Quote by Alollo Trehorn, poet and raconteur
"The discovery of Shikere Kapelye shines new light into forgotten corners of history: the blurred and seemingly incorrect entries by certain marranos in the account books of Ferdinand and Isabel, the unexplaned origin of the word "fluted" in relation to wine glasses, and definitively puts to rest the tired Christian notion of alcohol as a transformative agent."

Quote by Hirsh-leyb Mustapha, producer and consumer
"I have a feeling that the early patrons of Di Shikere Kapelye may have been those wild mountain jews dealing in moonshine, a word which apparently came to the New World from the hasidic hillbilly hoochsters theme tune "Shayn vi di levone". Indications that the term "Revenuer Men" derives from "Rabbenu, Amen" appear far-fetched. (from Barukh Ha Bar's classic work on Jews and booze: "Letz, have a drink!") 

Quote by Stuart Brotman, musician and punster
"Their cup runneth over; it's gone beyond the pail." 

Quote by Anonymous, attributed to Benyomin ben Mandel
The mention of Naftule Brandwein reminds me of his 1924 big hit of "Wie Bist Die Gewesen Vor Prohibition?": a musician's critique of the legitimacy of employment opportunities caused by the change in the politico-socio-economic climate redefining the status of "visible" work." 

Quote by Kalman Holzhacker, distiller of wisdom
"The Shikoyrim invented dependence-related dysphemism when they applied the Hebrew word "buz" ("booze" in the accepted transliteration), meaning "scorn, contempt, disgrace" to their drug of all-too-frequent choice, in order to fulfil the verse in Psalms (107:40), "shoyfeykh buz, he pours out booze." As the "he" in this verse refers to the Lord, they took this to mean that Jewish law forbade them to pay for any drinks." 

Few hard facts are known about this influential, early 19th century ensemble. What little we do know comes from a variety of sources: anecdotes and oral histories with older, living klezmorim (whose grandparents may have heard or played in Di Shikere Kapelye), court records of cases against them brought by dissatisfied clients and strait-laced municipal governments, obscure references and apocryphal legends. Their origins may lie around Odessa, or in the Trans-Carpathians, or near Minsk (Pinsk?): records of their appearance appear in all these places. Always invited to perform, but never welcomed to stay in one place (due perhaps to their proclivity towards impromptu rehearsa / jam sessions that started in the main town squares after all the pubs had shut for the night) they traveled throughout the Pale of Settlement. Adding to the confusion is the likelihood that there were a number of groups in different shtetls operating under the name Di Shikere Kapelye, spin-off groups led by former members of the original band who stayed in the various cities. Fortunately, more is known about their music. 

Their dance tunes were the basis for what Jewish / Ottoman music scholar Walter "Zev" Feldman calls, "the core repertoire of klezmer": bulgars, freylekhs, and khosidls, as well as doynes, horas, waltzes, and a beat they referred to as "the Oriental". Their furious tempi often instigated dizzying dances that defied description, although their metric irregularity has led some to conjecture that the drummers may have possessed asymmetrical lower appendages. 

Their repertoire spread far and wide and influenced future klezmorim from the legendary Belf's Romanian Orchestra to Naftulie Brandwein (lit. brandy-wine, a common musicians' family name since the time of Di Shikere Kapelye) to Argentina's Sam Liberman to Miami's Epstein Brothers. Their style, however, had been considered impossible to replicate until an all-star group featuring members of the world's leading klezmer bands (the Klezmatics, Brave Old World, the Klezmer Conservatory Band, Hasidic New Wave, Naftulie's Dream, Paradox Trio, KlezMs., Shirim, S.F. Klezmer Experience, Les Miserables Brass Band, and the groups of A ndy Statman and David Krakauer) gathered to pay tribute to the legendary Shikers, the 19th-century traditional Jewish oriental village brass band that irrevocably influenced the course of Klezmer music. Taking to heart the lessons of the great Jewish saxophonist Stan Getz (When asked, "How do you play so well when you're drunk?," he replied, "I practice drunk!") these intrepid brass players got together in the New York City's Knitting Factory bar, knocked back a few, and proceeded to use their combined knowledge, experience, yikhes, and other available means to channel the Shiker's ineffable sound. 
What were the roots of this amazing aggregation? Let's start with a not-too-brief history of Jewish music (in general), klezmer brass bands and Di Shikere Kapelye (in particular). 

The shofar, predecessor of the modern trumpet, is the quintessential Jewish instrument. Reaching directly into the soul, this common ram's horn is sounded in times of our greatest joy and our darkest despair. Filled with, and amplifying, the horn player's breath, the sound of the shofar has strength and powers beyond that of common instruments. It was the trumpets' blasts that brought down the walls of Jericho. Even during the countless religious bans on instrumental music in the synagogue, the shofar has blasted loud and true. Tekiah! Teruah! Shevarim! Tekiah gedolah! Ah, most regal of instruments! The trumpet, exalted in times of antiquity, shall sound to welcome the awaited messianic era and herald the coming of the messiah.

