Chris Canterbury

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JcMrIaG6Fbg Spotify Music Youtube Facebook Instagram X-twitter Link “When I sat down to write this project, I tried to present each topic as a straight-forward Saturday morning kitchen conversation. That’s how I approach songwriting and it’s worked for me for a long time” says Chris Canterbury, a Louisiana native singer-songwriter, now based in Nashville. The project Canterbury is talking about is Quaalude Lullabies, a nine track collection of mostly sad songs that offers on-the-nose lyrical phrasing, subtlety loose production, and an honest insight into razor-edge topics like addiction, depression, and loneliness. In what started as a thought experiment, Quaalude Lullabies was self-produced by Canterbury, his first opportunity to be on both sides of the control room window. “I wanted to woodshop a record together that felt like Nebraska,” says Canterbury. “I wanted it to be loose like a box of bedroom demo tapes, but cohesive enough to stand on its own. I feel like we ended up with a solid album.” On the album opener “The Devil, The Dealer, & Me”, he lyrically paints a self-portrait of despair and its brutal anticipation thereof. Lines like “The truth doesn’t care if you choose it, a heart only breaks when you use it,” and “Cold as a shoulder, dry as a bone, a memory is worthless if you make it alone,” haunt their way through the waltzing arraignment. Its threadbare production, consisting only of an upright bass, Wurlitzer organ, and a buttery telecaster, sets the sonic signature of the project. “Fall Apart” continues the eloquent brokenness in Canterbury’s autobiographical musings. Here he highlights the veracity of being a solo working musician, juxtaposing the lonely lyrics with a somewhat playful melody from an acoustic guitar. The only cover on the album, written by Will Kimbrough, “Yellow Mama” tells the tale of the singer’s last moments before succumbing to the courtesies of the Alabama electric chair. The…