Interview to SAMBAT (USA)
1. I am very happy to have the opportunity to ask you a few questions! Let us set the scene first. Where do we find you right now? Please describe your surroundings.
Right now I’m sitting in my home studio, where nearly everything I’ve released as Sambat has been written and recorded. Two guitars lean against the wall, my son’s drawings cover part of one side, and there are lyric scraps, guitar picks, and markers scattered just about everywhere. My microphone is taped to a guitar stand because it works, and I’ve never felt the need to replace it with something fancier.
It isn’t a tidy room, but it’s where the work gets done. Most days I don’t walk in with a finished plan. I pick up a guitar, press record, and start exploring. Sometimes a song appears almost immediately, sometimes it takes a while, but that uncertainty is part of the process. I never really know what’s waiting for me when I walk into the room.
2. Robert, you has born in New York, NY. How are the younger generations in New York in general? Are they keeping the metal flame alive or fading away?
I think they’re absolutely keeping the flame alive, even though the landscape has changed a lot since I was growing up in New York. There are fewer venues than there used to be, so younger musicians have become incredibly resourceful. They’re recording at home, releasing music themselves, and finding listeners all over the world instead of waiting for someone else to open the door.
Metal has always felt like outsider music to me, and that’s one of its greatest strengths. Because it’s never really been part of the mainstream, there’s always been a strong underground community where bands recommend one another, musicians help each other out, and fans genuinely want to discover new music. As long as that underground exists—and I believe it always will—metal won’t fade away.
3. It seems you’ve been active for over two decades now as a musician. How has your musical trajectory evolved over the years, and what has kept you inspired to continue creating music?
I’ve been making music for over four decades. When I first started, I thought of myself primarily as a guitarist and spent countless hours trying to become the best player I could. Eventually I realized that being a guitarist wasn’t the destination. It was the tool that led me to what I truly loved: writing songs.
Over the years I’ve played not only metal, but also blues, reggae, soul, funk, and acoustic singer-songwriter music around New York. Every one of those experiences changed the way I think about songwriting and about the role each instrument plays. Two friends had a particularly profound influence. My longtime friend and producer Ron, who sadly passed away, always brought the conversation back to the song itself. No matter what we were discussing, he’d ask what best served the song, and that lesson stayed with me.
My friend J.D. Walker, one of the finest guitarists I’ve known, played left-handed on a right-handed guitar. Half the time I felt like I had to stand on my head just to figure out what he was doing. What impressed me most wasn’t his ability—it was his humility. He could have played circles around the rest of us, but he was happiest supporting the music and the people around him. Watching someone with that much talent choose restraint taught me that musicianship isn’t about proving what you can do. It’s about understanding what the song needs.
Today I think of myself primarily as a songwriter and producer. The guitar is still important, but it’s a tool. My focus is on the song. After all these years, I’m still curious about what might happen when I pick up a guitar, and that curiosity keeps me writing.
4. Your music has been described as heavy music, blues, hard rock, doom, and metal. How do you balance these influences to create a cohesive sound?
I don’t sit down and try to balance different genres. I don’t think, “This song needs more blues,” or, “This one should sound more like doom.” I follow wherever the song wants to go, and if I’m honest with it, the influences find their own place.
What keeps everything cohesive isn’t a particular style—it’s my approach to songwriting. Whether it’s a blues song, a traditional heavy metal track, a doom record, or something rooted in power or death metal, I’m still trying to tell a compelling story and create a world the listener can step into.
The blues probably had the biggest impact on me. It taught me that a few well-chosen notes can say more than a hundred fast ones. Metal gave me a larger canvas, but the emotional honesty I admire most comes from blues, soul, and singer-songwriters. For me, writing is a lot like painting. You choose the brush, you choose the colors, and then you trust your instincts. Every influence I’ve absorbed is on the palette, and I reach for whatever best serves the song. The song always comes first. You don’t ask why.
5. As the sole member behind Sambat, how do you manage the creative process of writing and composing lyrics, and playing multiple instruments?
Being the sole member of Sambat has never felt complicated because, in many ways, Sambat is simply me. It’s my life, thoughts, experiences, and imagination expressed through music. Writing the songs, lyrics, and arrangements, creating the artwork – they don’t feel like separate jobs—they’re all part of the same conversation.
