notes from the nice side of the fence

This interview was originally posted in Hebrew on 28/5/09 by Leehee Rothschild.

Shahaf Ifhar performs singing and playing the piano in clubs across the country, and has already released a studio album independently. In his shows he combines original material with unique cover versions. I met him for a chat about his second album, “A Philosophy of Freedom”, music, and identities.

How would you define your style of music?

I like the idea of a song-teller, or the narrative element in song, because I feel that’s a very comfortable place to sit in. That borderline between poetry and music, that is what happens when I perform. Inside this huge genre generally referred to as popular music, which really started with folk music, the idea of communicating pieces of history in a way that did not require the people to be literate, that’s always really appealed to me. I feel that I and many other musicians are really working in that same stream. It’s part court jester and part lowbrow historian.

What influence would you like your music to have on people?

That has two sides to it. When I write I try to do that with no goals, so I keep the world out. But if I’m honest, then yes, when I collected the songs for this project I did hope to use these fragments from several characters to build some kind of mirror people could use. In the same way that I used music when I was growing up. Beyond that, when I walk into the studio with the songs I’d written I do have the goal of creating something that would sonically become like a body of water, something you can dive into - because that is the music I love, the kind of music that would have me reach for my wallet in a music store. So, there has to be a kind of an expanse. There are many ways of creating that, which as a producer I’m only just beginning to learn.

How do you feel your sexual identity influences the music you create?

With the current project it’s very clear to me how these currents are there, because the album is called “A Philosophy of Freedom”. I was very interested to look at and investigate that place of freedom, meaning where I am liberated from everything I was born into, as in sex, nationality, religion, skin colour, language, culture, and anything else. I think a part of that is the experience of being in some kind of closet. Soon after the project started I discovered that straight people had closets too. Like, if you can’t bring your Arab boyfriend home because you’re gonna get kicked out, so as far as I’m concerned, that’s your closet, and only you can know it for what it is, what it looks like, what shape it takes. I think that yes, in some cases that closet will have more of a presence and it may be clearer where it comes from and where it ends. It’s all the same subject. On the album I tried to explore that mainly through characters that are mostly not me.

Who are these characters then?

They are mostly people who belong in one way or another to a masculine gender. They are all people trapped in some kind of closet. There is, for example, that guy coming home very late, his wife already asleep and the room is dark, and she really doesn’t wanna know what parks he’s been to and what kind of guys he ran into. People cannot live in denial too long. I know I couldn’t. Not because of the politics of it, or the solidarity or education, but just because it hurts. I tried to approach these characters with a great deal of respect, because I didn’t want to be the judge. Cos I know that I too have challenges that I choose to face, and others that perhaps I keep aside for later.

What are your sources of inspiration?

Anyone who’s ever taught me I couldn’t do something. That is a very liberating attitude to me, because I could have called it ‘oppression’, but I think the word ‘oppression’ implies that my freedom depends on other people, and today that is not my experience. I think that in many cases in life people have simply told me what they thought should or shouldn’t be, and I believed them. And I think when you enter this space of creation, then in many ways it’s the ideal place to process the ways in which this thing is done, and it’s very hard to lie to yourself at that point.

What do you try to achieve when you go on stage?

Taking stage is not the most natural situation to be in. I have to keep checking why I do it, because as far as I’m concerned there are only two options. If on any level I believe that what I need is to win a Grammy and sell a million copies, then in that moment the music becomes my whore, cos I’m using it to get something that I think I need. And I would always rather be a whore to the music. When I perform and go on stage then the way I see it, I’m a whore to the music. And by that I don’t mean to cheapen that profession. I give myself over completely to sound, and when it works it’s better than the best sex I have ever had.

So do you have any professional ambitions?

To be able to perform when I like and to be able to record when I like, and I’m not entirely there. As far as my dreams go, I fulfilled my biggest dream the first time I played live, because it doesn’t really matter whether there are 5 people there or 5000. So as time goes by and I keep doing what I do, I rid myself of more and more illusions, about the profession and about art… Illusions as to what the money, approval and admiration of other people might bring me. The way I think of it is, after a few years of performing you realize that even if you sell out Carnegie Hall, at the end of the night you still go to sleep alone, and even when you go to bed with someone, you still go to sleep alone, in that moment of falling asleep, and you wake up alone. If through the music I’m trying to finally gain that rest and peace we all want so badly, it’ll just slap me in the face again and again, until I understand that it doesn’t come from there. I think we always have it and we only think it’s missing, that peace.

I just cut the locks at the back of my head, and now I look more like the Republican Gay that at least one of my friends takes me to be. I think it was a beer-related incident:

“you don’t drink Goldstar? oh my god, you’re such a republican gay!”

