Music / Reviews
Review: The White Buffalo, O2 Academy
The White Buffalo (aka Jake Smith) is one hell of a song writer, over the course of five studio albums he’s created a substantive body of work that examines the human condition through the travails of a disparate cast of (arguably) damaged characters. But characters that sometimes find a state of grace despite their circumstances. The tunes deal with love & loss; family & friends and their associated obligations; life on the wrong side of the tracks; service of your country and what it means to be an American far removed from the Rich Kids of Instagram.
Those LPs are splendid pieces of work, but fuck me, do they ever come to life on stage. Smith, a hefty hirsute fella, may have the build of a heavyweight but he owns the stage in the same way that Ali owned the ring – moving with easy grace, with poise and power, the master of his art. The White Buffalo isn’t just Smith though, he’s aided and abetted in the studio and on stage by Matt “The Machine” Lynott on drums and Christopher Hoffee on bass – one of the tightest rhythm sections treading the boards.
is needed now More than ever
The stage set up was functional and sparse: Lynott’s kit located front and stage right, Hoffee’s bass rig and mic front and stage left, leaving centre stage for Smith. There were no flash moves, no grandstanding, simply a shit hot band kicking the packed Academy’s collective ass. Lynott battered his kit precisely throughout, gurning and grinning, bellowing along with the lyrics yet displaying finesse and delicacy on the ballads. Hoffee, with his seventies (ahem) B movie ‘tache, provided supple bass throughout, bouncing around the stage like Tigger after a week without his ADHD meds, gloriously rocking and singing with gusto on the choruses.
Smith is the consummate front man, he has enough charisma to command an arena but performs with a subtle take on the front man role – truly letting the music do the talking, boogieing and head banging on the up tempo numbers and pouring his heart out for the ballads. He displayed an easy way with the crowd, commenting that the previous night’s cancellation (tough shit Oxford) was “…the first time I’ve ever cancelled a fucking show” and asking for forgiveness if his voice got squeaky. Mid-set he delightfully pointed out that the room’s décor made him feel like he was in Thunderdome “…waiting for Tina Turner to show up”.
The material was judiciously chosen, the set well balanced – plenty of up-tempo tunes leavened with slower paced songs and ballads – and delivered with genuine pleasure. We saw a band who were genuinely enjoying themselves, rocking hard with their patented rockabilly / americana hybrid and playing the slower material with care and no little charm.
The Whistler was epic (and yes, the whistling was exemplary despite the recent health issues) whilst Come Join the Murder brought the house down with more than a few people finding something in their eye. A vigorous Joe and Jolene remains a lyrical tour de force, subverting the typical country love song and dragging it in to the harsh reality of 21st century America, and it’s a hell of a dance tune too: arguably the set highlight. That said This Year built from its reflective opening to a resounding climax, the crowd once again word perfect with their backing vocals.
There was no doubt the crowd were with the band from their opening number. The whooping and hollering community were there along with the singing along community and the throw your hands in the air like you just don’t care community.
Alas the boorish self-centred mouth breathing community were also there in force, sharing their moronic thoughts at volume during the quieter numbers and the majority then had the brass balls to clap & cheer at the end of the numbers they’d all but ruined. Seriously people, get yourselves online and buy yourselves a couple of kilos of shut-the-fuck-up.
Fuckwittery notwithstanding The Pilot brought the set to a resounding climax, the Machine pounding away with a flurry of fills as Smith and Hoffee stood grins getting wider and wider at the playful audacity of each mini-solo whilst the crowd went bonkers. This was The White Buffalo’s third Bristol gig and arguably his best yet, a view reinforced by the deafening calls for more.
Smith returned alone for the encore, Wish It Was True, delivered with real passion, real bite – a bravura enough performance to silence the mouth breathers and spare us their inane babble. Lynott and Hoffee returned for the most rambunctious performance of How the West Was Won that had the crowd dancing and singing with reckless abandon.
Maybe Smith had something to prove after his recent cancellation, maybe there was something in the air or maybe the band just are that damn good but this show is already a contender for one of the gigs of the year. Word on the street is he’ll be back in town before the end of the year, if he is and you’re not there, well…you’ll be missing out on a sensational night out (and leaving tickets for the mouth breathers to buy).
The White Buffalo: O2 Academy: Friday, 20 April 2018
All pix by Shona Cutt.
Our top newsletters emailed directly to you
