At the beginning of 2024, nothing will fall in the world of Israeli music - the Barbie Club will move to a new building, this time in Jaffa Port, leaving at the corner of Herzl and Kibbutz streets postcards of memories of every music lover.
First of all, let's be clear: the Barbie – as a club, as a concert space, as an idea – is not going anywhere. In other words, physically it does change locations for the first time in more than two decades, but it's not too substantial a transition (at least not in terms of kilometers). As a concept, as a place that has been attracting for almost thirty years the highest quality and proper Israeli musical output - it will continue to be one of the best places in Israel to see them live. The description "electrifying" often comes up when a person is asked to describe an atmosphere during a Barbie performance, and that is certainly an accurate word.
The original Barbie was founded by Shaul and Ariella Mizrahi in 1994, on Yona Hanavi Street in Tel Aviv. The name "Barbie" is taken from the name of the bar at the center of which takes place the plot of "Life According to Agfa", Assi Dayan's mythological film, which in turn was taken from the nickname given by the patients to Abarbanel Hospital.
What was initially a place that provided a stage for unknown artists at the beginning of their careers, later became a performance club that hosted established, well-known artists from Israel, and also attracted some of the most important names in the international rock scene. Four years later, the club moved for the first time, to space on Shlomo Road in Tel Aviv, and in 2001 it settled for the next 22 years in its current, well-known and beloved building in Kibbutz Galuyot – where it became synonymous with mandatory performances.
It's hard to explain the atmosphere at Barbie to someone who has never visited it, and it's hard to believe that there are too many music lovers who haven't visited it. Those who have done so and who often come to him always have a cherished memory of him. An evening they won't forget, the kind of moment in life that only musicians on stage in front of an audience can create, a point where time stopped, where what happened was shared only by those who were present in real time.
Just before it opens in its new home in Jaffa Port, where it will also mark thirty years of activity, those who visited, performed and even grew up in Barbie, on stage or in the audience, returned to the performances, moments and periods they experienced there and with his people.
Night animal
Shalom Hanoch and Hila Alpert
"Barbie has a certain uniqueness that you don't have elsewhere." Shalom Hanoch in concert, photo: Orit Pnini
Before dawn, when my pelvis twisted this way and that, I would stare at the giant chandelier, imagine it shattering, covering all of our heads with crystal diamonds, as I had once seen in a scene in a cartoon. The royal chandelier that Paul found in the Chambers of Lighting, and which took six people to carry it from there to Barbie. I knew that every once in a while safety checks were carried out to make sure that nothing would detach it from the ceiling - but that didn't stop my imagination flowing at the end of "Night Animals".
It was in 2005 when Shalom and the band put on a show at Barbie that started at 2:00. A show born from the thought of an open return to the public. No one could have imagined then that "Night Animals," as they called it, would continue to run for almost 20 years, melting time and age gaps along the way. A show that blew up the place at least once a month with young people who have never seen a record in their lives, crying out to the Messiah who doesn't call and that they are good in this incarnation, manage to postpone thoughts of the next incarnation.
"Barbie has a certain uniqueness that doesn't exist elsewhere," Shalom explains to me when I ask why there. "Saul created a place where there is some warmth, a cultural envelope that is not in the mainstream. It's a place suitable for a band, not a duo or a large orchestra. That's why everyone wants to perform there. Everyone knows what Barbie is, and when I say 'everyone' - I'm talking about a pretty big generational cross-section. The age range that inhabits this place is amazing and extraordinary. There is no place in Israel like this."
Shalom remembers the evening when he and the team invited Shaul to a meeting in his living room, and he presented the idea he and the band had to rehearse in front of an audience - and Shaul's eyes immediately lit up, and did not turn off even when he added that this rehearsal would take place at 2:00 at night. Shalom was sure that he was doing something for himself, something that suited his conditions, his schedule that began in the afternoon, but what grew out of it connected everyone to him. The musicians, the Barbie, and especially the audience.
