Chayla Neuhaus: If I Could Press A Re-Do Button

By Riki Goldstein November 20, 2018

If you could press a button and redo one thing in your musical career, what would you change before hitting Play?

Chayala Neuhaus, Composer

“The title track of my first album, Miracles, was written three weeks before I got married. A close friend, Ruchy Deutch a”h, needed a song for a camp production, so I wrote a song, even though my head was elsewhere. When the song was ready, I looked over the lyrics about the beauty of nature and how we sing to Hashem every morning, and I didn’t think they were great. But Ruchy needed a song and insisted on taking it, saying people would love it. Totally unexpectedly, ‘Miracles’ actually was a hit. But the one thing I would change? The line about ‘the smell of orchids, white like snow.’ She needed the song to mention orchids because it was related to the theme, but since then I’ve learned that, despite their beauty, orchids have no fragrance at all!”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 736)

Miracles

Dovid Pearlman

00:00

Dedi Had the Last Laugh

By Dovid Nachman Golding November 14, 2018

I was thrilled to hear that my good friend Dedi Graucher, known in the music world as “Dedi,” was home in Petach Tikvah, on the road to recovery after a recent hospitalization. But while people were calling and asking how Dedi was doing, the younger generation kept asking, “Who’s Dedi?”

In all my years in the business, I never saw a performer rise to such heights and then walk away from it all. He collaborated with the industry’s top performers and put out a decade’s worth of albums starting with his debut Dedi in 1993, but then pretty much disappeared behind the curtains. Dedi, hope you don’t mind, but I just had to share some memories, since we go way back.

When Dedi was 13, he joined Yigal Calek’s Pirchei Yerushalayim choir. The choir came to the US to do a few Pesach concerts, and that’s where I first got to know him. Even then, Dedi was hilarious. Whenever Yigal wasn’t looking, he would start mimicking him, and everyone was on the floor laughing. Dedi was always the life of the party.

Dedi returned to Israel and I didn’t hear from him for years. One day, when Suki and I were learning in ITRI, I stepped out of the beis medrash and a young man approached me: “Ding, don’t you remember me? It’s me! Dedi!” We actually ended up learning together once a week, and as the summer approached, Dedi asked if he could join Suki and me at Camp Agudah of Toronto. I called up the camp director and was able to secure a job for Dedi as waiter.

The first day of camp, everyone entered the dining room to the nicely set tables — all except for Dedi’s, which were completely empty. The director was a little angry, so I told him I’d find out what happened.
“Dedi,” I said, “your tables are empty!”

He looked up at me and said, “Of course. If the kids want to eat, they can take it themselves — I’m not their slave!”

That was the end of Dedi’s career as a waiter, but he did find his calling — he became the staff singer and guitar player, and every day he’d get up in front of the whole camp and tell jokes. With his broken English, the jokes were even funnier.

A few years went by and one day, I spotted a new CD entitled Dedi, with songs by Yossi Green. Dedi’s big-band sound would soon become his trademark, with signature songs like “Zocheh” (from the Adon Hashalom album), “Hu Yigal Osanu” (from Omnam), and “Acheinu Kol Beis Yisrael” (from Bitchu B’Hashem). Meanwhile, I called Dedi and asked if he wanted me to manage him. Before you could say “Kosher Delight,” we had arranged a cross-country tour.

One of our first concerts was for NCSY in Baltimore, and Dedi asked me how we’d get there. I told him we’d drive, and he said, “We need a tour bus! Ding, go rent us a tour bus!”

I tried to reason with him: “Dedi, it’s only one concert and we’re a total of six people!”

He wasn’t having any of that though, so we rented one, filled it with food, and headed out on our three-hour journey to Baltimore.

On our next trip, Dedi insisted everyone in the tour have a DEDI tour jacket.

“Why exactly do we need a tour jacket?” I asked.

To which Dedi replied, “Ding, you have no idea how to be a tour manager. You need to think big.” And so we did.

Then came Dedi’s first major concert for HASC, and besides being a great performer, he also became extremely close to the HASC family. Not only did he sing often for the children, but he also raised money for the beautiful Camp HASC dining room and handicap-accessible swimming pool.

Dedi’s performances were so memorable because you never knew what to expect next. Would he tell a joke? Would he sing? Would he come out dressed up like a Marine, or Pavarotti at the Met? It was always a surprise.

