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Review: Kroke, St George’s – ‘A powerfully uplifting force’
As a string player there is none more exquisite pain than a viola being coaxed into new depths of song, a violin soaring to unprecedented heights in the hands of a talented player.
Perhaps this is an instrumentalist’s embodiment of Schmerz, the German term for the agonising ache or yearning so often epitomised by klezmer music and revelled in by its listeners.
The sensation is certainly present in St George’s tonight, but the evening starts wholly differently.
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Warbling, piercing gracenotes of a whistle conjure images of the piper at the gates of dawn or the lark ascending, as a watchful audience is transported to the edge of a woodland with the first glimmers of light breaking through the leaves.
A Polish piskie leads us out the forest: mischievous Wila, the nature spirit of wilderness and greenery; or perhaps a Leshy, Slavic protector of the woods.
As he plays, warm undercurrents of accordion swell like the rising sun’s rays hitting a cushion of mossy grass, bruised by dancing feet.
Tentatively, with long drones and plucked strings, the players stretch their limbs, working out the kinks and feeling for the kind of day to come.
Then the viola hits its stride like the first flash of brilliant sun burning the last haze from the day and we are off, his fast runs and dazzling flourishes soaring up into the stratosphere while the accordionist and electric double bassist flanking him look on expressionless as the trio hit a bar in unison, colliding in melody for a few beats before veering off wildly again on their own parallel journeys.
It’s a breathless start to tonight’s audience with Kroke, a renowned and longstanding Polish klezmer outfit, and it’s just the beginning of a show that is nuanced and playful; it’s brimful of joy and jaw-dropping talent, real wit and an abundance of that all-important Schmerz.
The viola player’s presence is such that a jaunty intro combined with one raised eyebrow and a bow flourish makes the crowd fall about with laughter – before they are awed back into pindrop silence by the casually dazzling musicianship once again.
Accordion solos are idiosyncratic, reticent and coy, yet offer up a slow-burn sense of musical magic moving from mood to jazz to sizzling klezmer riffage.
Likewise, when a spotlight is shone on the bass the playing appears evocative yet understated, breathtaking tension building until, finally, a release that leaves the crowd gasping for air in amazement.
Each of these players is magnificent, but it cannot be denied it is the viola player – our Polish piskie leading us on a merry dance – that cradles the show in the palm of his hand, toying with harmonics as if ribbons of gossamer, long sumptuous strokes contrasted with blindingly fast melodies that threaten to carry us away into the realm beyond.
On the rare occasions it is employed, his voice adds an entirely new dimension to these sound tapestries, unearthly vocals ringing out tenderly or wailing full blooded, honest and heartfelt, achingly poignant.
With no knowledge of Kroke’s back catalogue and only a passing familiarity with the tradition, for this reviewer songs tumble out, one after another, as soundscapes with scraps of melody and rare snippets of voice echoing out or punctuating with a gruff ‘Opa!’ or ‘Oy!’
Endless syncopations and cross-rhythms resolve perfectly. We are swept along by a dizzying array of varying time signatures, styles and wild solos that break away and canter for the hills without looking back.
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Apparently these first lot of tunes, we’re told, are ‘evergreens’, performed to celebrate the group’s return to England after 16 or 17 years.
That’s half the time they’ve been a band: “33 years I have to stand these guys,” jokes the accordionist, tonight’s spokesperson.
They’re grateful to have been “almost everywhere” in that time – “It’s a great privilege – travelling for musicians is like bread for eating or water for drinking, we couldn’t live without it.”
This artistic digestion comes through in the music – their last album Loud Silence, released four years ago, “accidentally” includes an element of another culture in every song, they say, and their rendition of Magic Day from that record is an epic journey that starts with each instrument played percussively – including vocal sounds, which are looped to create a scratchy percussive bed – before the viola is expertly plucked, microtonally, with a pick, rendering it an effective North African oud.
The 17 minute set closer passes as in a dream.
After a break, the trio whip through a couple of film scores and a few klezmer standards before ending on a huge emotion-busting, heartstring-tugging solo worthy of Bon Jovi, and the floor starts to vibrate through our feet.
Following a standing ovation they embark on a stunning rendition of Adje Jano which inspires a second ovation as they close for the night.
In the week of the announcement of a secomd cancellation of a Jewish gig in Bristol, it is easy to imagine a deeper sense of meaning to be found in this music which is so often passionate, mournful, heartrending.
But Kroke run the gamut of emotions and there is so much joy here, from the spirit of the music and players to the smattering of words shared with a mesmerised and delighted audience.
This extraordinary display of musicianship has united band and audience alike, proving a powerfully uplifting force for cultural sharing and emotional connection.
We’ve been whisked away to another realm, escaping the mundane and profane for a magical place where we are kept company by the music of the spheres and a shared dance of wild abandon.
The last strains of music dying away, we may have landed back in reality but we leave the venue floating on air, buoyed by a new sense of what is possible in the world.
All photos: Ursula Billington
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