How Sarah Quintana Soars in Story and Song

Sarah Quintana

For Sarah Quintana, music is the power of speaking the unspoken: the expulsion of pain, joy, loss and love all molded into the twang of guitar chords, the wheeze of an accordion or the gentle tripping of bilingual lyricism. A multi-hyphenate in the truest, most profound sense, with projects that range from intimate acoustics to fully realized historical dance performance pieces, Sarah’s sound has a quality of the eternal; of something that has always been with us, lulling us in the warm comfort of a bayou sunset that keeps our toes tapping long into the cool dark of night.

“I like the idea of my music being evergreen, like it could be from the ‘50s or from tomorrow,” says Sarah. “I am addicted to that crunchy good sound.”

It was at the knee of history that she learned where the cross-section of irreverence and poignancy could be found, hearing the guitar played for the first time by legendary blues virtuoso Deacon John Moore in her own kitchen, wailing Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’ “Constipation Blues” with a beer bottle on his finger. ‘Twas a blues by another name, but the soul behind the words, the sounds, the feeling behind the notes made fast within her and struck something foundational. How many kids do you know who learn “Basin Street Blues” for their kindergarten recital? That state of otherness, of musical anachronism, became only more pronounced in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, when Sarah was sent to live in France, and the truth of her unique brand of artistry came into stark contrast and clarity.

“Once I moved to France after Katrina, I started being seen as a New Orleans musician,” says Sarah. “No matter how hard I try to get out of it, that’s my identity. It’s French Americana; in some ways it’s Cajun; it’s pop and jazz. And it allows me to do so many awesome projects. So I’ve fully accepted that. I’m Sarah Quintana. I’m from New Orleans. I play guitar and sing.”

One of Sarah’s most lasting projects was born from the unlikeliest of places: a little red box that carried the letters between Yvette and Roger, the grandparents of her producer Julie. These correspondences, which transcribed the lives of star-crossed partners amid the horrors of a war-ravaged Europe in the 1940s, became the guiding light behind “Love Letters of WWII,” a song and dance collaboration between Sarah’s original songs and Mélange Dance Theatre; a creative partnership that has toured the globe, from New Orleans to France and even the Library of Congress. The performance ties in letters from Yvette and Roger, as well as from Dachau, words which are often too sad to sing, making them all the more essential to give lasting life to those long ago loved and lost.

“For some parts of the project, silence was the only appropriate music,” says Sarah. “There are parts where we are just moved to tears or full of ecstatic joy. For an audience member, sitting there witnessing the transposition of the dance, the music and the narration, it’s as if you’re reading the letters yourself. And everybody cries. Even the dancers cry sometimes.”

There’s no stopping Sarah’s endless churn to create, inspire, and follow the muse that entwines both story and song until they become inseparable and symbiotic. Her latest work delves into swamp pop, as she finds a new happy place amidst the ‘50s and ‘60s sounds that in many ways define the Louisiana we all hear in our minds and memories. But for her, it isn’t only about creating the music but sharing and preserving it. As a speech pathologist, she works to restore the voices of head and neck cancer survivors after radiation surgery, empowering singers to continue making their own music and telling their own stories. From her private practice voice studio, called Louisiana Voice Box, Sarah ensures that the sounds of the old and the new will be belted out loud and long, finding new notes to play that are faithful to the rhythm of those who came and sang before.