Dre Dupuis Rediscovers His Sound in the Laundry Room with His Self-Titled Debut

Listen in HERE

In the quiet of his St. Catharines home, Dre Dupuis found a way back to the heart of making music. His self-titled debut album, recorded entirely on a vintage Tascam Portastudio in his laundry room, is a lo-fi, late-night project built from instinct and patience. The setup was simple: a few microphones, a four-track recorder, and the stillness that comes when the world has gone to sleep. The result is a record that feels handmade, personal, and deeply rooted in the act of creating for its own sake.

Dupuis’ sound draws from a familiar palette — the sharp edge of The Strokes, the quiet introspection of Andy Shauf, and the layered harmonies of The Beach Boys — yet what holds it together is a sense of complete freedom. He wasn’t trying to make a perfect record. He just wanted to make one that felt like him. “I wanted to make a record on my own at home,” he says. “I finally decided to save up some cash, quit my job at the time, and go all in.”

That decision set off a stretch of long nights spent in his basement, writing and recording in between sips of coffee and the hum of the washing machine. “There’s no big concept tying these songs together,” he explains. “They were all written and recorded at night. Just the ramblings of a guy and his Portastudio in his laundry room.”

That raw, unplanned quality gives the album its shape. It’s unhurried and textured, full of small imperfections that make the songs feel alive. The opening track, “Daylight,” was one of the first to come together and serves as the record’s anchor. Built from sampled drums, live percussion, and a single-take mix, it captures the mixture of discipline and spontaneity that defines Dupuis’ process. “I wrote it last November when I bunkered down in my basement and started writing the record,” he recalls. “I drank coffee late at night and didn’t sleep until I had a finished song.”

“Daylight” feels like a deep breath — calm, steady, and grounded. It’s a fitting start to an album that finds its strength in simplicity. Much of Dre Dupuis is about rediscovering joy through the process of making something tangible. “There was a point in my life where I could feel myself losing the joy of making music,” he says. “It took longer than I hoped to get back here, but I had a blast writing and recording this record with the Portastudio.”

Every sound on the album carries traces of its setting. The faint hiss of tape, the soft buzz of a lamp, the air in the room between takes — they all find their way into the songs. Nothing is cleaned up or polished out. Instead, the imperfections serve as proof that the record was made by hand, in real time. Dupuis laughs when describing his process: “K.I.S.S. – keep it simple, silly.”

That philosophy became the foundation for the project. Each song was recorded, mixed, and finished by hand, one layer at a time. Working without the pressure of a studio or a schedule, Dupuis rediscovered the focus that comes from doing everything yourself — a kind of creative rhythm built on patience and trust. “This record feels like a solid leap forward for me,” he says. “Quitting my job was the best move I could’ve made.”

For Dupuis, this album isn’t about reinvention or chasing a sound. It’s about returning to what first drew him to music — curiosity, expression, and the satisfaction of hearing something take shape from nothing. The laundry room became both a workshop and a sanctuary, a space where he could experiment freely without worrying about anything beyond the next chord or line.

At 30, Dupuis sounds less like an artist trying to break through and more like someone finally comfortable in his own skin. Dre Dupuis is quiet, direct, and full of warmth. It’s a record about slowing down and reconnecting with the creative impulse that starts it all.

Sometimes the best work doesn’t come from a studio with endless gear or perfect acoustics. Sometimes it comes from the smallest rooms, where there’s nowhere to hide and nothing to distract you from the music itself. For Dre Dupuis, it came from a laundry room filled with coffee cups, magnetic tape, and the steady sound of someone finding his way back to himself.