“You know I’ve been writing songs and singing them / For nigh on 30 years / I like it / I love it!” So sings Bill Callahan on ‘Pathol O.G.’, a knowing cowboy retrospective of his life and career. In some ways, the Texas bard formerly known as Smog has been doing the same thing for three decades: making records with consistently sharp portraiture, and at once funny and heartbreaking observations. His voice now – rich and deep like few others – is the same as it was in the mid-90s.
Anchored by the reliable strength of his songwriting, Callahan makes small alterations of his formula to keep things fresh. For My Days of 58, he initially recorded in a duo with the great Jim White (Dirty Three) on drums, working separately on parts with Matt Kinsey (guitar), Dustin Laurenzi (sax), and a host of guest musicians popping in to appear on individual tracks. Prioritising unpredictability in this way has resulted in his loosest, cosiest record in years. ‘Stepping Out For Air’ is laidback and warm, with elements dropping out and slipping back together in surprising combinations. ‘And Dream Land’ is collaged together like a dream logic country song. ‘Computer’ is so fragile it’s on the verge of collapse, fitting for a song about the fallibility of humanity in contrast to emergent technologies. Its lyric is uncharacteristically weak, though, lacking Callahan’s usual verbal particularities. Maybe critique of the internet in 2026 can only be approached with broad strokes.
As players flit in and out of arrangements, they occasionally take on the role of duet partner. A female voice – uncredited, unfortunately – joins Callahan for the chorus of opener ‘Why Do Men Sing’, reminiscent of the back and forth between Leonard Cohen and Sharon Robinson. Callahan’s vocal on the haunting ‘Lonely City’ is challenged by Richard Bowden’s violin part, as sly and knowing as Scarlet Rivera on Dylan’s Desire. Jim White is an especially exciting collaborator for Callahan: their sensibilities are so aligned that it’s surprising they only started working together in 2022. On ‘West Texas’, the two are in almost exact tandem, held in the atmospheric fizz of White’s snare.
Callahan’s dry humour is a crucial element of his appeal, and it’s here in spades. The title of ‘Why Do Men Sing’ is a good joke in itself – especially as the song itself features Callahan singing for seven minutes, the second longest song on the record. In ‘Pathol O.G.’ he reminisces about life on the road as a young gun: “I remember one girl in Tennessee / Where girls in songs always seem to be / She said you should spend the night / In a hotel”. ‘Empathy’ is a song about fatherhood sung to Callahan’s own father, with a confession of understanding followed by a knowing wink: “Although they’re in the middle / I added these lines last / I don’t know if they’re true”. As with all Callahan’s work, his immaculate comic timing, pathos and heart are intertwined – the strongly held centre of the maelstrom.
