One presumes they wrote the songs they sing, but Iron Hip shows no breakdown of writing credits whatsoever. “We’re a songwriting unit, absolutely,” Sanderson says. “We’ll get most of our ideas together on an acoustic guitar, bring it to the band, and filter it right through, and everybody adds and writes, and makes it a band song….On the back of the second album, there was the Sanderson/Flood, Sanderson/Johnson kind of stuff after the songs. But this album, it’s just Drunk Stuntmen.”
One of the results of such a collaborative approach is that the Stuntmen have sought out a common ground that unites their musical tastes. The irony is that this motley assemblage of New England natives appears to have found its most binding tie in the sound of…southern rock.
One might theorize that this was a carefully considered choice designed to help them stand out from the crowd in the Northeast. Not so, Sanderson insists: “We’re just poor white boys who grew up listening to classic rock. That’s all that is!”
“It’s Skynyrd, really,” adds Flood. “Skynyrd was that quintessential southern rock band that just had those fantastic guitar tones, and tons of energy.
“You know, there’s some crossover between the Skynyrd thing and the jam-band thing, with the lengthy guitar solos. Only it’s more orchestrated, and much more concise. Anyhow, that’s been a huge influence for a lot of us. Even though maybe Skynyrd wasn’t the favorite band of any one of us at any one point, everybody loved Skynyrd. So it was a common bond.”
While their penchant for southern rock does make them somewhat of an anomaly in New England, keyboardist Hall suggests their surroundings have in fact helped shape the Stuntmen as well.
“I think we were partly made by where we come from,” he says. “There’s actually a lot of great country music in western Massachusetts.” Hall cites the Lonesome Brothers as an example; Johnson mentions the erstwhile Scud Mountain Boys. Flood names Ware River Club as another band that, like the Stuntmen, seeks to incorporate country and roots influences into a rock ‘n’ roll foundation.
“There is a lot of diversity, though, where we are,” drummer Connell adds. “It’s not strictly a country or an alternative scene. There are pockets of really good different types of music, whether punk or ska or whatever.”
Though Northampton was a healthy place for the band to incubate, they realized touring was also vital to their survival. “We’re not a record label’s dream, so it was a matter of, let’s get out there and forge a fan base like your famous hippie bands have done, and all your good road bands,” Sanderson says. “Because you stagnate and die if you stay in a little pool.”
Among the more unconventional — yet, given the band’s character, quite fitting — followings they’ve found is among devotees of big-time biker rallies. One particular gathering in Daytona, Florida, has become a linchpin of their annual itinerary. “For ten days, you just hear the rumble of motorcycles constantly,” bassist Brandon says.
Sanderson’s parents Hal and Judy often make the trip to Florida with the band; as longtime cycle enthusiasts, “they are to blame for my lifestyle,” he says with a laugh. Indeed, at the Brewery show, he even credited his mom for contributing a line to one of the band’s new songs — something about their fondness for eating canned soups and pickles during summer-long stays on Cape Cod. (Though, when asked if she’ll get a co-writing credit on the tune, he deadpans, “No, I’m gonna rip her off.”)
The band as a whole credits Sanderson’s parents for helping to support the band through some of its toughest times; Flood says, simply, “they’ve kept us afloat.”
It has, indeed, been a remarkable challenge keeping a six-piece band together for years on end without record-label backing — all of their discs have been self-released. Only recently did they turn over the booking to an agent; a couple of friends help run the band’s website and e-mail list.
Meanwhile, they remain in that Catch-22 status of not making quite enough as a band to quit their day jobs, but constantly needing to leave their day jobs in order to tour. “I call in sick every single morning,” Hall cracks. “I don’t know how long I can keep up this charade.”
