Bill Callahan
Saturday, March 1
The Jackpot Saloon
By GRANT SNIDER
When I grow up, I want to have a voice like Bill Callahan. I’ll sing about women and horses and God, and I’ll sound deep, sincere, and ruggedly artistic. But until I hit that elusive second puberty, I’ll settle for hearing Callahan’s deep voice in concert.
The artist formerly known as Smog headlined The Jackpot Saloon, an intimate venue well suited for Callahan’s no-frills performance. Between Callahan and opening act Jonathan Meiburg, there were two guitars, one banjo, one set of drums and assorted percussion instruments, and three musicians. The between-song banter was kept to a polite minimum, and Callahan’s encore consisted of one song. No rock-star excess here.
Opener Jonathan Meiburg, frontman for the band Shearwater, began his short solo set with wide-eyed, unaccompanied wailing, then grabbed a banjo to finish off what sounded like a Celtic folk lament. His voice, high and haunting, made it hard to decipher the lyrics, but I imagined it was something about a ghost. The second song also featured man and banjo (but was nothing like Steve Martin). Meiburg had the habit of rolling his eyes back in his head so only the whites were visible, giving his songs some epileptic passion. Meiburg switched to the electric guitar for the remainder of the set, playing a few tunes from Shearwater’s latest album, Palo Santo, as well as a forthcoming Shearwater release.
On the last song, the seizure-like movements returned, Meiburg’s arm flailing repeatedly in violent strumming movements. The set started and ended strong, with uninhibited alt-folk that suggested the approach of Okkervil River, the better-known band of which Meiburg is also a member. The songs didn’t lack energy, but a backing band would have provided some welcome voltage.
It’s our anniversary, sang Bill Callahan, and I believed him. Callahan and his band, clad in black suits and unbuttoned white shirts, looked ready to take the audience out to dinner -- unexpected attire from a man who has previously written, Whenever I get dressed up, I feel like an ex-con trying to make good. Meiburg returned on guitar (after a costume change), and the aptly named Thor Harris, also of Shearwater, played the drums. Thor sported a long beard and hair down to his shoulder blades, presumably a requirement for anyone named ‘Thor.’
Though Callahan previously performed under the moniker Smog, his songs are more organic than industrial, like the meandering “Sycamore,” from his latest, Woke on a Whaleheart. Rich acoustic guitar and a golden voice gave this and other non-rocking songs pastoral beauty. Callahan pressed his eyelids together and contorted the right half of his face as he sang, and on the upbeat numbers like “Cold-Blooded Old Times” and “Diamond Dancer,” he kicked up his knees like a form-running exercise.
Though some scruffy Lawrencians called out obscure songs from the prolific Smog catalog, Callahan stuck mainly to songs from this decade, including many from 2005’s A River Ain’t Too Much to Love. Callahan closed with “Let Me See the Colts,” which is ostensibly about horses but could be about sex, death, or Peyton Manning.
That’s the beauty of Callahan’s lyrics – you can imprint your own meanings on them.
Showing 1-2 of 2
This is a really great post, I'm glad that you put this content out there for everyone, and I'm sure that others feel the same way!
like
dislike
