If singer/songwriter Andrew Duhon hasn’t shown up on your playlists yet, make a point of adding him now. His three full-length albums and one EP are full of so many stunning songs that you’ll have plenty to choose from. Duhon writes songs with an everyman-literary touch. Sometimes his songwriting makes me think of fishing—he gently lobs out a metaphor, gets a bite, and then pulls the line taut. The catch? A different perspective on the experiences that we all share.
Images of his hometown of New Orleans flow through his music – a street fair, a storm knocking out power, the muddy Mississippi. His voice is the perfect vehicle for these lyrics – deep, warm and soulful. If you haven’t visited New Orleans yet, after spending some time with his music, you might feel like you have.
Like all musicians, Duhon experienced an extended pause from touring for much of 2020 and 2021. While the unwanted lull led to writer’s block for some songwriters, it was fruitful for Duhon. During this time, he wrote dozens of new songs, some of which will appear on a new album that will be released in April. Now he’s started to tour again, but touring is not like it used to be. There are all kinds of decisions to be made as far as logistics and safety, and he takes those decisions seriously. We talked about all of this the morning after a show in the southeast.
Can you tell me about your quarantine songs?
Our last show was in Huntsville, Alabama. And we made the fairly easy decision at that point to cancel the rest of the shows. There was some hemming and hawing, but at the end of the day, it was clear that that was the right call. But, at the time, we were just being given, as we are now, pieces of information, as the whole world was figuring things out. And we did not know that we would be home for a year and a half.
It felt like kind of a romance period, at first–it’s kind of nice to be home, it’s kind of nice to have my groceries delivered—and it became clear that I needed to have a channel out to share. I never felt natural about sharing much more than promotional elements on my social media. I don’t share all my little personal life stuff on there. But I was very thankful to have social media at that point to start sharing new songs.
And, even more intimately, the process of new songs as it began to evolve through Patreon, a subscription-based platform where people can pay a certain amount a month to come and be a part of a smaller community. And that became a vent, a way to start sharing what I felt like I was sharing on the road at shows. The banter between songs was always the off-the-cuff context of where the songs came from. And when I needed to start telling that story from home, Patreon and making videos of these songs became the way. And I thank my lucky stars that during that quarantine time, I didn’t feel like I had writer’s block. Kind of the opposite–it felt like my process knew what to do, now that I had no choice but to stay home and work on songs.
And I had plenty of drafts that I hadn’t finished, in my pocket. I just started working on all of them. And as I would finish them, I would make a video of them, which felt like a healthy way to release the song without putting out an actual track release. The videos were a way to kind of click the on button and let people into the room where I was writing the song, and then I’d perform the song, and then there would be a dialogue between the people who had heard and appreciated the song and myself.
Was that an adjustment, though? It seems like sort of a vulnerable thing, to share something before you’ve really fine-tuned it.
One of the things I’m thankful for with the quarantine time was helping me become less precious about what I do share. I used to be committed to editing the story, the song, down until I knew that it was exactly what I wanted. And during the quarantine, it became easier to share a draft, and that less precious thing starts to let pieces through that may not be the perfect last draft. But that part of the process is as much about telling the story as sharing the last draft is.
Because there’s art all along the way, right? I mean, a song’s a living thing anyway. And once you make your record, there’s a version of it that’s not really a living thing anymore. And then you go on tour, and it becomes a living thing again, I would imagine. But here, the whole process is sort of living and changing, right?
I love the story about Hemingway writing 30 different endings to, I’m not sure, For Whom the Bell Tolls, maybe. One of his novels. Just the story of him writing that many different iterations of the ending tells you something about his story that he’s telling. And, it’s that sort of thing, letting folks into the process behind the curtain a little bit is all the more vulnerable and useful when it comes to trying to relate to each other.
Was there anything that surprised you about the songs you created during this time?
I think I have pegged myself as a person who has lived an incredibly charmed life, due to two parents who did nothing but be a solid foundation and a great mom and dad as I grew up. And then, the fact that I’m a white male in this country means that I don’t deal with what, over the pandemic became glaringly obviously–we can all recognize there is prejudice systematically, in different aspects of our culture, in our community.
And I want to write what I know. As they say, “write what you know.” And so, it was always problematic for me to try to write about those sorts of things. But during the pandemic, it was the first time that I felt like, “I now have to decide what I have to say about this.” And I wrote a few songs in that direction. But I stayed along those lines of writing what I knew. I think the first verse of the “Promised Land” song is “Sometimes a forefather’s a poor mother, with nothing but dreams for her daughter, who walks for miles in the rain. And I have never known that kind of pain.”
Admitting that, it’s not my struggle, but that doesn’t make it not my problem.
I think you’ve written songs that talk about social issues before, but in the context of storytelling. Like “Just Another Beautiful Girl.” This is the one that comes to mind.
That’s the one that comes to mind for me, too. In fact, when people say, what’s the one song you’re gonna play me right now if I gave you three and a half minutes, it’s going to be “Just Another Beautiful Girl,” because that’s the one that over the span of time has continued to tell me a story that I didn’t always see. You know, I didn’t see it the first time I wrote it. It was a story that I told about feelings that I had. But the more that I told that story back to myself, the more I recognized that this is important. And I’m glad that it connects, because, you know, you’re writing songs over and over again, throwing these darts at the board, and sometimes they land in a space that you couldn’t even see. You were just aiming into that space. And then you follow that dart down to the point where it landed. And it teaches you, even though you wrote it.
