Yikes!

Celebrity Grudge Match: Tevye vs. Gwen

Tevye and Gwen:
Looking for the same thing?

During the Superbowl, there'll be a new commercial from Pepsi advertising a new round of the iTunes promotion in which they're giving away free song downloads on iTunes under the caps of specially-marked Pepsi bottles. I watched the commercial (which can be viewed online at Mac Observer) and noticed a song that sounded rather familiar.

I did some research, and discovered that the song is Rich Girl by Gwen Stefani and Eve (it's on Stefani's new album, Love, Angel, Music, Baby). It's basically a hip-hoppified remake of "If I Were A Rich Man" from Fiddler on the Roof.

I downloaded the song right away.

It isn't that bad, though I guess (as is the case with Stefani's music) that it would get annoying pretty quick if I kept listening.

My particular interest, though, is with the lyrics.

The original version is about Tevya, a poor milkman, wishing he were rich man. He's a hard working guy who keeps having bad things happen to him, and he's struggling to maintain his tradition (or, if you're gonna get the obvious Biblical allusion, his faith). Though its title and chorus may suggest a certain materialism, the song is really about Tevye's frustrations with the hardships of being poor and how he just wishes his life were easier and that he could better provide for the people he loves.

Tevye asks for a roof with a tin roof... presumably so his family can live in a house that doesn't leak when it rains. He dreams that his wife were well fed ("With a proper double-chin..."), that he'd considered wise by his peers, and of lots of fowl so that the town can hear them squawking (though, again, he's asking for the kind of food a rich man would eat in a poor Russian shtetl).

Gwen's song is a bit different. To the melody of Tevye's poor-man fantasies of food and shelter, she wishes she were a rich girl so she could own a "Galliano gown" (I assume some expensive dress designed by someone important to rich people), multiple homes, including one in London that she'd require a first-class plane ticket to visit. She talks about wanting cash to flow so that she could impress people with her expensive things. Oh yeah... there's another difference in the songs...

She is rich.

Her song isn't about wishing she didn't live in a world where she has no choice but to pull a milk cart around a town with no paved roads, but a celebration of the fact that she lives in one that pays her ridiculous amounts of money for the bit of otherwise-useless talent she has. She and Eve acknowledge this when they sing,

Yes ma'am, we got the style that's wicked
I hope you can all keep up
We climbed all the way from the bottom to the top
now we ain't gettin' nothing but love.

Wait, now I get it. See, they deserve to have ridiculous amounts of money to spend on useless dresses and multiple homes because they pulled themselves up by their bootstraps with nothing but hard work.

Tevye should have just realized that he was going nowhere pulling his milk cart. If he could just have gotten a makeover from the Queer Eye guys, he would have been able to take that song-and-dance act of his right to Hollywood & Vine for a record contract.

This new song sounds kinda cool, but its lyrics are thoroughly disgusting. Here are two grotesquely wealthy women, singing about all the money they have due to their good looks and natural talent to the melody of a song about a guy who has no choice but to be poor because he lives in a world where chicken dinners are a luxury. They sing about having multiple homes while hundreds of thousands of people in Asia have no homes because they looked outside one day to see giant waves of water. Over a hundred-thousand people died last month across the world while Gwen and Eve fly first class wearing pieces of fabric that cost thousands of dollars.

Ultimately, Gwen Stefani is singing about finding happiness in objects. Here's what Tevye is singing about:

If I were rich, I'd have the time that I lack
To sit in the synagogue and pray.
And maybe have a seat by the Eastern wall.
And I'd discuss the holy books with the learned men, several hours every day.
That would be the sweetest thing of all.

Whoever gave Ms. Stefani the rights to the song ought to be ashamed.

שירו לה' שיר חדש

I used to sing in a choir. I had a nice voice, or so they tell me.

But then my voice changed, and I gave up. My voice never really stopped changing until recently, and somewhere along the line it became clear to me (and anyone who heard me sing) that I couldn't hear the difference between notes in the higher octaves. So I forgot how fulfilling singing could be.

A few weeks ago, Alyssa asked me to sing a low part in a piece she was planning for a quartet in the service she was planning with Joel. I thought it was the most hilarious thing I'd ever heard, and agreed.

Also a few weeks ago, Noam mentioned that he'd like me to play drums (or, more specifically, drum) during his service. He put together a group of people to co-lead the service with him, of which I am most certainly the least musically talented. We rehearsed last week, and it occurred to me what an honor it was to be up there with them.