Most songs begin with improvisation. I pick up a guitar, press record, and start exploring without a detailed plan. If something catches my attention, I follow it and let the song reveal itself. More often than not, the song knows where it’s going before I do. The lyrics grow alongside the music. I’m usually less interested in making a statement than in discovering a character and the world they inhabit. Once I know whose story I’m telling, the words find their place and the music and lyrics start to feel inseparable.
Playing multiple instruments is simply another way of serving the song. I never add something just because I can play it. Every part needs a purpose, and if it doesn’t make the song stronger, it doesn’t belong there. Recording everything myself lets me follow an idea wherever it leads without having to explain it first. I work quickly and try not to overthink, because some of my favorite moments happen within the first few takes, before I have a chance to polish away their character.
6. As you call it, the music of Sambat is a gathering of songs connected by atmosphere, weight, and mood. What emotions or connections do you aim to evoke through your songs?
I’ve always been more interested in creating a place than delivering a message. In many ways, my songs are an invitation to wander through my imagination. I don’t hand listeners a map or a guidebook explaining what everything means. At most, I hope I’ve left a few footprints and maybe a candle to help them find their way through the darker corners. What they discover there belongs to them.
Whether a song takes place in an ancient myth, on a medieval battlefield, in a neighborhood bar, or in the life of an ordinary person, I’m trying to create a place that feels real enough to step inside. Once that place feels believable, the emotions tend to take care of themselves. I’m drawn to characters facing something larger than themselves. The settings may be fantastical or ordinary, but the emotions are meant to be recognizably human.
Once a song is released, it no longer belongs entirely to me. Every listener brings their own memories, fears, and hopes to it. I don’t want to tell people exactly what to find. I just want to leave the door open, light a small candle, and let them wander.
7. Can you give us a glimpse into the creative process behind your music? How do you typically approach songwriting and arranging?
No two songs arrive exactly the same way, but they almost always begin with curiosity. I’ll pick up a guitar, press record, and start exploring without any expectation of where I’m going. I’m not looking for perfection—I’m listening for the moment when something unexpected catches my ear. When it does, I follow it. From there, the song gradually reveals its own personality. Some know what they want to be from the beginning, while others take unexpected turns. I’ve learned not to force that process.
For me, arranging is really about storytelling. I think of it almost like directing a film. Every instrument has a role, every entrance has a purpose, and even the spaces between the notes matter. Whether it’s a vocal harmony, a guitar melody, or a keyboard part, I ask the same question every time: does this serve the song? If it deepens the atmosphere or strengthens the story, it stays. If it doesn’t, I let it go.
One advantage of working alone is that I can hear ideas evolve in real time. I don’t have to explain an arrangement before trying it—I can simply follow my instincts. I also work quickly. Most of what people hear was captured within the first few takes, because there’s an honesty in those early performances that’s hard to recreate later. By the time a song is finished, I want every note to feel inevitable, as though it couldn’t have unfolded any other way.
8. How did you develop your own unique vocal style, and how does it contribute to the overall atmosphere and narrative of the album?
When I was younger, I didn’t particularly like the sound of my own voice. Like a lot of singers, I wished it sounded more like the voices I admired. Eventually I realized I was asking it to be something it was never meant to be. I had to meet my voice halfway instead of fighting it. Once I accepted what it naturally wanted to do, I could start writing songs that played to its strengths instead of trying to imitate someone else.
That approach was shaped as much by blues, soul, R&B, and singer-songwriters as by heavy metal. The singers I admire most make me believe they’ve lived the words they’re singing. They’re not just performing—they’re inhabiting the song. That became the standard I set for myself.
I’ve never thought of my voice as “the Sambat voice.” I think of it as the voice of whoever is telling the story. Every song has its own narrator, and my job is to become that person for a few minutes rather than sound the same from one track to the next. Sometimes that means singing with restraint, sometimes with aggression, and sometimes in a way that’s almost conversational. Whatever the song needs, that’s the voice I try to find. On Cauldron of Memories, the vocals help tie together songs that are otherwise very different. I like to think of the album as a gathering of strangers, each arriving with their own story, and my job is to disappear into each character long enough for that story to be heard.
9. Much of your music exhibit a strong connection with blues and doom metal style. Which blues and doom metal bands influenced you?
