King David, or something like it. "When God was young," when all of us were. Slaying the Goliath of rock doctrine, that a band must tour to be successful. And what then, if in the end, they did? Makes history a reality, I guess. Case in point, Silver Jews' Bright Flight. An unsung hero for some in the catalog, seemingly a polarizing record, clearly Nashvillian after the move, and after the release of fan-favorite, American Water. But why? The strength of darkness, too naked in these songs of passion? Perhaps the words of Cassie Berman will make it clearer for you, and ease your ears to the idea of listening further, for the first time, or again:

"The first thing I remember about the recording of Bright Flight is that when we opened the door to Hum Depot's roller rink of a basement studio, the console was in a jillion pieces. Why we were the reason it got cleaned for the first time since 1972, who can say? Marky cussed heroically, recomposing the board while the Joos idled High Life ponies in the parking lot. Everyone was well in character by the time the reels sputtered to life.

Mostly I recall catnapping under globe lights on and off for days with these incredible songs I'd only heard skeletons of at that point drifting through the lounge. Occasionally I was roused to harmonize, completely amazed with wonder to hear my own voice joined to this band that I had loved already for years. David says it's boring when people tell their dreams. Nevertheless, crowding around a laughing, out of tune piano singing "Let's Not and Say We Did" as Tony blew the lid off the joint is as wildly surreal today as it was then."

Bright Flight. On LP, CD and digital download, available now and always.