Shotmaker
The Complete Discography: 1993-1996
[Troubleman Unlimited]
Rating: 8.0
"Due to DAT tapes being lost all of this except tracks 1-10 were transferred
from vinyl. This will explain some of the pops and hisses you might hear,"
read the liner notes of Ottawa hardcore trio Shotmaker's double-disc career
retrospective, The Complete Discography. Though the band may shake
their fists and curse the day their precious DATs were lost, the needle-to-vinyl
sizzle is a blessing-by-hardship. Just as grainy picture quality can make '70s
and '80s horror films that much creepier, the "pops and hisses" on 33 out of
these 43 tracks make the explosiveness markedly more raw. Besides, this is
hardcore we're talking about, and what is listening to hardcore without the
tell-tale sonic-signs of 33s and 45s? It can only add to the authenticity,
and authentic Shotmaker was.
As exhausting as it is exhaustive, The Complete Discography provides the
fairly rare experience of being able to listen to a band's entire body of work
in one sitting. If you can stomach it. It's not to say that the material here
is without merit, or even bad; Shotmaker's legions of fans will tell you how
seminal they were, how they helped usher post-hardcore into "emo" (or
"screamo") territory. In retrospect, Shotmaker's importance has been obscured.
Surely, most of what is called "emo" today (Jets to Brazil, Rainer Maria, or
most laughably, Modest Mouse) has nothing to do with the degree of brashness
and raw aggression Shotmaker offered. This hardly matters, though, since the
band sounds all the better for it.
While gazing into their entire career, it's as hard to find signs of progress
as it is signs of regression. The three boys from Ottawa played it loud, raucous,
and unyielding throughout their short life as a band. Sure, their 1996 swansong,
Mouse Ear Forget-Me-Not was more polished and melodic (these terms are
extremely relative). One untitled and instrumental track on the LP sported
acoustic guitars over radio transmission white noise and was easily their
"lightest" song. Still, much earlier in their career, on 1994's Crayon
Club LP, they even approached catchiness on "10/22/94" with a light, almost
playful guitar riff that carries the song.
Of course, Shotmaker spent most of their time rocking, and were undeniably
successful when they did. It's hard to find anything on either of these two
discs that doesn't succinctly capture the idealist urgency of youth that the
best of young hardcore reflects. "Curve" is a chest-tapping slice of classic
frenetic hardcore at its most basic. "Controller.Controller" spends more time
with Shotmaker's restrained side-- incorporating breakdown segues propelled
by bass and drums while guitar strums softly in the distance-- than it does
on the exploding power-chord/screaming combo of its chorus. The tension here
is amazing, as is the unlikely grace the band provides on the uproarious
"Table," where tempos and times signatures shuffle in and out at a break-neck
pace.
Lyrically, Shotmaker exhibit less finesse. Nothing they scream about is weak
enough to be deemed stupid, but their lyrics are often as esoteric as the
hardcore scene itself. Though their aggression allows them to seem sincere
and obviously angry about something, it's hard to get a true grip on
the band's true agenda. Such insight as "By dividing lines, we create the
barriers/ We will not look across/ We will not walk across," plays like
oversimplified politics by obscenely headstrong kids.
What saves the lyrics from typical self-righteous, verbal masturbation is
Shotmaker's willingness to implicate themselves in the problem. True, they
may think that they have solutions to some of society's problems, but
ever-present is the use of the word "we," and not just "you." It takes balls
to lift some of the blame off society's shoulders and put them on your own,
and such a move gives Shotmaker's music and lyrics-- however misguided they
sometimes play out-- a rare sense of maturity.
When it comes to categorizing music like Shotmaker's, semantics mean a lot to
people. Hardcore. Emo. Screamo. Call their dissonant, abrasive, frenzied
sound whatever you like. Argue about it, ponder it, lose sleep over it. What
ultimately matters, though, is that these guys were only around for a speck
of time and left a legacy that's almost as draining to listen to as I'm sure
it was to play. The Complete Discography is testament to the fact that
Shotmaker accomplished everything they set out to do, seemingly effortlessly.
-Richard M. Juzwiak