Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle
Due April 14, Callahan’s latest solo effort lives up to the gentle AM Gold vibes of the cover art. Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle is delicate, gruff, manly and demure all at once. Joined by Thor Harris, Jonathan Meiburg, a handful of accompanying musicians (French horn, cello, violin, etc.) and Brian Beattie at the helm, Callahan is as stately and romantic as ever.
Right away on “Jim Cain,” it’s hard not to notice the less angular and gritty approach on the record compared to Woke on a Whaleheart. There’s a bit of ethereal mist in the air, misty horns and strings swirling about, but since this is a Bill Callahan record, things get a bit darker (and proceed that way) until the end. He’s singing about dreaming and waking to an empty room, imagining a woman who may or may not be there, asking for a handbook on mental clarity and noticing the birds have nowhere to land — everything is in the sky, a mind, a cloud. It’s “Too Many Birds” that sounds the most Callahan; perhaps because the arrangements seem to have taken a siesta, giving way to Harris’ unmistakable chirping hi-hats and a distant moody violin. The song could be a reprise to “Sycamore,” a steady slow dance beat holding up a soaring and diving vocal and singular string.
Throughout, the brightest moments are the starkest: a patient guitar and familiar baritone pairing on “My Friend,” and though a somewhat busty string section evolves, the undeniable highlight of the tune is the gruff utterance of the song title against the guitar’s shift from slow and steady to impatient and angsty. As the record goes on, things get darker both in composition and word; there’s an evil tinge to “All Thoughts Are Prey to Some Beast,” like a campfire reckoning in the still woods. The closing tune, “Faith/Void” is a nine minute instructional: put God away. Oddly enough, Callahan’s voice has softened for this one, after a handful of truly dark and ominous numbers. He sounds relieved, proud even, as he utters, “I put God away. This is end of faith, no more must I strive to find my peace.” Ending the record on this philosophical question mark (we should all do it, right? If we’ll feel this free? Let’s let him go.) There’s strings and all that jazz here too, but it would almost be nicer to just hear him sing these words without anyone else around. Everything swells and his guitar becomes fainter, his singing gives way to the crowd, and things come to a close with a strange feeling of longing — he’s gone too, and with this new freedom, where will he go?
Bill Callahan “Eid Ma Clack Shaw” (mp3) [pre-order]
