Because David Berman and his band, The Silver Jews, are so awesome and under-appreciated, I’m going to try to spotlight a great song here from time to time. I’m a little out of practice when it comes to close reading, but the poetry in his songs just sort of screams for interpretation. Here we go with our third installment!
“Be always sure you are right, then go ahead.” – Davey Crockett
“The Frontier Index” (listen) – from The Natural Bridge (1996)
Before we begin, I’ll just say that I like to think of this song as a meditation on how scary and exhilarating the future and “the unknown” can be. I suppose this could be true universally, or at least somewhere close to it. Back to “The Frontier Index” … a curious title for a rock song, don’t you think? I think “wild west” when I hear the word “frontier.” You know, Davey Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier … Also, not so much along that line (or is it the same line?), I think of Star Trek’s famous opening line — “Space: The Final Frontier.” I think we get a taste of that fear and exhilaration from the unknown or untamed wilderness from either read. Now, “index” … hmm … again, some word associations … Well, the index of a book will serve as a sort of “map” to the reader looking for some specific topic. Assuming that any other read of “index” will fall along that line (e.g., your index finger, for instance, is alternatively called your “pointer” finger, etc.), we can presume that Berman is going to share with us listeners a “map” of the “wilderness” and by extension that he’s been there. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to provide this “Frontier Index” in the first place. (And, as a side note, if there is any doubt that Mr. Berman has been to some very dark, strange places, I submit a previous write up: “The Wild Kindness.”) So, there we go. We’ve got some ideas and haven’t even listened to the song yet!
Of all the people I knew,
I always looked up to you,
and after millions of years of crime,
the Sun still shines and shines.
Okay. First verse … He’s talking in the past tense here. Is the person Berman’s addressing dead or has s/he simply fallen out of the singer-poet’s esteem? Is it possible that Berman’s addressing God? I ask because the second two lines here talk about the sun still shining after “millions of years of crime.” Now that I think about it, this verse sounds to me like the speaker has lost faith in God because after all these years of crime and injustice, the Sun continues to rise every day. I remember from intro to philosophy that the “problem of evil” goes something like this: “If God is ‘all good’ and ‘all powerful’ and, in fact, ‘created’ the world and everything in it, how could pain/suffering/evil/etc. exist?” It’s a slightly ham-handed retelling, to be sure, but I think that’s part of what Berman is saying here.
Look a horse, of course, gallops through the desert light.
I make such good time through sub-space
when I dream all day and ride all night.
There’s a lot of action packed into these three lines. Galloping horses, making good time, riding all night. There’s also a good juxtaposition of “desert light” and “sub space” because I think of desert light as hot and unfiltered and sub-space (whatever that is) as cold and dark. It sounds to me like the narrator here spends a lot of time driving or piloting or otherwise traveling and has worked out a system to avoid traffic (sleeping during the day and traveling at night). We now have some context for how the speaker has acquired his knowledge of the wilderness that he’s going to map for us.
A robot walks into a bar,
orders a drink,
lays down a bill.
The bartender says, “Hey, we don’t serve robots.”
And the robot says, “Oh, but someday you will.”
A joke! Cool. Berman is setting us listeners up for a futuristic punchline here with the “Robot walks into a bar” bit. Unfortunately, the joke’s on us, and kind of foreboding, if you think about it. The truth of the matter is that we all serve robots. Our cars are machines that we must pay to fuel, maintain, etc. Our computers are machines that are supposed to make our lives easier, yet sometimes … well, we find ourselves driving around strange neighborhoods or ducking into hotel parking lots looking for a wireless signal so that we can quickly check our e-mail. The day we serve “robots” is here, my friends. And if you don’t believe it, just listen to the tone in which Berman delivers the punchline. It’s positively bone-chilling. True to the promise of his title, Berman is sharing some knowledge about the present/future here with us.
Prison’s a good time for some.
Many people get caught with a gun.
This trucker says, “It’s good to be free.”
Says he knows lots of folks who agree.
This fourth verse speaks of our narrator’s experience and gives some more background on where his knowledge comes from. Saying that some folks enjoy prison delivers a subtle message here that the narrator is a total badass, especially with the way he just sort of matter-of-factly says it. “Hey, a lot of folks get caught. Whatever.” And he’s a trucker (What’s got two thumbs and likes blowjobs? This guy!”) who hangs around with some roughneck sorts, at least that’s what I’m picking up from this latter two lines. Only somebody who’s been without freedom can say something like “It’s good to be free” and not sound like a total douchebag. Knowing lots of folks who agree … well, that’s his crowd.
Bumper stickers talk to him.
Say, “Let the stars get in your eyes.”
Time, cum, sand, and surf –
these are the building, building blocks of life.
The perspective of our trucker/poet/philosopher continues in this verse. As much driving as I’ve been doing lately, I can say that I understand how some folks might get some deeper meaning from bumper stickers than others (who spend less time on the freeway, or sub-space, as the case may be). The “building blocks” of life, as related by our narrator, include: Time — OK, not bad. Time, and the lack of it, happens to be a recurring theme many of Berman’s songs. Cum — Or semen, still not too bad as a building block of life, especially, considering the DNA factor. Sand — Hmmm. Not too sure where this comes from Beach. Surf — Water. OK, we can play along with that. Sand doesn’t sound to far out now, does it?
Boy wants a car from his Dad.
Dad says, “First, you gotta cut that hair.”
Boy says, “Hey, dad, Jesus had long hair.”
and Dad says,
“That’s right son, but Jesus walked everywhere.”
Smartass kid, smarter-ass parent. More religious references. How does it fit into our narrator mapping out the frontier for us? Hmm. Boundary test is my guess. Isn’t that what the pioneers did? The whole point of frontier life was that you were going places nobody else had ever gone (or at least no “civilized” person had gone). This short parable (snap!) about the teenage boy and his dad represents to me exactly what happens when we’re growing up. We test our parents. This particular conversation about an automobile can represent so very much more, in just about any context. I’m going to leave it at that, except to say that Berman succeeds here where just about any other songwriter would have come off as trying to be too clever, too cute. Well played, Mr. Berman. Well played.
When I was younger, I was a cobra.
In every case I wanted to be cool.
Now that I’m older, and sub-space is colder,
I just want to say something true.
The final verse reveals the narrator’s motivation for sharing his experiences and his perspective with us. He simply wants “to say something true.” After an adolescence of trying to be something he’s not (i.e. a “cobra” … or “cool”), he’s resigned himself to a life of driving his rig through the dark of nighttime sub-space and wants to share his philosophy with anybody who’ll listen. It’s noble only in its honesty, and it (and the song) really speaks to me right now. It speaks to what I hope this weblog can bring to readers if I continue to write honestly. It speaks to the fear and excitement and everything in-between I’m feeling about this move to Pittsburgh. It’s terrifying and reassuring at the same time.
It’s a great rock and roll song that barely anybody will ever give its fair due. I tried to say something true.
The Natural Bridge reviews at The Corduroy Suit
