Category — Klezmer

Yiddishe Cup is the house band at the Lake County (Ohio) Heritage Festival.  We play there every July.  Twenty years in a row.

Why don’t the organizers get somebody else?

Because we talk.  Bluegrass bands and old-time musicians don’t talk.  They just pick.  Folk musicians, they’ll talk, but it’s pabulum about trees and trysts.  Polka guys, they talk — to each other.  And they mumble.

Lake County, just east of Cleveland, is a stronghold of Italians and Slovenians.  Many are retired railroad and factory workers.  They like to hear “Eaton Axle,” “Fisher Body,” and “Collinwood Railroad Yards.”

Those aren’t songs.  They’re just words, and I like to say them. For instance, I’ll say, “Who remembers the Collinwood Yards on East One-hundred Fifty-second?”  There are a couple klezmer train songs.  There’s a hit from Russia: “7:40.”

We do “Gino,” an Orthodox Jewish tune with an Italian-sounding name.  We also do “That’s Morris,” a parody of “That’s Amore.” We introduce it with: “This is by that great Ohio Jewish composer Dean Martin.  His name in Hebrew means ‘flying tiny octopus.'”

You have to be there.

The Slovenians like to hear “Slovenian” pronounced properly: Slovene-yun, not Slovene-ian.

I explain Hebrew is loshn kodesh, the holy tongue, like Latin. Yiddish by contrast is mama-loshn, the mother tongue.  “Mama Lotion. You can buy it at CVS.”

You have to be there.

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2 of 2 posts for 7/21/10

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Sun. (July 25):  Yiddishe Cup is at the Lake County Heritage Festival, formerly the Little Mountain Folk Festival.  Painesville, Ohio. $. www.lakehistory.org.  Final revised schedule: Yiddishe Cup is on at 11 a.m., 1 p.m. and 4 p.m.

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Thurs., July 29:  “Driving Mr. Klezmer” duo show at Cain Park, Cleveland Hts., 7 p.m.   $20 in advance, $23 at the door. $2 off for 60+ and students.  216-371-3000 or www.cainpark.com.  If you miss this show, your last words might be “I really screwed up.”

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Subs are often the best musicians.  They’re great ear players.

I’ve subbed a few times.  One time I wore a suit instead of a tux and got The Ray (the stare) from the bandleader.  Another time I iced my tendinitis during a break and almost missed the downbeat (the start of the next set).

I don’t do much subbing.  I’m not the greatest ear player and my sight-reading skills are only so-so.

The worst player in the band should be the leader, who then hires people better than himself.

[Subliminal message  for non-readers: Jump to the video at the end of this post.]

Playing by ear . . . that’s the big mysterious matzo ball of music.  Fact: You can get better at playing by ear. A little better.  First, close your eyes for a minute before practicing.  Listen to the clock and your neighbor’s barking dog.  Then play a couple notes, eyes closed, like C, D, and E, and imagine why they’re different.  What is the distance between the notes?

You have no idea.

Follow up with a chromatic scale, C-C#-D-D#-E, and you’ll have an idea.  The chromatic run sounds like swarming bees, à la “Flight of the Bumblebee.”  This chromatic run “looks” zig-zaggy, as if you’re walking up the fire-exit steps at a downtown hotel.  C is the first floor, C# is the landing, and D is the second floor. You begin to feel the intervals (the leaps).

Don’t underestimate the eyes-closed part.  Pretend you have eye strain and need to rest your eyes.

If you’re a professional musician, try playing with your eyes closed on stage occasionally.  It’ll clear the visual clutter.  I spent 30 minutes at a concert trying to remember my kids’ preschool teacher’s name.  She was in the audience.  My kids are in their twenties.  I should have had my eyes closed.

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I encouraged a gentile Yiddishe Cup musician to attend KlezKamp, the klezmer convention, to learn klezmer conventions.  When the KlezKamp registrar asked his Yiddish name, I interrupted, “Farbisener.” (Bitter One.)

My musician wore his Farbisener ID badge for five days.  He could take a joke — barely.

I’ve had goys in Yiddishe Cup since the beginning.  That’s no surprise.  Have you been to an Orthodox Jewish wedding in the Midwest?  The sole Jewish musician is often the singer, because he has to know Hebrew.  The rest of the band might be jazzers, many of whom are cool dudes with cigs, fraying tuxes, and war stories about backing up Jerry Lewis and Tom Jones.  Divide everything they say in half.   But they can play — anything from Charlie Parker to Madonna.

Some subs, on the other hand, are not old jazzers; they are young music school grads who don’t smoke, don’t dress like shlubs, and know all the tunes — and are also full of BS.  If a young sub says he just made $500, that means he drove to New York, slept on a couch, and didn’t calculate his travel expenses.  He has never heard of depreciation.

I hired a sub from a small town near Canton, Ohio.  (Yes, Canton is small, but this guy’s ville was very small.)  He played terrific guitar and sang in Italian, Spanish and English. He had grown up in three countries.  He claimed he did 260 gigs a year — a lot.  Most were quality gigs, he said, although some were “wallpaper” (background music), and some outright sucked: “I had a gig playing dinner parties for the Hoover vacuum family.”

Subs need quips like that to regale the band at breaks.  The regulars demand it; they are sick of each other’s jokes and stories.

The toughest job in music — subbing.

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This vid clip is from the “Driving Mr. Klezmer” show.  Includes klezmer and Mickey Katz’s “16 Tons,” followed by Alan Douglass, on keyboards, reciting the first verse of Genesis in Hebrew.  Not bad for a gentile.

See “Driving Mr. Klezmer” 7 p.m. Thurs., July 29, at Cain Park, Alma Theater, Cleveland Heights.  $20 in advance. $23 at the door.  Call 216-371-3000 or visit www.cainpark.com.

“Driving Mr. Klezmer” is a clutch-popping trip through the states of klezmer, pop, Tin Pan Alley and spoken word.  The ride: a Ford Tsuris.

The show is a nudnik/beatnik mash-up of music and comedy.  Bert Stratton is on clarinet and spoken word (i.e., this blog). Alan Douglass, the chauffeur, is on vocals and keyboards.

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I am the Sol Hiccup — maybe — of klezmer shows in Cleveland.  I am a volunteer on a Workmen’s Circle committee that has brought in Kapelye, Pharaoh’s Daughter, Theodore Bikel, Chava Alberstein, the Klezmatics, the Klezmer Conservatory Band, Shtreiml, Beyond the Pale, Susan Hoffman Watts and many more.

It’s not my money; it’s the Workmen’s Circle’s concert endowment earnings.

