The Shooter is a piece born from a mood that struck me while watching Taylor Sheridan’s modern Western Yellowstone. I was particularly captivated by the character of Beth Dutton, played by Kelly Reilly. A constant shift stirred within me—empathy and pity for the protagonists of the Dutton family, juxtaposed with disbelief at their actions.

In this piece, I had Beth Dutton in mind—her essence and her choices, driven by her moral code of “protecting the ranch,” which she places above the human ethic of not killing. Her alcoholism, deeply rooted in her being. The devil that drives her, toying with her. Yet, you also develop an understanding for the family, standing against the overwhelming force of wealth—a force devoid of morality, relentlessly pursuing more. Two entities collide: the uncompromising Dutton family and the antagonists who seek to claim what isn’t theirs, sparking a brutal response born from this bloody frenzy.

The Shooter also explores how the devil’s work slowly seeps into the soul, luring a person toward moral decay without them fully realizing it. A cycle emerges—relief in morally justified brutality, the highs of success, the creeping guilt, the physical and emotional suffering that fuels alcohol consumption, and once again, the self-justified morality that deems the actions righteous. The devil has fully ensnared the human in its game.

Beth’s role was central to my vision here: an intelligent, successful, and attractive woman with a tragic path, increasingly losing her identity in her fight to preserve her father’s estate. Fueled by the trauma of losing a child in her youth—and, even more devastating, the ability to ever have children again.

It’s a gripping series, sharp and brutal, woven into what many people deeply yearn for: the primal experience of freedom and connection with nature.

Lyrics:

You fell from grace to disgrace, my dear.
I know ’cause you drank so well, my dear.

I feel that something went all wrong, my fear.
I know ’cause I haven’t seen you near.

But who is there to blame

The fear, my dear?

You shot the men with closed eyes, lizard.
I know ’cause the man bled out in fear.

People came from far and near, my dear.
To help you climb the fence in fear.

But who is there to blame

The hate, my dear?

At midnight, noon struck deep in your heart.
Prayer held you back from the darkest dark.

The morning hands you coffee, thin and blue.
The light burns your skin out of the blue.

But who is there to blame

The revenge, my dear?

The fever for gold and the rush in your veins.
Whisper you dance on the devil’s high plains.

But who is there to blame?
But I’m not to blame

Cause I ain’t ridin’ your back, my dear.

Credits:

All music and lyrics written by: Maria Pattusch
Maria Pattusch – voc, git
Andi Mendle – b
Nick Pattusch – dr, perc

Produced, Recorded, Mixed and Mastered at Oakpart Riverside Studios by: Nick Pattusch
Design and Artwork by: Maria Pattusch

Published by: Maria Pattusch
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