On Wednesday, the star of the Roma Tent was without a doubt Yasmin Levy, one of the talents of not too many Ladino music artists. Levy is a Jewish woman from Jerusalem who sings in the language of her persecuted Castilian ancestors, an inspiring archaic language she knows will soon die. All of this takes into account as well what her music and singing is like ? in a word: sad.
Her voice is marvelous ? as she takes the stage, her voice is accompanied by soft wind music and a guitar, allowing her to show what strength is hidden inside. But when she ?stops performing? in the interludes between songs, what she says can hardly be heard ? the weakness of her speaking voice counters her captivating singing. As if she wanted to demonstrate, she later lets go of the microphone and sings into the breezy but packed tent.
And as we listen to her slow and soft song, absolutely built on emotion, we feel more and more that Yasmin Levy is Israel?s and Spaniards? answer to the Portuguese Fado ? the sound and the mood are right, but so are the gestures of the singer, although she is surrounded by more musicians on the stage. The strong impact of the Fado insufficiently describes it ? in Levy?s music, flamenco (especially among the winds) is mixed with klezmer motifs, and one or two fast, danceable songs (though rare) have the mark of music from the Middle East.
Between numbers, Levy tells stories, and after a few songs, it appears they are as much a part of the performance as is the music. She summarizes the story, the birth of each song ? for example, the story of the sixty-year-old woman who fell in love with a thirty-year-old man, and the man once stood in front of her and told her that he had found the right one, but it wasn?t her. ?What a pity that I cannot be young and beautiful so you may be with me, but love me one more day, lie to me for one last evening,? the woman replies. It may sound cliché in writing, but it has its effect after one or two sweet, sad songs.
Levy won the confidence of her audience for good with a performance of Hallelujah that was far purer than even the Leonard Cohen version, scarcely accompanied and built solely on emotion.
The Spanish artist Amparo Sanchez, who has been singing for 25 years, did not have to do as much ? even though the crowd thinned out in the space in front of the World Music Stage and the singer barely spoke to the audience, when she wanted them to sing along ? perhaps because of the large number of Spaniards there ? it was an immediate success.
Before, she did nothing else but ?just? perform a few the most lyrical, slow and melancholic numbers of her repertoire ? not the most variety, and without any outstanding moments at the start. The trumpet solos that punctuated the permanent melancholy seemed truly extraordinary; and it didn?t just seem extraordinary, but was, when Sanchez only accompanied herself on the guitar or the few times she sang a cappella.
It is no mistake the name of her new album is Tucson-Habana: if one speaks about Cuba, about Havana, and if Omara Portuondo appears on the album, it has to be about gloom. In reality, Sanchez and her half-Cuban band reached Havana during the last numbers of the set, one of which was Corazón De La Realidad, off the new album. The number showed a zest for life, or something like it, in the ensemble.
Author: Bálint Kovács
