Pigeon Spins Featuring an Interview with Sleeping Fits

Sleeping Fits - Sleeping Fits

Sleeping Fits is the indie/alt-rock project of Bangor, Maine, U.S. native Matt Chabe, now based outside Guadalajara, Mexico. The self-titled debut album fuses desert-rock grit, post-grunge melancholy, and art-rock eccentricity into something raw, melodic, and alive. Recorded with busted amps, cheap guitars, and a DIY spirit, “Sleeping Fits” channels influences like Queens of the Stone Age, Truckfighters, and late-career David Bowie. The result is an album that explores connection, disillusionment, and the strange beauty of modern chaos — art-rock pop at war with late-stage capitalism.

Fusing desert-rock groove, post-grunge melancholy, and art-rock eccentricity, Sleeping Fits creates music that’s raw, melodic, and deeply human. It’s art-rock pop at war with late-stage capitalism — somewhere between Robert Desnos and Queens of the Stone Age, stuck in the liminal space between desert groove, lo-fi glam, and existential unease. The debut self-titled album “Sleeping Fits” was recorded with busted amps, cheap guitars, and a drive for honesty. The result is a record that feels alive, imperfect, and urgent: a fuzz-drenched reflection on connection, disillusionment, and the strange poetry of the modern world.

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Interview with Sleeping Fits

(•)> What drew you to the name Sleeping Fits and what does it represent for you artistically?

I got turned on to this French surrealist poet named Robert Desnos, who was part of the Surrealist movement in the 1920s. He and his poet friends would hypnotize each other and see what kind of poetry they could produce. They called these sessions the “sleeping fits.” Desnos was the best of them—he’d write these vibrant, dreamlike poems full of rich imagery while under hypnosis. His buddies loved it. I like the idea that there’s a world of art beyond the one we consciously perceive. Most of us create from the waking world—but what art lies underneath that? What’s under the surface?

Also, the world today is exhausting. We’re hit from all sides with content, expectations, and dread. I talk a lot about it on the album—the things that cause disconnection and stress. It makes us so tired. Wouldn’t it be great if we could all just take “sleeping fits” during the day—brief escapes from all of it?

(•)> Your debut album was recorded with “busted amps and cheap guitars.” Was that a creative choice or a necessity, and how did it shape the sound?

A bit of both. When I left the U.S. to live abroad in 2018, I sold most of my belongings, including my music gear. I’d been gigging for decades and had built up a good collection of gear, but I never needed a sexy new Les Paul or a monster Bogner amp. I’ve always gravitated toward worn-out or overlooked equipment. I like the character of gear that’s a little past its prime or that never caught on commercially. I’d rather sling a cheap guitar than worry about scratching a mint-condition Strat.

Philosophically, I think using imperfect gear forces you to care more. It shows intent. You have to work around the limitations, and that means you’re truly listening and engaging. A good song is a good song, no matter what you play it with.

When I started this album, I didn’t have much equipment with me in Mexico. I bought some used gear locally. One of the main pieces on the album is this old Randall Switchmaster amp from 1980. It’s weird—there’s an air horn next to the speaker, and it’s LOUD. Two hundred watts of solid-state power through a single speaker. You can hear it all over the record. My main guitar was a beat-up Epiphone Casino Coupe I bought dirt cheap here. When I got it, it was caked with grime and one of the pots didn’t work. I brought it back to life, and I love its punchy, woody tone.

(•)> You describe the record as “art-rock pop at war with late-stage capitalism.” What does that war look like to you in musical terms?

“War” is probably a strong word, even though it’s mine. I’ve been replaying the video game Cyberpunk 2077 lately and diving into the whole Cyberpunk world. There are a lot of unsettling parallels with our own reality. In that universe, there’s a class of characters called “rockerboys”—people who fight oppression and corruption through their music and platform. That idea resonates with me.

