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Rating: Behind the stage name Smog lies the introverted and profound personality of Bill Callahan. One of the most talented songwriters of the '90s, Smog uses a subdued and melancholic tone to describe his tormented soul. His lyrics exude a feeling of escape, of non-belonging in this world; his condition seems to be typical of the "misfit" in life, dragged by an inert existence dotted with precious unfulfilled desires. Wild Love reflects all this in music. His arrangements are sparse, sometimes spectral, cold as ocean water. His sound is raw, rough, sharp, "low-fi", the perfect landscape for Callahan's beautiful baritone voice, profoundly deep, fitting perfectly into this desolate scenario, granting the listener shivers of true emotion, isolating them in the most devastating solitude.
The album, just to please, starts immediately with a masterpiece: "Bathysphere" is the epitome of the artist Smog. An obsessive rhythm cuts the breath of a solfeggio that resembles a heartbeat, while a vibrant guitar emits a continuous and exhausting hypnotic lament. One gets trapped in a state of tremendously fascinating claustrophobic anxiety. A pure jewel. The title track is a brief shard of songwriting, torn by the harsh sound of a cello and spectral tinkles. "Samebody shot down my wild love," Callahan intones, while everything fades away almost before it begins. "Sweet Smog Children" seems to evoke the ghosts of Nico, as it is permeated with dissonances of a music box and disorienting background noises. "Limited Capacity" has the same strength as a candle about to go out, just three piano chords and nothing else. If this isn't minimalism... "It's Rough" represents another gem of rare splendor, a poignant and melancholic melody, woven this time by a more complex yet never intrusive arrangement, always elegant and of great taste.
The only track perhaps a bit too laden with grandiosity is the symphonic apotheosis of "Prince Alone In The Studio," where Smog imagines the Minneapolis singer preferring the company of his guitar to that of the screaming girls wanting to have sex with him. The track is excellent, but it slightly clashes with the essentiality of the rest of the work. In conclusion, we find the only glimmer of light, given to us by the tender melody of "Goldfish Bowl," a very sweet lullaby with a syncopated rhythm, caressed by spirals of cello of rare elegance.
A true masterpiece of delightful miniatures, Wild Love undoubtedly deserves to be counted among the "must-have" albums.
Tracklist Lyrics Samples and Videos
02 Wild Love (01:35)
Wild love
Wild love
Somebody chopped down my wild love
Wild love
Wild love
Somebody shot down my wild love
08 Sleepy Joe (03:53)
I slept through most of April
I got up in May and had some toast
Then I bedded down again
I bedded down again
Because I was sleepy
In June
I made enough chili in my crockpot
To last `till the winter
'Cause winter will be here sooner than you think
Winter will be here sooner than you think
That's when I hibernate
Oh, can you hear the bells
Can you hear the bells
Well neither can I
Neither can I
And I don't hear trumpets
When I enter a room
The fire you build for yourself
Could be so cold
Sleepy Joe
Sleepy Joe
Sleepy Joe
You say you feel like you're dead
Oh well, I think it's just those books you read
You say you can't feel a thing
I'd like to break a chair across your back
And throw you in the ocean
Then tell me you don't feel a thing
When you slept with Jenny
You said you couldn't feel a thing
Well I did
Sleepy Joe
Sleepy Joe
Sleepy Joe
Nature abhors a vacuum
Nature abhors a vacuum
And so do you
Especially when you're trying to sleep late
Sleepy Joe
Sleepy Joe
Sleepy Joe
Sleepy Joe
09 The Candle (02:26)
I was on her body
He was on her mind
I progressed her
He possessed her
I was there every day
He was there one day
And then went away
Well, I'm gathering these splinters to make a raft someday
She gives me so little
I'm gathering these splinters to make a raft someday and sail away
But the candle, she still burns a candle
"A light", she says, "I need a light"
And it's the only light in our room tonight
And she fills her face
With bananas and plumbs
Yoghurt and crumbs
And sexual (drums her fingers, comes, numbs?)
And the vibrated ..?..
And my dumb smile
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Other reviews
By CosmicJocker
"Smog’s nostalgia is archetypal, existential, a nostalgia for the Lost Paradise."
"Bill Callahan has lost all illusion and has nothing left but to survive in a world that is long dead and buried."
