ראיון באנגלית משנת 89
אנשים שעת לילה מאוחרת ומצאתי מאמר על סי משנת 89 לעיונכם. Si Hi-Man: Tel Aviv Interview 1989 By LARRY YUDELSON TEL AVIV--The Israeli girl in the London classroom was clearly uncomfortable, but the teacher would not relent. "No, Si, you can´t be excused from Religious Education," she said. "And let´s talk some more about how your people crucified our Lord." One day Si Hi-Man would find an outlet for her pain in rock ´n roll. But as a child, not yet 12, Si could barely hold back her tears. She had lived in London for three years, and she hated it. Her classmates beat her up and called her "dirty Jew," and now her teacher was doing the same. She wanted to go home, back to Israel, back to her kibbutz - - and this time her parents were going to have to listen. Si rose to her feet and blurted out one sentence to her classmates: "If you checked the blood of all this class, you´d realize-- to your deepest astonishment--that it´s the same color." 17 years later, Si Hi-Man´s appeals for brotherhood may brand her "Arab lover," not "defender of the Jews," but she hasn´t backed down. Today, though, she is no longer a little girl with a trembling voice; she is a singer-songwriter with her own band, and she has distilled her convictions--and her childhood pain and loneliness--into two best- selling albums. Lady Sings The Blues As Si -- dressed in blue jeans, black tee shirt and denim vest -- plays to a mostly-teenage Jerusalem audience of 400 on a recent Saturday night, both the self assurance and alienation of her childhood outburst show clearly. At first, she seems to play for herself and for the band, her love of the music and rapport with her fellow musicians obvious but the connection to the audience slow to form. She moves for the music, doubling over to bellow a bluesy solo on the harmonica, but stands almost ramrod straight as she sings, definatly raising her fist for emphasis. Even when the audience draws her out, when she makes eye contact and feels free enough for her body to flow with the rhytm, Tina Turner´s dirty dancing is not her style. The audience knows her old songs by heart and listens attentively to the new ones. The Hebrew lyrics interweave political and sexual warfare in a style reminiscent of Tracy Chapman, but while the Grammy winner filed haunting dispatches from the American urban underclass, Si Hi-Man reminds Israelis of their own bitter truths, that "on a clear day you can see from Tel Aviv to Beirut." She started out singing in the clubs of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv and soon hooked up with Local Band, a basic four-piece rock ensemble. They struggled for years, developing their talents and finding a following. Si didn´t fit into the world of Israeli pop music, where a woman´s place was singing other people´s beautiful -- and non- threatening -- songs backed by pleasant music. Not until 1987 did Si win a recording contract for her own rock ´n roll, when she issued Si Hi-Man and Local Band to widespread popularity. But one song, released the following year, made her name a household word and attracted the attention of the music world abroad. Si saves it for the second half of the concert and her fans greet the opening chords with restrained, respectful applause. A few light matches and wave them back and forth as they´ve seen in videos of Led Zeppelin concerts. Hi-Man´s signature ballad cuts deeper than "Stairway to Heaven," the British band´s heavy metal paean to adolescent mysticism and anti-materialism. The power of her song comes not from the percussion -- she accompanies herself on guitar, though her vocals could carry the song alone -- but the lyrics. She sings, with a husky voice more urgent than beautiful, of boys who play with lead and girls with steel dolls, of danger and dread, of the oppressive shadow that has changed everything in the Arab street cleaner´s village and broken through her window in Tel Aviv. "Shooting and Crying" is the premiere song about the intifada. Played in concert, it lets the audience, many just shy of draft age, share communally in the frustration blurring into despair of the past two years: "It doesn´t matter at all who will be the victor now The world I had is no more The great light has been turned off. "They shoot and they cry. They burn and they laugh," she sings, with more anguish than anger. "When did we learn to bury people alive? When did we forget we too had children killed?" Si´s restatement of her childhood credo did not win universal applause. Army Radio, whose hip popular music programming attracts civilian listeners across the country, declared the song an insult to the country´s soldiers and barred it from the air. ....יש המשך... אבל כלזה לקוח מהאתר "רדיו חזק"