Alyssa's service was yesterday. I'd been rehearsing the piece for a few days, and Marcy made me a recording and gave me some tips. I was still way out of my league. Rebecca is a cantorial student with formal music training, Tal's been singing all his life and knows what he's doing, and Rena has a gorgeous voice and has lots of experience. They were all incredibly supportive, but I was freaked out anyway. I was worried I'd start in the wrong key, lose my part when everyone else went high and I stayed low, or crack my voice for the one higher note I had to hit. We sang to conclude the silent meditation at the end of the Amidah. Before singing, I had to leave the room and listen to Marcy one more time on my iPod, just to make sure I knew it.

Noam's service was today. I was a little less nervous... I took enough drum lessons in college to feel comfortable keeping rhythm, especially when playing with talented guitarists who are doing all the hard work. But I still worried about messing them up or playing too loud. I just didn't want to embarrass Noam, who put a lot of work into the service and deserved to have it come out well.

Both experience were incredible. Nobody messed up while singing, and it sounds like I didn't detract from my partners' beautiful voices. There's something pretty indescribable -- something I'd forgotten -- about the feeling of performing in a group. It was pretty powerful. You can hear us singing by clicking here (right click to download).

This morning was awesome too. Noam was doing something pretty incredible by introducing a different model for service leadership, especially on this campus. I admire him a lot for taking the risk, and I'm pretty indebted to him for letting me be part of it. It was even cooler with some of the different stuff Noam introduced -- including a very cool Al HaNisim-inspired kavanah that Arik read -- and I think I spent the whole morning on a high from it.

I'll never be much of a musician, and I'll never find spirituality in Debbie Friedman music, but shit, music is cool.

In cased you missed the link, you can download a recording of Rebecca, Rena, Tal, and Josh's Oseh Shalom at http://josh.blogs.com/israel/OsehShalomQuartet.wav.

What the Hell is That Song?

Two artistic renderings of
O-Zone's lead singer.
In both, he is wearing...
sunglasses!

There's this song that's all over Israel (and apparently Europe) right now. It's sickeningly catchy, and pretty much any member of my class who's ventured off of King David, Hess, and Lincoln streets can sing the chorus to you (or at least try to sing the chorus). David Reiner, the coolest person I know, is an expert at dancing to it.

The problem is that no one knows what they're singing, what the song's called, or where it's from. The words make no sense. They're clearly not Hebrew.

So, in the interest of doing a public service, my crack research team and I went to work answering these very important questions (don't I have Hebrew homework to be doing? ha!) and I'm glad to report we've found out the following important things...

1. The title of the song is called Mai Ai Hee (Dragostea Din Tei).
2. It is by a band called O-Zone.
3. The lead singer of O-Zone likes to wear sunglasses.
4. The song is in Romanian.
5. There is an "Italian" version of the song, but the lyrics in this version are still in Romanian.
6. "Mai Ai Hee" basically just means "La la la" (though it's hard to translate, according to my source).
7. "Dragostea Din Tei" means "love from the linden trees."
8. I do not know what a linden tree is.
9. The lyrics of the song, with interlinear English translation, are:

   Ma-ia-hee Ma-ia-huu Ma-ia-hoo Ma-ia-haha

   Alo, Salut, sunt eu, un haiduc,
   Hello [on a cellphone], greetings, it's me, an outlaw,
   Si te rog, iubirea mea, primeste fericirea.
   I ask you, my love, to accept happiness.
   Alo, alo, sunt eu Picasso,
   Hello, hello, it's me, Picasso,
   Ti-am dat beep, si sunt voinic,
   I sent you a beep [cellphone signal], and I'm brave,
   Dar sa stii nu-ti cer nimic.
   But you should know that I'm not asking for anything from you.

   Vrei sa pleci dar
   You want to leave but...
   Nu ma, nu ma iei, Nu ma, nu ma iei, nu ma, nu ma, nu ma iei.
   You don't want don't want to take me, don't want don't want to take me, don't want don't want don't want to take me.
   Chipul tau si dragostea din tei,
   Your face and the love from the linden trees,
   Mi-amintesc de ochii tai.
   And I remember your eyes.

   Te sun, sa-ti spun, ce simt acum,
   I call you [over the phone], to tell you what I feel right now,
   Alo, iubirea mea, sunt eu, fericirea.
   Hello, my love, it's me, your happiness.
   Alo, alo, sunt iarasi eu, Picasso,
   Hello, hello, it's me again, Picasso,
   Ti-am dat beep, si sunt voinic,
   I sent you a beep and I'm brave,
   Dar sa stii nu-ti cer nimic.
   But you should know that I'm not asking for anything from you.

You should download this song now. It's available from the iTunes Music Store. Once you hear the song, it will never leave your head. You will hum it everywhere. It will make you either very happy, very insane, or, um, both.

