24th November 2023, the only UK gig for Israeli enigma Asaf Avidan (and a bloody good one, too!)

I know, I know, it’s the O2 now, but, of course, it isn’t, it’s the Empire; says so in whopping great letters up near the roof. Actually, a first visit to this iconic old theatre, and who better to break my duck than Mr Avidan. Who? Well, that’s the issue, I never quite understanding how this polymath artist isn’t a household name. Which means better seats in smaller venues, so all good there, but I mean? Widely celebrated in mainland Europe and a superstar in his erstwhile homeland, Israel, he has never quite gained the traction deserved in the UK. Hazarding a guess, this may be because his voice, a peculiar and possibly acquired taste, pitched high and cracked, making all his songs seem wracked with emotion and angst. Which, frankly, they anyway are.

This tour is the first since he released album number four, Anagorisis, itself actually four years old. If that seems a fair old gap, bear in mind there have been a few distractions worldwide, what with pandemics and, gulp, wars. (We’ll get to that……) Entitled the Ichnology tour, look it up, it’s a solo show as, by and large, he doesn’t much need a band, so adept is he at the old loop pedal caper, in whose hands, and feet, other practitioners: David Ford, Kathryn Williams etc, merely look proficient. Indeed, proof of this comes with access to his between studio project albums, the Avidan In A Box live album series, of which there are three, where he eschews a band in favour of as I describe. Sure, he does band on the actual albums proper, but I guess without half the spectacle. (Note only the first two Avidan In A Box have made it to disc etc, the third requiring a streaming expedition.)

First on was young Israeli chanteuse, Shelly Archer, a piano playing singer-songwriter big in Tel Aviv, and previously a member of Avidan’s touring band. I confess I caught only a couple of songs, so insufficient to gain a full impression. Plus there was the anticipation engendered by the stage set behind her, with an armchair and a standard lamp in pole position. As she left the stage, and her keyboard was whipped away, so it became apparent there was a grand piano at rear stage right, and a stool at the front, about which several guitars were laid out. The lamp turned on, it seemed the conceit was of a gentleman’s living room. Which, as Avidan came on, in a swish and expensive-looking suit, that seemed just about right.

Starting at the piano, quickly became it clear he is an accomplished and capable player, with all sorts of classical flourishes scattered around his instantly idiosyncratic vocal. Rock Of Lazarus is the opener, a track from Anagorisis, immediately latching into core Avidan, melodramatic and moody, modish and maudlin. Followed by Lost Horse, this too, by his standards, seemed initially stripped back to just voice and piano calisthenic, but a coda of looped drums and synths gave the sheen familiar for this best exemplar of his modus operandi.

Moving to the front and the guitars, clearly he had something to say, extemporisng at length on the “situation”, commenting on the difficulty, as he has, having still some umbilical ties still to Israel. A careful and sensible speech that he found necessary, he expounded the twin horrors of first the Hamas atrocity and then the Israeli retaliation, both those compounded by the third horror of now there having to be a black and white delineation of which side you take. When it is all intrinsically grey. It isn’t for ATB to get embroiled in the politics, but his words were met with a studied applause. He then played the first of several old songs, from his days as a bona fide pop star, at home, when he was Asaf Avidan and the Mojos. Harmonica providing extra pizazz for this rawer and simpler song, his guitar play was as extravagant as his piano play. Sticking with guitar, he showed he could strum as well as pick, picking up sticks again, for the electronic drum kit, there being, conveniently, another one, tucked by his side.

A lovely set piece of theatre then followed, as he stood up and walked to the table, where a decanter and glasses also lay, adding ice to a glass, clear liquid from the decanter and more liquid from a bottle, before taking a slug. A brief preamble explained how some songs just need alcohol to inhabit the mood. “What are you drinking?” gets called out from the audience. “Gin; I’m in London, gin and tonic,” further details then offered around how life on a tour can be a little samey, so needing something to tell your Londons from your Berlins, meeting cheered approval. This then led to a frantic and frenzied blast through Over You Blues, another Mojo’s oldie. A somewhat vitriolic song, comparing his “Baby”, repeatedly, to a little puppy, ahead the reveal that sometimes she can be a real grown up bitch. An embarrassed laugh, “it was all a long time ago,” he getting away with it.

Bang Bang has a very identifiably obvious percussive pattern, so much so that, when the audience cheered, he pretended it wasn’t, improvising an alternative and clearly seeming to be having fun. But, yes, it was that song, a highlight where the mallets were the only accompaniment, coaxing all sorts of sounds from their kit. A song or two more, including the title track from that last album, then gave way to always a highlight, The Golden Calf, a song that channels pure Leonard Cohen, if a Cohen as castrati. Sticking with that mood, My Tunnels Are Long And Dark These Days, with a distinct Middle Eastern feel, that had his crowd entranced, myself included, not least as he spun off into an extraordinary vocal diversion, a suddenly perfect operatic contralto emanating from his throat. An extraordinary moment.

Time for the hit, The Reckoning (One Day), a further Mojos number that actually did bruise the UK chart, albeit in remix, the memorably titled Wankelmut remix. Stretched out over several minutes, this has him banging the bejasus out his guitar and howling at the moon, one minute sitting, then half standing, squatting, all of a fidget; it is wonderful. and you know its the end. (Plus he said it would be!) Off in the expected way, sufficient applause to make it kosher and then back. Even he comments on both the ludicrousness and legitimacy of the encore experience, being honest enough to say he finds it important to know he has pleased the audience, just as the audience need to know they have pleased him. A few more words around the importance of live music and how no tapes were harmed for this performance, how it was all him and his instruments and his gadgets. Again, he explains that last point because his delivery of the next song is so difficult that, if he makes a mistake, hey, at least it’s a live mistake. 900 days is back at the piano, with gizmos looping on all cylinders, with even the voice distort and delay working properly, allowing lower pitched backing harmonies to join his live voice, it earlier having sounded all a bit BBC radiophonic. I’ll swear the early bum note was also part of the show, such the preamble, but it was otherwise spot on, leaving the show to end with guitar and Labyrinth Song, back at the front of the stage.

What a show, what a performer, even if just my secret and that of 1,999 others.

Here’s Slow Horse from, possibly, his verandah, three years back:

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