In the old days, songs were song or played on a melodic instrument, like flute or fiddle. They may or may not have been accompanied by strums on a harp, guitar, or something similar. If they were rhythmic, they might be accompanied by tapping or pounding on a table, or striking or shaking any number of percussion instruments. In any case, harmony and percussion supported melody; they did not replace it.

But today definitions have changed. Perhaps it’s due to the avant-garde that regarded any noise as music. Maybe it comes from cultures that danced to drums without melody. Maybe our noisy cities have influenced an urban generation to consider industrial noise to be the backdrop for their emotional self-expression.

Not being young and urban, I am not particularly drawn to this form of expression. Obviously, many others are; if not, we wouldn’t have such popular genres today as “industrial,” “dubstep”, “DnB”, “tekno,” etc. Music software manufacturers now emphasize “loops” and “construction kits”, making it easier to create music by cutting and pasting phrases and cliches based on genre, to make sure making music is easy and accessible to everyone. You can create your next masterpiece on your iPhone, sitting on the subway, inspired by all the urban noise around you.

Folk music, where melody is the predominant element, is all but dead on the charts. After its massive popularity in the ’60s and ’70s, fueling the counter-cultural revolution, seems to have virtually disappeared, retreated to campfires and summer camps. Youth today demands something more visceral, more energetic. Melody is old hat.

As the proud recipient of a rich folk music tradition, which we call “Jewish,” the trend disturbs me, not only because I fear for its neglect and possible extinction. I grieve for the lost inspiration that those melodies provide. A great melody is uplifting; it nourishes the soul in a unique way. Rather than imitating the most annoying aspects of the environment, this simple string of musical pitches lifted us out of our mundane lives and into a dimension where the intangible was real. We connected to it emotionally and spiritually; we couldn’t get it out of heads. And every time we recalled it, it brought back those same emotions again.

Where will we find these melodies, these gifts that remind us of man’s higher source? It seems, mainly in the works of the past, when melody was honored and respected. If so, so be it: let’s revive the past. If we’re incapable of creating new melodies, let’s dig up the old ones.

Personally, I haven’t given up on creating new melodies, but I also realize the value in reviving and preserving old ones, because like it or not, that is where the hidden treasures lie. Our own tradition has sifted and filtered melodies for hundreds of years, and those that have survived should be recorded and transmitted in a way that future generations can know them and appreciate them. If we  study them and treat them as the foundation, as opposed as an outmoded relic of the past, then we have a chance of continuing that tradition into the future.

Check out my albums for some examples of the great melodies of our tradition.

1) It must be memorable. Great melodies are not simply constructed from cliche phrases. They are a gift from above. You don’t forget them. They last a lifetime.

2) It doesn’t need words. You can sing it without words, or with different words, and it’s just as memorable. This is very common in Chassidic music; niggunim are matched with any words that fit the rhythm and the mood.

3) It doesn’t need a specific harmony. This is a little tricky, since some melodies are linked to a specific chord progression (like Pachelbel’s Canon), and most melodies strongly imply particular chords, but usually a melody is not tied to a specific harmony; it can be changed without affecting the intrinsic melody too drastically.

4) It doesn’t show its age; it’s as fresh today as when it was originally conceived. Great melodies can be hundreds of years old and still retain their popularity.

Such is it with many of the great Chassidic niggunim. Many of them were composed by the rebbes themselves, and are deep and complex enough to go far beyond the typical folk tune. On my album “Songs of the Tzaddikim,” I have captured several of these and given them an expansive orchestration that helps to bring out the power that lies within them.

The first song on the player at the right is a perfect example. Composed almost two hundred years ago by R. Moshe of Kubrin, one of the great Lithuanian rebbes of the early 19th century, it’s beauty is truly timeless. Listen to “Koh Echsof” and let me know what you think.

