Let’s Tantz
The British klezmorim talk about their high-energy approach to the genre, and why that isn’t punk
Tantz is a klezmer band that started in Leeds, in the UK, and despite their mostly acoustic instrumentation and somewhat old-world sound, are an aggressive, in-your-face, high-energy party. They’re not your grandparent’s sentimental memories of klezmer, and—when the spirit moves them—can get a crowd on its feet, and inspire some mayhem as well. But don’t call them punk.
“You listen sometimes, and you think, ‘This is quite punk,’” Matt Holborn, the band’s violinist, says about the evolution of their volatile style. “We just decided, ‘Forget it, let’s go for it’—and went for it, which I guess is the epitome of punk. But please don’t quote me as saying that we are punk, because I don’t think we are [laughs].”
“It’s quite cheesy, but for a while we described ourselves as ‘hard hitting klezmer,” guitarist and founding member, Ben Danzig, adds. “I am not sure how we came to that style, but maybe it was a reaction against playing a lot of chilled-out background jazz gigs. We had this heavy thing that we ended up moving towards, which was amps up to 11, and that kind of thing.”
Allusions to cranked amps aside, Tantz’s sound isn’t built around power chords or distorted guitars—Danzig usually plays an acoustic on stage—and the band doesn’t have a lead singer cheerleading or riling the audience up. They generate their frenzied, frenetic energy the old fashioned way, via the music.
“We were on a big stage with a crowd of hundreds of people, all going absolutely crazy,” Danzig says about discovering their music’s raw, visceral power. “They were moshing, stage diving, and we were there playing these klezmer tunes, but really loud and intense. We came off stage on a real buzz, and we moved more and more into that direction.”
Tantz was a formidable touring ensemble—they spent most of the last decade gigging—and were beginning a brief hiatus when Corona hit and drove everything to a grinding halt. Given the circumstances, they’re taking their inactivity in stride. “We’re enjoying this break,” Holborn says. “We’ve spent a good part of the last 10 years in a car going somewhere really far away—and it was also probably cold because we live in the UK—and I think we needed a break. We’re going to enjoy this natural break.”
I spoke with Holborn and Danzig—they’re both living in London now—and we discussed their different approach to klezmer, playing traditional music for non-traditional audiences, some of the intricacies that give klezmer its sound, and how their experiences have been more about the music, and less about Jewish culture or identity.
What is the genesis of the band? Did you start when you were living in Leeds?
Ben Danzig: Another violinist—not Matt—asked me if I wanted to start a klezmer band, which was not something I had thought about, but I had grown up listening to klezmer in my house. My grandad was a klezmer player, and I said, “Yeah, why not?” I had just come out of music college on the jazz course, which Matt had been doing as well, and we built up the band. At that point, Matt wasn’t in it, but we started building up the band with friends from the music college. Eventually, we changed the other violinist for Matt, and we brought the clarinetist on board. We were quite surprised, because we were playing local cafe gigs and that kind of thing, and—it’s cheesy to say—but people would get up and start dancing. We had people get up dancing on the tables sometimes, and things like that. We thought, “Ok, we’re on to something here.” We started developing a sound around, which was maybe driven around the fact that people were dancing, and we developed this harder and louder sound.
What was your background before that, were you playing jazz?
Matt Holborn: Both me and Ben are similar in that we were both playing straight ahead jazz. That, and a bit of Django Reinhardt-type stuff. Before Tantz started, I hadn’t looked at klezmer. It was when Ben asked me to join the band that I thought, “That sounds great,” and I jumped at the chance, and started studying the music.
What was the attraction to start playing klezmer, was it just that your friend suggested it, and it seemed interesting?
Danzig: For me, like I said, I had grown up with it—I am Jewish—but I hadn’t played it that much before, apart from playing at a few friends of parents gatherings with my brother on saxophone. I jammed a couple of times with my grandad, but otherwise hadn’t played much before. It had been around in the house, and I knew that I loved this style, but I didn’t think of starting a klezmer band until our other friend suggested it. It’s addictive once you get into it. Once you start playing the tunes, it’s a lot of fun.
Does Tantz primarily play the traditional repertoire?
Danzig: Yes. We were learning songs of records. We’d listen to stuff and do research—if you could call it that—and then we would play around with it. We had the tunes, and everyone brought their different musical backgrounds [into the mix]. A wakeup call for us was a night we played in Edinburgh, called Balkanarama. It was basically a club night, and had Balkan or klezmer bands playing. We were taken aback, because we had been playing a lot of smaller cafés and pubs, and then we went up to play that night and suddenly we were on a big stage with a crowd of hundreds of people, all going absolutely crazy. They were moshing, stage diving, and we were there playing these klezmer tunes, but really loud and intense. We came off stage on a real buzz, and we moved more and more into that direction.
Your audiences are young, too, it’s not a scene of old-timers feeling nostalgic for the past.
