Review: The White Buffalo, The Lantern

The White Buffalo comprise Jake Smith (guitar & vocals), Matt Lynott (drums) and Christopher Hoffee (bass & backing vocals); but essentially as focal point, frontman and chief songwriter it’s Smith’s band. He writes what are fundamentally modern folk tales, but where the folk tend to fuck up themselves, their relationships and their lives; deal drugs (thus indulging in all the associated criminality) and attempt to escape their sorry lives overseas killing for Uncle Sam. But then he also writes exquisite love songs (Love Song #1 written for his wife and delivered beautifully mid-set), and the majority of his songs are have a measure of hope and the promise of redemption.

The music is at the aggressive end of a folk / country / rock n roll mash up; in fact there’s a massive rockabilly swing to the up-tempo cuts and a dash of jazz in the mix. It’s the sort of sound where the guitar is strummed to within an inch of its life (leavened with some pretty picking but no solos); the bass is flat out funky, locked in to the drums and doubling up as a rhythm guitar and the drums hold everything down with a muscular cymbal splashed authority. Topping it all is Smiths ragged baritone, a husky intimate whisper during the slow tunes and an unkempt heartfelt roar when the band rock out.

Although touring the new record Love and the Death of Damnation, there was plenty from the back catalogue in a well-paced set. Opening with a boisterous Dark Days and rollicking When I’m Gone, Smith had the sold out crowd on his side from the off. Joe and Jolene rocked liked a runaway train, taken from his previous LP Shadows Greys & Evil Ways: a song cycle encapsulating the lives of those Americans who don’t quite move in the same circle as the Kardashians and their ilk and also a great starting point for his work.  The Pilot got the crowd moving and Go The Distance (wryly introduced as his “Massive Canadian hit”) was a bruised ballad that delightfully included the phrase “fucking peckerwood”.  Incidentally, the usual B247 salute to any artist willing to whistle on stage, Smith delivering melodious whistling on three cuts (including The Whistler natch, a bruising tour de force with a twangy salute to Morricone) and giving Sam Outlaw a run for his money. Come Join the Murder was a sprawling semi-epic, its inclusion with several other cuts in faux outlaw biker soap opera Sons of Anarchy no doubt contributing to the boost in the Buffalo’s popularity of late, as evidenced by the preponderance of SOA t-shirts amongst the crowd.

As for the crowd vibe…it was distinctly bipolar – exemplary hushed reverence…some of the time; rowdy and boisterous, whooping and hollering at random moments and in recognition of certain tunes and also bizarrely inquisitive: a valley commando from over the Bridge pitched in with “What you drinkin’?” to which the reply came “This isn’t the question and answer section of the show” to much hilarity. Speaking of audience participation…what was the crack with all the nonsense directed at Elvis Costello (performing simultaneously in the main hall)? Throughout the night there were snide comments from the crowd about the fella, culminating in the petulant proclamation “Stuff Elvis Costello”. Surely if one wants to participate in the kind of scene where it’s the done thing to cheer your guy and slag the other guy, one should bugger off to a football match?

Opening the encores with exquisite solo renditions of his own Black & Blue, followed by The Highwayman (a cover he’s pretty much claimed for his own) Smith brought the band back for a rambunctious Modern Times that wrung the last drops of sweat out of band and crowd alike, and threatened to morph in to The Violent Femmes’ Blister in the Sun. Lynott managed to deliver a continuous drum solo throughout the entire song, with Smith and Hoffee roaring their approval and reduced to stitches at each audacious roll and fill. There’s no doubt that, Jason Isbell aside, Smith is one of the finest young(ish) writers reinvigorating the Americana scene. On this form and with a groundswell of popularity don’t be surprised if he’s selling out larger rooms next time around.

Pix: Chris Cooper