SAM DOORES (the deslondes) + ABE PARTRIDGE + La Famille(members of Underhill)
Buy Tickets
March 7, 2020Doors: 8:00 PM
Show: 8:00 pm
Tickets: $10 ADV
“Recording in a foreign environment like Berlin, I was inspired to experiment with more cinematic, psychedelic sounds,” says Sam Doores, “but I also wanted to combine that with my love for old school New Orleans R&B and folk music. Recording this album was an opportunity to explore the space between those worlds.”
Written on-and-off over the course of several years, Doores’ captivating self-titled debut is classic and contemporary all at once, blending traditional southern roots with adventurous sonic landscapes as it reckons with heartache and loss, love and gratitude, fresh starts and, ultimately, a whole lotta change. Doores’ timeless ear for songcraft and easygoing delivery combine here to yield a sound that feels instantly familiar, full of comfort and warmth even as it breaks bold new ground. The performances are infectious in their ease, simple on the surface but built on foundations of deep emotional and harmonic complexity that belie their amiable exteriors. It’s a dynamic that Doores is quick to credit to producer Anders ‘Ormen’ Christopherson, whose chance email sparked the entire project.
“Before Hurray for the Riff Raff or The Deslondes took shape, I was in a band called Sundown Songs alongside Kiki Cavazos, Alynda Segarra, Pat Reedy, Jessie Camerdiener, and Ross Hartman,” says Doores, who’s called New Orleans home since 2006. “Anders found our music a few years later and sent me an email saying he was opening a studio in Berlin, and if I ever came through, he’d love to record together.”
As chance would have it, Doores was just about to head to Europe at the time with The Deslondes. Hailed as “burgeoning stars” by The New York Times, the band came together as Doores was transitioning out of Hurray for the Riff Raff, and their singular sound mixed the gritty folk and country of old Alan Lomax field recordings with the electrified soul of early Stax and Sun Records. The group’s 2014 self-titled debut was a breakout hit, praised by NPR as “energized, elegant and new,” and their 2017 follow-up, ‘Hurry Home,’ earned similar acclaim, with Rolling Stone calling it “a gritty, grimy mix of early rock ‘n’ roll and lo-fi R&B.”
“I booked myself an extra week in Berlin at the end of that Deslondes tour so I could meet Anders and check out the studio,” says Doores. “They had just finished it when I got there, which meant I was the very first session. We only did a few songs to start with, but they all felt great, so over the next few years, every time I came back through Europe on tour, I’d visit Anders and we’d record some more.”
For a prolific writer like Doores, Christopherson and his studio were a godsend. At first, he used the recording time to capture songs that didn’t quite fit The Deslondes’ vibe, but when a long-term creative and romantic relationship came to a poignant end, Doores found himself penning an avalanche of personal material that only felt right to record under his own name.
“Writing those songs was my way of moving past it all and embracing the changes happening in my life,” says Doores. “That relationship ended, and then later The Deslondes decided to go on sabbatical. Those big endings were painful, but I knew that no matter how hard it was, the experience would be a positive one in the end.”
Working in Berlin, Doores found himself collaborating with an inspiring cast of characters from all over the world. There was Christopherson, the Danish-born producer; Micah Blaichman, an American guitarist who helped Anders build his studio and ended up co-producing the project; Andres Barlesi, a gifted Argentinean bassist; Carlos Santana (no, not that one), a Spanish keyboard and horn wizard; and Manon Parent, a violinist and string arranger hailing from France.
“Anders’ vision for the studio was to create a space for artists who couldn’t afford formal recording sessions,” explains Doores, “so he only works on projects he really cares about, and that’s attracted a community of musicians who share those same values. Together, they make up this wild international ‘Wrecking Crew’ of sorts.”
Most of the songs on the album began as bare-bones performance by the core band, usually featuring Doores on drums. After capturing the basic tracks on a reel-to-reel tape machine, Doores would move on to vocals next, and from there, he and Christopherson would flesh out the arrangements with a rich palette of colors and textures: sweeping strings, vintage organs, marimbas, ethereal vibraphones, and even an autoharp run through a tremolo amplifier. Once sessions in Berlin had wrapped, Doores brought the songs back to the States for stops in Nashville, where he worked with longtime friend and creative foil Andrija Tokic (Alabama Shakes, Hurray for the Riff Raff, Benjamin Booker, Phosphorescent), and New Orleans, where he enlisted a slew of friends, neighbors, and bandmates to put their distinctive touches on the recordings.
