On January 23rd, 2009 HardTimes posted a sort of eulogy to the breaking up of our CEO’s favorite band, the Silver Jews.
It’s been a rough month and a half for our boss. Arriving late to work, rarely bathed, and commonly stinking of the melancholy in the bottom of last night’s glass, most of the writing staff has avoided him all together.
But with the coming of spring, and new albums by Dylan, Bonnie “Prince” Billy, and Bill Callahan, the founder of HardTimes is beginning to crack a familiar smile.
But even when spring has receded into summer, and Pitchfork begins raving about the new obscure Myspace band, the Silver Jews will always hold an important place in this blog’s html code.
Because of that, I decided to post a YouTube video of the Silver Jew’s last song of their last live performance - “Smith and Jones Forever.” The concert, which took place after Berman announced the end of his band, was held at Cumberland Caverns in McMinnville, Tennessee. Originally taped for an airing on a Nashville’s WSM AM, the concert is well documented. Though this particular video comes via a fan cam (for those of you counting out there, that’s probably the first time in my LIFE I’ve ever used the term “fan cam”), it’s still a telling clip.
I’ll get my major qualm out of the way - I wish Stephen Malkmus would have been there. Though Malkmus isn’t even featured on their later discography, it still would have been a touching moment. I may be showing my niavete here, but “Smith and Jones Forever” has always seemed like a buddy song. The singer has “two tickets to a midnight execution.” Berman and Malkmus have always played the role of 90’s heroic slacker duo (nevermind Berman’s break down, this is through the eyes of a romantic fan!).
The most touching part of the video - for me - has to be the final minute. After saying a few awkwardly genuine “thank you’s,” Berman takes a final bow.
He moves lankily through a stage of cables, amps, a few guitars, Korg, drums. His shadow projects on the cavern wall, following Cassie, Berman’s wife and bassist, off stage. David follows his lover and the shadow, and all three disappear deeper into the cavern. Back to the dirt and land from which his stories came.
Our final few seconds, despite the crowd, are alone. The empty amps and bass jutting out of the foreground leave the stage bare - a toaist dream.
I’ll spare you the obvious metaphors on geography and art and rock and roll, recessions and love and country music and death, and just say this:
It feels so damn good to love a band.
