Review: Shotgun Sawyer ‘Shotgun Sawyer’
Auburn, California might not be the first place that springs to mind when you think of the blues, but three-piece rock ‘n’ roll outfit Shotgun Sawyer have been drawing from influence from its rich heritage, welding it onto staples such as Led Zeppelin and other classic acts since their formation in 2015.
Following Thunderchief, their 2016 self-released debut, the band penned a deal with perpetual eye for talent Ripple Music to release their follow-up Bury The Hatchet in 2019. Deliciously fuzzy, raw and emotional, the nascent West Coast rockers seemed to be gathering a wave of momentum when the shutdown of 2020 torpedoed their ambitions.
In the aftermath of this frustration, relationships broke down irreparably between Dylan Jarman (guitars and vocals) and original drummer David Lee, leaving the band in a protracted hiatus. During this period Jarman went through a journey of rediscovery, becoming a schoolteacher, undergoing personal understanding and channelled musical obsession into a release from the turmoil and fallout of the last few years.
Armed with this new perspective on the world, Jarman got the band back together. Cody Tarbell of Slow Season replaced Lee behind the kit and the band refocused their energies into returning as the best version of Shotgun Sawyer possible.
The eponymous third album reflects this rebirth, acting as a reset and laying out the definition of a reignited band, refining their craft, tightening up on their songwriting, and honing their sound to ensure that the music hits hard, drips with soul, and helps you boogie the night away.
The fat, gritty tone and quivering harmonica (courtesy of Brian Souders) on Cock N’ Bull opens the album. Over a thick as treacle, lumpy guitar groove with dexterous slides, the deep, hoary bluesman baritone of Jarman croons over the lazy rolling feel. Not as overtly fuzz-drenched as previous works, this allows the subtle inflexions of the music to ring clearly as this tale of hard truths hits home and sounding as timeless as the music that inspired it.
Bye Bye Baby Boogie picks up the pace with the jangling rhythm and thumping drums that feels like it belongs to a Mardi Gras freakout. Built around the old school driving verses and instrumental dropout to highlight Tarbell’s skills, it invokes smokey old clubs and the band holding the audience in their hands. As the track progresses, they up the layers of fuzz, but introduce an earworm of melody that sucks you in.
a phoenix-like boogie that bristles with defiance…
Switching pace to the lazy, lurching waltz of The Sky Is Crying, the band busty out a 12-bar swagger. The swooping and diving slides keep the listener guessing whilst Jarman delivers his lines with the skilled execution of an old-timey storyteller. Classic blues material is on display and talk of bad feelings for what’s on the horizon conjures the clichéd image of sitting on a porch in a rocking chair as your wife has left with the dog and the truck won’t start.
The moody bass of Brett Sanders begins Isildur’s Bane in a darker manner. Jarman, almost isolated, save for the creeping notes and occasional guitar squalls, could be singing about Lord of the Rings, it could also be about something else, but it captures uncertainty and unease. As the sprawling epic grows slowly, it builds to the moment when they let go and make a faster, towering cacophony, only to fall back to the laidback swing.
Master Nasty begins with tumbling drums, before launching into a smash-and-grab of catchy hooks and a singalong chorus. Full of self-effacing lyrics, Jarman sings’ ‘I only just learned how to write a chorus’. Full of Sabbath-like chug and a nod to Maryland’s finest Clutch, it is one of the most hard-hitting tracks on the album, featuring a divine guitar solo and huge galloping ending.
The warm slide and bounce of the drums of Hopeless harks back to the classic Robert Johnson blues era. Jarman scats and raps about meeting the devil as the band creates a mid-paced, robust racket around him that feels a far cry from sun-drenched California and more at home in the humid Louisiana swamps. Full of dynamic twists, the track feels understated but with flashes that leaves its mark as it goes.
Tarbell’s bass ushers in Shotgun Sawyer’s solid cover of the iconic blues track Going Down. Popularised by Freddie King and covered by all manner of artists from Joe Bonamassa to Masters of Reality, here the three-piece throw their hat into the ring and pay a respectful tribute to those who walked the path.
Tired starts as a scratchy ballad, low and muted, Jarman laments being ‘so tired’; he sings of ‘no salvation coming’ and an air of biblical judgement looms large over the proceedings as he repeats the title over and over. Out of this downbeat start, rises a phoenix-like boogie that bristles with defiance. There is no hope offered in this blue-collar working man’s tale, but the emotion pours out as a testament to the frustration of the past five years that have seen so much transformation in the band.
The tongue-in-cheek closer of That’s How It Goes rides in on a choppy riff. Over the plodding, deep thump, this is the gallows humour of the blues with lines such as, ‘That I’m doing this wrong. If I wanted to make it, I should have ripped off some Zeppelin songs’ and other self-deprecating comments. The incendiary solo shows that whilst it may sound almost throwaway, this is an important step for Shotgun Sawyer to be at peace with the events that brought them this far.
Bolstering their sound with Souders on harmonica, Patrick Hills on keyboard and Jacob Hurst on waterphone, Shotgun Sawyer has overcome the difficulties of the last five years by creating a richer, more layered sound. Less reliant on the overdriven fuzz of earlier releases, this latest release has confidence and a vibrant bounce that makes this their best album yet.
Label: Ripple Music
Band Links: Facebook | Bandcamp | Spotify | Instagram
Scribed by: Mark Hunt-Bryden