Many committee members don’t know much about Jewish music, so my opinion carries weight. Sometimes my picks work, sometimes not.

Anything experimental, feh.  Too much kvitching (squeaking) on the clarinet, feh.  Hebrew songs — no thanks, it’s a Yiddish concert. Obscure Yiddish songs — no thanks.

Last year the committee brought in Yiddishe Cup (from a distance of  7,920 feet).  The band played mainstream klezmer and did Mickey Katz–style Yinglish comedy.

A committee member said the band didn’t play enough klezmer instrumentals.  He said, “That’s what the Russians wanted to hear. They came to hear klezmer music, not  . . .” He paused.  “Ech, you were OK.”  Not a bad review, considering this critic  — a 94-year-old Yiddishist — often favored “horrible,” “not Jewish enough,” and “jazz – why jazz?”

Giora Feidman, the renowned Israeli clarinetist, played all instrumentals one year.  That was nisht gut (no good).  No vocals.

Where was the road to a good program? “Call Zalmen in New York,” according to one veteran committee member.  Call Zalmen Mlotek.

Zalman is not 94 years old, even though his name is.  Zalman is a baby-boomer pianist, theater director, and macher in the klezmer world.  He knows just about every quality Yiddish performer.

Zalman’s job, from the concert committee’s standpoint, was to forestall repertoire malfunctions.  The committee, which included several lawyers, stipulated performers should deliver “at least 70 percent Yiddish content.”  No more all-instrumental shows or predominately Hebrew and English song fests.

For instance, the headliner in 2007 had counted “Di Grine Kusine” (The Greenhorn Cousin) 100 percent Yiddish content, even though his group’s version was mostly instrumental jazz solos. When I told him he hadn’t fulfilled his Yiddish quota, he said, “Why are you telling me this the minute I walk off stage!”

He had a point. I should have waited.  But his pianist had taken more solos, on the clock, than his Yiddish vocalist.

I was only doing my job.  And I was in trouble. I was coming off a bad year; I had recommended an “experimental” act the year before.  I was losing my Sol Hiccup credibility.

We brought in a Canadian band, Beyond the Pale.  They covered the bases, mixing klezmer instrumentals and Yiddish songs. I was redeemed for a while.

Then a long-time committee member quit.  She said there wasn’t enough Yiddish, and hadn’t been enough mama-loshn (Yiddish/mother tongue) for more than a decade.

Azoy geyt es. (So it goes.)

A majority of the Yiddish-speaking audience was in the cemetery along with the committee’s top pick, Bruce Alder, a terrific Yiddish song-and-dance man who had died in 2008.  Our concert ushers — World War II Jewish War Vets — were also with Bruce.

I played a party for Jewish war vets. They were Vietnam guys, looking just like World War II vets, except breathing. The vets liked “Old Time Rock and Roll.”  I couldn’t see them ushering a klezmer concert.

This summer’s Yiddish concert is Sunday, featuring “New Voices of the Yiddish Stage,” an ad hoc musical variety show from Folksbiene — Zalmen Mlotek’s theater in New York.  The musicians are in their twenties and thirties.  Clarinetist Michael Winograd alone is worth the price of admission. 

Aside to the  “New Voices”  performers: Jazz is a four-letter word west of the Hudson.

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The 32nd annual Yiddish Concert in the Park is 3 p.m. Sun. (June 27) at Cain Park, Evans Amphitheater, Cleveland Heights.  Free admission.  The concert is a co-production of the Workmen’s Circle and the City of  Cleveland Heights.

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Everybody in world music wants to be the next crossover act.

Eddie Blazonczyk, the Chicago Polish polka musician, tried. And then there was Ruben Blades, the Panamanian salsa guy.

In klezmer, nobody has done it lately.

Lately is the key word.  [Continue by clicking on video]

CLOSED CAPTION.  6/4/10.  The paragraphs below are what the man in the video is saying, more or less, prior to playing “Bay Mir Bistu Sheyn” . . .

In 1938 the Andrews Sisters made “Bay Mir Bistu Sheyn” (By Me You Look Grand) the number one song on the American pop charts.

“Bay Mir Bistu Sheyn” is the tune in the klezmer concert repertoire.

Yiddishe Cup was playing a concert in Detroit — just barreling through a medley of esoteric klezmer fusion — when I called an audible (changed the set list) to play “Bay Mir Bistu Sheyn.”  Bingo, the mostly elderly crowd was right back with us.

My daughter, when she was little, called the song “My Bear, Mr. Shane.”  My youngest son performed it at 3 ½. [Check out the boy’s video.]  Jazz musicians call the tune “My Beer is Duquesne.”

Only Jews think “Bay Mir Bistu Sheyn” is Jewish.  Everybody else thinks it’s German or plain nothing.  (The spelling on the original record label was “Bei Mir Bist du Schön.”)  I lectured a group of gentile senior citizens in Westlake, Ohio.  I asked if they knew “Bay Mir” was Jewish.  None did.

Sholom Secunda wrote the melody to “Bay Mir Bistu Sheyn” for a Yiddish play in 1932.  Then he sold the rights to a music publishing house, the Kammen Brothers, for $30.

Sammy Cahn and Saul Chaplin put English words to the Yiddish version.  The tune became a huge hit for the Andrew Sisters.

Secunda supposedly had a conversation with a shoeshiner, who was whistling “Bay Mir” in 1938:

Secunda: “That song is making quite a hit now, isn’t it?”
Shoeshiner: “Hit ain’t the word.  It’s a riot.”
Secunda: “I guess the guy who wrote that must be making plenty of dough.”
Shoeshiner: “Not him.  That dope sold his song for thirty bucks.”
Secunda:  “And that isn’t the half of it . . .” **

**From the Camden (N.J.) Courier-Post, Jan. 26, 1938.

Secunda had to split the $30 fee with the original Yiddish lyricist, Jacob Jacobs.

A Jewish tune crosses over to the big-time about once a century.  That’s my guess.  I’m thinking the next hit will be the Hip Hop Hoodios’ “My Nose is Large and You Know I’m in Charge.”
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On Sat. June 12, Yiddishe Cup plays the best event in Cleveland, Parade the Circle. We’re not marching in the parade; we’re playing a post-parade concert at 1 p.m. on Wade Oval. Gonna be a massive bar mitzvah party.

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1. GOT A CARD?  NO!

I was a guest at a wedding where the band’s sign was bigger than LeBron James. The banner was eight-foot, like something you might see on a telephone pole announcing “125 years of excellence in education.”