Once, Dedi went to sing for a young girl in the hospital who was suffering from a brain tumor. On his way out of the room, Dedi told her, “Please invite me to your wedding. I’ll be there!” A few years later, Dedi received an invitation from her. He had a concert that night, but he traveled the next day and made a surprise appearance at her sheva brachos.

So, back to my original question: Why did Dedi bow out of showbiz and go into business instead? I daven fervently that Oded Dovid ben Tzipporah should have a refuah sheleimah, and I’d love to see him return to the stage. If not that, at least a few jokes, please?

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Issue 735)

Zocheh

Dedi

00:00

A Kindness Along the Way

Posted on November 7, 2018 (July 24, 2019) by devcontent

Sometimes it’s the unsung uncelebrated deeds that boost a singer into the limelight. Who helped these popular entertainers find their way?

A Blessing in Disguise

By Riki Goldstein November 7, 2018

Hershy Weinberger is the musical brain behind Shmueli Ungar’s hit song “Mach a Bracha!” Looking back at the process, he’s amazed at the Hashgachah behind the production of a song that he never thought would make it big.

“Naftali Schnitzler had asked me to write a song with the words ‘Bechol yom veyom avorchecha,’ so I composed the first part. But then none of us knew how it should continue. Naftali thought maybe we should go with the next words of the kapitel— ‘Gadol Hashem umehullal me’od,’ but it just wasn’t moving. It was a month later that we were sitting together and I invited them to, ‘Mach a brachah,’ which is a phrase in Yiddish inviting someone to eat. But its intrinsic meaning — blessing Hashem for everything — just came to my mind, together with the tune. Still, I never thought the song would catch on as it has. It was Sruli Meyer who saw the potential in the song and insisted on using it as the album’s title and first track. When ‘Mach a Bracha!’ was fully recorded, Sruli had this idea of adding a list of brachos at the end of the track. I messaged Shmueli, and he sent me a voice note of some brachos. I used those words just the way they came out of his mouth— they had sort of a melody of their own and didn’t require an actual tune, so that’s exactly what you hear on the album. And it just proves what I always say— that collaboration produces the best results.”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Issue 734)

Mach a Bracha

Shmueli Ungar

00:00

Nafshi

By Riki Goldstein November 7, 2018

Shmuel Yefet, the soft-spoken keyboard player and composer behind “Nafshi” — the recently released hit duet between Ishay Ribo and Motti Steinmetz, is credited with bringing together two worlds of Jewish music. Yet Yefet says that the idea of the chassidish icon singing together with the popular Israeli entertainer originated when Ishay met Motti at an event in Jerusalem. “He was overcome by the emotion in Motti’s singing and loved the voice,” says Yefet, “and really wanted to work on something together with him.”

First, the popular French-born guitarist, singer, and songwriter tried to compose something that would be appropriate, but nothing he came up with seemed suitable for Steinmetz’s chassidic style or vocal range. But Ribo was determined, and so he turned to other composers.

“It was Ruvi Banet, Steinmetz’s producer, who called me with the challenge,” Yefet says. “The idea was to create a song that would express two very diverse voices, Israeli folk with strong spiritual influences melded with Steinmetz’s chassidish vocal style. Since I was a child, I’ve loved the holy words of Anim Zemiros, and as I sat down in the studio with Ruvi I had the siyata d’Shmaya to compose a song for them. The entire melody was ready within a few minutes and I recorded it to send to Ishay and Motti. It was exactly what they’d been looking for.”

Arranging and producing the song was another challenge. The two singers have different vocal ranges and usually sing on different scales and tones. “A lot of musical brains worked on it, but the main credit goes to arranger David Ichilevitz. His arrangements are absolutely stunning,” Yefet says.

Yefet, a popular Israeli keyboard player and guitarist, is also the composer of “Ke’ayal Taarog,” one of Motti Steinmetz’s early hits. “To be honest, I think ‘Nafshi’ would be a powerful song even if it were sung only in Ivrit or only with a chassidish pronunciation. But the combination of Ishay and Steinmetz’s vocal talent and power has just wowed people,” he says. Steinmetz modifies his trademark chassidish inflection to use a more universal Ashkenazi style for this song, somewhat coming closer to Ribo’s modern Hebrew, but when those two voices, which nobody expected to share a song, actually soar and harmonize together, the creation becomes a yearning prayer of unity that surely rises upward. (Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 734)

Nafshi

Ishay Ribo and Motti Stenmetz

00:00

It’s about the Words We Always Use

By Riki Goldstein October 31, 2018

The album Beshaah Tova may have taken three years to come out, but OHAD’s fans are thrilled — this is one of the shorter breaks he’s taken between the seven albums he’s put out in the past 15 years.

