Austin Ingerman (Gunshine) – Firepower in the Sunshine State
Rock and roll never left; it just needed a band brave enough to turn it up without irony. That urgency threads through our conversation with guitarist and songwriter Austin Ingerman of Gunshine, a Florida-born shredder who prizes melody as much as muscle. We trace his path from a bass-playing dad and a kid-sized acoustic to the moment a Van Halen “Eruption” on the car radio flipped a switch. Austin’s core belief is simple: if a song moves you on an acoustic, it will soar once the amps come on. Hooks matter in an age of skipping thumbs, but he won’t let the algorithm dictate his intros. He writes what feels good, then worries about the clock later. The payoff is rock that’s tight, catchy, and still unafraid to breathe.
Gunshine’s origin story is equal parts timing and grit. Austin spent years as a hired gun, learning the grind on arena tours, then came home when the world shut down. That forced pause sparked a long-planned band. He and drummer James began tracking the debut before a singer even existed, setting a high bar and waiting for a voice with an X factor. Enter Jordan, a dueling-piano bar standout with a tone that snaps through a mix and sits naturally over Austin’s gritty guitars. Their writing chemistry clicked in hours. The band name, a playful nod to Florida’s “Gunshine State” nickname, locks in the Southern swagger they call “swampy”: humid grooves, sharp-edged riffs, and a live feel that nods to AC/DC, Boston, and early GNR without sounding retro.
Songwriting inside Gunshine is democratic but focused. Austin tends to lead with melody and structure, sketching verses and choruses on voice memos before layering parts in Logic. Jordan brings a lyric-first lens sharpened by Nashville’s number system, which keeps arrangements clean and choruses undeniable. They chase the word hidden in the vowel sounds, letting phonetics guide titles like “Swing Away.” Some tracks draw from life—grief, resolve, distance—while others paint cinematic vignettes that feel lived-in even when they’re not. The rule is consistency of feeling, not formula: chorus that lifts, rhythms that punch, and production that adds weight without crowding the hook.
The new record, Grand Rising, shows how far that method scales. A 13-song set shaped by home-studio grind and elite collaboration, it threads piano colors, heavier moments, and even a seven-string’s stealthy slam under the choruses. The song “Bayou”, which will not be on the new record Grand Rising, began as a sparse, country-leaning idea Jordan kept in his pocket; Austin rebuilt it into a modern rock surge with a ramping chorus and layered dynamics, then shipped the files to Chris Collier to mix and master.
Time remains the rarest resource. Austin handles writing, demos, emails, socials, and tour planning while guarding creative hours from distractions. He warns against the “do everything” trap: pick a lane today, finish something true, then move to the next job tomorrow. That mindset fuels a band ready to tour hard, drop singles starting January 23, and give rock loyalists something to blast in real speakers again. Grand Rising isn’t just a title; it’s a statement about what happens when melody leads, tone bites, and a Florida band refuses to whisper.
