RICK BERLIN
MICHAEL BRODEUR
From his documentary-in-progress about the people
of JP, to his unfinished musical about a boy
with a magic harmonica, to his pal-packed collaborative
cabaret throwdowns, to his most recent masterpiece
of heavily populated pop, Me and Van Gogh, the
work of stalwart minor star Rick Berlin has
always been a celebration of characters. But
for seasoned and newbie local musicians alike,
from the Dresden Dolls to Sand Machine, the
character worth celebrating is Berlin himself.
HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN IN BOSTON? WHAT BROUGHT
YOU HERE?
Since ’71. My sister moved here. I was
living in New Haven, hitching up on weekends.
Immediately felt it to be “home.”
Wandered around Central, knocking on doors.
Got a place on Pleasant Street with my friend
Francesca, a second-floor [apartment]. On the
first floor was a piano and a lotta baby shit
you could step in (parents didn't believe in
house-training their kid). They let me use the
upright. Wrote all the time. Got a job washing
dishes at a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant.
Been here, one part of town or another, ever
since.
HOW HAS LIVING AND PERFORMING IN BOSTON HELPED
OR HINDERED YOUR WORK?
Some guy said that English women are like a
bottle of frozen champagne: Ice surrounds a
needle of nectar/booze that is, once busted
into, incomparable. Boston’s like that.
Frigid, but when ya warm it up, intensely revealing.
Performing … at least it ain't pay-to-play.
In the ’70s and ’80s, the drinking
age was 18, and major radio stations played
cassettes of unsigned bands during drive time.
Clubs filled up. The town rocked. Nowadays,
in the age of Clear Channel, it's more difficult.
But wonderful bands emerge in unexpected venues,
basements, lofts. People want art. Want to discover
bands. Like moths, they'll find ’em. Hook
or crook. Maybe the degree of difficulty makes
new music thrive, survive.
WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE PLACE TO
PLAY IN TOWN?
Though I'm no longer there, my 10-plus years
of Mondays at Jacques were incredible. I heard
a lotta shit music from some, but they always
put their heart on the line on that trashy stage.
The Lizard Lounge is a fine, intimate room.
They've been incredibly good to me over the
years, from “Marlene Loses It,”
to my recent CD release. It's super-artist-friendly.
Beautiful rugs.
WHO IS THE BEST NEW OR NEWISH LOCAL ARTIST YOU’VE
SEEN RECENTLY?
Jeff Chasse—miniature, undeniable songs.
Ya hafta lean forward to make them out. You
want to. You notice a steely, emotional, challenging
undercurrent; wordplay; sincerity of voice,
of self, of delivery. You want to know what
he's saying. You've been there, even though
you may not have ever thought of saying it that
way.
IF YOU HAD TO RECOMMEND FIVE LOCAL ARTISTS,
WHO WOULD THEY BE?
1) Mittens. Haiku pop songs, literate lyrics,
insta-melodies, almost-falling-off-the-cliff
musicianship.
2) Sand Machine. True believers in the ghost
of The Band, brand-new approach to harmony and
interval, committed forever to making music
on their own terms.
3) HUMANWINE. Loud in a quiet way; generosity
of heart; totally original slant on structure,
performance and Holly's one-of-a-kind voice.
4) Josh Kreydatus. Classical piano player—self-taught—with
ultra-dance emotion and widescreen beauty.
5) Milo Jones. A uke-sized guitar he can really
make sing, bar chords that defy gravity, voice-in-your-ear
vocals, bedside manner, sneaky way of hauling
you into his world.
