A/Live Show: Bill Callahan @ Webster Hall

Bill Callahan fka Smog is obviously a favorite of this blog, so seeing him live was nothing short of spectacular.  That being said, those who check out Callahan on tour expecting obscure selections from the Smog catalog will be sorely disappointed.  Billy Boy stuck mostly to new material from his majestic new record Dream River, but threw in a few selections from his past few albums and ended on two Smog songs (more on that later, Tater. Also, sidebar: he is a damn good looking gent in person…but I once again digress…)

Webster Hall was full to the brim, crowded as I have ever seen it, which really speaks to Callahan’s underground following; even though he is currently riding high on a Best New Music from Pitchfork, he has always had a strong, dedicated fanbase that supports him.  The presence of this man is astounding, almost unsettling: he looms over the crowd with one leg up on the monitor, barely moving, but still holding a firm control over the audience.  His signature baritone reverberated off the walls and straight to chest, and by the end of the first song the crowd was smitten.  When Bill Callahan sings, he doesn’t just repeat his own lyrics, he clings to the sounds as they pour out of his mouth, allowing each syllable to resonate before he sets them free.  Watching him perform is almost a struggle, as he refuses to let you merely listen: he forces you to experience.

Photo Courtesy of Bowery Presents

You would think with an artist who plays the kind of slow, dreamy, occasionally abrasive brand of folk that Callahan does would make for a docile crowd, but it couldn’t have been more the opposite.  Whenever a fan broke away from the spell of the music, they would whoop and shout, and every song ended in thunderous applause.  Eventually, after hearing his name be shouted so many times he quipped: “You don’t have to use my name, I know who you’re talking to.”  He then broke into another swirling tune before he came back on the mic to clear the air in classic Callahan form: “I was just kidding, you can use my name, it gets lonely out here on tour,” which brought forth a flurry of “Bill! Bill! Bill!” Yet just to solidify his reputation as a dry, quick wit he smirked and replied: “Ok, I’m not lonely anymore.  That should do for the next couple nights.”

What struck me as the most fascinating about Bill Callahan’s live show is something that doesn’t always translate back to the albums; the songs unfold, like brilliant tapestries of sonic emotion.  Callahan’s band is tight as well, but not overbearing, allowing what begins as a simple chord progression to ebb and flow into a sprawling landscape.  Callahan is famous for using natural imagery, (favoring horses, rivers and things of that sort) but this is an aesthetic that translates seamlessly into his songs; they progress organically, flowing very much like the rivers he sings of, with mountains becoming valleys only to ascend again before diving back to the water.

Callahan closed with the Smog the fans had been waiting for, but it was his performance of Rock Bottom Riser that was by far the most impressive.  Callahan’s earlier work as Smog is often wrought with discomfort, struggle and desperation, something that is frequently mistaken for insecurity.  But that “insecurity” was completely absent from this version of his fan favorite: Callahan’s voice bellowed with a newfound bravado, one acquired in the years after A River Ain’t Too Much to Love, one that finally puts him in his rightful place amongst the most prolific, talented and unique songwriters today.