"I don't know if the show was profitable at first, although it started surprisingly better than we thought. So we said, 'Great, let's do a show like this once a month that will include new material,' and that's how an audience gathered and it grew and erupted. Something about this thing, which was experimental and flourishing, received the beauty it received. Something between the venue and the type of performance. That rock that comes right in, that shares it with everyone. And people love to sing.
"I may be leading this, but with me on stage are the best musicians there are," Shalom says, and from his lyrics you can hear Moshe Levy's keyboards, Ziv Harpaz's bass and Barak Kerem's rhythm, which replaced Asher Peddy's drums, who are now in L.A., and Erez Netz's exciting guitar solo, which replaced Ronnie Peterson's, He's been playing blues for God for several years now. "I play with the best guys," he adds, and even after all these years, you can hear that he's still excited.
On January 26, they will play the new Barbie at Jaffa Port. That will happen at 22 p.m., the time when Night Animals has been taking place for the past few years. Shalom has not yet seen the new hall, and is "a little apprehensive," but adds that all that is required is for it to have "the acoustic conditions, and this thing between intimate and large. That warmth you feel when you step onto the Barbie stage is irreplaceable."
"Say, hello," I can't help myself, "all the times you've stood on stage, have you never been bothered by the chandelier falling?"
"Nothing bothers me when I'm on the Barbie stage. Nothing bothers there. Blown up or half empty - it's always the same feeling of intimacy in the middle. Something that connects a lot of people. There's some magic there."
Temple of Sound
David Peretz
Each and every generation has its own temple of sound. Barbie entrance, photo: Orit Pnini
Each and every generation has its own temple of sound. The Tzavta, Ariana, the Penguin, Roxanne, the Logos, the Plaka or the Zappa are all noisy links, more or less, in the chain of Israeli cultural halls.
In each generation, it is necessary to define the point at which the dreams of the future are laid out to the people of the present on their rapid path to being the past. For my generation, it was the Barbie. An almost temple, adapted to the 80s. Less alienated from the clubs of the '90s, more versatile than the clubs of the '21s, and certainly not as bourgeois as the other megaclubs of the <>st century. Barbie was an Israeli crossroads where alternative culture flourished with some mainstream dreams. A culture that did not seek to shut itself off within itself, but to speak in Hebrew (or in derogatory language) the Israeli who wanted to go to Caesarea, but not to get there by the big way.
All generalizations are wrong. Not every artist or band who stepped onto the Barbie stage had to present a well-worded cultural manifesto to Doron, the legendary soundman who began working at Barbie just before taking the stage. But as the resemblance between the dog and its owner - so is the similarity between the club and its owners. In all its incarnations, from the first and tiny Barbie in Jonah the Prophet, through the Barbie in Selma, to the current club in Kibbutz Galuyot - all these halls of sound were cast, built and grown according to the character and dimensions of Saul. True, there are those who are convinced that his last name is Mizrahi, but who has ever called Saul "Mizrahi"?
With a thunderous, larger-than-life personality watching from afar over the critics' heads, Saul towered over Barbie, watching from behind with a cross of hands and a loving smile, or with a threatening look stronger than any spotlight – which, if you messed up, believe me, made it all the way to the stage. It is dangerous to be a club owner endowed with the opinion of the place and the taste of the heart, all of which are reasoned far and wide by the whims of the man. If he liked - you felt it immediately. If not, you've probably figured it out over the waiting time. It is not an easy thing to run a commercial business with a distinct personal taste.
Too often, success is tempted by professional dilettante and punctual counterfeiters, while true people light up the darkness for too few people. True to its name, the Barbie ran like Abarbanel - a glorious Jewish madhouse. Saul, a man of faith and ambition, gambled on artists and bands he loved and valued with his time and money. Some have succeeded hugely, and by the nature of gambling - the majority much less. That's how it is when your heart is bigger than the club space.
