Klezmer Spiel

Earlier today, JT and I visited the National Yiddish Book Center at Hampshire College. The Center is home to over 1.5 million volumes written in Yiddish, of which 10% are on view and for sale in the museum area. At the vanguard of the Yiddish-studies revival that began 30 years ago and helped lead to the creation of the center was a resurgence of interest in klezmer.

Evocative of rustic folk dancing and cantorial wailing, klezmer is simultaneously sacrosanct and profane. Derived from the Hebrew words "kli," or instrument, and "zemer," song, klezmer arose in the shtetls of mid-19th century Eastern Europe. When Jewish musicians were drafted into the tzar's military bands, many learned the clarinet, which quickly came to dominate the melodic aspect of klezmer. The famous clarinet glissando at the beginning of Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue is a commonly heard snippet of klezmer.

One of the earliest klezmorim was Josef Gusikov, a Belorussian who toured Western Europe playing a xylophone-like instrument he invented out of straw and wood. Felix Mendelssohn and Franz Liszt both saw the virtuoso perform. Mendelssohn marvelled at Gusikov, but Liszt wished his genius had been directed toward "inventing an agricultural instrument" instead of producing "nothing but musical inanities." The exotic performer of the neo-marimba was so popular in Paris that a coiffure was invented in imitation of Gusikov's payot, the sidelocks worn by Orthodox Jews.

Along with mass European emigration to the United States at the turn of the century came klezmer. Dave Tarras and Naftule Brandwein were the premier bandleaders of the interwar golden age of klezmer. They were perfect counterparts, both on the clarinet and temperamentally. Tarras had a sweet and fluid sound; Brandwein knocked the air out of an audience's lungs. Although both knew how to play a variety of instruments, Brandwein never learned how to read music, so that in their early years, Tarras took his job in a band. Famously reliable and hardworking, Tarras played well into 1980s, living into his 90s. Brandwein on the other hand was a notorious drunk. During one performance he wrapped himself in Christmas lights and was nearly electrocuted. Another time, he was almost run down while wandering down an Adirondack road in an inebriated state. To paraphrase a biographical essay of Tarras I once read, if Tarras was a fictional character, Brandwein would have been his foil.

After World War II and the Holocaust, both klezmer and Yiddish quickly fell into obscurity. Not until the late 1970s were the music and language rediscovered. In the early 1980s, Aaron Lansky, a graduate of Hampshire College, began saving every Yiddish-language book he could get his hands on, a collection that transformed into the National Yiddish Book Center. Meanwhile, a small number of Jewish musicians reestablished contact with the few living klezmorim. Andy Statman, one of the new-age pioneers, reestablished contact with Dave Tarras and became his disciple on the clarinet.

Statman is featured in an article in this month's issue of the world music magazine Dirty Linen. Now an Orthodox Jew, Statman has explored a variety of musical genres in his long career. Constantly branching out, Statman is proficient on the mandolin and well-versed in bluegrass. On the CD Avodas ha-Levi, a collection of archival material from the 1990s, the listener can clearly discern jazz in Statman's putative klezmer. Most of the disc evokes a late night cafe free jazz session. Which is disappointing. Statman butchers the classic Brandwein song, Naftule Shpilt far dem Rebb'n, turning it into piano chord laden, soft cymbal brushing, revisionist blues. There is no upbeat freilachs or old country doina. But neither seems to exist in modern klezmer, anyways. Most klezmer bands are diluted with augmented brass sections, ear-blasting percussion, and a variety of saxophones. Their songs mimic the standards of Tarras and Brandwein but are neither melodically pleasing nor authentic. A good example is Statman's mockery of Tarras's "Sha, Sha, di Shviger Kumt" ("Quiet, quiet, the mother-in-law is coming"), which is turned into a rhythmically insecure jazz number titled "Charles and West 4th."

For an excellent compilation of klezmer, turn to Rounder Records's CD, "Naftule Brandwein: King of the Klezmer Clarinet," not the modern parodies akin to Weird Al Yankovic.