I’m sorry, I know it’s locally brewed but it’s the worst beer I’ve ever tasted. 

as this operation involved broom and dustpan, I continued from hair in the bathroom to the mud on mom’s marbles, all the way from Abed’s land in Jerusalem. we planted some olive trees and had a great lunch. there are usually jokes cracked at the vegan tendencies of many of the Israeli volunteers, but this time the atmosphere was a bit solemn due to the Israeli attacks on gaza. some of us have family members trapped there, unable to seek refuge from oncoming missiles or flee past the border into either Israel or Egypt. trapped. butchered.

from Abed’s, we drive down to Tel Aviv again for the big anti-war/pro-peace demonstration. I meet my little family of friends in the anarchist block, last and loudest to march, complete with an unrelenting drum section. I am full of gratitude for friends I’ve made this past year in Tel Aviv. beautiful, amazing people, each and every one. 

nearing the cinematheque, I find myself hungry and tired. I want to sit down and eat, but more than that I want to keep dancing to the drums. I need a drug. I go for coke. I walk past the police line, spotting a shop nearby. men wrapped in Israeli flags await me there. they don’t look pleased to see me.

“are you one of them?!”, this guy screams in my face. I tell him I’m one of me (this sounds cleverer in Hebrew I must say), and keep walking. this is proof enough for him that I am The Enemy. 

“guys! come over! I found a traitor! here he is, a stinking little traitor!” 

seconds later I find myself in the shop, reaching for coke, surrounded by heavy clouds of zionist hatred. they’re screaming. 

now, I promised myself when this gaza episode started that I would not join the war - I would not join any war, in fact, not in body, speech, action or even thought. it can be tempting, sometimes. we all know. anger is a very potent energy, especially around the dinner table when the stakes are not this high. but now, I remind myself - no war. they’re not making it easy. 

“you fucking traitor! you dirty motherfucker! why don’t you demonstrate for Sderot?! where the fuck were you then?! dirty nazi! go get fucked by your arab friends, traitor!” 

as I take out my wallet to pay for my coke, one of them shouts at the shopkeeper to not take my dirty money and takes out his own wallet. 

“you’re going to buy me a coke?”, I ask. that’s so generous of him, in a warped kind way. but he doesn’t come through, and a policeman grabs me and asks me to get the hell out of there. it was one of those rare moments in life where I find my gratitude extending to the presence of the Israeli police force. I walk back to the demonstration, not before casually being kicked at as the yelling continues. no serious damages.

I have a friend who says “how can I put it” a lot. I always like it when she does that, because of the way she averts her eyes and puts on a hint of a grin, in anticipation of her own witticism. it will be like “how can I put it… let’s just say he wouldn’t know a veggie burger if you shoved one up his ass!”. we laugh.

so how-can-I-put-its can be very useful sometimes, especially if you’re afflicted to the bone with the delicate art of British Understatement, as I like to think of myself being.

I was reminded of all of this when I started thinking about a certain person whose premises I used to frequent, for purposes my older and married sister would deem (and has deemed) completely illicit. a colleague at work introduced us, we met, sat down, I ate - and before he could finish saying “so… what do your parents do?” I knew in my heart that, sweet as we both were, this would never work. there wasn’t, as such, a complete sentence in my mind that I felt I would want to communicate to him. that said, he was very nice to look at.

so I did what I almost never do: I told him exactly what I thought. it so happened that he came back with “yeah, I kinda dig that too.”

3 months later. it has been a satisfying arrangement. but suddenly the costs of taxiing across town at 1am seem to outweigh the orgasms. I consult.

“I don’t know, it’s just like, the last time I was over at his - I don’t know why, I just felt like a piece of meat. we’d had really hot sex up till then.”

“how long has your thing together been going on?”

“three months.”

“well, of course, it’s the three months thing. everybody knows it takes three months for a good fuck buddy to lose flavour.”

my Everybody Knows Friend was right. she often is. I was amazed - was this biological fact? astrological perhaps? summer blues? I mean, nothing has essentially changed, and yet, it’s just not exciting anymore.

but ah. suddenly I remembered a crucial turn-off point. I may have repressed our ideological differences, faint as they could be seen through a thick veil of small-talk, for the sake of makeshift sensuality and a hard body. I mean, what would you have done:

“of course, if they had a pill for gays to take to become straight, then everyone would take it.”

I can’t remember if I was taking my socks on or off when this little pearl landed at my feet. it should have been on.

“oh really? you mean to say, you would have taken it?”

“well yeah, think about it. everything would have been easier that way. you wouldn’t have had to suffer or.. you know.”

this was a perfect no-I-don’t-know-why-don’t-you-extrapulate-asshole moment, but I chose patience instead.

“but you know, taken to its logical conclusion, this can only mean the best thing is for everyone to be the same. and ideas like that haven’t exactly been working out in human history. I mean, kids can come down on you hard as ginger, let alone gay. would you rather dye your kid’s hair black so they can go to school, or help create a safe environment where they will be respected as an individual?”

“… yeah, I guess you’re right. I mean, I wouldn’t want kids anyway.”

yeah. well, how can I put it - it’s a good thing no one’s gonna force you to have ‘em.