Over the years at Barbie, I've found myself hundreds of times pressed to breathe, but also at quite a few free space shows. Performances that may not have justified their economic existence, but when I think about some of them, I know that I was in moments of Torah truth. With an electric guitar and drums from Mount Sinai, these were revelatory performances, even if there were no more than twelve apostles and prophets in the audience.
"When you're done with the depression and sober up a bit, come to my office, we'll think about how to get more audiences next time," Shaul would suggest to those who needed it, applying the saying that every artist needs only one club owner to believe in him in order to succeed. As a performing artist, I knew that no matter how much unconditional love you had for your work, it wasn't a soup kitchen, and if you didn't make an effort to bring in as many people as possible, at some point your trust bank credit would run out. So get up, do deeds.
Thank God, this is not an obituary, just an interim summary. Shaul and the Barbie are on their way to make noise from the port of Jaffa. What began with Jonah the prophet, with manic prophets, is coming to Jaffa Port, where new artists, audiences and communities will rediscover that it is impossible to escape the command of God in the amplifier, and that each generation has its own temple of sound.
Where it all happens
Orit Pnini
Yesterday, I photographed Yoram Hazan from the Church of the Mind, and I told him that my first memory of the Barbie (back in Selma) was when I was 16 years old. I came to the Queen of Plect concert and he was sitting on the bench outside. How excited I was to see the man from the album live that I listen to at home. After filming with him, I thought about the fact that 16-year-old Orit probably wouldn't have believed in life that this is what a day in her life would look like: photography, music and performances.
Many years later, I can say that thanks to Barbie, the place where you can fly the highest, I fulfilled dreams that I probably didn't even know I had: this is where I learned to photograph, where I met some of my best friends, where I learned to say how many people there are "in the eye." It's where I listened to music and discovered new artists, where I learned how to get to the front row a thousand times even when the place is dismantled. It's where I learned to get on stage during a performance without having a panic attack, where I laughed like crazy — and also cried because it was a time-lapse performance. This is where I learned to be a fly on the wall in an artists' room before a show, but also (try) to be really cool when they walk through the office after a show. This is where I jumped with joy when I caught an exciting moment. In short - this is where everything happens.
European etiquette you won't find here
Rona Keinan
A real rock club. Rona Keinan on stage, photo: Orit Pnini
I know Barbie from all its incarnations. From the time of Jonah the Prophet, through Salma Street and Barbie Kfar Saba to Kibbutz Galuyot.
The first thing that comes to mind when you think of Barbie is a real rock club. A club where people come to hear music at a proper volume, standing up, with or without beer in hand. It's neither sterile nor flattering, and even when there are more commercial pop concerts, it still remains a rock club, and still retains its subversive dimension.
The Barbie is made in the image and likeness of the man who dreamed and built it - Shaul Mizrahi. If you love Barbie - it's a package deal that comes with Saul, with all that entails.
You won't find European etiquette here, but vision abounds, along with a true love of music and total devotion to the goal - to bring this music to the audience that wants it.
Some of my most significant moments musically took place at Barbie, and I long for many more in its new home.
Like a concentrated bomb
Jonathan Margi
Brings the pop. Margi performing at Barbie, photo: Gilad Tidhar
כילד, אני זוכר שהחברים שלי מאוד אהבו לראות הופעות בבארבי. היו פעמים שבהן הצטרפתי אליהם, להופעות של מרסדס בנד למשל, ותמיד היתה לי בראש תמונה של הבארבי כמקום איקוני. כזה שלהקות הרוק הכי טובות מגיעות אליו. זה היה מקום שידעתי שכמה שהוא קטן - ככה הוא גדול. היתה לי תפיסה כזו לגביו מילדות, אף על פי שלא הייתי בהרבה הופעות בו. בפעמים שהייתי - אני זוכר שגל תורן היה מדהים, ההופעה היתה מטורפת ובכלל היתה אווירה של חשמל. כזמר וכאמן, במסע האישי שלי כיהונתן או מרגי או מה שתבחרו, עברתי עם הבארבי תהליך.
