There are some artists, and albums for that matter, that feel inherently familiar. And as much as we'd like to tell ourselves that we are, as listeners, always looking for and listening to the next new and challenging band or artist, it's these familiar favorites that we come back to time and time again. These artists may not neccessarily push the limits of the genres within which they work but they consistently and creatively produce albums which cater to their existing fans and new converts alike. When you put on one of their records, you can immediately tell that it's them, whether you've ever heard that album before or not. And of all these artists, I can think of no better example than Bill Callahan. Whether he's Smog or running under his own name, Callahan has been releasing some of the most creatively familiar records of the past decade. Now to be fair, that voice is a dead giveaway but the music itself pointedly evokes the artist himself, which is a feat considering that so many of his peers run through this folksy indie rock terrain as well. It is a joy to hear Callahan sound so energized, for him anyway, and eager to let the listener in on his private thoughts again. Much like Will Oldham, he creates worlds and characters that feel so alive and fully realized that his albums play out in your mind like movies. From the earliest broken down, despairing stories of Julius Caesar to his more polished recent albums like Woke On A Whaleheart and Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle, Callahan has always been intrigued by the idea that a singer can both be a party to the actions contained within a song and a passive observer of those same events. It's an idea which allows grand and unwelcome revelations on his latest album.
As with his previous solo(?) albums--that being albums released under his given name--and those he released as Smog, Callahan has staddled emotional faultlines deftly and with an ear toward the acknowledgement of the listener as active participant. The drastic emotional shifts and striking mental anxiety which are common in his discography highlights this idea that he expects our attention and help in allowing these songs to mature and resolve but there is also the feeling that these songs don't want our help, that they want the isolation and dispair Callahan has imparted to them. And so we listen, eager to hear the struggle inherent in these songs.
Apocalypse is Callahan's further attempt at marrying these seperate but equally fervent ideas. Music needs an audience. And yet he infuses these songs with an independent streak which speaks to his ability at layering mood and to the albums non-reliance on the listener to exist. Sometimes the familiar can feel that way, like these songs have always existed and we just happen to come across Callahan playing them for us. But the mood is darker and the feeling more reliant on dread and hesitation. There is nothing more communally felt than the feeling of unease and caution that comes from experiencing the unknown. And it's here that he wants to have it both ways and succeeds brilliantly. He wants us to know these songs, to feel them--skin, bones, muscles, sinew. They exist apart from us but also come from within as well and like so many of his songs feel alone and in need. "Drover" plays it straight intially, having him play the role of cattle driver, but quickly turning into a struggle against the darker aspects of our nature, the hope that light exists but seeing enough to know that it is buried deep. The slowly building, shuffling drums and emphatic acoustic guitar play off the story of his search for truth in this world. And in the end it "makes me feel like I'm wasting my time", a bitter statement from a battered man. "America!" uses his deadpan vocal delivery to accentuate the pop culture build-up which he sees as slowly engulfing us. But he sees hope in there too, a faint flickering light which is being buffetted by wind and shadows. Can this resolute weariness be all that there is to life?, he asks. But soon enough he understands. And on "One Fine Morning" he asnwers that question, a heartbreaking acceptance and acknowledgement. "Yeah when the earth turns cold, and the earth turns black, will I feel you riding on my back?" He ends with "Yeah I am a part of the road, the hardest part, the hardest part". After all he's seen, the end of the world holds no surprises for him and as much as he loathes his needing, he is taking us with him into that unfathomable depth. He is still afraid to be alone. He watches over us, too shaken to do anything but that. And despite his best intentions and musical proclivities, at the end, it doesn't matter whether you're the watcher or the watched, the Apocalypse covers everything.
Tracklisting:
01. Drover (listen to the mp3 below)
02. Baby’s Breath
03. America!
04. Universal Applicant
05. Riding for the Feeling
06. Free’s
07. One Fine Morning
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