trying to educate America.”

In a music genre saturated with saccharine clichés, Mattox manhandles diction and makes rhetorical devices seem sexy. The lyrics of his self-titled album, released in September, are thick with alliteration (“soak in sleepy leaves”), metaphor (“boulevard of heartburn”) and anachronistic word usage (“behold the light doth rise”).

However, the music industry isn’t a spelling bee, and it takes more than literary tricks to turn heads, which Mattox has become quite adept at doing in and around his home base of Athens, Ga. His brand of earnest, frustratingly catchy pop earned him a spot in the 2004 Music Midtown lineup as well as the title of Creative Loafing’s Singer/Songwriter of the year in 2003, which is no shabby accomplishment considering the talented breath absorbed by Atlanta-area open mikes.

With respect to Mattox, a simile: Pop music is like a swimming pool. There’s a shallow end and a deep end. Bain Mattox is in there somewhere, playing Marco Polo with the likes of Maroon 5 and John Mayer. The music’s not simplistic, but it lends heavy issues the buoyancy to stay afloat. It’s not a lifeguard, but it is trained in emotional CPR.

“Everyone has struggles, and you have to make sense of those in a way that people can latch on,” Mattox says. “Experience can be broken into fragments, but we do our best to put those fragments back together. It’s a hard thing to do, but it’s fun.”

Mattox employs a variety of instruments for the task, including an accordion, mandolin, banjo, harmonica and lap steel guitar, and his band mates follow suite. George Baerris holds down the bass while drummer Andy Bauer sits in on piano, and Brian Bonds supplements his guitar with a synthesizer, singing saw and tin bucket.

“[Eclectic instrumentation] gives it a different flavor, although it’s still definitely rock music. Using a banjo doesn’t reflect bluegrass, but it gives the music a subtle, cool sound in the background,” Mattox says. “It’s a huge deal because it sets you apart in a city where there is so much music.”

Bain Mattox, the band, is still a relatively new endeavor. Until the latter half of 2002, Mattox was a textbook singer/songwriter, armed with an acoustic guitar and the sensitive disposition of an artist who knows that any given audience, on any given night, could hang his soul out to dry. The addition of other musicians and amplifiers lent Mattox’s music an edge, albeit a soft one. With the assistance of producer Don McCollister (Third Day, Indigo Girls, Shawn Mullins), a recording was born that Mattox describes as “a group effort.”

Bain Mattox is set to tour for about three weeks out of every month between now and March to promote the new album. Mattox insists that new experiences will prevent extended periods of homelessness from taking their toll on creative efforts.

“I keep a notebook of stuff to write down songs and use a recording device on my phone to record new melodies. Then, whenever I get a few moments, I sit down with the guitar and work them out,” Mattox says. “Writing, for me, is about meeting new people, keeping my ears open and hoping for the best.”

Mattox’s everyday muse is evident in the band’s music. More than anything, Bain Mattox just sounds like driving away from something—a stifling relationship or a suffocating city—toward something new, and suddenly the sun peeks out from the clouds and you think you hear a bird singing somewhere and you know that everything’s going to be OK. It’s for those power-ballad moments that usually happen in movies, but as Mattox points out, not always. Mattox asserts his belief in the reality of these moments through his songwriting, and he has a tattoo of a line-drawn television on his forearm to prove it.

“The television is a metaphor for an objective view of life,” Mattox says. “It’s about looking at life like you were watching a sitcom and considering it cool and interesting enough to write a song about it.”

The television has permeated CD covers and merchandise, and the band often creates a backdrop of static-filled television sets for shows. Fans have embraced the symbol and the detachment-is-involvement paradox it implies.

Mattox is excited by their enthusiasm. “It’s one thing for people to like your music. It’s another thing for people to get it.”

December 16, 2004 • Vol. 14, No. 51 © 2004 Metro Pulse