A Decade in the Ring: Ward White on ‘Ward White Is The Matador (10th Anniversary)’
Ward White’s ‘Ward White Is The Matador (10th Anniversary Edition),’ reissued by Think Like A Key, takes this unruly, unpredictable record and slaps it back into your ears with all the ferocity of a bull in full charge.
The “Gilded Muleta” CD edition lands in a snazzy digipak, stuffed with a 20-page booklet full of rare photos, sharp essays from White and Bryan Scary, and—finally—the lyrics to ‘The Olde Days,’ that 21-minute fever-dream that’s always had us scratching our heads. This album’s a riot of noir ballads, glam stomps, and art-rock weirdness that still knocks you flat. White’s voice takes you on a ride, blending sharp, emotional highs with haunting moments of pure weirdness. Tracks like ‘Drive Thru’ explode with dirty energy, while ‘The Olde Days’ is a long, surreal dive into Bowie at his most psychedelic, crashing into The Zombies at some strange Spanish wake. Ten years later, ‘Matador’ still feels like a punch in the gut and a kiss on the cheek. Thanks to Think Like A Key, this wild ride is back—ready to take you on a journey like no other. Olé! Oh, and you can order your copy at https://lnk.to/matador10th!
“Our culture has become so hopelessly noisy, silence feels like an indulgence.”
So stoked to have you here! Can you believe it’s been ten years since ‘Ward White Is The Matador’? Time’s a blur, right? Listening back now, what memories come rushing in from making that record?
Ward White: A palpable sense memory of a specific time in New York—tracking innumerable stacked vocals in a sweltering control room because we couldn’t run the A/C, but mostly the sense of urgency: I felt like a short-timer, and that drove me to get this rather ungainly thing out into the world as quickly as possible. If you read the liner notes, you’ll see that this (along with some thorny creative clashes) caused serious friction when it came time to mix. My co-producer, Bryan Scary, and I have since patched things up, but for years, I couldn’t listen to ‘Matador’ without dangerously elevating my blood pressure. The writing process was unusually fast as well—almost automatic.
Any song from the album that still hits you in a special way? One that makes you go, yeah, that was a moment?
Well, the 21-minute album closer, ‘The Olde Days,’ was certainly “a moment”—built around an improvised monologue, with all the musicians creating round-robin accompaniment on the fly. It’s a dark, unhinged exercise in… something. I’ve never recorded anything like it before or since. I suppose it’s my Street Hassle. Even though it’s a complete stylistic outlier from the rest of the record, I feel like it’s a pure distillation of the essence of the thing. ‘Alphabet of Pain,’ with its baroque-pop leanings, is a little gem, and the relentless bombast of ‘Drive Thru’ still satisfies. But, as always, listen to the whole record in sequence—shuffle is a pox.
This new anniversary edition on Think Like A Key Music is a real treat, with a 20-page booklet, essays from ‘White & Scary,’ rare photos, and lyrics that might finally help us crack that 21-minute epic. Looking back, what was going through your head while writing those songs?
As I mentioned, the songs arrived very quickly and are mostly arranged on the LP in the order in which they were written. I was aiming for a real-time document of my day-to-day experience rather than amassing a body of material for later culling and revision. It’s something of a roman à clef, informed by my relationships, interactions with strangers, and a tangle of blurry observations, all viewed through a specific window of time. Anyone who has lived in New York City knows that 100 years can transpire in one night—I suppose Matador follows in the tradition of Ulysses: a whole universe, external and internal, expressed in a 24-hour blip. And yes, I fully appreciate the folly of invoking James Joyce to describe my goony record.
Jumping ahead a bit—last year, you put out ‘Here Come The Dowsers,’ another stunning release. Do you see any connections between that album and ‘Matador’? Threads that tie them together?
No specific thread, as ‘Matador’ is more personal, while ‘Dowsers’ speaks through characters, but both are records deeply connected to the cities in which they were written—New York and Los Angeles. I’m always watching life through a viewfinder, and urban landscapes give you the best set-ups.
And speaking of new music… what’s the latest? You’ve got a serious discography, so are you already cooking up something fresh?
