Guy Mazig Makes Music For Everybody
The guitarist wants his music to be accessible to everyone, even his mother
Guy Mazig might be one of Israel’s premier guitarists, but he doesn’t let those superior chops get in between him and his audience. “Musicians have their way of becoming addicted to far-out music that is not for everybody,” he says. “But I love to communicate, and I love to keep it accessible.”
Mazig doesn’t just want to communicate with his audience, he likes to feel that connection with his fellow musicians as well. Although, as he sees it, that’s really the same thing. “You press a few buttons and hear something that was maybe recorded in another country or in another situation,” he says about making music inside a computer—what’s known as working “inside the box” in musician-speak—which, for him, sometimes can feel sterile or unnatural. “But when everyone is connected and directed to the same kavana [כוונה] or purpose, that’s organic. That togetherness is what really makes me happy and excited, and that excitement is at the top with people’s souls.”
Mazig’s universalist ethos have served him well, too. He first came to prominence as a member of Hadorbanim [הדורבנים], a band that oozed a heavy ‘70s-disco vibe—it’s questionable if disco ever really died in Israel—and became something of a sensation in the 2000s. But even as the band was first becoming popular, he was already establishing himself as an in-demand guitarist, backing other prominent Israeli musicians, appearing in the house band on various talk shows, and collaborating as a songwriter and producer with many Israeli artists.
That continued into the next decade after Hadorbanim disbanded, and Mazig’s profile raised both as a solo artist, as a guest on numerous sessions, behind the scenes scoring for popular television shows, and organizing massive tributes and events. “I have been producing from the beginning of my career, and that is my other passion,” he says. “It is still music. I get to create, and every week I have to come up with new ideas.” Which for for an over-achieving, hyper-creative artist like Mazig, is a good thing.
I spoke with Mazig from his home studio in Kfar Saba—the guitars on the walls were drool-worthy, but I did my best to concentrate on the conversation—and, in addition to his warm personality and infectious smile, we talked about his desire to make meaningful music for the masses, some of the many projects he’s done over the years, how the COVID lockdowns helped him complete his recent release, the Newer Black, and the backstory behind his involvement with Israel’s entertainers-only soccer league.
Growing up in Lod, is that when you first got interested in playing music?
When I was a kid, they signed me up for the youth orchestra. It was a band, something like a wind ensemble, and I played the trumpet. But they didn’t teach us about music at all. They just showed us how to play the instrument along with the teacher, but they didn’t teach about harmony or anything like that. Once a week, we played in an orchestra format, and that—the orchestration—blew my mind. Eventually, in seventh grade, I realized that I needed to get a harmonic instrument—like a guitar—into my hands, and that is how it started. But the band and orchestration came before I started playing the guitar, rock ’n’ roll, groove, and funk stuff.
You incorporate a lot of those harmonies and more complex chords into your music, even now. But you’re saying you’ve been attracted to that since the beginning.
Yes, and yet I try not to be over-complicated. You have to put in the right things, and not be too sophisticated. It’s like the Sod [the mysteries] in the Kabbalah. There’s a secret there, but you don’t see it or hear it immediately. It’s not yelling at you.
You discover the depth on repeated listens.
That is what I like, like Stevie Wonder and things like that. My mother can sing it while she sweeps the floor, and I can listen to it and say wow.
Did you spend time learning jazz harmonies and voicings?
No, nothing. I believe that all the knowledge is out there. The difference is whether you pick it up or not. If you want to study Bach or Mozart, all you have to do is listen. You don’t have to go to a university and spend a big amount of money or years from your life. Just hear it. Do the reverse engineering, and if that’s your desire, I believe that you can understand it completely. You can achieve that just from the passion to get it into your system.
Have you done a lot of transcriptions?
A lot. Tons of transcriptions. Everything, from Gentle Giant’s, “I lost my head,” to Zohar Argov. Gypsy music, music from Cuba, salsa, the Afro-Cuban Allstars—everything.
Did you look into artists like Frank Zappa and King Crimson?
