Matt Arbogast, who performs as The Gunshy, will perform at Track House, 722 E. Blake, on Friday, May 16.
Currently based in Chicago, the veteran singer-songwriter grew up in Pennsylvania and began documenting his experiences in songs at an early age. His 2003 album, “No Man’s Blues,” remains a cornerstone of his recorded output with its powerful renderings of the realities of love and heartbreak, while his 2007 album, “There’s No Love In War,” chronicled the love affair between the two people who would become his paternal grandparents.
Across his body of work, including 2025’s “Hurricane Umbrellas,” he’s continued to examine issues of aging, the evolving nature of friendships, and his family. Before making that LP, Arbogast re-examined his life, gave up alcohol, adjusted his diet, and embraced his marriage and role as a father and set about crafting a series of songs that reflect if not a happy, fulfilled life ask probing questions about time and the connections we make.
It opens with “Tree Lined,” a moving portrait of a widower coming to terms with new realities. “On The Day I Met You” offers a glimpse of a man falling in loving, while “Future Cars on Former Roads” serves as a reflection on the moment when one’s hometown becomes less recognizable, almost a mirage of the past.
Listeners might find commonalities between Arbogast’s songs and those of John Prine, David Berman (Silver Jews), and Jason Molina (Songs: Ohia), in that he draws from personal experiences, then provides listeners with windows into worlds that feel very much like their own.
Arbogast recently spoke with KMUW about the inspirations behind “Hurricane Umbrellas” and his approach to songwriting.
The following interview has been edited for length and clarity.
This new record seems to find you grappling with issues of aging, time passing, questions such as, “Am I the same person as when this all started? What have I learned?” Some big issues.
My uncle was a watercolor painter. His painting of my childhood dog is on the cover of the record. He was having some pretty serious health issues. He passed away as I was finishing up these songs on the record. He said, “I’m going to paint. I’m going to see what I can do with painting. Explore that, use that. That’s my hustle, that’s my thing, that’s what I want to do.”
[He] really valued creativity more than most other people in my life did, especially growing up. That was a very big reference point for me. Part of me can’t help but believe that this batch of songs that kind of fell into my lap [were the result of] some other force at play, between his end of life time and then this [material arriving]. The record itself, I feel very much, is a gift.
Knowing you to the extent that I do on a personal level and then through the music that you’ve made over the years, I know that family is very much a through line in the work, whether it’s those things that tie you together or sometimes those moments in which people fall short of understanding each other. That familial element I think is still very present on this record.
It took me putting out a record at 46 years old for the rest of my family to realize that this isn’t just a kid getting it out of his system. Even though I have been making records all through that time, for some reason this record and the reaction to it [has been different]. Other records, it was “Oh, that’s just his thing.” They didn’t really try to pay attention to it.
This time … it could be a combination of having my uncle’s artwork on the cover and the old-school country element to it that is maybe a little more appealing, especially to my dad and my older brother. Having that lap steel all over the record definitely helps.
One thing that struck me when I first heard the album is the opening song, “Tree Lined,” which is this portrait of a widower and what his life is like. Was it hard to be in that heavy headspace when you were writing that song?
My mind gravitates toward the heaviest space possible. Part of it [goes back to] my dad. He recently went through a second divorce and he’s been living on his own. He just moved into a nice kind of senior living place. Having that in the back of my mind and just thinking about his day-to-day [life], living on his own for the first time in quite a while [was on my mind]. When I’m worried about people I put myself in their position. It’s just the way that my mind works I think. That’s the way that I empathize with people.
