The name Grant Lee Buffalo calls up images of national violence and extinction-- two Civil War generals and a bovine species that was nearly eradicated as the country expanded westward. These three words are perfectly suited to the band's music, which finds inspiration in what Greil Marcus called "the old weird America," a country of dark corners and decaying glory.
In the mid-90s, when all ears seemed directed toward Seattle, the trio of Grant-Lee Phillips, Paul Kimble, and Joey Peters were doing their own thing, making music-- especially on their first two albums, Fuzzy and Mighty Joe Moon-- that evoked a strange Americana, like an ivy-encrusted mansion with water-stained wallpaper, flaking paint, and shutters hanging askew. It was a haven for fans whose tweed was wearing thin at the elbows, who wore their trousers rolled.
But a decade later, the foundation of that house has weakened, the wiring has short-fused, and the pipes have rusted through. Storm Hymnal: Gems from the Vault of Grant Lee Buffalo, originally released in Britain in 2001, gathers 16 tracks from their four albums on one disc called Takes and 14 rarities and acoustic versions on a second disc entitled Double Takes. The collection reveals a band whose moment has passed and whose songs have aged in wildly varying degrees.
Tracks like "Fuzzy", "The Shining Hour", and "Truly, Truly" hold up well enough, and the lovely melodies of "Arousing Thunder" and "Mockingbirds" never get old. Other songs have taken on new and deeper meanings in the intervening years. "Stars 'n' Stripes", for instance, sounds creepily prescient, its chorus a portent of the current fascination with reality TV: "Got you on my handycam/ Fits in my hand." What was originally a reference to the old superstition that cameras could steal souls has become a kind of twisted come-on, a promise wrapped in a threat.
But for all their loaded imagery, many of the songs are surprisingly only vaguely political. During Grant Lee Buffalo's heyday, Phillips viewed America's ills-- same as now: militias, religious zealotry, industrial rampage, etc.-- as deeply rooted in history and in a strange national psychosis. But he was never a Woody Guthrie, a Bob Dylan, or a Bruce Springsteen: His approach tends to supercede his politics and even his music, such that his political agenda is usually muddled or overly obvious, as in "Bethlehem Steel", when he describes the light of a welder's torch guiding industrial tycoons like magi to Pennsylvania.
It doesn't help that the band's production today sounds so cumbersome, its mountaintop guitars weighing down the melodies and instruments (especially on Copperopolis) and often forestalling any spontaneity. Maybe that's why the Double Takes disc is livelier and more engaging for both the band and the listener. Songs like "We're Coming Down" and especially the three alternate acoustic tracks from Fuzzy sound more off-the-cuff and personal, unbowed by too much production. They're imperfect, but in these flaws lies the charm missing on some of the band's more single-worthy songs.
In a sense, it's ironic that any band's outtakes should overshadow its most popular music. On the other hand, Grant Lee Buffalo were interested in America's secret history, so it seems only natural that the band's own secret history be more interesting than its public one, and that its neglected, dusty corners bear more treasure than its well-trod footpaths.
