Brightest Young Things

all words and photos: Joel Mittleman

When I saw that Matisyahu was coming to the 9:30 Club, I had a strange reaction.  I was eager to attend, definitely, but my interest was different than it is in most shows.  I expected a meaningful event, not an awesome concert.  I didn’t necessarily want to go; I felt I should go.

As a basically secular American Jew, a Matisyahu concert was like of rite of passage.  At one point or another, almost all my Jewish friends have seen him.  A few went on purpose, but most saw him opening for someone else, or on the side stage at some festival. After seeing him, though, the story is always the same: “I wasn’t really expecting much, but he was actually amazing.  You have to see it.”

My friends aren’t the only ones.  Since Matis came on the scene in 2005, I’ve read several accounts of his shows inspiring ecstatic, almost spiritual reactions among audience members.  “More than halfway through the concert,” a blogger wroteafter an early show in Jerusalem, “a yeshiva boy jumped on the shoulders of a friend, and he kept climbing, until he was literally standing on the hands of his mates. He lifted his hands straight towards the sky—so he was at least a foot higher than Matisyahu, on stage—and then lowered them, bending his knees ever so slightly, as if bowing to the Holy One, Blessed Be He.” More recently, a sports writer for the Atlantic Monthly experienced the same thing:  “Listening to reggae artist Matisyahu perform, I cried.  In a Midwestern city, in the heat of midsummer dusk, standing midway between the stage and soundboard, I cried. This wasn't just my eyes misting over, either. Fully-formed tears fell as he sang the aching ‘Jerusalem.’”

Damn.  This was going to be intense.

I got there early to survey the crowd.  Most of the groups I expected: Jewish teens in Phish shirts, bro’s in boat shoes, dreadlocked Black guys, boisterous clusters of yeshiva bochers.  One group, though, was a happy surprise: Families, lots of them, all with young, very excited children.  Watching kids chasing each other around the balcony, I felt like the 9:30 Club had been transformed.  The joy in the room was palpable.  Never had I seen so many people posing for pictures at a show.  Clearly, I wasn’t the only one expecting an event to remember.

Starting the night was Nashville’s Moon Taxi, who’s 45 minute set was surprisingly strong.  Their fairly standard college rock, jam band sound was aided by the fact that all the members were exceptional musicians.  Their better jams, highlighting the interplay between their keyboardist and lead guitarist, reminded me of scene favorites like Tea Leaf Green.  I expect to see their name starting to show up in the afternoon spot of many festivals.

Around 9:45, Matisyahu’s band, the Dub Trio, finally took the stage.  Chanting from the wings, Matis began the “the Seven Beggars,” the slow burning frame story for his new album.  Toward the end of the song, he came onstage and, man, was he a sight to see.  Having recently left Chabad Lubavitch, Matis no longer wears the group’s black hat and suit.  Instead, he emerged all in white, with matching Yankees hat and kittel (a Jewish prayer robe that signifies purity and is traditionally reserved for weddings, burials, and the Day of Atonement…not Wednesday night concerts).  With his face hidden behind a pair of large sunglasses, he slowly chanted and swayed as if unaware of the audience, engrossed by his own opening prayer.

Interesting way to start the show, I thought.  Anxious to explode into a frenzy, the crowd instead settled into a subdued groove.  As the jam continued, my initial burst of excitement started to wear until I got the nagging feeling that, okay, this has gone on long enough.  Unfortunately, they had just gotten started.

Throughout the set, Matisyahu’s tight pop songs were drawn out and covered in a thick layer of dub.  His singing style, inspired in equal parts by Jamaican patois and Hasidic niggunim, was regularly washed out by crushing waves of bass.  He rarely engaged the audience and seemed detached behind his big shades.

At his best, Matisyahu’s songs are incredibly catchy.  Even though I don’t particularly love his music, songs like “One Day"King Without a Crown,” and “Time of Your Song” get stuck in my head for days.  But, on Wednesday, even these were hard to catch.  Matis reimagined them with off-putting twists, like rapid fire delivery and extended breakdowns.  The crowd kept trying to connect and kept getting tossed off its groove.  I felt cheated.

Still, let’s be honest: most of us weren’t there for his music, we were there for him.  Though he’s quick to minimize the role that his Jewish identity has played in catapulting him to stardom, Matisyahu must realize how important he is for many American Jews.  And, I have to say, despite my disappointment in the night’s music, it was still a strangely powerful experience to see him perform.  Hearing him sing a version of the biblical binding of Isaac; watching him call up an audience member to blow the shofar he had brought; dancing in a crowd crying “I want Moshiach now”: it was all genuinely moving.

In the best moment of the night, I watched the crowd ignite when Matis began his (thankfully straightforward) performance of “Jerusalem.” A boy climbed onto his friend’s shoulders, waving his arms in the air as he screamed out the lyrics.  Girls on the balcony wrapped their arms around one another and swayed.  I felt myself choking up.

As the song was finishing, I realized why Matisyahu had such a powerful impact on me and so many American Jews like me.  Sure, his music is good.  But it’s not that good.  What Matisyahu does is break down a wall I normally don’t even notice.  Growing up assimilated into American society, I subconsciously internalized the advice of the Jewish Enlightenment poet Yehudah Leib Gordon: “Be a Jew in your tent, and a man on the street.” My Judaism is important to me, but it’s also effectively unrelated to most parts of my life.  Matisyahu brazenly, joyously defies this distinction.  He is at once wholly assimilated and uncompromisingly Jewish.  Just seeing him—kippah, kittel and all—on the same stage I’d seen so many shows before was enough to give me the chills.

“Jerusalem” came late in the set.  Still, I hope all the kids in the audience hadn’t yet gone home to bed.  It would have been a great thing for them to see.