Reflections, raw creativity, and the magic of a show that just clicks, Joe Hottinger takes MetalTalk inside the relentless climb of Halestorm.
Backstage in Budapest, Joe Hottinger greets MetalTalk from inside what we jokingly agree is a sad-looking portacabin. It’s a modest setting for a guitarist whose band, Halestorm, is in the middle of the European leg of their nEverest tour, just days before storming into the UK for one of the year’s most anticipated runs.
The icebreakers come quickly: schnitzel in Vienna the night before, a fondness for the colour green (reflected in his collection of guitars), and a preference for music over television when downtime allows.
But beneath the small talk lies a deeper truth. Halestorm are thriving on this tour. The venues are bigger, the crowds louder, and the energy electric. “European crowds are better than American crowds,” Joe admits with a grin. “They just bring so much energy to the show.”
That energy is matched by the band’s own momentum. Their latest record, Everest, has already been hailed as one of their finest, a towering statement of intent. For Joe, the metaphor is apt: “I don’t know if we’ll get to the top of Everest, but we’re certainly enjoying the climb.”
His own climb began in an unlikely fashion. Rock ‘n’ roll was initially his brother’s domain, until one night in Wisconsin when Nirvana came crackling through the radio.
“I was with my girlfriend in this small town outside Milwaukee, and I just felt the need to play guitar,” he recalls. Soon after, a year spent in the West Midlands of England cemented his obsession.
Hottinger skipped schoolwork, made mixtapes, and haunted CD markets in Worcester, hunting down bootlegs and rare singles. “That place blew my mind,” he says. “It absolutely helped influence me.” Joe was hooked.
Guitar lessons followed, though classical training never quite fit. “That’s not what I’m trying to do,” he laughs. The path forward was clear: music would be his life. 
Fast forward to college in Virginia, where Joe struggled to find collaborators who understood his vision. Philadelphia offered more promise, a vibrant scene, a local music magazine, and one fateful advert seeking bandmates.
Answering it led him to a producer’s studio, a gold record on the wall, and, most importantly, Lzzy Hale and her brother Arejay. “She got it,” Joe remembers. “We started writing right away, and nothing’s really changed since 2003.”
Two decades later, Halestorm remain intact, their line-up unbroken, their drive relentless. “We’ve never had the big break,” Joe insists. “We’re a working-class rock ‘n’ roll band. We hustle show after show, and people keep coming back.” 
2025 has been relentless for Halestorm. From supporting Iron Maiden to standing onstage in Birmingham for Back To The Beginning, the Black Sabbath farewell show, the band has lived through a year of grind and glory. Yet what makes their journey resonate with fans is not just the scale of the shows, but the steady, natural evolution that has carried listeners along with them. Â
For Joe, the creative spark is rooted in curiosity. “I love so many types of music,” he says. “If it moves me, I don’t care what kind it is. That’s always my goal when creating. There’s a deeper conversation going on.”
That philosophy shaped Everest, a record that balances hard rock muscle with vulnerability, including, as Joe states, the band’s “first proper power ballad”, How Will You Remember Me?
But versatility comes with challenges. “Lzzy is like a Swiss army knife,” Joe laughs. “She can do anything. It makes putting an album together difficult. We always write so many songs, and some just don’t fit. But they’re still good, so what do you do with them?”
Whether hashing out riffs with Lzzy Hale or improvising in their new home studio, the band’s process remains organic, driven by collaboration and instinct rather than formula.
Working on Everest with producer Dave Cobb pushed that instinct further. He helped rip up the Halestorm rulebook. Instead of labouring over demos, the band recorded as they wrote, embracing detours and left turns. “It was inspiring,” Joe says. “We thought, why don’t we do it like this at home? When we’re done making the song, that’s the song.” 
That rawness defines Everest. Lzzy’s vocals are left untuned, the edges unpolished, the sound deliberately vulnerable. “It’s a bit of a reaction to what’s happening in rock and Metal right now,” Joe explains. “Personally, I like hearing a band.”
Fans, too, are beginning to embrace it. “New records usually take a few months for the live audience to get their claws in, but Vienna felt like they were getting it.”
The record was built with big rooms in mind, songs designed to breathe and reverberate in arenas without slipping into imitation. “It’s difficult for us to hit a chord and just hold it without wanting to add energy,” Joe admits. “We’re trying not to sound like Def Leppard or AC/DC, but modern arena rock has space. It breathes. That’s what we wanted with Everest.” 
As the conversation winds down, the band’s reflections circle back to the high-wire thrill of opening for Iron Maiden. “We knew Maiden were the hardest band to open for,” Joe admits, recalling the nerves of stepping into the stadiums.
Yet what could have been a daunting slot became a moment of liberation. With forty-five minutes to prove themselves, they leaned into new material, songs “built for this shit”, and let the crowd decide.
London, in particular, became a turning point. “That was one of my favourite shows we’ve ever played,” Joe says, describing the rare alchemy when everything locks into place.
The band tore through the set at breakneck speed, adrenaline surging, the audience roaring all the way to the back. “We record every show, and that one… we didn’t really fuck up, which never happens,” he laughs. The memory still left him buzzing days later. 
Even now, the joy lies in the unpredictability. New tracks like Shiver and Gather The Lambs stretch the setlist into unfamiliar territory, demanding balance but rewarding risk.
“We’ll just take it and go full improv on the end,” Joe grins, relishing the chance to let the music flow unchecked. For a band chasing chaos and connection, it’s the perfect reminder. Sometimes the best shows are not the ones you plan, but the ones that explode into life.
Halestorm’s climb may never reach the summit Joe jokes about, but that’s hardly the point. The band thrives in the grind, the chaos, and the moments of transcendence when everything clicks.
Everest is both a record and a metaphor: raw, vulnerable, and built for big rooms, yet grounded in the working-class ethos that has carried them since 2003.
For Joe Hottinger, the climb itself is the reward, and the view keeps getting better.