לפני שהשקתי את האלבום שלי בבארבי, הייתי מופיע עם הדי.ג'יי והרקדנים שלי, הופעות מסיבתיות כאלה. בשלב מסוים התחלתי לבנות את הלהקה שלי לאט־לאט - אני קורא לזה "לחזור הביתה", כי היום אני יודע שזה המקום שאני מרגיש בו הכי בבית מבחינת העיבודים לשירים וכל השאר, אבל אז זה היה ממש חדש.
כשחשבנו על מקום לקיים בו את הופעת ההשקה של האלבום, הופעה שבה בעצם אעמוד בפעם הראשונה אי־פעם על במה עם הרכב חי - הבארבי היה המקום הראשון שחשבנו עליו. ממש התרגשתי, כי זכרתי את הקסם שיש שם באוויר. עוד לפני ההופעה הראשונה ידענו ששם זה ירגיש טוב. העובדה ששאול והבארבי נתנו לנו את ההזדמנות בכלל להופיע שם אינה מובנת מאליה. בסוף צריך להגיד את זה: אני עושה פופ. מבחינת הקהל אני זמר פופ, וגם מבחינת שאול והבארבי הייתי אמן פופ. אני חושב שלא היו יותר מדי זמרי פופ שהופיעו שם (אם בכלל), במיוחד לא בהופעות השקה ראשונות עם להקה חיה. ובכל זאת, קיבלנו את ההזדמנות הזו ועשינו שתי הופעות בערב אחד.
היום, בדיעבד, אני יכול להגיד שזו היתה נקודת ציון בקריירה שלי. גם ברמת התהליך האישי, גם ברמת ההדים שזה השאיר וגם מבחינת כמויות הקהל שהגיעו אחר כך להופעות גדולות יותר, ובהמשך חזרו איתנו לבארבי לעוד הופעה ולעוד הופעה, כשכל הזמן יש שם את אותה האנרגיה, אותו החשמל. להגיע לשם, לראות את הקהל קרוב בעיניים ולהרגיש אנרגיה של הופעה באצטדיון - זה משהו שאני לא מרגיש שקורה בשום מקום אחר. הבארבי הוא כמו איזו פצצה מרוכזת, אנרגיות של מלא אנשים שמתרכזות במקום קטן, ואתה מרגיש כל הזמן את הבעבוע. אני מקווה שהמקום החדש יעשה היסטוריה, ממש כמו הישן.
בשבילי זו משפחה
עמיר לב
"שלא תשתגע בגליל". עמיר לב מופיע בבארבי, צילום: קוקו
ממש במקביל לפתיחה של הבארבי בסלמה, עברתי אני לגליל. בשלב הזה היינו כבר חמישה, וחיינו כולנו בתוך קרוואן. הקרוואן היה מרוחק מהיישוב, ומכל צדדיו אפשר היה לראות את האופק. שאול רצה להבין מה אני עושה שם, אולי אפילו רצה להציל אותי מעצמי, ומתישהו הוא ואשתו אריאלה הגיעו לבקר אותנו. הם נכנסו פנימה וישבנו איתנו בקרוואן, ושאול לא הפסיק לצחוק. הוא שאל איפה הבאר הקרובה. "תעשה מדורה", הוא אמר לי כשרצה לשתות, "נשתה קפה". אחר כך, כשבאנו לאכול, הוא אמר לי: "עזוב, אנחנו בקושי עומדים בקרוואן" - ולקח את כולנו למסעדה.