Yes, I always do seem to be in the middle of writing another record—I don’t really have an off button for that. This one in progress is more conceptual: I actually took the unusual step of writing it as a short movie treatment in order to better develop a sense of the characters and their story arc. I’m now in the process of adapting that narrative into songs. It’s a tricky balance, determining how much exposition is too much in a lyric, as you want to leave the listener room for individual interpretation. I may include a plot synopsis with the record, but that can be a slippery slope: as we know, it’s such a fine line between stupid and clever.
You’ve also had some pretty rad collaborations over the years. Got any cool stories about working with others that stand out?
Between my New York crew and the folks I’ve been lucky enough to work with in LA, it’s been an embarrassment of riches: Mark Stepro (currently of The Wallflowers) has drummed on seven records of mine, starting back in Brooklyn in 2008 on ‘Pulling Out,’ which also featured Cat Popper (Jack White, Ryan Adams) on bass. My engineer and mixer here in LA is Grammy Award winner and Golden Globe nominee John Spiker, who has also been holding down the low end in Tenacious D for the last twenty years. Keyboardist Tyler Chester (who also engineered and mixed my 2016 album As Consolation) is another Grammy winner for his work with Madison Cunningham and Andrew Bird.
Going back to ‘Matador,’ my co-producer was eminent psych-pop auteur Bryan Scary (the CD liner notes offer a much more detailed account of our ups and downs), and the record also featured string arranger Claudia Chopek (Moby, Father John Misty). We tracked keyboards on the breathtaking vintage synth collection of my old friend Joe McGinty (Psychedelic Furs, The Loser’s Lounge), with whom I’ve worked for years, including our 2009 duo album, ‘McGinty & White Sing Selections’ from the McGinty & White Songbook. Can I take a breath now?
Going way back… what lit the spark for you to become a musician in the first place? Was there a specific moment when you knew this was it?
I’m not sure anyone decides when something is “it”—particularly not folks with an artistic temperament, who tend to be drawn in multiple directions. Music always hit hardest, but I was enamored with filmmaking and literature in equal measure. I suppose that once I realized I could incorporate all those elements into a single mode of expression (my lyrics have always suggested short stories or screenplay fragments), making records became an attractive prospect.
Who were your early influences, and how did that evolve into what you’re doing now?
Oh, you know, the usual suspects—The Beatles (look them up!), Elvis (Presley), Bowie has always been the gold standard for me on many levels; Chuck Berry, the greatest short-story writer in rock & roll; that guy Timothée Chalamet played. The Velvet Underground split my head open at an early age and, more importantly, scared the shit out of me.
Hank Williams, Randy Newman, Joni Mitchell, Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen, Warren Zevon, Scott Walker… the same shopworn roster as everybody else, with an enduring love for prog, metal, jazz (in moderation, of course), bubblegum, baroque pop, AM gold. Any musician who prattles on about the music they hate usually isn’t very good. I was (and am) similarly inspired by David Lynch, Philip Roth, Stanley Kubrick, Raymond Carver, Kenneth Anger, William Vollmann, and Evel Knievel. It all goes in the soup.
And here we are in 2025—what’s keeping you inspired these days?
I’ve been devoting a lot more time to reading, and specifically, re-reading (as all truly great books demand). It’s a practice that requires daily exercise to keep your chops in shape, just like music. Once you’ve woodshedded for a bit, you can negotiate imposing tomes with better focus and retention. Our culture has become so hopelessly noisy, silence feels like an indulgence.
Finally, what’s next for you? Anything we should keep our eyes (and ears) peeled for?
Aside from the next record (and the next), I might consider reissuing a few more of my past releases. There’s been a resurgence of interest in physical media, and some of these titles never appeared on CD or LP. I’ve never gone in for solipsistic nostalgia, preferring to focus on creating new work, but it’s gratifying to introduce these albums to a fresh audience.
The ‘Matador’ package was especially fun, as I was able to dig up old production photos and lean into writing a liner note essay for some added context. Bryan Scary jumped in and wrote a short essay as well, which is a nice counterbalance. Having the lyrics available for the first time is a bonus, too. Coming soon: the SUPER-DELUXE ‘Matador’ box, including a novel-length dissertation deconstructing the tenets of my original liner note essay, various fan-fiction multiverse takes on ‘The Olde Days,’ and a coffee-stained ‘Signet’ paperback of ‘The Sun Also Rises.’ Olé!
Klemen Breznikar
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