Apocalypse
As Smog and as himself, Bill Callahan writes and records subtle, flat-toned tunes that are dryly hilarious. Lyrics come first for Callahan and listening straight through a handful of his songs, it’s apparent that he has a thirst for words and concepts. *Apocalypse* plays to his strengths. “Drover” begins as a faux-Western. The chords build dramatically. A fiddle saws until the music falls away and it weeps. “America!” plays as word-association, with Callahan sounding like he’s messing around on the guitar absent-mindedly while the rhythm section takes an occasional break that leads to an over-caffeinated ending with everyone celebrating so hard they trip over themselves. “Universal Applicant” throws a flute into the mix. Recorded and mixed in Texas, *Apocalypse* prominently reflects the great sprawling real estate of that state with pauses and leisurely paces in nearly every tune. “Free’s” clocks in at a punchy 3:13, but the others are all over five minutes. There’s nothing indulgent here. Every moment deserves to be heard. The album ends with “One Fine Morning,” a beautifully expansive piece that is reminiscent of the great works of Van Morrison.
A mirror held up to the self and then turned around to the world. This record makes us wonder what has really happened in the last 100 years. And what will happen in the next 10. The soul of your country called and left you a message. Seven messages.
After the delicate, warm Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle, Bill Callahan returns with a more idiosyncratic record.
As befits Bill Callahan’s well-established perversity, the new Apocalypse starts out dark and menacing, and ends up blissful and sleepy. Throughout the album’s seven songs, Callahan does more than embrace oblivion; he already cornered that market on the Geiger-counter tape hiss of his early Smog recordings through the…
Those looking for a logical musical follow-up to Bill Callahan's surprisingly accessible Sometimes I Wish I Were an Eagle from 2009 might scratch their heads at the sound on Apocalypse.