Tanglewood Numbers

(Drag City)

4/5 Stars



Silver Jews frontman David Berman is a published poet (his 1999 volume “Actual Air” was released to much critical acclaim), and he brings his unique literary sensibility to each of the group’s records.

Perhaps because of Berman’s strange proclivities, the Silver Jews have never achieved the (comparative) popularity of some of their alt-country contemporaries: Wilco and Ryan Adams especially.

Berman savors the absurd, and his songs abound with bizarre characterizations and nonsensical turns of phrase. Berman’s genius is his ability to invest these caricatures with pathos and existential import: the freaks and geeks that populate Berman songs are transformed into emblems of desire and resignation.

The band’s new album “Tanglewood Numbers” invokes such lyrical oddities as a “young black Santa Claus,” a “depressed pony,” and a “girl from the special economic zone.”

Their relative obscurity is particularly frustrating because the Jews are more “authentic” than Adams (who is more of a pastiche artist than a true country troubadour) and they never belabor listeners with ponderous sonic experiments a la Wilco (see the last ten minutes of their 11-minute long krautwank epic “Spiders (Kidsmoke)”).

If any album were to break through to the other side of popularity, this is it. “Punks In the Beerlight” is a rollicking honky-tonk explosion, “I’m Getting Back Into Getting Into You” is a slow-burning love ballad, and album closer “There Is a Place” bridges the gulf between country and gospel with electrifying results.

Rumor has it that Berman wrote “Tanglewood” in a fit of inspiration after a protracted stay in rehab and a suicide attempt. The recurrence of heartache and depression as song themes suggests that there may be some truth to the gossip.

But such a narrow focus risks missing the album’s genuinely hilarious moments, like Berman’s declaration: “Haven’t you heard the news? / Adam and Eve were Jews!” In “How Can I Love You? (If You Won’t Lie Down),” Berman proves himself both a learned poet and a skilled parodist by reformulating Andrew Marvell’s “To His Coy Mistress” as a jangly, banjo-driven, pop trifle.

“Tanglewood” isn’t solely a showcase for Berman’s dexterous lyricism: the Jews are a dynamic and cohesive musical unit. The band began as a collaboration between Berman and Pavement mastermind Stephen Malkmus, but this lineup includes such luminaries as bassist Paz Lenchantin (of Zwan and A Perfect Circle fame) and singer-songwriter Will Oldham (a.k.a. Bonnie “Prince” Billy). This motley crew is so fluent in the idiom of country music one would never suspect that they are only two steps removed from the alt-metal stylings of Tool.

Ironically, the only cut on the album that doesn’t quite work is “The Farmer’s Hotel”: the sole song attributed to both Berman and Malkmus. The track suffers from both songwriters’ characteristic excesses: Malkmus’ directionless guitar noodling and Berman’s oppressive verbosity.

Luckily, the band is stacked with enough talent to keep these two honest, and missteps are few and far between. “Tanglewood” is a focused, energetic, and ambitious work, one that rewards revisitation just like a well-worn book of poetry.

--Staff writer Bernard L. Parham can be reached at Parham@fas.harvard.edu