July 20, 2011
Bill Callahan, Sycamore
One of the final songs from the show last night.
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- Sheila Ryan: The thing is, I think of the disco phase as a kind of anomaly in the Bee Gees’ career. To me,...
- Derek White: First Donna Summer, now Robin Gibb. It appears disco really is dying.
- Sheila Ryan: Nice selection from Robin Gibb’s heyday as lead singer from Bill Crandall in Rolling Stone.
- Casey Cichowicz: And health, wealth, and happiness to those that eat them.
- Sheila Ryan: Eggs.
- Erica: Perhaps we can pick up John Waters.
- Josh Weichhand: Ugh… Yes, to all of the above. Miss you guys. Miss the time I was able to spend here. I miss...
- Sheila Ryan: In the back of my Honda Element, the moveable roadside attraction.
- Sheila Ryan: You are very good. Pray continue in this vein.
- Cooper: You are both very kind. Thank you.
- Erica Braverman: Where’s the world’s largest fork and stack of bacon?
- Casey Cichowicz: Also, I think the new Here We Go Magic album is quite good.
- Sheila Ryan: Also, it is a wonderful story, and I really want to believe it was not a contrived stunt. Damn. I want...
- Joel Bernstein: It was mostly for you.
- Sheila Ryan: Well, you just know I love that, Joel.
“All you want to do is be the fire part of fire.”
I got slightly inebriated at a dinner party right after this record came out and kept repeating “All you want to do is be the fire part of fire” and everyone kept asking me what I was muttering about because apparently hanging out in a kitchen and muttering about fire is disconcerting.
Tell all about the concert! I’ve never heard him play this one live, lucky. I have heard Our Anniversary 3 times though, so the universe has apologised to me in some ways.
Amanda, I feel I could write a novel about last night. And that’s the problem. I’m not just talking about the show, because he is masterful, and just how skilled a craftsman he is becomes immediately apparent when the music is live (as you already know). He is stunning. But the thing that preoccupied a tenth to a third of my mind was two groups of people who were there to see the show I know wouldn’t exist in any other state. I know there is a history and narrative there that is larger than I can simultaneously hold and I don’t have the words for it yet, but it/they were tragic and stunning and beautiful and hilarious and quirky and touching and odd, and you could only have seen them in Texas. It made no fucking sense. They made no fucking sense. And yet, there they were, at a Bill Callahan show, shuffling in Wranglers and boots, or hooting and hollering their delight at Baby’s Breath while everyone else’s attention was rapt. There, I said it, but this is only a start.
Oh, Deron. I know just what you mean. The Texas paradox. I’m so glad you got to experience that last night, in addition to the wonder of the concert itself. We never know when it’s going to happen, but when it does–well, it’s bigger than we can hold.
I’m seriously about to burst.
I know. And it’s wonderful.
I once saw a rancher–straight and tall, weathered brown skin, piercing blue eyes under a straw cowboy hat–gazing at a Donald Judd outdoor sculpture. The experience of seeing him in that context was larger than anything Judd could have hoped to produce.
Cindy, the dude in the Wranglers did a personal dance that was hilarious beautiful and terrifying.
Good.