Summary: When I first got into Judaism (read, betrayed my secular family and Conservative synagogue and became a religious zealot) I was convinced that Jewish culture was never going to replace secular culture in my life. During some of my first Shabboses as an observant Jew, I went to They Might Be Giants and Fugazi concerts, buying my ticket beforehand and manufacturing excuses, if only because, well, the Miami Boys’ Choir was next to impossible to slam-dance to, and I’d be damned if I was going to listen to any one-man synthesizer band just because we have a God in common. As it turned out, the first Jewish band that I really paid attention to, a hard-jazz trio called Satlah, would be my prophets. I was booked to open for them doing spoken word, and as soon as I saw the front man, a trumpeter named Danny Zamir, wearing a white shirt and black slacks, the total Typical Yeshiva Guy look—I freaked, convinced his music would sound cheesy and Fiddler on the Roof-derived. Zamir had sworn off secular music, but the music he was making turned out to be radical, mindblowingly acidic, and full of punk-rock fervor—and it consisted entirely of traditional Jewish songs. Although I haven’t sworn off secular music, ever since that first night seeing Satlah, I no longer hold a prejudice against Jewish music. I went on to find deliverance in the form of Socalled, a Jewish musical historian who is also a hip-hop remix wizard; and Juez, the klezmer-jazz-garage punk band. I have also picked up some guilty pleasures from mainstream Jewish music: Moshav, who write damn good songs even if they are embraced by yeshiva girls and Phish fans; and Smadar, who might sound closer to Barbra Streisand than They Might Be Giants, but could also be Amy Winehouse in Yemenite diva dress. These discoveries may represent the only welcome result of Jewish hipsterification: bringing inventive and iconoclastic Jewish artists to the spotlight. At heart, I’m still a punk-rock kid. I shop at independent record stores, I buy local produce, and I believe in the power of the local scene. And that’s how I see Jewish music: even when the bands are geographically disparate, something unites them. Maybe it’s that (maybe-outdated) idea of being Chosen; maybe it’s just my own taste. Either way, think of these as field notes from an emerging scene, a musical anthropology in action. * * * I have never been the biggest fan of Balkan Beat Box, JDub’s all-star international dance-music collective. Live, they’re a surge of energy and manic fun, but their albums feel DJ-driven and inorganic, too beat-centric and devoid of actual songs for me. Tomer Yosef Enter Tomer Yosef, BBB’s MC, who just released his solo debut, Laughing Underground, on JDub Records. The record takes Balkan’s culture-jamming, dance-music, party-on-the-fly aesthetic and highlights the best parts of it: it’s catchy, quirky, and laced with pure pop sensibilities. Hebrew hip-hop hits you from one direction. Arabic nigguns come flying from another. It doesn’t sound like a Balkan Beat Box album; it sounds like half a dozen albums. What JDub doesn’t want you to know: Laughing was recorded back in 2004. Why it doesn’t matter: The 14-track album is fast-moving, manic, pulling influences from reggae, ska, hip-hop and even the ABBA songbook to make a good-natured party record that sounds like a greatest-hits mixtape for an irresistibly catchy band. “Don’t Fly” is a great reggae song to play for people who don’t like reggae, but, for the truly selective, “Underground” is exactly what James Brown’s band would sound like if it was fronted by M.I.A. after inhaling helium. Listen to “Don’t Fly” by Tomer Yosef Listen to “Underground” by Tomer Yosef Kosha Dillz and C-Rayz Walz Last week, the suddenly-ubiquitous Kosha Dillz released his first full-length album, a team-up with C-Rayz Walz called Freestyle Vs. Written. Dillz, an Israeli-raised yeshiva dropout, was [...]
