I met Matthew Knights about 15 years ago in Spartanburg, SC. Of course, he was playing a guitar and singing a Hank Williams song to people who cared and didn't care. He didn’t care. He looked like he didn’t care. He reminded me of a crow, not bigger’n’ nothin' beneath a shock of gleaming, jet black hair-wailing, wailing wailing.
Like all the cool people, he had a way with a cigarette, puffing and nodding, trying to keep the smoke from his eyes-a bean pole, communicating in, and with, monosyllabic grunts and a guitar. It was as if my vinyl heroes had gathered in one man, and here he was--Keith Richards, Hank, Waylon, Matthew. I began this interview by asking him about this period in his life.
When we met he didn’t say much, he didn’t have to, he never did, which, is why his candor in this piece is so beautiful and special. He speaks, digs for the truth and bares his soul. It is in these moments you know why you love him, the person, the man who walks in his shoes.