The wedding reception was elegant, but the band’s sign was totally Bedford Auto Mile.  The sign read “More Acts, Better Music, Higher Standards.”

Higher Standards?  The bandleader was Italian.  I knew him.  Roman standard bearers?  The bandleader said to me, “It’s better to be a guest than to work, huh?”

What?  I always prefer playing over schmoozing.

When Yiddishe Cup does weddings, I hand out business cards.  Nothing gaudy.  And I don’t shovel them out.   These cards are almost collectors’ items.  I’m not going to pass them out willy-nilly.

Everybody already knows Yiddishe Cup.  If you say “klezmer band” in Ohio, it’s us.  Now, if we’re in Buffalo, N.Y., for example, I might go heavier on cards.  But I don’t put out a tray.  That’s too dental office.

Granted, we feature Yiddishe Cup’s logo on our bass drum.  Our logo is cool, whimsical and tasteful, and it gets us some gigs.  (Ralph Solonitz designed the logo.)

At the “Higher Standards” wedding, I met a businessman who did music production as a sideline.  I asked for his card.  He didn’t have one.  And he had 100 employees, he said.

He had achieved placid-plus status: no card.

My goal is to be him.

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2. BALLISTIC / LOADING / CAVS

A Yiddishe Cup musician went ballistic when he saw a college football game, or so he thought, off in the distance.  He said, “I’m so through with this country’s obsessions with sports!”

Yiddishe Cup was loading-in at a student union by a college stadium.

The Yiddishe Cup musician had fouled.  Here’s why: (1.) The college kids were playing lacrosse, not football.  (2.) It was a Division III game.  The stadium was small, with no crowd to speak of.  (3.) The kids were getting some exercise; this was not a big money, faux-pro game.

Yiddishe Cup musicians, for the most part, are not up on today’s sports scene.  For instance, I just learned a basketball shot “from downtown” means a three-pointer.  And I’m wondering what “the post” is.  I watched several basketball games lately.

I have an agreement with my cousin George, a serious sports fan, to go to the Cavs victory parade. I want to be there.  Depends on my Depends though, because I’ll be very old.  Also, depends if it’s raining.  I’m fair weather.

Last Sunday Yiddishe Cup had a gig, a pre-Shavuot Torah dedication/celebration, which was almost postponed to accommodate LeBron James’ reading of the Book of Kells.  The Cavs were scheduled to play the Celtics then.  (Cleveland lost prior, on Thursday, so the playoff series ended, and everything worked out fine for the Torah dedication.)

About championships . . . My father, Toby, promised to take me to the World Series, but the Tribe never made it when I was growing up.  My dad, instead, took me to Ohio State homecoming games.

I took my kids to the 1992 OSU homecoming game.  The Ohio Stadium scoreboard lit up: This Sat. at the Wexner Center, Don Byron Salutes Mickey Katz.

What next, Bucks?  “Fight the Team Across the Field” in Yiddish?

Don Byron played OSU, I think, because Columbus resident Les Wexner, the billionaire owner of The Limited, paid Byron’s band to entertain Wexner’s elderly mother, who probably requested the Mickey Katz show because she didn’t want to fly to New York.  That’s the only logical explanation.  Don Byron never played any other Mickey Katz–tribute shows in Ohio.

Go Mickey.

Go Katz.

Go ‘Cats.

Go Cavs.

If you’re a Cubs fan, or whatever, be quiet about your sports-induced suffering.  You don’t know anything.

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A banda clarinetist in Sinaloa, Mexico, lent me his axe. I played horribly because of that clarinet’s craggy reed; I’ve seen better reeds in a fourth grader’s case. I played a Meron/Israeli nign (wordless melody). The Mexican listeners clapped. They could have whistled.

That was my sole south-of-the-border performance. (My family was on a hiking trip in northern Mexico, where we stumbled upon a horse auction with oompah banda.)

A Cleveland woman announced her Central American wedding — a Jewish ceremony in San Salvador.  I told the bride’s mother to hire Yiddishe Cup.  “I’m sure the groom’s family can afford it,” I said, “or they wouldn’t still be down there.”  The mom agreed to the “afford it” part, but not the band.  The mom burned a CD of horas from my wife’s collection and took that.

Yiddishe Cup plays Latin music fairly well. We have cornered the Latin Jewish doctor market in Cleveland — a market that fits comfortably into the backseat of a Camry.  We did a gig for a Mexican Jewish doctor who headed the Cleveland Clinic evil eye center (Cole Eye Institute).  That was one salsa-dik party.  Latin Jews party second only to Russian Jews.

We played a Cleveland Ecuadorian wedding where I explained the chair-lifting tradition to the groom’s gentile parents.  I said in Spanish: “You will see people seated in chairs in the wind.”

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In Dallas, when Yiddishe Cup musicians visited the grassy knoll,  I stopped at the neighborhood taco shop to update myself on Mexican drinks.

The taco shop had orange, carrot, horchata, mango, guava and Sidral apple drinks.  They also had bottled Mexican Coke. The clerk explained Mexican Coke is sweeter than American Coca-Cola.

Yiddishe Cup’s ultimate hip-spanic thrill was an outdoor concert in El Paso, Texas, where we played “La Bamba” for 2,500 predominately Mexican-American listeners.  For Jewish flavor we added Hebrew lyrics from Psalm 133 (“Hine Ma Tov” / Behold how good ).  We borrowed that idea from a Kansas City band, Guns ‘n’ Charoses.

From the bandstand, we could see the Rio Grande.   We played “Meshugeneh Mambo.”  We said gracias a lot.

So close to Latin America.

Cinco de Mayo.  Hoy. (Pronounced “oy.”)
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1 of 2 posts for 5/5/10. See the next post too, please.

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Busking is a British term.  In the Midwest we say “playing on the street.”  Kind of awkward, but we don’t want to sound British.

In the 1990s, several Yiddishe Cup musicians played on the streets in downtown Cleveland and made nothing. Security guards shooed us away from Higbee’s and the Arcade entrance.

Our parking expenses were more than what we made.  Then we ate out and lost even more money.

We were certainly contributing.  We were putting the viva back in city.

The bus exhaust stunk.  The passersby ignored us — except for the bums,  who ogled our money pot.  Our gelt was immense.

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I have “busked”; I played on the streets abroad. (Northern Mexico, 2008, doesn’t count; that was a freebie.)  In 2006 I made 16 shekels ($4) on Ben Yehuda Street in Jerusalem.  I had my axe with me in Israel, so why not play for my people?

