Religious Reggae

I bet I can guess what you were thinking the first time you heard Matisyahu: "A Yiddish rapper? I don't know what the hell this guy is saying, but I can't get enough.' I can't say I was in the same position, however. As an Orthodox Jew, I knew exactly what he was saying, and that's what made it so cool. I was "in on it." He uses the Jewish terms for biblical figures — Moshe instead of Moses, Yosef instead of Joseph — sings text from the prayer service in Hebrew and even injected some Hassidic philosophy into the energetic mix.

When Matisyahu did a live show at Quad last year, it surprised me how many people were into it. It was also a little off-putting, however, to watch people grinding to the words repeated three times a day by Jews in prayer. But then I realized that the mainstream appeal isn't in the lyrics themselves — it's in the total package. Matisyahu is the ultimate anomaly.

Under the guise of reggae, in his 2005 album "Live at Subbs's" Matisyahu was able to resurrect jam band rock for the college scene with a flow so smooth and inspiring, you'd almost have sworn he was rapping.

Unfortunately, on his newest album, "Youth," most of that magic is gone. Due to Matis' commercial success and contract with Epic Records, the bigger-budget album sounds more professionally produced. Gone are the synthetic instruments of old, and only his touring band remains. Without the heavy-rock club atmosphere that previously inspired his musicians to excel, however, the musical quality on the album seems lazy and uninspired. Instead of keyboards carrying the basic reggae sound, Matis uses a guitar, with only the occasional breakout into an exciting jam.

In fact, because the accompaniment is so lackluster, the best songs of the album — "Jerusalem" and "Time of Your Song" — are performed without a band at all. The songs take on a Postal Service quality, an electro-pop beat mixed with a groove perfect for Matisyahu's delivery.

Unfortunately, these songs can't make up for the album's weaker efforts, such as the pointless interlude of "Saalam/Shalom," which features a simple beat box over an airy guitar instrumental, and the acoustic number "What I'm Fighting For," which sounds oddly amateurish. Matisyahu was able to bring out his preternatural beat-boxing skills in "Live at Stubb's," but for some reason his mastery is less evident this time around. Even more disappointing was his decision to remake "King Without a Crown." It was a runaway hit off the live album, but on "Youth," the song comes at the end, almost as an afterthought. It has a hurried sound, as if the technicians were rushing to finish the album.

What is perhaps most disappointing about the album from a personal point of view is Matisyahu's brush with selling out to mainstream in his lyrics. As I mentioned, in his albums and live shows so far, Matis hasn't been afraid to bring his culture to you — the way Orthodox people speak, sing and pray. His songs were replete with "niggun" or lilting melodies often repeated a simple "nai-nai," which were both subtle and moving at the same time. Additionally, his lyrics were often in Hebrew, Yiddish or Aramaic. Unfortunately, on "Youth," he deserts these authentic traditions to appeal to the wider masses. Though still maintaining a religious identity in his songs, singing frequently about "Zion" or "God," he shies away from using the Orthodox phraseology and simply sings Psalms in their English translation. Matisyahu is a legitimate Orthodox Jew who is not belying his observance, but neither is he bringing light unto the people.

What is most profound about Matisyahu as a cultural icon, at least from Orthodoxy's perspective, is that he is the first artist in the history of Jewish music to have an album sold both by Jewish vendors — go to Borough Park in Brooklyn to know what I mean — and commercial outlets. In an era that has brought Christian acts like P.O.D. — who actually duet with Matisyahu on some formidable tracks on their recent album "Testify" — and Creed to the forefront, religious Jews have long awaited their own turn at commercial greatness. Now that he has come in the form of a 26-year-old reggae artist, we can only hope that it is our true culture that he is offering to the world, and not a packaged version designed for commercial success.