Songkick

I went to see the Silver Jews play two years ago in San Francisco, only to leave before they ever came on. I was turned off by an unbearable opening act and a never-ending wait time between sets. (No, live music is not always magical. Sometimes you’re not ready for it or it’s not really what you hoped, and the disappointment can be numbing.)

So I was grateful for another chance to see them play live at ULU. The Silver Jews are one of those bands whose discovery is an undeserved surprise gift that makes you wonder what other hidden, bespoke treasures might be lurking out there in the musical cosmos. I had never heard of them, but a very dear musical friend of mine put them on a mix CD. I listened to them for the first time with absolutely no pre-hype bias, and I still remember my startled reaction to its poetry.

I usually hate comparisons between lyrics and poetry. It’s close, but not the same; it’s so easy to lend weight to a description of a song by calling it poetic. But Dave Berman’s lyrical economy completely startled me with its allusive grace.

I enjoy shows most when I know the songs I’m going to hear. When I’ve played them repeatedly, turning over the emotions at different times in my life. Some great songs are inextricable from my memory of certain periods of my life, and The Silver Jews punctuated a time when I was desperately waiting for something to happen to me.

But these familiar patterns achieve sudden, new saturation by the live performance. That’s what it is for me, at the heart of it. I like going to shows when I barely know the band, when it’s something new and fun, when it’s something I’m not really committed to, but the shows that are formative (if you’ll let me be dramatic) are the ones where I come prepared. And to see a living, sweating human being sing something that is at the same time so painfully mine–well, I guess that’s the rare occasion when I shed my usual misanthropy and feel like two people who don’t know each other really can share something special just by being human, living life, and feeling the same things.

When the band stepped on stage, they opened with two of my favorite Silver Jews songs ever: “Random Rules” and “Trains Across the Sea.” Dave Berman was wearing a gray, vintage-looking blazer with a dark black piped pattern, paired with a hot pink dress shirt. He looked like spent Vegas lounge singer who had lost it, wearing the weird, plastic glasses of your eighth-grade science teacher, greasy combover and all.

I think he was wasted. I don’t know. Either way, he was captivating. He never played guitar, but instead availed himself of the mic stand as though it were a weapon, a stave, or a baton, swinging it around to his band members as they played their solos. As he swayed around, abruptly sat down, and leaned on the precarious mic stand, there was a strange reliable control in his movements. So instead of an uneasy anticipation, you felt you were watching a pro who would never fall.

Silver Jews – Random Rules (mp3)
Silver Jews – Trains Across the Sea (mp3)