Bill Callahan: My Days of 58

“Tarot the workflow / Take in the tableau,” sings Bill Callahan on Why Do Men Sing – the opening gambit from his eighth studio album, My Days of 58. 

It’s one of the many striking extracts on a record where Callahan untangles life’s complexities. Both through song and approach, as he grows longer in the tooth, the songwriter harnesses new powers. Take his current U.K. tour, which last night saw him play Liverpool for second time in under 12 months. Who would have envisaged Bill Callahan in a meet and greet environment signing autographs?

But this is the new Bill. Footloose and fancy-free, and this latest canter across Ol’ Blighty isn’t a case of “flooding” any “markets”. It’s based on the strength of My Days of 58 and live, the songs from it are every bit as vibrant in a room full of strangers as they are in the quieter milieus of one’s home.

Billed as a “hobo stew”, My Days of 58 is a confessional memorandum where Bill loosens the mind knots. One of those moments where a glance into the mirror becomes far more intense than that. And in Callahan’s case, he reveals as much about himself than ever before. Perhaps he was always destined to write My Days of 58. Many of country music’s greats, crystalising their legend by their directness, and Callahan is the latest.

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Backed by hushed, abstract arrangements courtesy of Callahan’s backing band from the REALITY tour, there also some new voices. Led by Jerry DeCicca, with whom Callahan recorded the basic tracks, however it’s an old voice that holds it all together. These songs, anchored by the ever-dependable drummer, Jim White, who gives these songs rich textures and subtle dynamism. And while there are bigger sounding moments throughout (Stepping Out for Air and And Dream Land), it’s the soft bedding of sound for the most part that intensifies these songs, allowing Callahan’s honey-layered voice to ride on top of the mix.

Starting with Why Do Men Sing. The first autobiographical tale, which starts with Callahan pondering why he does what he does. It dovetails perfectly with Pathol O.G. In one of the album’s most direct moments, here Callahan reflects on his life as an artist. (“I don’t want to say it saved my life / But it gave me a life… It’s important to not treat your lifeboat like a yacht.”) These remnants spit and crackle through the campfire later with Lonely City – a meditation on touring the world and how cities constantly change.

Then there’s Callahan’s provocative examination on Computer. A tale not limited to death scrolls, rabbit holes, auto tune and the erosion of free speech (“Whatever was the original dream / This machine’s become the village guillotine… I’m not a robot and I never will be”), it’s new territory for Callahan, sharing the the kind of naked honesty that may have some bristling with scorn.

Elsewhere, the vast landscapes on the wandering West Texas come sharply into focus. A beautiful, effortless homage that makes you want to jump on a plane and spend some time there. It’s these mundane snapshots that wouldn’t be possible without the album centrepiece, The Man I’m Supposed to Be. It’s here where Callahan confronts his demons. The voice living inside his head, which is the same one that grinds most of us into a husk, as routine dwarfs the things that really matter. “We take life seriously / Laugh in the face of death”, he sings, declaring he’ll being there more for his loved ones.

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And it’s those loved ones who are the focal point on Empathy. From earning his father’s respect with a “$3,000 cheque” and coming to a certain realisation (“Let me tell you something you never knew / I’m just like you”), to looking closer to home (“My daughter makes beauty… My son makes empathy… So much more than me”), it’s this unvarnished, wistful elegance that completes the transition of new-era Bill Callahan.

While the deep echo of The World Is Still completes Callahan’s victory lap, it’s penultimate song, Highway Born that underlines My Days of 58. Both an observation from the past and present, it’s certified AM radio gold. Simple songcraft with new warmth and vigour that permeates all through these songs.

Oddly enough, one could draw a line to My Days of 58 from Nick Cave and Warren Ellis’ Carnage. That understanding of life and death. The former, embraced intensely as the latter draws closer. It’s a simple notion. But in a world that moves too fast, for most, the realisation only comes when it’s too late. Not Bill, though, who through these songs, makes the simple things in life almost sound cataclysmic. And approaching 60, it feels like there will be more of these moments as he, indeed, tarots the workflow and takes in the tableau.

My Days of 58 is out now via Drag City. Purchase from Bandcamp.