"King Without a Crown (live)" by Matisyahu
Written by Matisyahu Miller, Josh Werner
Produced by Michael Caplan, Jacob Harris, Angelo Montrone
Released on Live at Stubb's (August 23, 2005)
Released as a single, 2005
Peaked at #28 on Billboard Hot 100
I don't totally understand who Matisyahu was or who he is, but I do know that this performance of this song is fantastic. It doesn't seem real though. An orthodox Jewish man singing and rapping over reggae beats has to be made up, right?
Sometime around the recording and release of this live show was when I first became aware of the hype surrounding the annual SXSW music festival in Austin, TX. This show from Matisyahu is the only great thing I know to have come out of that festival. I'm sure those who are more in tune with the music industry can point to other musicians that got a boost from a show at SXSW, but it would be news to me. I always seemed to hear about lots of hype surrounding people who performed there, only to never hear of them again.
Matisyahu is barely the exception. His music career hasn't been a failure, but it also didn't skyrocket him to incredible success. He has released a handful of albums and had two singles chart on the Billboard Hot 100 ("King Without a Crown" and "One Day.")
But Matisyahu isn't on this list because of his overall career or his studio albums or his Jewish faith. He is on this list because this performance was recorded and released, and this performance is spectacular. Something about this performance gives me chills and reminds me of the mild successes I experienced as an amateur musician in school.
I started playing the alto saxophone when I was a nine year old in 4th grade. I loved it. I enjoyed playing in front of an audience and being in the band at school. When I was in middle school, I got my first taste of playing jazz, and that was when the real fun began. I loved playing jazz. Concert band music always felt too strict and stodgy. Jazz band music was fun; it literally had swing. My favorite thing we got to do in high school was when our jazz band played at our school's basketball games. We'd play some really fun funk stuff, and when the team came on the floor for warmups, we would play an up-tempo version of "On Broadway." I got to improvise and laugh and play music I genuinely enjoyed.
I was just good enough to secure a spot in my college's jazz band, and that's when I truly peaked as a musician. Our band director really helped me unlock more of my potential as an improvisor and saxophone player. I got to play on stage with jazz legends Clark Terry and Randy Brecker. We did tours in Taiwan and New Orleans. I will always be grateful for the opportunities my musical abilities afforded me.
But all good things must come to an end. I never really wanted to put in the practice time I should have in order to actually become something great. I just liked to be good enough and hang out with my band friends and perform on stage from time to time. Eventually my schedule and my inability to fully understand our band director's manic depression led me to quit the jazz band, and that was it for me. I picked up the saxophone a handful of times after that, and tried to learn to play the guitar, but my days playing music are almost all behind me now.
There are two moments as a musician that I will never forget. One was in high school when I got to sit in with a professional trumpet player named Marcus Printup, who was doing a show at our school. The other was during a jazz band show in college. Both times it was while I was improvising. In both cases, something just clicked, and I was locked in, but it was better than that because I was locked in with another player.
The first time, Marcus had three of us trade solos before having us all improv together. I started following along with a run he was making, and it just clicked. All of a sudden, we weren't just improvising at the same time, we were improvising together. It was pure magic. After the set, Marcus gave me a hug; it felt like he was thanking me for that improv we shared.
Then in college, at one of our shows, while I was soloing, the drummer and I clicked and were playing off each other perfectly. We could feel that connection being made in front of an audience of listeners. Once again, after the show, hugs were shared. We both felt and recognized that something truly awesome had occurred.
I had always heard about being "in the zone," usually in a sports context. Often though, it involved just one player finding that perfect rhythm and being locked in. Things like Mark Whiten hitting four homeruns in 1993, or when a pitcher throws a perfect game, or a basketball player going for 50 points. In that context, the zone only ever seemed to have room for one person.
My experience, during those two performances, must be something a little different. I managed to be "in the zone" along with another performer at the same time, and it was an incredible feeling that I really can't compare to anything else in my life. Those performances I shared on stage with another musician were pure musical nirvana. I will never know if the audience felt the same kind of feeling that I had, or could even recognize what happened on those two nights, but that detail almost doesn't matter because I know what we felt and experienced.
There are parts of this live performance of "King Without a Crown" that feel similar to my own experiences as a musician. Specifically, I hear it in the backing musicians more than in Matisyahu's singing. When it really seems to click is in that section after the guitar solo and Matisyahu's stage dives (about 3:35 in the music video), when they change up the rhythm. The guitar, bass, and drums are locked in so tightly. They were in it.
I'm sure they were also feeding off the energy of their frontman and the audience, but something about that section takes me back to those days playing jazz when we were locked in together and hitting on all cylinders.
I don't know if the band felt the way I imagine they did. (You can see that Matisyahu felt something with that "woo" he let out after that section.) Did they all feel the urge to share hugs after the show? I don't know, but I know how it can feel. Live music isn't always perfect or transcendent or magical, but this performance felt like it to me, and that's why I keep listening to it.
Right now "King Without a Crown (live)" by Matisyahu is (probably) my 49th favorite song of all time.
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