Matt Dorrien

Growing up on Long Island, the son of a first-generation immigrant mother from the Philippines, hearing stories of brave victories—narratives of triumph and success over unbelievable odds—was an integral part of songwriter Matt Dorrien’s childhood. “My mother first arrived in Los Angeles in the 1960s when she was in her early teens. Her father, my grandfather, was in the Philippine Air Force and fought the Japanese during WWII, barely escaping The Bataan Death March. When we were children, he would tell us these harrowing stories about his time in battle, and his emotional recounting of the American commander General MacArthur’s promise to return to the Islands stuck with me. Without getting too deep into the history, the Filipino people have been colonized many times—last but not least by the U.S.—and despite this problematic relationship and the internalized racism it has contributed to, Filipino people love Americans and American culture.”

That love of American culture was everywhere when Dorrien was growing up. His grandmother on his mother’s side would watch The Sound of Music with Dorrien and his sisters any time she babysat. His mother loved The Supremes, Dionne Warwick, and the Carpenters, and his father—himself a descendant of Italian, French, and German immigrants—loved Sinatra, Nat King Cole, and the music of The Great American Songbook. “This amalgamation of the culture of oppressed peoples—the African American contribution of jazz and the Jewish American contributions to popular song—produced something so beautiful and uniquely American. There’s something about those lush 7th, 9th, and diminished chords, paired with clever turns of phrase, that was the standard during The Golden Age of American Song. I also love the melancholy nature of the music. No matter how happy the song, there always seems to be this undercurrent of sadness that perhaps is both a result of the oppression of the music’s creators, but also maybe the volatility of the times.”

That confidence and newfound perspective is present all over Dorrien’s songs that boast the stacked-harmony glory of XO-era Elliott Smith, the wry humor of vintage Nilsson, and the warm melodies and expansive production style of the late Richard Swift. Holding it all together is Dorrien’s innate knack for tender, immediate melodies and his restless exploration of a host of genres. From fizzy samba-surf exotica to twinkling cocktail jazz, there are nods to Jorge Ben’s 1974 record A Tabua De Esmeralda; piano ballads in the style of Stephen Foster; shuffling beats and skipping piano lines that recall Dave Brubeck; rich, countermelodic string parts that summon the ghosts of Aaron Copland and George Gershwin; and even a Bach-influenced piano interlude. In the end, Matt Dorrien creates intimate yet expansive widescreen music—70mm songs bursting with color and detail, all powered by a big, open heart.