Newspaper Page Text
e
MONDAY-THURSDAY
MONDAY S TUESDAY
S Z All BOTTli BUR
2 PfTCHiRS
2 Will DRINKS
WEDNESDAY
LMKS MIGHT
IA0ICS
ecr
V mu orwks BEFORE MfDMfGHT
s 2 IV£U DRfNKS AFTER MIDNIGHT
120 E. WASHINGTON ST. DOWNTOWN ATHENS
(BETWEEN COPPER CREEK AND THE BASIL PRESS)
aiTiRlBUiBE
115111
—
IB
SUNDAY SEPTEMBER 2ND
@ THE PARK TAVERN
306 KITH SI. All ASIA, (i A 30309 2PM* !1PM
WWW.BEERANDWHISKEYFEST.COM
Use Promo Code (Flagpole)
Save $5 off Advance Ticket Price
THE COMPLICATED DUDE THEY CALL SMOG
I'm a Smog fan. Maybe you've heard of that
band. It's been around since the early 1990s,
and boasts deep roots in Chicago, where I now
reside. Twould be more precise, methinks, to
refer to Smog as if it were one person—it has
sported only one constant member, an enigmatic
gent named Bill Callahan. He's also referred to
himself as "(Smog)." On his new disc Woke on a
Whaleheart on Drag City Records, he reverts to
the name on his passport.
After a few records' worth of disorganized
home-recorded noise in the early '90s, he gradu
ally absorbed both the dark, metaph^ical beauty
of American folk music and the smooth, bitter
sweet irony of 70s FM pop-rock. Like most of his
work since the '03 turnaround Supper, Whaleheart
leans toward the latter, but goes both ways. And,
like all of his work ever, it lays its emphasis on
his mysterious, highly cerebral lyrics.
As I said, I love Callahan's music, the morbid
early stuff as much as the dry, wise later stuff.
But, in the last 11 years, I've passed up many
opportunities to see him live.
records and going to shows, is psychological
projection, largely. Thinking otherwise makes it
almost impossible to short-circuit the process,
even when short-circuiting the process would be
doing yourself a significant favor. You look to
art for catharsis and for models, to purge certain
elements of your psyche and to cultivate others.
Often, without needing to think about it, you
look to artists, their behavior and their personae,
for similar cues. Otherwise, it wouldn't be a thing
when someone with Bill Callahan's distinctive
skills behaves, as one Chunklet contributor put it,
like a "festering carbuncle." It wouldn't hurt.
Recently, I gave Callahan's live show another
shot, and I loved it. Both the man's voice and
his material have deepened and matured. Like
Leonard Cohen's, his delivery has cracked, deep
ened and, where there was once anxiety and mis
ery,, there is now a fascinating sort of authority.
His cracketjack band nailed the backdrop. He did
a weird little jig. He appeared to have a splendid
time playing his smooth, contemplative new
songs along with all the old micro-hits.
Bill Callahan is playing at the 40 Watt Club on Saturday. Sept. 1 with Sir Richard Bishop opening. Tickets cost $10 in advance
or $12 at the door
In 1996, I lived in North Carolina. Smog
played a show in Charlotte. I believe it was at
Tremont Music Hall. I'm not sure. You don't care.
I had a friend at the time named Stacy. Stacy
spoke in a crispy Southern drawl, and often
spoke about his inebriated antics. He had a rebel
flag decal affixed to the back window of his blue
pickup truck. He adored goofball Scottish metal
band Venom, and just as proudly adored the
music of Smog. He loved Smog more than I did.
He even got the artwork for Smog's grueling '95
soaker Wild Love tattooed on his arm.
I drove a few hours to see the show. Stacy
was there, too, drunk on enthusiasm and booze.
(He was the one who taught me to always bring
some sauce in my stomach.) Under one arm, he
carried a copy of Wild Love on vinyl. It may have
been the tattooed arm. A 50 percent chance.
The show was not a good one. The band
played like a bunch of unrehearsed chumps
picked at random from the audience, losing the
beat and annihilating the fragile songs. For
his part, Callahan performed with his back to
the crowd, and did not communicate with us
outside his lackluster vocals. Undeterred, Stacy
approached the man after the show, presented
his record, and asked him to sign it. Callahan
scrawled "BILL CLINTON" across the cover, snick
ered, and walked away. Stacy, Asheville, NCs king
of black metal, was pissed, royally.
In 1998, I saw Smog play the 40 Watt. It
was about the same deal, but without the disap
pointment. By then, I knew not to expect much
reciprocity from Bill Callahan.
It's none of my business whether Bill Callahan
is a nice guy. This is psychological projection.
This whole business, this business of buying
Callahan lives in Austin, TX, now. Maybe
he cheered up when he relocated. Then again,
maybe he cheered up of his own resolve. Maybe
he grew the fuck up and cheered the fuck up be
cause of that. Maybe he read a magazine article
on showmanship. It's all psychological projection.
It can hurt when a hero outgrows the habits
that won ypur sympathy. Aside from his eyes-
down negativity back when, Callahan may have
accumulated an unusual number of haters by
dating a remarkable number of sought-after indie-
rock queens—by behaving like a loser on wax
without behaving like a loser off the clock. First
there was musician and Rollerderby contributor
Cynthia Dali. Then, for years, there was the de
mure, intriguingly fucked-up Chan Marshall of Cat
Power. "Hey. I experience the same range of emo
tions as that guy, and I don't have a sphincter for
a personality. Why does he get the attention?"
Now, he's managed to charm harpist, avant-
folk celebrity and San Francisco mayoral progeny
Joanna Newsom. He even tours with her.
Two of my friends saw the diminutive Newsom
back up the ever-distracted Callahan last year.
According to one, Newsom gazed lovingly at
Callahan throughout the proceedings. And wore
a large belt-buckle reading "BILL." And got bul
lied, insulted and generally treated like dung by
the much older, much more creepy object of her
affection.
Bill Callahan: He's still got it.
Emerson Dameron
Liner Notes is Flagpole s music opinion column.
Interested in contributing a piece? Contact music editor
Chris Hassiotis at music@flagpole.com.
32 FLAGPOLE.COM • AUGUST 29,2007 NEWS & FEATURES I ARTS & EVENTS I MOVIES I MUSIC I COMICS & ADVICE I CLASSIFIEDS
JOANNA NEWSOM