My people wanted Dixieland.  “The Saints Go Marching In” was killer.  A charedi (ultra-Orthodox) boy kept asking for it.  I tried klezmer but that didn’t sell, except for “Anim Zemiros.” (Song of Glory)

The tzedakah (charity) collectors eyed my coins.  Again, awkward. Give it up for the charedim.

There is a new video clip of Pete Rushefsky, the renowned klezmer musician, playing on the boardwalk in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn.  Pete is wearing a glove, the wind is blowing, and there is a sole listener, who says to Pete: “My grandfather used to play this stuff.”   Great stuff — the video.  Turns out the grandpa was Louis Armstrong.

Not exactly.   Grandpa was  Jack Boogich of the historic Romanian klezmer family. For hardcore klez fans only, check out this link. Scroll to the bottom of the text for the Brighton Beach video.
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2 of 2 posts for 5/5/10

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1. CHEERS FOR “L’CHAIM”

I had a funeral gig, or thought I did.  The deceased, Sid Elsner, had booked me years prior.  Sid wanted a New Orleans-style, jazz-klezmer element at his funeral.  Not a kosher concept, but neither was Sid.  [Goys: Jews don’t often have music at funerals.]

When Sid died, none of his adult children mentioned music, so I didn’t play.

At the gravesite, I got a recipe for Sid’s brisket.  His oldest son was passing out the secret list of ingredients (chili sauce, onions).

Food works. That’s why there are shiva (mourning) meals.

A musician in Yiddishe Cup has attended only one funeral.  He has been to hundreds of weddings and one funeral. Lucky.

My mother’s favorite song was “Shenandoah,” which we sang it at her stone setting but not at her funeral.

My dad didn’t have a favorite tune.

Yiddishe Cup’s singer, Irwin Weinberger, wants Yiddishe Cup to play at his funeral.  I hope I can oblige.

After a 2000 Yiddishe Cup gig, I stopped at my father’s grave with my youngest son, who placed an old clarinet reed on my dad’s headstone.  My son had just played his first paying gig, on drums, with Yiddishe Cup.  I wanted to let my father know I was still around, still pushing the ball — cutting the grass, raising a family, starting a klezmer dynasty.  That last notion — the klezmer dynasty — would have flummoxed Toby, my father.  The last time Toby had heard me play I was a Cannonball Adderley wannabe.

. . . Here’s some advice for Jewish dads doing toasts at weddings: make your speech funereal. Pretend you’re updating your dead father, even if he’s alive.  Use flashbacks and talk about your kid’s personality quirks.  Stay on the high road; let the maid of honor do the weird stuff.  And end with “L’chaim,” even if you’ve never said it before.  “Cheers” from a Jew is a big turn off.

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2. TOWER OF POWER

It’s unnerving when the bride ditches her own wedding.  She gets the flu for example, or a headache or swollen ankle, and has to lie down for a few hours.  Misses the whole party.  That marriage may not last.

Worse: the mom dies during the “Chicken Dance.”  That happened.  Not at my gig, but at one my video guy was at.

Did my video guy get it on tape?  I don’t know.  The video guy died on me.  Not at my gig, but slowly, over months.

He didn’t move around much; he had a stationary video rack.  He just stood by his rack, which I called the Tower of Power, and barely budged the whole night.  In his final days, he really bugged me.  For instance, when Yiddishe Cup would stroll table-to-table taking requests, like klezmer-achis, he would tell me which tables to go to.  “Can you do the head table next?” he would ask.

I didn’t know he was that sick.  “Why?” I said.

“Because I want to sit down,” he said.

I said no.  The head table was nowhere near us.  We had a traffic pattern to maintain.

He said, “I’ll remember this when you want a favor.”

Then he died.

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Yiddishe  Cup plays Mon. April 19, 6:35 p.m., for the community-wide Yom Ha’atzmaut (Israel Independence Day) celebration at B’nai Jeshurun Cong., Cleveland.

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Jim Guttmann, the bass player in the Klezmer Conservatory Band, said his biggest thrill was playing nursing homes.  Guttmann, who has toured the world, can pull that off.  He said nursing home residents appreciated him the most.

Other jet-setting klezmers claim young Germans are the best audience.  Or the Poles.  Some of these young Europeans treat the visiting klezmer musicians very deferentially, like Old West buffs treat Indians at powwows:  “Nice to see you made it through, dude.”

I don’t know about Europe, but I do know about the nursing home scene.  If you don’t play “Tumbalalaika” and “Bay Mir Bistu Sheyn,” don’t bother showing up.  Those tunes are classics.

Humor goes over too — usually.  I did a comedy number at a nursing home, and an old man in a wheelchair interrupted, “Play music!  Sit down!”

I was heckled, I was flustered, and I blurted out, “I’ll sit down when you stand up!”  That quieted him — and everybody else.

When I’m in an audience, I often feel like bellowing “Talk!” at the performers.  I don’t go for the laconic Miles Davis/Bob Dylan model.

Performers: Make your banter interesting.  Don’t just say, “The next tune is . . .”  Tell the audience about your favorite candy bar — anything.  Say more than the set list.

At Yiddishe Cup’s next nursing home gig, I’m going to read blogospheric Klezmer Guy prose while our keyboard player improvises behind me.  One piece might be “Stop Talking and Play.”  I’ll read two paragraphs, pause, and my keyboard player will lead the audience in a shout chorus of “Stop talking and play!”  I’ll read a couple more paragraphs, and again the audience will shout the chorus.  This will continue until we play “Tumbalalaika.”
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1 of 2 posts for 2/24/10.  Please see the post below too.

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At some bar mitzvahs, the teens are kept in a holding pen — a separate room — with a DJ, while the klezmer band plays in an adjacent room for the older people.

I prefer everybody in the same room, but I’m not in charge.  A party planner is.

Reality: It’s rare to see a klez band in any room at any bar mitzvah. Klez is the Uncola and DJ is the cola — Coke, Pepsi and cocaine combined.

The good news: Klezmer attracts interesting customers.  These clients don’t let their kids tell them what to do — entirely.  These clients might want a Jewish theme for a party, as opposed to a ski theme.  These clients might not like ear-splitting DJ music.  These clients might not relish watching their kids perform simulated sex to rap.  In other words, these clients are out-of-it professors, aeronautical engineers and musicians.

Musicians — as clients — love to hire other musicians.  The problem is many musicians are broke.  Luckily, some are married to doctors.  We get these gigs.  We always eat well there.  That’s a big thing with musician clients — making sure the musicians eat well.

Hadassah sponsors Simchapalooza, a bar mitzvah fair, every year, where bar mitzvah moms go to the I-271 Marriott to check out DJs, balloon twisters, video guys and caterers.

