Album review by Mz Terra
Righto, if you thought Faster was as fast and filthy as Samantha Fish gets, get ready to bin that thought and have Paper Doll punch you fair in the soul. This one’s not just a follow-up – it’s a bloody detonation.
From the second ‘I’m Done Runnin’’ kicks in after a rolling intro, it’s clear Fish isn’t mucking about. She’s not easing in – she’s chucking you into the deep end, boots and all, strutting into the groove like she’s dared someone to tell her otherwise. The opening riff has a slow-burn snarl, then she tears the whole thing wide open with a vocal that sounds like it’s been forged in heartbreak and bourbon. You can feel the weight behind it – a proper “I’m done taking anyone’s sh!t” anthem if there ever was one.
‘Can Ya Handle The Heat?’ steps in next and yeah, she’s asking but already got you by the short and curlies. It’s punchy, thumping and built like a barroom boogie where someone’s about to flip a pool table. Katie Pearlman and Bobby Harlow help kick it along with a melody that sinks its hooks in and refuses to bloody budge. It’s cheeky, dirty fun. Try to stop your feet from tapping. I bet you can’t.
Then comes ‘Lose You’ and holy hell – this thing’s dangerous. Starting all low and simmering, like it’s waiting in the shadows, then her voice erupts like lava hits with a sparring mid-song guitar solo. Fish cranks the emotion through the amp and lets it all melt into this heavy, smouldering wall of sound. You’re not just listening – dial it all the way to cop a full-on body reaction. Goosebumps. Stomach-drop. Lump-in-throat territory.
She’s not settling into a groove either. ‘Sweet Southern Sounds’ swings in and you’re now floating on a humid, soul-drenched breeze made of a light-touch guitar and keys combo. Smooth as Bookers on ice on a sticky night. But just when you think she’s mellowing out, Fish starts twisting the fretboard into something magic – and by the end, you’re flat out gobsmacked. Its pure class infused with the heat of southern passion and a blazing fretboard.
‘Off In The Blue’ dials things back again, and this one’s a quiet gut-punch. It’s less fireworks and more slow-ache. Feels like watching the sun go down on an outback dirt road, knowing full well you’re about to cop a storm and there’s no shelter in sight. It’s that earthy long backroad vibe done right – no pretence, just pure mood. Her voice here? Bloody haunting. Barely above a whisper at times, but then lilts and slices like a razorblade.
Then – boom – ‘Fortune Teller’. If ‘Lose You’ was heavy, this one’s a freaking thunderclap. Starts off slow, smoky, luring you in with a wink and a secret smile and sultry spoken lines. It then sets to detonate and her guitar howls in the back half, like she’s secretly summoning spirits through the strings. It’s alive, messy in the best way and you can tell it’s built to stretch and breathe even more so when she gets the chance to unleash it live – I can’t wait. Dead set highlight on the album.
And just when you think you’ve clocked her vibe, ‘Rusty Razor’ comes belting through the door like it’s been shot out of a time machine from the ‘60s. Mick Collins brings the scuzz, and this one’s got proper garage rock filth smeared all over it. Fish lets loose here – no polish, just pure punk swagger. You can almost smell the smoke and sweat coming off it. Guitar is now longer howling as in the previous song there’s a wail going on. It’s fun, it’s filthy and it’s got an unhinged, wide-eyed grin energy. Yip-yow!
Then, in classic Fish fashion, she spins the wheel again and drops the title track. ‘Paper Doll’ is the big hooky showstopper, yeah – but not in some overblown, look-at-me kind of way. It’s raw and moody, carried by a voice that’s bleeding honesty. You can hear every damn scrape of the strings dragging the pain out note by note. It’s blues, sure – but it’s also theatre. A slow drag of a cigarette in a dark room kind of track. A banger for sure.
Finishing up with ‘Don’t Say It’, and instead of fireworks, she just lets the dust settle. It’s a come-down tune, gentle but frayed around the edges. Like the last conversation of a long night where no one’s quite saying what they mean. It drifts, aches and leaves you staring at the ceiling wondering what the hell just hit you.
And the whole thing? Bloody hell – it moves. Not just track to track, but emotionally – sonically – spiritually, if you’re into that sorta thing. There’s zero filler. Every song’s either swinging at your head or crawling into your chest. And the band? Locked in tight. Ron Johnson (bass), Jamie Douglass (drums), Mickey Finn (keys) – these legends are grooving like they’ve been playing together in a dive bar for twenty years, but with studio chops that still shine when they need to.
You can tell Fish made this on the road – it’s got that live electricity sparking off every note. It’s grimy in the best way. Unpolished where it counts. Gloss where it hurts. Blues rock doesn’t get much more honest than this.
Fish isn’t chasing radio play or trying to squeeze into someone else’s box — she’s just ripping the lid off and chucking the whole bloody box in the fire. There’s no posing, no pandering. Just a guitarist and crooner hellbent on making noise that means something, whether it rattles your ribs or leaves you staring at your shoes.
Paper Doll isn’t background music for brunch playlists — it’s the sonic equivalent of biting down on tinfoil and loving it. Gritty, gutsy, and sometimes rough as sandpaper on sunburn, but every second’s pulsing with life. If your ears have been numb from too much beige pop-rock sludge, this is the record that’ll kick ’em back awake.
It’s big. It’s beautiful. It’s a bit broken in places. And it’s easily one of the most real things you’ll hear this year. Definitely no neat and tidy pretty bow here – just press play, turn it UP and brace for impact.
