Anthony Coleman – Shmutsiģe Magnaten: Coleman Plays Gebirtig

Tzadik 8106

Along with its superb stewardship of new Jewish music, Tzadik continues to dust off the classics, from Brandwein to Argov. Even in the context of the label’s exacting standards of scholarship and performance Anthony Coleman’s new solo project stands out. Interpreting the works of Yiddish composer Mordechai Gebirtig, the pianist made sure to focus close attention to both source material and setting. The resulting celebratory solo concert, recorded at the stroke of midnight within the history-steeped walls of Krakow’s oldest synagogue, itself a stone’s throw distant from the composer’s birthplace, pays homage and takes license in parallel measure.

Coleman commences the recital with Chopin-style lyricism on “Mayn Yovl,” contrasting calls of beguiling calm with responses of rhapsodic unease. Shadows of Copeland and Gershwin color the concluding “Oreme Shnayderlekh.” “Mamenyu An Eyste” and “S’Brent” make use of metallic piano preparations to sire cymbalom-like sonorities from dampened strings. The former expands into brittle rhythmic dance of overlapping lines and punctuating percussive clatter while the latter cunningly threads jarring bursts of dissonance through the eye of a slender melodic needle.

Many of Gebirtig’s vaunted melodies aren’t that far removed from basic minor key Masada fodder, but there are exceptions like the exceptionally catchy “Hulyet, Hulyet, Kinderlekh” played straight by Coleman until a final imploding chorus. It’s a tune I caught myself humming quietly quite often between sit-downs with the disc. Coleman also carves out space for his idiosyncratic singing, the operative phrase “an acquired taste” being a bit of an understatement. On “S’Izus Gut” he almost sounds like a sore throat-stricken Neil Young amidst the crenellated tapestry of bright ricocheting chords.

“Avreml Der Marvikher” contrasts rootsy passages that sound like rolls copped from the sort of bluesy parlor piano not out of place at a local Polish brew pub with interludes of dark and delicate impressionistic beauty. “Oy Briderl, L’Chaim” exposes similar stylistic disparities as anchoring left hand staccatos interlock with strident right hand syncopations that nearly run the reach of the ivories. On pieces like these Coleman reminds me strangely of New Orleans paranoid pianistic savant James Booker. He’s got a similar eccentric brio and a proclivity toward mashing-up disparate idiomatic borrowings. Parceled through a penetrating and elastic technique the slightly schizophrenic mien makes for reliably stirring music. This is one to return to without any pause or worry of being short-changed by the effort invested.

~ Derek Taylor