People are often surprised when I say that my biggest influences aren’t limited to doom metal – or even metal itself. The blues has probably shaped me more than any other genre because it taught me that emotion comes before technique. A single honest note can sometimes say more than a hundred perfectly played ones.
In the blues, Son House, Skip James, and Jimi Hendrix all left a lasting impression on me. They approached music very differently, but both played with an emotional honesty that felt more important than perfection. That’s something I’ve tried to carry into my writing, whatever the genre.
It’s impossible to talk about doom without acknowledging Black Sabbath, but I’ve also spent a lot of time with bands like Bang, Captain Beyond, Pentagram, Rust, and Cirith Ungol. What connects them for me isn’t just heaviness—it’s atmosphere, memorable songwriting, powerful riffs, and the confidence to let a song unfold at its own pace. They taught me that sometimes what you don’t play is just as important as what you do.
At this point, I don’t consciously try to write “doom” songs or “blues” songs. Those influences have become part of my musical vocabulary. By the time I sit down to write, I’m not thinking about genres anymore—I’m thinking about characters, atmosphere, and the story I’m trying to tell.
10. Your debut album “Cauldron of Memories” delivers a powerful, massive, and memorable sound. Can you tell us about the inspiration behind the album, and how it felt to release your music to the world?
Cauldron of Memories wasn’t actually my debut album under Sambat—that was Black Season, which leaned more toward thrash and speed metal. The two albums came out the same year because I write and record constantly, and songs tend to accumulate faster than I can release them. Rather than waiting years between records, I prefer to let each collection of songs find its own home.
With Cauldron of Memories, I wasn’t trying to write sixteen songs around a single storyline. I imagined it as a gathering place where different characters and stories could cross paths. Some arrive from mythology, some from history, and others from ordinary life, but they’re connected by atmosphere, weight, and mood. To me, the cauldron is where those characters gather, sharing the same fire for a little while.
Musically, I wanted the album to feel heavy without relying solely on volume. I wanted it to breathe. The spaces between the notes, the dynamics, and the atmosphere were just as important as the riffs themselves. My goal was to create something immersive rather than simply overwhelming. Releasing the album was deeply satisfying, but I never think of an album as a finish line. It’s more like taking one book off the shelf so I can make room for the next. By the time people hear one record, I’m usually already living in the next.
11. Also, how hard is it to avoid falling into clichés when writing an album of this calibre and length?
I don’t think you avoid clichés by trying to avoid them. You avoid them by staying genuinely curious. If I sat down asking what a heavy metal song is “supposed” to sound like, I’d probably end up writing something predictable. I’d rather follow an idea that truly fascinates me and see where it leads.
Metal has its own language—its own vocabulary, traditions, history, and shared symbols. If you want to speak it well, you have to learn that language. Once you’ve learned it, your job isn’t to repeat it word for word. It’s to say something only you could say. You’re not abandoning the tradition; you’re adding your own voice to it. To some ears that may sound like a cliché. To mine, it’s simply speaking the language.
After writing hundreds of songs, I’ve learned that every new one teaches me something the last one couldn’t. If I ever feel like I’m repeating myself, it’s usually a sign that it’s time to wander into a different character, a different atmosphere, a different period of history, or even a different genre. As long as I feel I still have something new to say in that language, I’ll keep writing.
12. Are there any plans for collaborations with other artists or musicians in the future, and if so, what excites you about the potential of those collaborations?
Sambat has always been a very personal project, so I don’t usually start with the idea of collaboration. Most songs begin with me alone in a room, following wherever the music leads, and that’s become part of the project’s identity.
That said, I’ll collaborate when it makes sense. I’m not interested in featuring someone just for the sake of it. Collaboration isn’t something I pursue because it’s expected or fashionable. It’s either right for the song, or it’s a no.
If another musician genuinely brings something that helps a song become what it’s meant to be, I’d welcome that. The best collaborations happen because the music calls for them, not because they look good on paper. At the end of the day, every decision comes back to the same question: does it serve the song?
13. Live performances are an integral part of the music experience. Does Sambat have any plans for live shows or touring in the future? How do you envision translating your music into a live setting?
At the moment, Sambat exists primarily as a recording project, but if I ever decided to take it on stage, I wouldn’t treat it as a note-for-note recreation of the albums. Even in the studio I record as though I’m performing live. Much of what I play is improvised, and I like giving songs room to develop naturally. I don’t do endless takes, and I’m not chasing perfection—I’m interested in capturing an honest performance.
