I’m going to start this article by being completely honest: I am not a music journalist. I am not a journalist at all, actually, at least not by way of education. I’m a writer of fiction who just happens to love music so much he can’t stop talking about it.
Almost seven years ago, I created The Music and Myth as a place to wax poetic about the art and hone my writing skills in the process. Then something really cool happened: the blog got a good response, it grew into a website with an explicit mission and I got to meet and befriend some of my favorite musicians, all the while expanding my knowledge and appreciation of music more than I’d ever imagined possible. As The Music and Myth continues to develop into its own “brand” (for lack of a better term) it will hopefully expand into a series of books and events in the near future. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
The point is that, at the core, I’m just a guy who really loves music and is fortunate enough to have such a beautiful connection with it and with some of the wonderful people making it. Whenever I sit down for an interview, I’m not thinking about content, SEO, clicks and catchy headlines. I don’t give a fuck about any of that! I’m thinking, “How cool is it that I get to speak to one of my favorite musicians?”
That’s the mindset behind every interview I do. Most of them start off as conversations about whatever the hell is on our minds, which I then stitch together into a coherent question-and-answer format. Every single interview I’ve ever done has been soul-enriching. It’s always a privilege to get this information from some of the most brilliant minds in the industry today. But sometimes, when the vibe is really good, there is something really special there. The conversations just turn into just a ton of crazy, candid fun.
In hindsight, it seems almost predestined that a talk with Koby Israelite would be one of the coolest interviews I’ve ever done. I’ve been a fan of his for years, ever since Orobas became one of my favorite records in John Zorn’s Book of Angels. One of the reasons for that is that this ingenious, unconventional musician always has something interesting going on.
Today’s interview is essentially part of a post-Masada Marathon trilogy, whose common thread is Koby. It started when I decided to check out what some of the Masada guys were up to, now that the Book Beriah – the third and last installment in Zorn’s epic Masada series – has been released. I decided to start with Koby’s Youtube channel, knowing full well the craziness that awaits once you start down that rabbit hole.
Thus, I came across the lovely Annique (British vocalist Lucy Annick Randell), whom I’ve had the pleasure of interviewing a couple of weeks ago and who is currently in the midst of launching her excellent second album, Lady Wonder.
Now, in the last two articles, I’ve spent a fair amount of time looking for funny ways to get the point across that Koby is A) eccentric and B) a brilliant, ballsy multi-instrumentalist. Instead of repeating myself, I’m just going to leave you with this video of “Boycott Israelite”, a humorous and addictive track complete with a sometimes cross-dressing Koby playing all of the instruments (including miniature piano with his toes) while trying to dissuade you from buying avocados or CDs off a naked lady’s privates. Enjoy!
A couple of weeks ago, I had a chance to talk with Koby about his career, his collaboration with John Zorn and Tzadik, his upcoming projects and his love for the accordion. During our conversation, I discovered that we have a bit more in common than just a passion for adventurous music and a love for dogs.
As it turns out, Koby is half-Romanian (from his mother’s side) and currently preparing to release an album with Romanian accordion virtuoso, Roberto de Brasov. I’ve had the privilege of listening to the music already and can tell you that you probably haven’t heard anything like it. If you’re familiar with Koby’s work, you’ll know I’m not exaggerating. Check back for an advance review of Provokation, by Koby Israelite and Roberto de Brasov sometime in the following weeks!
How did you get interested in Romanian music?
I got into Romanian music as a fluke. I was married at the time and my wife, who’s now my ex-wife, read an article where Johnny Depp was talking about this band, Taraf de Haïdouks. She bought me a ticket and I went to see them. I looked at the brochure and just saw bunch of unattractive, middle-aged men. I’m like, “What the fuck?” Then, two minutes into the concert, I was crying. I hadn’t heard anything like that before, but it still sounded familiar in a way. It was a little bit like klezmer but much better… much much better.
I was particularly impressed with Ioniță, who’s the accordionist. I asked my wife, “If you were to fuck one of the guys on stage, who would it be?” She said, “The accordionist.” (laughs) When they all walk up on stage, they look like ugly guys. But when they start playing, they look like these beautiful human beings. So I thought, “What a transformation! I want one too!” And man, since I picked up the accordion, I fuck like a fucking porn star.
