Samantha Fish, Paper Doll Review

by Rudy Palma

In Paper Doll, released April 25, 2025, via Rounder Records, Samantha Fish proves once again that the voice is more than a vehicle for melody; it’s a conduit for reckoning, release, and rebellion. While she’s often praised for her incendiary guitar work, this record places her vocal identity front and center: raw, rhythmically agile, and emotionally unguarded. Across nine tracks, Fish inhabits stories, each shaped by vocal inflection, dynamic play, and an instinct for when to lean in or hold back.

Produced by Detroit garage-rock icon Bobby Harlow and recorded in tight formation with her touring band, Paper Doll captures the immediacy of a live set while allowing space for emotional shading. The result is an album that resonates for what’s sung and how it’s delivered.

“I’m Done Runnin'” opens the record with a blues-rock song that brings Fish’s vocal phrasing, slightly behind the beat, thick with intent, to our awareness. Her delivery moves from defiant to declarative, mirroring the lyrical resolve. There’s a subtle twang in her midrange and a deliberate use of vocal fry at the ends of phrases, adding texture without theatricality. Her attack is clean, even when the lyrics veer into grit. Fish’s singing has restraint with fire smoldering beneath.

“Can Ya Handle the Heat?” is brought to life by Fish sharpens her articulation into something closer to a growl. She toys with consonants, letting certain lines hit with sass and swagger. The rhythm of her delivery dances between the guitar riffs, making this a song about vocal percussive play. Her tone here is smoky and pressed, not belted, showing how she conveys attitude through color rather than volume.

“Lose You” finds Fish embracing a more chest-dominant power belt. There’s urgency in her attack and just enough vocal distortion to keep it visceral. The chorus sees her sustain notes with vibrato that’s natural and emotionally engaged, not decorative. She doesn’t over-sing; instead, she allows her natural rasp to become a storytelling device, especially in lines that flirt with vulnerability under the armor of control.

“Sweet Southern Sounds” begins with a more breath-driven tone, allowing warmth to emerge in the phrasing. Fish leans into the Southern soul aesthetic, employing a legato phrasing that feels like a slow exhale. Her vocal placement moves subtly from throat to mask depending on lyrical weight. Her vocal improvisations towards the end of the song are about nuance of slurs, bends, glissandos. A beautiful example of melodic phrasing with energy.

“Off In The Blue” finds Fish embracing her softest dynamic levels. She lets her vowels melt into one another, almost whispering at moments, with a head voice that feels ghostly and grounded. The control here is noticeable, especially in her ability to float notes without losing pitch integrity. She doesn’t push emotion; she allows it to haunt the phrasing. It’s restraint in vocal storytelling.

“Fortune Teller,” beginning with a low, mysterious murmur, Fish crafts an ominous vocal landscape. She shapes her vowels darker, uses aspirate onset for tension, and grows into a more projected belt by the climax. She balances breathy vocal textures with full-bodied tone, creating a sense of theatrical prophecy. Her phrasing is a controlled descent into a growl before the vocal power returns full force. This is vocal dynamics done with dramaturgy.

“Rusty Razor” rides on pure attitude. Fish employs a snarl, with closed vowels, sharp sibilants, and a punk-leaning chest mix, that embodies garage-rock vocal stylings while still maintaining vocal technique. She bends pitch purposefully, speaking more than singing in places, but always rhythmically precise. Backed by Mick Collins’ gritty vocal energy, she pushes her delivery to its edge without crossing into caricature with impressive discipline.

“Paper Doll” showcases Fish’s ability to embody emotional contradiction. She blends vulnerability and strength in the melody and lyric. Her smoky midrange and soft grit on sustained words give the sense of someone holding it together on the surface while unraveling underneath. There’s slight asymmetry in her phrase lengths, a deliberate breathlessness that mirrors the fragility implied by the song’s name. Her closing lines are especially haunting, falling away rather than concluding, like a thought left unresolved.

“Don’t Say It” has Fish’s vocals finding inspiration in soul. The medium shuffle provides the room for her to explore subtle phrasing choices: back-phrased entrances, conversational dynamics, and understated scatting that’s more about groove than virtuosity. Her vocal blend with the guitar adds textures. The final phrases feel improvised, honest, and unpolished in the best way.

Paper Doll offers vocal phrasing, character work, and dynamic control. Fish doesn’t lean on melisma or technical fireworks; her power lies in precision, vocal color, and emotional intelligence. She sings like someone who knows what it’s like to live with the consequences of her lyrics, and that makes all the difference. She uses vocal fry, rasp, soft distortion, and range contrast for storytelling. She places breath where it’s narratively impactful. She breaks symmetry in verses when emotional structure demands it. These choices go far beyond style; they reveal a singer who understands voice as an embodied narrative.

Samantha Fish has long been respected as a guitarist, but Paper Doll positions her unmistakably as a vocal artist of depth and distinction. It’s an album that sings of the blues as this music pulls from rock and beyond.