There are several reasons I may not have much to say about a band. Sometimes a performance is so far removed from my inclinations that I've not got the tools to understand what I've seen, much less write about it coherently. Other times I fail to connect with a musician and zone out entirely, never jotting down the notes necessary to convey the evening. And sometimes it's because a performer is so enthralling that I put down my camera and allow myself to get lost in the moment. Afterwards I'm left with warm feelings and goofy smiles, but nothing that could be molded into a show review. This one could be short. See if you can figure out why.

Sometime after eight o'clock Jana Horn took the stage. Horn is a Texas folkie now based in New York. She paired her warm, quiet voice with unassuming fingerpicked lines played on a vintage Silvertone electric. Jade Guterman (bass) and Adam Jones (drums) supported her. Actually, they upstaged her. Although offered sparingly, Guterman's bass runs were smart and deft. And while Jones generally kept time playing unobtrusively with brushes or cotton mallets, his subtle adventurous flourishes made me suspect he'd spent considerable time in jazz combos. I spent much of the set imagining the trio reconfigured to spotlight that rhythm section, and when I came to, the half-hour set was over.

Bill Callahan waited until nine o'clock to go on. This allowed plenty of time for the late arrivals to jostle the early birds. Premium vantage points are hard to come by at sold-out shows. Thankfully, Callahan drew an older crowd – one polite, reasonable, and in soft shoes. The audience was terribly attentive as Callahan shared personal musings, heartbreaking observations, and gripping literary tales in his rich baritone. The resulting set was quiet yet bold, emotional yet reserved, and traditional yet fearless. In a word, "perfect." On this tour Callahan and his acoustic guitar were bolstered by Matt Kinsley (electric guitar), Dustin Laurenzi (sax/clarinet), and Jim White (drums). This was the same band that recorded the latest album and toured with the previous. The chemistry was a pleasure to witness, and together they created fresh arrangements of familiar friends. They unearthed a longing during "Dress Sexy at My Funeral" that had been overshadowed by the original's jaunty pace. That tune's inclusion in the fifteen-song setlist was a surprise, as most of the set was drawn from the just-released My Days of 58. The bigger surprise was that when Callahan closed his encore with "Let Me See the Colts," he'd been playing for an hour and a half. Really? Where did all that time go?