Friday night may be all right for most touring musicians, but not reggae toaster Matisyahu. When the shadows lengthen, the performer gives his band the night off, then hangs up his raps and his jaw-dropping beatbox chops for the next 24 hours, in accordance with the strict tenets of Hasidic Judaism.
“Every Friday morning we get up early and drive so we can be there by sundown,” he says, sitting on the porch of the Chabad House—the Jewish student center across from the University of Texas campus. “Because once sundown hits, if we’re on the highway, I’m walking. So we get to a town, I ?nd a Rabbi—ahead of time—and I spend the next 24 hours not thinking about music, traffic, my cell phone, managers, records or anything except trying to connect to God, being with a family and being in a community. And then when I come back out Saturday night I’m refreshed and rejuvenated.”
Whether fresh on a Saturday night or mid-week, Matisyahu can’t help but cause double takes onstage. With closed eyes, you’d expect the dubby riddims and impassioned vocals to be spewing from a dreadlocked Rastafarian, not a bearded Son of Abraham, resplendent in his wide-brimmed hat, black suit and button-down shirt.
But this is no “2 Live Jews” gimmick; Matis is serious about both his work and his religion, and he’s got the skills to outlast the novelty of a skull-capped Orthodox Jew throwing down delicious reggae and hip-hop grooves. Since Rastafarianism—and its lyrical world of exile and longing for justice—draws so heavily upon the Torah, the combination isn’t as odd as it might seem.
Any doubts about the reality of Matisyahu’s religious practices are answered on a warm Sunday afternoon, when he answers the door at the Chabad House wearing tefillin (prayer boxes) and a prayer cloth. He excuses himself for a few minutes to finish up his prayers before the interview can begin.
“When you’ve had this kind of thing in the past, it’s [been] a joke,” acknowledges the man born Matthew Miller in West Chester, Pennsylvania. “Not only is it a joke, but it’s offensive. … Jews are not clowns; we have a serious job in this world.”
Matisyahu’s music is an outgrowth of everything he is and everywhere he’s been—from his sprint across the U.S. following the 1996 Phish tour to the reggae and hip-hop that often fills his headphones. But things didn’t really start working for him until he got serious about his Judaism, he recounts. “It got me focused and centered, and helped me get over the inner obstacles that were holding me back.”