Is “Shotgun Religion” (about the January 6 insurrection) going to be on the album?
Unfortunately, “Shotgun Religion” was written after we made this record. So, I had released 21 songs publicly, and another 16 songs were on the Patreon for exclusive subscribers. But “Shotgun Religion,” I believe, was the 22nd quarantine song video. So, I had written it after we made the record. I wrote that a couple of days after the insurrection at the Capitol. And, you know, that was an easy “write what you know” because I came up with Catholicism, and I can see the virtue in the fellowship, and the ritual even, that I grew up with. But I can also recognize, looking back, how it moved me into a place of “this is us and that is them.” A righteousness that was unfounded. I was heavy into the Catholicism thing in high school, and it took me getting into college and taking a class called Religions of the World, where we read some other religious texts. And my favorite Bible verse was replaced by a quote, “beware the man of one book.”
One of the things I liked about it was that it was written from a place of knowledge, because you knew something of that kind of thinking, and you could draw sort of a connection between the actual religious teachings and to what people might become obsessed by.
Yup. All those dots connect for me. I know that person who grew up in the cul-de-sac a block away from me or across the street and has a certain ideology. I can see where all of that came from.
It’s such a powerful song. I’m thinking that I probably saw that video a week after the insurrection. And I love where you say that there were a lot of things that led to this division, but there’s only two things they’re taking with them: shotgun (violence) and religion.
Yeah, like waving the flag of righteousness and the sword holds the flag up. I see that in the ideologies that I used to hold as a righteous Catholic man who thought he was right. And that’s all the reason one can need to do things that they would, in a vacuum, believe are unloving.
Right. “I was so self-righteous and I called it love.”
Absolutely.
What’s it like right now to tour?
I was encouraged when we booked the first run through Texas and Colorado. I contacted each venue, personally, to talk about what the safety protocols would be. Because, frankly, I had no idea what the climate was in these different places, or venues specifically, and my question was, essentially, what are we going to do to take care of each other? And I was heartened that every place, even my dear good old boys in Texas, who I was especially concerned about–no, we got on the phone and we talked about it, and I was glad for that.
We got to Texas and we played a couple of shows where we felt it necessary to wear a mask while we played, because there wasn’t a vaccine mandate in place at the show. And there were people of a certain age sitting eight feet away from me at a table. And in that situation, I am the problem, because I am emoting my spittle in a belt out into this audience. I’m the one who needs to wear a mask in that situation. If you’re sitting quietly and drinking a beer, that makes sense to me that you don’t have to wear a mask in that situation. But I do.
Now, that’s not my favorite way to play a show. And the first show that we did it, we were actually inspired by the fellow who played before us. His name’s Bill Kirchen. And he’s a Telecaster player, a great guitar player. It was an excellent show. But what struck us most was that his entire trio wore a mask the whole time, inside, as they sang. And I was struck, not only that they wore masks, but that I could hear every word. It sounded fine.
And so we went into the green room at the Mucky Duck. And we started talking to each other, like, why aren’t we doing that? You know, why aren’t we considering doing this for the show? And the ultimate agreement among the trio was, we do need to do this tonight. And we did it the next night in Dallas, because it was similar circumstances.
Again, not our favorite way to play a show. And even that night, I remember, I raised the harmonica up to the mask and realized, oh, well, I’m gonna have to take this mask off to play this one. And that that was okay with me. And, you know, some people clapped and said, “We just want to see you smile.” And at that point, I knew I would have to address that situation.
And so, I said, “I hear you. You know, this whole thing, it’s all about freedom, right? It’s about our freedoms. And I need to recognize my freedom to choose collective responsibility when it comes to this. And I am choosing to wear a mask while I emote this spittle all over you folks.”
And I’m sure that was understood. And then there are other places where I don’t have to worry so much, because it feels like the community has taken it upon themselves to, over the span of time, take care of each other. Wear masks, decide to do that. So, we can look at the numbers in every city we go to and decide what is prudent. Last night there was a vaccine requirement. That sort of thing, I think, is smart at this point, and makes me certainly feel better about being the reason these people are gathering inside. So, I’m for that.
As someone who’s in the audience, I look around, and I often think, why aren’t we doing more to protect the musicians? You guys are so vulnerable out there, going to so many places, and being exposed to so much, that if you’re a person who loves music, then why wouldn’t you want to do everything possible to keep the musicians safe, so they can continue to do it right now? There have been a lot of tours that have been canceled because one person was exposed or sick.
That’s it, you know, exactly. And that’s the other piece that’s really easy to explain when it comes to, for instance, sullying a show by wearing a mask while singing. It’s not lost on me that facial expression is an important part of what you’re experiencing. I’m covering that up with a black cloth mask when we’re deciding to wear a mask on stage. And I’m doing that partly to protect the crowd, but I’m wearing an N95 on the load in and load out. Because if I catch this, the next two weeks of shows, at least, are done. And I’ve got two guys in the van who are the best musicians I’ve played with, who I owe the utmost vigilance to, because they’ve been waiting to play a show for a year and a half. I can sit down in my room and play guitar, and write songs and feel creative. But Jim (Kolacek, the drummer in the trio) can only play so many drums in his room by himself. We are so thankful to be making music together again. And whatever we can do to preserve that, to keep playing these shows, with everybody in mind, is exactly what we want to do.
