Independence Day Jazz Concert

The HED big band is an Israeli phenomenon. Composed of some 16 professional musicians, most of them immigrants from Russia, they have been delighting audiences for years with their renderings of classic American tunes from the 1940s jazz era. They have performed with leading vocalists and musicians from Israel and abroad. Their classy club in south Tel Aviv is the perfect venue for hearing this amazing music, the horns literally blow you away (particularly if you are next to the stage), Shimon the pianist is amazing, and the vocal acoustics are great as well. There is also a bar for delicious snacks, and of course alcohol.

Because there are often eighteen people on the stage, there are a lot of mouths to feed, and unless the club is full (about 100), they lose money. As a result, there are fewer and fewer performances, and this is unfortunate. Many of the musicians have to support their families by menial day jobs. So come swing with them!

Contact Mel Rosenberg to receive discounted tickets 80Nis instead of 90.

Dr.mel.rosenberg@gmail.com

You can also view Sharon Ben-Shem & Mel Rosenberg with HED BIG BAND, Tel-Aviv, Israel
2.4.2008
שרון בן-שם ומל רוזנברג עם הד ביג בהד

The Wheel Comes Full Circle

Eight or nine autumns ago, I met Rick Birman for the first time. We were playing a rather large open air gig at the Ziv Towers in Ramat Hahayal. Rick Birman came up to me at intermission and introduced himself, saying that he was enjoying our music. Rick was a well known pianist here in Tel Aviv, and knowing that he was in the crowd made me very nervous during our second set!

This was the beginning of a great friendship that was cut short by Rick's untimely death on Dec. 25th, 2003. That evening Rick phoned and invited me to attend a gig with some really good musicians, telling me that he would be sitting in with them. But I was on my way to Haifa with my own quartet, heading to a gig organized by Baruch Weisman. We talked briefly about bossanova rhythms and agreed to meet the next afternoon (Friday) at one p.m.

That night Rick got up to play piano at the gig in Tel Aviv, and according to those in the audience, played like he hadn't played for years (turns out he had also invited a lot of his friends that evening). In the middle of one of the tunes, his frail body gave way and it was impossible to resuscitate him.

Six years have passed and for those of us who called this remarkable, somewhat eccentric man our friend, time has stood still. Although I only knew him during his last years, we forged a great friendship. He introduced me to many female vocalists (he had a thing for lady singers), including the 14 year-old Marina Blumin who went on to fame.

He was as a kindred spirit.

On Jan. 10th, we will have our annual memorial jazz evening, featuring many of the singers and musicians he accompanied during his final years. This year, the event is at Mike's Place, a warm cozy bar . The wheel has come full circle. The bar is situated right at the Ziv Towers, where I met Rick for the very first time that autumn evening.

Also, you can view my older blog post about Rick Birman

Mel's Inspiring Duet - Mel Rosenberg and Shany Moore

Mel Rosenberg's recent recording with Shany Moore

Autumn Leaves & Everything Happens to You

I met Shany Moore about six years ago following the recommendation of my late friend the jazz pianist Rick Birman. I was impressed. Man, that young lady could sing! I later saw her perform in the basement of the old Camelot in Tel Aviv with the Shai Maoz trio. They were hot. During the years that have ensued, I have performed with Shany now and then, most recently at the annual Rick Birman memorial at Shablul. We sang "Making Whoopee" together and it really connected. Why not do a whole show of duets? Why let our geographical distance (she is based in London now) interfere?

So during her recent visit here for Passover, we managed to record a couple of songs (Everything Happens to Me, and Autumn Leaves) at the Zaza studios, with the indomitable soundman Ithamar Eshpar in control (and at the controls). Musicians were Evgeny Verisotsky (amazing trumpet), Oren Sagi (great double bass), Yossi Hazut (excellent piano chops) and myself (vocals and a brief tenor sax solo). I don't know when and where our next joint performance will take place, but I guarantee that sparks will fly.