Holborn: No, and I think that because of that we probably grew further away from being traditional, because no one was saying, “Hey, that’s not traditional.” We weren’t playing for people who knew the music. We were playing for people who didn’t know the music, it was new to them. That meant we moved away easily from playing as traditionally as we would have done, say, had we been on a circuit of klezmer aficionados. It meant that we did our own thing, which was fully positive.
Danzig: Generally, after gigs, when we talked to people, we found that they had never heard of klezmer. People had heard of Balkan beats, but nobody had heard of klezmer. People often asked us what we were playing, which is quite fun, but also slightly sad that no one had heard of this style. But it was fun playing it to people who never heard it before.
Were you playing rock clubs? Would there be, say, a heavy metal band after you?
Holborn: No, it would be more like a club night. It be in places that would, perhaps, one night have a techno night, and one night would be a rock night. The place we played in Edinburgh, Studio 24, I used to go there—both me and Ben happen to be from Edinburgh—and that place, although it’s shut down now, but I used to go there when I was a teenager to the underage metal night and mosh and smoke cigarettes and try and get with girls. Try and get with girls. Try [laughs]. We were playing in rock clubs, especially when we would go around Europe. On some of these European tours we’ve done, we’d get there and it was literally a punk club. Everything on the walls was past gig posters of obscure German punk bands, and here we were playing klezmer.
Danzig: But it is also quite nice. We played the Vienna Klezmer Festival, and we’ve also played for sit-down audiences. We go the full range, which is nice. We at least try and adapt our set to the gig. We played Pizza Express in Holborn in London, which was one of the last gigs we were doing before Corona, and that’s everyone sitting down at tables having beer and a pizza. It’s always a very different vibe. I also think on those kind of gigs we open the songs up a lot more. On the bigger stages, like at rock clubs and festivals—we’ve played a lot of festivals—and we have quite a strict set. On the more intimate gigs, it’s really nice because we’re able to play around even more, and improvise, or some of the instruments drop out and we take the tunes in different directions. We were also doing this thing called the Rural Tour Scheme, where we were getting placed in towns and villages that normally wouldn’t have access to lots of different live music. The way the scheme worked was that they would list us as part of a menu, and places like village halls and churches could chose to have us play there. We were playing to audiences that often weren’t getting up and dancing. Very much sit down audiences, often people over 70, and we’d adapt to that kind of crowd.
How do you approach the klezmer repertoire? Do you treat the songs like jazz songs, using the melody as a head, followed by solos, or does it not work that way?
Holborn: In klezmer, it’s often not head-solo-head, although there are things like a doina, for example, which is an improvised slow section before any sort of pulse arrives. Listening to it, it does make sense to jazz-it a bit and give it solo sections. We started with that, because that’s what you do with a tune as a jazz player. That’s how we learned.
Danzig: It seemed to work, but we broke out of that form as well. We didn’t stick with the head-solo-head format, but there was always improvisation, or at least always an improvisational part that we put into every tune.
The klezmer festival scene is pretty vibrant, have you done a lot of those?
Danzig: We did Vienna Klezmer Festival, and we did another few as well. We did Klezmer in the Park in London. We played Limud, which is a massive Jewish conference that happens in Britain every year showcasing different things that have something to do with Judaism. We played there a few times. But we’ve also played our fair amount of Bar Mitzvahs and weddings and things like that. There’s always been a mix, as well as lots of club nights, festivals, and we play for many non-Jewish audiences as well.
Have you checked out the Radical Jewish Culture scene in New York? Your music doesn’t venture into the avant-garde, although there is a punk energy to what you’re doing.
Holborn: I really like John Zorn’s Masada stuff. I probably did take a bit of inspiration from the Masada string thing, and I am really into Mark Feldman, the violinist who played with them. But with us, what’s funny is we got really heavy—we got super-heavy—but it’s not like we’re into heavy music. You listen sometimes and you think, “This is quite punk,” but I don’t think any of us are really into punk. We just decided, “Forget it, let’s go for it”—and went for it, which I guess is the epitome of punk. But please don’t quote me as saying that we are punk, because I don’t think we are [laughs].
Danzig: It’s a funny question, because it’s not something we’ve really questioned that much. But looking back on it, it’s not like we were coming from punk or rock backgrounds, it just happened. We got louder and heavier, and often faster.
Holborn: It’s the drummers. They think they’re not into punk and metal, but they are. All drummers [secretly] like heavy metal.
Danzig: We would come off stage on a proper buzz, drenched in sweat, and we whipped ourselves up into a frenzy. We whipped the crowd into a frenzy as well. There’s something about it that is addictive. It definitely wasn’t a planned thing, and didn’t really fit with any of our musical backgrounds, but seemed to happen, and because it was so much fun, we just went with it.
Do you ever jump off stage into the crowd?
