Purple Mountains

Purple Mountains was arguably the first album I've seen pop up, take traction, make the airwaves, and become relegated to a deep cut for those more interested in the artists or the genre.

It got traction because it was the return project of a beloved icon in the indie sphere, David Berman, whose Silver Jews were top dogs in the underground, with their unique brand of slower and deeply introspective indie courtesy of Berman's love for poetry and self deprecation. Purple Mountains still had those qualities, but this time it felt as the whole project was dedicated to himself, as opposed to his previous projects which creatively jittered between poetic deprecation of self and critic of his immediate surrounding.

It's a hard task to return to it, especially recently when life is going in upwards trajectory. There's always a churning feeling inside my stomach which only reinfornces my idea that sadder music is as addicting as drugs. It's really powerful, and a generally harrowing experience, even more so when you consider it being reelased a month before David's suicide.

I think you have to have a sad bone to fully enjoy this album. It's honestly nothing overtly special from a musical standpoint, and if you're not a fan of Berman, there's nothing here that would entice you. But if you ARE of the self-loathing crowd, or are just having the blues, take a gander.