Bright Flight is an album that feels like it’s constantly teetering between deadpan humor and crushing sadness, and somehow, David Berman makes that balancing act feel effortless. His voice, as always, is more of a wry, world-weary drawl than traditional singing, but that’s part of the charm—it’s like listening to a guy at the end of the bar tell stories that are equal parts poetic, absurd, and devastating. Songs like Slow Education and Let’s Not and Say We Did are beautifully lazy in that Silver Jews way, drifting along on twangy guitars and lyrics that feel like inside jokes between Berman and the universe. Then there’s Tennessee, probably the closest thing here to a proper country song, but still laced with the kind of irony and longing that makes it unmistakably his. It’s not an album that demands your attention—it just exists, unfolding at its own pace, and either you’re on its wavelength, or you’re not. The arrangements are more stripped-down than on previous Silver Jews records, making the songwriting feel even more exposed, sometimes to the point of feeling too slow or sparse. But there’s something undeniably hypnotic about Berman’s world, where love, loss, and deadpan one-liners coexist in a way that makes you laugh right before it punches you in the gut. Bright Flight might not be as immediate or iconic as American Water, but it’s still a beautiful, melancholy trip through Berman’s singular mind. It’s sad, it’s funny, and it’s got just the right amount of existential shrug. If you’re already a Silver Jews fan, it’s another chapter worth savoring. If you’re not, this probably won’t be the album to change your mind—but for those who get it, it’s a quiet masterpiece.