Sunday, August 24th, 2008 // Paperhouse
In the surrealist worlds that Silver Jews frontman David Berman coaxes us into entering, it smells like beer most of the time, but then there’s a light shower and we’re rewarded with a grandiose view of Virginia, fields and fences all bathed in yellow light. We think of the things in water and the things in the sky. We recall machines and transportation. This is what he gives us. This is what we are invited to receive.
And when we look at David Berman, we can see all those things inside him, and it all just makes sense. In a recent interview for Pitchfork TV, Berman reads “Top 10 Redneck Moments,” and he shows us what we want from him: attention to oversights, cynicism, and quickness. He plays a few songs in front of the camera, balancing fleeting moments of “hamming it up” with a seeming discomfort about the whole thing. And watching these things, I begin to feel like Berman is trying to get at something he didn’t care as much about before.
The evidence becomes clear when you open up the jewel case for their release from early summer, Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea, which came with an insert of “silver chords” and a booklet of lyrics with chord progressions. So maybe it’s the sobriety, or the way of getting older, but David Berman wants to make music for everyone to listen to. It’s not a novel concept, but there’s something that seems sincere and important about Berman’s mission. There’s something riding on this, and I can’t put my finger on it.
Then I listen to the last part of the interview, and he says it, and I can’t believe that he’s saying it. He’s trying to speak to the young people because there are things he knows that are important. That will help us. Because there is some crisis up the road, and he sees it coming. “I will be your general if you want to be my privates. But first we have to start now, before the crisis.” And we realize that this album is no longer a gift of strange worlds. It is his token, his treaty, and his bid for our trust. And I’m caught between degrees of disillusionment in the world, and my question over his sincerity is only a passing thought, because if there’s anyone I would like to follow, I think I would like to follow David Berman, wherever that would go.
Sunday, April 27th, 2008 // Paperhouse
In light of E Street band member Danny Federici’s recent death, it is only prudent to highlight the ever-fading relevance of Bruce Springsteen.
For many Americans like me, The Boss brings to mind a rush of vignettes: hot dogs on the barbecue, the Jersey shore, a mug of lukewarm beer, faded cutoff jean shorts, a pack of cigarettes rolled up in your T-shirt sleeve, driving a car with the windows down, an American flag bandana.
But for many others even more cynical than I, the mere mention of Springsteen and his music elicits sarcastic eye rolls. In writing here in the past, I’ve discussed my hesitant love for ABBA, which since then has developed into a full-blown passion without any sarcasm. As I age, I feel the same genuine emotion growing for many other things I should be embarrassed of in order to save my hipster cred.
Being honestly into Springsteen is unfashionable. Even his bond with indie darlings the Arcade Fire could not remedy the instantaneous repulsion that so many children of the ’80s have. Though I’ve heard it countless times since a young age, I have only recently decided “Born to Run” is one of the greatest rock songs ever recorded.
Although “Born to Run” sounds like a bar anthem at first listen, its lyrics become more potent after a few more listens over a pint. The entire song’s lyrics are amazing, but the last two minutes are the most powerful, following a raging horn, when Bruce’s voice strains, serious and genuine: “Beyond the Palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard/The girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors/And the boys try to look so hard/The amusement park rises bold and stark/Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist/I wanna die with you, Wendy, on the streets tonight/In an everlasting kiss.”
Everyone around him is still enjoying youth, working on impressing one another for a fleeting sexual encounter. Bruce, though — Bruce wants more, and sees the power Wendy holds, melting away police sirens with her embrace. Bruce continues after another brassy blast, clanking piano, exploding symphony: “The highway’s jammed with broken heroes on a last-chance power drive/Everybody’s out on the run tonight/But there’s no place left to hide/Together, Wendy, we’ll live with the sadness/I’ll love you with all the madness in my soul/Someday, girl, I don’t know when/We’re gonna get to that place/Where we really want to go/And we’ll walk in the sun/But till then tramps like us/Baby, we were born to run.”
Maybe becoming an adult is really the reason why Bruce speaks to me. After I leave here, I don’t want to strap on my sensible heels and march into my cubicle. I want to grab a lover and run to a place that may only exist in my imagination.
Monday, April 21st, 2008 // Paperhouse
I’m too tired today to tackle any large, complex issues in the world of music. It’s spring outside, and suddenly there are 20 times more people that go to Carnegie Mellon than there were a month ago. All of these people are sitting across the Cut with their newly rediscovered arms and legs exposed, listening to whomever’s stereo won the volume competition by the Fence. What I am noticing, however, is that the music coming out of these stereos is largely the same music that was played last spring, and the spring before that. In fact, a lot of it is the same music that students were listening to in high school, because that’s what was on commercial radio and behind the advertisements on television for things like Mountain Dew and Doritos.
Frankly, it’s pathetic. You’re building robots and telling jokes about the fourth dimension while listening to Dave Matthews Band, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, the Goo Goo Dolls, and Oasis. Regardless of the merit of these bands individually (which is, itself, debatable), there is absolutely no reason, and no excuse, for them to be on repeat.
Discovering new music has become almost distressingly easy these days. The Internet, that little thing most students are hooked up to 24/7, has a wealth of resources. There’s a handful of popular websites that connect you to artists similar to those you know and like, such as last.fm and Pandora (even if they get it wrong sometimes). There are also music blogs that offer plenty of free MP3 downloads, and user-driven sites like (see article to the left) that put a personal touch on discovering new sound on the Internet.
Of course, the Internet is not the only place to discover new music. Right on campus, in the basement of the UC, is WRCT, a free-form radio station with programming that ranges from blues to hip-hop, to avant-garde neo-Dadaist musical hodgepodge. While you’re not guaranteed to like everything that’s playing every minute of the day on WRCT, chances are you be able to find at least one program to tune into for a little bit every week and hear what’s new in the music world. In addition to WRCT, the Activities Board brings plenty of great acts right to campus to check out each month — it doesn’t get much easier than that.
So while I am too tired to tackle any complex musical issue, I do feel responsible for trying to help fix this one. We talk about music as being the universal language, yet so many people fail to expand their vocabulary. I’m tired of feeling like I’m in one of those bad ’90s college movies when I’m on my way to class. Step up, Carnegie Mellon. Listen to better music.
-M. Callen
