Illinois Entertainer

A seminal force in American indie rock since the 1993 Drag City releases Dime Map Of The Reef and The Arizona Record, the Silver Jews (otherwise known as the prolific David Berman (above) and whomever he feels like recording with at the moment) had never gone much longer than a year — two at most — without providing their loyal following at least an EP to sate their musical appetites. In the four years that followed 2001’s Bright Flight, their last proper record, fans began to wonder if they had heard the last of the band that left an irrefutable imprint on rock ‘n’ roll with their brand of quirky, literate, and country-inspired music.

With the release of their latest full-length, Tanglewood Numbers, however, they do away with any such doubts and deliver a record that’s vintage Jews and even provides a little lift with such tracks as the irreverent, yet poppy “Sometimes A Pony Gets Depressed,” strange little love song “I’m Getting Back Into Getting Back Into You,” and the twangy “Sleeping Is The Only Love.” From his home in Nashville, Berman explains — in a way only he can — what he’s been doing all this time.

“I pretended that I was the president of the United States from 2001 to 2004,” he admits, via email. “When Bush was first elected I had a hard time accepting it. I even went so far as to make my basement into the Oval Office. After I lost my imaginary campaign for a second term, I had to find a way to tell my story.”

Helping him tell his story along the way were the likes of, among others, Drag City labelmates Will Oldham and Azita Youssefi, Paz Lenchantin (A Perfect Circle/Zwan/ Papa M), former Jesus Lizard guitarist Duane Denison, and of course, Silver Jews mainstays and Pavement alums Steve Malkmus and Bob Nastanovich, who mark their return as Jews after their noticeable absence on Bright Flight.
When asked how he assembled such a cavalcade of musicians, his answer is straight and to the point: “Those are all the friends I have that are musicians!”

As for his working relationship with Malkmus and Nastanovich after all this time, Berman describes it as “always fun/funny. Bob paces and the talk inevitably turns to fantasy football.”

Mixed and recorded in three separate studios, Berman’s explanation for using more of Nashville, “like the Native Americans who found use for every part of a buffalo’s corpse,” makes perfect sense considering the richer and fuller sound Numbers possesses compared to the previous ultra lo-fi approach — once the band’s trademark. Even the title of the album reflects this. In the months it took to finish the record he would walk down a street called Tanglewood Drive in Nashville at night with his dog, “down where it dead ends at the Briley Parkway and back,” he describes. “A lot of what I had to figure out I figured out on those walks.”

As a further explanation, he adds “plus it sounds cool.”

His recording techniques aren’t the only way he’s approaching music differently these days, though. Notorious for his refusal to perform live — believing that watching a musician perform adds very little to the listener’s overall enjoyment of the song — it seems as if, come 2006, Berman may be taking the stage to promote Numbers. But don’t mistake this for any sort of love for performing or anything. This reevaluation of this particular aspect of his musical career has more to do with his personal finances than anything else, which is a decision that seems to already be leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

“Honestly? I think this will probably spell the end of any talent I have left,” he states grimly. “The life of the mind will end. The whole disgusting tradeoff will look just like the cover of that Replacements album, Pleased To Meet Me,” which depicts the arms of two men shaking hands; one wears a new suit and jewelry, the other wears an abused sweater sleeve. Grim, indeed.

Still, Berman tries to maintain a sense of humor about it. When asked what kind of performer he’ll be, he answers, “I’ll be rude and self-entitled if I can.”

Despite this apprehension about live performances as a musician, though, Berman has been known to enact readings of his poems, short stories, and lyrics. In fact, his first collection of published poetry, Actual Air, has even been adapted to the stage in Houston, which he has seen and describes as excellent, saying that the city as a whole is some kind of “secret brainiac town.”

Surprisingly, Berman still remains modest, even self-deprecating when it comes to his success as a writer in either field, declaring his “life as a minor poet to be inferior to that of an obscure songwriter” and that if he weren’t making a living doing either of these things his artistic strengths would be “completely transferable to a job writing greeting cards.”

His skewed self-image is even further illustrated when asked if he would ever give up the moniker Silver Jews and simply go by David Berman, the same way the aforementioned Numbers contributor Will Oldham did after he dissolved Palace.

“If I did that I could be perceived as more liable for any bad poetry I inspire. Silver Jews is like a pen name, but it also works as a cover. This way I’m protected.”

In fact, it seems as if this may be the entire reason he’s decided to almost exclusively do email interviews for the promotion of this album.

“I’ve looked through a lot of rock magazines,” he begins, “and you can read 10 articles on one artist, and never learn anything new about them at all. The replies are so stock and so vague. It just makes bad reading, you know? The way I’m doing it, I never have to repeat myself and every interview has that new interview smell.”

“New interview smell.” How can someone doubt his abilities as a writer when he’s capable of turning a phrase like that?