The last time I had such a childish, underdeveloped first response to a record was when I bought Shine A Light by the Constantines. I’d bought it because I really enjoyed the song “Nighttime/Anytime (It’s Alright),” and had expected it to be a record full of songs like that, and was actually disgusted when only one song was kind of like it (“Tank Commander”).
I waited two or three years, until later into my time in high school, to put it on again. Now I vehemently defend The Constantines as being the finest rock band of 2000-2005, refer to four of those five releases as wholly perfect, intend to get “Modern Sinner Nervous Man” tattooed on my right wrist, and will probably have “Blind Luck” play during my funeral. Continue reading
I’ve gone through more drafts of this review than I have of anything I’ve done, maybe even more than my professional calibers of editing. It’s not really because this album is super hard to talk about — it’s because there’s a lot to say and interpret. I’ve had many listening sessions of this record to the point of having several different and tiny memories for what the album feels like. It’s an actual diary by an emotionally disturbed and incomplete human being. It is the finality of Bill Callahan’s weirdness, its peak, his shaping into musical appropriation. Wild Love is just a bunch of things. 
Fermata over Whole Rest 