I had a booth one year.  I shouldn’t have.   A herring-reeking klemzer guy up against Giant Inflatables.  I lost.

The Bar Mitzvah King — DJ Terry Macklin — had about three tables at Simchapalooza.  He was full-service: invitations, catering, canned music and photo booths.  Everything except haftorah tutoring.

Macklin drove a Jag.

Then Terry got kind of old, so younger guys encroached on his coolness turf.  Rock the House is the DJ company now.  They aren’t black like Macklin, but they’re working on it.

There was another DJ, Joey Gentile, who advertised “Mitzvah services” in the Cleveland Jewish News.  I sent that ad to Moment — the national Jewish mag — for its spice box humor section, where Moment regularly reprints media and signage faux pas, like “Easter Challah $3.99 Special.”  Moment adds a wry caption, such as, “So that’s what they ate at the Last Supper.”

My Joey Gentile mitzvah ad didn’t make it into Moment.   It should have, with the caption, “A gentile mitzvah.  No bar?  Not likely.”

A New York salesman from the Bar Mitzvah Guide phoned me to buy an ad in his slick glossy, which his company distributed throughout the Midwest.  The Bar Mitzvah Guide carried ads for everything from bottle dancers to personalized chocolate bars.  The salesman called me way too often.   Finally, I said, “I’ll place an ad, but I bet you won’t take it.”

He said, “Try me.”

I said, “I want the text to read ‘Yiddishe Cup. If the other ads here aren’t your bag, we are.'”

He took the ad.

We didn’t get any gigs.
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Yiddishe Cup is at Nighttown, Cleveland Hts.,  7 p.m. Sun., Feb. 28. $15.

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Clarinet players are sometimes a bit behind the times. If you subscribe to The Clarinet magazine, you’ll see.  There are a lot of photos.

Toodles in ’12. Benny Goodman for President.

Many clarinetists, myself included, mimic Goodman.  He’s the latest thing.  We stand ram-rod straight, wear suits, and have facial muscles twisted tighter than model airplane propellers.

U.S. military band clarinetists are a subspecies of clarinet antediluvians.  They are all sergeants for some reason.  These soldiers aren’t shimmying under any barbed wire fences for you.  They’re busy practicing, trying to get into The Clarinet magazine.

Clarinetists gather annually at Clarinetfest, Clarinetopia and Clarabell.  (The last one is made up.)  At these conventions, the workshop leaders are called clinicians.  They come from SMU, KSU and OSU.  Has to have an S in it.  The clinicians teach college students how to become clinicians.

When I was a clinician at the Ohio Music Educators Association conference, I was a bit light in the bio department. No “B.M. from SMU,” no “soloed with the Wyoming Symphony,” no “studied with Hans WorseThan Most.”

I wrote I was the clarinetist and leader of Yiddishe Cup.

***

Not every clarinet player looks like an insurance agent.  There’s Don Byron, the black guy with dreadlocks, and Paquito D’Rivera, the Cubano humano. Plus there are at least a dozen curly-haired Jewish clarinetists who look like Larry Fine from the Three Stooges.  The principal clarinetist of the Cleveland Orchestra, Franklin Cohen, is a Larry Fine impersonator.  Me too.

A black acquaintance, who ran into me in a restaurant, said, “Hi, Frank.”  I corrected him, and the black man blushed, sort of.

I played two surprise birthday parties for Frank Cohen.  Those were scary affairs because at least eight clarinet players were at each gig.  Some of the clarinetists played “Happy Birthday” in a clarinet choir, which is similar to a vocal chorus, except it’s all clarinets: big, medium and little clarinets.

I, too, own a small clarinet — a C clarinet.  The C is more piercing than the standard Bb horn, which is my main axe. (Bb is what everybody is familiar with.) There are also Eb clarinets, which are smaller than Cs.  And even more obscure key clarinets.

The thing I never understood about music: Why all the different keys?  Just get rid of some of them. Pare down.

Sid Beckerman, the legendary klez clarinetist, said, “To you, D minor is a key.  To me, it’s a living.”  D minor is the key of choice for klezmer clarinetists.

And what’s with transposing? If a clarinetist plays with a pianist or guitarist, the clarinet player has to play different notes than the ones written on the page.

I’m pretty good at it.  When I see a written “C,” I can play “D” on the clarinet.  It took me a while.  It’s like a Swede learning Danish.

Here’s what is impossible: transposing quickly on the alto sax.  When you see “C,” you play “A,” the relative minor.  If the tune is incredibly slow, like a waltz, it’s doable.

Transposition keeps the riff-raff and dabblers off the bandstand.  Just like in Judaism, where the prayer book goes backwards and the rabbi skips chunks of prayers and jumps around in the book without telling you.  Just to make it hard.

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A lot of bands wear all black.

Yiddishe Cup doesn’t do that.  Too East Coast.

In Toronto I saw the Flying Bulgars in what looked like clown suits.

Yiddishe Cup is somewhere between the Flying Bulgars and black.

We have five looks:

1. The tux with colorful hand-sewn lapels.  The downside to this is everybody knows we’re shnorring at the hors d’oeuvres table at weddings.  All-black tuxes would make us invisible.

2. Blue undertaker suit.  Keeps the focus off us and on the bridal couple or bat mitzvah girl.

3. Solid-colored shirt with colorful tie.  This is our middle-school art teacher look. Works well at laidback bar mitzvahs.

4. Hawaiian-style shirt.  A professional costume designer made these shirts.  They wash well and dry quickly.  A real show-biz shirt.  When we played 13 gigs in six days in Florida, the quick-dry feature came in handy.

Yes, Florida in January . . . I wish Yiddishe Cup would land another run like that. But the mega-condo booker in Florida won’t re-book us.

Was it our lyrics?

You judge. Yiddishe Cup’s “Tumbalalaika”:

What can grow, grow without rain?
“This,” says our singer, grabbing his crotch.

What can burn, burn for many years?
“Not love,” our singer says. “Hardly. Try hemorrhoids.”

A comedian, Stu, was our last booker in Florida.  I should have known he was bad news because his email address was Suntanstu@ and his Web site had photos of him with Engelbert Humperdinck.

Stu’s idea of a joke was not paying for our sound (speakers, mics) and backline (instrumental rental) after I bought airplane tickets to his showcase in Florida.

One final Yiddishe Cup look:

5. T-shirt with the Yiddishe Cup logo. We wear these when we play summer park gigs.

Our singer, Irwin Weinberger, wears the Yiddishe Cup T-shirt around town too. The rest of us don’t wear our shirts much off stage.  Do you see LeBron in the grocery store in a Cavs jersey?

