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It's hard to think of an artist that has matured as much over the
years as Bill Callahan, aka Smog, aka (smog). Once the prince of
lo-fi, his recordings have become progressively more sophisticated -
both in terms of instrumentation and lyrical content.
This is, after
all, the same man who, on 1993's Julius Caesar, was hollering up a
storm about a young lady not insisting on condoms: "What kind of angel
is that?" Well, it was the '90s, after all.
These days, it's all a lot
more sedate - perhaps too sedate. His last record, Woke On A
Whaleheart, his first under his own name, received fairly poor
reviews, even from publications once enamoured with his chiseled
baritone voice. But you don't carve out a 19-year recording career
without being determined, if not stubborn as a mule, and
Callahan's not really one to care too much about the critics.
Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle plows a similar vein to Woke On A
Whaleheart: the black humour, the percussion as insistent as a
nail-gun, and that Marmite voice are all present and correct. But
where Woke On A Whaleheart tended towards gothic country, Sometimes I
Wish We Were An Eagle introduces some beautiful orchestral flourishes
that offset Callahan's gravely voice perfectly.
It's reminiscent at
times to what pal and label stablemate Will Oldham did on
Bonnie "Prince" Billy Sings Greatest Palace Music. It's a gamble that
really pays off on opener Jim Cain, with Callahan sounding like an
alcoholic that just woke up before noon for the first time in seven
years and saw some sunshine and flowers.
Eid Ma Clack Shaw carries on
the fine form, milking the full emotional impact from the lyrics,
"Show me the way/ Show me the way/ To shake a memory". While the
orchestration dives into panto at the opening of The Wind And The
Dove, it recovers to become a fine song about unfulfilled love.
Whisper it: could Callahan be back on form? Well, don't get too
excited. For some reason, he's got a peculiar obsession with very
loud, steady drums. After those first, fine tracks, it all starts
feeling like you are trapped in the muffling embrace of a lumberjack
with a heart the size of an ox.
Rocco Zephyr should have been the core
track, but instead is a headache-inducing dirge. It sets
the tone for the album, with moments of real beauty smothered by
overenthusiastic percussion. Closer Faith/Void is a song about, ahem,
losing one's religion, and is the perfect opportunity to make up for
lost ground. Come on, Bill!
It's the last track, it's about God, give
us something to remember. Well, no, it's not going to happen. Callahan
sings about it being "time to put God away", as though he were rolling
socks and stowing them safely in the top drawer. It's what you'll be
doing with Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle after a few listens.
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