The following article appears in the Dec. '97 - Feb. '98 issue of FolkNotes.

Searching for Bergman Broom

By Dana Cooke

Dennis Friscia, who now performs as Bergman Broom, began writing songs as early as 1966, in Brooklyn. He came to Syracuse in 1977 and played in a few small groups, including the well-remembered Beverages. The years 1984-1989 were "my most serious solo period," he says, during which time he opened for the likes of Liv Taylor, the Roches, and Suzanne Vega — and during which time he formed Dennis Friscia and the Oh So Sensitive Sidemen, a six-piece combo delivering Friscia originals with touches of jazz and rock. It was — and remains — one of Syracuse's best folk/pop groups. Recordings have included "Sextuplets" (1986), "Starcheye Coatman Sessions" (1989), "Quarrel With The Universe" (1991); "Dinosaur Songs" (1992), "Crevices" (1995), and "9 Dino-saur Songs" (1996). All of which makes Friscia the area's dean of songwriters in the folk/acoustic vein and, at the same time, one of its most charming curmudgeons on the topic of Syracuse folk. We contacted him by e-mail to get his take on everything, and he held no punches.

Q: Tell us about your new group.

A: The Bergman Broom Ensemble is Bergman Broom, vocals/acoustic guitar/piano; John Dancks, electric bass; Robert "The Elf" Elfenbein, lead guitar; and Mark Dundee, drums and percussion. I put together a back-up band because the new material could not be properly fleshed out within the confines of the singer-guitar (or singer-keyboard) format. I get bored easily without other musician vessels for the songs to bounce around in. Plus, it's more interesting to an audience, I think. Most solo acts make me fidgety after a few songs. I 'd hate to do that to people. . . .

Q: Is there any particular characteristic of your current songs - either musical or lyrical - that stands out from the earlier ones?

A: The type of songs I'm writing now cut more visceral grooves - i.e., they are less topical and less audience-oriented than the earlier stuff - not that they were ever too audience-driven to start with. I feel that the new songs reflect a more solitary and emotional recent few years. I previously have more greatly relied on being clever, not that there's anything wrong with that. It's just a little shift in trajectory. . . .

I have about 150 songs that I still consider meaningful and performable. They simply follow the curvature in the life experience. They fade away and reappear like fish in a pond.

Q: What's one of your favorite new songs about?

A: I have a new one called "The Long Fall Called Winter." It's a song that could have only been written at this middle-age. The way losing the love of a woman hits at this time is not the way you deal with it, say, 10 or 20 years earlier. So the song reflects these feelings from the perspective of a this older person, driving around late at night, thinking back on his life, all of this in the face of that behemoth, mortality.

Q: Do you see your songs accomplishing more lyrically than the average pop song?

A: Yes, by all means. But I also believe the musical sophistication is just as important in characterizing the songs. My chords, key modulations, voicings are genearally way beyond the average acoustic artist. I just think I have a larger harmonic vocabulary, a more intricate one than most singer-songwriters I hear. Call it age, time, or just DNA, but I think there is a strong musical signature, as well.

Also keep in mind that I'm not trying to be commercial. Accessible yes. Commercial? Leave that for someone like the Kennedys. Except for the dinosaur songs, it's gotta pass a rigid inner test to be an acceptable song. It has to go for the throat in some way. That's always first consideration.

Q: Can you summarize in any way what you try to bring to your lyrics - what maybe sets you apart as a lyricist?

A: They're baroque. They have great range, punch. And they fall all over themselves in metaphor, not to mention the most important thing: an underpinning of truth, emotional truth. I try to relay, with any luck, some universal emotional thing in the gut vicinity.

Q: Like most "folk" artists in Central New York, you have to live with the fact that your audience will be limited in numbers. There is no vast audience in this genre. But why?

A: There is virtually no mechanism to create a market for it. It's a town without imagination. It has blues for brains. Smart people like folk music. In some places, it actually thrives! I would say you can blame this dearth on the industry in part, and the rest is just the lack of sophistication that likely will stick around for a while.

Q: But still you keep going. Why?

A: It's a f***ing war all the time. I'm probably just too set in my ways to quit. I don't know. No, seriuosly. I'm a f***ing artist. My parents inadvertently cornered me into this little need to keep expressing, and this is how the genetics chose to play it out. I have no control over it — just a monkey on overtime. . . . Oh yeah, let's not forget the possibility of great sex with a new and wondrous woman after the show is over!

Q: Do you find yourself resolved to the notion that this niche exists at this size?

A: It's hard to tell whether it's expanding or shrinking. It seems as though Syracuse will become Carousel City and all the musicians will be swallowed by it and be reincarnated as Joe Whiting and Gary Frenay.

Q: Do you have any suggestions for presenters or fans for helping to bolster acoustic music in Central New York?

A: More radio shows like Common Threads. More clubs that present intelligent, provocative music. Bring in great performers. It's gonna take some work. I do think it can be done. It also needs an entertainment organ that really promotes the talent in this town, and not only the popular names. But honestly, it needs something much more focused and iconoclastic - a paper without Camels-ad centerfolds and 900-numbers run by an egotistical idiot in an ascot.

Q: Tell us about any big projects that you have in the works. Another album?

A: Two new CDs, one tentatively titled "Songs No One Else Likes." The other projec is called "Home Sweet Motel."

Q: Despite the frustrations of it, what defines success? When is it all worthwhile?

A: I will always play here, because it's a good fight. People like me love a good fight. Besides I can always leave and come back. So I imagine I will play here again and again. There have been a lot of great memories and shows here. But one does need to move on if one is to achieve any real success with their songwriting. This is a town to jump out of. The people who stay are invariably the losers. It's the plain truth and you can delude yourself into beleiving there's more here if you wish. Any true artist would never stay here. To the extent that I have stayed is mostly to my detriment. Success is worthwhile, if it's success in the bigger world - large urbane cities, critical kudos from people who count, none of that means a thing here. I'm sorry to say it, but it just doesn't count in this little pond. Greatness leaves quickly and reaches fruition elsewhere. But parking is easy, and hey, we got Armory Square.

This page maintained by Dana Cooke. E-mail me at djcooke@aiusa.com.