Check Shany out at http://www.myspace.com/shanymoore

Check Mel out at http://viewmorepics.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewPicture&friendID=257905677

Mel's SOLD OUT performance at Tel Aviv Jazz Festival, February 2009

Mel's Sold Out Performance at the Tel Aviv Jazz Festival

Read on to find out what preparation went into it and more details...

Last year, I approached Nitzan Kremer, jazz guru and organizer of international jazz festivals around the world. I wanted to know how one moves up the ladder from being a jazz entertainer to a jazz musician. Three times in the past he had invited me to perform at the Tel Aviv Jazz Festival in the foyer, between the main shows. Playing in the foyer is somewhat an honor in and of itself, as few bands are selected to perform each year.

My first time, back in 1993, I performed with the great singer Dalia Spiegel, the second time with the lovely Marion Ross, and last year, with a hot club trio. These were all challenging performances and lots of fun, but nobody needed to purchase a ticket to hear us play. The big step up for me would be performing at a main event in front of a paying audience.

This year, my trio and I were indeed chosen to play the festival, this time inside an auditorium. The theme was a tribute to Chet Baker, iconic trumpeter and singer revered by many jazz fans for over half a century. I have been mad about Chet ever since my friend Eli Marcus introduced me to his music over twenty years ago.

To do a proper Chet Baker evening, you need that cool trumpet. Two years ago, I was introduced to and teamed up with the amazing trumpet player, Evgeny Verisotsky who is also mad about Chet. Evgeny also shines on my recent CD ("The Essential Mel").

The next step was choosing the song list. Nitzan helped me sort through over one hundred standards that Chet had made his own. Chet Baker had an amazing knack for choosing the very best songs of the era. As proof, witness how many of his choices are still jazz favorites today. Several of my favorite tunes didn't make the final cut. The song Chet is most associated with, "My Funny Valentine", was also excluded from the program. I didn't feel that we could do justice to it.

Two years ago I decided to return to play my first instrument, the piano. So naturally, I opted to play half the numbers in the show on the piano ("It Could Happen to You, Imagination, My One and Only Love, My Heart Stood Still and Everything Happens to Me"). This way, Evgeny would be center stage with his horn and I could join him with the sax later on in the show. The main problem for me was singing and playing piano at the same time (not all of us are Diana Krall or Nat King Cole). I boned up by going back to take piano lessons with the splendid teacher, Ittai Rosenbaum. I also spent a long time listening carefully to Russ Freeman, one of Chet's early (and best) pianists. For three of the numbers in the show I enlisted the excellent pianist Tamir Miller who I have worked with over the past decade. I also invited the amazing guitarist Ran Shinahr (who also fronts on my recent album) to join us for "Tenderly" and "I Remember You". Ran also joined in for the final number, so we had all six of us on stage for "There will never be another you". The band was rounded out by Oren Sagi, a great bass player, and Roy Oliel, who is not only a fine drummer, but an all round musician who directed the musical arrangements (how many drummers do you know who can play competent piano by ear?). Both Roy and Oren participated in the abovementioned CD.

Our Chet tribute sold out a week before the festival, in itself an auspicious sign. The night before our performance I went to hear a young talented singer, Yaala Balin, perform in the same hall. The venue was great, a compact auditorium which enables the intimacy that is almost impossible in a large hall. I rested the morning of the day of the show itself. In the afternoon, I had to take one of the saxes for a last minute repair.

I was plenty nervous before the performance. We had eight rehearsals under our belt, but I was still worried that I would lose my poise, my nerve, make mistakes on the piano, go flat on the sax or singing. There are enough things that can go wrong. Also, it being a jazz festival, I knew that there would be some critics and 'jazz police' in the audience. Did we have the 'right stuff'? My mind wandered back half a century to the piano concerts I participated in as a child. Those performances had me apoplectic with fear for months in advance. Indeed at the beginning of the show I was just a bit hesitant, especially on piano. But as the set progressed, the band loosened up, and we started achieving the kind of intimacy with the audience that was Chet's hallmark. On one of his albums, Chet had sung a favorite Rogers and Hart standard, "Blue Room", a capella. The song was not officially on the program, but I had planned to sing it solo like Chet if I felt up to it. I did. After the first barof the song, the sound man caught on and turned up the reverb. It went over well, and for me was one of the highlights of the show.

