TOPANGA, Calif. — If you don’t immediately think of country music when it comes to California, that’s probably because it’s been awhile since you’ve thought about the Dust Bowl. (Fair enough!)

That was the time when massive dust storms drove people out of states like Texas and Oklahoma, leading those folks to seek farm work in California. And they brought their country music with them. So in a way, Bakersfield becoming one of country music’s capital cities in the 1950s is one of the great American refugee story. 

And in a bit of mirrored poetry, the story of singer-songwriter Sam Morrow is lot like the story of country music in California. 

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Sam’s a Texas-born troubadour, and his path to Topanga Canyon—where we met to honor his influences and his wrenching story—came in the wake of his own personal Dust Bowl: a gripping heroin addiction. I asked Sam what it was about California that provides solace to people with aching country hearts, and while he didn’t have the words for it, the immaculate view over our shoulders said enough. 

I always wish you could see these entire interviews I have on Music Diaries. This one went in many directions, and it went deep. Sam and I bonded over his love of emo and punk bands like Jawbreaker, and his need to reject his parents' music in search of his own voice, before circling back to find his truth in the country music of his youth. Maybe it’s the dangerous ballad of adolescence: a biological urge to reinvent, reject, and walkabout. It can be a beautiful path to building an identity, but it’s also a backdoor to the stuff that’ll kill you. For Sam, it was the backdoor that drugs busted through, preying on his rebellious attitude, bound up in a need to find his own existential truth. 

I never speak with someone about a near-lethal drug addiction lightly. It’s a deeply personal journey, and returning from such a dire nadir goes beyond rehabilitation: it is truly a rebuilding, with a lot of exposed roots. But as Sam and I enjoyed the Canyon’s air, we found a safe place to go into the reasons he fell into a narcotic haze, and the ways in which he climbed out. 

Sam’s story is one of bravery, and it’s his own. But in a way, his story is also an archetype: in fact, it’s an echo of our nation’s crushing opioid crisis. And yet, his voice cuts through the statistics. Now eight years clean, Sam doesn’t have regrets, but of course he’s grateful to have come this far. And he’s grateful that country music gave him the means. I guess what they say is true: country music really is three chords and the truth. 

When you get to the end of this episode, hearing Sam sing the satirical “Quick Fix,” you’ll hear why he’s on the rise—you can’t hide for long with a singing voice that resonates like one of the greats. But while country music’s given him the vehicle to drive to his core, he’s ready to scrap that car for parts. With new music infused with swampy funk and southern rock, with a hat tipped toward his genre-busting idols like Little Feat, he’s perched atop a new mountain, ready to bellow down and fill it up anew. 

Topanga was a perfect place to meet after all. 

Many thanks to Sam for his honesty, and his voice, and this unforgettable entry in our Music Diaries. You can keep up with him on Twitter (@sammorrowmusic) and Instagram (@mamsorrow), and hear his critically acclaimed releases on the streaming platforms of your choice. But just know that new music is coming soon—and it’ll have its own hue.