בדרך לשם הוא פנה אלי ואמר: "לב, מה תעשה שם כל היום?". אמרתי לו שאני מקווה שאמצא מה לעשות. זה היה ביום שבת. בראשון קיבלתי טלפון מענת מהבארבי. היא ביקשה שאבוא אליהם למועדון בפעם הבאה שאהיה בתל אביב, כי יש לה משהו לתת לי. הגעתי לשם, ושאול ודורון היבשר, הסאונדמן, העמיסו למכונית שלי מערכת אודיו עם מגבר, וידאו והרמקולים הכי טובים שיש. "שלא תשתגע שם", שאול אמר לי. בשבילי הבארבי הוא משפחה.
עם מי אזכה לשיר
אפרת גוש
הגעתי לבארבי לראשונה בתור נערה, לשמוע את איפה הילד, את ערן צור, את אסף אמדורסקי ועוד רבות ורבים. אלו היו ימים שבהם כינינו את המקום "הבארבי החדש", כי לא הרבה זמן לפני כן הוא העתיק את מקומו מסלמה לקיבוץ גלויות.
שנתיים אחר כך כבר עמדתי על הבמה בבארבי כפר סבא, בהופעה חגיגית לכבוד צאת האלבום הראשון שלי. ההופעה היתה קשוחה ונפלאה, כמו שרק הופעות ראשונות יכולות להיות. הייתי לחוצה מגודל המעמד, וגם ערן צור, שאותו אירחתי, לא הקל את הלחץ. הערצתי אותו, והתרגשתי לחלוק איתו את הבמה. המזגן שהתקלקל רק הוסיף על הקושי, וכבר אחרי השיר הראשון היינו סחוטים ומעלי אדים, וגם הקהל.
ההופעה שודרה בשידור חי, מה שהוסיף פנסים נוספים ואת ההרגשה הבלתי נסבלת שהכל מוכרח להיות מושלם. אז ספוילר - לא היה מושלם. ובכל זאת, זו אחת מההופעות שמדברים איתי עליהן הכי הרבה לאורך השנים. שילוב של תיעוד וסתימת חורים בלוח השידורים בשעות לילה מאוחרות. אבל הדבר הכי מרגש קרה בכלל אחרי שכולם הלכו הביתה, כולל אני. עם סיום הערב הלכו אריאלה ושאול מזרחי, הבעלים, ישירות לבית החולים, ושם נולד בן, בנם הצעיר.
רגע לפני שהמלחמה התחילה, הופעתי בבארבי הנוכחי בפעם האחרונה. זאת היתה הופעה לכבוד צאת הוויניל של האלבום הראשון, שהתחיל את הכל. הסתכלתי מהבמה על בני הנוער, שידעו את המילים לשירים שיצאו לאוויר העולם לפניהם, תהיתי מי מביניהם מדמיינים את עצמם על הבמה בבארבי החדש, ועם מי עוד אזכה לשיר. הבארבי הוא חלק בלתי נפרד מהעבר, מההווה ומהעתיד של המוזיקה הישראלית.
אזוטריה לאור השנדליר הקאנוני
Saar Gamzu
A performance that has most profoundly changed the way I listen to and enjoy music. Mike Patton (back) and Penz in Barbie, photo: Orit Panini
Thousands, if not many more, of Israeli music lovers feel that Barbie has a prominence in their name. This place, located on the outskirts of the city, has become over the years a kind of temple from which everyone took a moment. The reincarnation of the Barbie soul into a new body may give birth to a new creature, or completely change its spirit, but one thing is certain to happen - the memories will intensify and become mythology, and in a few years maybe even a movie.
It would be impossible to direct it without introducing Fortis's unbridled performances (in all its incarnations), the cult that has become of giraffe and Mercedes Band performances, Shalom Hanoch's Night Beast, the monumental launch of "Engines Forward" (Algiers Band), Evyatar Banai returning to perform "Russian Theater" with a small-big change, Dudu Tessa ending the Corona concert drought and dozens of other great moments. But the night that will stay with me is one that ends in front of a very depleted audience, with a huge international star not considering the expectations of him.
