Why is there a cat on the cover of this record? For what reason is it bearing its fangs at me? Why the lightning? And why the fuck is this record titled Knock Knock? And so it goes with the latest release from Smog, the brainchild of one thirty- something named Bill Callahan. Knock Knock makes the word "enigma" sound like the name of a soft, furry Muppet. It's the kind of record that haunts you when you're trying to enjoy your fudge sundae.

Though probably quite insane, Callahan possesses three very important attributes: an unmistakable voice, a perplexing gift for the language of story, and the ability to make a simple song sound like a universe with impeccable taste in arrangements. He's a true slave of the song and whatever he may lack in production technique is excused by something most musicians would kill their pregnant cat for: soul.

And what a brooding soul it is. Callahan takes on a variety of personas here-- prison guard, woeful ex-lover, teenage spaceship (you read it right)-- and while you're never quite sure how much of him resides in these characters, you can't help but feel that it's all an elaborate mythology of the self.

Most songwriters speak with obvious, cheap directness, but Callahan says something more profound with his rich, sideways baritone. "River Guard" shows a prison guard quoting the prisoners ("They always say/ Our sentences will not be served/ We are constantly on trial/ It's a way to be free") over a tangled web of quietly plucked electric guitar and piano. In "Teenage Spaceship," Callahan becomes "So large on the horizon/ people thought my windows were stars," aided by faint, otherworldy feedback. "Cold Blooded Old Times," a perversely upbeat pop song talks of how "Mother came rushing in/ She said we didn't see a thing/ We said we didn't see a thing/ And father left at eight/ Nearly splintering the gate."

During only two songs do Smog's inherent strangeness become somewhat suspect. "No Dancing" begins with an almost metal guitar riff before suddenly morphing into a radio- friendly pop song, replete with little kids singing backup vocals. On the final track, "Left Only With Love," Callahan's love- torn vocals nearly crack alongside a too- sparse acoustic guitar. But it's to his credit that even the bad songs are interestingly bad.

Over the course of their recent outings, the excellent Burning Kingdom, Wild Love, Kicking a Couple Around, The Doctor Came at Dawn, and Red Apple Falls, Smog have made a minor name for themselves as the anthem band for people whose doors are always closed. Knock Knock will do little to expand their cult following. And judging by their haunting, twisted smoke, that suits them just fine.

-Samir Khan