Some artists find their lane. Andy Matt doesn’t just swerve between them—he demolishes the whole idea of staying in one. His music is less a catalog than a collage: the bite of Nirvana, the soul of Stevie Wonder, the swagger of Big Daddy Kane, and the flair of Queen all live in his work without canceling each other out. Raised in a home where his mom—“America’s oldest teenager,” he jokes—blasted ‘60s oldies like gospel, Andy soaked up music as escape, expression, and armor. He recorded cartoon scores onto cassettes, taught himself Metallica’s …And Justice For All on piano in secret, and wrote love poems he didn’t dare share. A Black kid who loved metal. A closeted gay teen obsessed with harmony. A DIY artist with no blueprint.
“I was always a prisoner of my own mind,” he says. “Until I met my husband. That’s when I finally started letting myself be seen.”
Trying to define Andy Matt’s sound misses the point. One moment, he’s tearing through grunge riffs with Courtney Love-level growl. The next, he’s floating into a falsetto, layered in lipstick and silk, singing a torch song nobody realizes is his. Contrast isn’t a gimmick—it’s who he is. His tracks are rollercoasters: doo-wop into rap, metal melting into salsa, hip-hop crumbling into ambient jazz.
“All of it is me,” he says, simply. “I’m not trying to make sense to anyone. I’m just trying to be whole.”
Whether he’s snarling like Cobain or crooning like Sinatra, Andy plays with identity the way most musicians play with chords.
But in today’s music economy, refusing to pick a lane can make you hard to sell.
“I can write in seconds,” he says, “but getting heard? That’s the hard part.”
The algorithms aren’t built for artists like him. Still, the wins are real: like when his mom cried the first time she heard his sultry R&B ballad Can I Kiss You?, or when he released the dreamy, hand-shot video for My Name Is Moon. These aren’t just career milestones—they’re personal revolutions for someone who spent years in hiding.
He’s not hiding anymore. With nine albums out and a third video on the way, Andy’s aiming higher—not just in reach, but in resonance. His fanbase, made up of what he calls “the weirdos, the wanderers, the ones who didn’t fit in at school,” is growing fast. His motto?
“You only live once—TRY.”
It’s not about chasing clout. It’s about giving yourself permission to create before you’re confident, to share before you’re perfect.
“I lost so much time thinking I had to sound like everyone else,” he says. “Now I just want to sound like me.”
The music is personal, but the mission is communal. Andy dedicates this chapter to the ones who held him up: his mother Deborah, his brother Joshua, his husband Hunter, and his late grandmother Frances—“my rock,” he says. Every genre clash in his music is a tribute to them. Every switch in tone is a freedom he once didn’t believe he had.
Andy Matt doesn’t just bend genres—he bends expectations.
And in doing so, he’s not just making music. He’s making space.