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David Berman’s work holds a uniquely exalted position within the 90s and 00s indie rock music sphere, and as a fan myself, I’ve come to learn exactly why. |
Unmatched in his ability to balance bitter mordancy with poetic elegance, Berman and his discography remain piercingly unforgettable despite it being years since I first heard them. |
August 7th, 2026 marks seven years since his passing, yet his impact is still deeply felt. His music is listened to by hundreds of thousands, and many other musicians have released their own covers of his songs over the years (personal favorites include The Mountain Goats’ Pet Politics and Emperor X’s Horseleg Swastikas). |
Today, I opted to write a few words about the songs I personally find most exemplary of Berman’s strong suits. These are the ones that cut deep and held fast, that thoroughly explained to me his enduring and revered status as an artist. |
I think a large draw of his lyric-writing style lies in Berman’s humility. Take his Silver Jews’ song “Dallas” for one, where he isn’t above singing about the everyday split-level ranch or abandoned drive-in, breathing such intense despondency into the most banal of his surroundings. |
One of my favorite moments of his entire discography is the instrumental after an off-hand joke borrowed from Randy Travis about a car within the lyrics of “The Frontier Index.” Quickly following this nonchalant joke and its brooding, plucked backing is pure catharsis in the form of a short instrumental break, not entirely weightless on account of its reeling eeriness. This extolling of total milieu, even in the technically cheeriest or humorous of instances, lands as a sort of radical appreciation for the most inconsequential things in the face of a looming, broader context of darkness. |
On a track like “Suffering Jukebox” off of Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea, ex-wife Cassie Berman offers a melodious delicacy to round out Berman’s solemn baritone, allowing for a hauntingly tragic beauty to emerge, unique to the handful of songs she’s featured in. |
Spacey, layered choruses lend themself to the image of a ghostly choir, desperately pleading the case of the titular jukebox. Moreover, I think the beauty of her additions find purchase in more than solely sonic influence. Many of Berman’s mentions of love in songs from this time period truly skirt the line between genuine declarations of affection and syrupy serenades, yet never decidedly crossover into a saccharine set of platitudes. Instead, tracks like these end up nearest to my heart, with another of my favorite Silver Jews songs being the simply sweet, but not insufferably cloying track, “Friday Night Fever.” |
Another element of Berman’s music I find so enchanting yet heartbreaking, something inextricable from almost his entire discography, is an intoxicating sadness and humanity– one delivered atop a bed of easily-digestible slacker rock/alt-country instrumentation and garnished with a combination of lyrics so profound yet so mundane. Therein lies the reason I so frequently circle back to listening to his body of work. It’s a distinct despondency that seeps from the seams of both his upbeat-sounding songs and more conventionally melancholic ones alike. |
Further, I think this deluge of sadness is most strongly felt in his outwardly chipper-sounding tracks. The songs “Sometimes A Pony Gets Depressed” and “That’s Just The Way I Feel” immediately come to mind. To me, these firmly stand as some of some of the most addictive ear candy to come out of his work. |
Speaking specifically of the latter, mentions of his past bouncing from Iowa to Tennessee to Australia truly feels like he’s looking back on the entire course of his life. As a swan song of sorts, I think a song like this is so true to form for Berman as an artist. A lifetime battle with persistent depression resulting in a spirited throwing of caution to the wind with a bouncy, bluesy handful of final tracks. Seemingly the ultimate celebration of an acceptance of said dejection, delivered in an oscillating blend of obscured or metaphorical and clear cries of complete surrender to misery. |
For those already familiar with Berman’s work, perhaps this serves as a welcomed reflection of his one-of-a-kind, fleeting life. One that made a profound impact on me and many others. And for those who aren’t familiar, hopefully this acts as a jump-off to finally take the leap into his storied discography. |
Featured photo obtained by Wikipedia Commons |
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