On June 9, 2007, Mike Patton took the stage in front of the canonical chandelier, then already a star with a completely psychic track record of action that pushed the boundaries of the alternative. The charismatic vocalist of Faith No More came to this concert with Austrian musician Penz, who deals with very abstract music and is completely esoteric. Outside the club on Herzl Street, hundreds of fans waited, dressed in shirts with the familiar cover of Angel Dust (the more advanced and pioneering ones wore Phantomas/Mr. Bungle shirts), trying to assess which of their favorite anthems would receive a new interpretation on stage that evening.
On the stage stood a long table with endless keyboards, effects and strange instruments with strange buttons. In the corner, specifically Penz's, was an electric guitar. A few minutes into the performance, you could already see unrest in the audience. The music Patton and Penz played that night was a far cry from the American rock of the Nines, of which Patton was one of the designers. You could call it experimental music, but it's best not to try to contain this excessive creative outburst in simple words. The audience had trouble connecting.
Every minute there were fewer and fewer people in front of the stage. In each of the three encores, they diminished further. In the end, only a very small handful of people remain who have undergone a revelation, or more accurately, a perception-altering event. It's not the best show I've seen at Barbie, and it's certainly not the best Patton show I've seen, but it's definitely the show that has changed the way I listen to and enjoy music the most. A performance I will never forget.
"That Barbie you jumped on the bar and fainted"
Gilad Kahane
The one-time thing everyone will remember, a moment that will not be forgotten. Gilad Kahane on his hands in Barbie, Photo: Orit Pnini
I remember the Barbie from Jonah the prophet. It was a really small place at the time, where Saul actually functioned as soundman, lighter, bartender and doorman. It was actually one of Giraffe's first ever appearances, and we've been performing in all the other babes ever since. One thing I can say for sure, and that is that Barbie is not a place, it's an idea. Spiritual being. In that sense it's a kind of place that allows you to catch fire. There are places where you're going to perform and the performance can be great, but there won't be an exit from the atmosphere. It won't be a one-time thing that everyone will remember happened here that won't be forgotten.
The Barbie is basically a chariot for one-off moments. One thing that all the Barbas have in common, and the new Barbie, is Saul. At the end of the day, geography, weather and geopolitical situation don't matter – Barbie is Barbie. I have a tendency to forget performances, for all sorts of reasons. I think the main reason for this is to protect one's mind from most of the things that happened there, from so many adventures. But I can say that I am often stopped by people and told me what happened at our Barbie concert. "Do you remember what it was about that Barbie that you talked about Yair Lapid?", "That Barbie when you jumped on the bar and fainted". This place allows that to happen. There is no such thing anywhere else in Israel. I will go so far as to say, as a singer who sings in Hebrew, this may be the best place for performances - in the world.
When performing giraffes, I'm very careful about trying to improvise between songs, so that there's a grip on the present, once we're in it. Whether it's something political, personal, current or cultural, it has to be from now on, and connect this now with the band that's here, in order to create a one-time evening. It's a problematic piece, because it involves trying to create the phoenix over and over again.
Barbie is a home game for us, but a bit like a Beitar home game - in the sense that you don't come to a complacent game. You come with Paul expectations, and it has to be the best performance you've done every time. It's something I think is in Barbie's genes. If you try to take apart what makes Barbie a Barbie - you will find yourself holding a lot of parts and not understanding how you are putting them together. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. In the end - it's not the sound, it's not the lighting, it's not the stage and it's not the sanitary conditions or the mirror in the toilets - it's something magical that really can't be without in Israeli culture.
