Smog
Wild Love

THE REVIEW

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.