Two albums in just as many years, remaining fans of Mumford and Sons are in for a treat. They seemingly went into a state of hibernation, bookended by performing with Bob Dylan at the Grammy Awards in 2010 and Noah Kahan reviving interest in the stomp and holler genre. Or, at least, that is how it feels. Mumford and Sons remained an active creative outlet – that performance with Dylan is the start, rather than the end, of their work in the studio. Most listeners would be hard-pressed to name any songs from the albums to follow Sigh No More, and presumably, the band would scratch their heads at such a question, too. But they’re looking to lighten their musical backlog with two albums which aren’t quite up to scratch with the heavy hitters of the genre. If you can’t beat them, feature them on your work. A smart move from Mumford and Sons, the work they provide on Prizefighter relies heavily on those featured acts and the hearty acoustic sound of now.
You could head into Prizefighter, cautiously optimistic at having spotted Hozier and Gracie Abrams’ names in there. But this more to pull in fans of each artist, not because Mumford and Sons is on their level, an admittedly low bar all the same. Fairly loose, country-adjacent filler is what Prizefighter offers, but at least there’s some level of heartiness to it. It’s not all miserable. Opener Here, a Chris Stapleton-featuring song, falls short but remains honest and uses its electric and acoustic blur well. It’s a brief but breezy experience with the instrumental strength Mumford and Sons can offer. Their shortcomings can be found in the writing, the lyrical weakness is enough to buckle the qualities the band shows still, a decade-and-a-half on from their debut. You’ll likely not notice the Stapleton feature has ended and the Hozier track, Rubber Band Man, has started. Mumford and Sons cosplay as stomp and holler heroes when they’re unable to move their sound on much further than where it was at their debut.
Their message is more of the same to what the genre already offers. It’s stock for those who want to find themselves in music backed by a banjo. Nothing wrong with that, but there isn’t much to gauge from music which does not challenge, that does not bring out a new emotional scope to solidified genre stylings. Prizefighter is keen to blend in, rather than stand out. A shame it does so, especially considering that unique twang from Marcus Mumford which has steered him and the band well in the past. You can hear it on The Banjo Song, a track nowhere near as embarrassing as its title may suggest. Moments of relative bliss can be heard with the likes of Run Together, of course, but they’re not all that mesmerising. Solid, heard it before stuff where the romance and intimacy are taken for granted by the band, and thus the listener.
Yet those taken for granted experiences do pave the way towards honest and nuanced listens. Conversations with My Son is a heartfelt piece which is dependent on the familial tone and your own experiences. These may be the halcyon days, as Alleycat notes, but believing it is half the battle. Icarus is far too on the nose to say anything, the nuance lost in the title being a giveaway of an exact retelling of a story which is on the brink of being oversaturated by modern art. A thoroughly mixed bag is Prizefighter, but at least there are some promising parts in there, a suggestion that Mumford and Sons has something to say, but never clear evidence of such a message. Album closer Clover makes Prizefighter a worthwhile listen, but at times the theme, that overarching tie from song to song, is lost entirely to a broader tone which hadn’t quite worked for the band on their first outing. They’ve learnt little, but what they have at hand is nice enough.
