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Reviews
Silver Jews / The Dancehouse Theatre, Manchester
Composed Berman delivers Manchester a dose of kosher folk
Words Sam Lewis
Dave Berman, lead singer of the Silver Jews, describes us as a “captive audience”. Seated within the pretty little theatre tonight we are exactly that. With a crowd contained, Berman can toy with us as at will, at times disappearing backstage, at other moments lowering himself into the seats, singing a whole song from the dispassionate position of paying punter. At all times he exudes the nervous cool of an indie-rock icon - large tinted glasses delicately balanced on his angular features, flirting unabashedly with his wife and bassist, Cassie. The set opens with ‘Sometimes A Pony Gets Depressed’, the band launching into the song with typical gusto. Throughout it’s apparent that what makes the group special is Berman’s lyrics - his very particular wordplay. At one point a spectator exuberantly shouts the punch line (“punk’s not dead!”) to one of Berman’s best lines (“punk rock died the day the first kid said...”), delighted to be, for a moment, part of Berman’s lyrical universe.
It’s one populated by acts of verbal contortionism (“I’m getting back into getting back into getting back into you”) and deep, scarred personal histories (“I gotta ask you dear about that tan line on your ring finger...”). At its centre lies Berman himself, the “lonely man” struggling to choose what pair of shoes to wear in the morning. ‘Black and Brown Shoes’ charts the topography of his clothes like a map riven with symbolism, his corduroy suit becoming “a hundred gutters that the rain can run right through”.
Considering the Silver Jews only began touring three years ago, Berman cuts a remarkably composed figure, particularly for someone who was so clearly anathema to live performance for so long. Tonight, in front of his captives, he’s less the frontman and more the poet, delivering his lines with a countrified, theatrical verve. Thus, suitably, at several points the powers that be unleash a blizzard of dry ice from the side of the stage. Berman and the band disappearing in a delightful, pantomimic haze.
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