In the early days. I like Zappa, but I am not attracted to his aesthetics. He likes things to be too bizarre. It’s great, but I think the purpose of music is different. I don’t listen to him very often.
Like you said, your aesthetic is that the depth reveals itself over time.
Yeah. It’s not, “Hey look, I am so complicated.” Just be. You have to be able to provide this pleasure to everybody.
Did you play music in the army?
No, unfortunately. I was a fighter for half my service and then the other half I was like a commander of a big infirmary. I was like an officer, but I never wanted to be an officer. I wanted to be a musician. I did my best and it helped me a lot. I learned to organize things and to command people and to produce on a large scale. Afterwards, it helped me a lot with some of the very big productions that I’ve done.
When did you start Hadorbanim [הדורבנים]?
That was before the army. The band began with my friend from school, Ziggo [Ido “Ziggo” Ofek], the other guitar player. He was a couple of years older than me. I was making giant leaps as a guitar player, and people were coming to learn. When I was in seventh grade, people from tenth grade came to learn. They’d ask, “How do you this?” I didn’t know it, but I had all this knowledge from the orchestral stuff. Suddenly, I realized that I was a very advanced player. One summer, Ziggo and I met, and he told me he was thinking about making a band. I heard a little bit of his stuff, and I fell in love immediately. He was like me. We both loved music that sounds simple, but is not so simple. That’s how that came about. Then, step-by-step, as we advanced into our army service, it wasn’t easy, but we managed to record an album. It was the album we wanted to record. It was not like something a record company tried to maneuver us to record. It was very liberating and a great experience in the beginning.
How were you able to record an album while in the army? Would you get a week or two off and use that time to record?
Not two weeks off. During the second half of my service, I was stationed closer to home, and I got to go home every night. I wasn’t infantry anymore. I was lucky because they needed someone on the base, and it was very close to my home. We made a connection with a technician at the largest studio in Israel—at some point, we were so close with him that he even joined as a member of the band—and at night, when everyone else had finished recording, even if it was 10 PM, we would go into the studio and work until the morning. Then we’d go back to the base and the Army. We recorded all night long.
You were living a double life.
Yeah, a double life, but when you are 18 or 19 you can do it. Today, I don’t think I can do it [laughs].
Did that first album do well? Is that what launch your career?
It did crazy well. The focus was on the disco theme of the band, but actually, in my opinion, we were much more than that. But we had two shows a day sometimes, every day. It was crazy. But it was very uplifting for me. I felt very involved with every note. That experience is what made me understand that this is what I do, and this is what I want to do. Even if music is not such an easy field.
Israel is such a small market. Did the band have a following overseas, too, or do you have to do other types of work to make a living?
Luckily for me, I have been producing from the start. I am always producing things. One of the biggest TV series on Kan [כאן], the Israeli TV channel, it’s a satire, [שב/ס], and I have been doing the music. It’s now in its third season. I have been producing from the beginning of my career, and that is my other passion. It is still music. I get to create. Every week I have to come up with new ideas, and different styles, from K-pop to Japanese music. Every type of music on earth.
When Arik Einstein died, there was a great memorial for him, for an audience of something like 60,000 people. I did the production, orchestration, and I assembled the orchestra and everything. I also got to perform with the last reunion of Kaveret.
Do you do a lot of your production work on the computer, using plugins and things like that?
Sometimes. I am not a fan of doing everything in the box, but sometimes you have to do it. I am a big fan of live instruments, because you can hear the soul of the musician. When you hear the synergy within the song, I think that gives the listener a much higher level of enjoyment. That is what I believe, and so my goal is to always be with a live group. One hundred players is not enough for me sometimes [laughs].
You mentioned the Kaveret reunion. Have you spoken with them about how the Israeli scene has changed or evolved over the years?
It has changed a lot. Even before the reunion, because of my work as a producer, I’ve spent time with some of them, like Danny Sanderson, Efraim Shamir, and Alon Oleartchik. Back then, the Lahakat Hanachal [להקת הנח”ל], which is a military band, was like the main event. The music that happened there would then explode all over the country. The focus was on them. But since then, it has opened up. Commercial TV and other stuff in general has changed everything. Today, you have Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube, and music is promoted here and it is promoted there. Eventually I think the most loved songs are still going to find their ways to the top of the charts, but there is a lot of intervention. It’s more complicated.