My reasons for music are really shallow. If you expect depth, you’re talking to the wrong guy. I’m not like Lucy, talking about feelings and stuff. I’m like… whatever will get me pussy. (laughs)
When I saw Taraf de Haïdouks, I was sort of at a crossroads. I was only a drummer. I could play all sorts of instruments but, professionally, I was only playing drums. I thought, “I’m not saying what I really want to say through the music.” And I wasn’t a writer, I was only a drummer. And I was always lazy. I thought, “I’m never going to be Jack deJohnette. I need something different.” Seeing Taraf just gave me a second wind.
I bought the accordion the next day. I bought a really shitty accordion. I started being a writer and composing my own stuff at the age of thirty-five, which is pretty old. When I bought the accordion, I started to write music and I was like, “Man I write okay stuff!” And the more I wrote, the more I started to improve. I’ve always had a good ear. I’m like a gypsy that way. I never use charts and stuff. I can hear stuff and I can learn stuff and I can take it with me.
I sort of wanted to think that I’m making the accordion cool. Because it’s such a fucking uncool instrument. Unless you’re Romanian or Bulgarian. I don’t listen to accordion unless it’s in a Romanian or Bulgarian context.
During that time, a friend brought me a CD of Roberto de Brasov…
Tell me a bit about Provokation. How did you end up working with Roberto?
Three years ago, I asked my mom to write him a nice letter in Romanian saying that I’m a big fan. And he answered. He’s such a lovely man. I sent him my last CD, which I released on Chant, and he liked it. He said, “Let’s work together.” I was shitting bricks. It’s like for Lucy to work with Aretha; it’s on the same scale. But he came over and he loved my ideas and my music.
We really work at a high level. When I started with my Balkan trip, it was really popular. Now it’s dead in Europe. Yesterday, I finished the album and I already have two rejections. That’s my life story. You’re not Balkan and you’re not metal, or jazz, or rock… what are you? And I do the stuff that I do because that’s how things come out. Even with Lucy, you can hear all the influences. But I will find a record label at one point.
Roberto is a true musical genius. You heard his playing – he’s phenomenal. The guy doesn’t practice. He’s not like all these guys, like Ionică Minune or Marian Mexicanu. If he doesn’t have a gig, he won’t play for a year. He’s a freak of fucking nature.
He lived with me for 6 months and he’ll come again, because he owes me an accordion lesson. He didn’t show me a thing. When I’m around him, I don’t even want to pick up the accordion. It’s like if Gari Kasparov would play a chess game with a fucking retard – that’s how I feel next to him.
Unfortunately, the accordion is one of those instruments you just have to play at a virtuosic level. It’s almost like saxophone. As soon as I picked it up, I realized it would take me a lifetime to truly master it. And I’m more about the writing, producing, playing other instruments. I don’t want to be a Romanian gypsy. I want to be Koby!
Could you walk me through the creative process behind making Provokation?
Before he came over, I started to prepare. I started writing some stuff. But he’s a writer as well, so I’ve kind of written ideas and stuff and then we completed them together. On the album, there’s one song that he composed alone and two songs that I composed alone, but it’s a joint effort. It’s kind of my ideas and his. When it’s going uber-crazy, you know it’s me. When it’s like… you know, he’s the king of harmonies. He can not play one note without kind of five chords attached to it. There are so many elements. You have to be in the right place to collaborate well with a person. We decided that I don’t touch the accordion on the album, but I do the rest. He’s the soloist.
There’s an interesting structure to the album. It’s as if the whole architecture of it is built with the intent of allowing the accordion to navigate its surroundings. It’s almost as if the accordion is a character and the rest of the instruments are the environment this character inhabits.
That’s what it is. He’s an accordion virtuoso, so it’s not going to be a normal Koby Israelite album. But then I was a bit afraid because I thought maybe there’s too much accordion and it’s overpowering. It’s not an instrument that everybody loves. The accordion is the main thing, but it’s kind of my production and arrangements. I don’t see myself as the second violin, though maybe I am, a little bit. I’m happy with it. He’s a superior accordionist. You’re always limited. Life gives you limitations and when you work with people you have to take under consideration their taste, their aesthetic and their ideas. I’m really proud of it.