Nitzan was very satisfied with the performance, and except for a couple of minor glitches (coming in together with Ran on the solo), we were happy campers as well. The reviews and feedback from the audience and organizers was positive. Where do we go from here? Hopefully we will be able to take the Chet tribute to other venues. I may go back to appearing with a female vocalist. How about some jazz for kids? Maybe even a tribute to the phenomenal Duke Ellington? In the meantime, to quote Ira Gershwin, I'm biding my time.

Photos taken by Daniel F. Andresen

A Tribute to Chet Baker@ the Tel Aviv Jazz Festival

Thursday, February 26

I have loved the song and music of Chet Baker, trumpetist and singer, ever since I was 'introduced' to him by my friend and jazz afficionado Eli Marcus way back in the 80s. I never heard him in person, but was lucky to meet (and briefly perform with) a Belgium sax player who had played with him .

Chet had an amazing gift for melody and rhythm. He also knew how to pick the most amazing songs that have stood the test of well over half a century - Gershwin (But Not for Me, Someone to Watch Over Me), Frank Loesser (I've Never Been in Love Before, Let's Get Lost),Jimmy van Heusen (Imagination, It could happen to you) Rogers and Hart (My heart stood still, Dancing on the Ceiling,and of course My Funny Valentine). You will find jazz musicians, and singers the world over still playing these tunes.

Chet had a knack of playing and singing these songs like no one before, or since. I just watched a video interview with Russ Freeman (one of Chet's mainstay pianists, dating back to his glorious younger days) in which he said that although Chet could read notes, he didn't care for the chord changes (maybe didn't even 'know' them) and started to play as soon someone told him what the first note was. Why am I writing this? I have long maintained that too many jazz teachers and institutes teach horn playing (in particular) according to the same 'school', and then most young horn players end up playing really well, but with licks remarkably similar to one another, and without their own 'voice'. Chet was one of those who found his own voice early on. Was it because of his collaborations with Gerry Mulligan, Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, etc. I think not. He had his own musical brain which was unique. Was it because he wasn't into reading charts and chord changes? I think so. He had to find his own notes, and did he ever. Musicians and critics in the 50's (some of whom denigrated him for his singing, how petulant in retrospect) may have been jealous of his fame and glory (there were jazz police then, too), but they missed the point - he did his own thing and the audience responded.

Next Thursday evening (Feb. 26th, 8:30 p.m.) I am fortunate to be performing at the Tel Aviv Jazz Festival (Cinemateque) with the great trumpet player Evgeny Verisotsky and a terrific band, in a tribute to Chet. We will sing and play his (and our) favorite songs, in his spirit. Chet, whatever the details of his troubled life and disputed personality, has had a great effect on my singing in particular. If you can't make it to the festival, check out his major influence in my most recent CD, "The Essential Mel". Whoever he was, demon, angel or both, he has brought me and many others great inspiration as a performer and listener.

I understand there are just a few tickets left, check out www.jazzfest.co.il. If you do come to the cinameteque on Thursday evening, be sure to wave hello! Don't expect us to play Chet's signature "My Funny Valentine". He took it with him.

A Tooth for a Tooth!

