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It might not be as bare or as fraught as Smog's earlier works, but from mordant tone alone,
Rain on Lens is Bill Callahan's darkest release since 1996's
The Doctor Came at Dawn. While it would be disingenuous to claim that Smog's Bill Callahan is a man of ever-changing moods--he has, over the last 10 years, been responsible for some of the most consistently morose works this side of a suicide note--some of his recent records, especially 1999's glorious
Knock Knock, have been invested with a certain hearty warmth.
Rain on Lens, however, is not one of those records. Reclaiming his seat in the rocking chair, as weak sunlight filters through musty net curtains, Callahan muses, in his deep baritone over the darkest tales. "Song" is a morbid death march in which Callahan drawls, "I'm a bit like the gravedigger / Who wields no shovel / And digs no hole / But leaves the body to stand," while "Natural Decline" finds his Chicago-based backing band sparking up into a kind of deathly motorik rhythm, accompanied by skeletal handclaps and piercing violin sweeps. The Smog aficionados among us will love it, but for a hapless newcomer eager to dip a toe into these murky waters, there are more forgiving starting points.
--Louis Pattison
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