When we started, it felt like it’s either going to be a disaster or it will be amazing. But he’s so polite and so modest, as well. He always wants to change and keep the listeners on their toes. Never be safe. That’s what I love so much about Led Zeppelin. They always push themselves. Jimmy Page is my favorite guitarist. He’s not the world’s greatest guitarist, but he took risks and sometimes you wonder, “Will he make it or not?” He puts you on the edge. There’s always this magic with Led Zeppelin’s music. Also with John Coltrane. You listen and there is stuff in there where you don’t understand how he does it. There’s the same thing with Led Zep and the same thing with Roberto.
There’s this ballad, I remember, where I thought, “Please make one mistake. Show me that you’re human!” He never practices. He’s a freak of nature. He’s like Chopin next to you. He hears all the harmonies, he can improvise in any scale, he hears any song in any key. And it’s pretty difficult. It’s humbling. I learned a lot about harmonies from working with him. It’s a great journey, which I’m glad I took.
Your reputation is built mostly around the fact that you are a multi-instrumentalist. Why did you decide to go that route instead of dedicating yourself entirely to mastering a single instrument?
It’s a good question. I’ll try to answer it honestly.
I’ve got myself a setup, like, a recording studio and I don’t have much patience. If I have something, I have to have it now! It’s both a good thing and a bad thing. Instead of laying down the drum track and then waiting for days, I’m like, “How hard is it to play the fucking guitar or the bass? It’s not like the violin!” And I thought if I did it myself, I’d be self-sufficient. If I need something, like specialty instrument, like the duduk, or violin or trumpet, I’ll just get someone else.
I bought a bunch of instruments. I bought an accordion, I bought a saxophone, I bought a piano, which I always knew how to play. I have guitars and so it’s kind of a process. People started calling me multi-instrumentalist. I guess I am. But my main two instruments are the drums and the accordion. The guitar is the third. So I wouldn’t dare to play the clarinet on stage.
I guess my talent in music is natural. I’m more or less self-taught. Whatever comes easy to me, I fly! Whatever comes hard to me, I give up. (laughs) I’m kind of lazy, you know?
For instance, when I write a song with Lucy, I already know how the production is going to be, what’s the instrument. I guess my brain works like that. If I write, it’s an easy process. The better the composition is, the less it’s going to take me to write it. But the multi-instrumentalist thing is just so that I don’t have to rely on other people. If I recorded all my music with a proper guitarist, it might sound better, but this is my music. I’m actually proud of the fact that I’m a multi-instrumentalist.
Please tell me a bit about your early years. You were born in Tel Aviv, right? How did you get started in music and why did you decide to move to London?
Initially, I wanted to go to Berklee, but my father got a heart attack at the time. I decided to go somewhere close to Israel, so it would be easier to commute. I had a friend in London, whom I knew from Israel. We started this metal band, this, kind of, progressive rock band… if you like Dream Theater…
Then this one fell through and I started a band with this vocalist. I was always a side-man and always getting disappointed. So then I thought to be a multi-instrumentalist, where I’m kind of relying on myself only.
You’ve had a long collaboration with John Zorn. How did that come about?
The journey with Zorn was good. I basically made a name in this very little niche. I went to see Zorn, I think it was the year 2001 and I think it was Blade Runner. It’s the one with Dave Lombardo on drums.
I thought, “Man, this guy is really out there. He can do whatever he wants and he filled the Barbican.” So I sent him a demo and he liked it and that’s how it started.
I had four records on Tzadik. I had Dance of the Idiots first which, I think, musically was the best time of my life. When I got this postcard from Zorn, I was talking to this kind of superstar. As far as I remember, in Dance of the Idiots, I had some pretty sick track where I sing opera, going through metal, going through all of this stuff. I was afraid Zorn wouldn’t like it. And then he wrote me and was like, “What, I’m not out there enough for you?” (laughs) I’m like, “Yeah man, I can do whatever I want. At last!”
