By Tom Carlson

Tyler Berd is a songwriter of many musical backgrounds. Though his Bandcamp page currently Berd is based out of Portland, OR, his sound immediately reminds me that he, like myself, is a New Hampshire native. His Dec. 1 release, "Werks (A Collection of Songs 2017-2020),” is honest, funny, sad and comforting. I could tell you a lot about clever lyrics, harmonies, motifs, etc… but I feel it would be best to share why I believe Berd’s album is special through where this album took me through my listening and let you find out for yourself why. 

New Hampshire (where both Berd and I are from) is a strange little place in the northeast. It’s where the first presidential primary is, it has rough, bitter winters, cold autumns, barely a spring, and humid summers. Every season’s weather is as hard as the weather gets, and it's dark by 4:00pm for nearly half the year. New Hampshire’s bitterness is the reminder in our wet socks that we are alive and pushing back against the world in a Sisyphean way. Because of this, the folks here sing about what we know — pain and politics.

In a brief email exchange, Berd and I talked about old venues — coffee shops, bars and old churches. I can hear these places in his music. Some of Berd’s lyrics remind me of "Pat The Bunny,” a folk-punk artist from Vermont, our next-door neighbor. Before having heard any more than the title track of his new album, I asked Berd if he had any influence from the genre. The reply, “[I] definitely played a lot of folk punk shows, particularly while touring with Jake [McKelvie].”

Berd’s music, self-described “Freak Folk” (often synonymous with “Anti-Folk.”) juxtaposes sweet melodies and stripped-down acoustic arrangements with lyrics that shock and protest. Berd’s lyrics paint an absurdist’s view of the horrifying reality we’ve endured through the Trump era. Berd’s music, both sweet and absurd as the world itself, heals the listener. 

One of the most interesting sonic elements of “Werks” is that many songs were recorded in live spaces. You can hear talking and glasses clinking. You can hear people coming in from the cold and finding comfort in an atmosphere curated by honest song. 

I listened to Berd’s album this cold and hazy Thanksgiving morning whilst sitting by a still pond just a two-minute drive up the road. As I shivered back into the car I realized that as the days get colder and the Trump era ends, “Werks” is the warm chicken soup we all need. You can find Berd’s music on his website.

Tom is a culture writer for La Tonique.