Off the Record: Northcote on Hardcore Roots, Healing Work, and What Comes Next

By the time Northcote’s 2015 album Hope is Made of Steel hit turntables and playlists, Matt Goud had already carved out a unique lane—equal parts raspy soul and roots-punk grit. Nearly a decade later, he’s still here, still singing, and still sneaking in Weakerthans nods and metalcore echoes under the surface of songs that hit like warm conversation on a cold night.

We caught up with Northcote in between lake swims, mental health shifts, and writing sessions for a candid, thoughtful, and often funny look at the inner life of a songwriter who has quietly become a lifer.

“Probably none of them.” That’s Northcote’s answer when asked if any of his songs feel like secrets only he understands. He doesn’t mean it in a self-deprecating way—it’s more about intention. “My lyrics aren’t too tricky,” he explains. “I want the music to have feeling and a visceral drive, even when the lyrics might not make perfect sense.”

Still, for longtime fans, songs like “Leaving Wyoming” or “Invisible Diamonds” carry weight. “Some of the imagery in those songs is a bit more personal or inside baseball,” he says, nodding to the layered influence of The Weakerthans. That intricate emotional threading is something Goud has always aspired to, even as he leans toward openness and clarity.

But there’s one record that stands out as maybe even he doesn’t fully understand: 2024’s Jam Spot Kirtan. “That album came along when I showed the Northcote guys some of my mantra practice that was helping me out during the pandemic,” he recalls. “We did one concert in Victoria and played some of the mantras in our indie rock style. I’m glad that happened.”

The songs—rooted in personal meditation and spiritual grounding—hold a unique space in his catalog. “I have a developing faith in the mantras that help relax my mind and accept who I am and what life has given to me,” he says. “I also have a belief that saying the mantras makes the world a better place. Not sure how that works exactly, but I do believe it.”

What is his thing these days? A full life in Victoria, BC—one centered on community, connection, and healing. “I’ve been working as a mental health worker for seven and a half years,” he says. His role focuses on harm reduction and supportive housing. Outside of that, he stays busy volunteering with the University of Victoria men’s hockey team, practicing yoga, hosting small kirtan gatherings, and chasing around two dogs. He also plays beer league hockey and plans to spend his summer “at the lakes, swimming and staying active.”

It’s all part of an intentional shift. “I’m focusing on my health and working towards making Northcote closer to being a full-time endeavor again.”

That might be sooner than fans expect: “A new full-length album is mixed and mastered,” he reveals offhandedly, before pivoting into a memory about his old metalcore days. “There’s a lyric on the new record that still gets me,” he adds. “It’s about two friends sitting at the bar recounting their best times together.”

For those who’ve followed his work, it’s no surprise Goud has never really left music, even when stepping back from the grind of full-time touring. “Pursuing music as a job has come and gone, but being a musician in some form is pretty central in my life. The practice of singing and playing… it just never goes away.”

Still, the road has its quiet corners. He remembers a night after a van crash in 2013. “Hanging with the guys, drinking at a bar and playing pool near London, Ontario.” It was one of those heavy, still moments that stick to your ribs.

If there’s a misconception about artists like him, it’s that the cost is purely personal. “Pursuing a life in the arts has taken a lot out of the people immediately surrounding me,” he admits. “I’ve needed a lot of help over the years.” He credits his parents, his ex-wife Brittany, his first manager Ian, Dave Hause, and friends from the hardcore scene going back twenty years for helping him stay afloat. And more recently: “Last, mostly, Stephen, Mike, Eric and all the Northcote musicians along the way.”

He still feels nerves every night—whether it’s two people in a basement or a thousand in a theater. But rituals help. Writing the setlist by hand. A hug and a few good words with Stephen and the band. “Even if the set is the same as the night before, it’s a way to center myself.”

And though he jokes that Borrowed Chords, Tired Eyes could be the soundtrack to a DIY version of Inside Llewyn Davis, he’s already written a more cinematic arc: “Ginger kid from small-town Saskatchewan goes to a punk rock house studio in Asbury Park.” That actually happened, by the way—the EP he recorded with Pete Steinkopf of The Bouncing Souls is proof.

He’s listening to Nails, Doechii, and Krishna Das. He’s scribbling lyrics that make him feel something, even when they don’t resolve neatly. And he’s trying—like he always has—to keep the music honest, human, and alive.

If he could send one message back to himself at the start of all this?“When times are tough, keep going out and playing shows.Start counseling in your twenties.”

Sounds like the kind of advice a lot of us could’ve used. Fortunately, Northcote’s still out here singing it.

Keep an eye on Orgcore for more on Northcote’s next chapter—including his unreleased full-length.