Art Bergmann
w/ Rat Silo and TV Heart Attack
March 26th 2009 at Richards on Richards

Of all the shows Vancouver played host to over Juno’s Weekend, perhaps the most remarkable was the one that wasn’t even officially a part of it. And what better gig to fill this outlaw position than the much heralded one-night-only return of Art Bergmann?

The highly anticipated Bergmann show at Richards on Richards, held just days after the Necro “no-show” riot in the club, was the official release of the Lost Art Bergmann album that by now even the mildly acquainted know was the original recording produced by Bob Rock that won Art a major record deal. It was these songs that were thinly re-recorded, capturing little of the Bergmann bluster, by the Velvet Underground’s John Cale on the Crawl with Me album.

The crowd itself was surely integral to the event. It was a class reunion of veteran Vancouver punk rockers, former Bergmann bandmates and drinking buddies, media, scenesters, friends and enemies and likely even out of town music industry types who’d attended on recommendations. But perhaps most encouraging to see in the packed house: a healthy number of patrons in their early twenties who never got to see Bergmann in the Smilin’ Budda days, or at the vivid Town Pump shows in the 1990’s when Bergmann and company held court there, who had come to finally have their chance to see and hear the man they’d heard so much about. All had come to see if this show would indeed actually happen and, if it did, just how Art was doing these days.

Richards on Richards itself is bruised and probably in need of repair it will never see, but one had the feeling before the show that its walls would witness at least one last great performance before falling to the Aquilini wrecking ball. TV Heart Attack kicked off the night and later Sons of Freedom alumni Rat Silo played a welcome opening set, with Mark Henning (Pure/Combine the Victorious) filling in on keyboards for an absent Dave Osborne.

During the lull before the headliner, few could help noticing a wooden podium at the front of the stage that seemed to imply we might be waiting for a lecture instead of a rock show. Since this was to be Bergmann’s first live show in years, a book of lyrics was placed on the podium presumably in case he needed to refer to them. But what we were treated to was less Art Bergmann’s Address to the Nation than the totally authentic emotion of a man in his element.

From the opening lurch of the set-starter favourite “Dirge No. 1” followed by Bergmann’s hectoring lyrics, the sold-out Richard’s audience cheered. While the serious arthritis and painful back condition Bergmann is now afflicted by was undoubtedly wracking him at times, his every move was an authentic gesture. Obviously struggling against pain throughout the night, he employed his physical problems as theatre to encourage his performance rather than limit it.

Since his arthritis made it impossible to play, not being armed with an electric guitar may have itself been a factor of his discomfort up there, and it unfortunately also deprived us of hearing that signature Bergmann playing style. He was left instead to strangle the microphone stand throughout the show. (Why he’d been given an old boom-stand to fumble with the height of instead of a straight-stand was beyond me.) Bergmann, who looked particularly dapper in a suit and red shirt, was still possessed with an unmistakable sense of humour though, at one point hiding behind the podium and later briefly pretending a barstool was a walker when he approached it

Bergmann sings on the Lost Art Bergmann track “Who Will Ever Know”: “Don’t ever hope. Hope’s the big killer”. But much like watching an experimental plane in its first test flight, there was a palpable feeling of hope in the crowd that this show would indeed fly, if only once. As for the book of lyrics left for him, he rarely if ever looked to it—though perhaps could have used it when he lost his place in the tragic sing-a-long “Our Little Secret”. More than making up for the lapse, Art as ringleader encouraged the crowd to join in on its la-la-la chorus. In turn that hopeful audience buoyed the band through its looser moments.

In a set that comprised songs mostly from the Lost Art Bergmann/Crawl With Me and Sexual Roulette albums, former Poisoned bandmates Taylor Little on drums, Ray Fulber on bass, and Suzanne Richter on keyboards and backup vocals supported their singer admirably. It was left to Art’s 90’s bandmate, Anthony “Tony Balony” Walker, to handle all the guitar duties and he may have had the hardest job of the night. But Walker played all of Bergmann’s guitar parts to great effect and supported Bergmann with considerable élan, showing how he earned the “Man of 1000 Guitar Poses” moniker that Zulu Records’ Last Call compilation had lovingly given him years ago.

Above all we bore witness to an extraordinary show by Art Bergmann himself. While the most original of performers today still at times appear too contrived and clever, with actions on stage too obviously planned for effect, Bergmann had no repertoire of cute eyebrow raises. There was not a whiff of bullshit in his performance. Even his screams were genuine. At this show we witnessed an artist at the peak of his understanding as a musician and performer while at the bottom of his physical capacity, and it made for a drama of Shakespearian proportions.

We won’t see the likes of him again. And surely now, we all have one more Art Bergmann story to tell. Posted: Apr 17, 2009