(The association of wind instruments with profound mystical spirituality should come as no surprise, as it is implicit in the word itself! Trumpet (Hebrew: khatzotz'ra) come from "two little words:" khatzu (broken) and tzarot (troubles.) Rabbi Mattityah Glazerson, kabbalist, writes that "the trumpet has the power to break all troubles." Moreover, it is breath that fills the brass instrument, and the word for wind/breath (Hebrew: ruach, Latin: spiritus) also means spirit. Is it mere coincidence that alcohol, which lubricates the gates to the soul, is also called spirits?) 

Given their almost instinctive, ancestral attraction towards wind-blown instruments, is it surprising that Jews longed for their sound, especially when it was proscribed? As historical Yiddish music specialist Josh Horowitz reveals, "for Jews in the 18th and early 19th century Ukraine, instrumentation was divided into two legal categories, which were stubbornly enforced by the authorities: "loud" and "soft." The instruments in the category of "loud" music were horns and drums. Jews were only allowed to play "soft" music. If a Jew broke one of these laws, he (or she) could be prohibited from playing another event for up to a year." After the legal emancipation of the "loud" klezmer brass band, fans flocked to this formerly forbidden fruit; Di Shikere Kapelye filled their need. 
The personnel of Di Shikere Kapelye appears to have been in constant flux. As they departed at dawn, traveling from town to town in their horse-drawn vehicle, various players would be on or off the wagon, depending on their activities the previous night. Occasionally, tragically, one of the Shikers would fall off the wagon en route to an engagement. One document, from a small Polish shtetl near Lublin, listed the band members as Benish Ashkenazy, Itche Mates, Reb Gedaliya, Mordekhai Joseph, Emmanuel Manishevits (alto tuba?) Mordekhai Schapiro (Db clarinet?) and Reb Hershel Kandel (drums?). The two trumpeters featured on this recording may be actual descendants of members of Di Shikere Kapelye; trumpeter Susan Sandler, through her grandfather, the famed klezmer drummer Jacob Hoffman, and trumpeter Frank London, through his great-uncle, itinerant bassist Lou London, both of whom recounted family legends about ancestors who were associated with the infamous Drunken Band. 

In their exhaustive investigative analysis of brass bands, Frozen Brass, scholars Rob Flaes, Fred Gales and Ernst Heins posit the development of Klezmer (along with Bleh from the Balkans and New Orleans Jazz) as a "musical hybrid between colonialist brass bands and local folk musics that developed when enterprising musicians started to use the instruments to play music a local audience would listen to, dance to and - most importantly - pay for." They write, "a brass band stood for more than just instruments, uniforms, and songs. The martial appearance, the loudness of the instruments, the discipline of the musicians make it a proper symbol of the culture of the conquerors. Strict training, rationality and standardization had produced this ensemble: a band that could play anything in the temperate scale, everywhere, and always in tune." Evoking the spirit of the pan-culturally present drunken trickster, Di Shikere Kapelye subverted ALL the aforementioned colonialist conventions ascribed to brass bands, with the exception of the loudness. "A multi-functional ensemble suitable for emperors and military campaigns, enlightening the masses and evoking edifying religious feelings, brass bands have become indispensable for weddings, circumcisions, processions, funerals, and even for communicating with spirits and inducing trance like states." 
Volume = passion. Sound = life. Noise = intensity. There was nothing in the world of pre-amplified music that could rival the brass band. "Usually there was no singing while a brass band was playing, mainly because the voices were drowned out by the instruments," Greek ethnomusicologist Kostas Tsonas, writing of immigrant Florinian brass players in Australia. "You could hear them playing a few miles from here," said an unnamed source quoted in Alan Lomax's seminal Music of the South, referring to the African-American syncretistic brass bands prevalent in the 19th century southern United States. Di Shikere Kapelye was reputed to be, when they could stand up, one of the loudest bands, often entering into competitions with the neighboring Turkish Mehter bands and Romanian Gypsy fanfaras. There are anecdotal accounts of an impoverished village that, on occasion, used the sound of Di Shikere Kapelye playing in the next town for their weddings and celebrations. 

What became of Di Shikere Kapelye? It's difficult to piece together a coherent picture. Perhaps, as use of the band's name became more of a liability than an asset, and might lead to legal action or even arrest, it stopped being used. More reliable and sober (albeit less interesting) bands, using Di Shikere Kapelye's repertoire and some of their musicians, sprung up and took over their means of employment. Soon, their memory began to fade until all that was left was the stuff of legend. 

Based on extensive research - laced with a heavy dose of guesswork and intuition - and a few smudged sheets of music found in the cellar of an Pinsk (Minsk?), a group of the greatest living klezmorim gathered together to lovingly and painstakingly create an aural docu-drama of Di Shikere Kapelye and evoke what the inimitable Hijaz Mustapha calls "the echt, wine-soaked, raucous, out-in-the-rain, brass-necked, shirt-button-popping stinky earthiness of the tough way of life of old-country klezmers". More than just playing their songs, they capture their sound and ethos. Trink a glezele shnaps un gib a kik. (how do you say, "Check it out?")