This piece first appeared in Tally Ho Sulky, a lovingly written
and produced fanzine by Adalena Kavanagh. If you would like a
copy of Tally Ho Sulky in its entirety, please email
5redpandas AT gmail.com. Adalena also blogs at
tallyhosulky.blogspot.com
Don’t Fall For the Traps of the Man Who Was Never Born
An introduction to an interview with poet and Silver Jew, David Berman
By Adalena Kavanagh
When I conducted this interview back in October of 1997 I was young enough to be
excited, but not exactly surprised that I was granted the opportunity to spend a
day with one of my heroes, David Berman. I decided I wanted to interview
Berman—I was not, and still am not, affiliated with any publication—
so I wrote
him a letter and hoped he’d agree to sit and answer my questions. When I
returned from a family vacation in Texas I received a postcard from Berman
explaining that he’d be in New York representing Drag City at CMJ and he was
available for an interview session. I was given a phone number to call on the
specified date and I did as I was instructed.
When I first called a strange man answered and had fun with me. This man would
later turn out to be Drag City’s Dan Koretsky and he told me that a man was
impersonating David Berman and sullying his good name and they had to be careful
about who they let speak to Berman. After a bit of this the phone was passed
over to a croaking Berman. He was warm and casual and explained his scratchy
voice by saying he’d stayed up too late drinking and smoking. We discussed plans
to meet and I was told I could find Berman at Florent on Gansevoort Street in
the meatpacking district in Manhattan "with a red carnation in my
buttonhole".
On my way to the restaurant I walked past my first transvestite hooker. I was
nervous. I’d never interviewed anyone before and I was less self-assured when
I was 19 than I am now at 27. Despite my shyness I consciously sought out
experiences that would change my life. I was happy.
When I reached the table that Berman sat at I was surprised to see several
other unshaved men sitting around a table eating the remnants of a late
breakfast. Berman politely introduced me to Dan Koretsky, DV DeVincentis,
David Pajo and Will Oldham. I sensed that I was interrupting something so I
quietly sat as a waiter filled a glass with water for me.
Dan Koretsky posed for a picture with Will Oldham holding a wad of crisp bills
fanned out in front of his face. Berman explained to me that Koretsky always
made you take a picture with the cash he’d loaned you for proof of the exchange.
Oldham jumped up after the photo was taken and left with Pajo to go record
shopping. After they left Berman and Koretsky began arguing about expenses
Berman had incurred on his trip to New York City. Berman wanted to be reimbursed
and Koretsky was giving him a hard time. He sat back in his seat in a khaki
safari vest and yellow tinted aviator sunglasses. With his bushy beard and
taunting eyes he had the look of a man affecting a Hunter S. Thompson look so as
to make strong-arming his record label’s roster easier for him. It seemed like
he was having himself a good time playing the asshole record executive. He asked
Berman, "You have any receipts for the taxi from Newark? I’m gonna need to
see
the receipt." Berman first insisted he had receipts but then became
exasperated
at Koretsky’s smile and complained, "You know I don’t. Just give me the
money."
I was uncomfortable watching this exchange and was relieved when we stood up to
leave. We were headed over to Other Music on Fourth Street. There was a slight
bit of controversy because Drag City had paid for a window display for the then
newish Silver Jews record The Natural Bridge, but the Jewish owner of the space
that Other Music leased had supposedly seen the advertisement and decided that
the band name Silver Jews was anti-Semitic. Even when it was explained that the
principle member of the band, David Berman, was himself Jewish the owner
insisted that the advertising be taken down. This incensed both Koretsky and
Berman to a point where on the way to Other Music they planned to storm the
store and make a fuss. Somewhere between Florent and Other Music Berman picked
up a large rubber band and a single tennis ball on the street and carried these
items with him.
When we reached Other Music Marcellus Hall’s band, White Hassle, were finishing
up a set they played outside the store. After some small talk he packed up his
equipment and left. Koretsky went inside to talk to Other Music people while
Berman chatted with a woman from the P.R. company Drag City used. She had a
toddler with her and Berman first offered him the rubber band, then the tennis
ball and finally his driver’s license and credit card. The kid refused all. He
seemed unnervingly humorless for a three year old.
Instead of creating a commotion Berman suggested we go to the Strand. The next
summer I found a job at the Strand among the refuse that sought employment
there—the former junkies, trannies, and would be artists—and watched
while they
engaged in the co-dependent relationship the Strand fostered among its staff.
The store gave $50 credit on the week’s paycheck, which really helped the drug
addicts on staff cop their fixes, but never allowed them to move beyond the
comfortable den they’d made for themselves amidst the 80 miles of books. As you
walk into the Strand you meet a bored college kid manning the bag check. Berman
checked his tennis ball and rubber band (now wound around the ball) and asked
the clerk what was the strangest thing he’d checked. The guy mentioned a
rotisserie chicken, and satisfied with his answer, Berman walked into the store.
I followed him around as he plucked books from the piles and listened to his
pronouncements on the books—"A Confederacy of Dunces" was panned
and
"Underworld" by Delillo was bought. Berman worried about his next
credit card
statement but bought the pile anyway.
After the shopping we walked north to the hotel room he was sharing with other
Drag City people. We passed the gated garden in Gramercy Park and admired the
foliage we could only look at. We stopped at a corner deli where Berman
purchased an iced tea and a nectarine. He offered to buy me a snack but I
politely refused. We’d been talking the whole time, and the circuit from
Gansevoort Street back up to the East 20’s was a long one, but we had not yet
begun the actual interview. I feel lucky to have spent the day with a writer and
musician I respect as much as I respect David Berman. We talked about music and
writing—I was a writing major at the time and felt self conscious about my
work—and there was never a point where Berman made me feel like a kid or
patronized me. Instead of turning me off to writers he made me feel like I was
just one of many eccentric individuals with the goal of telling stories in the
form that best suited us. I shared some of my stories with him—I always
used
story telling as a way to relate to people—and he commented that some of
them
sounded like Raymond Carver’s work. I’m still working on those stories, I’m a
slow learner, but I do think that in a small but important way talking to Berman
made me see that if they were important to me they might be important to others.
In the interview that follows Berman talks about music and writing—more so
about
writing, which is why I think this particular interview is a departure from the
norm—and I hope his warmth and unpretentious gentility comes across
because to a
19 year old girl from New York City he was a perfect gentleman.
Now read the interview.
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