Reviews of new Khevrisa, Budowitz

[Jeffrey Miller/Burden of Proof Research <jefmil...>]

This appeared in today's National Post (Toronto-based conservative
newspaper, owned by Conrad Black, who owns the Telegraph of London).  You
can see the story on their website, www.nationalpost.com, with a photo of
Josh's band.

Josh, she says you're a keener, but a good keener.  (Congrats again on the
well-deserved kudos.)  Re Alicia and "ongepatsht," my bubbe used to say
"ongepatshkit."  Why don't we debate that one, if only to get Simon's goat
about getting off-topic?  (On topic: I happen to agree with Alicia's view
expressed here...)

Looking back before it's too late
                    Recreating early klezmer music often involves
                    guesswork

                    Tamara Bernstein
                    National Post

                    Fasten your seatbelts: The period
                    instrument movement has hit the
                    klezmer world.

                    Within the last few weeks, two "early
                    klezmer" CDs have arrived on my desk.
                    The first, on the Smithsonian Folkways
                    label, is called Khevrisa: European
                    Klezmer Music; featuring U.S. violinist
                    Steven Greenman, and Walter Zev
                    Feldman on cimbal (a type of hammer
                    dulcimer), it (falsely) claims to be "the
                    first modern studio recording of the
                    klezmer music of Eastern Europe."

                    The second, called Wedding Without a
                    Bride, comes from the Europe-based
                    Budowitz ensemble, whose key
                    members are Joshua Horowitz, an expatriate American who
plays
                    cimbal and 19th-century accordion, and Merlin Shepherd, a
                    London-based clarinetist.

                    Both groups, and a handful of others like them, have
turned their
                    backs on the mainstream klezmer revival, which has
grafted the
                    old-world tunes onto new sounds -- rock, avant-garde
jazz, even
                    salsa and bluegrass -- with considerable commercial success.

                    Not that musical promiscuity is anything new to klezmer. You
                    could even argue that what makes klezmer "authentic" is,
                    paradoxically, its willingness to be unauthentic -- to
absorb (and
                    be absorbed by) music of the surrounding cultures,
whether that's
                    18th-century baroque contra dances, gypsy tunes or Led
                    Zeppelin.

                    But since the late 1980s, a handful of musicians like
Horowitz and
                    Feldman have been trying to reconstruct the European klezmer
                    tradition, before it was transplanted to the U.S. and
started
                    absorbing swing and other popular musics; before the
Nazis wiped
                    out its practitioners.

                    They've ditched the electric guitars and brass
instruments, and
                    re-introduced the cimbal -- a lightly-strung hammer dulcimer
                    whose delicate sound was the rhythmic and timbral
backbone of
                    the klezmer ensemble from the 16th to the late 19th century.

                    Khevrisa has restored the violin, which was upstaged by the
                    clarinet in the second half of the 19th century, as the lead
                    instrument. Their clarinetists play 19th-century
instruments,
                    which have fewer keys than the modern ones, and have a more
                    penetrating tone.

                    Horowitz plays an accordion built in 1889; constructed
of bone,
                    wood, goat leather and brass, it has a warm, reedy
sound, and
                    lends itself, he says, to the subtle phrasing and small
                    ornamentation that mimic the human voice -- and, in
particular,
                    the cantorial voice, with its "krekhts," or sobs.

                    When arranging the melodies, the early klezmer groups take a
                    "less is more" approach, stripping off the American
glitz. Keeners,
                    like Horowitz, trek across Eastern Europe (and the U.S.)
taping
                    Jewish, gypsy and other folk musicians, gathering
repertoire and
                    studying their style. The American klezmer revival,
Horowitz said,
                    has been based entirely on a cult of two immigrant
clarinetists --
                    the late Naftule Brandwein and Dave Tarras.

