JAY BUCHANAN - Weapons Of Beauty

The unmistakable frontman of Rival Sons, the California band that over nearly twenty years of career has built up a growing following thanks to a vigorous, old-school rock-blues that draws heavily on the legacy of Led Zeppelin, Jay Buchanan arrives with "Weapons Of Beauty" at his solo debut, written during a period of voluntary isolation spent for the most part inside a bunker in the Mojave desert. Produced by Dave Cobb and performed with the support of a superb backing band, capable of fully translating the ideas born of a profound experience of introspection, the album moves decisively away from the muscular electricity of Rival Sons to embrace a sound that is spare, restrained, intimate, measured, yet not without emphasis and cathartic surges, guided by Buchanan's powerful voice, the true center of gravity of the project.

The result is a modern treatise on "Americana": folk, soul, gospel, country, southern gothic, where the strength lies not in cranked amplifier volumes or theatrical staging, but in the weight given to words, to storytelling, to atmosphere, to the striking vocal lines, to the refined guitar passages (with the slides in fine form), to the elegant arrangements, as well as to the skillful handling of pauses and silences, which lend even greater force to music written mostly at night, when the noise of the world disappears and only that of one's thoughts remains - sometimes far more uncomfortable.

But be warned: don't be fooled by the "slow" start, not everything here flows placidly beneath the surface: the gospel energy of "True Black," the hyper-rhythmic folk of "Deep Swimming," the love for Fleetwood Mac expressed in "The Great Divide" (Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks will approve) are the ripples that disrupt what is actually a minimalism more emotional than sonic, a direct offshoot of a certain strand of American songwriting marked by pain - the kind that, stripped of any superstructure, leaves only nerves and scars exposed.

The moving "Caroline," a pivotal chapter in the album's economy, is an instant classic chosen not by chance as the opener and lead single, and it depicts the indelible wound caused by a profound loss that reverberates daily, a loss experienced not as a traumatic event but as a persistent absence. Here Buchanan doesn't narrate: he digs. His voice is a wire stretched taut between confession, resignation and hope. He isn't looking for listeners, but for accomplices willing to share his very own existential weariness. And every single sound is a shining gem.

Other tracks explore loneliness ("High And Lonesome"), memories and personal journeys ("Tumbleweed," a road song that masterfully weaves together "Wish You Were Here," Springsteen and U2), love as refuge and conscious choice (the precious "Sway," dedicated to his wife, delivered with a vocal technique that leaves you speechless, still carrying a good deal of the most epic Bono Vox). The author often works by subtraction, but the pathos is everywhere, especially in the final crescendos, which reach peaks of unheard-of beauty, where Buchanan fills every available space with himself.

Jay Buchanan knows how to write a formally flawless song, he has studied deeply and now possesses the tools to create the most moving situations, but he also knows all the secrets for crafting a unique, personal reinterpretation, as with the cover of Leonard Cohen's "Dance Me To The End Of Love," rendered with an unexpected soul approach. Bravo.

The closing track, "Weapons Of Beauty," ends the album without offering any real consolation, a final blow conceived through subtraction, steeped in dramatic delivery, built entirely on piano and voice, a secular liturgy, a classy epilogue for a mature work that has no wish to be a declaration of independence from Rival Sons (who, by the way, are already at work on new material), but rather to reveal an unprecedented and credible side of Jay Buchanan as the author of vulnerable yet powerful songs, born of exile and contemplation, from a dialogue with silence. A preacher who has meanwhile distinguished himself both at Ozzy Osbourne's farewell concert, and during the filming of the biopic directed by Steve Cooper "Springsteen, Deliver Me From Nowhere," where he played the role - of all things - of the singer of a band (in which two members of Greta Van Fleet also play). It was in fact the director himself who was tasked with advising on the running order of the ten songs on the tracklist, with the aim of pacing them as though they represented the unfolding of a film, to be savored without haste. A perfectly successful operation, for one of those albums not everyone can afford to make: if you don't have that kind of songwriting, that voice, and a backing band straight out of Nashville, no, you simply can't pull it off...

Band:

Jay Buchanan - vocals and guitar

Chris Powell - drums

Leroy Powell - guitar

Brian Allen – bass

J.D. Simo – guitar

Philip Towns – keyboards

The album cover was created by American realist painter Jeremy Lipking.

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15/02/2026