Whatever is bubbling under the cauldron of mainstream American rock, it's sure stirring up some magical music. Perhaps it's the inevitable backlash against the blues-based blandness of most major US acts, or maybe it's just that some folk are feeling alienated by rock's predominant feel-good factor, but artists such as Mercury Rev, Palace and now Smog are slowly restoring faith in the American rock dream.
If Brian Eno had been born in the US, he might have sounded a bit like Bill Callaghan. The seventh album from the man behind the Smog moniker displays a finely honed sense of ambience and space, using stripped-down cello passages and chipped-off guitar breaks to tell a lonely tale of life on rock's hard shoulder. The effect is both electronic and organic - like a country troubador wired up to the synapses and tuned into the inner voice. Opening with the Neil Young-style exhortation, Let's Move To The Country, Callaghan sets a languid, linear tone which lingers through tracks such as River Guard, Teenage Spaceship and Cold Blooded Old Times. The mood is strangely uplifting, the sound of a man shrugging off his burden and barrelling on down the road towards his destiny. Hit The Ground Running and I Could Drive For- ever underline the album's straight-ahead clarity of purpose, while a cameo appearance by the Chicago Children's Choir adds to the pervading sense of innocence, untarnished by harsh of reality.