I’m not trying to be Rage Against the Machine, but I do think it’s important to write about the world as it is—about the rot beneath the surface. I’m not waving a banner, but I’m trying to make sense of the chaos through music and put something meaningful into the world.

(•)> There’s a raw, human energy running through the album. How much of that comes from instinct versus intention in your songwriting process?

I grew up in the 1990s listening to bands like Dinosaur Jr., The Pixies, Pavement—bands that sounded chaotic but still hit you in the chest with feels and a finely-crafted tune. I love that mix of spontaneity and craft.

When I write, I’m always walking that line. How do I capture something authentic and impulsive, but still make it sound good? How do I shape the raw material like clay without sanding off what made it real in the first place? That’s always the challenge.

(•)> Living outside Guadalajara now, how has that change in environment influenced your perspective and your sound?

I think it’s influenced my perspective more than anything. Before Mexico, I lived in Southeast Asia for several years and traveled a lot before that. Stepping outside your comfort zone changes how you see the world.

When I lived in the U.S., my music leaned more into melancholic alternative rock. It still does, but now there’s more directness and a willingness to blend influences that might not fit neatly together. Living abroad opened me up sonically and personally.

(•)> You mention influences like Queens of the Stone Age and David Bowie. What lessons did you take from them into Sleeping Fits?

A willingness to lean into weird, quirky sounds, unconventional structures, and layered textures. I used to write with a pretty strict rock logic—power chords under the chorus, bring back the lead line, that sort of thing. This time, I wanted to build songs that reveal something new on the second or third listen.

The bass line on “Crystal Lizard” is one of my favorites—it bounces around the chords and gives this unexpected undercurrent to otherwise static guitars. And in “We Are All Connected,” the chorus is built around two opposing guitar parts panned hard left and right that shouldn’t work together—but do. It’s about exploring tension and dissonance within familiar song structures.

(•)> The record balances connection and disillusionment. Were these themes born from personal experience or wider cultural observation?

Both. I believe humans share a collective consciousness—a "collective soul"—and we get into trouble when we ignore that. It’s been the root of conflict since the beginning of civilization. If we recognized how interconnected we really are—how one person’s actions ripple across the whole human community—we’d all be a lot better off.

(•)> The album feels both gritty and poetic. How do you approach that tension between noise and nuance?

I think that tension is the art. Grit and poetry aren’t opposites—they feed each other. The grit gives the poetry its texture, and the poetry gives the grit its shape. A lot of it comes down to layering and restraint. I’ll record something chaotic—a wall of fuzz, a raw vocal take, some strange percussive sound—and then see what happens when I carve space around it instead of trying to polish it away. The noise gives the song life, but the nuance gives it direction. You need both for it to feel human.

(•)> What do you think defines the Sleeping Fits sound and separates it from other alt-rock projects?

Cohesion, dissonance, and rhythm. I’m a pop guy at heart—I love big choruses, strong melodies, and lyrics that stick. But I also love dissonance when it’s done well. What sets Sleeping Fits apart is that balance between melody and friction. When you take two melodies that sometimes clash and sometimes harmonize and make that tension your core identity—that’s awesome. Sonic Youth understood that. But if you can make that push-and-pull groove—if you can drop it over a fat rhythm that makes people move—that’s gold. And I think Sleeping Fits does that really well.

(•)> If Sleeping Fits is a reflection of modern chaos, what kind of clarity, if any, did making it bring you?

All the chaos we see today—the injustice, greed, conflict—it’s all been with us forever. It’s just dressed differently. When we were kids, we’d ask, “Why can’t people just stop having wars?” We thought the adults would figure it out. Then we become the adults and realize war, greed, and self-interest are part of the human condition.

For example, we talk about rampant commercialism and consumerism now, but I guarantee our ancestors were hoarding things they didn’t need too—just in a different context. The clarity for me was realizing that the fight isn’t new. We just keep finding new ways to live it, and package it. And people are still finding ways to profit from it.

(•)> That's all, Folks! Check out Sleeping Fits  on the Pigeon Spins Playlist