Good Morning, Masada ! בקר טוב מצדה

Top: Broza, Masada, Dead Sea, Sunrise.
Middle Left: Josh and Tal, 6 a.m.
Middle Right: (from left) Kevin, Lisa, Josh, Dan, Lydia
Bottom: The HUC bobsled team. (from left) Josh, Emma, Anna

I didn't sleep last night. Sleep is for people who don't have tickets to the David Broza Sunrise at Masada concert.

Masada is a mountain in the desert, near the Dead Sea. A Roman ruler built a palace there. Later, a group of Jewish zealots lived there, fought off the Romans, and killed themselves (which was nasty, because they didn't have Kool Aid in those days) rather than get captured and enslaved. Now, tourists climb the mountain and take pictures, Israeli soldiers promise that Masada will never again be taken over by Romans, and rock stars have concerts at its base.

I was introduced to David Broza when I was in 9th grade. Milken (then called Stephen Wise Community Middle/High School) sent the whole 9th grade for a week-long trip canoeing down the Colorado River. A few us had the privilege of riding down -- instead of in the bus -- with Rabbi Phil Nadel in a van.

Once we were in the middle of the Mojave Desert, Rabbi Nadel pulled out his favorite cassette tape, a David Broza "best of" album. He explained to us that David Broza was the "Bruce Springsteen of Israel." After listening to the whole album twice, we decided we didn't like David Broza so much. Well, actually, I think it was that we didn't like Rabbi Nadel's vocal accompaniment (Phil Nadel: great teacher, not so great singer). I think we were probably indifferent to David Broza.

Broza may not be the Bruce Springsteen of Israel (opinions among my colleagues vary: some call him the Dave Matthews of Israel, others the Billy Joel of Israel, others the Rick Astly of Israel), but he is indeed the biggest Israeli rock star. Pretty much every Israeli knows the words to four or five of his songs (if not way more).

Last night, he gave a concert on a stage at the foot of Masada, by the Roman Ramp. The concert started at 3:45 in the morning, and went until the sun came up.

Yesterday afternoon, a whole bunch of us took sheiruts (the proper plural form of sheirut, a shared taxi-shuttle-van, would be sheirutim, which also happens to be the word for bathroom) to Arad, a sleepy desert town where nothing exciting ever happens (and a two-hour drive from Jerusalem). We hung out at the bar (maybe the only bar), which served quality treif food -- I had my first cheeseburger since being here -- had cheap drinks, and a pool table. Then, we went to a park where I sat with Dan, Lydia, Kevin, and Seth (people I rarely hang out with), as well as, later on, Katie B. and Jill C.H. while most of the group slept. We hung out, talked, and learned together while we waited 'til 2:15 a.m., when we could board the charter bus to Masada. This was one of the highlights of the evening. I told Dan that it felt like being a counselor at camp, hanging out with the other staff after the kids are in bed.

Anyway, after a very slow bus ride (there's only one road to Masada, and there was lots of concert traffic), we arrived at the venue, found our other friends (one group -- who didn't have to pick up their tickets in Arad -- had aken a sheirut directly to Masada), and found seats. The Straight-to-Masada group had saved some seats for all of us, but there weren't quit enough, so a few of us found a spot on the adjacent desert terrain, laid out blankets, and relaxed.

The show was amazing, and I can only imagine how good it was for some of my friends. Broza is an amazing performer, an incredible guitarist (comparable to Clapton, Hendrix, Matthews, whoever you think is a good guitarist), and had the energy to play straight for more than two-and-a-half hours. All this was enough to make the concert awesome for me. I think it was probably even better for the people there who are major Broza fans. Can you imagine being at a show put on by your favorite band, where they play all of their greatest hits, at an amazing location in front of an intimate crowd? At sunrise?

Suffice it to say that the experience was pretty awesome. It was pretty cool to be sitting in the middle of the desert watching the morning break, and Broza seemed to know that he was -- in addition to being the featured performer -- an accompanist for the sunrise. As the concert began, he played lots of soft love songs (including a few in Spanish) and guitar riffs that seemed like they were written to go with the desert stars and full moon. As the sky started to turn color, the music's pace picked up, energy filled the desert valley, and the rhythm pulled the sun up, as if or clapping triggered the marionette strings that control the color of the horizon. When we had light, Broza looked up at the weary audience, yelled "!בקר טוב מצדה" ("Good morning, Masada!") and ended the show with "Mitachat laShamayim," his famous love song. He did an encore of "Yiyehe Tov," which, according to Adam, is "a stirring song of hope that one day things will get better." (If it were me using the word "stirring," I'd mean in that "New-Age Christian music CD on sale on TV at 3 a.m." sort of way... but it is a nice song... It's just sort of cliché.)

When we got home (after not stopping at the treif McDonalds to get Marcy a sausage McMuffin... turdface sheirut driver), I walked back to my apartment and passed out. No Ulpan for me today.