long story about today

[DAVID CHEVAN <dchevan...>]

This is a pretty long, but true and UNEDITED story (it could probably use
some editing) but I needed to send it and share it before I felt like I
couldn't.

I want to share with you something that occurred to me today during a
performance I was giving with my group, The Afro-Semitic Experience.  It
just happened within the past few hours so that I am still in the midst of
trying to absorb and understand exactly what happened and what it means.  At
least a month ago, maybe longer, the Afro-Semitic Experience was invited to
give a performance that would occur today as part of the Arts and Crafts
Fair at the New Britain Museum of American Art.  The band spent quite a bit
of time rehearsing and learning new pieces for this performance and realized
only days before the event that this would be an opportunity for us to share
our music as an act of reflection and healing.

The repertoire of the Afro-Semitic Experience is a mixture of pieces that
reflects the distinct cultural backgrounds of the musicians in the band.  We
play what I sometimes describe as a creative interpretation of the music of
the diasporic worlds of the Jewish and African peoples. That means a mix of
gospel, jazz, klezmer, spirituals, and Jewish and African-American
liturgical song.  As a general rule we perform instrumental renditions of
these pieces and I do take the time to introduce the music and explain a bit
about what we are doing. Our instrumentation today consisted of seven
musicians playing clarinet, tenor sax, violin/pedal steel guitar, keyboards,
bass, drum set, and African drums.

A number of the pieces that we play from the Jewish tradition include
melodies that incorporate the distinct Ahavah Rabo or freygish scale.  And
that scale was, I believe, at least one source of the trouble that happened
today.  We were performing an interpretation of my arrangement of the
beautiful Shabbat melody, Shalom Aleichem, when I noticed a number of people
walking by and shaking their heads.  Then a few people came up and started
to speak with the guys in the band.  As the piece ended two people from the
Museum came over to speak with me, the person who had hired us and the
director of the museum.  They told me that they had received numerous
complaints about the inappropriateness of our music, that these people who
were complaining felt that we shouldn't be playing music that sounded like
"that" at a time like this.  I asked them if they wanted us to stop because
this is our music, this is what we do as artists and that the music was
Jewish and sacred. Both women agreed that if we wanted to continue they
would support us.  But they suggested that I speak to the crowd and try to
bring them into our performance.  I realized that we were at something of a
cross-roads and that whatever I said would either get us run out of town on
a rail or save us from such a fate.  I don't remember exactly what I said,
but what I tried to convey was the spirit of what we were about.  I
explained about the band and why we had come together.  I told of the many
concerts that Warren Byrd and I have been giving that were the catalyst for
the Afro-Semitic Experience.  I spoke about my grandmother who had escaped
the pogroms of Poland and come to America where she could live as a Jew, I
spoke about the messages behind our melodies, how these songs represent
traditions both new and old that celebrate freedom and opportunity.  I tried
to explain that our music celebrated peace and humanity in a way that should
make everyone proud they could be there to hear it.  Yes, I got a bit
righteous--but it was one of those moments where I had to lay it on the
line.

We continued playing and we still got flack.  We took a short break and I
went to grab a bite to eat.  While eating my fried dough one man came up to
me and said, almost apologetically, "look buddy, this may sound harsh, but
this is not a good week to be talking about brotherhood."  I asked what he
thought of the music.  He told me that while he thought we sounded pretty
good we should probably stop as we were insulting the dead.  I thanked him
and quickly gathered the band for the second set.  During the second set we
received even more complaints when we played our version of the klezmer
standard, Ma Yofus, another piece with that distinctive Ahavah Raba scale.
But by that time we were getting as many compliments as we were complaints.
I knew there was a schism in the crowd, that not everyone was clinging to
the same broad jingoistic sentiments.  I then pulled a chart that half of
the band had never seen before, the Israeli song, Shir LaShalom, "Song for
Peace".  A song, not incidentally, that had been sung by Yitshak Rabin only
moments before he was assassinated. I read an English translation of the
lyrics as loudly, slowly and clearly as I could over the PA system.

Let the sun rise and give the morning light,
The purest prayer will not bring us back.

He whose candle was snuffed out and buried in the dust,
A bitter cry won't wake him, won't bring him back.

Nobody will return us from the dead dark pit.
Here, neither the joy of victory nor songs of praise will help.

So sing only a song for peace, don't whisper a prayer
It's better to sing a song for peace with a big shout . . .

We played the tune and I've never heard this band sound better.  The
challenge that our audience had presented us, along with the challenge of
making a song that three of the seven of us had never played before really
brought us to a new level. We got into this piece in a way that goes beyond
description.  It is why I am a performing musician.  To be able to connect
with other players and with at least some of the audience in this
indescribable manner.  But I think we still failed to connect with at least
some of the audience and it hurt.

>From that moment on and for the remainder of our performance, I knew that
there were people who were not into what they were hearing, but they knew
better, they kept quiet about it. And after the concert we were well
received.  There was an audience who wanted to hear us and wanted us to keep
going.

But what occurred today was, I think, an example of that irrational fear
factor that is going on all over America.  There is a fear of anything that
is remotely Arabic in nature and that includes anything Jewish that smacks
of the Middle East.  The combination of the Ahavah Raba scale and our
incredible African drummer (Baba David Coleman) must have intimidated a
portion of the audience in a way that none of us were expecting.  Its been a
long time since I'd encountered a hostile audience and this was an audience
at a museum of art, the last place one would expect to find rampant
jingoism.  I worry about my Arab friends, and I worry about the possible
return of anti-semitism and racism in America.  I mean, I did explain that
these were Jewish songs and I was still told it would be better to stop.  If
these things take place than whoever is responsible for ordering the World
Trade Center and Pentagon attacks has more than succeeded.

 These are my initial reactions to today's event.  If you'd like you can
pass this story along.  Please keep in mind that the museum supported us,
and a good chunk of the people who heard us supported us too.  But there is
a group of people out there who are allowing the events of this past week to
give them opportunity to allow their true colors to show and it has got me
worried.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
David Chevan, Bassologist
for more info visit my web site located at
 www.chevan.addr.com

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