It only took some 16 years, but David Berman finally brought his Silver Jews to Ontario to meet their public — and, particularly by Toronto standards, was greeted with warm adoration. It’s the kind of tribute Berman should be getting used to since 2006 when, after years of refusing to leave his home in Nashville, he finally agreed to take his music out on the road. By the fifth show of this current tour, Berman already had some swagger in his stagger — performing some of his brilliant songs, of course, but also stylizing his band’s performance in unusual and profoundly gratifying ways.
The most obvious bit of showmanship emanated from Berman himself. As his crack band launched into “Smith & Jones Forever” to start a crowd-pleasing, career-spanning set, Berman was nowhere to be seen. Then, just in time to hit his mark and sing the first line, all six-feet-and-change of the mythically reclusive David Berman swept in and was suddenly centre-stage, squelching the expectant long-held roar of recognition from Toronto by asking, “Are you honest/When no one’s looking?”
With his budding comb-over, lounge-y country star suit and Vegas sunglasses, Berman almost resembled his Drag City labelmate Neil Hamburger. Unlike the faux-comedian though, the punk-poet seemed to have a mission in his sights. “I was talking to a Republican the other day and he said they were gonna take the rainbow back from the gays. So I said that we’re gonna take the elephant back from you jerks!” This was Berman part-way through the show, cracking ‘jokes.’ “Fresh; still fresh” he then mumbled to his adorably happy wife and bandmate Cassie. Maybe that was Neil Hamburger after all.
When the Silver Jews ended that first tour’s leg in Ann Arbor, Michigan, Berman seemed shy, appreciative and overwhelmed, clutching a guitar like a lifeline and scanning a music stand for the charmingly wise lyrics he’d written but never, ever recited publicly. Last night the guitar and cheat sheets were gone, leaving Berman to fully inhabit his work, wander the stage with theatrical aimlessness and interact with fans, sporting a mix of southern grace and a salesman’s bravado. One could still see him struggling to comprehend the strange love he’s encountered on tour in cities he’s never been to; when he bellowed “I love you to the max!” during a savagely grand “Punks in the Beerlight” at the end of the night, his sincere appreciation for his audience’s devotion was clear, and certainly no joke.