peevish mama

Do you recognize this man? He is Hasidic Jew rapper reggae dancehall boy genius – Matisyahu. At the risk of sounding like a musical experience hyperbolizer, I will tell you that he put on a thoroughly soul satisfying, gut wrenching, sweaty crush of a show last night at First Ave.

I, for one, was on fire. I, for one, was ready to jump the fence. Good bye baby Jesus. Hello my sweet little juju bean.

We had thrown together a little light summer din and drinks on the patio for six or seven of our besty couples for a pre-show fest. I made Duddy’s (aka: Chief Big Voice) Latin Pork Pernil recipe and set out yummy fixins for tacos, including a little lime chipotle crema that is so delicious it could double as a nourishing facial mask should you wish to wake up as a bit of a Salma Hayek. And cilantro in everything of course – my favorite, coddled, golden child herb – cilantro can do no wrong in my eyes. The beers and vino blancos were going down cool and fast and, of course, there can be no patio revelry without the squat-bottled goodness of Señor Patrón. At nine thirty we piled into a couple cars and left in a flurry of rustling tickets and high spirited cackles (ok, maybe that was just me).

I must admit that for a long time, I poo-pooed Matisyahu. I thought the Hasidic Jew thing seemed gimmicky and I didn’t give him a shot until Tartare and her hubby Meester Panqueques put him on our iTunes before heading back to Seattle when they visited for Thanksgiving. I started listening. I started liking. A lot. Many a dinner has been prepared in the company of my silver tongued, honey toned, deeply soulful, peacefully bad-ass new friend.

I was jacked up for this show and Matisyahu did not disappoint. In fact, not in a million years did I consider that I would be swooning within the first minutes of watching him croon and beatbox in his hoodie. The guy’s got something. Aside from that angular, lankiness I’m drawn to like a moth to flame, he’s got a beautiful voice. A beautiful, pure voice, which actually matters more than you’d think in rap – to me, anyway. Like, I love Jay Z, he’s a great rapper and he’s got a good thing going with my girl Beyoncé and I love that they jet ski at Cannes in white bathing suits, but he just doesn’t have a pretty voice. No disrespect. Just iswhatitis.

And if the face, the voice, the lightening-quick blast of words, and the warm reggae dipped in cool hip hop weren’t enough, it turns out they’re a bit of a jam band. They rock. Hard. His guitarist was a superstar and had a white knuckled grip on my entrails every time he went off on his wizardly solos. Seriously, people, someone hand me a fan because I think I may faint. 

And if all that weren’t enough, local boy Yoni, joined him for a few songs and he ripped it up. Watching him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that at last, the chubby Jewish kid who carried his debate team to the championships, was getting a whole new day in the sun. He was incredible. That wit and those words could have landed him in law school, but instead it landed him in a whole lot of First Ave love last night.

The vibe was the happiest and mellowest I’ve ever experienced. First Ave is always great, everyone’s always psyched to be there, but honestly, not to sound hokey, last night was different. I didn’t really get a chance to survey the crowd as I was too busy busting out my finest moves, but any time I tried to get a little closer to the stage, people parted like the Red Sea. Normally you get elbows and an unyielding wide legged stance, but last night the crowd was fluid and happy. Oh holy Moses, was I feeling the love! At one point, I turned around to Doctor Dash, my hand on my heart and yelled This is really moving me! Like really really!  He just nodded at me indulgently, as I tend to get carried away in these situations. But that’s what makes me so lovable, right Dash?

Having said that, I would be running for the hills at the first whiff of sappy spirituality. I take my religion and my music separately, thank you very much, and never the twain shall meet. But maybe I don’t reject the idea of music carrying a spiritual message so much as the idea of crap music that’s simply there to carry the message. And not for nothing, those Christians who sway with their eyes closed and their arms up at mega Christian rock concerts give me the total creeps. Matisyahu manages to be uplifting, inspiring and spiritual, yes, admittedly, he is – but his music stands on its own and it has enough hard edges and darkness to fully satisfy. 

And I am fully satisfied. The music, the dancing, the drinking and my friends filled up my canteen and I am feeling good today. Really really good. I’m telling you, that boy has got something. He goes far, he goes deep, and he couldn’t possibly be more lovely.