A tooth for a tooth

Rabbi Yechiel Eckstein is a famous orthodox rabbi who has made a philanthropic allegiance with famous evangelist Christian leaders, who are also orthodox in their own way (the way of the church, that is). He is founder and president of the International Fellowship of Christians and Jews. With their support, Rabbi Eckstein has raised hundreds of millions of dollars for worthy causes here in the holy land, and has become a celebrated figure. Have a look at this excerpt from the New York Times Magazine:

… Rabbi Yechiel Eckstein has traveled to China to liberate persecuted pastors, hiked through Ethiopia and Siberia in search of vulnerable Jews, advised prime ministers in Jerusalem and met with evangelical Republicans at the White House. His immediate plans include transporting an entire biblical lost tribe from northeastern India to the Holy Land and starting a Spanish-language ministry for the Pentecostals of Latin America. He has even talked about recording some sacred hymns with Debby Boone. And, as Eckstein himself might say, God only knows what he'll do after that…

But when I see pictures of the illustrious Rabbi Eckstein, my mind wanders back to first grade at the Hebrew School (Hillel Academy) in Ottawa, Canada, in 1957, where Yechiel and I were great friends.

Grade one was a frightening experience: one half day learning English subjects with the battleship Mrs. Martin who wandered around class, rapping our knuckles collectively for any single annoyance. The other half day was spent studying our demanding Jewish religion by the benevolent Mr. Werner Bauer (who was kind enough to let this hyperactive kid wander around his classroom all year). I still remember Mr. Bauer's description of the Garden of Eden, as a place where one might dream of fried chicken, and a plate (kosher of course) would suddenly appear. But I didn't like chicken. And I was always afraid the Lord was going to get me for some transgression or other. As an impressionable and neurotic six year-old, I once stood for hours on my bed late at night, with my hand on my head (instead of a kipa), because I couldn't help thinking about what I thought was a solemn prayer (it was actually the Israeli national anthem!).

Alas, I digress. Very often on Saturday, after synagogue, I would head over to Yechiel's house for lunch. His father, Rabbi Simon L. Eckstein, our Rabbi, who was quite stern during Sabbath services, was more lightheaded at home. He would ask me to greet the man under the table before partaking the Sabbath meal. I never saw anyone under the table, but why argue with the Rabbi? I would obediently wish the man who wasn't there "Shabbat shalom", and the Kiddush and meal would commence.

After the Sabbath dinner, the Rabbi and Rebbitzen went upstairs, leaving us juniors in control of the ground floor. Two hyperactive kids on Saturday afternoon. Yechiel and I liked to play soccer in the long hall, where he would invariably win (he was tall, athletic, and imposing, even at the age of six). But the hall was too dark to see the ball, and it was the Sabbath.

No problem. We had our own interpretation of the laws prohibiting manual labor on the Sabbath. We understood the teaching in its most literal sense. Thus, while turning on the lights with one's hands was strictly prohibited (and probably punishable by death), nothing in the Bible said anything about turning on the lights using one's teeth. So we perfected the art of balancing on a chair and turning lights off and on with our fledgling dentition.

After trouncing me soundly (actually quietly, so as not to wake the adults) in the hall, it was time to retire to the den, where we could watch the Ottawa Roughriders (they would go on to win the Grey Cup in 1960) play Canadian football. Turning on and off the tv with our teeth was a cinch. The problem was changing the channels. In those days channels were controlled by a large mechanical knob, one click at a time, and in Ottawa the only two television stations were channels 4 and 13. Changing all these channels with his teeth was an art which Yechiel perfected. I seem to recall that the Rabbi did eventually catch us red-handed (or toothed, in this case).

Over the years, we continued to worship football, alongside religion. After all, Dave Thelen, subsequently became our sports teacher, and I would later shake the hand of the greatest CFL quarterback of them all, Russ Jackson. But that's another story.

Yechiel as a pupil, was good at everything. He was handsome, charming, smart and a great voice (I understood he has five CDs of hassidic music to his credit). During the winter, we would play football during recess. On one occasion, Yechiel had caught the ball and was on his way to a decisive touchdown. I was the lone defender. I lunged at his feet has he confidently ran around me and managed to trip him up in the snow. Tackling Yechiel was such a rare and exceptional incident, that I remember this brief moment of childhood glory to this day.