I’d approach a live show the same way. The audience becomes part of the performance. Their energy shapes how the songs breathe and develop from night to night. I don’t think songs should ever become completely fixed. You have to let them cook before you serve them.
I’ve always felt at home in a power trio. I did that for many years, mainly in the context of heavy blues. Playing in trios taught me to rely on myself, to leave space, and to understand my role within the song, whether I’m playing guitar, bass, or singing. When there are only three musicians, everyone has to listen as much as they play. Of course, you’d need exceptional musicians to make that work, but that’s the kind of musical conversation I enjoy.
14. With easy access to the internet you can spread music across the globe jus sitting in front of your computer. How much effort do you put into promoting the band world-wide?
Promotion for me is tied to the way I discovered music. I grew up handing out flyers, trading demos, digging through stacks of vinyl, buying compilation albums, and reading metal fanzines. That’s how I found new bands, and it’s how many people found mine.
The world has changed, but I still believe in organic discovery. That doesn’t mean sitting back and hoping people stumble across your music. You still have to show up: write the songs, make the records, release them, support other artists, and accept opportunities that feel genuine.
That’s one of the reasons I wanted to be part of this compilation. Compilation albums were an important part of my musical education. I discovered bands that way, and many of them stayed with me for years. If someone discovers Sambat through this release the way I once discovered other bands, then I’ve become part of the tradition that helped shape me. It may be the slower way to build an audience, but I think the connections that come from genuine discovery tend to last longer. Because that discovery feels special.
15. What is the status of the underground metal scene in New York?
The New York underground metal scene has always been strong, although it’s changed a lot since I first became part of it. One thing that hasn’t changed is the camaraderie. There’s still a real sense of respect and support among the bands.
The biggest challenge now is probably the number of venues. There simply aren’t as many places for young bands to play as there used to be, and that’s unfortunate because live clubs are where communities are built. At the same time, musicians have adapted. Technology has made it easier to embrace a do-it-yourself approach. It’s become less about chasing record deals and more about creating music, recording it, and finding listeners on your own terms.
I’ve always thought of metal as outsider music. It’s more visible today than when I started, but I still think it exists just outside the mainstream. Ironically, that’s one of its greatest strengths. When you’re part of that world, you discover a huge sense of family, camaraderie, and mutual support among the people who love it.
16. Any tips for people visiting the United States this summer? Where do we go to listen to some really good music?
New York isn’t the all-metal city it once was, but what’s remarkable is how the scene refused to die—it simply learned to move. Many of the classic clubs have disappeared or changed, so there isn’t one place you can walk into and say, “This is where everything happens.” The energy keeps reforming wherever bands, promoters, and fans come together to create the next great night.
At the same time, the city’s musical history is still everywhere. You can stand where CBGB once stood, visit the old L’Amour location in Brooklyn, or wander through neighborhoods like the East Village, where so much of New York’s punk, hardcore, and heavy music culture took shape. Even when the original venues are gone, the stories are still there.
If you’re visiting as a metal fan, my advice is to experience both sides of the city. See the places that helped shape the music, but don’t stop there. Find a local show. Support an underground band. Talk to people. That’s how you’ll discover the heart of the scene, and you’ll probably go home with a few new favorite bands. You’re not visiting a museum of metal. You’re visiting a living city where heavy music continues to adapt, evolve, and find new places to thrive.
17. Finally, is there anything else you’d like to share with listeners and readers of this interview?
I’d simply like to thank everyone reading this interview and everyone taking the time to listen to the bands on this compilation. You’re here because you want to be. You’re choosing to show up for metal, and that’s exactly what keeps this music alive.
I think the underground survives because people are still curious. They’re still willing to discover new bands, trade recommendations, and give an unknown artist a chance. That’s how I discovered so much of the music that shaped me, and it’s how someone thousands of miles away discovered Sambat.
The world is a very big place, but in a way metal makes it feel much smaller. The underground stretches across countries, languages, and cultures, yet somehow it still feels like one community. We’re all connected by a shared love of the music, and I think that’s one of the most remarkable things about it.
So thank you for listening, thank you for supporting the underground, and thank you for keeping that spirit alive.
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