Holborn: I image Arran Kent, our clarinetist, has. Arran is most excitable person in the band.
Danzig: I don’t think Arran has ever crowd-surfed, but he used to jump off the stage at least once every gig. He bought himself a radio mic for his clarinet, which means that he’s not plugged into anything. He’s got a little pack on his waist, and he’s got freedom to run about the stage. We developed a bit of thing, where we play “Broyges Tantz,” and we get everybody into a circle. The idea is to get everybody doing a hora, although the messier it gets, the harder it is to get everyone doing a proper hora, but at least everybody is in a circle dancing. Arran would jump off stage into the middle of the crowd with his clarinet, and that was like his moment. We speed the tune up and up, and the circle gets faster and faster, until it becomes mayhem. Somehow, he manages every time to find his way back through the crowd onto the stage. There were definitely some hairy moments where he almost knocked people out, or tripped over something on the stage, and fell flat on his face, but he always somehow managed.
What distinguishes klezmer from other Eastern European musics? What gives it its particular flavor?
Holborn: With a lot of folk music styles, it’s about the inflections or ornaments that are played. It’s not just that, but there are similarities between klezmer and say, Roma music from Romania or Bulgaria. There are harmonic similarities, they use a lot of the same scales, and a lot of the rhythms are quite similar. But it’s about the ornamentation, and even then, if you were to write down, for example, a krecht [which could be translated as a little sob], which is one type of klezmer ornamentation, if you were to write it down and put it next to something similar in a Romanian style, it would be very similar. It’s just the way that they’re played. It seems like in klezmer, a lot of the time these ornaments are emulating the human voice. But on a violin, you have to play it in a certain way, and stop your bow in a certain way, to give it that feel or sound. I find it interesting listening to that, and then listening to Romanian music. They play the same thing in a different way. It’s exactly the same harmonically, if you write it down to give to a classical musician, they would play both exactly the same, but the actual ornaments give you a completely different sound.
Danzig: It depends what you mean. We did a lot of transcribing, and a lot of listening to bands. We started with more modern bands, and moved further back: Klemorim and Moishe’s Bagel, and then Dave Tarras and Naftule Brandwein, and also old recordings, and a few playlists I listened to on Spotify that don’t have the name of the bands mentioned at all. I was transcribing it and playing it. I never looked at it in a particularly academic way, or went in to study it in an academic way. I wouldn’t be able to lecture on the forms or the scales used too much. I listened to it and learned to emulate it on guitar, which is a weird thing as well, because you don’t have guitar in most klezmer bands.
Does klezmer have chord changes, or is it more of a modal approach?
Danzig: There are chord changes, and often very similar forms around the I IV and V, and going to the major in the bridge. I personally struggle with—I am scared to say this in an interview—but I’ve always felt like the major section is a bit of a let down. Something I find so beautiful about klezmer is that minor sound. I compare it somewhat to New Orleans music, in that it can be so joyous but so sad at the same time. With klezmer, the way we’re playing it is very upbeat and very in people’s faces, but with that really sad minor sound. Then you get to the B section, which often goes to major—the happy part of the tune—and I struggle with how to make that section not sound super-cheesy. I think the band as a whole, when arranging the songs, struggles with that. Somehow it works if you’re playing more traditionally, but as soon as you start arranging it, it [becomes problematic].
Holborn: I would say it is often modal to some degree, it’s often based on different modes of the harmonic minor scale, and the chords usually fit within that.
A lot of people embrace this music as a way of embracing their Jewish identity. Have you found that at your shows? Do people speak to you after your set and talk about how it reminds them of their grandparents or the sound of the old country?
Danzig: Honestly, not that much. I’ve spoken to a lot of Jewish people who have never heard of klezmer, and in that way, yes, listening to us was a way to be introduced to klezmer. But was that a gateway to exploring their Jewish heritage or culture? I am not really sure. I feel like more people have heard of shtetl life, and might know their family tree a bit in Eastern Europe, but not know about klezmer or the music that’s connected to those places. If someone comes to a gig and has never heard klezmer before, then we can be a gateway into exploring that music. But for us, there wasn’t this well-thought-out planned idea, or this exploration of Jewish heritage or culture, or anything academic in the slightest. It was literally enjoying the songs and the bands we were listening to, transcribing it, playing it, and doing our own take on it. It never became anything more. Also, I am the only Jewish person in the band, if anything, it would have been down to me to go down that exploration route, and I didn’t.
Photos courtesy of Tantz
How can I support the Ingathering?
Great question! Although we are planning to offer a paid tier in the future, for now, the Ingathering is completely free. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy, or free, to produce. If the spirit moves you—and why wouldn’t it?—go here and make a donation. The Ingathering is a project of Vechulai—a registered 501(c)3 tax exempt organization—which means that your contribution is tax deductible. Give ‘til it hurts!