​Bill Callahan
American Songbook @ Lincoln Center
Wednesday, February 8

Better than: Trying to catch a cab outside of Lincoln Center.

First, a confession: I had never been to Lincoln Center in my four and a half years living in New York City. I was not prepared for seeing this show with a backdrop of Central Park, Columbus Circle, and a good chunk of the New York skyline. I was more wide-eyed than ever before, proving my still-developing New Yorker-ness. In a way, I was like Bill Callahan himself, wondering (him aloud, me inwardly) what we were doing here on a Wednesday night, playing/listening to country songs while staring out into the metropolis's night sky.

Callahan started out on a very strong note, coming out to the best song from last year's majestic Apocalypse: "Riding for the Feeling" is a slow roast, a warm cup of your favorite coffee, enjoyed next to the fire as snow batters your window. His voice was somehow more present and alive than on record, its imperfections strengthening the song's impact. The acoustics in the Allen Room really amplified every note from the dual guitars and the soft drumbeats. It sure helped that every person seemed to be holding their breath; at one point, I swear I heard a piece of paper rustle across the 400-something-capacity room.

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​In honor of Beyoncé's four-night run at Roseland, which continues with a sold-out show tonight, Sound of the City is celebrating the singer with a series of features. While she's a singular artist with her own way of handling tracks, it's fun to imagine what would happen if other artists tackled her catalog. This list was crafted with a very acute awareness that certain songs shouldn't be touched (cough, "1+1"), but know that the artist/track pairings we came up with pay homage to both B and her future tribute bands.

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So it's awful outside, and your friends ditched you for Bonnaroo. Quit sulking; Tennessee is flooded in state troopers and Phish acolytes, while you have countless local offerings to gorge on.

If you haven't already picked up your Northside Festival badge, order online for pickup at 60 North 6th Street, King's County. Beat a vegan at Golden Triangle's Friday Union Pool set, then take the walk to Studio B for a sample of Detroit's finest techno. Saturday, Canadian beatsmith Daedelus joins Ghislain Poirier and Megasoid for some "fractal rock shit." And Sunday either recover at the Music Hall with a softened Bill Callahan, or risk a 48-hour hangover at Europa's eight-band doom-metal showcase.

Friday, Saturday, and Sunday during daylight hours, the Figment Festival brings more than 400 interactive art pieces to Governor's Island, as well as a slew of dancers, performance artists, and live bands. Meanwhile, the Tank's free Come Out and Play Festival celebrates its fourth year with extravagant public games designed by the likes of Apple and Walt Disney.

It's looking like a great weekend for jazz-- The Bill McHenry Quintet plays the Vanguard, Abdullah Ibraham takes his Ekayah Ensemble to the Standard, Lewis Nash does Jazz at Lincoln Center, and Gillespie's band pays tribute to Diz at the Blue Note.

Also, punk for a buck at the Cake Shop on Friday, a Manchester warehouse party in Brooklyn on Saturday, and surf goths unplugged at Rockaway Beach on Sunday.

Luisa Cinta

Over 20 years, Bill Callahan--who recorded as Smog from 1988 until 2007--has dabbled in hard rock, children's choirs, French horns, country, darkened synth-pop, and gospel. His throat holds a flat, wheaty baritone--as expressionless as plastic and as self-sufficient as a leather jacket; he never sounds sad, just calcified and distant. And yet even at their most scientifically antisocial, his lyrics are backgrounded by sweetness: "Most of my fantasies are of making someone else come," confessions both teeth-grittingly awkward and very, very commendable.

Callahan is basically a back-porch cartographer of the chasms between us and other people. Because of this, and because he has discovered fresh and somewhat abstract ways to suss out the particular rush of life's most prosaic painful moments, I submit that he's terrific. Tomorrow he releases another album, called Sometimes I Wish We Were an Eagle, on Drag City. (The title "is about desire," he says dispassionately.) After 20 years, it's hard to compare Bill Callahan to anyone but Bill Callahan, but I'll say that Sometimes is my favorite record of his in several years, maybe since 1999's Knock Knock. So I called him to talk about it.

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