After Dance of the Idiots, Zorn called me and said, in his arrogant way, “It’s time for Koby to play Masada!” I thought, “I don’t know what the fuck that means.” So he put me on a compilation album called, The Unknown Masada. I have a really sick track and I come just before Fantomas, I think. Being on an album with Mike Patton was great. My dream is to work with him someday. And, if you don’t mind me saying, my track is the best one on the album. (laughs) I really love it!
Then, Zorn asked me for a second album. That’s where our problems started. (laughs) Do you want to hear a funny story?
Always!
I sent him the album. He said, “Koby, I think it’s a fabulous album. I think you shouldn’t mix it because you’re not such a great mixer.” At the time, I wasn’t. Now, I’m not such a great mixer, but I’m much better than I used to be. It’s, like, circumstances through life led me to mixing my own music. Because, whatever, we’re poor musicians. Whatever I can do alone, I’ll fucking do alone. It’s the Jewish survival thing.
Zorn said to me, “I think Bill Laswell should mix your album.” Do you know who Bill Laswell is?
Of course.
Of course…
Well, at the time, I didn’t have a clue who he was. (laughs) Zorn gave me his phone number and I’m dialing Bill Laswell. My girlfriend told me, “Koby, don’t be stupid. You don’t know who he is. Google him! Learn about him! Give him an impression that you know him!”
She was clever, but I didn’t listen. So I phoned him and got his name wrong. (laughs) I didn’t call him Mr. Laswell, I called him Mr. Lawson. You can write that down, please write it! (laughs)
Thank you!!!
No, fucking write it! (laughs)
Then, I could see he’s being really horrible with me. I asked him how much would it cost and he named the price. And he said, “The reason for this price is that it has to go through the sound engineer.” So I said, “If the money goes to the sound engineer, what the fuck are you going to do?” He said to me, “You know what? Why don’t you take the money and give it to somebody who fucking needs it!” He slammed the phone on me.
My face went white and I googled him. And I’m shocked. I’m like, “Man he’s got access to Miles Davis recordings. I’m speaking to a legend!” Ten minutes later, I phoned him, “Mr Laswell” – I’m making sure that I’m pronouncing his name right – “Mr. L-a-s-w-e-l-l, I didn’t mean to disrespect you, bla bla. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He said, “Okay, I’m mixing your album. Send it to this and this address. I’m mixing it under one condition: I don’t want you near me!” I said, “Okay, fine!”
I sent him the music. Back in the day, you couldn’t send it with We Transfer. You had to copy everything to CD. It was 2004-2005. I’m waiting for, like, two months for the fucking mixes to come. I got the post, put the CD in the player and I started to cry.
Ask Lucy, I cried twice in front of Lucy. If something matters to me, I cry! First time, I cried in front of Lucy when my dog died and the second time we did a horrible show. I don’t want to say where or when, but I cried after the show. Sometimes a man has to cry! You know what I mean?
So, I’m listening to the mixes and Mood Swings is a gentle album. He mixed it like a dub reggae. You can hear the drum and bass really loud and the accordion at the back. And I’m phoning John Zorn and Zorn said, “Hey Koby, I’m just listening to the Laswell mix… it sounds great, right?” I said, “John, Bill Laswell mixed my album like he’s fucking deaf!”
Zorn started to scream. “Who the fuck are you, you fucking nobody from Israel??? Who the fuck do you think you are???” Bla bla bla. But then, he said, “But, you know what, Koby? That’s why I love you. Because you care for your music. And it’s amazing. Do whatever you want.” I said to him, “John, if it will jeopardize your relationship with Bill Laswell, I’ll release the album as-is.” Then he started to scream again. He’s like, “Who the fuck do you think you are??? You think you can jeopardize my relationship with Bill Laswell??? Forty fucking years we’ve been friends!!!” (laughs)
So he was like, “Listen to the album again and then maybe pick one of the tracks to leave as-is.” So I picked the last two tracks from the album, just for the credit. Then, a few years later, I met Bill Laswell. John Zorn invited me to see him at the Barbican. And Zorn said to him, “Hey Bill, this is the infamous Koby Israelite!” Bill shook my hand like a limp fish. I think that’s the best story I’ve ever had!
I still think he’s a fucking cunt. I don’t understand why he’s so important? He’s just a mediocre musician. I don’t get it! Is he that good?