At KlezKamp I saw a Klezmer Conservatory Band musician in a Montreal Jazz Festival T-shirt.  That was cool, synergistically speaking; KCB had played Montreal.

I wear T-shirts from the Concert of Colors (Detroit) and CityFolk (Dayton, Ohio).  Yiddishe Cup played those festivals.

I saw Klamberg, the Klezmatics’ singer, in a Klezmatics T-shirt at KlezKamp.  (Correction: Sklamberg.)

On second thought, maybe Irwin Weinberger is cool.
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1 of 2 posts for 1/13/10.  Please see the next post too.

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Musicians probably get more ego satisfaction in one evening than most people do in a year.

When I don’t have a weekend gig, I drift around the house like a guy in rehab.  Where are my cigs?  My booze?  Where’s my heroin?  Do you want to see a movie? No, I want to make a movie.  A concert? Man, I’d rather be playing.

Music is different than the more solitary arts, like writing and painting.  When I’m on stage, the audience thinks I’ve got the answer.

Music is laying on of hands.  You ever try laying on of hands one-on-one, like with writing and painting?  It’s hard.  The best way to do laying on of hands is in large crowds, like the evangelical preachers do.

Street festivals, family parties, concerts . . . all mass feel-good sessions.  Humans like hubbub. Noise is life. Deaf people like music.

In writing and painting, you’re in the library.  Shush.

There is no minor league for writers and painters unless you count academia. 

There is a Triple A league for musicians.  Beyonce can’t be in every concert hall, night club and private party at once.  I’ve subbed for Beyonce.

Who spiked my heroin?
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2 of 2 posts for 12/30/09

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I liked KlezKamp, the klezmer convention, because it wasn’t just Mahjong Jews.  (Mahjong Jews don’t camp and, for that matter, can’t imagine camping.)

KlezKamp, in its first years, was in a ratty old Catskills hotel.  Going there was like camping indoors. Many bathrooms had plungers.  Heat was erratic.  The halls smelled of disinfectant.

Most of the male campers looked like they had just crawled out of sleeping bags.  They looked like Abbie Hoffman or Eugene Levy.  No other choices.  These guys were professors, shrinks, music students and Jewish hippie farmers from New England.

Four-hundred twenty-five people, total — half of whom were musicians.  Twenty clarinet players in one room.  We had to audition.  Sid Beckerman, musician and clarinet arbiter, had rachmones (pity) on us.  Everybody sounded “nice” to Sid.  I wound up in mid-level.

I took clarinet classes, and also heard a professor named Brown, from Brown, talk about Brown’s, the resort.  I heard Leon Schwartz, a legendary violinist, reminisce about gypsies.  He said the gypsies in his Bukovina village had had it worse than the Jews.  “The Jews had the stores,” he said.

I went to KlezKamp for more than a decade.

At first I couldn’t get my wife, Alice, to go.  We had young kids.

One year I took the two oldest kids and went without her.  I spent a lot of time in the game room and swimming pool that year.  That chlorine vat/pool was slightly bigger than a half dollar.  You had to coat yourself with skin conditioner or get a rash.  Thankfully, several lesbian musicians helped me with the babysitting.

The kids and I went to New York City afterward.  My daughter,
then 5, made me carry her everywhere.  We weren’t going too far.  We went to Popeye’s on Times Square for dinner.

When we returned home to Cleveland, my wife said at the doorway, “The kids look anemic!”

But we had beans and rice and lemonade at Popeye’s, Alice.  (The kids hadn’t been too crazy about the borscht and herring at KlezKamp.)

Alice never trusted me with food vis-a -vis the kids.

So the following year she came with us.  All five of us.  Alice was a folk dancer and exercise nut; however, Jews at klezmer conventions think exercise is something in an etude book.  Alice found an indoor tennis court which was so dusty the balls turned black after one set.  It was like playing in a parking garage.  We went skiing on Christmas.  I thought the slopes would be empty.  No, a lot of Asians and Jews from New York City were there.

We sneaked over to The Pines resort for ice skating.  That place was a staging area for the Mahjong Jew takeover of the world.  We had a good time.  There were interesting trivia games in the lobby.   I’ve got nothing against middle-class Jews.  I am one 51 weeks out of the year.

My family kept going back to KlezKamp.  Every Christmas.  Ikh khulem fun a vaysn nitl.  (I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.)  And every year Alice would complain: “I can’t believe we’re going to KlezKamp again!”

Finally, after 12 years, the brainwashing was complete; the kids knew more Yiddish than just oy vey (woe is me) and farklempt (choked up); and Alice could have, by then, taught the dance classes.  And I had met all the old klez guys: Max Epstein, Felix Fibich, Danny Rubenstein, Velvel “Billy” Pasternak . . .

Attention must be paid.  Mas . . . Paul Pincus, Leon Schwartz, Ray Musiker, Ben Bazyler, Sid Beckerman, German “That’s Herman in Russian” Goldenshteyn, Howie Leess, Elaine Hoffman Watts.

The majority are now dead.

I had paid my dues — family-rate.

And I was through auditioning.

KlezKamp’s 25th encampment is next week.  Did you know Yiddishe Cup’s dance leader, Daniel Ducoff, was at the first KlezKamp, 1985?  Less than 100 people were there.  They planned to take over the (klezmer) world, and they did.

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1. NOT THERE

Wolf Krakowski, a singer from Massachusetts, used to skewer Jewish musicians on the Internet for performing in Germany.  One of Wolf’s most memorable lines was “Nobody looks good in brown lipstick.”  (Meaning, don’t kiss German tush.)

One American klezmer — who played in Germany a couple times — thought Wolf was stiff-necked. The musician wrote back to Wolf: “I’m a vegetarian and don’t wear leather.  I am not evil. I don’t eat
meat . . .”

No sale.  Wolf wrote, “Heaven forfend that any unpleasantness intrude upon your pursuit of the deutschmarks.”

Wolf dropped off the Jewish-Music Web forum shortly after that.  Nobody took his place.  Impossible.

Few, if any, American klezmers are as hard-line on Germany as Wolf.  (Wolf was born in a Displaced Persons camp and has valid reasons for his position.)

The postwar generation in Germany is an appreciative, knowledgeable audience, according to many American klezmers. Just about every German town has a klezmer band.  Nearly every American band wants to play there.

Yiddishe Cup would go to Germany.

Nobody has asked.

