(My concert at Camelot)

Thank God for the man
who’s girlfriend fucked him up,
stole all his records
and screwed all his friends
(behind his back)
who are full of shit anyway.

This is not going anywhere. I was going to write about the concert last night, but I cannot word it out. That precious but all too evasive sensation of one of the weirder concerts I’ve had. Sometimes sleeping over a dramatic experience is more digestive than verbalizing your sensation scene by scene, or emotion by emotion. You let the experience flood your senses gently, while your sub-conscious do the tough work of dissecting your subterranean personality. You wake up all bright and shiny, and your work is done.
But I can’t sleep.
Well, it was a tough concert, the sound on stage was bad, and I couldn’t get the army of my chemicals into balance. I was either on the verge of breaking into tears or losing myself a bit too much into the songs, or losing myself altogether. I had a clear vision of the audience, the crisp attention, the expectation. I saw them watching me wriggle in my insides, slow-motion, with interruptive frozen frames of my particularly troubled moments. I cracked. It was intense. Thanks to my efficient instincts, I didn’t go as far as emotional pornography. I caught myself in time, and the last part of the concert felt better to me.
Ryan Adam’s song sort of saved me. Sometimes I need to get out of my world into someone else’s. It relaxes me. For a sec there I was tripping over HIS fuck-ups, rather than mine. Thank God for the man who’s girlfriend fucked him up behind his back, stole all his records and screwed all his friends who are full of shit anyway. I mean, once you do a Ryan Adams, you can get back to your own song, and feel good about your own shit, its poetics and humor.

Oh, my handsome audience! Thank you for letting me be!

Something about my last night concert,
a new song, and some cool babes
in a way too Holy City.

The last time I did this sort of unplugged, intimate concert, was about two years ago, at Balance Record store. It takes a babe of a place to provide the right emotional and musical set-up for these sort of rare events. Balance Records was such a place, two years ago, and The MZ is such a new, albeit temporary babe, founded by cool babes of 17 (Itamar and Ilan) with a little help from some friends. Those guys just finished high school and had two free months in their hands before they get drafted. Two months to suck the juice of youthly freedom. They used up their savings to rent a run down studio apartment and filled it up with some second hand furniture. They purchased a basic PA system, got some beers in the fridge, brought on their friends and music, invited musicians to give low priced concerts, and turned this place into the coolest gem in town, where artists can meet their audience, share some beer and songs and sparkle the Jerusalemite nights with a bit of magic mixed with vision. And the thing is, it really works. You gotta see these guys, they’re the greatest (good looking too). They’re happy do-ers in a heavy-hearted, tired, old and way too holy city.

It was a sort of an underground concert. I had a blast. The audience was AMAZING. The place was buzzing with the verve of good looking, youthful and restlessly creative people, of various vibes and ages. It was one of those rare, intimate, uniquely up-lifting concerts for me. I also happened to lose my voice almost entirely, so the whole thing took on this cozy home feel. I had some tea and my bottle of wine on my side. Assaf played a minimal drum set and Assa blasted his fabulous acoustic guitar. It was a great opportunity to try out some new songs and improvise on the instrumentals. We had so much fun.

Here’s a new song I had written a few hours before the concert,
and played it last night for the first time:

I STILL GET JEALOUS

I’m in the mood, I’m in the groove, I’m in the move
for love, my mind is burning.
As soon as I got close to you, you turned around
& said you won’t be calling.
I sounded crazy, I just love the way you call me,
oh pretty baby.
I used to be your number one, but I was dropping fast
to number Fucking-Maybe.
And dig this too, ain’t nothing here
that’s really over you. Over you.
I still get jealous when a girl is hanging
round your skies in blue.
I want to see this Ryan Adams show
and get real wasted (over you).
With bits of fat and lips and smile and brain
and all your funny faces (too)
And how about me actually becoming a musician.
Starring at my own bewildered dreams
became my holy mission.
And dig this too, ain’t nothing here
that’s really over you. Over you.
I still get jealous when a girl is hanging
round your skies in blue.
Now who’s that pretty girl, how old, how cold,
how under-paid, or laid, who is she.
You know tomorrow’s no one’s land,
I wish today could bring it all so easy.
And just one more before you go,
another radio station called me.
They said they loved my latest song
with you, so solid, sharp and horny.
And dig this too, ain’t nothing here
that’s really over you. Over you.
I still get jealous when a girl is hanging
round your skies in blue.

Ooh, I’ve been loving Ben Harper for a long while. His pray-full, beautiful voice, his amazing string work, his definite but softly spoken groove, his afro, his teeth. I have just watched PLEASURE + PAIN, a beautifully filmed DVD from 2002, portraying some of that magical music and personal charisma of Ben Harper, capturing his soft fire, mostly on the road (“an intensified form of practice”) and some off the road moments, with his mom (single mother, also a musician) and grand parents (Ben Harper literally grew up in his Grandpa’s music store, surrounded by the wildest shapes of string instruments, which were his first natural toys). This DVD opens up a pretty wide window into Ben’s rich and varied musical personality. You can sure hear his passion. In his wildest shows, you see him sitting on a chair, playing the strings on his lap, and putting his soul on the line, while The INNOCENT CRIMINALS support his wildest screams. Damn, he’s hot.