I’m not familiar with all of Laswell’s work, especially as a producer, but I have to admit that Buck Jam Tonic is one of my favorite albums.
After Mood Swings, you put out Orobas, right? Tell me a bit about that!
I was very flattered when Zorn asked me to do Masada. It was after two years with Tzadik. I was nervous. The music he sent was just a line, so it was very difficult, in a way. In another way, it was very easy, because I could add stuff and I could take out stuff. He said, “Koby, do whatever the fuck you want!” That’s how Zorn is. He’s cool.
There’s this track, “Negef”. There is an accordion intro and then it goes to thrash metal and reggae. That’s a fun track. The idea for the production was this: I took my dog for a walk and thought, “He sent me only one line. What the fuck am I going to do with this?” So I started just with accordion and then I played a variation… kind-of thrash metal and heavy metal and reggae and Balkan 7/8 and then I played the theme and I was like, “Here you go!” (laughs)
From the moment he sent me the stuff until the album was ready, it took three weeks. It was really quick. It was fun to do it, really fun. But Is He Listening? is my favorite Tzadik album. I think it’s the heaviest.
What’s your favorite Book of Angels record?
The Secret Chiefs 3 album, “Xaphan”.
Almost every musician I interview says the same thing.
It’s the best. But here’s another funny story about Zorn. Do you want to hear it?
Of course!
A few years ago, after Dance of the Idiots came out, I sent it to the BBC and stuff. They refused to play it. They never played it. And then I wrote a song called, “The BBC Won’t Play My Shit”. I wanted it to be released on Mood Swings. So John Zorn wrote to me and said, “Listen Koby…” (laughs) “Dear Koby, the BBC won’t play many people’s shit. There’s no reason to get upset about it!”
I thought it was funny.
After Tzadik you put out King Papaya, which was self-released. What was the concept behind it?
Throughout my entire career, from day one, people told me, “Your music is so cinematic.”
I was aware of that. I’m really interested in movie soundtracks so I thought, “I’m going to write a soundtrack to a movie that doesn’t exist.” I asked a friend of mine who is a science fiction writer from Israel, his name is Ofir Touche Gafla. I said to him, “Listen to the music and let the music inspire you. Write the narrative.”
He wrote a little story about a king who fell asleep and had a dream that God was telling him the Divine Joke, which was so funny that, when he woke up, he couldn’t stop laughing. The whole process of the story is his wife trying to bring all sorts of experts and magicians and demons, to try to cure him. And that’s King Papaya. I got the title from the fact that I was walking around New York and there is really a famous place that sells papaya juice and the name is Papaya King. Every New Yorker knows this. So I thought I’d just turn it around. It’s a great title for an album. So I had the title, then I had the concept, then I wrote the music and then the narrative came. Everything was reversed.
Obviously nobody wanted it because it’s too weird. It is a strange album. I had a manager at the time who suggested we release it independently. It came out on the same day as Is He Listening? I had to release it on the same day. I still have about 4000 CDs of it here in my attic. (laughs)
Then, I approached Asphalt Tango. I sent them the music from Blues From Elsewhere, which I really love. This album is my homage to the two main artists that influenced me which are Led Zeppelin and Taraf de Haïdouks. Especially since Led Zeppelin went folky and bluesy and I saw Taraf as a rural kind of blues-folk band and I thought, “If I cannot merge these two styles, nobody can!”
I loved your version of “Subterranean Homesick Blues”.
That wasn’t meant to be on the album. My brother got an e-mail that there is a competition where people wanted a cover version of “Subterranean Homesick Blues.” So I phoned Lucy and I was like, “Come, come, we’ve got a day!” So we did it in a day. I asked my brother, “How should I do it?” He said, “Throw every style of music into this song and do it!” And I more or less did. A bit of blues, a bit of metal, a bit of drum and bass and so on. Then we submitted the song but we didn’t follow the structure, because we made something longer or shorter. Then I thought, “Man, it really fits the album!”
And I’m not a fan of Bob Dylan at all, I never was. I think that everyone can breathe in and out into an harmonica and create more or less what he did. And if your lyrics are so fucking important, don’t compose, write a fucking book! (laughs) I’m such a fucking asshole.