Got sort of asked.  A festival in Fuerth, Germany, wrote me several emails about how they were looking forward to Yiddishe Cup’s appearance at the Fuerth Klezmer Festival. Then the committee switched leaders, or something, and I didn’t hear from the organizers for a long time.  I emailed.  Nothing.  I phoned.  I got a man on the line and said, “Do . . .  you . . . speak . . . English?”

He said, “I’ll give it a try.”  Easy-breezy, with a British-tinged German accent.  His only stilted  line was his last one: “We will not be needing you.”  I heard that as “Ve vill not be needing you, Mr. Yiddishe Cup.”  Sounded like Kissinger or Colonel Klink.   Kissinger.  Kissinger was born in Fuerth.

Germany could use some Mickey Katz parodies.

***

2. KISS ME, I’M BALKAN

I want to introduce Yiddishe Cup in a foreign language.  “Nuestro keyboardist es Alan Douglass …”  That would be in Buenos Aires, say.

Der Rhythmus der Tradition.  Der Beat der jungen Generation.  Aus der Reihe KulturSpiegel.

That German is real.  Yiddishe Cup is on a just-released Sony Germany compilation CD, Balkan Basics World Tour II.

[The rhythm of tradition.  The beat of the young generation.  From the Culture Mirror series.]

Yiddishe Cup doesn’t generally play Balkan music.  No problem, the other bands on the CD do.  Taraf de Haidouks, Boban Markovic, Balkan Beat Box.

Yiddishe Cup’s contribution is Mehkuteneste Mayne (My Dear In-law) — straight-ahead klez.  We’re right after Tsu Der Kretshme (To the Tavern) by Frank London’s Klezmer Brass Allstars.

London, a founder of the Klezmatics, is one of the top players in world music — and one of the coolest.   He wears a Jim Brown yarmulke; shades; a billowy, flowery shirt; and yet somehow doesn’t look like a 51-year-old Jewish guy at a Woodstock party.

I’ve seen London a few times at KlezKamp. He’s ingenious, making new music with pros and amateurs alike.  He organizes multi-generational bands: teenagers pound drums, senior citizens skvitch (screech) on violins, and assorted pros hold it all together.  London directs this KlezKamp ensemble with his hairy, Cro-Klezmer Man mien.  That’s side one of London.

Side two is Frank London as New York Jewish intellectual.  In a Pittsburgh newspaper, he used semiotic and qua to discuss an upcoming Klezmatics concert.

That wasn’t just postmodern.  That was Post-Gazette.

London calling . . .

Yiddishe Cup, and others, is on Sony Music Entertainment Germany GmbH.

Yesterday Yiddishe Cup was an Ohio klezmer band.  Today Yiddishe Cup is an Ohio klezmer band, but add irresistibly au courant.  Other tunes on the Balkan Basics project are “Sex Bomb,” “Rod Serling’s Trip to Bulgaria” and “Are You Gypsified?”  (By Globeal.Kryner, Mastika, and Taraf de Haiduks, respectively.)

Yiddishe Cup wants this Balkan hubbub to last longer than 10 seconds.  The Challah Fame in Cleveland is hastily organizing a one-day symposium, “Jewish Cultural Ventriloquism,” featuring these four lecturers:

Frank London, trumpet
“The Visceral, Semiotic Link Between Klezmer Music and Yiddish”

Bert Stratton, clarinet
“Supple, Labile Ethnicity: Kiss Me, I’m Balkan (ne Klezmer, ne Jewish)”

Walter Zev Feldman, tsimbl
“Repurposing the Bagel Shmeer: Klezmer as JIF (Jewish Instrumental Folk Music)”

Steven Greenman, violin
“How About Those Steelers?”
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Hear clips from the CD Balkan Basics World Tour II, direct from the Treffpunkt Musikshop.

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Sid Beckerman was a living legend of klez clarinet. I followed him around KlezKamp — the music conference — a lot.  And you know what, he talked to me.

Big deal?

It was.  Sid was paid staff.  I was “payer,” as in student/customer/ fawner.  Paid staff was hard to corner.  They had a lot of demands on their time.

Sid was different than many staffers.  Sid had no ego, according to Washington clarinetist Rodney Brooks, another student. “Sid was never a star,” Rodney explained.

Sid was “discovered” by klez revivalists, and made his first record at 70.   (He died in 2007 at 88.)

Sid had a handwritten tune book called “the sheets,” as in sheets of paper.  Sid’s unarmed guard of “the sheets” was pianist Pete Sokolow, who had transcribed the tunes for Sid.

The most popular tune in the collection was “SB7,” which stood for “Sid Beckerman tune #7.”  [Yiddishe Cup plays it on Klezmer Guy. We call it “40A” — the page it’s on in our book.  Dave Tarras recorded it as “Di Zilberne Chasene” (The Silver Wedding).  Don’t know what page Tarras had it on.]

At KlezKamp I had a strategy for obtaining the sheets from Pete Sokolow.  First, I gave Pete an obscure 1938 magazine article about “Bay Mir Bistu Sheyn” (By Me You Look Grand), hoping to get in Pete’s good graces.

Sokolow, stuffing the magazine article in his pocket, said, “The sheets?  What sheets?  I’m so busy now.  I’m working up an arrangement for fifteen people.  What did Sid say?”

I hadn’t thought of asking Sid.

So I went to Sid and offered him $20 for the sheets.   Sid said, “For what?  What transcriptions?”

Interestingly, all the clarinetists from D.C. knew the SB tunes. So I badgered Rodney from D.C. some more.  I hocked him.  He had learned most of his freylekhs (horas) from the sheets, he told me.

He admitted he had the sheets.  “You can xerox them,” he said.  “But don’t say you got them from me.  Somebody might take umbrage.”

A year later, the sheets came out commercially as the Klezmer Plus! Folio. Everybody could buy them.  Sokolow and Sid had just been protecting their investments.
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1 of 2 posts for 10/7/09.  Please see the post below too.
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Yiddishe Cup is at Fairmount Temple, Fri. Oct. 9, and Park Synagogue, Sat. Oct. 10, for Simchat Torah.  Cleveland.

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My real estate job is pretty easy physically. I just boss custodians and repairmen around  and do paperwork: pay taxes, pay cockroach killers, and argue about security deposit refunds.  The only physical part is climbing the stairs and going on roofs.  None of my buildings has elevators.

Playing the clarinet . . . that can injure you.  You know where?  The right thumb.  The right thumb holds a disproportionate weight when you’re standing.

I had a pain in my right thumb that lasted 18 months.  The pain took a long leisurely trip through my body. Went from my thumb to my shoulders to my neck.

