CONTEST HAS ENDED!

The winning entry was sent in my “WF” and was comment number 11.  Although it may seem that his entry didn’t provide the exact details that were relayed to him, in regards to how certain events might set about the apolcalypse, the sheer fact that the person that relayed these concepts to him even exists is enough to infer that there is a hair triggered paranoia on the loose which may, in turn, prove to create some self-fulfilling prophecies for our imminent demise.  Plus, the character in his entry reminds us all of our pal GRANT and, if I wasn’t already entirely sure that he was on the other side of the planet right now and that the gun mentioned wasn’t a certain 357 Magnum, then I’d half assume that it was him.  We miss you pal and… congratulations WF.   Our thanks to everyone that entered.

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Recording under the moniker of “(SMOG)“, throughout the entirety of the 1990‘s and much of the Two-Thousand-Oughts, Bill Callahan eventually began releasing albums under his own name, beginning with 2007′s Woke on a Whaleheart (Drag City).  While his earliest works were much more disjointed and “experimental” lo-fi  home recordings, his music has continued to develop over the years into something quite different.  As his work approached the end of the millennium, he continued to utilize the studios and equipment that he now had available to him with a progressively more polished sound.  After that, his songs seemed to retreat back into a more personal, yet refined, delivery, supported by his somber baritone and delicate but inviting guitar strums.  Still, Callahan isn’t the type of artist that I feel that I could accurately describe as dramatically shifting gears or even taking on overly-challenging new directions from one release to the next.  The songwriter isn’t the sort to concern himself with trying to dip his toes into every genre possible, in a calculated attempt to evoke implications of versatility or because it might come across as risky.  He isn’t Beck or Dangermouse… or even Rick Rubin.  He’s Bill Callahan.  Like the musical equivalent of a Philip Seymour Hoffman, there’s no checklist to cross off for his career milestones such as, “play a homosexual character (taking the job from a homosexual actor), then someone that is mentally disabled, drastic weight shift, next try comedy, do an indie film, aim for a block buster, make a techno album, get Rhianna on this track…etc.”  There’s no need for Callahan to try and make overt statements about trying new and risky approaches, because everything that he delivers emits a sense of inherent risk, already instilled within it’s core.  He presents both fragility and strength.  Every direction that he takes with his music feels like an organic one and, while he continues to grow with his craft, his experimentation comes from the inside out, not vice-versa.  While fucking with tape-decks and exploring alternate recording methods can be interesting and have their place, Callahan somehow presents work that exhibits an exploration of himself and a presentation of what he’s discovered, simultaneously.  He experiments without the effort; taking a gentle peek inside and casually holding the door cracked open to share the view. Read the rest of this entry →