                    "Unfortunately, the deepest, oldest layers [of klezmer]
have lain
                    virtually unexplored," he said over the phone from his
home in
                    Graz, Austria, a few days ago. The title of Wedding
Without a
                    Bride evokes the sadness and loss that lie behind this
work of
                    retrieval and recovery -- the musicians must feel as though
                    they're searching for, and communing with, ghosts.

                    But a few years ago, Horowitz and Shepherd discovered a
living
                    link with the East European klezmer tradition --
88-year-old Majer
                    Bogdanski who was born near Lodz, Poland, and now lives in
                    London. Bogdanski, who was a choirboy in his synagogue,
seems
                    to hold in his head the music of the entire Polish
Jewish wedding
                    ceremony -- an eight-day affair that involved the whole
                    community. Bogdanski supplied the missing links that enabled
                    Horowitz to fulfill a long-standing dream of
reconstructing the
                    music of an entire East-European Jewish wedding.

                    Those weddings, Horowitz explains in his superb liner
notes, were
                    not only much longer than they are now, but also much
deeper.
                    They were a time of mourning as well as celebration.
(What better
                    time than a wedding to reflect on the destruction of the
                    Temples?) The disc takes us through the special songs that
                    accompanied each stage -- the veiling of the bride; the
escorting
                    of the bride and her family to the synagogue; songs to
make the
                    bride (or groom) weep; songs to be sung at the grave of
                    deceased parents to invite them to the wedding, and more.
                    Bogdanski appears on several tracks, in the role of
badkhn -- the
                    wedding jester/master of ceremonies, who was responsible
for the
                    pacing and mood of the proceedings.

                    I admit that, on their own, the traditional selections
on the CD
                    aren't as charismatic as the "greatest hits" of modern
klezmer
                    bands. But Horowitz's solo cimbal compositions are
top-notch. And
                    taken as a whole -- especially if one follows along with
the liner
                    notes -- the CD movingly brings to life this profound
ritual that's
                    brimming with wisdom, and full of potent archetypes. You
also get
                    a sense of the subtle form of the Jewish wedding -- a form,
                    Horowitz feels, that's as intricate in its own way as
that of a
                    classical symphony.

                    So is all this "authentic"? Horowitz is the first to say
that there's
                    no way of knowing -- the sampling of recordings and
surviving
                    musicians is too small; the tradition is broken. You
simply do the
                    best you can, with whatever you can find. And this is as
close as
                    we can get. And anyway, authenticity isn't the issue. I
simply
                    love the delicate, transparent sounds of the instruments
and the
                    simple arrangements.

                    I can't say that I warm to all the early klezmer
players. Joel Rubin
                    is by far my favourite clarinetist -- he made an
exquisite, soulful
                    CD with Horowitz in 1994 -- Bessarabian Symphony (Wergo SM
                    1606-2). Greenman, of Khevrisa, is a refined player, but
not a
                    particularly imaginative or passionate one; I wish that
his former
                    teacher, Alicia Svigals of the avant-garde Klezmatics,
was more
                    "into" early klezmer -- she's easily the most soulful
and inspired
                    klezmer violinist I've heard.

                    Svigals, who plays rhythm fiddle on Khevrisa, expressed some
                    reservations about the early klezmer movement. She finds
that
                    the fiddlers, for instance, overdo the ornamentation.
"It's -- you
                    know -- ongepatsht," she said, borrowing a Yiddish word that
                    "your mother would use to describe someone who was
covered in
                    jewelry and makeup." What you hear on turn-of-the-century
                    recordings, she said, is more restrained.

                    Despite these qualms, Svigals feels that early klezmer
has brought
                    a new maturity to the klezmer revival, by bringing out
the "very
                    serious, beautiful and spiritual" side of klezmer. Back
in the 1970's,
                    she said, everyone was playing it in a "goofy, kind of
self-hating"
                    style. "This new spirit is very psychologically healthy,
to my mind.
                    It shows a high level of self-esteem. We're not trying to be
                    comedians any more."

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