March 18
Webster Hall
Ten years ago, David Berman saw no reason to take his humble indie rock group on the road; he just wasn't up for the spotlight or into being an "entertainer." Three years ago, he was strung out on every drug imaginable from Xanex to crack, so touring-much less-recording, were not at all an option.
A failed suicide attempt, a renewed outlook and another album later, David Berman has come out of his shell and onto the stage. His humble indie rock group, Silver Jews, embarked on its first ever tour two weeks ago, only about 17 years into the project's existence. Maybe it was a scenario not unlike that pondered in Queen Latifah's latest blockbuster Last Days-which I can't say I ever saw: Maybe staring death in the face emboldened Berman and set him on a course to do something he'd never done before. Actually, from a number of interviews he's given recently, it appears the impetus was money.
Berman hit the expansive stage at Webster Hall Saturday night in earnest, wearing a navy blue suit with a red shirt and a red trucker hat, which he quickly shed to reveal a stringy mane of dark brown hair to match his shaggy beard. His wife Cassie, who doubles as his bass player, stood to his right. As a packed house full of patient audience members looked on, along with members of the seminal lo-fi indie band Pavement-Silver Jews was often incorrectly labeled a "Pavement side-project, due to the early involvement of alternative icon Stephen Malkmus (apparently not in attendance) and drummer Bob Nastanovich-Berman began the show with disarming banter.
"This is my seventh show ever," he announced, before joking about indulging in the trappings of a touring artist: namely, peeing in a Gatorade bottle and judging which of his band members had the strongest weed by looking at their stoned faces-my guess: the Jews' long-haired drummer, who looked like an escaped My Morning Jacket roadie. Berman also gave a warning to expect some unsure moments in the show.
Silver Jews-which consisted of Berman, Cassie, jamband drummer, three suited-up, ostensibly professional, Nashville-based musicians and for two songs, Bob Nastanovich on drums-launched into "I'm Getting Back Into Getting Into You," an alt-country, sweet semi-ballad from the band's sixth and latest album, Tanglewood Numbers.
Compared to previous Silver Jews records, Tanglewood drives and churns on countrified dirt roads anchored as much by moving melodies as by Berman's ironic, oft-cynical, always observational, comically brilliant lyrics. While the money is as good an excuse as any to tour now, the current album has the most to wring out of it on the stage. Though the set was primarily devoted to Tanglewood, Berman visited all five of his other full length records throughout the night.
Berman was right about the miscues. The band wasn't particularly tight and the vocals, especially Berman and Cassie's, often clashed rather than harmonized. Still, it's not as if Silver Jews records aren't a little sloppy. In fact, it's one of the project's most endearing qualities. When the band began the second song of its encore, "Punks in the Beerlight," Berman didn't come in on time, and instead of hearing his Dylan-like warble speak-singing the track's first line, "Where's the paper bag that holds the liquor?/Just in case I feel the need to puke," the only vocals were the frontman's wail and then the command: "Stop!"
It was clearly the band's first tour. It was just at Webster Hall, not the Delancey.
While not a miscue, the most interesting idiosyncrasy was the lyric sheets that Berman kept with him on a music stand next to his mic. On certain songs, mostly those with longer intros before any singing, like the haunting "Smith and Jones Forever" off of 1998's American Water, he'd take a long peek at his cribsheets. If he really needed help, he could have just listened to the unkempt, burnout standing behind me, stumbling into friends of mine and singing every song a few bars ahead of Berman.
But, while this particular fan obnoxiously over-zealous in his support for Silver Jews, it was clear that Berman was in good company. After 16 songs, he left the sold-out crowd wanting more, which he promised to provide soon, adding that he'd learn all the songs by then. So, as "Punks in the Beerlight" ended, Berman turned his music stand around, pulled the chain on his reading light and announced, "The lectern has gone dark."
And with that, hundreds of people left the venue armed with a claim they could lob at their indie rock snob friends for time immemorial: I saw Silver Jews on their first tour.