Amir’s drumming on his debut album, House Of Arches, is a sinuous and surefooted old tree, digging its braided roots into a sun-bleached, crumbling sidewalk. His percussive patterns are diverse and dynamically performed, motivating an infectious dance with their intricate polyrhythms. Each rhythmic phrase narrates the same story from adjacent perspectives, converging into the same point, combining into an undulating, cohesive body.
Running along the tree’s bark are grooves with subtle nuances: the drum’s dynamic volumes and diverse timbers. Along the trunk, jazz rhythms are interwoven with Middle Eastern melodies, forming complex knurls of wood. As the drums shift their sound from softly meditative to rambunctiously dissonant passages, the tree’s limbs shift their shape from slow curves to fast-paced switchbacks, forming angular elbows.
Beyond the tree resides a harlequin constellation of vines, flowers, and neighboring trees: Amir’s friends, who, despite the pandemic, were determined to reunite and create music; together, a symbiotic and harmonious mix of life, inhabiting the Israeli Coastal Plain boarding the Mediterranean Sea. Their unrepressed spirits flourish on the introduction, “Mole’s Pirouette,” as they perform with exuberance: grape bunches burst forth over Nomok’s clinking keys; wild pea flowers flaunt themselves to Rejoicer’s burbling bass; a ramage rustles to Amir’s dogged drumming. As the bass and drums tiptoe to a sinister drone on “Landing and Parking,” a vine stalks its prey along the tree trunk, hungry for any sunshine that passes through its rhythmic passages. Amir, who plays all instruments on “The Dance Of The Messors,” is perfectly locked into his own groove; an accompanying field of wild grass ripples in perfect synchrony with the tree’s branches as a warm breeze blows across the surrounding plains. On “House of Arches,” the keyboardist, Rejoicer, hangs bright blue and purple flowers across the surrounding branches, producing gentle soundscapes that adorn the wind with a lovely scent. The following track, “Despite All,” features a declarative chorus and many interesting interludes; however, it’s the trumpet player, Sefi Zisling, who steals the show: exposing radiant red flowers through the remaining pockets of soil left by the tree’s roots. The closing song, “Bir Tawil,” spotlights a neighboring golden rain tree, boldly protruding its flowers; its vocal tremors pierce through the surrounding colors with a bright, golden fervor.
After the album ends, the surrounding vegetation becomes less vibrant, and the breeze dies down. A contemplative quiet falls across the landscape. Playing the album again, though, reanimates the scene: the trees regain their composure, the flowers perk up, and the oceanic breeze starts anew. As the performers’ voices collectively contribute to the beauty-laden album, the trees bear fruit, and the birds carry the seeds of those songs further inland, to desolate locations. The seeds are dispersed, buried under loamy soil, eager to germinate and let their sounds and styles enliven their new homes.