The Road and the Butterfly

Today, Mati and I released the first two tracks from our upcoming album.

'You Lose Your Father's Name' it is not up to me to write about Mati's lyrics. I can only say that for me - as with many if not all of his poems - it speaks in the language of associations and imagery.

"You lose your father's name, above the clouds of Turkey ", and "But right now his grave is buried inside hundreds of poems, gaunt, pale on the German street" and of course "The distant memory of migration, the near memory of foreignness And the street, lacking space, does not breathe" - those are pivotal images for me, monumental emotional scenes, pillars upon which I can hang my composition.

You lose your father's name, above the clouds of Turkey On the airplane's plastic table, a certain Bolaño describes his days in a campground somewhere in Spain. Sitting to write inside an empty pool Fighting the mosquitoes that multiply in winter Just when the people empty out of the place (applause for those who travel only in summer) You see him walking like a hunchback in the streets of Barcelona, Sometimes he is a South American writer and sometimes he is Middle Eastern But right now his grave is buried inside hundreds of poems, gaunt, pale on the German street, houses with no space between them. Sitting to write inside an empty pool Fighting the mosquitoes that multiply in winter Just when the people empty out of the place. The distant memory of migration, the near memory of foreignness And the street, lacking space, does not breathe You are immersed in the tasks of the exiles Suddenly a word in Spanish slips out when he buys a bouquet of tulips. The Chilean writer turns around, he is revealed - groping in the darkness of the conversation's words

אַתָּה מְאַבֵּד אֶת שֵׁם אָבִיךָ, מֵעַל הָעֲנָנִים שֶׁל טוּרְקִיָּה      עַל שֻׁלְחַן הַפְּלַסְטִיק שֶׁל הַמָּטוֹס בּוֹלָאנֽיוֹ אחד מְתָאֵר אֶת יָמָיו בְּקַמְפְּגְרָאוּנְד אֵי שָׁם בִּסְפָרַד יוֹשֵׁב לִכְתֹּב בְּתוֹךְ בְּרֵכָה רֵיקָה  נֶאֱבָק בַּיַּתּוּשִׁים שֶׁמִּתְרַבִּים בַּחֹרֶף בְּדִיּוּק כְּשֶׁהָאֲנָשִׁים מִתְרוֹקְנִים מֵהַמָּקוֹם (מְחִיאוֹת כַּפַּיִם לְמִי שֶׁנּוֹסֵעַ לְטַיֵּל רַק בַּקַּיִץ) אַתָּה רוֹאֶה אוֹתוֹ הוֹלֵךְ כְּמוֹ גִּבֵּן בִּרְחוֹבוֹת של בַּרְצֵלוֹנָה   לִפְעָמִים הוּא סוֹפֵר דּֽרוֹם אָמֵרִיקָאִי וְלִפְעָמִים הוּא מִזְרַח תִּיכוֹנִי אֲבָל כָּרֶגַע קִבְרוֹ טָמוּן בְּתוֹךְ מֵאוֹת שִׁירִים, שָׁחוּף, חִוֵּר בָּרְחוֹב הַגֶּרְמָנִי, בָּתִּים בְּלִי רֶוַח בֵּינֵיהֶם יוֹשֵׁב לִכְתֹּב בְּתוֹךְ בְּרֵכָה רֵיקָה  נֶאֱבָק בַּיַּתּוּשִׁים שֶׁמִּתְרַבִּים בַּחֹרֶף בְּדִיּוּק כְּשֶׁהָאֲנָשִׁים מִתְרוֹקְנִים מֵהַמָּקוֹם הַזִּכָּרוֹן הָרָחוֹק שֶׁל הַהֲגִירָה, הַזִּכָּרוֹן הַקָּרוֹב שֶׁל הַזָּרוּת    וְהָרְחוֹב חֲסַר הרֶוַח לֹאֹ נוֹשֵׁם. אַתֶּם שְׁקוּעִים בִּמְשִׂימוֹת הַגּוֹלִים לְפֶתַע יוֹצֵאת לְךָ מִלָּה בִּסְפָרַדִּית (הולה) כְּשֶׁהוּא קוֹנֶה זֵר טוּלִיפִּים הַסּוֹפֵר הַצִּ'ילְיָאנִי מִסְתּוֹבֵב, הוּא הִתְגַּלָּה -   גִּשּׁוּשׁ בַּאֲפֵלַת הַמִּלִּים שֶׁל הַשִּׂיחָה

To carry this story, jumping from Turkey, Barcelona, south America - I looked for a rhythm that travels yet preserves the melancholic thread. We arranged it as a warm, driving folk-rock track. The bass and acoustic guitar move forward, like a train or a plane. It is the sound of the 'near memory of foreignness'  finding a groove. The intro is actually a line I loved to play as a teenager, it came up to my memory as Mati and me were sitting in my living room hanging above the lyrics. So I played it, and from there the whole song emerged.

'Why We Fear the Word Love' is the 2nd single we released. This track comes from a much more fragile, quieter place. For me, the text speaks of vulnerability, and the desire to be heard and seen - the burning yearning of the art. It is the sentence "We did not know that days would come when we would hide failures behind the poems" that opened my heart to it.

Why do we fear the word love? Concrete covers the sidewalk through which we seek to break like transparent wild plant Inside us the poems fall apart, like the aging limbs falling between the shadows We did not know that days would come when we would hide failures behind the poems We did not understand how our shadow is not the real body In the cemetery that stinks right now And what you stopped writing, continues to be written In your absence And what we stopped writing, continues to be written In your absence

מַדּוּעַ אֲנַחְנוּ פּוֹחֲדִים מֵהַמִּלָּה אַהֲבָה? בְּטוֹן מְכַסֶּה אֶת הַמִּדְרָכָה שֶׁאוֹתָהּ אֲנַחְנוּ מְבַקְּשִׁים לִפְרֹץ כְּצִמְחֵי בַּר שְׁקוּפִים בְּתוֹכֵנוּ הַשִּׁירִים מִתְפָּרְקִים, כְּמוֹ הָאֵיבָרִים הַמִּזְדַּקְּנִים שֶׁנּוֹפְלִים בֵּין הַצְּלָלִים  לֹא יָדַעְנוּ שֶׁיַּגִּיעוּ יָמִים שֶׁנַּסְתִּיר כִּשְׁלוֹנוֹת מֵאֲחוֹרֵי הַשִּׁירִים לֹא הֵבַנּוּ אֵיךְ הַצֵּל שֶׁלָּנוּ, הוּא לֹא הַגּוּף הָאֲמִתִּי בְּבֵית הַקְּבָרוֹת הַמַּסְרִיחַ כָּרֶגַע וּמַה שֶׁהִפְסַקְתָּ לִכְתֹּב, מַמְשִׁיךְ לְהִכָּתֵב בְּהֵעָדֶרְךָ וּמַה שֶׁהִפְסַקְנו לִכְתֹּב, מַמְשִׁיךְ לְהִכָּתֵב בְּהֵעָדֶרְךָ

Here, I picked up my beloved "Butterfly". It is a string instrument, the smaller sister of the Greek Bouzouki, which I bought in Athens when I visited there in 2021. It has a beautiful ornament of two butterflies, hence the nickname I gave it. This song is actually the first public performance of this instrument with me.

When we worked on the composition, the metallic, almost transparent sound invited me to sing in unison, so we gave it a try and several variations until it got its final form. It is the song which challenges me the most in this album.

The "Butterfly"

We will be performing this song live at our album release concert on Feb 13 at Lettretage. Tickets are available here.

Thank you for reading. Until next time,

Gidi