Until mid-2021, Carl Nichols was known in Milwaukee and beyond as the singer/guitarist half of local folk twosome Nickel & Rose. Now, though, he has reinvented himself as a blues man who has adopted a sobriquet that makes his full name sound like a pun on a coin long out of circulation. But Buffalo Nichols is no joke in casting a fresh perspective on one of the oldest musical forms associated with Americans of African descent, among whom he is one.
Lyrically grim, but rhythmically driving acoustic blues of the type Nichols could tour as a solo act—with just his guitars and a board to tap his foot on—comprise the bulk of the album. Minimal arrangements occasionally incorporating fiddle, dubbed out percussion and few other accoutrements advance Nichols as a vanguard in a lineage extending from Charley Patton to Keb' Mo’. The music suits Nichols’ keening, burnished vocals as he sings of romantic fatalism, the generally hellish state of the world and racial grievances that were a frequent theme in his duo with Johanna Rose; at least one of their songs is reconfigured among the album's eight selections.
Toward the album’s end, Nichols convincingly dabbles in the kind of electric trance blues that built the reputation of his current label (Nicols is the first blues act signed to Fat Possum in almost 20 years) and the kind of slightly more genial jauntiness that could merit him some adult album alternative radio play. If this album indicates the musical path Nichols will be taking for the foreseeable future, Milwaukee roots music’s loss sounds like a significant gain for the blues world.