אנשים שעת לילה מאוחרת ומצאתי מאמר על סי משנת 89 לעיונכם. Si Hi-Man: Tel Aviv Interview 1989 By LARRY YUDELSON TEL AVIV--The Israeli girl in the London classroom was clearly uncomfortable, but the teacher would not relent. "No, Si, you can´t be excused from Religious Education," she said. "And let´s talk some more about how your people crucified our Lord." One day Si Hi-Man would find an outlet for her pain in rock ´n roll. But as a child, not yet 12, Si could barely hold back her tears. She had lived in London for three years, and she hated it. Her classmates beat her up and called her "dirty Jew," and now her teacher was doing the same. She wanted to go home, back to Israel, back to her kibbutz - - and this time her parents were going to have to listen. Si rose to her feet and blurted out one sentence to her classmates: "If you checked the blood of all this class, you´d realize-- to your deepest astonishment--that it´s the same color." 17 years later, Si Hi-Man´s appeals for brotherhood may brand her "Arab lover," not "defender of the Jews," but she hasn´t backed down. Today, though, she is no longer a little girl with a trembling voice; she is a singer-songwriter with her own band, and she has distilled her convictions--and her childhood pain and loneliness--into two best- selling albums. Lady Sings The Blues As Si -- dressed in blue jeans, black tee shirt and denim vest -- plays to a mostly-teenage Jerusalem audience of 400 on a recent Saturday night, both the self assurance and alienation of her childhood outburst show clearly. At first, she seems to play for herself and for the band, her love of the music and rapport with her fellow musicians obvious but the connection to the audience slow to form. She moves for the music, doubling over to bellow a bluesy solo on the harmonica, but stands almost ramrod straight as she sings, definatly raising her fist for emphasis. Even when the audience draws her out, when she makes eye contact and feels free enough for her body to flow with the rhytm, Tina Turner´s dirty dancing is not her style. The audience knows her old songs by heart and listens attentively to the new ones. The Hebrew lyrics interweave political and sexual warfare in a style reminiscent of Tracy Chapman, but while the Grammy winner filed haunting dispatches from the American urban underclass, Si Hi-Man reminds Israelis of their own bitter truths, that "on a clear day you can see from Tel Aviv to Beirut." She started out singing in the clubs of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv and soon hooked up with Local Band, a basic four-piece rock ensemble. They struggled for years, developing their talents and finding a following. Si didn´t fit into the world of Israeli pop music, where a woman´s place was singing other people´s beautiful -- and non- threatening -- songs backed by pleasant music. Not until 1987 did Si win a recording contract for her own rock ´n roll, when she issued Si Hi-Man and Local Band to widespread popularity. But one song, released the following year, made her name a household word and attracted the attention of the music world abroad. Si saves it for the second half of the concert and her fans greet the opening chords with restrained, respectful applause. A few light matches and wave them back and forth as they´ve seen in videos of Led Zeppelin concerts. Hi-Man´s signature ballad cuts deeper than "Stairway to Heaven," the British band´s heavy metal paean to adolescent mysticism and anti-materialism. The power of her song comes not from the percussion -- she accompanies herself on guitar, though her vocals could carry the song alone -- but the lyrics. She sings, with a husky voice more urgent than beautiful, of boys who play with lead and girls with steel dolls, of danger and dread, of the oppressive shadow that has changed everything in the Arab street cleaner´s village and broken through her window in Tel Aviv. "Shooting and Crying" is the premiere song about the intifada. Played in concert, it lets the audience, many just shy of draft age, share communally in the frustration blurring into despair of the past two years: "It doesn´t matter at all who will be the victor now The world I had is no more The great light has been turned off. "They shoot and they cry. They burn and they laugh," she sings, with more anguish than anger. "When did we learn to bury people alive? When did we forget we too had children killed?" Si´s restatement of her childhood credo did not win universal applause. Army Radio, whose hip popular music programming attracts civilian listeners across the country, declared the song an insult to the country´s soldiers and barred it from the air. ....יש המשך... אבל כלזה לקוח מהאתר "רדיו חזק"