Silver Jews’ David Berman m. hund i klassisk vand.

Da vi var på tour med Slagterne rundt i landet her i april, var amerikanske Silver Jews’ ‘Suffering Jukebox’ – fra sidste års Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea – en af de sange vi hørte mest. En slingrende, trist og opløftende sag på samme tid. Manden bag Silver Jews hedder David Berman. På plade lyder hans stemme ikke ulig Lou Reeds, bare mere smalltown-twistet og knust. Men når han skriver er han helt sin egen. Faktisk er David Berman en fantastisk mand med ord. Tag nu blot nedenstående tekst fra hans 1999-bog Actual Air:

CLASSIC WATER

I remember Kitty saying we shared a deep longing for
the consolation prize, laughing as we rinsed the stagecoach.

I remember the night we camped out
and I heard her whisper
“think of me as a place” from her sleeping bag
with the centaur print.

I remember being in her father’s basement workshop
when we picked up an unknown man sobbing
over the shortwave radio

and the night we got so high we convinced ourselves
that the road was a hologram projected by the headlight beams.

I remember how she would always get everyone to vote
on what we should do next and the time she said
“all water is classic water” and shyly turned her face away.

At volleyball games her parents sat in the bleachers
like ambassadors from Indiana in all their midwestern schmaltz.

She was destroyed when they were busted for operating
a private judicial system within U.S. borders.

Sometimes I’m awakened in the middle of the night
by the clatter of a room service cart and I think back on Kitty.

Those summer evenings by the government lake,
talking about the paradox of multiple Santas
or how it felt to have your heart broken.

I still get a hollow feeling on Labor Day when the summer ends

and I remember how I would always refer to her boyfriends
as what’s-his-face, which was wrong of me and I’d like
to apologize to those guys right now, wherever they are:

No one deserves to be called what’s-his-face.

© David Berman