WIN a Pair of tickets to see Bill Callahan in SEATTLE [June 22nd]!!!


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 TwoThousand-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.

Bill Callahan is an anomaly in the music world.  After 2 decades of work, he is not only still creating consistent work, but he’s also getting consistently better and more in touch with his own abilities.  He’s a prime example of why Drag City Records is such an amazing label and he easily draws similarities to fellow label mates as David Berman (Silver Jews), with his deep voice and remarkable lyrical talents, as well as Will Oldham (aka: Bonnie “Prince” Billy) with his consistent growth and prolific output.  His humor is displayed in tracks like “Dress Sexy At My Funeral“, off of his hilariously titled SMOG release, Dongs Of Sevotion (Drag City – 2000), while a song like “Rock Bottom Riser” from A River Ain’t Too Much To Love (2005), is powerful enough to evoke tears.  He’s a musician’s musician and the type of craftsman that makes legends wish that they could have written his songs.  In fact, the title track from the late/great Gil Scott-Heron‘s 2010 highly-acclaimed swan song, I’m New Here, is actually a cover of a Callahan song, also from A River Ain’t Too Much To Love.  With his latest effort, Apocalypse, released in April, Callahan has once again outdone himself by creating what is among the very finest albums to come out this year.  Fortunately for us, he’s decided to embark on a nationwide tour to support it.  Fortunately for you, our friends at NEUMOS Crystal Ball Reading Room are providing us with a pair of tickets to his Seattle stop on June 21st, 2011, that we’ll be giving away to one lucky winner.

Watch his latest video for the track “Riding for the Feeling” off of Apocalypse, now.
Scroll down to see how to enter to win tickets!



*One winner will receive a a pair of tickets to see Bill Callahan perform live @ Neumos in Seattle on Wednesday June 22, 2011


This contest will revolve around the title of Callahan‘s latest album, Apocalypse


We’ve all heard it said time and time again… every time that something that is beyond reprehensible,  was formerly unimaginable, or is just outright ridiculous goes down, somebody jokingly makes the claim that it must be a sign of the apocalypse.  Your goal is to give us an example of something that you think must be a sign of the apocalypse.  It can be something as simple as the invention of bacon soap and the excessive overuse of auto-tune, a story about how you ran into 2Pac buying a Thirsty-Two Ouncer at a Circle K last week, or something much more elaborate, conspiracy-based, and/or involved.  It’s up to you.  It’s your entry.


Post your answer in the comment section below.


There is no part 3.  That’s all there is to the contest.  It’s pretty easy… but you should probably read the fine print.

The Fine Print:

All entries must be received by Saturday June 18th at 11:59 pm to be eligible.

You can enter as many times as you want but, use a valid email so that we can contact you.
Winner will be chosen arbitrarily, based on our personal “favorite”, so try to be interesting.
If we are unable to contact the winner in a reasonable amount of time, a new winner will be chosen.

[If you have any intentions to post comments asking us to pick you, or asking when the winner will be announced… how about, just don’t do it?  It’s pretty fucking obnoxious and it won’t help your chances.]


Dead C

Located in Seattle, Dead C is the founder/editor, as well as the principal writer and photographer, of Monster Fresh. Creating the site in 2007, he did so with a specific dream in mind. Unfortunately, being a muscle relaxer-fueled fever dream, it’s hard to recall all of the details.

I remember that my mom was there, but it wasn’t actually her in the dream, it was actually 70s heart throb, Jan Michael Vincent. And everything took place here, in this room… but it wasn’t actually here… it was different. The colors were washed out and, for some reason, there was a raccoon kicking it with us and it was wearing a holographic monocle.

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  • Yahoo comments.

  • Gabe

    All biblical prophecy aside, the surest sign of the Apocalypse is the fact that charges $4.50 as a “convenience fee” on a $15 ticket to see Bill Callahan. Call me crazy, but I don’t find the idea of paying 30% of the ticket price very convenient at all.

