Waxahatchee – ‘Tigers Blood’ album review: kitsch country cosiness lacking in kick
THE SKINNY: Following the success of Saint Cloud in 2020, Katie Crutchfield invites us back into the world of Waxahatchee with Tigers Blood, an album without quite as much sonic bite as its namesake might suggest. While Crutchfield’s lyrics continue to show off her poetic prowess, turning mundanities into folklore, the alt-country that surrounds them is disappointingly one-note and kitsch.
In the past, Crutchfield’s country leanings have bolstered the idiosyncrasy of her sound, adding to its warmth without ever compromising on cool. Tigers Blood falls so far into that deep country realm that it negates the latter. Soft strums, banjos and harmonicas continue to provide comfort and familiarity, but by the end of the record, they’ve perhaps retreated too far into a country comfort zone that conjures kitsch American radio rather than Townes Van Zandt.
While the instrumentation on the album falls into familiarity, Crutchfield’s lyrics are at their most striking yet. Her Americana delivery is unexpectedly contented as she sings of unsuspecting skies and fragile tombs, each mammoth image coming to describe new mundanities and maturities. Whether she’s discussing substance dependency or boredom, her words are always unpredictable and precise, harnessing an energy unmatched by their accompaniment.
The record doesn’t deserve to pass you by, but it just might. A matured return to her Alabama roots, Tigers Blood contains some of Crutchfield’s most devastating and dazzling penmanship, as well as a lucrative collaboration with Wednesday’s MJ Lenderman. Unfortunately, the harshness and honesty of her imagery get lost amidst unvaried instrumentation.
For fans of: Beige cowboy boots, poetry for poetry’s sake, and Cate Blanchett as Bob Dylan.
A concluding comment from Elle’s boyfriend: “I slept through most of it, so it’s either really comforting or really boring.”
Tigers Blood track-by-track:
Release date: March 22nd | Producer: Brad Cook | Label: ANTI- Records
‘3 Sisters’: Quiet and quaint, ‘3 Sisters’ gently guides us into the world of Tigers Blood. Its instrumentation is understated, pushing the nuance of Crutchfield’s vocals above sparse strums and country sways. She sings of lightning bolts and unsuspecting skies with contrarian contentment. [2.5/5]
‘Evil Spawn’: Crutchfield amps things up a little on ‘Evil Spawn’, with slightly more driving guitars and heavenly harmonies. It’s still entirely understated, so we’re willing to let her wax poetic over the top. Tales of fragile tombs and a heartless breeze are shrugged off with the Bob Dylan-esque declaration, “There ain’t nothing to it babe.” [3/5]
‘Ice Cold’: “Run it back, boys,” Crutchfield drawls in the opening moments of ‘Ice Cold’. It seems like a call to return to country, to Crutchfield’s Alabama roots, as she sings of rusted “Jesus loves you” signs and losing touch. Familiarity and warmth run through her voice, though she repeatedly declares herself “ice cold.” [3/5]
‘Right Back to It’: It’s easy to see why ‘Right Back to It’ was chosen as the lead single for Tigers Blood. It’s a distillation of the country contentment that pervades the record, with twanging banjos and seamless harmonies provided by MJ Lenderman. “I’ve been yours for so long,” the pair sing together, “We come right back to it.” [3.5/5]
‘Burns Out at Midnight’: Crutchfield is tangled up in Dylan’s influence on ‘Burns Out at Midnight’, as harmonicas underscore tales of “working hard, honey.” She gets self-referential, too, maintaining her cold-bloodedness even as her sonic creations seem steeped in the opposite. [3/5]
‘Bored’: Contrary to its name, ‘Bored’ contains some of Crutchfield’s most off-kilter lyrics yet. Verses devolve into short rhymes that feel slightly gimmicky, but she allows herself more space as she hits the chorus, charting her own boredom with impossible beauty. “My spine’s a rotted two by four, barely hanging on,” she declares, “My benevolence just hits the floor, I get bored.” [3/5]
‘Lone Star Lake’: Crutchfield flits between mundanity and extremity on ‘Lone Star Lake’, lost somewhere in between fever dream kisses and unmoveable life plans. “You’ll kill me,” she declares in the song’s most striking line, “but my failure’s legendary babe.” The instrumentation still refuses to match the brutality of her writing, reverting to fluttering fingerpicking. [3/5]
‘Crimes of the Heart’: ‘Crimes of the Heart’ is filled with folktale, with violin-wielding villainy and allusions to the emperor’s new clothes. It’s a gorgeous weaving of words with seamless delivery from Crutchfield, but it lacks any accompanying drama in the tentative tambourines and twangs surrounding it. [3/5]
‘Crowbar’: By the time you reach ‘Crowbar’, it’s clear that Waxahatchee’s formula for Tigers Blood is unwavering. Poetry and honesty fuel her lyrics. They’re the living, breathing heart of the record, but they’re almost undermined by the lack of imagination in their instrumentation. They shouldn’t be allowed to pass you by, but they just might. [3/5]
‘365’: Waxahatchee contends with addiction on ‘365’, encapsulating the desperation of dependency on substances and on other people. After bowing and buckling and begging, she reaches relative acceptance at the song’s conclusion, shrugging, “I have my thoughts about it but I carry you in my arms, anyways.” [3/5]
‘The Wolves’: Crutchfield’s voice alternates between stable and shaky on ‘The Wolves’ as she throws herself to the titular animals. “I did it all for the glory,” she sings as guitar twangs bend and bow around her. [3/5]
‘Tigers Blood’: After spending three-quarters of an hour submerged in the world of Waxahatchee, in folk-fuelled nostalgia and poetic contemplation, we wash up to shore not changed but contented nonetheless. [3/5]
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