Concert Review: There Will Be Lateness - Silver Jews at the Duck Room (July 28, 2006)

I was enjoying my rock star seating. Comfortably perched at a table immediately stage left with my brother and his girlfriend; all three of us were taking in drinks and gloating over our table location while anticipating the Silver Jews' first-ever concert in St. Louis. After over 15 years as a mostly studio-only band, David Berman and company were on the road for their first (and possibly only) series of live performances. And we were there.

The Duck Room, so named because of the various duck statues, pictures, and posters that line it, was at full capacity. The small venue, really nothing more than a dingy basement complete with gray concrete walls and minimal lighting, buzzed with a noticeable anticipation.

The Silver Jews took the stage shortly after 10 pm. The opening chords of "Dallas" began, loud and clear from the speaker directly in front of us. Slowly, Berman stepped to the microphone and began to sign.

Except we couldn't hear a single word. His mouth was moving; of that we were all sure. But Berman had either decided to mime the words or we were more twisted from the booze than we thought. How much had we drank? Had the bartender switched our Schlafly for something far more sinister? Why did he snicker when he said "Enjoy your drink?" Had it ruined our ears?

I threw a panicked look at my brother. His girlfriend, already skeptical of the concert-going experience and our wild boasting of the Silver Jews' music, gave him a stare that suggested she was not amused and his night might be ending earlier than expected.

And then we noticed the speaker. In our idiot desire to get the best possible seat with an unobstructed view, we failed to realize we had selected a table whose main accessory, other than a dirty ashtray, was one of the Duck Room's PA speakers. The rhythm guitar was coming in loud and clear though. And it nicely complimented the increasing ringing in my ears.

Now there are two types of concertgoers: table people and pit people. And I am a table person. Give me own space, the option to sit or stand, dance or watch, drink or abstain. I am not a pit person. A pit person is a whole different creature. A pit person usually prefers to be wedged like a sardine as close to the stage as possible, pogo or perform any number of other awkward, pelvic, whitey-boy thrusts, and throw fingers in the air in the classic Heavy Metal V. In the concert world, a table person is a lamb and a pit person is a viper. A viper who throws elbows.

Article Author: Eric Dennis

Eric Dennis is a music enthusiast/junkie who really needs to ease off the sarcasm sometimes. In his free time he enjoys dodging thunderbolts from angry Skynyrd fans. He regularly writes for blogcritics.org and spectrumculture.com.

Visit Eric Dennis's author page — Eric Dennis's Blog