As I mentioned in my page about the album, the use of music for therapeutic purposes, to heal depression and stress, was perhaps first recorded in the Bible’s account of the shepherd David playing harp for King Shaul, long before he himself became king. But the very occupation of shepherding usually involved plenty of solitary time for reflection, often involving playing music or singing. An entire Chassidic genre called the “Voloch” was based on the reflective shepherd’s song, beginning slowly in a recitative, unstructured melody, eventually working into a more rhythmic form, either slow or faster. The Lubavitch voloch “Nigun Ga’aguim” from the “Old Jewish Songs of Russia/Ukraine” is an example of this.

The “Meditations” album is a full hour of such unstructured melody. Although it started as an accompaniment for therapy sessions, contains some beautiful melodic material, and deserves to be listened to for its musical value as well, not just as background music. So no matter how you listen to it, it’s bound to be an uplifting experience.

I think this seeming contradiction gives us a great inspiration for life in general, especially for the religious musician. On the one hand, we must achieve a level of trust in G-d similar to a baby’s trust in its mother – that trust is total and absolute. Why is a baby calmed by lying in its mother’s arms, despite having been so agitated a few minutes before? It’s obviously because it feels completely at rest, loved and cared for. This is the level of trust in G-d that we strive for, as Dovid several times in Tehillim (Psalms) compares himself to a baby nursing from its mother, the ultimate expression of total reliance and security. Like a child, when learning to swim, must relax and trust the instructor who’s holding her up, that she won’t drown, despite her intrinsic fear of the water – the danger is real, but that’s the test of trust. If she never lets go, she’ll never learn to swim.

Yet although this consciousness is extremely calming and reassuring, it doesn’t anesthetize us to life’s struggles. We still react emotionally to the turbulence that confronts us over and over. Judaism does not encourage the kind of escape mentality of some eastern disciplines, where the goal is to lose one’s individuality to become at one with the cosmos. We participate fully in life, but we realize that only way to retain our “yishuv hadaas,” or mental clarity, is realize our powerlessness and rely totally on the Creator. We still cry out when we’re in need, but it’s not the desperation of screaming into the void; on the contrary, it’s calling out to the mother who cares for us, to rescue us from our often self-inflicted distress. Similarly, the energetic praise that comes from a deep appreciation of the wonders of life, though also involving a certain tension, comes together with a tremendous sense of being held and cared for.

That is the consciousness the musician must attain every time he approaches his instrument, or prepares to sing. It’s the letting go, the reliance that leads to relaxation, liberating the body and soul to express the deepest emotions without being hindered by fear and anxiety. He’s forced to confront this anomaly every day, and hopefully he learns to apply it to every aspect of his life.

Speaking of relaxing, that’s exactly the purpose of my album “Higayon B’Kinor – Healing for the Soul”. Check it out.

First of all, I was afraid that there would be little reason for anyone to buy an album of original nigunim by someone they had never heard of; I felt it would be easier to sell songs that stimulate interest beyond the performer alone. Thus, the Russian/Ukraine album is of historical interest, especially to those with ancestry from those areas; the Healing album was originally conceived to appeal to Jewish holistic practitioners, and the Tzaddikim album has songs composed by the true Greats of the Chassidic movement.

The other aspect is that I wanted to feel ready to record my own stuff once I was already familiar and comfortable with the recording and performing technique required to produce a professional quality product. Although I’m sure many professionals will find much to criticize in my technique, I am still quite happy with the results, and the feedback I’ve gotten from the “man on the street” has been quite positive. So for a zero-budget production, I pleased with the results. This has given me the confidence to proceed with my own stuff, as unfamiliar to the public as it is.

I’m brimming with ideas for other albums after that, but of course, I can’t continue to produce and invest the kind of time required without your support. Everyone knows how difficult it is to survive in today’s music market, especially in a niche this small, so any help I get from my “fans”, friends and family is very important. I’d like to produce 3 albums a year, not 3 over three years, and you can help by buying them, telling you friends about them, donations, even selling them to your friends for a commission. If you believe in this music as I do, I need your support. Let’s turn over the Jewish music business together!