After elementary school we parted ways for several decades. About ten years ago, early Sunday morning, I was watching tv (again), this time in a hotel in the US while attending a scientific meeting (dental research, as it so happened). Pat Robertson (I am always mesmerized by evangelical shows every Sunday morning in the States) said "Now I bring you live our dear friend at the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem, Rabbi Yechiel Eckstein." There he was, Yechiel, tv videoconferencing with his buddy the Reverend in front of millions of American viewers.

More recently, I was playing jazz at a local reception of some 500 people honoring the orthodox volunteers ("Zaka") who identify bodies (sometimes body parts) following terrorist attacks. It was a surrealistic experience. Most of the people there were ultraorthodox, and here we were playing jazz standards (including "All of Me", which I joked, might be an appropriate anthem for what they do).

Suddenly I heard a voice from the distant past talking in anglicized Hebrew. Stupefied, I left the band and entered the gigantic adjacent hall. There, addressing the reception, was none other than Rabbi Yechiel Eckstein (his organization is one of their major donors). After Yechiel's introduction, I managed to say hello briefly, and then he went back to his table, where he rejoined Shimon Peres and Bibi Netanyahu.

What can I tell you? I'm looking at this famous international figure, who raises hundreds of millions of dollars and chums it up with famous evangelists and heads of state, and all I can think of is how well his teeth are still functioning fifty years on. Shame on me!

My gigs in South Africa

Last month I had a great time in South Africa - a hectic week of professional lectures and interviews, followed by a great weekend of fun, relaxation, and of course - Jazz.

Saturday night I had one of the most memorable jazz performances of my career at the venerable Rand Club in Johannesburg. I played with a formidable rhythm section, led by Dr. Marc Duby (a fellow professor, but of music!), Roland Moses (who played a Roland keyboard), and a gentle giant of a drummer, named Godfrey Mgcina (you need a Ph.D. just to pronounce his name!!). It has some kind of clucking sound in the middle. At one stage I asked whether he might mind changing it to "Cohen".

The place was packed with jazz lovers. The gig was co-organized by my friend the lawyer/bass player/festival organizer Henry Shields, and Robby Richardson, who manages the Rand Club. We did a repertoire of international tunes, including Ipanema (in Portuguese), Falling Leaves (in French), Besame Mucho, Bei mir bist do schoen (Yiddish) and the Dead Sea Blues, alongside classic American standards (There will never be another you, Love is here to stay, I've grown accustomed to her face, etc.).

The Rand Club is a kind of castle/museum/gentlemen's club, a throwback to the Victorian heydays of Johannesburg (probably then Jews weren't allowed membership, not to mention performing there). There is an amazing library of some 50,000 old books (I found a book of quite explicit 'merry' poems dating back to the eighteenth century). But mainly the place is largely deserted. I slept over two nights (they have three guest rooms), and shared my room with a strange moth. I was afraid to damage it, as the castle is supposedly overrun by ghosts, and you never know who a moth may really be. Dee, the wife of the excellent cook Tom, reassured me that the ghosts are mainly on the fourth and first floors. I was thankfully on the second floor (mind you, my microphone mysteriously rolled off the table for no good reason). The Rand in all its magnificence (and it is magnificent) is smack in the middle of the once fancy, but now somewhat run down downtown of Johannesburg. I didn't dare venture more than twenty steps from the entrance. To ward off any danger in South Africa, I was accompanied throughout by the most fierce, ferocious bodyguards one could imagine. And I have the pics to prove it!

Sunday morning I flew to Capetown for yet another performance, organized by Henry at his restaurant, the Marimba. Again the rhythm section was impeccable – Andrew Lilley on the grand piano, Prof. Mike Campbell (another professor of jazz!) on bass guitar, and Ivan Bell on drums. Mike and I joined forces to compose a song entitled "It's so good being bad with you" which I sang in both venues (You can listen to it on my Hebrew blog).

We had another lovely evening in Capetown as well, you can get an idea of the fun from the following recording:




(On this one Henry sits in on bass).


Jazz is a language, and when you meet musicians you can communicate with, things happen. Many thanks to Henry and Robbie for organizing, the warm audiences in both venues, and the great musicians I got to meet and play with.

