
Five tracks of skeletal folk and dry-eyed cynicism. Bill Callahan’s baritone anchors a world of tape hiss, jagged guitars, and domestic isolation.
December 12, 2000 · Spunk
This EP is the sound of a room where the heating has just been turned off. It is a bridge between the more polished Dongs of Sevotion and the experimental grit of Rain on Lens, capturing Smog at his most unadorned and perhaps most honest. The production is startlingly dry; you can hear the wood of the guitar and the saliva in Callahan's mouth, creating an intimacy that feels almost intrusive. It is not pretty folk music; it is music that acknowledges the puke tree in the yard and the dust on the windowsill.
How does 'Neath the Puke Tree sound next to the rest of Smog's catalogue?
The production is pushed a touch harder into minimalist than this artist usually allows.
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