Lawrence’s Paper Buffalo finds its place on the Plains

Lawrence’s Paper Buffalo holds its weekly practice in the basement of bassist John McCain’s childhood home. The room is crammed with relics of an early 1990s boyhood, the bookshelves stacked with thick genre mass-market paperbacks and VHS tapes and the walls adorned with bird illustrations. One corner of the room remains dedicated to what appears to be a high school pottery class’s key achievements.

Even with all that ephemera, the space lets Paper Buffalo’s six members spread out, though they seem more comfortable standing inches apart from one another, their instruments nearly touching. On this mid-March afternoon, the group runs through a handful of songs from its latest EP, White on White, released earlier this month.

The songs sound explosive in the basement, their breakneck rhythms even more coked-out, their riffs incendiary. Frontman and guitarist Jon Fitzgerald sometimes sings but more often wails. Singer Sadie McEniry adds warm harmonies, and drummer Kainen Spooner barely makes it through the first verse of the first song before gleefully stripping off his shirt. Next to him, percussionist Brogan Sievers hunches over his drums, his hands working rapidly. Guitarist Jesse Hickock stands next to McCain, and the two share an expression of we’ve-got-the-tough-job concentration.

And this is just rehearsal.

If Paper Buffalo seems like a band with a lot going on, that’s partly due to the diversity of its membership. Three years ago, founder Fitzgerald started the group as a folkish, mostly solo acoustic project. Spooner joined shortly after, coming from a metal background. The other four came later — Hickock as recently as last December — but each has left a distinctive thumbprint on the music.

These newest songs match dizzying math-rock chord progressions with foot-tapping hooks. It’s a sound that demands precision from the musicians and, sometimes, from the listener. But White on White‘s high energy is also highly danceable.

“We were building what that EP would sound like for over a year, and we kind of cemented it when we had to add Jesse,” Fitzgerald tells me. “We had to get rid of our old guitarist, and Jesse had to learn all our songs, and it became such a concrete thing at that point.”

Another recent change in Paper Buffalo’s sound came when the band’s saxophonist, Drew Long, left last May. Losing that instrument meant reconfiguring a chunk of the band’s songs — a task that Fitzgerald and Spooner have come to regard as a blessing in disguise.

“I think that a big part of what’s really starting to cement our sound is that every time something bad happens to us — like, our bassist leaves, and we have to get a new bassist or we need to replace our guitarist, or our saxophonist disappears and we no longer have that element — it ends up being a fortunate thing,” Spooner says. “Jessie is way more into that math-rock vibe than our previous guitarist, and John McCain just gives way more care to the band than our old bassist did.”

He goes on: “It’s just through these circumstances that we’re finding band members who are comfortable with what they’re doing and want to continue doing that with us.”

McCain and Sievers are quick to add that the chemistry among Paper Buffalo’s members is also a simple byproduct of the tightknit Lawrence music community. Before there was this band, there were several high school bands. And when there weren’t bands, there were friendships.

“I think something that makes being in Paper Buffalo so fun is that the Lawrence music scene is really great,” McEniry says. “It’s really amazing to see all these young musicians, like Oils and Psychic Heat and Westerners, doing their thing. Some are really young musicians, just out of high school and in their early 20s, and that’s also very inspiring.”

With all six members between 18 and 20 years old, Paper Buffalo, too, can count itself in the overachieving-youth category. I point this out, and the half-dozen born-and-raised Lawrencians share a laugh.

“It doesn’t feel like a competition,” McEniry says. “I feel like all the musicians in Lawrence are kind of there for each other no matter what, and the ones that aren’t are kind of pushed to the side.”

As McEniry speaks, her bandmates nod their agreement. The basement opens up to McCain’s expansive backyard, and we’ve spread out on stray lawn chairs as the family dog, Marley, nudges at our hands. The sun is out, and laughter comes easily to this group. I look at their unlined, carefree faces, six sets of teeth smiling back at me. I decide to dampen the mood.

“Anyone else planning on leaving the band soon?” I ask. “Any conflicts? Any quitters?”

Bodies shift uncomfortably and concerned looks are exchanged. There’s a silence. Then, at once, everyone has something to say.

“I’m not planning on leaving,” McEniry says, glancing around.

“No way,” Sievers says.

Spooner grins. “I think we’re pretty much all about Paper Buffalo,” he says.

I nod. I believe them.