I first heard Dan Bejar’s voice
on The New Pornographers’ records,
and I thought to myself, what the hell
is that? A voice, not really similar
to, but along the lines
of a Neil Young–a totally
uncharacteristic kind of voice
for rock music, but simultaneously
perfect for it. At first, I didn’t
like it, but there was some hook,
some element of which I could not get
enough. His lyrics, wild, surprising,
and his delivery, somewhat unhinged
in a irresistible way, both over-
shadowed the strangeness of that
voice, a voice that, when you see
a picture of Dan Bejar, seems
completely incompatible with
the face from which it comes.
Fast forward maybe 20 years,
and I have nine Destroyer albums
in my collection.
It started for me with a few New Pornographers
albums on which Bejar appeared on three
or four songs, a kind of part-time
Pornographer, then I went for the download
of Destroyer’s Rubies, then the vinyl
release of Kaputt, and from that moment
forward, I bought every new studio
album, and then at some point, went
backwards to nearly the beginning,
for his second and third records from
1999 and 2000, City of Daughters and
Thief, the first, a super strange mostly acoustic
lo-fidelity affair, while Thief takes
a gigantic step forward with a full band
and a move toward higher audio fidelity.
My love for Bejar and Destroyer really
begins with this album, Kaputt, recorded a full
decade after Thief. I think I remember reading
(or maybe I was dreaming), that Bejar said
he was trying to make an Al Stewart album.
Think absurdist Year of the Cat and you’re close.
As strange as Bejar is in his lyric and in his
voice, Kaputt is to me the feel-good album
of this quarter century so far, a kind of
avant-garde easy-listening, an experimental
soft rock record. It is both chill and wildly
bonkers, a super nerdy disco album. Who knew?
After an EP of Spanish language cover songs
in 2013, Destroyer brings us Poison Season,
an album that opens with baroque strings
and then moves quickly into a rocker with
a snare hit on all fours, a tune that includes
perhaps my favorite Bejar lyric of all time:
“Oh shit, here comes the sun.” Maybe what
I find most appealing about his records
is that musically, it’s impossible to predict
where he’ll go, from the soft-rock disco of
Kaputt to the piano, string and horn laden
tunes of Poison Season, to the synth rock
of Ken, to the cacophonous and huge
rock instrumentation of Dan’s Boogie,
the only thing that’s certain– is that
strange voice, which I have grown to love,
and his crazy lyrics, which from
the start had me hook, line, and sinker.
So it’s really not difficult to listen to nine
of his records in a row over the course of
two or three days. I listened to nothing
else except for a new EP from The Dear
Hunter, which arrived in the box yesterday,
and the new album from The Mountain
Goats while I drove to a gig on Saturday.
Otherwise, it’s been 24/7 Destroyer, figuratively.
Today alone, I spun six of those nine records.
“Cue synthesizer. Cue guitar. Bring in the drums.
Cue fake drum.”
Notes on the vinyl editions:
- City of Daughters, Merge Records, 2018, a reissue of the 1999 album on opaque red vinyl.
- Thief, Merge Records, 2018, a reissue of the 2000 album on orange marble vinyl.
- Kaputt, Merge Records, 2011, black double vinyl
- Five Spanish Songs, E.P., Merge Records, 2013, black vinyl. These five songs were written by Antonio Luque, Spanish songwriter, member of the band Sr. Chinarro.
- Poison Season, Merge Records, 2015, clear double vinyl.
- Ken, Merge Records, 2017, opaque yellow vinyl.
- Have We Met, Merge Records, 2020, turquoise marble vinyl.
- Labyrinthitis, Merge Records, 2022, olive green swirl on white vinyl.
- Dan’s Boogie, Merge Records, 2025, black swirl on clear vinyl.
In case you don’t already know: I’m listening to almost everything in my vinyl collection, A to Z, and writing a long skinny poem-like-thing in response for each artist. As a poet and a student of poetry, I understand that these things look like poems, but they don’t really sound much like poetry, hence, I call them “poem-like-things.” I’ll admit that they’re just long, skinny essays that veer every now and then into the poetic or lyric.
michael jarmer 