Debut solo album from Rival Sons’ frontman reflects his interest in roots-influenced songwriting, but frustratingly fails to add up to the sum of its parts.
Jay Buchanan is best known as the lead vocalist for Grammy-nominated rock band Rival Sons, where his wide-ranging, powerful, blues-influenced vocals have earned him critical recognition as one of the most distinctive modern rock singers. However, he has also gone on record as citing Joni Mitchell and Van Morrison amongst a broad palette of influences, and having contributed backing vocals on albums by both Jason Isbell and The Blind Boys of Alabama, his debut solo album Weapons Of Beauty endeavours to tap into those americana leanings with a collection of deeply introspective songs.
The musical landscape may have shifted from Buchanan’s usual terrain; however, some things remain, and the first is having Dave Cobb in the production chair, a position he has held throughout Rival Sons’ eight-album career. Having chosen to take himself out to the isolation of the Mojave Desert to write these songs, Buchanan and Cobb eventually decamped to Savannah, Georgia, along with a small ensemble of Nashville’s finest, to record the album. At the same time, filmmaker Scott Cooper, with whom Buchanan worked on the Bruce Springsteen film Deliver Me From Nowhere, is on hand to sequence the tracks in an attempt to create a cinematic choreography.
The album opens with two songs, Caroline and High & Lonesome, which both emphasise the album’s commercial leanings, characterised by sweet melodies but light on poetic depth, with Buchanan’s vocals reverting to type, resulting in both tracks falling into the power ballad bracket. The third track, True Black, is more interesting, in part due to the increased percussive drive, which lifts the tempo to a level more akin to Buchanan’s day job, while some delightful barrelhouse piano and stinging pedal steel help elevate this gospel-flavoured number, perfectly suiting his soulful vocal delivery. Elsewhere, songs such as Shower Of Roses, Deep Swimming and Sway all offer up a level of interest within the narrative and musical arrangement, and though the poetry can occasionally feel a little cluttered, the emotive connection is strong enough to entice the listener in. However, this positive aspect is too often undone by Buchanan’s continuous need to oversing, as if forgetting the subtlety of Cobb’s arrangement, and instead thinking he is still fronting a full-throttle rock band. Where he gets it right is when he allows himself to be completely consumed by the narrative, forgetting all about vocal gymnastics and instead losing himself to the very root of the storytelling. Tracks such as Tumbleweeds, with its evocative poetry of interstate highway travel across the American landscape, which conjures up comparison with the work of legendary songwriter Jimmy Webb, are a good example of what Buchanan is capable of. Even more so is the title track that closes the album, a track that, by all accounts, almost didn’t make the cut, as it felt too personal. Here, with its gentle piano intro, Buchanan substitutes volume and vocal histrionics for real passion, empathically connecting with the muse.
Having listened to Weapons Of Beauty on repeated occasions, the overwhelming conclusion is one of missed opportunity, and the irony is that what has throughout his career been his strongest asset here proves to be Buchanan’s Achilles’ Heel. The apparent need to justify his vocal reputation, as if still performing in some oversized arena, possibly trying to appeal to the Rival Sons’ fan base, too often suffocates the introspective and emotive narratives, not to mention the sympathetic arrangement from Cobb. On the few occasions he gets it right, where he allows his reflective poetry to connect with the listener, the potential is both obvious and highly rewarding, and one would hope that, should he choose to repeat this venture into the world of the confessional singer-songwriter, he sets his rock persona aside and commits fully to the genre, as this initial offering tend to fall between two stools.