The level of musicianship is very high in Israel these days, is that because of having so much access to so much more music?
That is correct. Nowadays we have access to everything. On YouTube you have music from every great player. The amount of inspiration you are getting is immense, colossal, you can’t handle it. It’s too much. But it is great, and from that angle it is heaven. I can learn whatever I want from anyone. It is great. We have much more ability to develop, much more than they had in the 1960s and ‘70s. They had nothing. They had a few records that came from the U.S.A.
And a few Italian-made guitars.
Right. They sounded nice, but not how you wanted it to sound.
Tell me about your main guitar.
I have an Orfeld guitar. It was custom made in Israel. It was made by two luthiers and me. I love it, of course. We built it step-by-step. I love everything about it. Although unfortunately, the company isn’t around anymore. I was hoping to build a second model with them, but I think they have moved on to other things.
You also have a gold top Les Paul.
I have many Les Pauls. I am an Les Paul freak, but I also have a 1968 Telecaster. The gold top is also from 1968. I have a 1978 Stratocaster.
Were you able to get those in Israel?
The Stratocaster is the only guitar I bought overseas. I had to buy a Stratocaster for when I did that gig with Kaveret. That was like the gig of my dreams. It was like playing with the Beatles. It was like being Billy Preston for a moment [laughs]. I said to myself that I had to have a Stratocaster, because for most of the time I was replacing Yitzhak Klepter, who wasn’t in great condition health-wise. I figured I had to use a Stratocaster, because he only plays a Stratocaster. That was the only guitar I bought overseas. It is a great sounding guitar, and an old one. Everything else I guess came from overseas somehow, but I got it here.
Your new album, The Newer Black [השחור החדש יותר], was that your corona project?
That was made over the past four years, but corona helped me to finish it. With my perfectionist disorder, corona helped very much. It’s perfection only for me. Maybe others will hear and it’s nothing, it’s fine, but for me, it helped me finish it. I care for every word, every note, every channel. It is such a hard job for me. I was able to be with the best intention and focus, so it can tell over what I want to deliver.
Did you record it at home?
Yes, my home studio is for things like vocals and overdubs. If we need some kind of special guitar amp or drums, then I will go to a larger studio. It isn’t fancy, but it is my home studio. I work in a lot of studios, but it is still very comfortable here.
Do you do the mixing yourself, too?
Not the mix. I have to stop somewhere. You can’t do everything. It’s like a minyan [a quorum of 10 men, which is necessary for public prayer]. Why is there a minyan? You need other people. You can’t do it all by yourself. You need another ear, another brain, another point of view. I figure I cannot do everything by myself.
You’ve done a lot of collaborations, which seems to be very common in Israel.
Collaboration is very warmly accepted here. It brings the colors and tastes of both artists. For me, it is a blessing. When it’s natural and you like the artist, it sounds so natural and it really brings the best of both sides, and in Israel it happens a lot. People love to do it.
It seems like everybody knows each other.
We’re a small country. I feel I know 90 percent of the artists in Israel. You can basically get to everyone. Maybe it’s like that everywhere in the world—your agent can talk to his agent and fix something up—but here it is maybe much more personal.
Is that because it’s such a small scene?
We’ll bump into each on a stage or festival. It’s nice.
You also have a football team for artists (if you’re reading this in America, that’s a soccer team).
I founded the team back in 2010. It was my desire to play football with artists and to pay back the community by doing exhibition games. The initial idea, which I discussed with the sports channel here, was that different bands would play against each other, and then the loser had to go on stage and play a show after they lost the tournament. I had a clear format, but it didn’t come true. That was the initial dream. The way it works now is that everyone is friends, and it is a great way to know another part of the industry. Actors, all kinds of artists, it’s great.
And some people can really play?
Yeah, everyone is a nice player. We don’t do it all day, but you see the potential. You see who could have been a great player.
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