Two recent shows at the Skirball Cultural Center have left me mightily impressed with their programming. Nestled in the hills just north of the Getty, the Skirball cultural center has a small auditorium perfect for intimate shows; the only drawback is the fake trees they have lined up onstage. That’s ok though, because Keren Ann and Pierre Bensusan left me speechless.
Keren Ann 5/11/06
After battling traffic on the 110, 10 and 405 freeways (one hour from the Eastside!), I was almost ready to throw in the towel. The show was already underway and we grabbed some open seats in the back. Usually my freeway migraines last about an hour but as soon as I sat down my anger dissipated as I entered the melancholy world of Israeli-born, Paris-raised Keren Ann. Accompanied by Avishai Cohen on trumpet and Daniel Freedman on drums, they created a heady cabaret of songs in French and English. I only had to close my eyes and Paris conjured itself immediately while my memory of being a parasite in the intestinal freeways of L.A. faded away.
Keren Ann is somewhere in the realm of
Mazzy Star and the Cowboy Junkies along with
Tom Waits-style jazz and la belle
Francoise Hardy. Her voice is velvet and her guitar-playing is so soft and graceful that I found myself leaning in to catch every chord. Along with Freedman’s trumpet they created an aura of calm and of poetry. She sings her song quietly, almost whispering, and there’s absolutely no indie posing here. From “Que n’ai je?” and "Spanish Bird Song" to “Not going anywhere”, "Jardin d'hiver" and "End of May" and her songs are otherworldly and emotionally fierce. Her lush soundscape easily transports.
As we walked out after the show a cloud of fog enveloped us, very a propos….
Pierre Bensusan 3/30/06
Though I had some misgivings about the title of his show “Fretloose: The Guitar Across Cultures and Styles”, I was intrigued. Sitting in the front row was the best thing we could have done. To be able to watch a master for a few hours. To see how an acoustic guitar becomes much more than an instrument but a messenger of cultures and traditions and of love (and no, I’m not a hippie). To say French-Algerian Bensusan is a virtuoso or a genius doesn’t begin to describe him.
Watching him is a total experience. He took us from Paris to the Andes back through the Middle East, with some hints of Africa and all the while bringing jazz scat singing into the fold. It was surreal, his ability to create a unique sound that encompasses the world in so many soundscapes.
So here we are (me, an American born to Yugoslavian parents and my husband, born and raised in Mexico City) in Los Angeles in a Jewish cultural center listening to a French Algerian. Now, I don’t normally cry at concerts but when Bensusan sang Demain dès l’aube… (Tomorrow at dawn…), a poem from 19th century French poet Victor Hugo that speaks of grief, it was too much. Suddenly I was transported back to my time in college in the Midwest, when my favorite French professor, a Quebecois by the name of Jean-Luc Garneau recited it to us in class. Months later I found myself in Paris at the Place des Vosges, sitting on a bench and staring at the former home of Hugo. Bensusan’s singing was soulful, perfectly capturing the true essence of the poem and adding a musical element to that I never thought possible: he made a perfect poem a perfect song.
When musicians come to town from far away and share their heart by way of their instrument, immediately they become neighbors and friends. Pierre Bensusan is that kind of musician.