At times calling to mind everything from Leonard Cohen to Tom Waits, the finished collection shifts effortlessly from brooding noir to joyful celebration. The dreamy “Let It Roll” takes life as it comes, while the tender “Had a Dream” makes peace with letting go, and the soulful “This Ain’t a Sad Song” finds light in the darkness. Heartache is never far from humor in Doores’ writing: he teams up with New Orleans mainstays Tuba Skinny to toast an ex on the swaggering “Wish You Well,” and he alternates verses with his old bandmate Alynda Lee Segarra on the playful “Other Side of Town,” which mixes New Orleans R&B with doo-wop gang vocals in a psychedelic blender.
“I came up with that song during carnival season,” says Doores. “I wanted to write something fun and groovy to cheer my sad, sorry ass up while the world was partying all around me.”
While much of the album works to make sense of hard times (the eerie “Solid Road,” for instance, meditates on bad luck, and the ethereal “Red Leaf Rag” grapples with violence), the collection ultimately emerges stronger and more self-assured for the journey. The slow-burning “Push On” is an ode to community and resilience in the face of adversity, while the stripped-down “Windmills” reflects on fatherhood, alcoholism, and self-worth, and surreal album closer “Nothing Like A Suburb,” originally written for Doores’ sister’s wedding, celebrates the decision to love and commit.
“In the beginning, I thought this project was just going to be a fun way to record some songs that didn’t have a home,” Doores reflects, “but in the end, it became a really important creative outlet for me during a turbulent time in my life.”
The result is an album written as much for himself as for his audience. It’s the sound of heartbreak, of self-discovery, of rebirth. It’s the sound of Sam Doores.
In my short 37 years, I have lived a tale that few before me could have claimed. I’m a son of the deep south. On both sides, my family traces its roots back generations to the cotton fields of Alabama. I was born and raised in the port city, Mobile. She is lined with Spanish moss-covered oaks that date back further than the Confederacy, antebellum homes, and remnants on every corner of her troubled past. Held by the French and Spanish, it holds much the same character as its sister city, New Orleans. Earning her the title “the Southern Baptist New Orleans”…. because just as thick as the culture in this town, is the religion that has tempered it. Like most other southern towns, it is saddled with churches of every sort and bridled by their politics.
My mother was a piano teacher/church pianist. She took me to church every week where I was saturated with the hymns of the old red-back hymnal. My father had an extensive collection of rock n roll records. He had dubbed a cassette of the White Album that I would play on a toy cassette player next to my bed as a kid. I guess my earliest musical memories are Precious Lord and Helter Skelter. Then came the year punk broke. I fell hard for rock n roll when I picked up Nevermind, and I really haven’t been the same since.
Baptists and punks don’t really jive that well. And after a few years of trying to force them into compatibility, I had a religious experience and put aside rock n roll for a leather-back bible. After graduating high school, I headed off to bible college. It seemed like the right thing to do. I didn’t do so hot in bible school. I transferred out of the first two I attended after only one semester. I spent two years in another, and one final year in yet another. That’s right… 4 bible colleges in 4 years. Partly because I knew better, partly because I couldn’t stand to be told what to do, and partly because I am a drifter at heart – I just never could get comfortable in that type of environment.
There was a pawn shop just down the street from one of the bible schools I attended.. I went down on one rainy afternoon and bought a banjo. I thought it was cool. I was playing Cripple Creek in a few weeks. My love for making music began.
Right here, I should say something about my religious background. I found that kind of old fashioned, bible thumping religion that hardly exists outside the South. A religion that forbade televisions in home, pants on women, absolute literal interpretation of the bible, complete rejection of pop culture … you get the idea. Also prevalent in this sect of christianity, is the fervent and passionate worship experience. A preacher of this cloth was expected to preach with his whole being. Often memorizing blocks of scripture, then reciting it on Sunday morning in dramatic fashion. Driving his congregation to shouts of joy, and the silence of conviction. Begging and pleading for individuals to make decisions for Jesus. Breaking sweats, waving handkerchiefs, and screaming to the point of losing their voices week after week. That was me. A red knuckle preacher with leather lungs.
I married the day after I finished bible school. We settled in northwest Georgia – in a single-wide trailer – in a backwoods holler – with nothing but hope and love. A degree in ministry doesn’t get you far in any corporate HR department. I took every job I could find while balancing church work. I had around 15 different W-2’s in 3 years. We scraped by on minimum wage and started having babies.
A little church in the Appalachian Mountains of Kentucky called me to be their pastor when I was 25 years old. I proudly took it. I was a young man in an old man’s game. I went there with fire in my bones and a dream.
I don’t like to talk about what happened after that. Suffice it to say I became acquainted with a depression I’d never known. I failed – in that calling, you only succeed if you die in the field. A failure that was hard to swallow. I’d spent 9 years of my life pursuing ministry. I became acquainted with Dylan, Townes, and Son House. To cope with my own struggles, I began writing my own songs and making folk art.
