Here’s pretty much everything you need to know about Jay Buchanan’s debut solo album Weapons of Beauty. He spent three months last year holed up in a bunker in the Mojave Desert writing it. And yes — you can hear that. Not in a “concept record with sand noises” way, but in the sense that this feels stripped back to the essentials: voice, emotion, truth, and space to let the songs breathe.
Of course, Buchanan has always carried a mystical streak. Rival Sons have never just been about riffs and volume — there’s something ritualistic in their DNA — and that’s always been anchored by their frontman. This is the same man who can strut a stage in a pink suit, barefoot, opening for ZZ Top, or turn up at Black Sabbath’s farewell show and belong there without blinking. A rock star, absolutely — but one with an old soul.
Weapons of Beauty leans hard into that singer-songwriter side. Not as a detour, but as a natural extension.
“Caroline” opens things up with a sense of real world-weariness, Buchanan sounding like he’s carrying a lot before the chorus lifts everything skyward. When it lands, it genuinely feels like light breaking through cloud — that moment where hope doesn’t erase the struggle, but coexists with it.
“High And Lonesome” follows and confirms what we already know: he has one of those voices. The kind that sounds like it’s travelled a few lifetimes before reaching the microphone. There’s something timeless and troubadour-like here, as if this song could have been written in any decade and still feel true.
That thread continues into “True Black”, which brings a soulful edge that immediately brings The Temperance Movement to mind. If you ever loved that band’s ability to balance grit with grace, this is one you need to hear. Americana then steps fully into the spotlight on “Tumbleweeds”, a reminder that Buchanan understands this tradition deeply — not as cosplay, but as lived-in language.
One of the great strengths of Weapons of Beauty is how instinctively it always finds the right tone. “Shower Of Roses” is a perfect example — so fragile it feels like it might crack if you breathe too hard near it. And yet it holds, precisely because of that restraint.
There’s a parallel universe where “Deep Swimming” was the biggest alt-country song of around the year 2000. With its mournful harmonica and restless energy, bands like Whiskeytown would have absolutely eaten this up. It’s nostalgic without being backward-looking — a tricky balance, but Buchanan nails it.
“Sway” sounds like it was written at 3am, when the house is quiet and the doubts are loud. There’s desperation here, but also honesty — the kind that only arrives when you stop trying to impress anyone. Then comes “The Great Divide”, smooth and almost comforting on the surface, while the lyric quietly asks, “How do we change this old pattern we are in?” It’s that contrast — warm sound, searching words — that gives the song its real weight.
That sense of contentment returns on “Dance Me To The End Of Love”, which radiates warmth without slipping into sentimentality. And when the album closes with the title track, it does so beautifully. The piano on “Weapons of Beauty” is simple, unshowy, and absolutely gorgeous. When Buchanan sings, “I can say what I feel,” you don’t just believe him — you feel it too.
But it’s another line from elsewhere on the record that lingers longest: “When the curtain comes down, you just want them to say, you never took more than you gave.” That sentiment feels like the emotional thesis of this album. And surely it applies even more when what he’s given us is Weapons of Beauty — a debut solo record made with care, conviction, and real depth.
This isn’t a side project. It’s a statement.
Rating: 9/10