    I would feel differently if I knew that a human being had to actually fill out some paperwork or that any energy was to be expended other than what the computer would do anyway as long as it’s on (like, say, if my tickets were to be delivered via pigeon courier).

    I would also feel differently if the “convenience fee” was, say, 10% of the ticket cost. Then I could at least say to myself, “Okay, that sucks but at least they exercised some restraint and didn’t try to completely gouge me.”

    Perhaps an even more telling sign of the Apocalypse is the fact that actually decided to name this fee a “convenience fee” in the first place. How could anyone believe that a consumer would find it convenient to pay a fee? The least they could have done is find some obscure name for it like, say, ‘intercession fee’ or, better yet, simple call it what it is, a ‘transaction fee’ for their services. The fact that they decided to call it a “convenience fee” is pretty clear evidence that they are trying to hide something, like, say, the fact that the fee is way too high.

    Now, you might be thinking “If he’s so bothered by the fee why doesn’t he just go down to Neumo’s and buy the ticket there?” Let me assure you that this is exactly what I would do…if I lived in Seattle. As it stands I either have to submit to this egregious fee or win tickets here (hint hint).

    Furthermore (and this makes absolutely no sense to me), want an extra $1 for the ‘print tickets at home’ option, which means I’m paying more to use my time, electricity, paper and ink in order to not have to go to will call. Shouldn’t it be the other way around, that I pay less to print my own tickets?

    Still, $20.50 is a fair price to see one of my favorite musicians, but it’s the principle of the matter that irks me. Anyway, other than the earthquakes, the hurricanes and the mounting evidence that we are on the brink of irreversible ecocide, I believe this little scandal that has cooked up is the a pretty sure sign of the Apocalypse.

    Thank you for reading. Have a nice day.

  • Gabe

    CORRECTION: I wrote that it is the “principal of the matter that irks me.” What I meant to write is that it is the principal of the matter that I feel must be defended, even if only by ranting about it here.

  • mike

    Its hard to sit down and write one thing that points to the end of the world when there are so many things to factor in. for instance, Has anyone noticed that 12 years ago u could fill ur tank at the ampm for 99 cents a gallon, now its 4 dollars yet it still costs 4.99 to purchase a 20 piece chicken nugget at mcdonalds, hasn’t anyone seen the mad max collection? gas is a hot commodity when the shit burns down and I dont know if any bodies been kicking it on capital hill lately but the hipsters are already sporting the post apocalyptic hair-dews. and they know whats up cause there hip. Everything we once knew is being destroyed. punk rock is no longer a fuck you to the system but a profitable fashion statement. hip hop died when the first kid said I bought my wu-tang t-shirt at h@m and the game simon is now in the form of a triangle. We need to look at the little things not the birds falling from the sky or the ancient aztec prophecies, what about when ranger charlie was all of a sudden a hot chick. What about the fact that there is some free shit being offered here and I am the only entry so far. or the fact that if this was a Rhianna contest people would be all about it, fucking unbelievable, the truth is the end started at the beginning and now were all just wasting time. so do what the gangsters do, sip on some sisurp smoke weed everyday, and roll in your 64…

  • mike

    well there was one other entry but still!

  • mike

    Oh and I did see tupac at the circle K in kent, he told me to hit em up for a slushy

  • paul

    A sure sign of the apocalypse is that lou reed and metallica are making an album together. No that is not a joke.

  • AC

    With all due respect to Mr. Bill Callahan

    (Signs of) MY MY MY APOCALYPSE

    The real people went away
    Leaving only me and my dreams
    I was knocked back flat
    I was knocked out cold for one clack of the train track

    The sacrifice was made
    It was not easy undertaking
    The roots gripped soft like a living grave
    Oh I am a helpless man, so help me
    (Baby breath)

    What an army, what an air force, what a marines
    America! America!
    Afghanistan, Vietnam, Iran, Native American

    Tied up in a boat and kicked off to sea
    In tight baby binding technique
    All sunk
    Sunk, sunk, sunk, sunk, sunk
    (Universal applicant)

    What if I had stood there at the end
    And said again and again and again and again and again
    An answer to every question
    My my my apocalypse
    (Riding for the feeling)

    I’m standing in a field
    A field of questions
    As far as the eye can see
    Is this what it means to be free?