After that, it’s been a while since you put out a new record, right?
It’s been a while because I was producing, working with other singers, working with Lucy to put out Lady Wonder. And I kind of took my time. I thought, “I don’t have any ideas. I don’t have music coming out of me.” I was sort of stuck.
Working with singers – especially with Lucy – it’s very easy to touch someone, if you use the human voice. It’s much harder to touch someone, to get to their fucking emotions, with instrumental music. Much harder! I wish I could sing, man. The one thing that God never gave me is a talent for singing. I love the human voice and especially the female voice. I think it’s one of the most amazing instruments.
I want to ask you a crucial question. And think carefully before you answer. Do you like Abba?
Very honestly, no. But I think the reason for this is that, in Romania, Abba has been played to death when I was growing up. My family listened to it endlessly, so I just can’t hear that anymore. I’m fed up with it! It’s not a knock against their music, necessarily. I’m just sick of it.
I love Abba. I adore Abba! It’s a school for songwriting, for melodies, for harmonies, for song structuring. There’s nothing negative I can say about Abba. It’s unbelievable. Man, do you know how hard it is to write a good pop song? It’s the hardest thing. It’s very complex. Look at “Dancing Queen”, a song that starts in the middle of the chorus. Every song has a hook.
Also, you can hear where they came from. You take one song of Abba, there are four hooks. Even the lyrics, they talk about real things. They’re kind of dark. I see the darkness in Abba. The agony of love, of life, of success, of being married. You can see it as tacky, kind-of Swedish bubblegum, but it’s the opposite.
So, going back to the time when I didn’t put out anything: I didn’t have any ideas but every now and then I wrote a piece here a piece there. And then Shanir phoned me and said, “We started a new label, we’d like to have you on.” That kind of re-started my energy. I started to write and kind of got it out so…
You know, in terms of business, I always record, I always do shit in my studio. I always have stuff. I’ve written so much music. Some of it is really bad because you cannot write good stuff all the time. But every idea that I had I thought I’d try to record and one day, I would maybe use it. In my professional life, I try to be as busy as I can, which is fairly easy because I have a few skills and I can always be of service to someone. I mean, it’s good.
After Blues from Elsewhere, there was that long pause of five years. But in those five years, I produce a lot of artists in Israel and also here and then I had this orchestra tour. I was lazying around as well. I’m pretty lazy, man. I like to chill out a lot. I used to smoke weed like… fuck, man! That was, I think, part of my long silence. From 2012 until last year, I was a serious dopehead. I guess it affected my motivation. Last year, I decided that’s it and I haven’t touched it in one year and two months. I never touched any other drugs, I never touch alcohol. I’m a good boy! I’m not addicted to anything, but I have a highly addictive personality. Now I only smoke.
What other projects do you have coming up?
I have another project with an Italian singer. Her name is Anita Kyoda. We call ourselves Nunheads. She heard my music online and approached me. She came over – she lives nearby. She’s very different from Lucy. She’s very, kind of, Mike Patton, Mr. Bungle-style. We recorded an album last summer.
I also produce various singers and songwriters. I produce a French girl called Oriana Curls. It’s kind of French poppy, jazzy stuff. She’s got a release later this month. I produce Mor Khabasi, who’s a great singer. She’s one of the world’s top singers, in my opinion. We didn’t work much but we’re good friends. She was a guest vocalist on few of my tracks over the last few years.
I worked with the East West Orchestra in Israel a few years ago. We toured, played my music. I was fronting a forty-five piece orchestra, which was really fucking scary. But it was an experience I’ll keep with me forever.
Now, I think we’re about to start writing Annique’s third album. As I said, I want to push it to something a little bit different. All this retro-vibe is going to stay but maybe also something more electronica and more contemporary. Something different. We’ll see how it goes.
Albums are different. All my albums are kind of different. You can hear it’s me, hopefully, but they’re all different. It’s funny, because the album I released with Chant records is probably my calmest, most mainstream one. Its not crazy. It’s more composition-like. Now I’m kind of ready to do something more radical. It’s enough of being a good boy! I’m fifty-two years old, how many more years do I have? As long as I have the energy, I need to do it!
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The Music and Myth 