Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle, Bill Callahan

It’s crazy to think that Bill Callahan put out his first Smog album nearly 20 years ago. To say that his records have had a major impact on me over this span of time would be an epically understated understatement. Over the years Callahan’s prolific and meandering vision has provided me with the soundtrack to days both difficult joyous. Smog has always felt alive to me – heartbreaking bitterness and disparity or blooming positivity and inspiration– there is a humanity to Callahan’s moodiness that is impossible to deny.





It’s tough to imagine getting through some of life’s shittier moments without the support of The Doctor Came At Dawn (1996), Wild Love (1995), and Kicking a Couple Around (1996) crackling in the background.








On the flipside, albums like 1999’s Knock, Knock, and Dongs of Sevotion (2000) are a testament to the simple beauty found just around life’s next corner (B-L-double-oh-D-F-L-oh-double-you, BLOODFLOW! BLOODFLOW!).


Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle, Bill Callahan’s second album since shedding the Smog moniker is his most ambitious work to date. Populated with all of the Smog mainstays – acoustic guitar, piano, cello and of course Callahan’s amazing deadpan vocals, Eagle’s instrumentation is focused much tighter than previous efforts.


While some may relish an apparent loss of rawness in his new work –Callahan is simply maturing as an artist. The bent unpredictability of the past has given way to purposeful arrangements and elegance.


Sometimes, I Wish We Were an Eagle contains some of the most amazingly understated guitar work I’ve heard in like, forever.


Country infused acoustics lay atop stringed arrangements to create a comfortingly orchestral musical backdrop.

Callahan’s lyrics are accessible – yet delicate and introspective as evidenced in Eagle's opening track "Jim Cain":

I ended up in search of/ordinary things

like how can a wave/ possibly be

I started running/ and the concrete turned to sand

I started running/ and things didn’t pan out as planned

“All Thoughts Are Prey to Some Beast” is an eastern influenced, dramatic throw back of sorts to the grittiness of Smog’s earlier albums. Lurching drums build below Callahan’s baritone and hints of distortion that recall “When the Power Goes Out” (Julius Caesar, 1993).

Just as the song appears to near full-blown explosion, strings bring ‘er back down to earth and remind us of just how far Mr. Callahan has come.






Originally posted to the KEXP blog.

Matt Ward @ the ShowBox Seattle, WA

about a month ago i started shooting photos and writing for local radio station KEXP. if you have ever spent any time in seattle you know that we're the best radio station west of the mississippi. actually, we broadcast from NYC too, so legally we can claim this whole damn country. below is a piece i wrote and shot for the m. ward show march 11, 2009.

Port O'Brien opened:

Sometimes music gives me insomnia.

Friday night at The Showbox California natives Port O’Brien opened for the Northwest’s own M. Ward (ok, technically he’s from CA too, but you had your chance; he’s ours now). Almost immediately Van, Cambria and the rest of Port O’Brien sent my jaw packing for the floor with their catchy, bluegrass infused folk rock. To say that front man/guitarist Van Pierszalowski’s delivery of these songs – many of which were penned aboard commercial salmon boats in Alaska - is honest and heartfelt – might be the understatement to end all understatements. Front man he is. Frontin’ he is not. Homeboy’s ability to belt out a red-faced chorus is matched only by the sincerity of his slower, twangier vocal deliveries.










It was about half-way through “Fisherman’s Son” that I started thinking this “song is going to get stuck in my head.”



I haven’t slept a full night since. The final nail in the coffin that is sleeplessness came during the band’s signature closing number “I Woke Up Today.” After distributing pots, pans and metal spoons to the audience Port O’Brien launched into one of the most raucous and memorable foot-stompers these ears have ever heard. Please send Sominex.


Primed and ready for more, the sold out audience welcomed headliner M. Ward with open arms. I don’t know that I have ever seen that many smiling Seattlites collected in one room.

From the weird hippy guy next to me eating dried fruit to the Samoan-Kirk-Hammett-with-John Waters moustache – M. Ward had us all eating out of the palm of his hand. Have you SEEN this man work over a guitar? As I stood there watching I actually thought to myself “that guitar is so lucky.” And that voice? His voice conjures thoughts of wood burning stoves and sleeping in. It’s hard to write about him without sounding like I’m in love. Floating back and forth across the stage, from guitar to guitar - then to the piano - Ward performed with the confidence and accuracy of a thousand man-crushes realized. After just over an hour onstage and two encores (Vincent O’Brien and an insanely perfect rendition of Roll Over Beethoven) it all came to a close.

What a night. Thanks KEXP!

originally posted here