Broke emotionally, spiritually, and financially, I packed up a rental truck with every possession I had along with my wife and two children. I headed back to the only place I was welcome. Home.
I moved in with my Mama as a 27 year old, an abject failure.
Devoid of any opportunity to provide for my family, I joined the military. Yeah, I spent some time in the desert. Don’t really like to talk about this either…
But, while I was over there in the desert, I realized that I had spent my entire youth bringing negativity in this world by the type of preaching I did and violence in the world by participating in war.
I made a promise to God, that if He would let me get back home… I would share the gift He gave me of music and art.. and for the rest of my life, I would try my best to bring beauty in the world.
March 7, 2020 Doors: 8:00 PM
Show: 8:00 pm
Tickets: $10 ADV
In my short 37 years, I have lived a tale that few before me could have claimed. I’m a son of the deep south. On both sides, my family traces its roots back generations to the cotton fields of Alabama. I was born and raised in the port city, Mobile. She is lined with Spanish moss-covered oaks that date back further than the Confederacy, antebellum homes, and remnants on every corner of her troubled past. Held by the French and Spanish, it holds much the same character as its sister city, New Orleans. Earning her the title “the Southern Baptist New Orleans”…. because just as thick as the culture in this town, is the religion that has tempered it. Like most other southern towns, it is saddled with churches of every sort and bridled by their politics.
My mother was a piano teacher/church pianist. She took me to church every week where I was saturated with the hymns of the old red-back hymnal. My father had an extensive collection of rock n roll records. He had dubbed a cassette of the White Album that I would play on a toy cassette player next to my bed as a kid. I guess my earliest musical memories are Precious Lord and Helter Skelter. Then came the year punk broke. I fell hard for rock n roll when I picked up Nevermind, and I really haven’t been the same since.
Baptists and punks don’t really jive that well. And after a few years of trying to force them into compatibility, I had a religious experience and put aside rock n roll for a leather-back bible. After graduating high school, I headed off to bible college. It seemed like the right thing to do. I didn’t do so hot in bible school. I transferred out of the first two I attended after only one semester. I spent two years in another, and one final year in yet another. That’s right… 4 bible colleges in 4 years. Partly because I knew better, partly because I couldn’t stand to be told what to do, and partly because I am a drifter at heart – I just never could get comfortable in that type of environment.
There was a pawn shop just down the street from one of the bible schools I attended.. I went down on one rainy afternoon and bought a banjo. I thought it was cool. I was playing Cripple Creek in a few weeks. My love for making music began.
Right here, I should say something about my religious background. I found that kind of old fashioned, bible thumping religion that hardly exists outside the South. A religion that forbade televisions in home, pants on women, absolute literal interpretation of the bible, complete rejection of pop culture … you get the idea. Also prevalent in this sect of christianity, is the fervent and passionate worship experience. A preacher of this cloth was expected to preach with his whole being. Often memorizing blocks of scripture, then reciting it on Sunday morning in dramatic fashion. Driving his congregation to shouts of joy, and the silence of conviction. Begging and pleading for individuals to make decisions for Jesus. Breaking sweats, waving handkerchiefs, and screaming to the point of losing their voices week after week. That was me. A red knuckle preacher with leather lungs.
I married the day after I finished bible school. We settled in northwest Georgia – in a single-wide trailer – in a backwoods holler – with nothing but hope and love. A degree in ministry doesn’t get you far in any corporate HR department. I took every job I could find while balancing church work. I had around 15 different W-2’s in 3 years. We scraped by on minimum wage and started having babies.
A little church in the Appalachian Mountains of Kentucky called me to be their pastor when I was 25 years old. I proudly took it. I was a young man in an old man’s game. I went there with fire in my bones and a dream.
I don’t like to talk about what happened after that. Suffice it to say I became acquainted with a depression I’d never known. I failed – in that calling, you only succeed if you die in the field. A failure that was hard to swallow. I’d spent 9 years of my life pursuing ministry. I became acquainted with Dylan, Townes, and Son House. To cope with my own struggles, I began writing my own songs and making folk art.
Broke emotionally, spiritually, and financially, I packed up a rental truck with every possession I had along with my wife and two children. I headed back to the only place I was welcome. Home.
I moved in with my Mama as a 27 year old, an abject failure.
Devoid of any opportunity to provide for my family, I joined the military. Yeah, I spent some time in the desert. Don’t really like to talk about this either…
But, while I was over there in the desert, I realized that I had spent my entire youth bringing negativity in this world by the type of preaching I did and violence in the world by participating in war.
I made a promise to God, that if He would let me get back home… I would share the gift He gave me of music and art.. and for the rest of my life, I would try my best to bring beauty in the world.
A stripped down version of local favorites Underhill Family Orchestra
