Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Sivan Shavit-Friday Dinner

I usually prefer to post songs with videos, but here it seems like there's no need. I usually try to post songs fitting to the season, or my general mood but this one's different. This is such a beautiful and sad song that I don't care that it's not "summerish" and that it doesn't really fit the sweltering heat. I really like Sivan Shavit's songs- they're all quiet but filled with emotion. Songs that left a big impression on me are "Kiss Me" and "Flying Ticket". They both manage to perfectly capture the situation in the song. In Kiss Me I can really feel like I'm with her on that so familiar car drive from Haifa to Tel Aviv by the sea and in Flying Ticket I'm stuck with her in airport world. This song is no different and I easily get the feeling of an empty house at Friday night-A night reserved for family dinners. I don't know if her home is completely empty, but it's without her mother for whom Sivan wrote this song and who passed away four years ago. It seems like Sivan is a fresh breath of air among the mainstream singers here, maybe because she's not trying to publicize her songs, or herself too much. She's just being who she is and knows that there are enough people who appreciate her and will come to concerts and even buy her CD. Or maybe she doesn't even care about that. There's something very Tel Avivian about her and I can't even define what makes a person Tel Avivian. But she does remind me of Tel Aviv in Friday late afternoon after all of the out-of-towners have returned to their homes in the neighbouring cities and the suburbs to get ready for dinner.

I took down the paintings from the wall
I gave away the white couch
The little wooden elephants are still standing in a line
Your garden gently grows wild
I am pruning the roses
Soon the last picking of strawberries and figs

I can only see you with closed eyes
You rise and the tears fall
Maybe you just travelled abroad and soon will be back
The suitcase filled with presents for everyone and Friday dinner

In the meantime, I write in the room that was once yours
And the heaviness that comes every summer
After it comes autumn
And another year will start without you
There won’t be a ring of a telephone
Not a letter or a postcard
Not a quick visit
Not a kiss
A dry one


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