Roar in the south of the city
Ami Friedman
Arriving at Barbie always feels like entering a desecrated temple accompanied by distortion. Club audience, photo: Orit Panani
With all due respect to Yarkon Park or the overly crowded Live Park Rishon LeZion, or the sterile Zappa clubs - they lack the roughness, intensity, urgency and (metaphorical) filth that Barbie knew how to give to the performances that visited his stages. From the barbeque crowd at the entrance to the enormous chandelier - arriving at Barbie always feels like entering a desecrated temple. A place where energy comes to intensify and decompose. An ex-territory in the city, like the sea, that turns in the evenings into an outlet of rage, joy and love. The same is true for the second lap evenings held on Simchat Torah.
To this writer, his London equivalent is the Roundhouse, where I watched Brian Johnstown cover live. Spoiler alert: the American ensemble's first appearance at Barbie, in the summer of 2012, was much better. A show of admiration and affection that refused to end, for just one of a million artists and ensembles that themselves will probably not forget the performance they gave at Barbie. It's hard to focus on one performance: Kurt Wagner, sitting there on stage, hanging the pages of his poems on clips. Mark Langan and Greg Dooley, honorary Israelis in our plays, who regularly spelled the stage. Daniel Johnston in a heartbreaking performance, six years before the devil caught him. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, who scratched the air with guitars in a superb performance that time has forgotten. and Mudhoney, the prophets of grunge; Mike Patton, who crossed the line and us at the entrance and went to buy cigarettes at the explosion across the street; and Pete Doherty, who walked around the crowd during Rona Keenan's warm-up performance, and himself swept everyone in attendance with the rock and roll anthem "Fuck Forever."
Personally, for me it was the Eagles of Death Metal concert I remember the most. It had forcefulness and pose, the smell of alcohol and a wink - all the stuff that makes a rock show great. Even those who are quick to eulogize the genre heard a roar from one corner in the south of the city.
Live with him
Yakir Alkarib
It turned out that after years of wandering around the world and in Israel, we live a meter away from the Barbie. Perhaps because of the distance, or lack thereof, we became household there. Who is performing tonight? What does it matter? Even a Hasidic choir is preferable to the horrors of television. Recently we started going to "Cat in the Bag" concerts - buying a ticket without knowing who will show up. Miracles also happened to us there - like the performance of Assaf Avidan and the Mojos, which for me took place in a separate musical universe.
In any case, the procedure is fixed: the show is scheduled for 20.30pm, but there's nothing to arrive before 22pm. And if you don't want to find yourself swallowing a shocking hot dog towards midnight - it is recommended to eat at home. The beer is on the bar, as is customary. Happened, but expensive.
As veteran Tel Avivians, we still remember the first Barbie on Yonah Hanavi Street. We also remember the Barbie bar in Assi Dayan's Life According to Agfa—before the apocalypse went from a fashion prophecy of rage to another day at the office. As for the place itself, what is there to say? Wieseltier's line in "I Have Sympathy"—"a desperate stucco den, a noisy tin swing"—was written specifically to describe. Indeed, neither majesty nor splendor, but in the landscape of squashed garages in south-south Tel Aviv, the very existence of a music club is like laughter among the weeping lilies.
Over the years we have developed a hobby: passing by the Barbie with the car and trying to guess, by the long line at the entrance, who is performing tonight. Rocky young women in leather jackets and rolled up cigarettes? Probably Ninette. A bunch of "yesterday's foxes" with their covering wives? Hmmm... Assaf Amdursky or Monica Sax. Relatively young couples? Maybe Efrat Gosh. Lots of excited girls? Noga Erez or Yasmin Mualem.
To Barbie's credit, despite its misery and remoteness – and who knows, it may be thanks to them – it has positioned itself over the years as a significant cultural center. It is enough to look at the upcoming month's tour schedule to understand its importance: Shalom Hanoch, Ehud Banai, Corinne Elel, Hadag Nahash, Tipex, Dudu Tessa - and the list is very partial. Fortunately, the Barbie is not extinct, like many beautiful things lately, but is just moving. The meaning is simple: if until now we have arrived on foot - from now on we will take a scooter. Because this melody can't be stopped.
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