Written by Sam Cohen
A Silver Jews song feels like the moment you share an awkward glance with someone you once knew, knowing neither of you needed to see the other again. This was what David Berman’s life felt like at every turn. His dry tone, underdeveloped instrumentals, and shameless lyrics are the gut punches music enthusiasts die for. Each arrangement has a new purpose for each listen. David Berman is one of the lyricists who can have ten lines in one song in the running for the best line on the album. When he’s not making a corny joke about politics or capitalism, he’s reflecting on lost love.
At his best, the songs are messy, direct at times, and beautiful. At his second best, they’re all the same with tighter production. There is no worse for Berman. Everything he made, from the Joos to his poetry to his final work with Purple Mountains, was 100% Berman. He was in a band with one of the greatest lyricists and guitarists ever, Stephen Malkmus, and if they had never met, Berman’s work would still be that good. I revere Malkmus, Mount Rushmore of musicians for sure, but Berman was born to write.
Picking the best album is difficult. Do you go with the perfect American water, the young Starlite Walker, the mythical The Natural Bridge, or the self-deprecating Purple Mountains? I respect any choice. My answer tends to depend on how happy sad I’m feeling. Purple Mountains is for the morning after the 2016 and 2024 elections.
Picking a top-five was even harder. It felt rude to rank a Top 5 from Berman’s catalog, so I will call this Berman’s gems. I’ve tried to write this for a while, but writing while listening to Purple Mountains is impossible. Sooner or later, the writing will turn into a confused suicide note, quoting Berman at each moment of writer’s block.
“Trains Across The Sea”
Can you already tell Berman’s a poet? The first time I heard the song, I thought it was stupid. “Half hours on earth, what are they worth? I don’t know: was bullshit. It didn’t click for me until a few months ago, and I don’t think it has fully clicked yet. I’m still young, but it started to make sense, especially in the mind of a college student who avoids procrastinating at every turn.
Just when it feels like the song is starting, it ends. In a mystery – leaving a message I can’t truly grasp for another eight or so years.
In 27 years
I’ve drunk fifty thousand beers
And they just wash against me
Like the sea into a pier…
But the imagery of a sea crashing into a pier is such a beautiful idea for such a depressing sentiment. If this is the first Joos song you listen to, you’ll learn that’s sort of his thing. He masters the idea of the sound not matching the lyrics on Purple Mountains’ “All Your Happiness Is Gone.”
In terms of “Trains Across The Sea,” it never sounds optimistic in instrumentals or lyrics, but Berman’s cadence leaves a lingering punch of hope. Maybe it’s his quiet hums or Bob Nastonovich’s (of Pavement) entry-level drumming form, but it works. Berman is scratching the surface of Bermanisms on this one.
“Tennessee”
The Tennessee EP is the only Joos vinyl my dad doesn’t have. He’s the one who welcomed me to the depressed dimension of David Berman. I wonder if life would feel more hopeful if I never familiarized myself with his work.
“Tennessee” is on here for the songwriting. While the other songs may make their mark thanks to their lyrics and imagery, “Tennessee” accomplishes all a song needs in four minutes and nine seconds. A simple ballad about a couple moving to Tennessee built around a silly joke becomes quite a genius tale of love and moving on.
This one reminds me of the straightforwardness of Purple Mountain’s songs like “I Loved Being My Mother’s Son.” For the most part, this one is a simple story constructed in the most sonically pleasing way. However, the twists make it one of Berman’s best, like the punk rock funeral break in the middle.
Punk rock died when the first kid said
“Punk’s not dead, punk’s not dead”
You know Louisville is death, we’ve got to up and move
Because the dead do not improve
Maybe it’s an awkward break for most artists, but it makes sense here. Making the awkward feel whole was something Berman was always good at.
“Snow Is Falling In Manhattan”
Purple Mountains will never cheer you up. But it will bring you a companion. It came 10 years after Berman ended the Joos, and it’s as good as anything from the early days. The perfect album for its time. Maybe it’s perfect because of the context around it. Berman tragically taking his own life obviously added to the depression bonfire Purple Mountains ignited. However, the album would still carry a tragic weight even if Berman stuck around.
Berman always knew what to do with the quiet ones; I mean, more than half the list leans on the quiet side, but Snow may be the perfect quiet song. The song I press play on during the lonely train ride back to college. When I leave everything that is certain in my life, Snow is there to save me.
Again, it’s about the imagery for me. Berman’s ability to capture a peaceful moment in the loudest place on earth isn’t easy. He could have done Williamsburg or any hipster-filled Brooklyn village, but locating the listener in Manhattan makes the song everything that moment should be. Listening alone on the 9:07 PM train, I face the clouded NJ Transit window; the blurry trees fade, and snow-skimming skyscrapers become crystal clear.
“The Frontier Index”
This is where I can gush over Berman’s hilarious lyricism.
Boy wants a car from his Dad
Dad says, first you gotta cut that hair
Boy says, hey Dad Jesus had long hair
and Dad says
that’s right son but Jesus walked everywhere
C’mon. That’s the dad joke of dad jokes right there. Fits so effortlessly in a song, tying together random silly anecdotes. It’s Bermans’ “22 Short Films About Springfield.” An oddball Simpsons classic.
Most people point to “How To Rent A Room” when reflecting on The Natural Bridge, a legendary song in its own right. But “The Frontier Index” encapsulates the album like nothing else. The soothing twang on the guitar between verses, the witty yet pretty lyrics, and the collage Berman creates through the many vignettes he tells. That is all The Natural Bridge right there.
This one will always make my dad and I laugh, a brief moment of levity in Berman’s dark catalog.
People
Speaking of levity, I’ll finish the list with Berman’s happiest lyric.
It’s sunny and 75, it feels so good to be alive
While this line always brings a smile to my face and is a must-play on the first sunny day in March, it may not be the song’s goal. Like all Berman/Malkmus creations, it’s all about interpretation. Some will find the lyrics as depressing as Purple Mountains, but I disagree. It’s heartwarming in a lot of ways.
Most Berman songs that warm my heart are thanks to feeling heard or welcomed when trapped in an isolated headspace. But this one straight-up rocks. You don’t have to be feeling like a bummer to dig this one. The sunny imagery on this American Water gem helps the album’s case for being his best work. Like I said earlier, it is a perfect album, much of it in part to “People.”
Berman is one of America’s greatest poets, and I didn’t learn to love him until after his passing. His lyrics will never turn stale, as anyone who cares about the Joos or Berman understands that the thought put into every word of every song is more than any writer could think of amounting to.
