Review- Eric Bolander: Old Tattoo
Out of darkness, the most beautiful things find their way to the light. We don’t always remember the best of times, but we will never forget the worst days of our lives. This album swoops in talons first, ready to drag you straight into its storm — a storm born of pain, grit, and the kind of truth that can’t be whispered.
For the better part of a decade, Eric Bolander has quietly been a steady voice rising in Americana’s backroads—the kind where the roads less traveled aren’t metaphor, they’re a way of life. Rooted in Kentucky grit and worn-in honesty, his songs have always carried the weight and the lessons of the miles behind him. But Old Tattoo isn’t just another chapter — it feels like a turning point. There’s a confidence here, a sharper edge to the storm, like someone who’s lived enough to know the pain and refuses to step away from it.
Some storms have names, and this one is called Old Tattoo, the newest installment from Eric Bolander, arriving October 31 like a twister in the night. This is Eric Bolander’s most polished work to date — richer, epic, and somehow a tinge sadder, with a sprinkle of hope.
The album starts with a nod to the old faithful — an introduction for the uninitiated, a familiar tradition that’s marked nearly every chapter of Bolander’s journey, missing only from The Wind. It unfurls like opening credits rolling across a darkened screen — slow, deliberate, full of quiet promises before the storm hits.
Bolander reaches back into the well, pulling “Do It Right” from his first record, but what emerges here isn’t a reprise — it’s a resurrection. Gorgeously rich cello lines and booming ’90s country vocals crash together like memory and momentum colliding in real time. It’s fresh, lush, and laced with déjà vu, yet it stands entirely on its own. Bolander commands the stage he built years ago — and this time, he sets it on fire.
The sound of this record is raw in all the right ways. It leans into live-room warmth — guitars and cello breathing in the same air, drums beating like distant thunder. Nothing here feels forced. Every note feels earned, left a little rough around the edges so the cracks can shine through. It’s a richer, more layered sound than his earlier work, giving the songs the space they need to bleed, breathe, and ultimately bloom.
“I won’t let you go.”
Bolander’s cool-soul vocal stylings wrap around each lyric like a late-night breeze, while Seth Murphy’s hauntingly gorgeous cello cuts through with vibrant, moody edges — a lush, shadow-lit counterpoint that lets the whole thing simmer in the dark. “I Won’t Let You Go” carries a smoke-soaked, “Turn the Page” kind of ache — equal parts memory, loss, and promise. Sometimes pain leads to purpose. Sometimes the worst things in your life will put you directly in the path of the best thing that will ever happen in your life.
“Smells like teen spirit blasting on your headphones,
like a long-lost religion when music’s all you know.”
The verse unravels like a quiet prayer — half-whispered, half-aching — a memory that doesn’t quite let go. For a heartbeat, it lingers—soft, still, and heavy. Then the next wave rolls in.
“Old Tattoo” — the title track — starts in the dirt, digging graves with a steady hand. Then the rhythm begins to rise, like thunder rolling in from a distance, and just like that, a spark breaks through the storm.
“Big fires during the storm,” as Bolander puts it. “I don’t remember the kisses as much as the bruise,” he sings — and that one lands like a scar that never fully fades. Eric, Seth, and the band find something rare here — hope in the midst of despair and happiness when all seems lost.
“It all fades away like an old tattoo.”
“Fire-breathing dragons, knives, flowers, and skulls — they all have their meanings, and they mean nothing at all.”
I can’t help but lean into “Is It Gonna Rain.” The line — “The smile replaces the memory that I had” — lands like that quiet moment after the downpour, when the world exhales and the weight starts to lift.
It’s that slow turn when something raw and aching softens, when the sharp edges of a memory fade, leaving behind nothing but the warmth and fragile comfort of a smile. This track lets Eric Bolander’s soulful voice stand mostly on its own, stripping everything down to the core. It’s a reminder of just how powerful his vocals can be — steady, stirring, and strong enough to carry the whole moment by themselves.
“Grand Rapids,” my favorite song on the album, opens like a confession whispered into the wind. Eric steps in slowly — voice worn and raw — and it’s not clear if he’s talking to God, someone he’s lost, or to the part of himself still clinging on to hope. The heartbreak here doesn’t shout; it lingers in the quiet between breaths, asking questions no one can really answer.
“Will you see my face
when I look at you and think of you, every day.
Is this even real?
or a manifestation of all I feel.
Am I alone,
out here on my own,
Can you see my face?
Now we’re on the phone,
Are you all alone,
or is he there in my place?”
“I am all alone, all alone.”
The storm doesn’t break here. It just goes quiet — the kind of quiet that haunts your soul.
This album stands as a constant reminder of just how far we’ve traveled, letting us dance with our shadows — and maybe, for a moment, make peace with the pain. After all, without the bitter, the sweet is never as sweet. And somewhere in the storm, Eric Bolander keeps hope alive.
There’s something about the way a cello speaks — warm, rich, and almost human — like it’s breathing right alongside the song. Seth Murphy doesn’t just play here; he pulls on every thread in the storm, anchoring the harmony and wrapping it in something unforgettable. The way the cello moves between a deep, earthy baritone and a soaring, aching melody mirrors Bolander’s vocals like a shadow that refuses to leave. It’s that quiet power underneath the surface that gives Old Tattoo its heartbeat.
Jimbo Valentine, who designed the album art, created a flash tattoo for each song on the new record — and every single one of them is straight fire. It’s like each piece carries a spark from the storm itself, etched in beautiful ink and vivid colors.
The album is a multicolor masterpiece, the kind of work that doesn’t just sit on a shelf but radiates with life. I don’t do star ratings in my reviews — never have — but when I love something, I put my money where my mouth is. So of course, I went with the Ultimate Fan Package — because the art doesn’t just begin with the music; it moves through every line, every layer, every choice. From beginning to end, nothing was left to chance.
And fittingly, on Halloween night — the anniversary of the 1991 Perfect Storm — Old Tattoo lands like its own front rolling in from the dark.
And none was spared from this perfect storm.
Find out more about Eric Bolander at the links below:
