SMOG'S Bill Callahan once confided - in an NME personal file, if memory serves - that his all-time hero was Peter Falk's immortal TV detective Lieutenant Columbo because he felt his own life was like an episode of the show. The dastardly deeds would be done and he was waiting for Columbo to finally enter the picture and gradually wear him down until he'd be forced to confess.
All of which seemed fatalistically fitting for the man previously dubbed "everyone's favourite misanthropist". Indeed, darkness has always hovered like a ravenous buzzard over Callahan's muse, rendering some of his earlier masterpieces like "The Doctor Came At Dawn" with an almost unbearable sense of impending doom.
Nonetheless, Callahan had been pretty much unbeatable in terms of mirthless (mirthful?) introspection since the mid -1990s, until 2001's mildly disappointing "Rain On Lens", which - despite flashes of brilliance - was largely a frustrating affair.
So it's heartening to report that "Supper" finds Callahan back on top, voyeuristic form in the main, proffering a album which - though it doesn't quite approach the, ahem, funky "Dongs Of Sevotion" stylistically - is largely a gripping collection of off-kilter optimiserablist's songs.
Actually, in sonic terms "Supper is not a million miles away from the loose, but melodic feel of The Silver Jews last album, "Bright Flight." There are country-ish elements, like Ken Champion's wispy pedal steel and Callahan and Sarabeth Tucek's low-rent Kris'n'Rita on the tremulously excellent "Feather By Feather", but there are also uneasily effective attempts to rock in a very Velvets-y manner on tracks like the would-be mistress story "Morality", the creepy "Ambition" and the terrific "Butterflies Drowned In Wine."
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Unusually, though - in terms of pacing - it's the album's three centrally-placed songs that form the album's (not so)bleeding heart. "Vessel In Vain" rises quite gloriously and utilises trademark nautical imagery; "Our Anniversary" is prime, diseased SMOG (sample lyric: "Let us thrive just like the weeds we curse sometimes") and - maybe best of all - there's "Truth Serum", in which Bill serenades Sarabeth, taking suprisingly sincere pride in singing "Honey, I love you, that's all you need know" at one point.
Sure, he's still fatalistic, and his weird Midwestern drawl (strangely akin to either Kurt Wagner or a hayseed Lou Reed) remains a taste not easily acquired, but this writer feels many miss the - admittedly dark - humour inherent in Callahan's best work. "Supper" abounds with great, often hilarious truisms. If you don't believe me, try "Because nobody could pull off the same shit as you and still come out alright" ("Feather By Feather") or - even better - "Big bruiser Ken walks in, says 'I like men'/ I excuse myself and go back up on the roof again" ("Truth Serum") just for starters.
Surrounded by sympathetic tight-but-loose musicians like Chris Mills' bassist Ryan Hembrey, this Smog sounds like the perfect vehicle for Callahan. "Supper" is a fine return to form, so let's hope he can wreak further havoc before Columbo can wander in to utter the immortal line: "There is just one more thing, sir!"
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