Blues for Rick

It is the autumn of 2001 and we have our biggest gig to date – an open air performance in front of hundreds of people at Kikar Ziv in the high tech area of Tel Aviv. I am performing with a tenor sax, which I had just started to play (instead of the alto on which I learned to play sax originally), and am pretty nervous. After the first set, someone familiar from the jazz scene comes up to shake my hand. "Hi. My name is Rick Birman. I really enjoyed your first set."
I went into apoplexy. Rick, a famous Tel Aviv jazz pianist, in fact one of the people who brought swing to the City of Spring, is in the audience, enjoying the show. Yipes!! I am even more nervous during that second set!


Rick and I exchanged phone numbers and became fast friends. He introduced me to some great female singers (Rick was always in the company of females, especially vocalists), particularly Marina Blumin, who was 14 at the time. He was having heart problems, and, I being on the medical faculty of Tel Aviv University, was determined to try help him. He needed heart surgery with stents that cost several thousand dollars a piece (!). I was unable to make any headway with the hospitals, the importers, the manufacturers, everyone wanted to make money. So that summer I organized a special evening in Rick's honor at Simha's place on the beach. We even recorded a demo, together with Marina, featuring "Blues for Rick" which I had written for him.


"If you're over and out, count on me…"


Over 300 people came that evening, the performance was electric, with some of the most famous jazz people of the country playing in his honor, and together with him. We raised about 7000 shekels (almost 2000 dollars) which I gave Rick for his operation. It turned out that he needed three stents, so we had raised only about a third of the money. I think that Rick was also reticent about having further heart surgery.


That fall he was very slow walking, but whenever he sat down at a piano, sparks flew. Rick had an amazing swing that you can't teach, and you can't learn. To paraphrase Ellington "You can't play a thing if you ain't got that swing…."


Well Rick had that swing. He liked to play songs in only two keys, G and C. I don't know to what extent he had learned to read music, but within his own framework he was great, so we indulged him in this respect.


One day I told him that I was going to sell my alto sax. I even had a buyer. "Take it to the club on Wednesday. I want to hear you play it before you sell it." I did. Rick was adamant. "No way you're going to sell that sax. Actually, you should be playing more of that alto."
Today, four years after his death, I am playing more alto than tenor.



Rick lived in squalid conditions and had little if any money, but was an extremely generous and giving person. We talked every day over the phone, and he would come to our performances, and sit in for a couple of numbers. I still have a play list he wrote me out. Rick would write little notes which he would fold and give you, I still have a couple, particularly a lovely one which he wrote me the night of his benefit. .


Four years ago, the day before Christmas, Rick phoned and invited me to hear him play at a gig that night in Tel Aviv. I was on my way to perform in Haifa. So we set a date to meet the next day at 1 p.m. at the Tel Aviv Cinemateque. He had promised to explain something to me concerning bossanova rhythms.


That night Rick was invited up to the stage, played an amazing solo (so I am told) and then lay his head on the piano and called it a day.
No stents, no surgery, a gentle passing of a gentleman.
The next morning I got a call from my pianist Tamir Miller. "Rick is not going to make your date at the cinameteque." I understood at once.


Rick was one of those exceedingly rare people that you're lucky to meet, luckier to befriend, and never ever want to forget. So every December we have a jam session in his honor, featuring many of the female vocalists he loved and loved hearing. Our next one will be on Dec. 16th, at Shablul jazz club, the Tel Aviv harbor. To order tickets, phone 03-5461891.

Having Sax

Last night, I watched one of the modern masters of the tenor saxophone, Scott Hamilton, perform his magic at the Tel Aviv Opera House in front of a huge, immensely appreciative crowd. Scott has distilled the art of Ben, Lester, Coleman and Gene, and delivers an immaculately smooth sound with more subtle hues than the autumn leaves back in his native Rhode Island. His trademark ballads transport you like a 12 year old single malt whiskey. Scott was accompanied by his rhythm section (John Pearce on piano, Dave Green on double bass and Steve Brown on drums) direct from London. They were an immense treat. A quartet of great musicians and lovely people (I got a brief chance to chat with them).

