When a band has been together for nearly a quarter of a century, a celebration is warranted. If it’s a Jewish band, you can assume that a certain amount of tzuris has accompanied the success.
That’s the case with the Klezmatics, the world-renowned klezmer band founded in the mid-‘80s in New York’s East Village. Beloved for their rousing, soulful performances, the group’s onstage camaraderie masks a surprising amount of offstage tension.
Music documentaries such as Erik Greenberg Anjou’s excellent The Klezmatics: On Holy Ground, screening in the AJC Seattle Jewish Film Festival, acknowledge fans’ demands that their spirits not just be raised, but untethered.
I can report that the music is indeed a highlight, with a slew of toe-tapping numbers and poignant Yiddish ballads recorded in a variety of venues and settings. But the heart of the documentary, somewhat unexpectedly, is the unique and sometimes heated dynamic among longtime members Frank London (the high-energy trumpet player and keyboardist), violinist Lisa Gutkin (the lone woman in the ensemble), saxophone and clarinet maestro Matt Darriau, Paul Morrissett (bass and cymbal) and the charismatic accordionist, guitarist and pianist Lorin Sklamberg.
The Klezmatics: On Holy Ground is not a “Behind the Music”-style, rags-to-riches chronicle of a successful group undone by drugs, egos or nefarious record company executives. Nor is it a saga of serious artists forced to compromise to attain mainstream popularity, or refusing to bend and therefore suffering commercial ignominy.
At its core, the documentary is about the challenge of being a middle-aged artist in America and struggling to earn a consistent income (and perhaps support a family). It’s almost incidental, in a way, that the art form is a kind of eclectic ethnic music with avant-garde elements that has a niche audience.
Anjou filmed the band on and off over more than four years, and the musicians graciously (albeit reluctantly, at first) allowed the film crew to record some of their meetings. While it is fascinating to observe mature, mutually respectful adults fighting fairly — talking straight without manipulation, name-calling or sugar coating — the tension eventually darkens the mood of the film.
Although creative disagreements are inevitably part of the mix when strong-willed musicians play together, the real angst on display in The Klezmatics involves clashing priorities and opportunities. Frank London has numerous side projects and session dates, to a seemingly greater degree than the other members, which complicate scheduling a Klezmatics tour. And for at least a few of the other members, live performance is their main source of income.
What we glean is that all the acclaim, and the galvanizing inspiration of collaborating over the years with the likes of Allen Ginsberg, Tony Kushner, Itzhak Perlman and Chava Alberstein, and even a Grammy Award for best contemporary world music album for Wonder Wheel (2006), are tempered by the real-world realities of making a living.
To be sure, this valuable documentary amply honors and salutes the band’s steadfast contribution to Jewish music and Jewish culture. Indeed, all the mishegoss melts away when the ensemble takes the stage, and connects with both Jewish tradition and diverse audiences as it always does.
And it is the songs, with their echoes of loss, love and friendship, as much as the musicians’ candid and complex relationship that makes The Klezmatics: On Holy Ground such a bittersweet and rewarding experience.
The Klezmatics raise the roof in festival doc
