Driving back to his Charlottesville hotel, Dave Matthews is at the wheel of an SUV, commenting on the semi-autonomous driving features, a mix of amusement and slight apprehension. He mentions owning a Tesla, confessing a touch of self-consciousness about its gull-wing doors, a feature he feels clashes with the image of a down-to-earth rock star, especially when sunglasses are involved.
The conversation meanders to Elon Musk, and whether their shared South African background gives Matthews any unique insight into Musk’s character. After a thoughtful pause, Matthews responds with a balanced perspective. He acknowledges a certain shared “piggy-wiggy” tendency, but gently critiques Musk’s perspective as potentially “uninformed,” suggesting a lack of comprehensive consideration in his decision-making.
This self-awareness of privilege and consumption is a recurring theme for Matthews. Despite his philanthropic endeavors and generous spirit, he grapples with the feeling of being excessive, echoing his own lyrics, “I eat too much.” This internal conflict, however, seems to fuel his desire for positive change, evidenced by his commitment to community projects like rebuilding public housing in his city. He describes it as “constantly trying to sweep up behind myself,” with a self-deprecating laugh.
This sense of responsibility extends beyond societal contributions to a broader philosophy of mindful living. When told about the Jains’ extreme commitment to non-violence, even sweeping the ground to avoid harming insects, Matthews shares a story illustrating his own, perhaps less extreme, but similar impulse. He recounts a moment in Africa, swerving to avoid a “gorgeous locust” while driving with his wife Ashley and another couple, much to the others’ annoyance. “I just gave it a little, y’know, tug,” he explains, miming a gentle steering maneuver.
The conversation then turns to the weighty topic of mortality. Asked if he contemplates his own death, Matthews responds affirmatively. His primary concern isn’t for himself, but for those he would leave behind. He poignantly expresses a desire to limit new relationships to avoid future grief, stating, “I need to stop making friends, so I can outlive all the people I care about, and who care about me. And then I can just drop dead. But I have to stop finding new people to like.” This sentiment reveals a deep consideration for the emotional impact of loss on loved ones, a feeling likely amplified by his own experience with early parental loss.
Dave Matthews contemplates legacy and the impact of loss, reflecting on the importance of relationships and the inevitable nature of mortality.
Reflecting on losing a parent at a young age, and witnessing others navigate similar losses, Matthews articulates a profound shift in perspective. “Losing a parent young the way he did, and watching others experience that loss,” he explains, “just changes everything. I mean, everything else is so small.” This experience has instilled in him a sense of human fragility and insignificance in the grand scheme of the universe. He juxtaposes grand ambitions like space travel with the inescapable reality of death, stating, “I mean, no matter how many rockets you take to almost-space, ’cause you can afford to, you’re still just gonna, like, wrinkle up into putrid death juice.” This starkly honest assessment underscores a grounded perspective, even amidst fame and success.
He even envisions his own potential demise, a somewhat darkly humorous scenario involving a car accident while trying to avoid harming wildlife on a Virginia back road. He imagines swerving to miss a “back-broken squirrel” and crashing into an “old red oak tree.” In a darkly comedic twist, he acknowledges the potential for digital documentation in modern cars, imagining a solemn documentary narration of his final moments: “Well, it seems the skunk stepped into the road here, and there was a car coming in the other direction. So he chose the red oak as the only alternative.”
Driving through Charlottesville, Dave Matthews reflects on life’s unpredictable journey and the legacy one leaves behind, considering even the details of a potential unexpected end.
When it’s suggested that such an end, driven by compassion, would solidify his image as a “nice guy,” Matthews laughs, accepting the compliment with characteristic humility. “Just a real nice guy….” he echoes, seemingly content with the idea of being remembered for his kindness and empathy. This glimpse into Dave Matthews’ thoughts reveals a man deeply aware of life’s fleeting nature, the importance of human connection, and the legacy of compassion one leaves behind, themes that resonate universally when considering the inevitable tragedies and losses within families and life itself.
This article is based on an interview by Alex Pappademas, originally published in GQ June/July 2023.