“Usually, after I release an album, it takes me around a year before I can even listen to anything about new songs,” says singer Ohad Moskowitz (known in the music world simply as “Ohad”). “But this time, we started as soon as the last album was on the shelves. There was this feeling that we had a lot to say.”

Ohad’s voice doesn’t disappoint — it’s vibrant and rich, and he’s continued to work with Itzik Dadya, who produced the vocals for some songs on his last album (Segula) and all on this one. “Itzik’s vocal directions are always on the mark,” says Ohad, who comments that Itzik is “like a brother” and how he wished he had had such a guide when he’d first started out in the industry.

Ohad doesn’t view himself as a composer, but what’s different about Beshaah Tova is that it includes four of his own compositions — “Beshaah Tova,” “Avinu V’imeinu,” “Tzemach Tzaddik,” and “Im Eshkachech.” In each of his previous albums, he’s contributed one tune at most.

“I never sit down at an instrument to compose, but sometimes I see words and a melody comes to mind on the spot. It takes me time to decide if the tune is something I want to share,” he says. “The idea for ‘Beshaah Tovah’ came to me as I was thinking about how we use those words so often. Whether it’s a birth, a shidduch, a business deal, or anything in our lives, we want it to happen at an auspicious time.” The track is lively and the tune uncomplicated and catchy, the type that gets listeners to sing along.

As for his newest version of “Im Eshkachech,” as a wedding singer, Ohad felt it was time to change the predictable breaking-of-the-glass song for something fresh. His musical expression of the timeless words gives a new flavor to that special chuppah moment.

The order and variety of the songs on the album are particularly important to Ohad. “I view it like a story. The songs have to fit together and lead the listener somewhere.”

One familiar composer on the album is Elie Schwab. Ohad says he received Schwab’s demo of “Keshe’atem Mispallelim” — a warm and inspiring song about the significance of prayer — while he was driving in New York and bought it on the spot. Eli Klein and Yitzy Berry arranged the music (for this and most of the other songs), and it was recorded in their studio in one take.

“I sang the song, and they said, ‘Stop, that’s it. Perfect.’ They didn’t want any retakes, any editing parts of words, any added layers of vocals,” says Ohad. “It’s pretty unusual for a first take not to require any touching up.”

On the slow, reflective end of the spectrum, “Avinu V’imeinu” is a warm, thoughtful song that also came in a burst of inspiration. “We all have parents, and we all owe them the world. The song expresses a child’s love and gratitude.”

Ohad says he didn’t expect the wave of reaction from children whose parents had already passed on. “So many people contacted me to say thank you for helping them express their feelings and connection to parents who are no longer in This World. When you write a song expressing what’s in your own heart, you never know what it can do for someone else.”

During the summers, Ohad is a regular guest at Camp Simcha, where he loves singing for the children. “During the show, I like to get off the stage and walk around, connecting with the kids,” he says. “There was one child in a wheelchair who just didn’t seem to respond to the singing, but as the show was winding down, a counselor came over and said this boy wanted a chance to sing. He came up and asked to sing ‘Birkas Habonim’ (from Echad Yachid Umeyuchad). The music began and he had the voice of an angel. I was so overcome that I couldn’t sing anymore, and the crowd had to sing the finale all together. Later, I was told that this boy had lost all his friends to cancer. He used to sing, but had become quiet and withdrawn and hadn’t sung in a year. You just never know who you can reach when you release a song or an album.”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 733)

Beshaah Tova

Ohad Moskowitz

00:00

The Song I Sing

By Riki Goldstein October 31, 2018

You spend your days and nights in the studio and on the stage playing your songs. But when you’re finally on your way home, which tune do you find yourself humming these days?

“I’m singing ‘Aish’ — Track 5 from Shwekey’s Musica album. It’s about lighting the fire in Jews all around us and getting through the night together. The song has this fantastic flow of energy. All around great melody and groove.”

— Musician/band leader

Mendy Hershkowitz

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 733)