Adolphe Sax invented the saxophone in Belgium about 160 years ago. He died long before it found its true vocation as the instrumental voice of jazz in the 1920s. I wish he could have been in the crowd last night. My father-in-law calls music "the food of the soul". There was a lot on the menu last night.

The Gypsies are coming!

I must admit that until recently I was not much of a fan of gypsy swing. This art form was perfected in the 1930s by the great Django Reinhardt, and since he died, all that's left is to try to copy his inimitable style. But something happened to me a few months ago on the way to the shopping mall that has changed my musical future.

Every Sunday I would perfom our regular jazz standards with my steadfast trio, Tamir Miller on piano (a very sought after accompanist), Oren Sagi on double bass, and myself. Oren has a parallel career playing with the "Swing de Gitanes", a great trio of the classic Django style. One day, Tamir couldn't make the gig and Oren asked one of the gypsy swing trio (Bar Tsalel) to join us. The rhythm completely blew me away. For me, their swing is just the thing. We barely broke for intermission (and this over three hours of playing). Another time, I asked the whole trio to do the mall gig, while I handled some university business. I managed to reach the mall in time to hear their last set. When I approached the mall, I was sure I was listening to a recording. Sure enough it was them. Wow!

About two months ago we started playing together, and have now a couple of performances (and demo) under our belt. We are hoping to play at one of the upcoming jazz festivals here. And, if you live in Israel, you can hear us at the Shablul jazz club on September 28th.

So now I have a split musical personality. I'm not giving up on Tamir and our standards, but I am hoping to soar with the gypsies. How do you like the name "Gypsy Flush" for our new band?

Big Band, Big Dream

Next week is an exciting one for me – my seventh performance with the HED Big Band in south Tel Aviv.

Singing with a big band has been one of my greatest dreams since I started to perform eight years ago. Let me tell you how it came true.

My sister-in-law Neta reads people's futures in Ecuadorian stones. "What would you like to ask my stones?" she asked one summer's day.

"Will I ever have the chance to sing with a big band?". I asked. I picked a stone from the bag. It wasn't the right stone. "I'm sorry", she told me, "according to this stone this doesn't look like it's going to happen."

I am not a great believer in reading the future. I don't cast much faith in Ecuadorian stones. The question was, how to prove them wrong.

Yossi Vardi, the famous and omnipotent Israeli entrepreneur, and jazz lover, came to the rescue. "Here", he told me, phone 03-7914914 and ask for Yehuda Cohen. He has a really good big band. Maybe he'll let you sing with them.

Yehuda agreed to meet me (perhaps Yossi had put in a good word, or the mere mention of his name was sufficient). My meeting with Yehuda started off poorly. I played him a couple of tapes I had made of live performances. He wasn't very impressed. He played me a recording of his regular male singer, Danny Saguy (I was impressed). "You see", he said, "I already have a terrific male singer. What do I need you for?"

At this point I began to believe that the Ecuadorean stones might have the upper hand. But I persisted. Finally, a crack appeared. "If you buy the entire hall (100 seats), then I'll make you a performance".

"No problem", says I. I am thinking, my birthday is coming, instead of presents, I'll ask all my friends to buy tickets.

But my parents intervened. To their thinking, it was pretty tacky to 'force' friends to buy tickets. As a birthday present (one of the nicest you can imagine), they bought half the tickets and gave them away. I did the same with the other half.

My premier performance was three years ago. My soul brother from Toronto, Chris McCulloch came for 46 (!) hours to be with me, and bought me a Sinatra-type hat. Other wonderful friends from Boston (Neal and Varda Farber) happened to be in the country and came as well. Family, university colleagues and friends filled the hall.

