Diary Of A Songwriter: Matt O’Connor

Matt O’Connor: “I started writing a new song when I got home, then threw it out in the morning. Can’t win ‘em all.” Photo: Omari Spears

The Tuxis Giant frontperson navigates long summer walks, passing encounters, and the quiet doubts that accompany artistic integrity and ambition

Matt O’Connor has spent the past decade shaping Tuxis Giant into a project defined by steady evolution. Formed in 2015 with a self-titled debut recorded in a Vermont cabin, the band has grown to include a rotating cast from Boston’s DIY scene, with O’Connor’s songwriting at its core. Their new album, You Won’t Remember This, released via Worry Bead Records, finds the group balancing road-tested alt-country with moments of intimate reflection.

Across tracks like Last Laugh, Silver Cup, and Huey, O’Connor examines themes of identity, resilience, and the small moments that linger long after they’ve passed. While the record is grounded in personal experience, it resists nostalgia, favouring the ongoing process of creation over fixed definitions of success. Here, O’Connor offers a glimpse into the weeks surrounding its release, captured in their own words.

Their diary traces the days leading up to the album’s release, equal parts logistical grind, artistic experimentation, and the small scenes that colour life outside the studio.

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18 JULY

Listening to the new Alex G record through laptop speakers. I work as a copywriter 9-5. It’s a solid job, and keeps my fingers moving throughout the day. I’m planted at my friend Bryan’s kitchen table, watching his cat while he’s out of town. She darts from room to room with eyes like marbles.

Our new record is out in a month. I fill the days’ margins with tour logistics, merch orders, and press emails. This is—without doubt—my least favourite part of the album cycle; a distinctly uncreative phase of the creative process.

One boon: I finished a new song I’ve been working on for a long time. Here’s hoping it sticks.

21 JULY

The sun is setting and my brain is in knots.

Jenny [Ruenes – partner] and I saw Friendship play with 2nd Grade and 22° Halo on Friday. It was a sold-out show, so densely packed we could barely move. I’ve known these folks for a while – we all used to play at a Philly house venue called All Night Diner. Our first show there was in 2015, opening for Friendship.

I lived in Boston back then, where I ran my own DIY venue called Modesthaus. It was a regular tour stop for the bands I’d met at the Diner. After every Philly trip, I’d come home and tell my Boston friends how incredible the scene was, about Friendship and Ylayali and Crooked Spine. Philly felt like an oasis; a place where I could pursue the dream, blissfully away from everyday life. 25 forever.

Matt O’Connor: “I feel like I’m getting better at making songs, which might be the only worthwhile thing.” Photo: Omari Spears

Now, at 34, a certain doubt creeps in: will we ever “make it” like our friends have? Will we ever sell out a show like this? Envy like that misses the whole point of making art. If you’re not careful, you’ll start seeing this as a zero-sum game – one that has you on the wrong side of an invisible line.

At any rate, the show was incredible. We stood at the side of the stage while each band tore up the room. The night was full of old friends and good music. I left feeling warm n’ fuzzy.

I started writing a new song when I got home, then threw it out in the morning. Can’t win ‘em all.

23 JULY

Tank felt empty after work, so I went on a long walk. The sky was yellow, and the ice cream truck was louder than I’ve ever heard it. Two friends waved to me from their seats outside a bar, then another–on a bike–called my name. By the time I heard them, they were already speeding halfway down the block. I just saw the back of their bleached head.

That bar has pretty good beer, and free hot dogs if you ask. Jenny and I were there this week to watch a WNBA game. During commercials, I turned to the other TV, which played a 70’s sci-fi movie featuring bird people and an old guy with a monocle. If anyone knows the name of this movie, please email me immediately.

Jenny was tired from work, but I had a burst of energy. I tried telling her about the Tartarian Empire–a conspiracy theory claiming a pre-modern-yet-highly-advanced empire once ruled the world. It harnessed renewable energy and had apparently achieved world peace. All until a mudflood destroyed it and modern governments covered up its existence.

She wasn’t interested. I wasn’t either. Fallow times.

27 JULY

Quiet morning. A buzzsaw cuts through the hum of traffic and air conditioners. We’re going to the beach later, despite the chance of rain.

The week was hectic and squirrelly–my head was in a bunch of places. On top of work and album release stuff, Jenny and I are planning a wedding for the fall. Our to-do list is like one long, unravelling roll of parchment.

I’ve been working on a new batch of songs. Seven or eight so far, maybe the workings of a new record. After You Won’t Remember This comes out, I’ll find some time to demo these newer songs, then start the process all over again.

I’ve been at this for over a decade. While the “success” needle hasn’t moved much, I feel like I’m getting better at making songs, which might be the only worthwhile thing. I can’t measure my success by money or fans or album streams. But I can always rely on the work – that endless, mysterious process of creation. It eludes me constantly, but when I touch it, it’s like I’m touching the divine.

Clouds are gathering. Not a great beach day. We’re going anyway.

The new Tuxis Giant album You Won’t Remember This is out now and is available via tuxisgiant.bandcamp.com

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