The calling card for Callinan’s second album is an unapologetic spoken word performance reflecting on the making of manhood. Boys roll around in the dirt, beating each other into maturity, men front up to each other in bars, on sports fields, on the internet, in constant waves of physical love and physical violence. The instrumental bed for this track is thick and intense, full of warped electronic sounds and squealing samples, but the lyrics are overwrought and artless, as far as I’m concerned. I know this is kind of controversial because Callinan is supposed to be the second coming of Nick Cave and everything, but that is exactly the problem – he is just as ridiculous a poseur as his art rock predecessor.
Kirin J Callinan : Embracism