    When the earth turns cold
    And the earth turns black
    Just me and a skeleton crew
    We’re gonna ride out in a country kind of silence
    (One fine morning)

  • HIP HOP generation hardcore si si !!

  • Bobby

    Very interesting question because I think we are surrounded by signs of the coming apocalypse. Perhaps wealth disparity, the multiple wars that are breaking out around the world, the increased power of natural disasters, melting ice caps, oil > human lives but I think the clearest sign of the apocalypse to come is the fact that Oprah Winfrey is no longer on the air. We are all screwed.

  • WF

    The other night I was standing outside a karaoke bar and a man came up to me, offered to buy a cigarette from me for 20 dollars, and then, within three minutes of beginning our conversation, proceeded to lift up his shirt and show me a loaded revolver.

    Here’s a bit about this situation: firstly, the karaoke bar was RockBox. If you haven’t been there, don’t bother: it’s one of those intentionally chic, pre-fabricated ‘Karaoke Club’-type places, the ones with smoky gray stone (granite?) everywhere and bland and expressionless women monotoning their way through ‘Take it to the Limit,’ by the Eagles. Secondly, the man was white, mid-to-late twenties, clean-cut, close-cropped hair, and gave off the kind of intense concentration and confidence that I usually associate with military personnel and police officers. He was dressed in a gray peacoat, distressed jeans, and a button-down. The revolver was short and stubby, the bullets visible and coppery inside the cylinder. The handle had a crosshatched grip and the rest of the gun was a dark, matte black.

    I don’t fully remember the line of conversation that prompted him to do this—I do know that, after I declined to accept a Jackson for a smoke he pulled out what was at least 400 dollars in cash and fanned it out to me, and so I shrugged and accepted two Lincolns, instead. That was definitely where I went wrong, but that’s like two drinks. My taking his money gave him the confidence and, it seemed to me at the time, sort of the right to show me his gun and then talk my ear off about America’s coming apocalypse.

    I didn’t really catch all of what he was saying—there was a lot of talk about food prices, water shortages, China defaulting on our debt (all of these are from what I can see real and legitimately distressing). And then he was talking about buying gold, or maybe it was silver, and then he was showing me video on his phone of him shooting an Uzi or something. And then he was talking about Loose Change and other large, mostly preposterous conspiracies. And then, kind of weirdly, he pointed to my outfit (jeans and hoodie, typical Capitol Hill get-up) and said ‘you, probably, are up shits creek.’ Which, you know, I probably already knew. I’m not about to be siphoning gas from Lord Humongous or stealing some goofy-looking Australian’s gyrocopter or anything. I think my philosophy is more like Two Men Enter, one Man Watches It Streaming on His Computer Eating Flaming Hot Cheetos Like a Sad Piece of Shit.

    I digress: the point is I’ve had the Apocalypse predicted to me by someone who probably played lacrosse in high school. Is that stereotypically really douchey out here? Sorry: I grew up in Maryland. Anyway, towards the end of the conversation (and please note that I was looking for all the tell-tale signs of a cocaine jibber-jabber and could see none—and that’s not like a ‘I do cocaine’ statement but more of a ‘I have hung out with people who have done cocaine’ statement), he was getting pretty into the whole Loose Change thing and going on about a giant government storehouse underneath the WTC. I was guffawing and saying ‘Whoa, man, whoa’ in the way you do to that uncle who won’t stop talking about his new boat. What else was I supposed to do? A loaded gun is like the ultimate rhetorical device: no one can not pay attention to you. Mercifully, his friends arrived and pulled him away, and I watched them go, all of them slouching towards Rancho Bravo to eat burritos.

  • Matthew Tilton

    The fact that most americans believe that our”democracy” means freedom is one BIG sign of the impending Apocalypse.