Going for the gold ringtone

For wannabe Mizrahi stars, chasing a dream isn't easy.

By DAVID BRINN
Yaniv Ariel Ram is sitting in the front row of the empty Caesarea Amphitheater drinking cup after cup of water, trying to fight off a sore throat. In three hours, the 28-year-old singer from Beersheba is going to get the career break of a lifetime by warming up the audience at the Gad Elbaz concert. Calling himself a "Mediterranean"-style singer, Ram usually performs at Sephardi weddings and bar mitzvas as he attempts to carve a career for himself as a recording artist. Elbaz was impressed enough with his voice and material to record a duet with Ram for his debut album, to be released later this year, and invite him to open tonight's show. Despite the connection, Ram knows he's in for an uphill struggle. "It's not an easy life. Mizrahi singers have to perform to make a living - they can't rely on record sales. We're playing at weddings and bar mitzvas all the time - sometimes three or four times in a night, running from one place to another," says Ram, appearing noticeably nervous at his upcoming performance. "Here in Israel, unfortunately, there's not a culture of enabling artists to create music and make a living. Only a very few can play three or four times a month and concentrate on their recording careers." According to Ram, a new source of income for Mizrahi singers is the licensing and downloading of ringtones to cellphones. The lucrative sideline is gaining more popularity, with some songs being downloaded to 10,000 phones a month, with the artists receiving royalties on each download. "That's the only way a lot of these artists are surviving," he says. Ram, who doesn't wear a kippa, but considers himself an observant Jew nonetheless, says his music, like Elbaz's, is filled with holy content. "I keep Shabbat, I daven and put on tefillin, but I don't wear a kippa. I don't feel complete with myself yet in my relation to God. As soon as I do, I'll begin wearing one," he says. When his turn arrives, Ram takes center stage and sings his one song - a typically lush, Mediterranean ballad - with eyes closed and hands wrapped tightly around the microphone. Polite applause greets the performance, and he walks off the stage with a lighter gait than that with which he walked on. For the rest of the show, he sits in the shadows of the stage, watching Elbaz and his guests bring down the house. And he dreams.