(Scrawny Records)
LP | CD | DL
Out 31 May 2024
The pandemic and plutocratic presidents are on Buffalo Tom’s radar as Massachusetts’ mighty power trio return with an album that furthers their sound into folkier waters. Sam Lambeth puts his Helmet on, but he’s not going through Hell.
How typical of Buffalo Tom to deliver their ‘lockdown’ record several years too late. For the affable Bostonians have always been gloriously out-of-step with the zeitgeist. Even when they hit their high water mark in the flannel-flecked early-to-mid ‘90s, their gritty but graceful sonic palettes looked more towards Nebraska than Nevermind.
Buffalo Tom live in their own bubble, emerging from hibernation every five-to-six years to release consistent albums that are lovingly untroubled by the times. But like The Killers’ Pressure Machine and Taylor Swift’s Folklore before it, Jump Rope has the sobering, acoustic-driven feel of a record born out of isolation – namely due to the band’s songwriters having more time to write during the pandemic.
This stripped-back feel shouldn’t be a surprise – even at the height of grunge, Buffalo Tom were releasing breezy, bucolic records like Big Red Letter Day, while their previous album continued to shed frontman Bill Janovitz’s Townsend-esque power chord chops in favour of more textural guitar motifs. But there is an almost campfire quality to the hazy strums and delicate riffs that dominate the group’s tenth long-player.
Janovitz has never sounded so Springsteen as he does on the shuffling Our Poverty, where his reflective rasp is bathed in sparse six-string flourishes and Tom Maginnis’ scattered drums. Meanwhile, the languid, lumberjack rock of fellow Boston natives The Lemonheads rears its head on the sweet but weary travelogue Pine For You. Earnest standout Autumn Letter – yes, it’s hard to believe it’s taken Buffalo Tom nearly 40 years to write a song called this – name checks Steinbeck’s gloomy Grapes of Wrath over the band’s trademark scuffed melodies and Janvoitz’ gravelly baritone.
The moments where Buffalo Tom are at their more frenetic and freewheeling are few and far between, but Come Closer’s portentous swathes of rumbling distortion and Janovitz’ eerily detached vocal will satisfy anybody longing for the more rugged contours of the band’s work. Elsewhere, the choppy, bristling Helmet turns the screw on Trump (“there’s a damaged captain at the wheel, in case you couldn’t tell,” sighs Janovitz) but its politicised disenchantment is evergreen enough to be relevant for many future free world leaders.
As always, Janovitz’ corrosive croak is neatly juxtaposed with bassist Chris Colbourn’s melancholic, delicate timbre. Here, he contributes more songs than any other Buff Tom album, and some of his strongest, most well-rounded work to date. New Girl Singing and its chiming acoustics recall Van Morrison’s ‘70s era, while the gospel-tinged, downcast strum Recipes and wistful haze of In the Summertime look to the the band’s eternal touchstones – namely, the Stones, Elvis Costello and Bob Dylan.
Buffalo Tom may exist in a vacuum, but that has provided them with the ability to continue perfecting their craft, maturing and exploring without sacrificing their heart-on-sleeve songwriting and appreciation of rousing melodies. To the the irony of the album title, Jump Rope is a record without any skips.
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Buffalo Tom are on Facebook and X. They tour Europe this autumn.
All words by Sam Lambeth. Sam is a journalist and musician. More of his work for Louder Than War is available on his archive. You can find his music on Spotify.
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