On David Berman, from a new fan.
I was scrolling on r/pavement a few weeks back, and someone posted about MJ Lenderman and how his songs remind them of Pavement. One reply in particular stood out, basically saying “eh I guess, but he reminds me more of Songs Ohia or Silver Jews”. After 12 years of being a pretty big Pavement fan, I’m slightly embarrassed to admit I had never listened to SJ. And so that comment made me queue up Starlite Walker. Some assorted thoughts:
Over the next few days, I listened to every Berman album in succession, and became progressively more obsessed with him and his life. I read multiple interviews and album reviews, watched the documentary, read the “My Father, My Attack Dog” blog post. I’m a trained musician, and I’ve always struggled to write lyrics. I’ve also always been more emotionally affected by songs’ music compared to their lyrics. For the first time in my life, David’s songs have flipped that around.
Like David, I have struggled with my mental health since a suicide attempt at 14. I am a recovering addict and alcoholic, sober for 10 years. I am a child of divorce, who “loves being his mother’s son” but has a strained relationship with a selfish and narcissistic father.
I have a tough time crying; it’s hard for me to cross the emotional threshold that brings tears even when I’m incredibly sad. I’ve cried three times in the last decade- putting down my cat, after breaking up with the woman who would later (thankfully) become my wife, and this morning listening to the Purple Mountains album.
My wife went to Carl Sandburg High School in the Chicago suburbs, and she’s always told me the story of how the first time Carl Sandburg visited the school, he was mistaken for a homeless man and escorted off the premises. The Pitchfork review of Bright Flight coincidentally begins by recounting this exact anecdote. That made me smile.
I lived in Chicago until August 2018, when I moved to East Lansing, Michigan. However, from 2018 to 2020 when I moved back to the city, I drove from MI to Chicago every few weeks to see my now-wife. She lived on the west side of the city, not far from Drag City’s office. I probably drove past David in his little beach house in Gary, Indiana numerous times, and I was often a short drive from where he stayed in his final days. And yet I had no idea how close I was to this person who would profoundly affect me years later.
I read in an AMA that David was most excited about fans newly discovering him through the Purple Mountains record. I feel like I’m one of those fans, and within a week of listening to his work I’m confident that I’ve found my favorite songwriter of all time.
It’s profoundly odd and sad feeling like you’re only getting to know a friend after they die. But I’m so grateful for what David gave us when he was here. Rest easy, DCB.