September 30, 1999
Because I use this weekly column to praise albums to the heavens, I tend to use words like "genius", "brilliant" and "fantastic" and other superlatives an awful lot. Any faithful reader might therefore be forgiven for assuming that I'm the Gene Shalit of record reviews, raving about anything with a backbeat, but believe me, I spend an obscene amount of time and money researching, buying and listening to albums, weeding out the chaff to notify you only of the purest honey wheat. Trust me when I tell you that American Water is a laconic masterpiece, one of the best albums released last year.
D.C. Berman is a published southern poet, and it shows on every track he has recorded for this record, the Jews' third. His wry observations and sly turns of phrase made their previous albums satisfying if melodically sparse, but on American Water his band has settled into a relaxed country-ish groove that elevates his careful narratives into the realm of Art. With a guest appearance by Pavement's Stephen Malkmus on vocals and idiosyncratic guitar, the album recalls the bright pop of Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, but is denser and wiser than that record, if just as gently cynical.
American Water approaches the offhand flawlessness of Dylan & the Band's The Basement Tapes (for my money, one of the finest albums ever made). Like most poetry, it takes multiple reads/listens to make sense of it - the first few times, witty but seemingly obtuse lines jump out like "the alleys are the footnotes of the avenues", "the drums march along at the clip of an IV drip", "birds of Virginia are flying within' ya/like background singers they all come in threes" - but they eventually coalesce into rich, pointed observations of American life.
Berman's talky, rich baritone is the ideal vehicle for lines like "In 1984 I was hospitalized for approaching perfection" - if true, the men in white suits should lock him up again: American Water is perfect.
- Jared O'Connor
offhand perfection