I soon learned that singing with a big band was like nothing I had ever attempted before. It's like sitting on top of a Boeing jumbo. When the roaring bird takes off, you're alone up there, and there's no stopping the song till it's over and you're safely landed. You can barely hear yourself sing. Horns are blaring from the left, piano from the right, bass and drums right behind you.

Despite my middling debut performance, the crowd was pleased, and Yehuda has invited me back on occasion, the seventh being a week Wednesday. I am appearing with Daphne Levy, one of the foremost jazz singers in the country. I may even play my horn in a song or two. I can hear my singing improve from one time to the next, and that makes me a very happy camper indeed. So if you are free on October 17th, come see this crazy dream of mine come true, again. Enjoy Daphne and the hot band. Have a drink or two. And don't put too much faith in Ecuadorean stones. I didn't.

Essential Mel

Essential Mel
Originally uploaded by Mel Rosenberg

Meira, who worked here in the Faculty of Medicine until recently, ordered this beautiful drawing of me as a present for her retirement.
It was drawn by a fantastic young artist: analgarlic.blogspot.com/ - whom I also thank for capturing my image so well!

What Jazz means to me

Life is funny. Back in 1975 I had the chance to sit backstage at a Frank Sinatra concert in Jerusalem, and blew the opportunity. I guess I wasn't enough of a Sinatra fan at the time. What an idiot I was then! When I entered Hillcrest High School in 1964, I could have learned saxophone and played in the school big band. Instead I signed up for woodwork (a disaster for me and the poor remains of the trees I abused), and waited thirty years to start learning to play that divine instrument. By the way, the saxophone was invented in about 1840 by Adolphe Sax, who spent his life trying to convince people to play it, and fighting off imitators. The problem was, Adolphe invented the sax about 80 years before it found its ultimate cosmic role as the soothing melodic voice of jazz. Poor Adolphe Sax. He didn't live to see his great triumph. But if you go to Belgium, try to see his museum.

Tonight is remembrance day in Israel (all holidays and events start and end here in the evening, in accordance with Jewish custom). One of the great friends I lost here over the years is Gaby Ben Artsi (Friedlander), who was killed in a military exercise thirty years ago, this very month. He was one of the most brilliant people I ever met, cut down at 21. He was an airplane pilot (navigator), loved bridge, basketball, and mankind. About six weeks before he died, I helped him buy a Yamaha saxophone. He was making progress on it when he died. After his funeral, his parents asked whether I wanted to play his sax. I couldn't bear to. It took me almost twenty years to hold a sax in my hands. But as soon as I did, music started to come out. And it hasn't stopped since.

I started playing classical piano in grade three, but didn't find out about jazz till I was about twenty. Classical music is great, but it involves a sort of bondage to the composer, however brilliant, who wrote the piece. You are limited as to how much leeway you can take with a classical composition. But jazz is all about leeway. You take a 'standard', or 'blues', or original composition, or whatever, and go with it where it takes you. In jazz there are also some forms and rules, but if you break them in an appealing way, then you may be on your way to stardom. I love the way that playing and singing a jazz standard frees you to put a lot of yourself into it.

Jazz, like many music and art forms is a language, and wherever you travel around the world, you find others who speak it. You might not be able to exchange a sentence, but you can play a whole tune together. One of the great things is walking into a place with a horn, and 'sitting in' on a tune or two. I've done this in London, Vancouver, Washington, Tokyo, Brussels, etc. and it's a great feeling (actually it feels even better when you play well).

Jazz is also about teamwork and sharing. Good jazz occurs when the musicians are attentive to each other's playing, and inspired by it. I've met some great and wonderful jazz singers who have shared their knowledge freely (Sheila Jordan who's in this picture with me, and Anita Wardell), and have jammed with some really super sax players with true camaraderie for greatly inferior players (such as myself), Ian Ritchie, for example, who tours with Roger Waters.

More on music on a future posting.

Friday morning gig

Friday morning gig 2
Originally uploaded by Mel Rosenberg.

With Tamir Miller and Oren Sagi on our regular Friday morning gig in Petach-Tikva