Smog

Looking as icy as David Sylvian, wearing a mask somewhere between Buster Keaton and Anthony Perkins, Bill Callahan opens his Bristol show with a warhorse possessing magical Springsteen-esque powers, "I Was A Stranger". I deduce, with some relief, that despite everything he does want to warm us up. Thank goodness. A local listings magazine, along the lines of London's Time Out, had announced this gig in ominous tones, since apparently the last time Smog played Bristol, his icy demeanor was so off-putting that it left a bitter taste for much of the audience.

Now, either Bill has changed, or he read that article and took it to heart. Bit by bit, almost imperceptibly, he transforms. Sure, he doesn't turn into a party animal (how could he?), but in his own way he puts on a show. This consists of marionette-like moves à la Gene Vincent, winks that look like tics (or vice versa), momentary lurches, Chaplin-esque smirks (has he been studying American silent film?!), all delivered in a stiff, "understated" manner that is exactly what you'd expect from the man. In this sober, entirely unpretentious staging, he's backed by Jim White, the excellent drummer of Dirty Three, who as he plays winks and hams it up like an octopus among cymbals and toms.

Tonight's rendition of the Callahan songbook is closely tied to the mood of "A River Ain't Much To Love", dominated by country and minimal-folk, though as you'd expect from a live show, injected with bursts of powerful rock that break up the pleasant narcolepsy of the set. It's striking to see how Bill seems to almost relish exposing the simplicity of his songs, some played on open strings over well-worn arpeggios, like "Rock Bottom Riser": its bare surface is torn open by his voice alone, carving out an immense depth the way only Cohen, Reed and Cash have ever managed.

Bass and guitar are balanced and precise in building traditional country-folk scaffolding, while White amazes with brushes or sticks on every song, adding an improvisational dimension as soft as a flou backdrop even when it resounds powerfully. The interplay between acoustic and electric borders on a faint psychedelia, and on more than one occasion there's a whiff of jazz. All of it topped off by Callahan's stony demeanor, which live openly reveals a soul seething with vitality. Besides the songs from the latest album, there are a couple from "Dongs Of Sevotion" ("Bloodflow", almost Gun Club-like, and the ever-magnificent "Dress Sexy At My Funeral"), "Our Anniversary" from "Supper", "I Break Horses", "Floating" and a blazing encore with "Cold Blooded Old Times". Lastly, a satisfaction of mine, or perhaps just a projection: I saw him smile with wonder, almost involuntarily, at the warmth of a crowd literally exhilarated by the power of this music. And what does he actually do… He tells of loneliness with rare grace.

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