mad fright night

I have rocked a few Smog records in my time, mostly Red Apple Falls (1997) and Dongs of Sevotion (2000). Recently Bill Callahan has catapulted back into view with his new album Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle. Callahan’s lyrics are still tangled up in rickety blues and his voice still carries the pulse of indifference; what’s perhaps new is that these new songs seem invested in more well-bodied instrumentations. “Eid Ma Clack Shaw” in particular is a very persuasive piece of music, a classic dream song that is locked into the notion of wishful confusion. The night has opened his mind to labyrinthine dream fragments, waking up “so ripped from reality”, specific heats reminding him of a former lover’s touch. Fabricated weathers roll along morosely like the swirl of stony strings. “All these fine memories are fucking me down,” he laments, as per his propensity for pithy, self-deprecating putdowns. He dreams the perfect song, he scribbles it down. Its enigmatic answer seems patently lost in translation. But when adapted by the songwriter for his own purposes, it subconsciously spells hope despite the times.