Smog
Supper

Perhaps it's because I've always adored melancholy, understood as an exalted state of the soul, and I've always adored memories, whether sad or happy, because it doesn't matter since memories, whether they warm the heart or torture it, keep it alive in any case.
Perhaps it's because when I look back, I see—still mighty—the cumbersome past, and if I turn around and look at the road I travel ahead, nothing changes: the past is a landscape that will never bring peace to the eyes.
Perhaps it's because I adore Nick Drake, that I adore that part of me—which struggles among many others less romantic—that brings me that blind despair of searching for better days, because the days that have passed will always be better and it doesn't matter if it's true, because—in the end—it doesn't help us move forward.
Perhaps it's because I adore poetry, and I like, after a day that has nothing poetic about it (and what could ever be poetic about a bank?) to feel for a second like a poet too, because whoever shares poetry is a poet himself.

It's perhaps for this, and for much more, that I love this album, just as I love Jason Molina, and as I love Bonny "prince" Billy or whatever the hell that man wants to call himself today, and as I love any other poor soul of such kind, individuals who struggle daily in the dry environment of the underground, honest people, meticulous, good people in short, who don't care about success, focused as they are on fighting their inner demons.
And then sincerity doesn't rhyme with success.

Well, all this to say a few things. All this to say that Bill Callahan really has talent, folks, and how happy it would make me to believe that you already know this. But I also wanted to say that "Supper" is a delightful album, that doesn't stray much from what has already been captured in a good handful of past works, perhaps just a bit sunnier (but watch out, my friends: even in Antarctica the sun shines).
And to tell you, and then I'll leave you since the bank closes and I'm tired, that "Supper" has at least two wonderful songs, one is called "Our Anniversary" and the other "Ambition", and they are a sort of farewell dance for restless spirits and a hefty (post?)rock nervous and tense.
And there would be a third one too, but my limited knowledge doesn't forge a suitable term, that gives the impression of something even more supreme. This other one is called "Butterflies Drown In Wine", and maybe, yes, a term would exist: pure poetry.