Sawyer Hill

Back in the early 2000s in the small town of Siloam Springs, Arkansas—about 45 minutes west of Fayetteville—Sawyer Hill found the thing that would give his life meaning. Raised in the Pentecostal church, the mid-20s songwriter was a boy when he discovered that what made church bearable was the music. He became enthralled with gospel music—his mom played tambourine in the church choir—and was thrilled when he was tasked with taking it over. It's an infectiousness, a gratefulness at the opportunity to make noise—to express himself through words and phrasings and melodies—that has helped shape his career.

He began playing bars as a teenager, sneaking through the back door so he wouldn’t be carded by bouncers. He learned how to be an adult long before most kids have to reckon with such responsibilities, and this maturity made its way into his music. Hill has always been a prodigious talent, but plenty of talented people never make it big. His virtuosity is bolstered by a desire to keep getting better, to keep chasing after the perfect song.

He broke through with 2023’s “Look at the Time” and has since racked up over 130 million streams and nearly a quarter billion video views. He left Arkansas for the first time and toured relentlessly, traveling across the United States and Europe. He finally saw his hard work paying off in the world, meeting fans who knew the words to his songs. His success felt tangible when he would hear his lyrics screamed back at him at sold-out headline shows at iconic venues like Los Angeles’ The Troubadour and New York City’s Bowery Ballroom. He became enamored by life on the road, thrilled by the collaborative energy in Los Angeles and enchanted by the worldliness that music could bring him. Those gigs and an extensive tour supporting Yungblud informed the way his new LP, Everybody’s Home, Nobody’s Happy, sounds. He was also moved by a revelation he wasn’t expecting: Every time he left Arkansas for a California writing session or string of tour dates, he found himself longing for home.

Everybody’s Home, Nobody’s Happy emerged from Hill’s desire to get more personal with his songwriting. He’s always known he’s had something to say, but previous records had him reckoning with common themes for a songwriter - love and heartbreak. On his debut album, he wanted to expand out of these themes; he wanted people to know exactly how he feels and what he is grappling with. “On past music I felt like I was singing about things less specific to me,” he explains, adding, “...maybe I hadn't figured it out yet and therefore could not get across who I am, which makes this music feel more genuine.”

Over time, Hill has learned there is immense value in those revelations. “There are things about my life and experiences that I've had that are deeper than just heartbreak that I wanted to share. That starts with my Pentecostal upbringing in the South,” he says. “I think about my grandpa, who was this fire and brimstone preacher. He got dementia and recently passed away, but on the last night that I spoke with him while he was still lucid, I asked him to tell me some of his preaching stories.” It was in those stories that Hill found a parallel between the preacher and the life of a musician, both living on the road built around spreading a message and creating a scene. To make Everybody’s Home as impactful as Sawyer wanted it to be, he had to figure out precisely what he wanted to write about.

To hone in on the sonic and lyrical identity of the album, Hill worked with a few different collaborators throughout Los Angeles, like Mike Crossey [The 1975, Arctic Monkeys], Chris Greatti [Poppy, Yungblud], Ryan Linville, and songwriter James Allen. He quickly began to triangulate the way the album should sound and what it should be about, using these peers and role models as sounding boards. It’s part of the reason Hill sounds more assured than ever on the new album.

Take “Jimmy’s Gone Numb,” a swaggering blues-rock anthem with a chorus built for stadiums. Thematically, Hill looks at the world we’ve been promised and how radically short-changed people of his generation have begun to feel. “It's this idea of the American dream that never really materialized. I talk to a lot of people about the state of the country, and I keep hearing the same sentiment. Nothing will get better. Nobody has a positive outlook on the future,” he explains.

Touching on this topic is something Hill doesn’t take lightly, but ultimately decided was crucial to include on the album. “I thought it was important to put these ideas into a song, and I didn't want to do it from a place of preachiness. I wanted to tell a story that everybody who grows up here in Arkansas has felt to some degree.” What makes this album so powerful is in the way Hill seamlessly blends the personal and universal, and presents it alongside some of the strongest songwriting in contemporary alternative music.

“Lady Arkansas” is a contemplative, soulful piano ballad, a tribute to the people and places he left behind in pursuit of this musical dream. It’s an ode to his hometown, the people that helped shape his life and, as such, informed the trajectory of his career. “You know that California’s got nothing on me,” he defiantly croons, adding: “Lady Arkansas, I’ll be home soon.” On “Everybody’s Got It Figured Out,” he’s less confident, though equally magnetic. The song’s an alt-rock cut built around crunching guitars and thrashing cymbals. It finds Hill openly wondering why “everybody’s got it figured out” but he’s still drowning, a reminder that there's no playbook for this career or life.

Elsewhere, “Tying The Noose” is a jittery, jumping country cut that could lead some to believe Hill is the second coming of Johnny Cash. While touring with Yungblud, Hill’s cover of “Folsom Prison Blues,” a song he’s been performing for a decade, became a fan favorite and earned a co-sign from John Carter Cash, son of Johnny and June. He’s channeled some of that spirit into “Tying That Noose,” on which his deep, sturdy voice reverberates against sharp snare drum cracks and piercing guitar melodies.

It’s a sardonic play on the blues, with Hill reacting to the stoicism required of young men in the South. The concept was impressed upon him as a child, and while he’s moved away from that perspective, learning to embrace his vulnerabilities, he presents the subject matter with humor and wit. “I don't think it's productive to dwell on your own pain and to romanticize that stuff. Yeah, I’m suffering. I’m sitting here dealing with my bullshit…But I’m not dead yet,” he defiantly explains. “I’m not going to let that take over my life. I’m not going to let it affect how I act.” To that extent, so much of Hill’s career has been about pushing through barriers, existing in places beyond where he imagined. Now the question becomes: Where does this lead?

With Everybody’s Home, Nobody’s Happy, he’s aimed at making a generational statement that’s as intimate as a whisper. Sawyer Hill wants to be that guiding presence that his favorite rockstars were for him when he was sitting in his childhood bedroom, teaching himself chords. He wants to be a voice for the loners and the doubters, the Southern kid who doesn’t understand why he’s meant to shut up about his feelings. He also wanted to pen a love letter to the place that raised him. “The thing I really love about home is my people. In Arkansas, I have my family,” he explains. More often than not, the world comes calling and whisks him away, but he always comes back. “I have my natural beauty, I have silence, I have quiet here in Arkansas.”  And,  “I’ve found peace.”