The lights at the 9:30 club faded to a pulsating purple hue Sunday as the members of klezmer band Golem filled the venue with a cacophony of accordion, tambourine and trumpet. Those fortunate and timely enough to arrive at the venue to catch this New York-based group's opening act were greeted by a warped spiritual prayer to the gods that only those touched by this peculiar sound could comprehend.
Promoting the release of their new album, "Fresh Off Boat," Golem evoked the sounds of their Eastern European ancestors by using Yiddish, Russian and Polish folk songs to highlight the debaucheries of the immigrant experience. By drawing upon common issues such as heavy drinking, violent love affairs, prison time and conflicts with border officers, Golem transcended time and location to unite raunchy, passionate souls from all centuries and languages. Though the venue was still hovering around relatively low occupancy level, those inside 9:30's walls couldn't have noticed. Golem's spirited leading vocalists, Annete Ezekil (on accordion) and Aaron Diskin (on a very enthusiastic tambourine) plumbed the creative wells of the European shtetls so those listening closely enough were called back to the tempest tossed decks their ancestors stumbled off of not so long ago.
While Golem's music sent the crowd traversing the waters of the Atlantic in a weather-beaten ship of huddled masses, their overall tone was one that called to mind a scene from the Joker's funhouse, where in our battles we may revel in the utter freakishness of our own reflections. Their old world songs carried the emotional weight of an imperfect time hinged on dreams of escape, yet never disowned the perpetual stirring of hope and anticipation that those behind the tunes originally lived upon.
By the time headliners The Walkmen took the stage in a dramatic flush of applause and smell of stale beer, everyone present was still stricken with their opener's newly minted recognition of America's heritage and ancestry. However, as The Walkmen played through a straightforward and brief 80-minute set, the audience was jolted from their ship to a new life and dragged screaming back to the present. As is sung in The Walkmen's songs, reality may be more clearly set out in front of us, but the vision is none too beautiful to behold.
The group played songs primarily off their recent creation, "You and Me," which, innovatively cultivating something of a tribal hum throughout, is difficult to grasp upon first encounter, and even more so in a live environment. Soundscapes that transport listeners to an alternate reality and understanding instead have an overall tone of sameness in their work. Many of the tracks the group selected for this set, and their work in general, seem to reflect lead vocalist Leithauser's personal mannerisms. Alternating between a chokehold on the microphone and a delicate sliding of his hands up and down the green glass neck of a beer bottle resting atop one of the stage's speakers, Leithauser looked entranced. Brow furrowed, he seemed to constantly be scanning the horizon for something even he couldn't identify.
Leithauser possesses a notable range in vocal production. He was able to reach piercing highs, carried like a note across a vast, lost land. But like many abandoned plains of mythology, one has to ask "Is anyone really there to listen?" The Walkmen's songs called out for an echo on the wind, a dewdrop on the ocean, something to strive for and remember. But ultimately, that something was impractical and unidentifiable.
Rather than the headliners, it was the tangible charms of openers Golem that satisfied a crowd searching for something perhaps as lost as the legendary "Old West." Those who sought that night discovered it in the klezmer-punks' fearless originality.
You can reach this staff writer at thescene@theeagleonline.com.