Physical therapists love musicians, particularly violinists, flutists, pianists and clarinetists.

I drove to Cincinnati to see a specialist for clarinet pain.  Then I did Alexander Technique, and every other technique short of amputation.

Some clarinet players use a neck strap. I do.  At KlezKamp, the music conference, I met a clarinetist who wore a neck strap.  He said, “The pain eventually goes away.”  That was my mantra for more than a year.

The clarinet is the agony stick.  Musicians call it that.  Not simply because the clarinet can be painful to play, but because it’s difficult.  The fingerings are harder than the sax, and a clarinet has the “break,” the awkward leap from A to B in the middle register.  The clarinet squeaks.  And the clarinet’s register key raises the note a twelfth, not an octave.  This is extremely odd physics.  The clarinet’s sound doesn’t typically come out the bell, like on a sax.

You mic a sax by clipping a mic on the bell, but on a clarinet you surround the clarinet with mics like on Wagon Train.  I had a mic rig for my clarinet that was so complex and heavy — and cost more than my axe — I  gave up on it.  Plus, it was hurting my thumb.

I asked a sax player in a big band if he played clarinet.  He said, “I have a clarinet.”
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1 of 2 posts for 9/30/09.  Please see the post below too.
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A version of this post will appear in the upcoming (Dec. 2009) issue of The Clarinet, the magazine of the International Clarinet Association, www.clarinet.org.
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Apparently some people don’t know there is a comments section to this blog.  Click on the “comments” link  below the “Tell A Friend” link. If there are few, or no, comments, go to the end of the “Sanctuary” post — two down from here. There are a lot of comments there.

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Klezmer bands are often run like dictatorships because klezmer music originated in Eastern Europe — a part of the world notorious for autocrats.  Or so hypothesized Walt Mahovlich, the leader of the renowned gypsy-style band Harmonia.  Walt is an expert on Eastern Europe. His full name is Waltipedia.  Maybe.

Walt used to be in Yiddishe Cup. Technically he still is.  He is on a leave of absence, which he requested 13 years ago.  Walt likes to keep his options open.

If you run a band as a democracy, you’ll be in total disarray on the bandstand, Walt said.  I had a musician who liked to call tunes for me.  Drove me nuts.  Luckily he moved out of town 19 years ago.

Yiddishe Cup’s keyboard player, Alan Douglass, occasionally requests songs.  More often, he requests not to play a certain song.  For instance, he does not like playing “balls out” (hard-driving) music during guests’ meals.  Sometimes I agree with him, sometimes not.  These folks — at bar mitzvah luncheons — are comatose from a three-hour shabbat service followed by a 30-minute kiddush (post-service schmooze).  Sometimes they need a bracing shot of high-proof klez.

Some musicians have trouble with bandleaders’ czar-like behavior. My guys — not so much.  Yiddishe Cup’s musicians are the best in Cleveland; they get paid the most; and they generally cooperate.  If I have a problem with a guy, I’ll talk to him alone, not in front of the others.

Craig Woodson, a veteran drummer, taught me not to air private grievances in public.  Craig, too, believed in the benevolent monarch thing.  He had worked with a king — Elvis.  (Check Craig out in the movie Clambake.)

Craig was Yiddishe Cup’s second drummer. He was good — and in California too often on his own gigs.  Yiddishe Cup went through a ton of drummers.  Our current drummer, Don Friedman — who has been with us 13 years — knows how to keep time and add tasteful fills.  So does our alternate drummer, a yingl (boy) named Diddle.

Diddle, 21, started “playing out” (gigging) when he was 13.  I hate that — that start-out-as-young as-Mozart-or-you’re-toast mentality.  Diddle’s father hangs around our gigs, kind of like Venus and Serena’s dad.

Cleveland’s jazz king Ernie Krivda played in his dad’s polka band at 13.  Clarinetist Ken Peplowski played in a polka band at 13.  Joe Lovano started the sax at 5.  “At 16 the young Joe Lovano got his driver’s license and no longer needed his father, Big T, to drive
him . . .” blah, blah.

My father was a “Big T” too.  Toby.  Why didn’t he have a band?  Or at least a decent record player.
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1 of 2 posts for 9/2/09.  Please see post below too.
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Yiddishe Cup concert 7:15 p.m. Sun., Sept. 6, Orange Village (Ohio) gazebo.

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Some bands play every third Saturday at Joe’s for decades.

Yiddishe Cup has ongoing gigs like that too.  But they’re annual, not monthly.

We play the City of University Heights (Ohio) summer concert series every year. We played in August 2003 when the entire East and Midwest had a blackout.  I thought the city’s administrator was joking when he said the show must go on.  I said to him, “McDonald’s is closed, there are no street lights, and the radio says stay home.”  He said play.  Our keyboard man switched to upright bass, and our sax player went to acoustic guitar.

We also play regularly for Orange Jews at their summer concert series in Orange Village, Ohio.  (Ohio’s Orange Jews are different from New Jersey’s Orange Jews:  Orange in Ohio is “Or-ange.”  In New Jersey, it’s “Are-ange.”)

We always do a folk festival in Lake County, Ohio.  That’s the Little Mountain Heritage Festival, where very few landslayt (countrymen) show up.

We’ve never played a gig where there wasn’t at least one Jew.  When we played a gig in Lancaster, Ohio, a local Jew disparaged his town, calling it “Lackluster.”  Clevelanders often do the same thing — the we-are-not-worthy routine — when they visit larger towns, like Chicago or New York.

We are not worthy of your Magnificent Mile, your Wrigley Field, your jogging paths along Lake Michigan, your hour-long traffic jams, your 16-inch softballs.

Chicago is a cool town.

So is Pittsburgh, by the way.
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2 of 2 posts for 8/26/09

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The  Kleveland Klezmorim would not play “Hava Nagila.”  The group wanted to rock out exclusively with klez fusion.

Yiddishe Cup, on the other hand, would play “Hava Nagila.”  We would play the “Chicken Dance” too.  We would not play “Electric Slide.”  We drew the line in the charoses there.  But we would pop in a CD of “Electric Slide.”  (Charoses is an apples and nuts Passover dish.  Jews, patience.  Three goys in Germany are reading this right now.)

The Kleveland Klezmorim, led by Greg “Seltzer” Selker, disbanded in 1990.  During the 1990s, a lot of people called me “Selker.”

We were both klezmer guys and had similar sounding names.

Nobody ever called me Seltzer.  Nobody called Selker “Seltzer” either.  Two missed opportunities.
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2 of 2 posts for 8/12/09.

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