I listen to a lot of music. Like A LOT of music, devouring albums like Shia LaBeouf ruins movies. And that’s a lot of fucking movies. Most of these records don’t last past the first listen. They get heard, I jot down some notes, and immediately file them away among artists like: Toddla T, Isis, The Scribbling Idiots, and Death Vessel. Never heard of Toddla T, Isis, The Scribbling Idiots or Death Vessel?? Exactly. So when one of those 20-30 albums a week sticks in my rotation, it’s a damn fine piece of music.

I first came across Bill Callahan’s Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle back in April and was pretty ambivalent. I figured this would be one of the many albums I’d never listen to again and join the Toddla Ts of the world. To get a better idea of my first impression, here are my notes from my first listen through on April 17:

The second solo album from the famous SMOG, whom I’ve never really put forth the effort to absorb, released under his real name. This is just OK. It sort of reminds me of if The National sang The Mountain Goats with less Conor Oberst/Bright Eyes and a bit more Devendra Barnhart. Pseudo interesting, but nothing earth shattering. I should probably abandon this, go listen to some SMOG and figure out why this guy is a considered a genius.

Yet now it’s almost July, and Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle is still going strong in my rotation. As of this writing and according to iTunes, I’ve listened to it 28 times through (and that’s not counting the many times I’ve listened to it on my iPhone in the car).

Why this album has endured so long, despite my initial impression, I have no idea. If someone were to describe it to me—an acoustic, baritoned voiced, alt-countryish rambling, with a song about a bird who can’t find a place to land because there are too many fucking other birds in his tree (seriously, there is a song called Too Many Birds), a chorus full of giberish (Eid Ma Clack Shaw), and a crazy one-off, avant-garde, experimental track with a vaguely female voice “ahh-ing” all over the place (Invocation of Ratiocination)—I would not be interested. Not even a little.

But for some reason, I cannot get enough of this album. I fucking love it. Maybe, like Kanye on 808s and Heartbreak, he’s some sort of crazy voodoo witchdoctor brain ninja that sucks you in deeper and deeper with every listen, till your completely mindfucked. But, for all his quirks and nonsensicality, Bill Callahan has made one amazing album. It could possibly become one of my favorites of this year. It’s an album that will grow on you, take hold of you, consume you.

It’s completely engaging throughout—cohesive in every sense of the word, without falling into the trap of “concept album”—to which so many other artists succumb. This is definitely something I recommend experiencing through a nice pair of headphones and just zoning the fuck out. As you sit back and let the Callahan’s incomparable sounds wash over you, his esoteric lyrics start to make sense. You begin to lose yourself in his world. And halfway through your second listen, you’ll be like, “Damn. Sometimes I DO wish we were an eagle…”

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Eid Ma Clack Shaw

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